bow, and whose looks pierced him like an arrow. As dawn broke, the fire went out, and the basket was placed in the centre. When he emerged from the basket three days and three nights later, he would either be a shaman or a nothing.
When he stroked the walrus-tusk necklace his mother had given him, he was overcome with despair. They’d gone by now, all of them had gone. The boy remained all alone in the snow, inside an overturned basket. Since then he hadn’t eaten a single bite or uttered a single word. Until He arrived, not a bite nor a word would pass his lips. He was waiting for Him; his soul’s equal, the visitor who was the soul of his equal. The visitor he was waiting for could be a human or an animal or a plant. The visitor would either grant him superhuman powers and make him a shaman just like his sister, or the complete opposite, indeed he might even be punished for his presumption: Whatever happened, whatever the risks were, he was waiting for Him. If the visitor was human He would arrive on foot, if a bird, flying, if a fish, swimming, and if it was a plant it would emerge from the snow, see the basket and come. He would come and decide whether the boy was to be the tribe’s new shaman.
The beardless youth couldn’t keep a strange sense of distress from eroding his courage. Even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself yet, and even if he didn’t know the reason for it, he felt a terrible fear of being seen.
The sailor was smiling peacefully.
Timofei Ankidinov was watching him anxiously. On one hand he couldn’t rein in his jealousy at the thought that the sailor might be dreaming about the Pogicha, and on the other he was looking for some way to keep the man from freezing.
The visitor hadn’t come yet. The beardless youth was thinking neither about his elder sister nor about the name he would be given when he became shaman. He was miserable from hunger, weariness and fear. He could change his mind at any moment, but he didn’t have the strength to change his mind
At that moment his whole body shook. Something had entered the basket. For a while he stood waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, as if he hadn’t been living in this complete darkness for three nights, and as if when the visitor came He wouldn’t bring yet another curtain of darkness. An indistinct figure slowly became apparent. It was a big sable. It was at least five times bigger than other sables. When the boy saw it he couldn’t keep from smiling. This meant that the visitor he’d been awaiting so long was a sable that was his reflection in this world, a mirror of his face. This meant that, just as their eyes were identical, his soul also resembled this agile animal.
The boy and the sable stood eye to eye.
The boy and the sable looked at their resemblance. Both of their eyes shone with the knowledge of death. They were like two mirrors facing each other. As they looked, they flowed into each other and strengthened one another. Then they shut their eyes tightly. Then, in a manner that was both relaxed and energetic, and as if they were out in an open field rather than in that narrow basket, they began to dance the ancient dance of the shamans. The sable licked the boy’s wounds. Every wound healed as soon as the animal’s tongue touched it.
Without taking their eyes off each other, they spun at the same moment and at the same speed in the snowstorm of their hearts. They spun so much that they made the world’s head spin. As they spun they were beside themselves. In that dark, narrow basket they discovered the boundlessness and the brilliance of their souls. And they loved each other. Later, when they emerged from the basket, each would go to the place where his body belonged, but their souls would not part. This, this was their secret. And this moment was their moment. The intimacy of the shaman and the animal.
Timofei Ankidinov had made a sledge from scrub and branches and he lay the sailor, who by the way
When he stroked the walrus-tusk necklace his mother had given him, he was overcome with despair. They’d gone by now, all of them had gone. The boy remained all alone in the snow, inside an overturned basket. Since then he hadn’t eaten a single bite or uttered a single word. Until He arrived, not a bite nor a word would pass his lips. He was waiting for Him; his soul’s equal, the visitor who was the soul of his equal. The visitor he was waiting for could be a human or an animal or a plant. The visitor would either grant him superhuman powers and make him a shaman just like his sister, or the complete opposite, indeed he might even be punished for his presumption: Whatever happened, whatever the risks were, he was waiting for Him. If the visitor was human He would arrive on foot, if a bird, flying, if a fish, swimming, and if it was a plant it would emerge from the snow, see the basket and come. He would come and decide whether the boy was to be the tribe’s new shaman.
The beardless youth couldn’t keep a strange sense of distress from eroding his courage. Even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself yet, and even if he didn’t know the reason for it, he felt a terrible fear of being seen.
The sailor was smiling peacefully.
Timofei Ankidinov was watching him anxiously. On one hand he couldn’t rein in his jealousy at the thought that the sailor might be dreaming about the Pogicha, and on the other he was looking for some way to keep the man from freezing.
The visitor hadn’t come yet. The beardless youth was thinking neither about his elder sister nor about the name he would be given when he became shaman. He was miserable from hunger, weariness and fear. He could change his mind at any moment, but he didn’t have the strength to change his mind
At that moment his whole body shook. Something had entered the basket. For a while he stood waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, as if he hadn’t been living in this complete darkness for three nights, and as if when the visitor came He wouldn’t bring yet another curtain of darkness. An indistinct figure slowly became apparent. It was a big sable. It was at least five times bigger than other sables. When the boy saw it he couldn’t keep from smiling. This meant that the visitor he’d been awaiting so long was a sable that was his reflection in this world, a mirror of his face. This meant that, just as their eyes were identical, his soul also resembled this agile animal.
The boy and the sable stood eye to eye.
The boy and the sable looked at their resemblance. Both of their eyes shone with the knowledge of death. They were like two mirrors facing each other. As they looked, they flowed into each other and strengthened one another. Then they shut their eyes tightly. Then, in a manner that was both relaxed and energetic, and as if they were out in an open field rather than in that narrow basket, they began to dance the ancient dance of the shamans. The sable licked the boy’s wounds. Every wound healed as soon as the animal’s tongue touched it.
Without taking their eyes off each other, they spun at the same moment and at the same speed in the snowstorm of their hearts. They spun so much that they made the world’s head spin. As they spun they were beside themselves. In that dark, narrow basket they discovered the boundlessness and the brilliance of their souls. And they loved each other. Later, when they emerged from the basket, each would go to the place where his body belonged, but their souls would not part. This, this was their secret. And this moment was their moment. The intimacy of the shaman and the animal.
Timofei Ankidinov had made a sledge from scrub and branches and he lay the sailor, who by the way
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