Alexandr Keldyushov
She-bear

© Alexandr Keldyushov, 2017

© International Union of writers, 2017

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Alexandr KELDYUSHOV

Keldyushov Alexandr Gennadievich was born on July 3, 1972, in the village of Klyuevka, the Republic of Buryatia. From 1979 to 1989, he has been studied at the secondary school of Klyuevka. At school, Alexandr was fond of literature, drawing, and sports. In 1994, he became a full-time student at the Moscow State Academy of Physical Culture, at the faculty of physical health-improving technology, and graduated it in 1998. Since 2001, Alexandr is working in the Moscow State Academy of Physical Culture in the position of chief of security service. At the Academy, he showed interest in psychology, which he began to use later in the storyline of his works. In 1996, he published the first book ‘Ghost Hunters’. In 2008, the second book came out – the collection ‘I Bring You Peace». In 2010 – the novel ‘She-bear’, in 2011 – novels ‘Alienation» and ‘Z.L.O.’, in 2013 – the collection of aphorisms ‘The Wisdom of the Fool’. The author’s website: www.keldushov.ru.

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Siberia is the heart of Russia, where the soul of the Russian person resides. If we compare Russia with the tree, then the roots – the Far East, and the crown – its European part. But the stem itself, which is the foundation of the cultural heritage, – Siberia and the Urals. This is something permanent. In autumn, the leaves of the crown fall and the new shoots emerge in the ground, but the stem remains – solid and permanent. It keeps the connection between the earth and the sun. Those, who have never been to Siberia, will never see the charming perfection of its nature, its grandeur and beauty, will never enjoy its native Russian spirit.

Taiga is the unconquered virgin world, full of secrets and mysteries. Extraordinary beauty. The mesmerising picture, created by some talented artist, combines the strength, courage, and inspiration. Impenetrable swamps, the bottom of which lurks in the heart of the earth. Dizzying mountain cliffs ringed with snowy peaks. Established hills, reminiscent of the twin-brothers, among which it is so easy to get lost. Mountain rivers and streams, transparent like glass. And the endless green ocean of coniferous giants and tall birches, vanishing on the horizon. Taiga… This consonant word is full of limitless charm and outspoken immediacy, which is childishly naive and manly harsh at the same time. Some bypass it, others fall in love and cannot live without it. The green-eyed taiga – the way of escaping for those, who are tired of civilisation. The shelter from the hustle and bustle. The mother and the wet nurse. Taiga is the mysterious world, hidden behind the soothing whisper of leaves and the caressing touch of grass, the singing of the forest birds and the shrill chirping of insects, the cautious rustle of the stepping animal pads and the sharp flapping of the wings of the soaring birds, the murmur of the pure spring water, running through the stones, and the splashes of the jumping river fish. And only those, who merge with nature with their bodies and souls, will gain something invaluable – themselves. People realise that there is nothing sweeter than the woven, like by the touch of magic, fabulous place, that this is everything they have ever dreamed of. They will understand that everything is intertwined in nature and that the destruction of one evil species will disturb the balance. There are no good and bad animals. Nature is the totality of the animal and plant worlds, the vicious circle. Each death boosts the continuation of life for another inhabitant of the forest. Taiga is not only the herd of slender noble deer, timidly grazing on the wetland meadows barely warmed by the spring sunshine. There are also mighty careful moose, whose proud heads are crowned with regal crowns. It is more than just the stark grey silhouettes of wolves, sadly singing their moon song. It is more than just clumsy brown bears, slowly wandering among the blueberry bushes bursting with juicy berries. Taiga is about the carefully constructed of pine needles and dead branches, mysterious castles of the hard-working ants, as well as their secret inner life, vaguely resembling the human one. It is about the burning, painful bites of the forest mosquitoes and the annoying song of the little blood-sucking midges, winding like a cloud. It is about the light freshness, intoxicating the mind, and the tempting aroma of the air, making one’s head go round with every breath. Taiga is about the rugged windbreaks, reminiscent of some baptised battlefield, where, like the formidable army, the shaggy firs arrayed the watch, bound up with powerful, seasoned veterans – cedars. Taiga is about the flooded, like with bitter tears, glistening drops of pine resin, peacefully rocking the rambunctious breeze in their unshakable crowns. There are kinky mountain ashes, glittering in the predawn haze with bunches of scarlet berries, slender willows, whose branches gently touch the rough waters of the crystal clear mountain rivers. And in the deep waters of these rivers, the rainbow grayling lazily splashes, and the powerful predators – grey lenok – purposefully moves against the tide. Taiga is a state within a state, with its own sets of laws and rules, and only people do not fit into its peaceful life. People have lost their connection with nature, have destroyed the idyll. People only take without giving anything in return. And there is no limit to their appetite. They have lost their sense of measure. They always feel the lack of something. Once emerged from the womb of nature, they selfishly believe now that they have the right to dispose of everything. After all, a human being is a Creation of God, the supreme intelligence, and the animals and plants are something secondary, without souls. So, one can do anything with them: kill, poison, drive. However, people are sadly mistaken. Both animals and plants experience pain and suffering, just like we. Even a small grain of sand has its own forest soul, which suffers the pangs of death.

And as long as the destructive shots thunder from the trapdoors, the fishing nets overlap the floodplains in the season of spawning fish, the artful snares and loops overlay animal tracks to the watering place, there will be no peace on earth for neither the defenceless animals nor the true lovers of nature. For the poachers have no mercy. They only worship profits. Greed is the meaning of their lives. They look at the world through the sighting bar of the black barrel, greedily searching for the profitable catch, for which they are ready to do anything. After all, they see animals as a commodity with its own price, a cherished goal, a way of enrichment. And God forbid you to be on their way for they will deal with you immediately. When there is no conscience, there is no compassion. They will not hesitate to shoot you in the back. Yes, the law is harsh in taiga – only the ‘strongest ones’ will survive: the fittest, quick, and resourceful ones. In any case, the animals in the human form, to whom nothing is sacred, will not be among them. But you reap what you sow. And the animals, protecting themselves, pay back in their own coin for the death of their cubs with merciless revenge.

Although, we are the ones, who are to pay for the actions of some scoundrels for only being in a certain specific relationship to them. And if we do not stop this lawlessness, in the future, our children will be getting acquainted with the animal world with the help of documentary films or images in books, where there will be an inscription in red letters under each image – extinct species.

She-bear

Through the dense wall of bushes, the eyes, burning with the fierce hatred and being reflected in the flickering light of the campfire with the amber-ruby flame that corroded the soul with unbridled fury, angrily watched the kneeling man. The man muttered something and stood up abruptly, suddenly heading in her direction but, having not reached ten metres to the target, stopped near the tree, cut off a straight branch, and returned to the campfire. She-bear jerked tensely and predatory grinned, exposing rows of tightly compressed fangs. The fur on her neck stood on end. She sat down on the hind pads, preparing to jump. But the danger passed. Nervously shaking her upper lip and listening to the retreating footsteps, she cautiously sniffed the wind, catching the bitter suffocating smoke and the repulsive pungent smell of the human body. Before this, she paid no attention to it, carefully avoiding people, but everything changed today. Now she was looking for the meeting with them. The presence of people meant the accomplishment of revenge for her. Once again, she remembered that sorrowful picture in the smallest details: the blood-stained clearing and the motionless brown nubble. The past overwhelmed her with new sharp spasms of unbearable heartache. And people were guilty of all this. People… The hated two-legged creatures. They were weak, like worms, but guileful and resourceful, like wolverines. They had ruthlessly killed her five-month-old baby… Her son. They took him away. They deprived him of life. For a brief moment, the look, burning with the fierce hatred, got warmer when she imagined him rubbing against her leg, wheezing happily, clinging to the mother’s breast. But then the pain came back again, forcing her to moan of anguish in the realisation of a terrible truth. It was not going to happen again. Her baby was dead and quietly buried under a pile of fallen leaves. His motionless eyes, filled with pain and the silent reproach, were fixed on her. She did not save him. She did not protect him. She-bear began to shake her head desperately, banishing the painful delusion, and when she raised her head, her unblinking eyes reflected only wild rage. Having uttered a dull roar, she rushed forward. She did not see anything around, having focused only on the target, as if this man was responsible for the death of her bear-cub. She did not even notice how she ran the distance separating her from the killer. She thought that she only blinked and he was already in front of her. The fisherman did not even have time to turn around and realise what was behind his back. His death materialised like some ghost. The flash-like stroke of the pad was followed by the sweeping blow. One could hear the piercing crunch of the cervical vertebrae. And the man, like a rag doll, fell to the ground, motionless, with his face buried in the grass. But she had to give vent to her rage. The heart, tormented by pain, demanded retribution. And she began to tear the man, writhing in agony, furiously to pieces. Sharp claws tore up his flesh, leaving deep, bleeding wounds. Fangs easily crushed the bones, ripping the tendons. She was obsessively rolling the man on the grass, turning him with her pads. She was tearing and biting him. And she calmed down only when the man stopped showing signs of life. Looking intently into the pale blood-stained face and sniffing cautiously the motionless, lifeless body, she made sure that the enemy was not pretending. He was dead. Therefore, her revenge was accomplished, and another enemy was defeated. She began to grumble angrily, showing bloody fangs, and slowly went deep into the cedar forest, warily looking back. She won, but for some reason, it did not bring her peace, only short-term relief. It was a momentary unconsciousness and excitement of a duel. But it was all over, and memories of loss returned. And it brought her severe heartache. And then she decided: she would not leave the path of revenge and would pay back people for the caused sufferings in full until her last breath.

Introduction

The opening gate creaked plaintively and fell forward, being barely held by the rusty hinges. The old man carefully held it back and leant it gently against the lopsided fence. Hardly moving the legs stiff from rheumatism, he got to the bench, which was made of a single rotten plank. He shook his head annoyingly and sat down on the edge of the bench wearily.

