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Authors: M. A. Oliver-Semenov
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like it had when I was a small boy. One of my fondest memories is coming home from a school trip at the age of seven. We had been to the dinosaur exhibition in Cardiff Museum, and I had bought a plastic woolly mammoth. As the trip finished at about midday, when I got home, my parents, who had decided to have a lie-in, were still in their blankets on the living-room floor. I woke them up and showed them my new toy. It was quite lovely being able to walk through the front door and find them sleeping. I suppose Nastya would have similar memories, only in hers she would have gone to the Krasnoyarsk Museum, which had an actual woolly mammoth in it.
Occasionally the sky was so bleak and snow-laden it was as if it contained all the Sundays of my teenage years. Although it was spring, it was still fairly cold, and we couldnât stay out for too long in the evenings without catching a chill. To pass the time, Nastya and I spent any night she wasnât working watching British sitcoms in the permanent warmth of home. Usually, after about four hours of The IT Crowd, we were so bored that we would go to sit in the kitchen for a change of atmosphere. With Nastyaâs help I sometimes plucked up the courage to ask Nataliya Petrovna about the familyâs history.
When the USSR collapsed in 1991, hyperinflation left many starving to death. People famously queued down the street for a loaf of bread or some milk. Nataliya Petrovna and Boris, who both worked for the energy company, had to continue working for three years without pay until the economy began to recover. They continued working without pay as the company still paid for their apartment, the utility bills and Nastyaâs and Dimaâs musical tuition. This was normal under the Soviet remuneration system and continued until the country stabilised once more. Had they stopped working, they would have lost their pensions, the apartment and dacha; all of which were crucial to their survival. During this period of instability, at least two of Nataliya Petrovnaâs friends and work colleagues drank themselves to death. The Semenov family would have starved if it werenât for Borisâs hunting skills.
It was clear from the start that Boris and his wife were very different from each other. Boris, who had originated from a small hunting village in the Evenkiyskiy district a few hundred miles west of Krasnoyarsk, came to the city as an engineer and worked at the same energy plant for his entire career until retirement. Although he was a member of modern civilised society Boris never left his hunting roots behind. At any and every opportunity he goes hunting or spends his time preparing for hunting trips. Boris has a vast amount of equipment that is spread throughout the apartment, dacha and a garage he owns. Because of the way he has lived his life, and the mountains he climbs regularly, his physique is something to be in awe of. He put me to shame. In fact he would put most people to shame, including a large percentage of athletes.
When Boris was in the apartment he would sit at the kitchen table and repair things. Because of his age and failing eyesight, he would wear goggles that looked a lot like a cross between a welderâs mask and a jewellerâs eyepiece. Even when he wasnât fixing something, he would walk around with them still on his head, making him resemble a mad professor. Boris makes a lot of his own equipment or modifies things he buys. His headlamp has several different lenses and a home-made battery unit. His backpacks are enlarged and home-sewn. When Nastya and I came home, we would often find Boris sat at the old-fashioned sewing table in the hallway making some new bag for carrying meat. On two occasions, I have seen a glimpse of his gun, a semi-automatic Kalashnikov rifle that looked modified to the extent that it appeared home-made. This weapon was never left lying around but kept in a locked steel box somewhere in the storeroom next to
Occasionally the sky was so bleak and snow-laden it was as if it contained all the Sundays of my teenage years. Although it was spring, it was still fairly cold, and we couldnât stay out for too long in the evenings without catching a chill. To pass the time, Nastya and I spent any night she wasnât working watching British sitcoms in the permanent warmth of home. Usually, after about four hours of The IT Crowd, we were so bored that we would go to sit in the kitchen for a change of atmosphere. With Nastyaâs help I sometimes plucked up the courage to ask Nataliya Petrovna about the familyâs history.
When the USSR collapsed in 1991, hyperinflation left many starving to death. People famously queued down the street for a loaf of bread or some milk. Nataliya Petrovna and Boris, who both worked for the energy company, had to continue working for three years without pay until the economy began to recover. They continued working without pay as the company still paid for their apartment, the utility bills and Nastyaâs and Dimaâs musical tuition. This was normal under the Soviet remuneration system and continued until the country stabilised once more. Had they stopped working, they would have lost their pensions, the apartment and dacha; all of which were crucial to their survival. During this period of instability, at least two of Nataliya Petrovnaâs friends and work colleagues drank themselves to death. The Semenov family would have starved if it werenât for Borisâs hunting skills.
It was clear from the start that Boris and his wife were very different from each other. Boris, who had originated from a small hunting village in the Evenkiyskiy district a few hundred miles west of Krasnoyarsk, came to the city as an engineer and worked at the same energy plant for his entire career until retirement. Although he was a member of modern civilised society Boris never left his hunting roots behind. At any and every opportunity he goes hunting or spends his time preparing for hunting trips. Boris has a vast amount of equipment that is spread throughout the apartment, dacha and a garage he owns. Because of the way he has lived his life, and the mountains he climbs regularly, his physique is something to be in awe of. He put me to shame. In fact he would put most people to shame, including a large percentage of athletes.
When Boris was in the apartment he would sit at the kitchen table and repair things. Because of his age and failing eyesight, he would wear goggles that looked a lot like a cross between a welderâs mask and a jewellerâs eyepiece. Even when he wasnât fixing something, he would walk around with them still on his head, making him resemble a mad professor. Boris makes a lot of his own equipment or modifies things he buys. His headlamp has several different lenses and a home-made battery unit. His backpacks are enlarged and home-sewn. When Nastya and I came home, we would often find Boris sat at the old-fashioned sewing table in the hallway making some new bag for carrying meat. On two occasions, I have seen a glimpse of his gun, a semi-automatic Kalashnikov rifle that looked modified to the extent that it appeared home-made. This weapon was never left lying around but kept in a locked steel box somewhere in the storeroom next to
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