The Chukchi Bible Read online

  The Russian shaman took his time, striding up in a dignified manner, pausing by one sled and then another, until he finally reached Mlerintyn.

  “Got any ermine?” the Chuvan asked.

  All Mlerintyn had left was the skin of a polar bear they had killed on the way.

  The Russian shaman handled it carefully, like a man who knew what he was doing. He shook out the hide, then crumpled it between his fingers, blowing across the hairs to fluff them. It was clear that he knew the fur business well.

  “What will you take for this hide?” said the Chuvan, translating the Russian shaman’s question.

  Tynemlen whispered hotly to his father:

  “Ask him for the Holy Book!”

  “How can I? It’s the same as his asking for my shaman’s tambourine,” his father replied.

  “He’s got many,” Tynemlen persisted. “I’ve seen them.”

  The Chuvan translated and to everyone’s surprise, the Russian shaman smiled and nodded his assent. While the Chuvan ran to fetch the book, the Russian shaman continued to smile in a friendly manner and tried to converse, using his few Chukchi words:

  “Nymelkin! Varkyn! Amyn etti! Chaipaurken!”12

  The book was heavy, bound in a tooled case made from a strange animal hide.

  “The Russian shaman is not selling you this Holy Book,” the Chuvan translated in solemn tones, “but pressents it to your family in the name of the Russian God. In exchange for the bearskin he offers a bundle of tobacco leaf.”

  The traders parted with mutual satisfaction. At first Tynemlen could not think of where to put the holy gift, but then thought to tuck it into the space between his fur-lined kukhlianka and his belly, next to his vessel of meltwater.

  Before setting off on the long journey back, they spent a few days in Kymykei’s hospitable camp. The first evening was spent trying out the Tangitan wares. Smoke from the fire mingled with that of tobacco within the spacious chottagin. Everyone smoked – men, women, and even the children were allowed a pull on the pipe. Tynemlen had never smoked, and now, inhaling the bitter draft, he was racked by a cough so painful he thought he was about to be turned inside out. His eyes filled with cloudy tears, his throat burned, nausea rose up from the pit of his stomach. Then it was time to drink the fire-water. Tynemlen was startled as the hot stream raced into his stomach. He became nauseated again, and passed the cup to his father in disgust.

  Tynemlen extracted the Holy Book from inside his clothes. Stroking the leather cover with his palm, he turned it over and peered at the white pages, which were speckled with tiny black marks. He strained to catch a sign, a sound, but in the many-voiced hullabaloo of the pages it was impossible to discern anything recognizable.

  In the meantime, those who had sampled the fire-water were changing before his very eyes. His father, a man of great self-control and few words, became talkative, a braggart. He boasted of being the most powerful shaman in Uelen and neighboring villages, and kept trying to show his powers. Their host, Kymykei, had changed, too, and in the flush of good feeling loaned his new friend Mlerintyn his own middle wife, the pretty and jolly Ainau, for the night. She obediently bedded down in the polog given over to the guests, and Tynemlen barely slept for all the heavy breathing of his bedmates, as they tussled under the covers. Strangely, his mind kept returning to Iyo-o, the girl from the starving camp, and a tender yearning tightened around his heart.

  As a sign of special friendship, Kymykei added two young blue-eyed Kolyma huskies to Mlerintyn’s sled pack; with two of his father’s old dogs Tynemlen’s own pack now also numbered eight.

  On the way back they stopped at the famine-stricken camp once more. From a long way off, Tynemlen felt a rising surge of excitement at the prospect of meeting Iyo-o again. When the young woman walked out of her yaranga and joined the few of her compatriots waiting to greet the visitors, the young man was overcome with joy and smiled a smile that was meant for her alone. Iyo-o noticed, and lowered her eyes, a sure sign that she shared the young man’s feelings.

  Everyone slept pell-mell in the packed polog. Iyo-o, naked as the day she was born, pressed up against Tynemlen, and he nearly swooned with desire. In the dark of night, the young people joined in a passionate embrace.

  The following morning the travelers were on their way again, trying to stay ahead of the coming spring, the new sun that would make the snow soft and heavy, and wake the tundra rivers from their ice-swaddled sleep, cutting them off from home.

