[Illustration]
Night comes quickly in the north, so Turgen walked briskly. His heart
was troubled as he thought of the children. Only extreme want could
have forced Marfa to leave them alone. For the closest neighbor, he
knew, lived not less than half a mile away.
“Poor woman! Here I have everything and she nothing. It is necessary to
help her. But how?”
Arriving home, he was moved by a sudden impulse to fill a sack full of
frozen fish and partridges. Then, grabbing up some salt and tea, he
started back to Marfa’s. So high were his spirits, he did not feel the
weight of his load. As his skis carried him swiftly down hill, he could
see from a distance bright sparks flying from the yurta’s chimney.
“The boy is not sparing with the wood. That is good.” Then it occurred
to him: “But maybe Marfa is home by now.” The thought abashed him, for
he reasoned: “Suppose she refuses my gift and says ‘I am not a pauper
that I should accept charity’?” And it was possible that she shared the
distrust of the valley people toward him.
At the door he stood for some time hesitating. Finally he decided: “Be
what may. I will say that I have no money, but I wish to buy milk from
her and will pay for it with these foodstuffs.” Nevertheless, he set
the sack outside the door before he knocked timidly.
Marfa’s voice said, “Who’s there? Come in.”
As he stepped over the threshold the boy cried out in joy: “It is he,
Mama. The kind man who built the fire and gave us the uikola. I told
you he would return.”
Marfa looked at Turgen, saw that he was embarrassed, and held out her
hand in greeting. “Don’t mind Tim. Take off your kuklianka and come sit
by the fire. Thank you for what you did for the children. I was working
and was delayed. It always worries me to leave them alone, but what can
I do?”
Moving quickly, she placed a tea kettle on the fire, brought out a
small table and said: “Move closer to the fire and the light. Have some
hot tea with mill-cakes and the uikola you gave us. You are welcome to
all there is. Tomorrow they have promised to pay me in fish. My last
year’s catch was very poor and I have nothing left, although it is only
January.”
Marfa spoke simply, but her voice was charged with anxiety.
Squatting before the fire, Turgen took out his pipe and with his bare
fingers picked up a burning ember with which to light it. He inhaled
deeply, then let his breath go. From behind the screen of smoke he
looked at Marfa attentively.
Now it came to him for the first time that he really did not know her
at all. She was a thin woman of medium height, quick and determined in
her movements. Her face had the prominent cheek bones and flattened
nose of the Yakut. While she was not pretty, she was pleasing to look
at with her dark, thick hair and hazel eyes full of kindness. “There
is beauty of soul in her eyes,” thought Turgen, “but sorrow too.”
He imagined he could read in them the truth she tried to hide: “If
tomorrow I don’t get anything, I really don’t know what will become of
us. You can see for yourself how poorly we live.”
At a loss how to console her, and embarrassed by his own distress,
Turgen turned to Tim as a safe subject of conversation. “You know, you
have a fine son, Marfa. He was generous enough to offer me half of his
mill-cake. He should be a great help to you.”
“Well,” Marfa answered hesitantly, “but it will take time. However,
the young do grow up fast. If only God will give me the strength to
raise them and put them on their feet.” Then she added more cheerfully,
“Do sit down. We’ll have some tea. Everything is ready.”
Feeling bolder and more at ease now, Turgen said, “Thank you, I will.
Only permit me to give you a present. It is right here outside the
door.”
Without waiting for her reply, he got the sack of provisions and
brought it into the yurta.
“Mama, Mama,” Tim cried, “now you don’t have to go to work. Look at all
the food he brought us!”
Marfa leaned against the wall and her eyes filled with tears. Turgen
was more embarrassed than ever. But before he could think what to say
or what to do, Marfa recovered her composure and thanked him warmly.
“My husband used to tell me that the Yakuts avoided you because you
lived in the mountains and ... were friendly with wild rams. He also
said that you were kind and that the people stupidly spread false tales
about you. Now I can see this for myself. Sit down. Do. Talk to Tim
while I go to prepare a real dinner.”
That was an unforgettable evening for Turgen. Though few words were
exchanged, he felt that much had been communicated because the hours
held so much of friendship and hospitality. Tim was long asleep by the
time he was ready to leave.
It had not been difficult to persuade Marfa to supply him with milk in
return for provisions. “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I have so
much food that it will take care of all of us. And I need your milk. I
used to get milk from the valley people, but now as you know they do
not approve of me. I am sorry about this, and I should be more than
sorry if they caused you any trouble because of your kindness to me.”
Marfa’s voice was firm as she answered him: “You are my friend, Turgen.
You are saving my children and me from want and perhaps starvation. Who
can forbid me to choose my own friends? Do not fear. I will look out
for myself. Before I was timid, but now I am a mother and in my home I
am mistress.”
So Turgen’s friendship with Marfa and her family began. In the next
fours years, until Tim was nine and Aksa six, it grew and flourished.
“Surely God Himself directed my footsteps to their yurta,” Turgen would
often think.
All would have been well, except that the evil let loose in the valley
was spreading and the feeling of the people against him grew and grew.