Backpacks, sleeping bags, tents, cameras and shoes littered the bottom of an old wooden boat. The square box containing the generator sat on top. The boat swung clumsily and the water filled quickly. The men, led by Nikolay, ran on the beach with flashlights on their heads and passed bags to each other. The LED lights on their foreheads flashed and they looked like aliens that just landed.
The boat instantly filled with belongings and it became apparent that we would need more trips to cross all our goods and chattels.
— Guys, split into the teams, — someone cried out from the darkness.
I was one of the first to cross the river. Well, now we are seated. King jumped overboard and he was knee deep with big rubber boots, pushing the boat forcefully. He quickly hopped back in and off we floated.
King nimbly wielded with his pole and maneuvered among the rocks with an ease that distinguishes an expert. In the middle of the river the water began to seep inside. Then King grabbed a ladle and moved his hands quickly. Despite all this effort, our boat was swept by current. The Mras-Su river seemed calm at first glance, but now showed us its character. We are clearly passing the village — I thought. But our skilled helmsman did not think so. When he pulled the cord, the old motor started with a roar and we swam against the current.
We landed at the designated place, at King’s garden, to be precise.
— Go upstairs. The Queen is there — commanded King and disappeared into the night. He went for boys.
His Queen turned out to be the modest Luba, a silent woman in her 60's. Luba wore checker-patterned, old-fashioned short coat. She took us into her summer kitchen.
In the corner of the kitchen was a wooden table covered with a clean cloth. Along the perimeter of the room stood hand-made benches painted in a dark brown color. Under them — aluminum bowls filled with something milky. Part of the kitchen were taken up by the fireplace. From a hook hung a pot filled with water for tomorrow’s soup. Just above the fireplace — a hole in the roof, specifically left open for smoke to escape. Now, in the night, I saw the starlit sky shine through it.
We had a classic hiker’s dinner — canned fish in tomato sauce. Our hosts went into the main house and we were allowed to stay for the night in their kitchen. We unpacked our sleeping bags, our bodies lied stacked in a row and we realized that this night is going to be very crowded.
Our “domik” small, but precious. (domik in Russian means a small hut).
The kitchenette was so small that after everybody got a spot, our editor Eugene just barely fit. Eugene spent this night near the fireplace hugging the pot. As a director I have reserved the best spot for myself, in my opinion. The space nearest the door.
— Well, there, they’ll get you first. — tried to joke Eugene.
— Who?
— Who, who, the spirits. I am not deaf. I hear what everyone says. This mountain has special energy and we all know that this place is powerful.
— Hm. I did not think about it.
Throughout the night, I woke up. All my thoughts were about spirits. I tried imagining them but I couldn’t. Behind the door, a dog howled like a wolf. Do not think, do not think, do not think. My thoughts whirled in my head. Tune it to the OM. Do not even think to go pee. Concentrate on OM. OMM- MMM-OMM.
I do not remember when exactly I knocked out. Only Manuel did not sleep that night. He ran back and forth into the yard, turned on the generator, charged batteries. His poor brain constantly ran the calculations trying to figure out if we brought enough gasoline for 10 days or not.
Right before 6 a.m. the door creaked and King entered the kitchen. He trampled through in his rubber boots. The first thing he picked up was an old radio. He turned it on. Distant radio waves broke the silence. The first speech that the small house at the end of the world heard was from China and on the other end a Chinese woman cheerfully talked about something.
— Wow, how well it catches, — I thought.
The next radio wave flied from Krasnoyarsk. Grandads on the radio talked about how their lives have changed since they invited grandmas to do morning exercises together.
— Oh, no. Not now.
It was so difficult to lift my head from the self-made pillow.
Nothing could impede the morning of the royal family. It was clear that King is going to stay here for a long time. He came from the river, brought some water and made his way between the sleeping bodies. We must wake up. Less than a minute, the working space for King was cleared.
Next, King brought firewood. Kindled a fire. The smoke from the fire immediately stung our eyes and it became impossible to breath. With bullet speed we jumped out of the kitchen into the cold mist.
Meanwhile, Queen came to the kitchen and, as if nothing had happened, sat on the edge of the chair. It appeared that her eyes adjusted. In total silence she began to roll out the dough and sculpted something like homemade noodles “tutpash”.
In a few moments the water was boiling. The canned beef stew “tushenka” went into the pot. Home-made noodles followed.
Taking advantage of a free minute, Queen went to the yard. She grabbed one of the milky bowls from underneath the benches.
— Saryn, Saryn - called Queen.
After a moment at her feet a young husky dog wagged her curled tail.
— Saryn is still a child. Less than a year. — Queen explained to us and went back to the kitchen.
And then I realized. It just became clear to me. We are dealing with a rare case in documentary filmmaking when the characters do not talk to each other.
And what are they supposed to talk about? Just think about it. Here, in taiga, they’ve gotten so used to each other so words are not needed.
After an early breakfast King dressed up in white. He tied a handkerchief on his head, sat on the horse, straightened his back and rode to the end of the garden — to the fog, to the white flowers, into the unknown.
