Authors: Kenneth Cran
“You’ve got to ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive, e-lim-inate the negative, latch on to the affirmative, don’t mess with Mister In-Between.”
He waited for a response, but it didn’t come. His singing voice wasn’t half-bad, but he was no crooner.
“You’ve got to spread joy up to the maximum, bring gloom down to the minimum, have faith or pandemonium-”
Talia spun around, and Nick was so engaged in singing he stopped just short of running into her. “Singing isn’t your forte,” she said, then continued on.
Nick picked up a handful of snow, packed it into a ball and reared to throw it. Then he remembered, as he often had the past two days, that she had saved his life. He dropped the snowball, clapped the snow from his gloves and continued following.
“You know,” Nick said as they left the dark shadows of the conifers. “I gotta question why someone would want to live out here. I mean, Cleveland winters are harsh, but they’ve got nothing on Siberia.”
“
Someone
, Mr. Somerset?” Talia said. “Don’t you mean
woman?
”
“Well, now that you mention it-”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing unusual about me. I’m like any other woman.”
“Are you kidding? Lady, you’re as different from the average woman, American or Russian, as I am to Harry Truman.”
“Since I don’t know who Harry Truman is,” Talia said. “I don’t understand your analogy.”
Nick stopped in his tracks. “You don’t know who the president of the United States is? How long have you been out here?”
Talia stopped, caught her breath. She looked back at him. “I came here in the summer of ‘39,” she said. “Nine years ago.” She trudged on.
Nick watched her for a long time, imagining what it would be like to live in a one-room cabin in Siberia for that long.
Nine years?
he thought, then jogged to catch up.
“You did say nine years?” he said as they skirted an eight-foot snowdrift.
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”
It was, to him. “I know I’m not supposed to ask a woman this,” he said. “But how old are
you
?”
“Thirty,” she said. He was surprised. She looked 20.
“Siberia agrees with you then,” said Nick. “But don’t you miss people?”
“The Chukchi are my people. I visit them twice during the winter, and then spend a month with them in the summer. We trade, we hunt. I help them, they help me.”
“And that’s it?” Nick said. “No contact with the real world?”
“You’re perception of the real world is typical,” she said. “I won’t try to explain it to you, but a person can be quite happy without lights or radios or Bing Crosby. The Chukchi have none of those things and they’re happy.”
“They don’t know any better,” said Nick trying not to sound defensive.
“On the contrary, I think they know better than you.”
“Okay, we can hike along and insult each other, but I’m just saying that’s a long time to be away from civilization. I mean, for someone who started off in civilization, that is.”
“The world just went through a war,” Talia said. “The Chukchi weren’t a part of it. Do you want to explain to me what civilized is?”
“Fine,” he said. “You moved here to be with your Choo-Choo friends because of the war.”
“I moved here because I was invited,” said Talia.
“Oh, yeah? By who?”
She clammed up. Before Nick could probe deeper, they came upon a break in the trees. Long and narrow, it stretched and curved to the horizon.
A road.
Talia turned and followed it east. Navigating curled snowdrifts, she kept a steady pace. Nick looked back over his shoulder, expecting to see a troop truck rumbling toward them.
“Isn’t this kinda dangerous?” he said glancing over his shoulder. “What if someone sees us?”
“The road’s abandoned,” she said. “Stalin had it built in order to reach some of the gulags to the northeast.”
Nick wasn’t reassured. “What’s a gulag?”
“Is this another attempt at humor?” she said.
“Sorry,” said Nick. “I don’t read the papers.”
“G-U-L-A-G. It’s an acronym,” said Talia. “In Russian, it stands for Chief Administration of Corrective Labor Camps.” She looked at him and said in a rather deadpan voice, “They’re what give Siberia a bad name.”
“Really? And here I thought people didn’t like this place because it resembled hell with pine trees.”
“’Siberia’ is a beautiful word for a beautiful place.” Talia shifted the pack’s weight. She was strong, but the straps were pressing into her shoulders, even through her thick coat. “It means ‘sleeping land.’ Does that sound threatening?”
“I guess Stalin decided that prison camps would wake it up.”
“
Stalin didn’t originate the idea of Siberia as a penal zone,” Talia said. “But he did hone it to perfection. Gulags have left a cruel smudge across an enchanting land. Now, instead of a quiet, frigid expanse, it’s been redefined as a blood-soaked purgatory.”
“
Even without a goulash,” said Nick. “This place still ain’t Miami Beach. Hell, it ain’t even Normandy Beach.”
“
You might show some respect, Mr. Somerset. There’s nothing humorous about gulags. Stalin sentenced millions here to their deaths.” She stopped, turned around and faced him for dramatic affect. “Including suspected spies.” She continued on, leaving Nick alone in the middle of the snow-covered road.