– Holy Jesus. – He sighed heavily, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his shabby jacket. – Complete devastation.

Like everything around. It was late in the evening, and the smoke did not rise from the chimneys of all the houses. About thirty years ago, it was not like this. People happily stoked the ovens, preparing dinner and heating the house overnight. Children’s laughter and cheerful voices of adults could be heard in the rooms. These voices were full of joy. There was confidence in the future. The air was filled with the resinous scent of the wood burning in the furnaces, sending blazing sparks of fireworks through the chimneys. But today.

He got a light from a match and took a deep puff. He gloomily raised his weathered face and somewhat blindly squinted. Today, the blank windows were greedily staring at him. It looked as if the houses swallowed their owners, but killed themselves too. There were broken windows, removed doors and window frames, grey cluttered rooms, and sooty walls. He could not even remember the last time there was some holiday in the village. Or rather, he remembered that it was long time ago. Very long time ago. The world seemed simple and people seemed kind. It was in that stagnant time.

– ‘Stagnant time’. – The old man angrily grunted. – How did they dare call it?! And it turned out that now we have peace and grace in our country. So, when everything was building and working, it was stagnation, and when the plants were closing, pension and salary were not being paid for months, it was progress. Democracy distorted everything. It replaced the concepts of good and bad. In fact, it was pretty simple: the authorities were the enemies of the people, who were robbing the country. They were stuffing their pockets. They were dancing to someone else’s tune – American. – And he angrily spat. – Stalin would quickly bring order to the country.

Nothing could convince him that considering the USSR the period of stagnation was not a deliberate invention of the democrats, who tried to justify the ruin of the country and to hide their involvement in the theft. No matter how hard they tried. He had no doubt that now was the notorious ‘stagnation time’, and long ago everything was different – the life was in full swing. Lips involuntarily stretched in a smile and, plunging into the memories, the old man’s face smoothed, brightened. Wan look filled with the brilliance of the youth again, and naughty lights of happiness and serenity began to dance in his grey eyes. He felt like he got into the past and saw his house at the end of construction. It looked like it was ready for people to come in and live, but there were still some flaws to be fixed. Having straightened his shoulders and pumped air into lungs, he instinctively rubbed his dry palms; his hands seemed to be filled with former strength and to remember every hammered nail, every cut made by an axe and a plane. Chips flew happily, it smelled paint and a freshly felled tree. Work was progressing well, and happiness was on every face. Pyotr, Mishka, Seryoga, Volodya. They helped to build the house, fending off fatigue with jokes and rhymes. They were friends from the bygone times. Now they only look at him from the photographs on the gravestones. All of them left him along the bitter trail, disappearing in a dark mist of nothingness. There were shadows that retained their former earthly appearance only in his heart and memories. They were alive there. Nobody shied away from work. They helped as much as they could. And they never refused. They were so young and were not afraid of difficulties. The past was like a breath of fresh air, a breath of light breeze. It would soothe and caress, gently relieving of the burden of years, poverty, and hopelessness. It would take away sorrow and wash away the pain.

Tears flowed from the eyes of the old man, but he sort of ignored them, motionlessly contemplating the distance of the past days.

Sturdy cedar walls, carved freshly painted shutters, well-tended garden, in which the wife planted flowers every spring. Crowds of children going to school, joined by his son and daughter. Favourite work in forestry. He was a senior forester, a chief, who never pulled rank. And all the former friends were his subordinates. They worked and spent vacations together. And then…

Wet optically challenged eyes of the old man were covered with pain and anguish.

There was darkness. And he, as if for real, went back to the past. The years turned into a second. A moment. A deep groan. He and his wife, discussing his work day, usually sat on the couch and turned on the TV to see breaking news. He carefully covered her with a blanket and absently turned around… He was listening to the speaker. The news about the conflict between the Parliament and the President struck like thunder. Reports showed crowds of angry people, frozen tanks, strained faces of the soldiers, and ‘the White House’ blackened by soot. Back then, he did not realise that this was only the beginning of the bloody show. The Soviet Union was hit by the hammer, splitting a united, strong state into independent republics, and the greedy little hands of foreign speculators were reaching out for the wrecks of a great empire in anticipation of winning a big jackpot. And they were naive, ordinary workers and anxiously worried about the fate of the Motherland. These were the days of tension. They were full of rumours and speculation. At work, they were arguing until they got hoarse. Young people sided with the new government, taking for granted the colourful speeches on the indispensable coming of the Golden Age. And politicians, who had sold themselves, were happy to try ‘to sing like a nightingale’ to butter up the path to the hearts of the people with illusory freedom, cheap vouchers, and American chewing gum. The elderly people, having learned from bitter experience, did not want to change anything, arguing that the western innovations would lead to no good. They were proving that there was no such thing as a free lunch. And they were right. And time proved it… The puppeteers became obsessed. People were explained that they lived in a wrong way. Unworthily. Communism was the same fascism, only of red colour. It turned out that people needed freedom. Democracy. And only this could help them live a wealthy and happy life. And restructuring rattled around the country with forged boots, maiming human destinies, exasperating hearts, and making souls stale. It was quietly pressing people into the small suffocating enclosure, leaving behind abandoned country sides, impoverished villages, robbed state-owned enterprises, and empty wallets.

The old man smiled bitterly blowing out a puff of smoke. And he took a puff again. His thoughts were twisted like a disturbed swarm. For so many years, he had never found a clear answer to the main question: who should be punished for all this mess? And he sighed heavily again, having dully waved his hand.

– God will understand himself, who is guilty of thousands of ruined souls… He will identify and punish the villain. I will mind my own business. – But the belief in just punishment did not find the proper relief. He limply lowered his head, which became very heavy in one moment, and turned in upon himself, unable to soothe pain, gripping his soul.

He felt sorry that their cosy little world faced the same fate. The trouble did not pass by. The once densely populated village was dying out today. His fingers involuntarily clenched of the feeling of despair. He knew that he was deceiving himself, hiding behind the words: ‘everything was going to be alright’, a terrible reality. Klyuevka was not dying out. The truth was worse. It was already dead. It was remaining only as the name of the settlement marked on the map of Russia with an inanimate point. A settlement without inhabitants. A haven of abandoned houses and fallen fences. Another ghost station on the railway atlas of Russia, with an empty platform. And regardless of one’s emotional experiences and attempts to turn back the clock, the past was gone. One could not breathe life into a dead decomposed body. But even if one could, it was unlikely worth doing. It was possible that one’s efforts would resurrect a new Frankenstein. And its fate would be more disastrous. It’s all in God’s hands. ‘What must be, will be’. One needed to accept the terrible reality. People were surrounded by the frightening reality, and there was no way to break free. And a single voice had no value. All posts in the world were allotted long time ago. The position of ‘the saviour of the world’ was already taken by those, who had destroyed this world by themselves.

– One can accept many things, but not outright injustice, – he said sadly. He wearily bowed down and, hiding his face in his palms, ruffled his thick grey hair with naughty fingers. – People have become too callous and aggressive, not like our generation. They are ready to rip each other’s throats. And they have bags of envy. They smile in the face, and when one turns around they spit on the back. But the worst thing is that the death of a person today is measured by dry figures. Today, twenty people died in a car accident, three of them were children of preschool age. Yesterday, the explosion of domestic gas in a residential building claimed the lives of one hundred people. The day before yesterday, the ship sank and took the lives of another hundred people. And here the ink writes out the soulless statistics: weekly, monthly, annual… ‘So much’ departed. But last year, this figure was better – it was smaller. For whom was it a better figure? For the family? For friends? For relatives of the deceased? Unlikely. It was better only for the report. And that’s it. We do not know what will happen tomorrow, but something will certainly happen and someone will die. There is no doubt. Hundreds of thousands are put in the coffins, and their entire course of life, the way of life and the lifestyle are reflected at the impersonal tags. Hundreds of thousands… but few of them are known by the names, and even fewer – by the surnames. And one could write off all the deaths on the concourse of circumstances or the evil will of fate if most of the tragedies were marked by the trace of alcohol. Some reckless deadly demon, trapped in a vodka bottle for hundreds of years, broke free. It was his time… The time of confusion and despair. And he began his mad dance, smiting hopes, trampling the will, smearing conscience and shame, destroying what was formerly a person, showing a raging monster.

– And its vicious influence reached us too, – the old man hopelessly forced himself to speak, helplessly listening to the melancholy howl of the neighbour’s dog.

Out of eight thousand residents of Klyuevka, only less than one thousand remained. And almost all of them were the elderly ones. Young people, who did not run away to the cities, went on the bottle, trying to cope with sorrow. The demon of drunkenness firmly held the lost souls, injecting doses of poison into the minds fogged with alcohol, creating the illusion of universal prosperity. And in the morning, the hangover came. Sharp and painful. And there was the realisation that the world was not ‘pink’, not even with black and white stripes, but solid grey. The power in this world belonged to the gloomy cardinal named hopelessness. He ruled with an iron fist, brutally suppressing any attempt to escape from captivity. It was dissolving the remnants of the human mind in tonnes of cheap surrogate alcohol.

