The Great Alone (16 page)

“I invite you to come to my barabara so we may celebrate the return of Andrei Tolstykh.” The extension of hospitality was the obligation of the village headman. “I will have my women prepare food. There will be dancing and singing.”

“I am honored.” He bowed slightly at the waist.

As Many Whiskers turned to escort Andrei Tolstykh to the communal family dwelling, Winter Swan spoke near Tasha’s shoulder. “Come. We have much to do.”

“I wish to speak with him,” she replied earnestly.

Tasha was gone before her mother could object. She hurried quickly to place herself in Tolstykh’s path. She waited for him to notice her. When he did, Tasha bobbed a curtsy the way she’d been taught.

“Welcome to Attu, Andrei Tolstykh.”

Stunned by this strikingly beautiful and unusual native woman, Andrei Nikolaivich Tolstykh stopped to stare. Seeing those round black eyes and that slender face, he concluded she must be a Creole. It was a full second before he realized she had addressed him in Russian. He looked again at the native parka of sealskin fur trimmed with otter, her bare feet, and the jet-black hair pulled into a bun native-style. She was definitely a half-breed, obviously taking the best from both races, Andrei decided.

“Do you not remember me?” she said anxiously. Frowning, he stared at her face again. “I am Tasha.” She reached inside the collar of her parka and lifted out a necklace with a silver cross of the Orthodox design. “You gave this to me.”

“Tasha,” he repeated incredulously. This stunning creature was the scrawny, big-eyed girl who had been one of his hostages five years ago. “You have grown so much I didn’t recognize you. You are a lovely woman.”

He marveled at the transformation. Her looks had always been unusual and vaguely arresting, with her incomparable skin and deep black hair and eyes. Andrei noticed how expressive her eyes were, presently betraying an eagerness that her face didn’t show.

“I am pleased you remember me.”

“How could anyone forget you, Tasha?” The longer he looked at her, the more he asked himself that question. There was something exotic about her almond-shaped eyes and the high cheekbones. No man could look at her without being aroused by that blend of the savage and the civilized. He was past forty, but he was not so old that he didn’t feel a stirring of lust. “How old are you now, Tasha? Fifteen?”

“Yes.”

“You must have a husband.”

“No. There are few Aleut men on the island I can marry. And the men from neighboring islands seldom come here to visit since the Cossacks are here all the time.”

“You will find yourself a husband,” Andrei stated confidently.

She started to back away. “I must go now. There are many preparations to make for the celebration.”

He watched her glide swiftly toward the village, then reluctantly turned to rejoin the village chief. He had counted on the previous good will he’d established with the islanders on Attu to facilitate this stay. Now he had to journey into new territory. He knew how valuable it was to have the cooperation of the natives. Somehow he had to persuade this chief to give him Aleut interpreters for hostages, to help insure his safety and the success of his expedition.

The day after the celebration, Tasha sat on the lee side of the barabara, sheltered from the wind, and worked at the tiny basket she was weaving, a basket so small it would fit into the palm of her hand. Although Weaver Woman’s aged fingers had lost their dexterity for such fine work, she directed Tasha’s hands.

Long blades of rye grass lay in a shallow basket. Each had been carefully dried to achieve the desired shade, the amount of time exposed to the sun varying, depending on the darkness or lightness sought. Tasha selected one from the loose pile. With fingernails grown long especially for that purpose, she carefully split the grass blade lengthwise into a narrow strand, almost as fine as a thread. As she dampened the grass to make it pliable, she glanced at her mother, who was busy sewing the cormorant skins together to make a parka.

“I like Andrei Tolstykh. He is a good man,” she said.

“You are a foolish woman!” The explosive denunciation came from Walks Straight. He rose to his feet, abandoning his scanning post on the curving slope of the barabara.

Tasha started to justify her statement, then looked at her Aleut brother. He was still nursing the wounds to his pride from his last encounter with the Cossacks. His mind was set against them. It was hopeless to argue, but she had her own opinions. Returning her attention to the basket, she announced firmly, “I wish that Many Whiskers had given Andrei Tolstykh permission to hunt.”

