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“Words that speak evil, though they have no teeth, can tear the heart,”
was an old proverb. It hurt Turgen that the Yakuts turned from him,
avoided his questions and all contact with him. It was as if a dead
wall of ill-will had suddenly risen between him and the people of the
valley. Because he was ignorant of any wrong on his part, he tried not
to think too much and went about his own affairs. But solitude is not
easy to endure, for the reason that thoughts cannot be trapped. They
keep buzzing round and round in the head, like angry autumn flies,
giving one no rest.
Turgen thought of himself as independent, healthy and strong and in
need of no one’s assistance. Still it was difficult to be deprived of
human talk and human association.
Fortunately for him, there lived in the valley a widow named Marfa with
her two children--a boy Tim and a girl Aksa--at whose komelek he was
welcome to sit whenever it pleased him. There he would smoke his pipe
and entertain the children with some story, and on leaving hear the
warm and comforting words: “Come again Turgen, and soon.”
Marfa owned a good cow which furnished milk sufficient for her own
needs and for her friend. Turgen loved hot tea with milk, to him a real
treat.
Marfa’s yurta stood near a lake which was surrounded by a forest, far
from other dwellings. The Yakuts seldom visited her. Knowing that she
was poor, they feared she might ask something of them, and because of
the children they might be moved to rash promises. Conscience has a way
of making itself felt, like a thorn in the body, so they reasoned that
it would be safer to stay away and avoid temptation.
Marfa would have considered herself poor indeed had she not had a solid
yurta and her fine cow. But one cannot live on milk alone. Necessity
forced her to leave the children by day and work for some wealthy
Yakuts. Her heart was never at ease with the children alone at home,
but she had no choice.
Hers was not an easy life. In the summer she caught fish by nets from
the lake, mowed the field grass to feed the cow in winter, made clothes
for the children, and saw to it that there was firewood stored away
for the cold weather. Trees were abundant, but it was beyond her
strength to chop them down, and she had no horse with which to drag the
logs out of the woods. So, in return for housework, her Yakut employer
chopped and delivered wood for her. In spite of work and worry, she did
not complain. She asked nothing of God, except good health for herself,
her children, and her cow. God must have seen and been pleased, for all
of them were blessed with the best of health.
The cow lived in a warm shed separated from the yurta by a thin
partition which in summer opened like a window to admit her head. There
she would stand chewing her cud and regarding everybody with her kind
eyes. No wonder that she was considered a welcome member of the family.
The children carried on long conversations with her, not in the least
frightened by her great size and magnificent horns. They knew her to
be good-natured and fully believed that she understood everything they
said. Maybe she did. It is certain that she knew her name, Whitey, for
she answered to it promptly when called. In the grazing season the
children were charged to look after her lest she stray too far, but
Marfa sometimes wondered whether it was not Whitey who guarded the
children. In many ways her cow sense prompted her that her help was
necessary if Tim and Aksa were to grow up well and strong, and she gave
it gladly.
These were Turgen’s friends in the valley, a kindly family but poor.