Unscrupulous businessmen. Bandits. Police. Officials of all sorts and ranks. Like ticks, they stuck to the extremely profitable ‘feeding through’, and no force could tear them away. Yes, there was no such power in the state that was able to keep order. All the ‘politically unreliable’, going against the decrees of the oligarchic elite, honest and decent police chiefs and business leaders were put out to pasture. They were replacing with obedient servants. And corruption began to thrive. One only needed to reap benefits on time. Dollars. Marks. Pounds. They flowed, like the river, settling in the pockets of thieving dealers. Shadow bigwigs came out of their holes, beginning to build their own world order. Under the motto: ‘scratch my back and I will scratch yours’. The article about speculation was seized from the Criminal Code. There was no speculation in Russia, but there were free market relations. There began the wave of legal democratic relations between the seller and the buyer. And nobody cared that the product was not created with their own hands and was just resold at exorbitant prices. Coupons for alcohol were out of use, and vodka itself disappeared from the shelves of the shops as well. The notorious ‘dry law’ was gaining momentum. The state rushed to fight alcoholism at breakneck speed, uprooting vineyards and closing liquor factories, depriving people of high-quality alcohol. Meanwhile, hundreds of cisterns of denatured alcohol ‘Royal’, ‘made in China’, flooded the railway siding of Transbaikalia. Dealers launched a brisk trade of real poison in the country sides and villages. Excitedly rubbing their sweaty palms from anticipating the profits, they fell into the greedy trance. They were enriching the offices of funeral services, which they owned at times. These were the market relations. The double income was obvious: kill and then bury. The business on blood was profitable. People were dying like flies, dozens a day. During the year, the local cemetery grew to immense size, turning into a horrible and sad sight. Any new grave belonged to a man or a woman, younger than forty years old. And there was not a single initiated case, not a single conviction. Everybody knew the perpetrators of the crimes, but nobody was imprisoned. And it was impossible to put someone into prison as government officials were controlling everything. Everybody was in the mix: prosecutors, regional chiefs of police, investigators, and chiefs of local departments. Therefore, everybody knew and said nothing. And there was nothing else to do. One could write to Moscow and there would be no result, if not worse. Or one could be put in prison for ‘slander’. Or a more serious article could be fabricated. Or one could be simply killed by some criminals, who would be set at a certain person. In those troubled 90s, it seemed that all the atrocities took place under the connivance of the higher management from the capital. The country was ruled by oligarchs, who were happy with drunken people, as they required less, were satisfied with the crumbs, did not interfere their enrichment, their ‘cutting’ of the budget. And if someone died, it would be even better, as the number of people dissatisfied with social injustice would be smaller.

– When one remembers the past, one begins to tremble. All this was so disgusting, – the old man signed bitterly, – low and meanly. We defeated the Nazis, won a victory over the hunger, rebuilt the cities. Over time, we began to feel that life was getting back to normal. And it turned out that there was some internal enemy in the country, hiding and waiting for the right time to destroy everything. And the consequences of his attack were even more catastrophic than those caused by all the previous wars together. What for did our fathers and grandfathers die during the Great Patriotic War, clearing the land from the ‘brown evil spirits’? Well, certainly, it was not for the fact that their children would die from counterfeit vodka, gangster and police lawlessness, bureaucratic indifference. It was unlikely for the descendants to put up their medals for sale, to glorify traitors and executioners, to consider true heroes to be the occupants, destroying their monuments with the frenzied hatred. Despising the Soviet symbols, they would raise their hands in a Nazi salute, tattooing the bodies with the Nazi symbols and the swastika. What made them betray the memory of their fathers and follow the doctrines of the Nazi ideology? Most young men were not the descendants of the traitors but the usual Russian teenagers. Many families preserved the photographs of smiling soldiers and officers, together with the tearful death notices. And the great-grandfather died not from old age but from the bullets of the Nazis. Those, whom they fanatically imitated these days, killed him.

If the ancestors were able to see all this, they would turn over in their graves, being ashamed of the crazy things of their careless children.

‘Everything was better before than now’. These were only excuses. When before? During the war? During the hunger? During the devastation? There were always difficulties. Only in the past, there was no such epidemic moral decline. False idols were not worshiped. One could understand a simple truth: if you were with us you were a friend, if you were against us you were an enemy.

Young people perished in the vague era of changes. They could not be brought back to life, and making their children orphans, they unwittingly pushed them to the edge of the abyss too. Raving about some imaginary freedom, they mixed the sacred meaning of the expression with permissiveness and promiscuity. The generation of the seventies, who failed to adapt to the new realities, gone nowhere, crashing into the wall of the nineties. The youth of Klyuevka, who ‘escaped from the swamp of stagnation’, as the USSR was called by the democrats, suddenly discovered that they did not get out but only sunk deeper into hopelessness. It turned out that the surrounding swamp had no end and no edge, and the bloomy bank was only inspired by the phantom, masking the bottomless quagmire. The eyes faded on sad faces. The ability to enjoy life dissipated, leaving a faint trail of children’s dreams. And a black deep longing took its place. There was no work. The timber industry enterprise, once thundering throughout the Soviet Union, was closed and looted. The workers were fired and aimlessly roamed around the streets. Only sellers of denatured alcohol thrived. After a year of life in the fast lane, young healthy men and women turned into swollen weak-willed ‘pests’ with the only purpose to find funds for the next bottle. They took the last thing from the house that had at least some value, including tools and window frames. They did not think how they would spend the winter, how they would dig up a vegetable garden. But ‘hunt’ was worse than captivity. They resigned to many things: poverty, hunger, and, most importantly, daily alcohol consumption.

Having lost themselves, people lost the meaning of life.

Painful and bitter. It was painful to remember the past, and it was bitter to live in the present. The dull present had no place for anything good, for joy, for hope, and all the dreams were buried alive.

The old man looked at the neighbour’s houses with sad eyes and sighed heavily. Once blooming, now the street was a pitiful sight. The paths, leading to the gates, now were overgrown with grass and weeds. The vivid images of their location popped up out of memory. They were wide and narrow, lined with Baikal pebbles or boards. But every visible path sort of implied that it was still there, that somebody was still walking on it, leaving an immutable track every day. Here the owner returned in a joyful state of mind, humming something. He was not walking but flying, not touching the ground. Having forgotten about the current affairs, he was mentally in another dimension. At some holiday. The neighbour invited to the birthday party, and the man got out of the wardrobe the former wedding suit and the lacquered shoes, which he was wearing for all occasions. The prints of black shoes were rare, one could count them on the fingers during the year. But they left a bright clear trace. This was the trace of happiness and joy. Rapidly dissolving seconds of the fleeting happiness in the solid grey mass of ordinariness. Unique, memorable event. It was a pity that it would not last forever. The next day, he would feel sad and would go slowly, rapt in contemplation. Life went on, it did not stop in one place. Everything was on schedule. On weekdays: he was rushing to work early in the morning, and in the evening he was almost running back home to have time to go into the forest to pick mushrooms or berries before dark. On weekends: having put on the waders, he was going fishing, or out with friends to Baikal to have a drink. Sometimes, he was combining these things. In rainy autumn weather, he was kneading mud with kersey boots, in winter – with valenki. Each footwear was marked with the stigma of the weather. And the cleaned carpet – with a broom or a shovel. There were women’s, children’s, and men’s prints. Familiar and strange. If there were a lot of them, it meant that the family was large and hospitable. If there was one type of prints, it meant that the owner was a loner and preferred solitude. But he/she was not always sitting indoors, rarely leaving his/her lair.

Who needed now these disembodied ghosts of people lost in time? Was there anyone interested in their life philosophy, the way of life, the role in society, political correctness? What would they teach others? And did they leave an indelible mark in history that would be an example for the next generations? Or did they come and leave traces by simply bringing dirt and dust, making a thorough general cleaning necessary? After this cleaning, there would be no mention of their existence. There would be only a pit dug in haste, the farewell words spoken in a hurry, and a nameless grave. No fence. No monument. In a year, the ground would collapse, the wooden cross would fall down, grass would grow on the ploughed ground, and nothing would remind of the human burial.

– Vanity of vanities, – the old man shook off the ashes and took a deep puff again. – Everybody is rushing somewhere, making enthusiastically grandiose plans for the future. But when one looks back, it turns out that there is nowhere to rush. Regardless the efforts to reach the horizon, they still did not come any closer. All our ‘achieved’ goals – only the visibility of success, nothing more than the usual rat race.

Having leaned on the fence exhaustingly, he wearily covered his watery eyes and turned back to his memories. So many years passed, and he clearly remembered the events of the past years in details, like it was yesterday. He remembered sitting on the bench and using the new TV set with Semyon and Varya. He remembered celebrating the wedding of the neighbour’s son, and a year later – of his daughter. And now, the family house, after their death, was put up for sale by their children. But time was running, and the new owners were not coming. The announcement on the plywood burned out, the paint cracked, the phone number could not be disassembled, only from the close distance. But it was still hanging lonely on the wall, hopefully watching the rare passers-by go, often weeping out of despair and loneliness together with the rain. It was consumed by resentment at the people, who grew up in this house, but did not pay a visit for several years.

– The time is merciless, – the old man uttered aloud and opened his eyes, – both to people and the houses. No matter how many times you were fixing the house, it would not become new. And the same thing happens to people. Despite attempts to fix their health and beauty, they do not become any younger. And nobody needs this lopsided peasant house, without windows and doors, with cracks, thick as a finger, between the logs, and with a slate roof reminiscent of a large sieve. It will not save from the rain and will not shield from the wind. The tottering barn, which is standing next, with black, due to the mold, boards, would be useful only for the firewood. The lopsided fence, reminiscent of a gap-toothed mouth of a toothless old man, was still retaining the faded and cracked colours of the old paint in some places. And it turns out that only a plot has a price, and the rest is just a free addition. And they write in the advertisement ‘house for sale’, which will be cheaper to be demolished than to be repaired. And around… Visible peace, resembling the atmosphere of the cemetery. Tranquillity of the soul, in which vanity receded into the background. In reality – lifeless desolation. The real burial ground of civilization. Withered grass up to the waist. Lopsided benches. And the road asphalt, creeping away into the distance like an atrophied snake, mangled up with potholes and pits, survived after the massive bombing as if by chance. Having escaped from the hustle and bustle of the city, one could not enjoy peace and solitude. The apocalyptic view of the village was only adding more depression and despondency.