“I wish he would send all the boats away, make all the Cossacks leave,” her brother retorted and strode toward the beach.

His attitude troubled Tasha and prompted her to question her own, but it was difficult to hate as Walks Straight did when she hadn’t suffered any such injury. She knew the Cossacks had wronged her brother and others, yet, when she thought of Andrei Tolstykh, she knew he would not commit such an injustice.

“Your legs are young, Tasha,” Weaver Woman said in a voice raspy with age. “Fetch my pumice abrader. This skin is still rough.”

With knobby fingers, she felt of the inner skin of the cormorant, but her hand paused in its investigation as she watched the young girl lay the unfinished basket aside, the long vertical strands of the cream-colored grass dangling like a heavy fringe. Her attention remained on Tasha until she was well away from their worksite, then she shifted it to Winter Swan. Her hands ached. Every day she had to stick the needles in the special points on her body to take away the pain.

“I am an old woman. My eyes have seen many things,” Weaver Woman declared. “When I look at your son and your daughter, I see trouble coming … much trouble.”

Winter Swan hesitated before pushing the threaded needle through the cormorant skin. “Why do you say that?”

“There is anger in your son’s heart toward the Cossack.”

“Walks Straight will not act foolishly. He knows they are too many and too strong.”

“He is a young man. He does not like to be made to look foolish and stupid.” Weaver Woman slowly shook her head. “He will challenge the Cossacks.”

Winter Swan resisted the idea with an answering shake of her head. “He knows they will kill him.”

“Young men do not think of dying. It is only the old who know that death is always close.” She watched Winter Swan’s face; it told her she wished to speak of this no more—and that her talk had aroused worried thoughts. Respecting her wish, Weaver Woman pursued another course. “You have eyes, Winter Swan. You have seen the way the Cossacks look at your daughter. It is different from the way they look at the rest of their women. It is the roundness of her eyes, I think. They have not lain with her yet. But soon they will take her to their barabara and make her live with them.”

“The Cossacks always take women.” It was only because she had grown old that none wanted her now. She knew the pain of the experience and did not want it for her daughter. It hurt her to think of it. “There is nothing we can do.”

“The Blue-Eyed One has been fair to the Aleut. He does not cheat us. He does not take our baidars or let his men have us make parkas without paying for them. He has treated well the Aleuts who have stayed with him to learn the Cossack language.”

“That is true.” Winter Swan resumed her stitching of the skins.

“I heard him ask Many Whiskers to send Aleuts with him on his boat to speak for him at the other islands. It would be best if Tasha and Walks Straight went with him. Both can speak the Cossack tongue.”

“Both?” Winter Swan could not hide the shock and dismay she felt at the suggestion. She wanted her children at her side, even though they were grown. Someday Tasha would go with her husband to the village of his family, but that was not yet. “No.”

“It is best,” Weaver Woman insisted. “If Walks Straight is treated fairly, his anger will not be so great. If he is to find a wife, he will need to visit the villages of other islands.”

The logic defeated Winter Swan. “It may be well for Walks Straight, but Tasha need not go.”

“Search your heart. Ask yourself which is best. If Strong Man lived, what would he counsel?”

“It is not my decision to make.” Winter Swan took refuge in that. “Many Whiskers must decide whether to send any from our village with the Blue-Eyed One, and who shall go.”

“He is now your husband. You can speak to him about this. We have made many sacrifices for the sake of peace. This time you may choose which sacrifice to make.” Weaver Woman examined the cormorant skin again, then returned it to the pile to be used in the parka. “This is smooth enough for a Cossack.” Fighting her age-stiffened joints, she pushed to her feet. “My body says it is tired and needs rest.”

With laboring steps, she shuffled up the barabara’s mound to the roof entrance, passing Tasha on the way. Soon she would no longer be able to negotiate the notched log on her own; instead, she would have to ride on the back of her son Many Whiskers. Once the task of carrying her would have fallen to her anaaqisagh, Little Spear, but long ago he had left with the first Cossacks, never to return to Attu. Nearly every time a Cossack boat left these waters, one, two, or three Attuans were on board, mostly children born to the women with whom the Cossacks had lain during their stay on the island. Weaver Woman knew her daughter-in-law had been fortunate to have her children beside her these many summers. Now it was time to let them go.