  Iyo-o was among the clump of well-wishers who saw them off, but had eyes only for Tynemlen.

  It was not before mid May 1780, when the first flocks of migratory birds could be sighted in the sky, that the first sled of the trading caravan touched the icy surface of Uelen’s lagoon, its ice shelf already riven with meltholes.

  Tynemlen gazed upon his dear home, at the double row of yarangas amid the sparkling snow, and his heart overflowed with the joy of return. And yet a small smudge marred his cloudless happiness – the memory of young Iyo-o, left behind upon the deserted Arctic shore.

  The Coming of the Tangitans

  The end of the seventeenth and the beginning of the eighteenth centuries were marked by an unprecedented spread of the Tangitans into Chukchi lands. But while the tenor of these encounters was no longer martial, the Luoravetlan were wary and suspicious of each new Tangitan face, even though the ancient laws of Arctic hospitality demanded succor of travelers, whosoever they might be. They might invite the Tangitan travelers inside their own dwellings, share their last stores of human and dog food, mend their worn clothing and broken sleds, but never would they allow the strangers into their inner world.

  Rumors of the rich “great old land” which lay beyond the Stone Belt, the untrodden paths to mysterious, beckoning lands, inspired Russian explorers to attempt risky expeditions. Many of these explorers understood that the Chukchi regions were harsh of climate and scarce of resources, but they also knew friendly relations with the Chukchi would gain them passage through their lands and into Kamchatka, Alaska, and the southern seas beyond the Bering Strait.

  Nikita Shalaurov was one such maritime explorer. In 1757 he made a bold crossing from the mouth of the Lena River to the Kolyma, where he then had to winter for several years while he marshaled resources for the final push to the Chukotka Peninsula. In 1762 he ran into trouble and only managed to reach Ayon Island in the Chaunskaya Guba (Chaun Bay) of the East Siberian Sea before returning to the Kolyma base camp. But the unstoppable Tangitans tried again in 1764, attempting to sail around the Shelag promontory. This is where traces of his expedition disappear. As a memorial to his unsuccessful venture, a small island at the mouth of the Nolde Bay in the East Siberian Sea was later named after him, while a small rest camp there kept the moniker “Shalaurov’s Izba” for a long time to come.

  The Russian explorers not only sought passages to the new lands, but actively engaged in trade, returning from each trip with a rich haul that covered the costs of the expedition and more. And it wasn’t just the Russians who were curious about these harsh lands, but also Americans and Englishmen, equipped with sturdy ships of their own.

  Before the invention of gas lamps, European streets were lit by lanterns that burned whale-blubber oil. It was the whaling ships that charted the migratory routes of the gargantuan Arctic whales from the waters off the California coast to the shores of the Chukotka Peninsula. The richest herds of the migrating giants were found in the triangle formed by the coastlines of the Chukotka Peninsula and Alaska, inside that northern part of the Pacific Ocean, which is crowned by the Bering Strait, where they could be slaughtered in their multitudes. A whaler could make the fortune of a lifetime in a single season, supplying not only the whale blubber itself, but also “whalebone” – the whale’s whiskers or baleen plates, a precious, springy material for which there was no substitute in the making of ladies’ corsets. European perfumers had also discovered the significance of a certain substance produced by the whale’s stomach, ambergris
, which gave staying power to the most delicate of Parisian scents.

  The main obstacle to these explorations of the Arctic was the harsh climate, which made floating ice sheets abundant even in summer. Yet the Tangitans stubbornly strove to reach the highest latitudes. The well-known English sailor James Cook crossed the Bering Strait in the summer of 1778 and reached the Northern Cape of the Bering Sea, which the Chukchi called Ryrkaipiya.

  News of foreign ships crossing the Bering Sea unchecked reached St. Petersburg. By decree of Empress Catherine II, a special expedition was established in 1785, whose task it was to chart the shores of Chukotka. Scrupulous study of the northeastern border of the Russian Empire can be dated to this time. The leader of the expedition was named Joseph Billings. His closest associates included Gavriil Sarychev and Christian Bering, the grandson of the famous explorer and seaman Vitus Bering, whose name was later bestowed on the Irvytgyr strait that separates the American and Asian continents.