The gate abruptly hit the fence, caught unexpectedly by a gust of the wind, twisted, and sank heavily, resting its lower corner on the ground. The old man sighed heavily and shook his head helplessly. He would have fixed it, ‘God damn it’. Thank God, he was still able to hold a hammer and would not hit past the nail. But it was not about his hands. He needed construction material. He needed to get new hinges and, most importantly, to replace the columns, which eventually had turned into dust. But buying the necessary things was an acute problem. He did not have enough available funds. Living on a pension, he could not afford himself much. He had to choose: ‘to leave things as they were’ but to eat well, or to buy lumber but to stay hungry. At his age, the choice was obvious. He smiled, but the smile turned to be sad. During the war, when he was a child, he went through the hunger, and today he did not want to experience that feeling again. A pensioner – a person living in poverty. Certainly, if you were not a deputy or an underground millionaire. Pension is a wake-up call for a ‘citizen’ that his/her time went out, the state ‘expelled’ him/her to the well-deserved rest. In plain language, the state got rid of the citizen, throwing him/her to the backyards of the society, having solemnly paid the last ‘well-deserved monthly payment’ in the amount of the minimum subsistence level. And the person could live at his/her leisure. But the leisure could fit in the amount of some coins, less than a rouble. Overseas, pensioners enjoyed life, travelled, rested by the seas, and here people were only fighting for their lives, surviving on bread and water. But he did not complain about his fate. It was somewhat tragic but happy. That was a shame that the state rated so low his long-term work and health ruined for the prosperity of the country. Today, paradoxically, he was ‘not exactly a beggar’. ‘Not exactly’ because he had a house and a loaf of bread, so he should be proud of his poverty. And the loud statements of politicians that the pension increased by three per cent were very annoying. It was enough to make a cat laugh. Well, they added three kopecks to three rubbles, but that did not make life easier. One needed to save many kopecks to a full rouble. For years. And the products cost over a hundred. So, one kopeck was the most useless thing at the present time. Yes, he was retired. For a long time. Since the forestry stopped its work. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, it was replaced by the CIS, but it did not function for a long time. Nobody wanted to share the stolen property, and it was better to be a king of one’s own state than a noble vassal of a wealthy lord. So, Russia remained in bitter loneliness, presenting a tempting ‘sweet cake’. What a great scale for enrichment! Here the local elite began to act. It began plundering the national economy. Its appetite grew, and the number of places, where one could ‘reap’ the benefit, became less. Russia turned to be not such a big country, and its wealth was not that never-ending. And then the greedy eyes turned to the people: ‘to get even a flock of fur from a outbred dog’. Nothing personal. Just business. And all hell broke loose. The idea of privatization was accepted ‘as smooth as silk’. ‘Without a hitch’. They took away everything from people, leaving without the last shirt, but with a voucher. The authorities implied that the owner of the ‘precious papers’ was almost the owner of the business, where he/she was working. There were assuring that a person, as a shareholder, was entitled to solve any problem of his production. A person did not even need to work but to live on the income from the interest. One could sit in front of the TV on the couch and get the dividends. People got the wings, not realizing that the wings were ghostly. They could not fly. ‘The first step was the hardest’. Six months without a pay check… and the vouchers were sold for a song to those, who had arranged this whole monetary collapse. To senior management. People tried to rebel, but the authorities quickly pacified them, clearly demonstrating the dissatisfied ones, as in the couple: with ‘bird cherry tree’ and a rubber bludgeon, professionally interacting police arbitrariness. And those, who did not get everything from the first time, the judicial system began its work, grinding out its fifteen-day verdicts. The slogan ‘Russia for the rich’ flourished. And these ‘celestial beings’ indulged in every pleasure. Respectable mansions. Luxurious yachts. Fashionable apartments. Exclusive cars. Platinum chains. Diamond necklaces. Sable fur coats. The avid elite gathered into the predatory pack, obsessed with greed for gain. And they began to ‘rule’. They were spitting ‘from a high bell tower’ on the illegality of their criminal deals, which gave them millions in profits. They were flouting the law. Wolves in human appearance sort of enraged, trying to outdo each other. In luxury and intrigues. They were ‘generously’ inculcating ‘the former workers and farmers’ with progressive western values.

And for some of them, under the triumphant howling of trumpets, the century of ‘the golden calf’ began, but the country dipped into darkness.

It was democratic Russia, where there was no place for the common people. Actually, some place was chosen, though, far from prosperity. Like for dogs, their independence was indicated by the size of the aviary. And to be on the safe side, they would be chained. It would even stop them from thoughts of escape. And a dog was sitting on the chain, absurdly wasting time. There was the desire for freedom, but there was no enough strength. The chain was made of a robust metal, the rings were thick and forged. The collar was not simple, but the timber-hitch with sharp spikes. The links strained but did not tear. The dog went round in circles, pulled the chain, made sure of its strength, hopelessly lied down, and closed the eyes humbly. And there were a bowl of slops for the dog not to die of starvation and a whip, in case if the animal would go mad and try to attack the master. And so people lived. Different strokes for different folks.

– I am too grumbling today, – the old man said mockingly, enjoying stretching his legs. – Looks like I am getting old.

He threw his head, exposing his face to the warm night breeze, somewhat blindly considering the low starry sky. His look froze mechanically on the Big Dipper, then moved to the Little Dipper. Absently looking at these constellations, he felt how painfully his heart sank, and tears flowed from his eyes, a flood of memories about the tragedy of the past years echoed with mental anguish. He was instantly transferred to the past.

Chapter 1

The sloping edge, lurking in the depths of a virgin forest, covered with fern and blueberry bushes, seemed to just emerge from the Russian folk tale, and if one went deep into the midwood, one would suddenly stumble on a lopsided wooden hut of Baba Yaga on the chicken legs. People said about such places that leshy would break a leg, as there was a solid windbreak. In the depth of taiga, there were few things that reminded of the presence of civilised people. Only occasionally, one could hear the roar of jet engines, coming from the sky, and the heavy crackle of rotating propellers of the flying helicopters with hunters. And the rest remained unchanged as many centuries ago. This was the domain of Mother Nature with its own rules and laws.

Wet ground hovered, absorbing the warmth established by the weather. But even the ubiquitous sunny spring rays could not break through the thick veil of centenary giants, whose dense branching crowns propped up the firmament. Hiding in the twilight shadows and being inaccessible to the ravage of the sun, there were the pitiful remnants of the passing winter – grey slush. But spring was taking its toll. From day to day, the sun was burning harder and harder and the air was making people drunk with the intoxicating aroma of the vegetation, waking up from hibernation. Taiga was waking up. On the blue sky, the snow-white flocks of swirling clouds slowly floated, lazily driven by the light spring breeze. They were reflected on the rough surface of the mountain river, like ghostly shadows. The young osier-bed, which was close to the river, enthusiastically began to make a noise. Playful breeze fell upon flexible branches as if trying to flirt with tiny green leaves hatched out of swollen buds. In the grass, whose sharp-pointed shoots triumphantly made their way from the heated soil, grasshopper excitedly chattered, rejoicing at the arrival of early spring. The shrill chorus of ubiquitous flies echoed him, having settled on the bright blossoming buds of spring flowers that emitted a fragrant aroma. All the valley, adjacent to the river, resembled a procumbent orange carpet, woven from Siberian globeflowers – the first flowers of taiga. As soon as the first snow melted, Siberian globeflowers, caressed by the warmth of the sun, jumped out of the ground, happily spreading lush buds. The forest was delightfully ringing, getting rid of hibernation, filled with happiness and life.

Suddenly, the heedless din stopped and the air got filled with breathless expectation. The jay screamed shrilly, alarmed by the emergence of an experienced predator, but calmed down then, seeing nothing dangerous in his presence. The heavy voice of taiga crow echoed her. The vole flashed by, like a grey shadow, and took refuge in its hole. Frightened by the cry of the feathered watch, speckled grouses took wing from the ground and sat on a nearby pine, like bunches, twisting the sides of their heads with bewilderment.