More than a week had passed since Andrei Nikolaivich Tolstykh had anchored his vessel, the
Andreian i Natalia,
in the bay. Much of the time he spent studying the chart of these islands drawn by Admiral Nagaiev from the journals of Bering and Chirikov. A merchant by trade, Andrei had a strong gambling streak in him. The profits to be made from ventures to these islands were so great they more than compensated for the risks involved crossing the stormy sea. Yet he’d made his fortune three times over and still he came—a gambler needing to beat the odds one more time.

In retrospect, Andrei was almost glad the chief had denied him permission to hunt on Attu. These last few days he’d spoken with several Cossacks on the island and some of the natives. Although the sea otter continued to populate the waters off Attu, their numbers had dwindled and they had become more wary, diving at the first glimpse of a boat. The longer he looked at the charts of the island chain, the stronger grew his desire for the unknown. Initially, he had been forced to look eastward. Now he did so with eagerness, gleaning every bit of information he could from the natives about the islands to the east. These Aleuts were inveterate sea travelers, paddling long distances in their bidarkas to visit or trade with other island villages in the more than thousand-mile-long archipelago. Unless a native personally had been to a place, he professed no knowledge of it, never relating hearsay—a trait that proved very frustrating for Andrei.

Aware that his departure from Attu could not be delayed much longer, Andrei went ashore to seek out Many Whiskers and speak to him again on the matter of interpreters. The relationship that existed among the islanders made hostages imperative. They might be his one hope if he encountered hostile natives to the east, as well as being useful as interpreters.

As he approached the chief’s barabara, Andrei noticed the girl walking through the sun-splashed meadow purpled with blossoming lupine. Her head was held high, her face upturned to the rare sun. Andrei halted to stare at the Creole woman child. Carefree, she swung a basket at her side, its rhythmic motion matching her long, easy strides.

The colorful silk scarf he had intended to give her as a present was tucked inside his jacket. He’d been carrying it with him for several days now, planning to give it to her each time he came ashore, but the more pressing matters of his expedition had always sidetracked him. Now he found himself wondering how he could have let her slip his mind.

He motioned for the two promyshleniki accompanying him to remain where they were and walked alone to meet her. He watched her expression light up when she saw him—and the eagerness in her eyes that seemed almost bold. It flattered him that she would show a liking for his company. Briefly he regretted that she was a woman. A man would have more influence on the chief should Andrei gain his trust and persuade him to speak on his behalf. But her presence quickly dominated his thoughts.

“Good morning, Tasha.” He gazed at those round, slanted eyes, black as onyx.

“Good morning, Commander Tolstykh.” She made another small curtsy. She did it so naturally that it didn’t appear out of character despite her native garb.

His glance shifted to the basket in her hand. “I see you have been picking berries.”

“They are very plentiful this summer. Would you like some?”

“No. Thank you.” He remembered the scarf and reached inside his jacket. “I have something for you, though.” The scarf was made of China silk in a vivid crimson. As he handed her the square of folded material, the slick silk worked free of its fold and slithered out of his grasp. Tasha caught the strip of cloth. A look of wonder stole over her face.

“It is beautiful.” She set her basket on the ground to feel the material with both hands. “What is this cloth that is smooth as a feather?”

“It’s called silk. It comes from China.” Andrei knew the value of the China trade. The only commodity Russia had that interested China was the fur of the sea otter, and their demand for it exceeded Russia’s ability to supply it, making the pelts so much more valuable. And the Chinese didn’t care whether the pelt was prime, as they had perfected some technique to dye it and retain its natural look. One of their treated furs looked no different than the very best quality pelt. A single pelt on the China frontier brought as much as three hundred gold rubles. Silk, to Andrei, represented China, and China trade meant sea otter pelts worth more than their weight in gold.