The Last of the Vostyachs Read Online Free PDF

land, I told him, where there were many people who would like to get to know him: not Russians, but people of his own race, who spoke a language similar to his own. I explained to him that he was not alone, but that he belonged to a large and ancient tribe who were his brothers, and who would be eager to meet him. He was very struck by my talk of this great tribe, and questioned me closely about it. So finally I persuaded him to come with me to Helsinki. But I had to reassure him that there are no Russians there.
    I stayed on in the Tajmyr Peninsula for a few more weeks and made a complete catalogue of all the words he knew. Unfortunately, his vocabulary is very limited. But, thanks to certain roots, I managed to construct a number of etymological hypotheses, though of course they are yet to be proved correct. Hunting for words became our game. We’d go around the forest and Ivan would put a name in Vostyach to everything he saw. Whenever he remembered this or that word, the name of some tree or object, he was triumphant. He knew he was making me happy and would come running towards me, wreathed in smiles. He offered me his words like gifts. He must have suffered a great deal, and I sensed that the aftermath of such suffering still weighed upon him. Sometimes his mood would darken for no apparent reason, as though he were dogged by frightening images which he could not shake off. Then he would run off into the woods alone. At times I felt as though I were dealing with a child, he is so vulnerable, so naïve, so incapable of applying any form of reason to certain aspects of everyday life. Yet he knows how to make bows and arrows, dress hides and set traps. In the deepest woods he can find his bearings like a human compass. He can smell distant scents on the air and follow them. But his intelligence seems somehow one-dimensional. He moves in just one direction, among the things he knows. He makes no distinction between reality and fantasy. When he does not understand something, he instantly takes fright.
    On the morning of our departure, after so much snow, a chilly sun appeared and the forest was tinged with pink. Waiting for the local bus which was to take us to Norilsk, looking out through the inn window, I gazed in awe at the forms of the snow-laden trees. The innkeeper’s wife had just lit the stove, and the scent of resin wafted through the room. The big pot of water for the soup had just begun to boil, and the steam was causing the panes gradually to mist over. Everything felt strangely blank, slow-moving, suffused with sadness. Seated on the ground, Ivan was gazing raptly out at the dazzling light. Together with his sack of skins, he had brought with him a drum made of reindeer hide, which he kept clutched to his chest, his fingers spread out over it. I went up to him and sat beside him. I told him that the inn was not my home, but that I lived in a distant city, and that after our trip to Helsinki I would not be coming back with him to the forests of the Tajmyr Peninsula. He gave me a bewildered look. He stared angrily at my suitcase, inspected my city outfit – so different from my normal shabby village wear – with disapproval. He shook his head, retreating as though he didn’t want to hear me. I tried to reassure him, telling him I’d be back to see him from time to time. He promised me that if I was leaving him because he couldn’t provide me with any new words, he would get the wolves to tell him some. They knew many more than he, but he would have to persuade them to speak to him again, he said, looking sadly out towards the forest. He sighed. He clearly wanted to ask me something, but did not have the words. He made a vague gesture, then gave up, crestfallen. He was trying to understand how far I would be from his mountains, mentally measuring distances which for him were unimaginable. I went up to the misty windows and drew a rough map of Russia, in the form of a circle, on which I