Tales by Polish Authors Part 38

"Yes; how are you?" a voice, hoa.r.s.e with the frost, cried from a distance; and presently a man of middle height, dressed in fur from head to foot, emerged from the darkness. "What are you doing, you silly fellow, standing out here in a blouse in cold like this? You are certain to catch pneumonia."

"And why not?... A year sooner or later----"

"All very fine! But I confess to you, Stefan, I shouldn't like to die here. One can't even decay like a human being; one would have to lie here for centuries like an ice statue, while the dogs would howl and howl----"

"Well, they are howling unbearably now; it's as if they scented something. They are worse than ever to-day."

"They are certain to smell something; in the town they say that the Chukchee are encamping here, and I have just come to tell you of it.

But let us go indoors; it's terribly cold, worse than it has yet been this year."

They went in. Stefan lighted the fire and busied himself with getting tea ready; Jzef threw off his furs and paced up and down the room with long strides.

"I say! This news is not quite without importance for us."

"What?"

"That they have come."

"The Chukchee?"

"Why, yes!"

Stefan burst out laughing.

"It's imperative for us to make friends with them; they are said to trade with America."

"Then with whom are we to make friends? With the Yankees?"

"No, with the Chukchee. Do be serious. You must do it, and it will be easy enough for you with your workshop,--all kinds of people constantly come to you. I will persuade Buza, the Cossack, to bring them; you will have a first-rate interpreter."

"By all means persuade Buza----"

"Oh, stop that! You always pretend to be indifferent to everything. If I had your health and strength, and were as clever----"

"Then you would be as homesick as I am, and pretend to care as little----"

"Do you think that I am not homesick?"

"No, I don't think you are--not in the least. You have a happy disposition, and can distract yourself with books and plans and dreaming, even if it is only for a short time. I must live, work, be active; I need impressions from outside. Otherwise I go utterly to pieces; I feel that I am slowly dying."

They sat down to tea and chatted until midnight. In that continuous darkness the late hours of night differed from the rest in the position of the stars, a harder frost with louder reports of the cracking ground, the fact that the fires in the cottages were extinguished, and the quieter but more dismal howling of the dogs.

"Then remember that I will bring them. Do something to take their fancy; you know how to do it."

"Very good. It just happens that I have the District Administrator's musical box here to repair; I will play it to them."

"That will delight them. 'A talking box'--I can imagine what they will say! And don't forget to buy vodka for them, and to entertain Buza also. We shall have need of him. I don't yet know what we shall decide upon--I don't even try to think about it; but I feel that something will come of this...."

"What?... Nothing will come of it. There will not even be any vodka left as a result, for they will drink it all up."

"You horrible pessimist! You always poison everything for me!" Jzef cried from the hall, and he banged the door after him.

Stefan stood in the middle of the room for a long while, listening to Jzef's brisk footsteps. He was smiling, for he liked to be accused of being a pessimist.

A few days later, sitting at the table with his back towards the door, and busy with his work, he heard a curious noise outside--someone stamping and pulling at the strap which served as a latch, as if unused to it.

Stefan turned his head inquiringly, and at the same moment a flat, brown face appeared in the doorway.

"Go in! Go in! You will let the cold into the cottage," someone cried from the hall.

Stefan recognized Buza's voice.

"Come in, by all means!"

"They have no manners. They are real Chukchee. This one is called Wopatka; he has been baptized. He is rather a drunkard, and rather a thief, but a good fellow. And this one--it's better not to touch him--is Kituwia.... Don't touch him!"

The natives stood quietly in the middle of the room, and looked round inquisitively, but without the slightest bewilderment. Their furs, which they wore with the skin turned to the inside, hung about them heavily and clumsily. They appeared to Stefan to be very much alike.

But Kituwia had a darker complexion, and there was evidence in his unmoving face, erect head, and compressed lips of a hard pride, amounting to contempt for all and everything.

Wopatka fell into a broad grin as he glanced eagerly with his slanting eyes round the room, which was so large and well furnished in comparison with his own tent.

"Take off your cap," Buza said to him, nudging him with his elbow.

Wopatka hastily pulled off his cap and showed the usual conical-shaped Chukchee head.

Kituwia had no cap. His long, thick, tousled hair was held back by a narrow strap tied just above his forehead. A similar strap from his low-cut skin jerkin crossed his bare chest and neck. He gave Stefan a sharp look, and uttered a few disconnected guttural sounds to his companion.

"There! Do you hear?" Buza said with a laugh. "They speak exactly like reindeer. They believe in reindeer, too; they think they will always have them in the next world. But Pan Jzef told me to bring them, so I have brought them."

"Very good. I will get tea for you at once--or perhaps vodka would be better?"

"That would be better, for they don't think much of tea."

Stefan showed them a magnet, and made the cuckoo-clock strike to amuse them. He had a certain amount of success with the clock; Wopatka was delighted, but Kituwia's restrained manner threw a chill over everything. The fire crackled merrily in the chimney; the guests threw off their furs and lolled on the benches; Buza burst out laughing from time to time, and Wopatka chuckled quietly, but Kituwia ran his keen glance from one object to another. However, at last even his face lighted up, and, uttering a smothered cry, he pointed to some large stones tied as a weight to the drying reindeer sinews. The guests formed a circle round these and tried to lift them with outstretched arms, but only Kituwia could do this.

When Stefan did the same, the native's face brightened with a look of friendliness. He called Stefan "brother," and pa.s.sed his hand caressingly over his back and shoulders.

"He is praising you and asking why he never sees you among the people round the tavern."

"Tell him that I haven't time; I am busy."

While Buza was explaining this, Kituwia's face a.s.sumed an expression of stony contempt.

"He doesn't believe that you are a smith--and that you are respected by the District Administrator all the same. He is just an ignorant native. With them a strong man only drinks and fights, and looks upon the rest as low."

The guests conscientiously ate and drank what was offered them. At parting Wopatka said, "Brother! Brother!" a countless number of times. The disagreeable smell of badly tanned reindeer skin and rancid reindeer grease remained behind them when they were gone.

"Your fame will spread among the Chukchee; you will have no peace now," Buza said to Stefan in the hall. "We thank you for your invitation. When will you send for us again?"