From the side of the thick bush, surrounding the clearing like an impenetrable hedge, one could hear a faint rustle and a muffled snort. The broken branch creaked loudly, warning of something big and terrifying, the honeysuckle bushes parted and a seasoned she-bear came into the clearing, warily looking around. She looked like an armed spring, ready to act immediately. Her muscles were tense and showed up under the ruffled skin like relief mounds. She suspiciously looked around the surrounding area, sniffing the subtle scents, listened with her ears standing upright, trying to identify the lurking danger with sensitive hearing. But, having not detected any threat, she uttered a muffled roar. And as if on cue, a small brown ball rolled out of the tall grass. Bear-cub promptly ran into the mother and clumsily fell on his back, funnily waving his short, thick pads in an unsuccessful attempt to rise. She-bear gently pushed the blunderer with her pad and, having turned a somersault through the head, he ridiculously stretched out on the abdomen, confusedly looking around. But confusion quickly passed, bear-cub quickly jumped on his pads and tottered to his mother, playfully biting her fur on her abdomen and being under her pads. She-bear stopped and, busily sniffing the brown climbing stem with yellow stains on the broad leaves, began to dig. She pulled out a rough tuber with the shaggy skin of the size of a potato, hidden deep in the ground, brushed away the adhering dirt, and plunged her teeth into a juicy pulp with a satisfied rumbling. The plant was nothing but the root of life – batata, which would stimulate digestion after a long winter hibernation. Being pleased, she sat down on the warm ground, stretching out her hind pads like a human being. Bear-cub spun around, curiously looking into the mouth of the mother, but she-bear only peevishly turned away from the insistent claims of her son. He was still too young to eat food that was hard to digest. Bear-cub aggrievedly began to sniff, unhappy with the dismissive attitude, but his offence quickly went south. And he playfully dug his small sharp teeth into the pad of his mother sitting nearby, beginning to pull about excitedly the seized tuft of fur. Funnily snarling, he playfully bounced off the pad and re-attacked. But this could not go on forever. Although the teeth were small, they still caused some sense of discomfort, as they resembled sharp needles. She-bear quickly grabbed the mischief-maker and, pressing a pad to the chest, carefully licked the sharp little face of the bear-cub, who spun like a whipping top and tried to catch her nose. But the mother only mockingly growled, deftly avoiding the snapping teeth, firmly holding the wanton with the mighty pad. Despite the old days, he seemed to her the most favourite, the best bear-cub in the world; it happened so in the past and so it would be in the future, but already with a new baby. She would not hesitate to sacrifice her own life for the safety of her children. For them, she was ready to fight any opponent, even if the chance to win was negligible. Her life did not matter to her if this would keep the baby unharmed. Past. Present. Future. Everything mixed up. Only the feeling of love remained unchanged. Once she was thoroughly licking the soft skins of the former children, smelling of the mother’s milk. And now she did not even remember how they looked like. Now they were not children but real adult bears, able to stand up for themselves. But once there, in early childhood, she carefully watched over them, protecting from all life’s earthly woes. She passed on her experience, due to which they became strong hunters, skilled trackers, and therefore survived. And so would be with him, with a small ‘silly little chap’, who did not even know what insidious traps this life had set for him; those death traps, from which one could not always come out as the winner. But she would teach him how to avoid danger, how to endure hardships with courage. She would teach him how to be strong, cunning, enduring. And he would grow a real experienced animal, ready for any trouble. She-bear pushed her son and, funnily waving pads, he rolled on his stomach on the grass, having driven his nose into an ant hill at full speed. Ants, taking a warlike posture, met the intruder with a friendly volley of searing fire. Bear-cub, getting a portion of caustic acid into the eyes, whiningly screamed. And desperately shaking his head, stumbling, he ran to his mother with a plaintive howl, hiding behind her. She-bear grinned in a good-natured manner, turned around, and embraced the tomboy enfolded in silence, who, clinging tightly to her, was cautiously glancing at the crumpled ant hill. This little adventure would be a good lesson for him, teaching him that even seemingly innocuous creature could fight back. But children were children. Children’s memory was swift passing. After a minute, having forgotten about the past troubles, bear-cub was looking at a large pine tree with keen interest. He was attracted by a great mystery, hidden in the thick branches. Curiosity spurred to action. He firmly extricated himself from his mother’s pads and, cautiously bypassing the ant hill, tottered to the tree with acute fascination. Having clasped the trunk with his pads, he nimbly climbed to the first branches and enthusiastically looked at the mother, who, from the height, seemed to him no bigger than an ant. She-bear aggrievedly growled, but the bear-cub was not paying attention to the alarmed murmurs, stubbornly climbed up, disappearing in the crown of the tree. And only when the mother nervously jumped up, emitting a loud warning roar, he moved back with extreme reluctance. But as soon as he touched the ground, his mother sternly grabbed him in her pads. And he was immediately punished for disobedience. She-bear didactically spanked the tomboy, ‘explaining’ that it was not necessary to behave recklessly and to upset her. Suddenly, she became alerted, catching the tart smell of the approaching predator. Then she nervously peered into rare glimpses between the branches of a shrub, having found the leaning grey shade near the stream. She-bear deafly roared, baring her strong fangs, her brows gloomily came close on the bridge of the nose. The fur on the nape stood on end. She did not see a direct threat of attack but decided not to risk and to chase away the grey robber, who could easily profit from her baby, as quickly as possible. She abruptly pushed the bear-cub, who instinctively obeying, quietly crouched in the grass, trying to merge with the ground. And walking quietly, she went to the hollow, trying not to lose the enemy out of her sight. The wolf, unaware of the impending danger, was slowly drinking from the stream. He lowered his heavy head, studded with broad whitish scars (the memory of past struggles for the right to have the best pieces of the prey and the fondling of the females in the big ruthless pack). There were many duels, from which he always came out the victor. He could be proud of his experience and strength, proving more than once that he did not take the leader’s place by chance. But he knew that nothing lasted forever. Soon he would grow old and would be replaced by a new leader, more agile and strong, and he would only have to sneak around to eat the pathetic remnants of a rich feast. But this would be in the future. Certainly, if only he would not be stopped by the hunter’s bullet. But today he was still the leader of the pack and would be able to prove it to any presumptuous young upstart, defending his leadership in the duel. He lapped the cool, clear water with pleasure, slaking the thirst. He was lucky to eat the unwary hare, and now he fairly purred from repletion. After each tilt, he was leaving blurred red spots on the surface of the water. Suddenly, he caught a suspicious sound behind and looked up sharply, bumping into the piercing eyes of a bear. It was an unpleasant meeting, which did not bode anything good. Alone, without the help of the pack, this enemy could not be defeated. Thoughts passed like a whirlwind. He was on the brick of death. He looked at the distance. He was lucky that he had noticed the danger at the time. Two or three steps more, and he would not be able to save his life. She-bear, realising that she had been noticed, stood up to her full height and fiercely roared, menacingly waving her front pads. The wolf quickly jumped away from the stream and, pressing close to the ground, backed into the saving bushes with haunted encolure, ferociously grinning and warningly growling in response. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end. He kept an eye open for the bear. Once again, she-bear emitted a terrible roar and rushed fiercely to the charge. There was nothing for the wolf but to cowardly tail off and to retreat hastily back home. He was not up to the restrained pride. Life was more precious. And he promptly dived into the briar bushes, ignoring the painful pricks of sharp spikes. She-bear did not pursue the fleeing enemy. Having stood for some time, waiting for the noise to cease, she came back, making the thin calling whistle. Bear-cub cautiously left the shelter and obediently tottered next to her. And they slowly headed to the highlands, where there were green shoots of young garlic on the warm slopes.

Chapter 2

Winding like a snake among the towering hills, the barely noticeable taiga trail meandered. Two people were confidently walking along it, unwittingly bending under the weight of their bloated backpacks. Hunters already lost count of the number of flat ridges they overcame, the cliffs they bypassed, the mountain rivers they crossed, resisting the rapid current that was knocking them down. But they stubbornly moved to the target. Two days on way. Exhausting days and short night breaks. Sleep was more similar to wakefulness, and with the dawn, they were on the road again. The sweat, flooding the eyes. Stinging bites of mosquitoes and midges. They were already a little interested in how many kilometres were left behind. They were more concerned with when this crazy transition would be completed. But the end justified the means. People were almost exhausted but with an animal’s tenacity moved to the bear thawed patch in anticipation of the desired prey. Bear bile was highly valued on the black market, and they could make good money. They could also sell pads and skin. All this promised a significant amount of money, which they would not earn for a year in the timber industry enterprise. The meat would remain for the winter, so they would no longer need to buy pork, prices on which rose significantly this year. It would be a really good catch. The bear was a dangerous beast, but it was not the first time they were hunting for it, at least for one of the hunters. And that encourage optimism that they would not come back without the prey. Besides, they both were experienced riflemen, well armed. The worn-out lacquered butts of double-barrelled guns crushed against the khakis, and leather cells of cartridges were packed with explosive bullets, which would be enough to shoot all the bears in the area. The last steep ascent, and the hunters finally came to the desired area. From the top of the hill, taiga spread before the eyes; at feet, as far as one could see, there was the magnificent cedar forest, and only at the bank of the mountain river winding like a silver thread, willows and birches timidly clung.

– Here we come! – the elderly hunter satisfactorily chuckled, gently going down the flat slope, and assured: – When we cross the river we will be at the right place! – On the next turn, leaning his backpack against the tree, he wiped big drops of sweat sliding down his stubborn forehead with his wide calloused palm, and, smoothing back his soft grey hair, thoughtfully concluded: – There are two more kilometres left! We will go to the river and at the ‘dead wood’ out there, on the Grishenskaya clearing, we will set up a camp!

– You just made me happy! – The black-haired man, twenty years younger than his companion, wearily exhaled. He tried not to lag behind his older comrade, whom this familiar terrain sort of gave more strength, and disappointedly complained: – This walk to the ‘cordon’ has finally exhausted me! I have no strength to carry this damn backpack! I have the feeling that my wife put some bricks in it on some purpose for me to die on the way! – And he threatened dully: – I will come back and will make her run around the house with this backpack! She will see the circus! She put so many useless things there like I was going to taiga not for three days but for the winter! She can only dream about this! – The hunter’s anger had no limit. – Give a fool rope enough, and she will hang herself! Damn! – The man looked like he was thirty-five years old; one could call him handsome, tightly built, scrubby and broad-shouldered, vaguely resembling the English bulldog, with the same crooked feet and with a protruding lower jaw. But his black eyes, looking frowningly, were the most scaring, as insane lights were blazing in them with bright flashes. Not everyone in the village could withstand this look of a pissed-off beast burning with hatred without that treacherous feeling of chills of fear. For his uncontrollable violent nature, Michael was known among the villagers as a fierce brawler. Hot-tempered, getting angry in a flick of a finger, he constantly got into fights, most of which he had started. People were afraid of him and tried to avoid in order not to get in the heat of the moment. He was not just a cruel man but a real sadist, who knew no pity and compassion. Often getting drunk to unconsciousness, he was brutally beating his wife, throwing into action his heavy fists. And when she lost consciousness, he was beating her, already lying on the floor, with his feet, after which she rested in bed for weeks, barely recovering from the beating. He always had the reasons for the use of brute force, so the woman had bruises and abrasions on her swollen face for months, demonstrating to others the hard temper of her husband. Although he often got drunk and constantly kicked up a row, no one could object to the fact that Mikhail was a skilful and desperate hunter. He alone was hunting for the wild boar, and sometimes he even brought the elk. And once he strangled with his bare hands a full-grown wolf that attacked him, the skin of which now covered the floor of the kitchen, serving as direct evidence of his strength. In his lifetime, he killed many animals, but this was the first time he was hunting for bear. And he hoped not to lose his face in front of the senior fellow, relying on his accuracy and significant experience in hunting for other big animals.