  The village of Lorino – or Liuren – was not then situated as it is at present atop a high turfy tundra shore, but rather over a shingled beach where a small river flowed into the ocean. The estuary served as a safe harbor that protected the hunters’ skin boats from inclement weather. Liuren was a rich settlement. In the summer people hunted whale, and in the tundra, near the Kurupkan watershed, grazed the herds of Imlyret, a distant relation of the Uelen sea hunter Tynemlen, whose own ancestor Mlakoran had brought deer herding to this part of the peninsula.

  Tynemlen appeared in the deer herder’s camp in late autumn, sailing up to Liuren in his father’s hide canoe.

  Tynavana was in the crowd that had gathered to greet the visitor and recognized her betrothed right away, despite never having laid eyes on him before. He was taller than the rest, well built, with a dark strip of mustache on his upper lip. His piercing eyes were black like those of a nerpa, but with an inner spark. He had also noticed Tynavana immediately and smiled at her, subtly, using only his eyes, from a distance. Tynavana was wearing a light fawn-skin kerkher appropriate for the season. The air was mild, even in the frosty wind from the sea, and she shrugged off one of her sleeves, baring a young, taut breast and a throat ringed with a leather necklace, a blue bead hanging from its center. Another such bead had been plaited into her thick braid.

  Nevertheless, Tynemlen was not supposed to lie with his wife-to-be right away. He was given a sleeping place at the very edge of the polog, as far from Tynavana as possible, to prevent his enjoying his bride before the time came.

  The future husband and wife did, however, spend the rest of their time together, herding deer and, as it happened, making love on soft warm beds of tundra moss. From time to time Tynemlen would take the Sacred Book out of his hide satchel and show it to the villagers.

  “Ah, if only we could glean the things that are marked in there!” Imlyret, a man hungry for all things new, would sigh wistfully. “I’ll bet all the Tangitans’ secrets are recorded there. They know many things, they can do many things, and they possess a great deal of magical and useful items. We should be friends with them, not enemies!”

  The Tangitans came from the south, from beyond the mountains that ringed the Gulf of Mechigmen.

  “The Tangitans!” The cry raced through the yarangas. “The Tangitans are coming!”

  Imlyret ran out of his yaranga.

  He’d never imagined that the Tangitans would finally reach his own territory. His fellow tribesmen who lived in the south, in the valleys of the great Chukchi river V’yen-Anadyr, warred openly with the Russians and prevented them from penetrating the north and Imlyret’s lands. His neighbors in the west were the Yakuts and the Lamut-Karamkyts. But they were far from a reliable bunch . . .

  Suddenly he heard a Chukchi phrase.

  “We’re friendly!” The Tangitans walked alongside deer-drawn sleds. The deer ambled slowly, and must have made a long journey without being spelled.

  The Tangitans numbered no fewer than ten, but among them Imlyret discerned some chauchu. They did not look like captives. Despite their obvious fatigue they chatted to one another in a lively way, smiling in anticipation of a well-deserved rest after a hard tundra crossing.

  “Amyn yettyk!”13 Imlyret greeted the travelers politely.

  “Ee-ee, myt’yenmyk!” 14 a short chauchu who walked among the Tangitans answered, then spoke to the Tangitans in their own language as freely and fluently as though he’d been born Russian.

  “Mikigyt?” 15 asked Imlyret.

  “The Luoravetlan call me a Tangitan,” the man answered politely, “and the Russians have named me Nikolai Daurkin. They took me in as an orphaned child and raised me.”

  “Kakomei!” Stunned, Imlyret could articulate no more than this exclamation of surprise. He’d heard of this Tangitan’s existence, and about his knowledge of the Russian tribe’s life and customs. It was even said that he could emulate the Russian shamans, crossing himself and loudly chanting spells he fished out of the Sacred Book.

  Tynemlen regarded this tribesman of his, who had gleaned the mysteries of lifting human speech from markings on paper. He was struck by a burning envy.

