Tales by Polish Authors Part 39

"Ask Pan Jzef!"

"Well, did they come?" Jzef asked on the following day.

"I should rather think so! I was obliged to air the room for several hours afterwards."

"Did they not invite you to visit them?"

"No."

"We must have patience. They will invite us. Buza told me they are enchanted."

"Buza himself seemed to be the most enchanted. He ate and drank enough for three."

"And Wopatka?"

"What is there to say about him? He certainly seems a good hand at vodka. He is not up to much."

"No need to despise people like that; they will prepare the way excellently, and others will follow. One must wait patiently; I beg you be patient. I will arrange it. Last night I went to see Father Pantelay, the missionary. He is learning Chukchee. By-and-by we may be able to do something. We must learn to understand their customs and be friendly with them, so that they may get to like us. Don't grumble about them."

"I am not grumbling, but--they sat here too long."

"Well, we also have been sitting here too long."

Several days pa.s.sed. The Chukchee did not show themselves. Despite his a.s.sumed indifference and incredulity, Stefan was a little anxious, and looked round hastily every time the door opened.

It was late. Having just finished his work, and blown out the candle for the sake of economy, Stefan was musing in the firelight, when his attention was attracted by unusual sounds from outside--a curious noise and shuffling. Then the house door opened violently and banged to; someone rushed panting into the room and held the door against someone else who tried to open it. Stefan jumped up in astonishment and hastily lighted the candle. A Chukchee was standing at the door, covered with snow. He had wound the latch strap round his hand, and, steadying himself with his foot against the door, was pulling at it with all his might. It shook in the struggle. The native looked at Stefan, made an imploring gesture, and showed that he was defenceless.

From the hall came the sound of an impatient, hoa.r.s.e voice cursing, accompanied by heavy kicks on the door. Stefan fancied that he recognized the voice.

"Who's there? Stop that kicking at once! To the devil with you!" he exclaimed angrily.

The tugging ceased. There was a sound of muttering for some time longer, but when footsteps were heard approaching the unknown person left the hall. The Chukchee dropped the strap and turned to Stefan.

"Brother! Gem Kamakatan"--and he pointed to himself--"Gem no knife ...

Gem ... brother!" He made a pretence of falling to indicate that he would have been killed. His eyes were friendly; his fat, ugly face, with its wide, extended nostrils, expressed emotion and grat.i.tude.

"Brother! Anoai! Anoai!"

He went to the fire and began to shake the snow out of his skin jerkin. His furs, hair, and ears were full of it. He indicated by violent shuddering that he was wet, and that the water was running down his body under his clothes. He began to fain shivering and dying.

Stefan knew perfectly well that in weather as cold as this even a Chukchee would freeze to death in damp clothes. He guessed what the native wanted, and nodded.

"Gem Kamakatan" laughed and began to undress quickly. The next moment he emerged from his furs naked like a Greek statue, and Stefan watched with interest what would happen further. The Chukchee calmly hung his clothes in front of the fire, looked round, and, seeing Stefan's bed ready for the night, jumped in with great glee and disappeared under the quilt.

All this was done so adroitly and unexpectedly that Stefan could not help bursting out laughing. The Chukchee drew his head from under the quilt again, and repeated in a friendly way: "Brother! Brother!"

"Well, has he been here?" asked Jzef, coming in at his usual hour.

"He is here even now."

Stefan told his friend of the whole strange adventure.

"Excellent! Excellent! Things are moving," the latter repeated, walking on tiptoe.

"There's nothing excellent about it. I wish he were sleeping in your bed. He looks as if he had never washed or combed himself in his life.

If he had at least cut his hair; but he wears it long, as if he wished to make himself objectionable like Kituwia."

"That's nothing; these things are comparative trifles. Let me see him.

The longer his hair is, the better; for in that case he is a warrior and a celebrity. Did he tell you his name?"

"Yes; it's something queer like Gem Kamaka."

They took the candle and went cautiously up to the bed where the native, with his copper face in an aureole of long matted hair, lay asleep on a white European pillow. Suddenly his eyelids quivered and his eyes opened wide. For a moment he looked in astonishment at the men standing beside him; then he jumped up and stretched out his bare arm with a despairing gesture.

"Brother! Brother!" he whispered--"Anoai!"

"Brother!" Stefan quickly repeated, touching him kindly.

The native's face brightened with a childish laugh. He jumped lightly out of bed and ran for his clothes.

"A fine model!" Jzef exclaimed, slapping his back in a friendly way.

The native turned round with a start. In order to rea.s.sure him, therefore, Jzef went through the whole of his Chukchee vocabulary; and though "Gem-Kamaka" certainly did not understand much of this disconnected conversation, he grinned and repeated every word. His clothes being still wet, he sat down as he was at the table where the friends were drinking tea, and consented to eat something too, talking uninterruptedly in his reindeer dialect, and showing his large white teeth as he laughed heartily. Before he left he again laid his hand gratefully on Stefan's shoulder and said "Brother!" He also promised to bring his wife and parents to see him.

"And bring Buza, Wopatka, and Kituwia."

The Chukchee's face clouded a moment. "Very well--and Buza and Wopatka. We will drink vodka," he said in the local Russian-Chukchee jargon.

"We will drink vodka."

After he was gone Jzef embraced Stefan excitedly.

"This is splendid--first-rate! I already see myself on the ship."

A considerable time pa.s.sed; the continuous darkness began to be pierced by rosy gleams. But nothing was heard of the Chukchee. On the contrary, it appeared to Stefan as if those who came into the town avoided him. When Kituwia met him, he did not come near or even nod to him: sometimes he stared at Stefan with a threatening look in his eyes. Wopatka turned aside when he saw him in the street. "Gem Kamatakan" gave no news of himself, and Buza, on being questioned, declared that he really knew nothing about him.

"Gem-Kama, did you say? That's not even a name, let alone its having any meaning. I know every Chukchee word, but I never heard that.

Perhaps he is one of those natives who live without faith or law in outlandish parts of the country--in a word, a brigand. But never fear; I have only to find out where 'Gem-Kama' is, and I will get him here.

But what brought him to you two gentlemen?"

"What brought him? He came of his own accord."

Buza looked at Jzef suspiciously.

"The Chukchee say that Pan Stefan and a Chukchee together beat Kituwia; only the Chukchee was not called Gem-Kam, but Otowaka. The Chukchee in this district respect Kituwia very much, and are afraid of him. They say that he is a true Chukchee--a warrior. They are a wild people, but they have their customs; they are not like the Yakut."