– My goodness! We reached our destination! – Sergey Petrovich contentedly exhaled, promptly throwing the backpack to the ground and wearily sitting down next: – Now it is a matter of technique – to find the bear and to take aim at it! And the rest comes down to luck: either we will kill it or it will kill us! There is no other way! – The man laughed out loud, showing his teeth yellowed from nicotine, looking around the clearing with tenacious hunter’s eyes and trying to find even the slightest indication of the presence of the master of taiga.

– Finally! – Mikhail sighed with relief, sitting down beside his friend, and quickly took off kersey boots, providing rest for his legs tired of walking. – What a bliss! – The man tenderly moaned, stretching out his bare feet and considering the reddened fingers. Though he was not a physically weak man, but even he had been exhausted by the forty-kilometre marathon. – Couldn’t you find a closer spot for hunting for bear?!

– At closer places, all the animals have been shot! – Sergey Petrovich said in a mocking tone, rolling the home-grown tobacco and wetting the cigarette paper with saliva. – There are more people in the woods than mushrooms! They killed all the animals!

– That’s true! – Mikhail confirmed, alternately massaging the soles of the feet, and said dreamily: – I would like to take a nap for an hour or two! It would be good to relax a little and to begin hunting with fresh vigour!

– We will catch up on sleep in the afterlife! – Sergey Petrovich said mockingly. – We are running out of time! Firstly, we need to set up a camp until dark! And secondly, we need to have a bite! Nobody knows when we will have time to eat! – and, untying the backpack, he peevishly began to complain: – Real men should eat well! One cannot be fed with sleep only! We need meat! Lots of meat! All man’s strength is in meat! And we need a lot of strength today! Really! Bears eat wimps for lunch! The moment you gape, relax, and it will get you! It will grab you in the pads, and you will be dead!

– Stop lamenting! We are not of the chaff too! We will be able to stand up for ourselves! – Mikhail snapped, lovingly stroking the lacquered butt of the double-barrelled gun. – And this gun will kill not only a bear but an elephant! A bear for my ‘old lady’ is like a mouse for a cat! It will be gone in a flick of a finger!

– Everything happens for the first time! Watch out! – Sergey Petrovich gently mocked, glancing slyly at the new gun of his friend. – Even the most expensive guns, especially the new ones, can misfire! One should not have faith in them! Certainly, your gun is impressive! Beautiful! But you have not shot it yet! You should have taken the old Berdan rifle. It is like Robin Hood – hits the bull’s eye! – Mikhail just shrugged, not even trying to argue. But the old man instructively continued: – You always need to be ready for anything! And especially for troubles! They are just waiting to stab you in the back! Old guns, like ‘old ladies’, are tested over the years, and the new ones are not! There is no guarantee! It is like a young married woman: it has everything but there is no reliability! And a bear is not a harmless mouse! It will attack you from the back in the twinkling of an eye! And to smash a man – a piece of cake, as it weighs a hundred kilograms! No man can withstand this! Such beast is walking through the woods, and when some branch crackles it hides in the bushes and waits for people to pass by! And then it pops up, and the person is gone forever! To hunt for bear is not the same as to chase women! You must always be on the alert! Even experienced hunters got into troubles, becoming victims of their own overconfidence, forgetting that occasion commands fate! Only fools are treating all the animals in the same way! And animals, like people, have their own habits and tempers! Sometimes, the hare attacks the hunter! – Sergey Petrovich thoughtfully ruffled his grey hair with his hand and said in a dull voice: – I will tell you one story, narrated by my old friend from Irkutsk, with whom we had spent more than one night in blinds on the salt-marshes hunting for moose! – The old man absently nodded, as if he immersed in the past. – You know! You come to ‘scatter’ before dark for the beast not to smell your tracks and, while waiting for the dusk, there is time to have a heart to heart talk! So, that’s what he told me! It happened in Slyudyanka ten years ago! – he began to look intently at his fellow, who was incredulously grinning, and said passionately: – There is nothing funny here! Trust me, it is not a fictional story! My father, rest his soul, – the old man superstitiously made the sign of the cross, – told that in the old days it was a matter of honour for the hunter to go after a bear with a spear! A spear and a knife, and nothing more! Eye to eye, one on one! That’s prowess! But sometimes there were even more desperate brave men, who engaged themselves in mortal combat with a bear, wielding a knife and a hat!

– It is a pity that they did not do this with a hammer and a foot wrap! – Mikhail hoarsely laughed, not doubting that the whole ‘true’ story was a hunting fable. – You wave a handkerchief and a bear rushes from the bushes, like a bull to a red rag! You slash it on the neck and its head rolls off, like a ball! It is not hunt but a real harvest! You go into the woods to mow some meat for the winter, and then sell the skins! What a bliss! No expenses! Only profit! – laughing, he continued to twist nimbly between his fingers the galvanised cartridge loaded with a lead bullet, notched slightly on top in the form of a cross. The destructive power of an explosive bullet was incredible. Entering the body as a small neat point, it could go unpredictably anywhere, taking out all the insides.

– Do not sneer, doubting Thomas! Young people always laugh! But in vain! Better make a mental note and remembered! Hunting is a serious thing! Like in school, one needs to learn! And you, simpletons, have nobody else to teach you a lesson, except for us, old people! We all are heroes by word of mouth, and once it comes to actions, we hide in the bushes! Showing off egos! One empty bravado! One does not need to be very smart to kill a bear with a rifle. One only needs cartridges and an accurate eye for this! Hand-to-hand combat is another thing! – he waved his hand dully. – Not everyone has enough spirit to cope with a bear, especially only with a knife! – The old man positively nodded, agreeing with his words. – The skin of the beast is solid and tanned, bones are strong, and it skilfully wields its pads! Hunter’s one and only chance to deal a fatal blow is to hit the heart through the ribs! It takes a special skill, honed for years! Not every hunter is good! A person must possess many qualities: bravery and self-control, as well as agility and presence of mind! Certainly, one needs to have strength! But then, one gets so much pleasure when a full-grown beast lies dead at one’s feet, defeated in a fair fight! But not everyone will make up one’s mind to do this! The coward chooses the easy way, using means that are safe for life! Traps, rifles with telescopic sights, iron hinges! He kills the beast, sometimes, not even seeing it, and then boasts of his dangerous adventures! And there is nothing to boast of, as he stayed in the bushes! A real hunter encounters danger face to face, chest to chest, eye to eye! – he sighed heavily. – But it is impossible to foresee everything! Man proposes, but God disposes! Luck is a capricious girl! – the man helplessly lifted his hands in dismay. – Sometimes, life brings us unexpected surprises! Anything might happen! And then all your hard work goes down the drain! It seems that you have done everything right, calculated every step and movement correctly! But no, there is some problem, some absurd mistake that costs you your life! It can be an unforeseen circumstance, a tragic intervention of fate that ruins all the plans! It turns out, – Sergey Petrovich significantly clicked his tongue, – there are phenomena among animals that react differently to the developed approach, in a non-standard way of behaviour! It happened with that bear-hunter! For many years, he successfully used the simplest way of the hunt: he tore off his cap, raised his hand defiantly, forcing the animal instinctively rise up on its hind pads, and abruptly threw a cap into the bear’s head! The bear involuntarily blinked, getting hit in the eyes, and the hunter, meanwhile, nimbly jumped close to it and plunged the knife in the heart with a strong blow! One blow was enough for the animal to fall dead on the ground!

– Wow! – Mikhail admiringly exclaimed, having opened his mouth in surprise. – That’s a great skill!

– He was a good man, – the old man said slowly, looking with bleary eyes as if through the time, – he killed the beast professionally, instantly, not giving time to be tormented in vain! – suddenly, angry notes began to sound in his voice. – If you cut open the bear’s belly, from the pain, it begins to reel the guts on the pad, dying in terrible agony! This is not the hunt, but the real wild fanaticism! Death should be quick and easy! – Sergey Petrovich looked at his fellow inquiringly, who nodded as the sign of agreement. – He understood that one didn’t need to be very smart to cut open the bear: one hits and retreats to a safe distance! And one only waits for the beast to tear itself apart! And there is no risk! – He dully waved his hand. – And there is no joy of victory! Low and mean! I already cannot handle a bear without a gun as I have no former strength! Even being young, I was afraid to hunt for bear with a knife! God has not given me courage! The bear-hunter honoured only fair fight and did not tolerate meanness and injustice! He left the beast a chance, which that beast inevitably used one day! He was the winner of the thirty fights with full-grown males, but the thirty-first one was fatal for him! And it happened not because of his oversight or regrettable mistake! He did everything, as usual, according to the old scheme, but it seemed that his luck left him that day! – and, having thought a little, confusedly added: – Or it was some God of bears that heard about the brave hunter and wanted to challenge him! – Sergey Petrovich, like other old men, was superstitious, convinced that even a stone had its forest soul incomprehensible to us. – One could not understand what higher powers interfered but the result was disastrous! The hunter, as usual, raised his hand, making the bear stand up on its hind pads, instinctively threw his cap and rapidly jumped to the roaring beast, ready to strike a fatal blow! And the beast suddenly hugged the man! I guess I do not need to explain to you what it means to be in an iron bear hug! It is like to get hit by a hydraulic press! A split second, and your chest becomes compressed in the bag! And before you know it, you will go on a date with your ancestors! The thing was that the beast did not deign to blink and saw the approaching hunter! The rest was the matter of technique! That’s it! The moral of the story is the following: regardless of your previous experience, sometimes, the situation goes out of your control!