We looked at each other in wonder.
Strange things continued. Some surreal animals hidden by fog wandered around the King’s house. Whether cows, or horses. They were constantly moving and their paths were invisible to us. The sounds of huge bells around their necks echoed.
Where did King ride off to so early in the morning? This important detail would not let me rest.
Queen, meanwhile, milked the cow, dressed in white, took a bag with something edible, and followed King’s path disappearing into the white flowers.
This is how we were left alone.
9 a.m.
The fog lifted.
The sun rose and illuminated the hump of yesterday’s terrible dragon. In the morning light Aigan mountain did not scare us with its primordial horror. Over the top of the mountain a lone kite peacefully floated.
We decided to make soup for breakfast. There is no running water in the village, no wells. The villagers get their water directly from the river. The water from the river appeared to be crystal clear, though.
While we went to get some water, Nikolay made a fire.
— The water in taiga is different everywhere, — started Nikolay— Some places it’s a little sour, other places it carbonates which gives it a turquoise color, and somewhere else it has a lot of iron. In that small river, in the middle of Ust-Anzas the water is heavy —only good enough for washing cloth. Further away, in the rocks, there is a spring with the most delicious and rejuvenating water.
We boiled water in a large saucepan. We decided to make noodles filled with “tushenka” (canned beef stew). In this fresh air the food tasted delicious. Who knows why, maybe water or herbs from the garden did something magical to it.
After breakfast we put on rubber boots and went to check out the white flowers behind which King and Queen escaped. Behind the flowers the horse’s trail appeared. The path was so washed away that we had to paddle through ankle deep in mud. What would Vera do without the rubber boots?
The horse trail climbed higher and higher, and soon, in front of our eyes, a large chamomile field unfolded.
— Somewhere over here, in Taz Gol mount, there used to be an old trail, — Nikolay began — Elders say that it existed since mongols. It was one of the trails of the Silk Road. The camp was here. Tired merchants rested here and continued their journeys. Who remembers those days except for these stones?
— Let’s greet the stones — said Anita suddenly and bent her head towards the huge white stone sticking out of the ground. — This one is ancient. The most powerful one.
White, huge boulders the size of dinosaur eggs protruded here and there over the daisies.
We passed the mountain and saw a few male figures. Under the bright light men worked with scythes. They were wearing white cloth and looked down at us and continued working. It was King and his people.
Their harmonious movements were like a well-rehearsed dance.
Misha and Masha pointed their cameras at them. The rest of the team had to wait until the mowers will finish and come down from their natural Parthenon.
The editor Eugene understood the essence of it the best. He took an extra rake and joined the column of hay makers.
— Now they will mow for a week or more — said Nikolay. — This is the time. One day feeds a year. It’s how they say. If there will be no hay - no cattle. No cattle —then no milk. No milk, no cheese, nothing.
There are no electric mowers in Ust-Anzas. Everything is mowed in the old ways. On every hill the cut grass differed in readiness; some were semi-dry, some were very fresh.
Here our mowers finished the field. Left scythes. Moved to the next field. The dried up grass waited for them here. They picked up self-made rakes and started to turn over the grass to another side. When the inversion was over, a black horse appeared from the bushes. A cart was attached to the back of the horse and was quickly packed with stuffed dried grass. Then the horse brought it to the other side of the field.
On the other side a few men with forks waited for the horse.They quickly disassembled the grass and threw it in a future haystack. During this entire procedure, King stood on the top of the haystack and arranged the hay around a wooden stick hammered in the center.
We found Queen by the brook. She sat in the grass and washed potatoes for soup. At the same time she managed to pluck some herbs grown nearby and put them into her pocket.
— This is goose-grass. See those red flowers, this is clover. Leaflets in a shape of Chinese fan — this herb called manzhetka (lat: Alchemilla vulgaris). I always collect herbs. Dry them out. See the burdock? All useful. King steams it and drinks it throughout the winter. It helps him with his short breath. Sometimes I drink, sometimes I forget. Do you know when the best time to collect burdock? In late August or early September. I read it. I’m always reading about herbs.
Time for lunch.
During lunch King was in good spirits. He looked at Queen and suddenly said:
— If not me, you would never become Queen. — Really? — Luba laughed. — Yes. It’s right. Do you know when I married her? Right after the army service. What else to do after the service? One should marry. I stole her. We, Shors, steal our brides. I put her on a horse and galloped. Still pay for it. Just kidding.
— Listen, guys, let’s go to Dalny Kezek — Nikolay interrupted. It is another village about 5 kilometers (3 miles) deep in taiga from here. That’s where you will find everything you wanted; huts on chicken legs from Russian fairy tales, refrigerators in the brook. My distant cousin, Afghan, lives there. We all came from Raven (ed: he meant Shor clan Karga). Many years ago, a few hunters had gone deep into taiga in search of sites for hunting. They liked one meadow. Cleared some forest around, plowed the land and settled down.
Let’s check them out there and spend the afternoon with them.