  Tangitan-Daurkin explained to Imlyret that Captain Billings and his associates intended to cross all of Chukotka, learning about the beliefs and customs of its people, and finding out their needs. All this information would then be presented to Tirkerym – who was now a woman named Catherine – and she would decide what trade goods to send here. In addition, the Woman-Tirkerym was going to reward those Luoravetlan who were particularly helpful to the expedition.

  Having listened attentively to the translation of Tangitan-Daurkin’s speech, Imlyret ordered additional tents to be set up for the travelers’ use.

  During the evening meal, which took place in the herd master’s own spacious yaranga, and under the influence of the magical liquid that came from a dull white metal vessel, Imlyret proclaimed a firm intention to do everything in his power to make the Russians’ journey a success.

  “I bow my head to the Woman-Tirkerym!” Imlyret ceremoniously declared.

  Possession of enormous herds on the Kurupkan watershed, vast grazing lands that stretched between two oceans, all this was not enough for vainglorious Imlyret. Now fate had sent him the opportunity for recognition by the Russian powers in the guise of Captain Billings. Imlyret knew that what he had done would not meet with approval from the greater part of his brethren. But he reasoned, sensibly, that those who depended on him (and this was almost the entire population of the Chukotka peninsula) would stay quiet. And the sea-hunting ankalin – the seashore-dwelling Chukchi – faced with the prospect of losing a steady supply of hides, which an Arctic man simply could not do without, would choose friendship with him.

  Fatty deer meat had been set to boiling in a large cauldron over a fire inside the chottagin. A capacious brass kettle burbled nearby. Fire smoke mingled with smoke from the tobacco generously shared out by the newcomers, even to the women and children.

  The well-to-do host’s generous provisions for Billings were also extended to his companions.

  Tynemlen could barely keep up with the slaughter of deer. Tynavana was helping him. She had let down both sleeves of her kerkher, baring her taut, maidenly breasts. Gavriil Sarychev, one of Captain Billings’s chief aides, who had a blond beard and luxurious mustache, noticed the girl and from then on stared at her lustfully.

  As he chatted to the steadily more intoxicated Imlyret, Sarychev asked – through the interpreter – whether it was true that the Luoravetlan had a good and noble custom of sharing not just food and shelter with travelers, but also women.

  Despite being slightly drunk, Imlyret had kept his wits about him. He saw everything around him and took note. He’d noticed the way that Sarychev had been staring at Tynavana’s bare breasts all evening.

  “Yes, the custom exists,” Imlyret said with some reserve, “but only as a mark of special favor from the host.”

  “So what does one do to deserve special favo
r?”

  “Friendship, that’s the main thing,” Imlyret answered evasively.

  “According to our empress’s orders,” Gavriil Sarychev went on, “above all we must respect the customs of the local people, and to allow you to live as you like in your own lands. But if anyone ever comes with unfriendly designs, Russia would come to your aid.”

  “That is good,” uttered Imlyret. He liked the Russian’s words. And also the empress’s wisdom, in knowing that the Luoravetlan would never forsake their beliefs and their way of life . . . Meanwhile, friendship with a mighty ruler like the Russian Tirkerym, even if it was a woman – well, that they could agree to.

  When the guests began to bed down for the night, Imlyret offered Gavriil Sarychev a place within his own polog.

  The Russian hesitated, only to be encouraged by the interpreter, Tangitan-Daurkin:

  “It’s a great honor to be offered a place in the camp master’s own family polog.”

  Sarychev had experienced plenty of nights in the locals’ dwellings on his journey from the Kamchatka, and he was pleasantly surprised by the relative cleanliness and order in Imlyret’s sleeping quarters.

  It was customary to enter the sleeping polog half-undressed, and finish taking your clothes off inside the warmer space, which resembled a capacious fur-lined sack. To preserve the guest’s modesty, Imlyret tossed him a scrap of fawn skin, which Gavriil Sarychev placed between his legs. The host, trim and sinewy despite his advanced age, and the young man Tynemlen who sat silently in the corner, were similarly attired. The women, nude but for narrow chamois loincloths, dashed to and fro, spreading out soft deerskin bedding. As they worked, their bare breasts, hips, and hands brushed against the men, including their guest.