"THE KETA ARE COMING!"
Certain that there would be something extra for dinner on my brother's
account, I ran on ahead, and as I ran I tried to guess what it would
be. We would have, of course, the usual _borsch_ (cabbage soup with
plenty of meat, potatoes, and onions, and sometimes the addition of
sour cream), buckwheat _kasha_ (porridge), and the inevitable tea and
rye bread. But what else? As soon as I burst into the room, I knew, for
mother was just taking a big fish pie out of the whitewashed oven in
the brick fireplace.
The others came in as I was clapping my hands with delight, and we all
took our seats around the big table. We had hardly finished eating our
_borsch_ to which, following the example of my father, I added two
big spoonfuls of buckwheat porridge, when the door opened and Sonya,
Peter's sister, came in so nearly out of breath that she could hardly
ejaculate the words--"The _keta_ are coming!"
She might have said the enemy, so suddenly did we all spring to our
feet and rush out shouting the news to all whose homes we passed. A few
minutes after, our boats were in the water with the nets, and the men
at their assigned places with fishing hooks, hatchets, and ropes. The
women were not behindhand in coming, not merely to gaze at the river
but to bring necessary utensils.
I had no especial duty assigned me, and so in trying to help everybody,
I managed to be a nuisance. It was not long before I received a kick
out of the way from my father, who was assisting Feodor carry a heavy
net. This sent me several feet down the bank.
Nothing disheartened, I grabbed hold of a boat which my brother and
Young Skorin were pushing into the water. But they worked so rapidly
that I lost my balance and fell flat into the edge of the river. My
brother caught me up by the neck, shook me angrily, and tumbling me up
on the bank growled: "Stop putting yourself where you're not wanted."
I hardly knew what to make of such unusual treatment from Mitya. To
hide the tears which were ready to fall, I ran as fast as I could to
the top of the bank and got behind some trees from which I had a good
view of the entire river.
Here I soon forgot how sore I felt. The fresh damp air was filled with
the aromatic fragrance of opening buds and leaves. For a mile along the
Russian bank, the river shone mirror-like under the bright rays of the
Spring sun. Its surface was slightly waved by the wind, except in one
place where there was a peculiar disturbance. Sharp waves and splashes
and two rows of foam indicated the approaching advance guard of the
_keta_.
Two boats were rowing desperately to their appointed places on both
sides of the opening between the two fences. Two other boats had
already gone to watch lest the fish should turn into some other arm.
Suddenly the men in these began to fire shots, no doubt to prevent the
fish from turning. Their maneuver evidently succeeded, for the fish
headed directly to where the other party awaited them.
As they came nearer and nearer I grew so excited that I leaped high
into the air and yelled wildly.
Although it was not a big school of fish, it covered more than two
hundred feet. As it came to the fences there was a great disturbance,
heads and tails and even the entire body appearing far out of the
water. A few individual fish jumped as high as the very top of the
fence. A very large number became entangled in the spread nets.
Because of the number of fish, it became difficult to get the water
end of the net back to land, and, for a while, it looked as if the
fish would escape, nets and all. The hard work of the men in the
boats seemed to accomplish little. Finally Old Skorin, alone in his
light _baidarra_,[9] separated himself from the others, and pulled
behind him the end of the rope, while the others exerted themselves to
resist the pressure of the fish. When he reached the bank, he wound
the rope around some trees which he used as a block, until he made a
sufficiently strong anchor for the party behind. Two or three men came
to his assistance, and gradually the far end of the net, filled with an
enormously large number of fish, was brought on the bank.
A little behind this net was another net to get the fish that escaped
the first. Many fish, however, went under both and were soon out of
sight.
The whole village now gathered with vessels and sacks, knives and
hatchets. The fish were picked up, killed, and carried to improvised
tables, where a row of women and two strong men started to work at
cleaning, salting, and packing them in barrels. The work was continued
until the salt gave out late at night. The remainder were left for
drying and smoking on the morrow. All of the work was done in common;
later the fish were divided among the different families according to
the number of workers in each.
The next morning everything looked gloomy and muddy, for there had been
a shower during the night, and it was still drizzling. Happening to
recall that the year before at this fish season the weather had been
dry, I ventured to ask: "Isn't it foolish to try to dry fish in such
wet weather? They'll get wetter than they now are."
To my chagrin and astonishment, all began to laugh, and Young Skorin
remarked: "They are rather used to being pretty wet, I fancy."
As I turned from the laughing crowd, who, as soon as they had cleaned
some of the fish, hung them on ropes stretched in several rows along
the bank, I noticed that "Granny" Daria and her adopted son were
watching the workers. I soon saw that they were not there merely out of
curiosity but to pick up the spawn which they washed in a big tank and
piled in a barrel. Later I was told that Daria had been the first in
the village to prepare caviar for sale. That was the year before, when
she made enough money to purchase a cow in the city. We all envied her
this cow, for in comparison with our undeveloped Manchurian cows she
gave an enormous amount of milk.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 9: A boat for one man, made of bark and the skin of fish over
a wood skeleton.]