At noon, the winter sun hid behind a ceiling of flat gray. There was no wind to speak of and only an occasional snow flurry. Nick and Talia followed the road as it avoided a rocky projection, banking to the south. Straightening out, it ended at a wall of conifers. Strewn along both shoulders, the rusted hulks of steel-wheeled tractors sat in poignant reflection, left overs from post-Czarist road construction. A few yards away and bordering the tree line, a 20-foot guard tower stood as a silent and derelict sentinel.
Nick searched for some sign of activity, but there was none. Everything lay under a blanket of undisturbed snow. “I guess they ran out of funds, huh?” It was surreal the way the road simply ended without warning. “You’re sure it’s abandoned?”
“Quite sure.” Talia made her way toward one of the tractors. “No one’s been here since before the war.” She stopped, removed the pack and set it in the tractor’s bucket. There, they rested and ate stringy reindeer jerky.
“
How much further?” Nick asked as he chewed.
“
Eight miles or so.”
“
Any chance of us meeting up with that herd of tigers?”
“
No, they’re nocturnal.” She saw the look on Nick’s face. “They hunt at night.”
“
I know what nocturnal means.”
“
Sorry. You looked confused.” She bit into a chunk of jerky.
“
I always look that way. Keeps hostiles guessing. Better to look ignorant than smart.”
“
That doesn’t seem to be a problem for you.”
“
Is that your attempt at a compliment?”
“
Take it as you want.”
“
Gee, maybe I should become an actor if I’m that convincing.”
“
Were you acting?”
“
You know what your problem is?”
“
My ability to communicate with people such as yourself is hindered by my inability to see past the scope of my own experience and education, thus instilling in my mind the need to judge someone simply because they do not hail from an academic background.”
“
Well, yeah,” Nick said stumbling for words. “And you’re wound too tight, too.”
Talia thought of another retort but decided against it. He had suffered enough. Not that that in any way made her feel good. “Anyway,” she offered. “We’re out of their territory. They never come this far east.”
As if on cue, Nick said “Wanna bet?” He stood up and walked over to the guard tower. Six feet up and gouged into one of the support legs was a familiar mark, a mark like the ones cut into the logs of her cabin. Talia joined him and saw it, a ragged number 11.
“
I don’t understand,” she said unable to take her eyes off of it.
“
Guess they wanna spread out,” Nick said. “I don’t blame them. They got lots of room.” He looked at Talia. “Jesus, lady, you okay?”
Talia had grown pale, the ruddiness of her cheeks and nose vanquished by fear. “I’m fine.” She walked back to the tractor, strapped on the backpack and headed into the woods.
“What’s the matter?” Nick said, trying to catch up.
Talia said, “We must keep our voices down now.”
“Again? Look, I know I’m no zoo-logicist, but are you saying it
was
tigers that came after us last night?”
“
Yes,” she said. “What did you think?”
“
I dunno, I thought you were pulling my leg,” said Nick. “Guess I just kept waiting for the punch line.”
“
Well,” said Talia. “I wish it
were
funny.”
He chuckled to himself. The ice woman was melting. “You’re spooked, aren’t you?”
“Your perception amazes me,” she said, maintaining a quick pace. “Be thankful you don’t know the details.”
“
Alright, let’s talk about that, huh?” he said trying to keep pace with her. “Can you slow down, please?” She didn’t listen. “How can someone who studies tigers be so damn afraid of them? I mean, come on. They’re tigers. If you’ve been studying them, then you should know them better than anyone.”
“
Your right,” she said. “I do know them better than anyone. That’s why we have to get as far away from here as possible.”
16
The forest stopped at the edge of a snow-covered plain. Talia shaded her eyes and pointed to a low rise dotted with structures.
“There,” she said.
“
Tents?” Nick said catching his breath. “We’re gonna find shelter in tents?”
“
They’re
yurts
.”
“
Great,” he said. “Now they’re yurts, mine and ours.” He chuckled,
but of course, Talia didn’t get it. “I hope they got eats.”
Talia had been friends with this particular village since she first came to Siberia. Although they didn’t speak English or even Russian, she hoped Nick wouldn’t find a way to cross cultural borders and insult them.
Nick made a beeline across the plain, but Talia grabbed his arm before he could go too far.
“
What?” he said, annoyed.
Talia brushed away the snow with her boot to reveal the smooth blue surface of a frozen lake.
“Oh,” Nick said and backed off.
“
The Central Plateau can be a dangerous place, Mr. Somerset,” Talia said. “Never assume anything.” She released his arm and trudged across without any hesitation.
“Uh, is it thick enough?” he said.
“Yes, but don’t stay in one place too long.”
A line of boulders marked the opposite shore, and upon reaching them, Nick sat down and tried to catch his breath. Three miles distant, the forest began again, while just ahead stood the Chukchi village. Against the tedium of the perpetual tree line, the tents stood out as a canvas and reindeer-hide skyline, a primitive bastion of comfort in the inhospitable Central Plateau.