– Yeah! Interesting story! – Mikhail agreed sadly, feeling heavy-hearted. – I also know one hilarious story, told by my friend hunter, when I was buying the license to shoot an elk! So, it was like this! One would-be hunter, – he excitedly leaned forward, gesticulating frantically, – decided to hunt for elk alone! He bought a license and rushed to the exploits! One day – no news! Two days – the same thing! Silence! On the third day, his wife became worried and went to the forestry! They organised a search party and rushed to find him…

– Did they find him? – Sergey Petrovich asked excitedly, ceasing to disassemble the backpack for a moment.

– Sure! It is for urban residents, taiga is Chinese alphabet, and for people like us, it is an open book! But if you know where to look, it is a trifling matter! – The man enthusiastically waved his hands. – And now imagine such a picture! A big birch of three girths and two dead bodies in it: our would-be hunter and an elk pinning him to the tree trunk with its horns! That is where the irony of fate: the hunter and the prey, frozen in the fatal embrace, and now one cannot tell, who is the hunter and who is the victim! There are no winners and no losers! The death made them equal! – he perplexedly lifted his hands in dismay. – I guess the hunter only wounded the beast, and the beast did not flinch and went on the man, hit him with horns, but did not rate its strength and nailed him to the tree! Maybe, he did that on purpose, instinctively feeling the approach of death, decided to take the man too! Nobody knows what happened there, as dead did not tell anything! There are many options, but the end is one! I know only one thing: five hunters barely managed to pull the horns out of the crevice! Now imagine the strength of the elk that hit the man!

– Yeah, what a story! – Sergey Petrovich said dejectedly, lighting a cigarette, and took a deep puff, imagining the tragic scene. – That’s because fate played a cruel trick! They probably did not die immediately and, bleeding out, looked into each other’s eyes with hatred!

– Gleefully waiting to see who will die first! – smiling like a predator, Mikhail agreed. – Maybe, the elk was happy that the enemy died faster, but I think it lasted not too long! Actually, none of them won! Both kicked the bucket!

– Yes, it is wrong! – The old man uttered accusingly in a sad voice. – Two deaths, two crossed out fates!

– Damn them! – Mikhail angrily made the air blue and waved his hand. – I have other things to worry about, I do not want to be concerned at all about them! Who are they to me, relatives or something?! Brothers? Matchmakers? Who?! Nobody! And if they are nobody to me, then there is no need to charge memory with trifles! Yes, there is nothing we can do for them! They cannot be brought back to life! And now they are far away from here, probably, blissfully happy! – He dabbed at the sky with his index finger. – Indulge in every pleasure! And much more important things to do are waiting for us than being upset about someone’s worthless life!

Mikhail had no the slightest idea of mercy, compassion, sympathy. He did not care about a stranger’s fate, he cared more about his own welfare, considering that everyone bore one’s cross. And if someone was destined to die, then so be it, but he had nothing to do with this. The man yanked up and waddled to the nearby mountain stream, through the crystal surface of which one could see the sandy bottom and stones covered with green ooze. Frisky flock of silver bills fearfully recoiled from the human shadow, appearing on the surface, and quickly rushed into the thick branches, bending to the water aspen. The man crouched and, raking the cool spring water with the palm, drank from the spring in plenty. Having quenched his thirst, he rose and, stretching out with a crunch, hesitantly concluded:

– Bad luck follows us, we did not find any bear trace, even the slightest sign of its existence, along the whole way! As if the beast is not here, and have never been here!

– Do not worry, we will find it, and more than one! I noticed this place long ago, during the winter, when I went to set sable traps! I walked around the crevice (it is not far from here) and saw the steam coming from a small vent in the snow! Certainly, it was the bear’s lair in the roots of the fallen cedar. I wanted to kill it at once, but I was afraid that she-bear was with the bear-cub! – The old men perplexedly shrugged. – It would be OK to kill she-bear, but it was a sin to kill the bear-cub too! It was too young to die! I would not take it with me, and to leave it there meant certain death! And in the past, I gave myself a vow not to kill she-bears with bear-cubs! It is obscene to kill the child, let the cub of the animal, in the womb or when it still suckles! It is a great sin! Children are children, they walk on their two or four! For this, God will not pat on the head, but will punish, so you will regret the day you were born! And at my age, God forbid, I have no desire to sin! The nightmares do not give me rest because of the past deeds!

Mikhail sarcastically grinned. But the old hunter, having noticed a sarcastic smile, accusingly shaking his head, strongly objected:

– I know what you have thought. There is no difference, if good riddance! They would grow and suddenly attack you, and you had mercy on them! And you would not have any chance! Being young, I thought the same: kill and have no remorse! But understanding comes with age. You begin to see the world with different eyes! You become more perceptive, trying not to make unforgivable mistakes that will tear you apart in the future! – He sighed, once again withdrawing into himself. – The past can be very vindictive! If it does not hit physically, it will hurt emotionally! Only anguish and bitterness know how much time it takes to heal spiritual wounds! And these wounds still torment me! The past takes it out on me for my carefree youth! I cannot hide from it, even at night, in my dreams! It will find me everywhere and exhaust. – Sergey Petrovich nervously rubbed his sweaty palms. – Every night of the past year, I have the same dream about the doe mortally wounded by me! – He sighed bitterly. – It was the first time I shot from the gun in the hunting field, and it was such a success! I ran up to my first trophy, thinking that my father would be proud of me! She looked at me, and there were real tears in her eyes! Under her body, there was the crashed new-born fawn, flopping in the death struggle! She just laid there and looked in my eyes, and I saw the unbearable sadness in them, not her pain, but the pain of the baby! She tried to stand up, but her legs did not obey and fell down once again! I heard the crunch of bones! The ribs of the fawn broke! In my mind, everything turned out! You will not believe it but I cried with her! I became like a stone! I felt approving pats of my father on the shoulder but I did not hear his words of praise, I only saw her and the dead fawn! My first hunter’s trophy brought me nothing but tormenting acute emotional pain for all the remaining years! I dream to go back in the past and to refrain from the fatal shot! Maybe, guilt would let me go! I am tired of waking up in a cold sweat, tormented by her gaze and spotted side of the fawn in the death struggle! – The old man’s eye glistened and he sadly said: – So, the hunt is not always a joy. Sometimes it brings only the pain! – And he continued in a more calm voice: – So, I decided not to rush things – I waited for the spring to avoid committing follies! – And keeping off the sad memories, he resolutely shook his head. – The past cannot be changed, and one needs to eat something! There is nothing in the shops, so I have to hunt to send gifts for children and grandchildren to the city! We can eat potatoes, as we have our own vegetable garden! They are young, and to grow they need meat! So, if it is a male, as I hope, he will have nowhere to hide!

Sergey Petrovich Silantyev was known as an experienced hunter, with a record of more than one killed the bear, unlike the young fellow, for whom it was the first hunt for bear. Sergey Petrovich took a partner to be safe. The vision was not good anymore, a betraying tremor appeared in his hands, and former strength was gone over the years. Needless to say, he hit his 60s, though, in the presence of others, he still tried to be cheerful and look good. But years… But years were constantly taking their toll. Time did not stand still, and he was getting old irretrievable. He hunched more and more, bending lower and lower to the ground. And now, once thick as pitch hair thinned and was more reminiscent of the dropped powder, and more wrinkles appeared on a sunken face. But there was something positive in his age: seasoned experience, which he reasonably used, came instead of youthful incontinence. Now, he did not allow himself embarrassing gaffes and hasty decisions. The man only worried for the young hunter not to make a mess in the heat of passion, which could lead to their own death. As in any business, one had to surrender to chance and then all the effort would go down the drain. There could be unfortunate misfires, or the beast would approach from the back, and even worse one could meet the brood of the she-bear with two two-year-old bear-cubs, not yet adults but no longer children, and with the height of their mother. There were many options, but the end was one! So, he tried not to think of the future. Everything must take its course. He should not rush things. It’s all in God’s hands. And paternal moralising continued:

– If you know the habits of the animal, success is almost guaranteed! It is known that bears leave their territory only in exceptional cases: a bad year, a wounded animal, in the winter – insomniac bear, or a forest fire! And since taiga was not and is not on fire, and last year, we had a lot of berries and pine nuts – the bear had a lot of fat and slept peacefully all winter! The spring was early and fruitful in wild garlic, so the beast did not have to starve after waking up, and hence there was no need for it to go somewhere and to leave its home! So, now the bear wanders somewhere nearby, and we will meet it!

Wild garlic grew everywhere and resembled the green carpet with a height reaching up to the knees of the person. Mikhail reached out and ripped off the thick stem. He gently cleansed it from the bitter peel, cut leaves and took a bite with a crunch, chewing delicious juicy, salty flesh, resembling the tastes of garlic leaves.

– And there is plenty of omul in the rivers. – He added approvingly, sitting down comfortably on the grass. – During the spawning, I caught them in abundance! I salted a barrel for the winter, sold the rest on the city market and made good money! If it will continue this way, then I will be able to buy a new washing machine in winter, as the old one is at its last gasp! Let’s have a bite? – He suggested suddenly, stroking his rumbling stomach. – I have not had a morsel to eat today!

– It is time! – Sergey Petrovich agreed, promptly pulling out a heavy package with victuals wrapped in foil. – Now, let’s see what we have left!

– The last piece of meat is especially sweet! – Mikhail smiled, pulling out of a side pocket of a backpack a fork and an iron mug.

– Good point! – Sergey Petrovich confirmed, conjuring over lunch. He spread a newspaper and laid out on a makeshift table: bread, two chicken hams, pickles, four eggs, and potatoes in jackets. Looking at the products, he confidently concluded: – Mare yourself at home! Not a lot, but it is enough to lay the stomach for a while! And in the evening, if we are lucky, we will have fresh meat and will eat to heart content! He carefully pulled out of his pocket the camp saltshaker, gently poured a handful of salt on the edge of the newspaper and, without turning, asked his friend:

– I will serve the table here, and you go down to gather some dead wood for the fire! We will drink some tea from the leaves of currant! Look, there are many bushes of currant growing near the stream, and the tea from its young leaves will be fragrant!

– OK! – Mikhail uttered without much enthusiasm, reluctantly putting on his kersey boots again. He rose on legs, aching from hours of walking, with a stifled groan, and wearily headed to the fallen pine. He gathered dry branches with sharp blows of the heels and, having taken them in his arms, brought to the camp. He stacked firewood like a pyramid, took from his jacket breast pocket a box of matches wrapped in cellophane and, using only one match, lit the fire. Watching the growing power of flame with acute fascination, he carefully wrapped the box and put in the inside pocket. A match in the forest was something special. It was cherished as the apple of one’s eye. This was the protection, warmth, and hot food. And God forbid, if they were weeping or lost due to negligence, then big troubles would be waiting for the hunter: bad weather or night attack of big predators. And in the taiga, there were many those, who would like to eat human flesh, including bears, wolves, and lynx.

Mikhail cut off two spears with a knife, sharpened them at the base, stuck in the ground, parallel to each other, and put a straight stick on top. He went to the stream, filled a pot with spring water, plucked the leaves of currants, and carefully hung the pot over the fire. Rainbow drops, nimbly slipping through the surface blackened from the soot, were instantly licked off by the searing flames, and in places, where water and fire were contacted, the eternal symphony of indomitable opponents, crack and an annoying hiss, was born.

– Join me! – Sergey Petrovich invited his fellow with a gesture. – Lunch is ready! However, do not count on a nosh-up! Getting down to the meal, he crossed as usual.

And thanks for that! – Mikhail thanked, sitting opposite the old man. – Certainly, now I would eat a whole bull, but if there is none, eggs are also a food!

And men began to eat with an appetite.

– You know, I wanted to hunt for bear for a long time, but there was no any good chance for it! I got tired of the hoofed and horned animals! I want adrenaline, risk, danger! Although, these animals can also get you in trouble, regardless the fact that they are herbivores! The elk kicks with such strength that it can break the skull of the wolf! And bills are the real fanged furies. They have nothing to afraid. Attacking, they destroy everything on their way, like tanks. They killed a lot of hunters! – Mikhail mumbled with the mouth full, carefully gnawing on a chicken bone. – But still, I want something new! And ‘predator’ sounds somehow more respectful! Hefty bear plays up, and you… – The hunter, exposing the index finger, slyly squinted his left eye, as if aiming at an invisible enemy, and excitedly exclaimed: – Bang from a gun! And there is a small neat hole between the eyes! Here is your souvenir! I will stuff beautiful bearskin, put it in the middle of the hall, throw the wolf skin on top, and they will warm my bare feet during the long winter evenings! Splendid! One does not need much for the happiness, only comfort and warmth! And a worthy trophy!

– You are very fast! You picked up the pace, and nobody would stop you! You already cooked a hare before catching him! What a dreamer! A bear is not a wolf, it is the much more serious enemy! You cannot defeat him with your bare hands! And it is useless to shoot in his head. His skull is armour-piercing. The bullet will only bounce off it! – Sergey Petrovich ironically objected, stretching his legs out with a crunch in the knees. – It is not so easy as you imagine it! You think there is nothing to do: you aim and shoot, but you still need to hit the target! The bear is a very nimble beast. The moment you gape, and it will get you! Be sure that it will attack you in the twinkling of an eye! It will affectionately press you to its chest! And all this tenderness will make you so sick that you will not gather your bones!

– Yes, really! – Mikhail confirmed, thoughtfully shrugging. – We heard about a bear hug! It is like being caught in a steel grip, and there is no escape!

– Believe me, old man, that it is not the most painful thing! – The old man slyly squinted his eyes and continued in a pressurizing voice: – You will be lucky to lose your life quickly! But if it will run wild, then you should hold on, as his every playful punch is a new broken bone for you! You will look like a broken doll, and it will be still playing with you! Your cries of pain will be a sweet melody for it. Being in rage, it will not stop until you will breathe your last! You will become its trophy, which it will bury for a week for the smell and softness! It loves decayed meat more than fresh! And it will take your scalp to its lair! – Smiling, he mimicked his friend, – And it will admire it during the long rainy autumn months, remembering a successful spring hunt!

Mikhail grimaced in disgust, vividly picturing himself a bare, riddled with whitish veins of blood vessels, the human skull. Imagination, as usual, did not disappoint him.

– Really, a bear eats a smelly meat?!

And a seasoned hunter began to prove this.

– Do not doubt. Once, I saw a bear digging up a decomposed carcass of a red deer! It was so stinky that I was holding my nose, and the bear did not care: champed, and even salivated! So, the would-be hunters lie, claiming that a bear is legible and does not eat everything but only fresh meat! Do not believe it. This is nonsense told by people, who saw taiga only on TV – ‘In the World of Animals’! Bears like to eat ‘fresh meat’, which has been in the ground for at least a week, gaining the unforgettable flavour!

– Man! Live and learn! I would never have thought! – Mikhail spat in disgust. – How can it be called the master of taiga? No grandeur! It eats trash, like a hyena! – he lost the desire to try this bear’s meat, vaunted for its softness and juiciness. – What can I say?! One word – animals! And why does it like to eat dead flesh? – the man shrugged with disgust. – What a crap!

– Everyone to his own taste! – smiling, the old man said. – One wants a boiled food, while others prefer fried! But a bear chooses a naturally spoiled food! Everybody have his or her own delicacies!

– The deer’s meat is nobler than the bear’s meat! – Mikhail concluded, though, an unpleasant story did not ruin his appetite. – Herbivores have a huge plus – meat dishes are completely excluded from their diet! – And he added thoughtfully: – Yes, and hunt for them is hardly a pleasant walk! If one applies this logic, then one should consider who will win – the elk or the bear. Both are strong enough! And a bill is a leader. It is also hard to fight it. Its teeth are like razor blades, and it will quickly cut open one’s belly! A year ago, a funny incident happened to me! In the autumn, I decided to hunt for the wild boar! I took the double-barrelled gun, 16 calibre, filled cartridges with bullets, and then, towards evening, sat down in the scatter in the Kuzmichyov pasture! You know, there are the Guryevsk salt marshes! – Petrovich nodded. – So, I was sitting there, on the tree stand for hours, the sun already disappeared over the tops of the trees! It was as dark as pitch. The clearing was visible only in general outline. The mosquitoes stung all over! I thought that I could kiss my hunt good-bye and it was time to go home! Suddenly, I noticed with my peripheral vision that the bushes began to sway slightly. I happily rubbed my palms: – ‘Speak of the devil!’ I thumbed back the hammer, ready to shoot, and patiently waited for the appearance of the boar! And it did not show up! I thought it was gone! Suddenly, from a very different side, a huge bill came out into the clearing, and in the darkness, it seemed even bigger! It looked around carefully and moved forward, in my direction! I took aim and shoot from two barrels! From a shot, I could not hear. My eyes dimmed because of the flash. The blow-back almost threw me from the tree! I waited for the smoke to clear. It would be foolish to rush to the wounded animal at breakneck speed. It was not worth the effort! But as soon as the breeze dragged a curtain of powder gases, I saw it lying motionless on the ground! I reloaded the gun, hurriedly went down out of the tree, and ran to it! Suddenly, I saw another man running to the boar out of the bushes! Imagine, it was Egor Sychyov! It turned out that we both shot at the same time, and the shots came together! You will not believe me, but it was he who rustled in the bushes, choosing a comfortable position! But when he approached the carcass of the animal, which we considered dead, the boar jumped up and rushed forward! Only God knows how Egor reacted. It can be called a miracle! He jumped to the side, and the boar hit the side of his kersey boot with the fangs, cutting hard skin like paper but without hurting the leg! And it fell dead! It was a harmless pig, but it played its trick. Another centimetre and the man would be with no leg!

– He was lucky! – Petrovich said. – And how did he get to the clearing, as you came first and did not meet him?!

– Just imagine, this cunning rogue crawled to the bushes not to spook the beast, coming to the clearing, ahead of time! And one could not see him in a camouflage suit in the grass!

– Cunning old fox! – Petrovich agreed, wiping greasy hands on the grass. – He made his way, like a lizard, and almost took your prey from under your nose! – And began to laugh: – And how did you share the trophy?

Mikhail, laughing, said in a deep voice:

– According to hunting laws – by the part of the shot! I got brisket, he got back thigh!

Petrovich, wiping tears with his palm, said merrily:

– You made the old man laugh. It has been a long time since I laughed that much! – And he added seriously: – You were lucky not to shoot each other by mistake!

– God protected! – Mikhail agreed.

Suddenly, a menacing bestial roar swept through taiga, causing an anxious shiver in the electrified air.

– Bear! – Sergey suggested, excitedly jumping to his feet. – It is certainly a bear. I will be hanged if I am wrong!

People, with bated breath, peered into the depths of the forest with watchful eyes, listening to the thundering roar with acute fascination.

– That’s right! – Sergey Petrovich perplexedly concluded, frowning thoughtfully. – But I can say one thing: it is very unhappy with someone! Someone trespassed on its hunting grounds, and now they sort out their relationship!

– It can be another bear! – Mikhail Kulanov suggested hopefully, rubbing his sweaty palms excitedly. – Two bears are much better than one! – He said happily. – Each of us will get the whole skin! What a luck! – The man’s eyes gleamed greedily in anticipation of the rich prey.

– Does not look like this! – Petrovich said, listening attentively. – Two bears would make so much noise that we would become deaf! It is something else… – And he waved his hand annoyingly. – And the number does not play any role at the moment! One beast provides plenty of meat! Well, we will take a hundred kilograms for two us. Still, we will not be able to carry the rest and will have to leave it! And if you need skin, then you can take it! – I already have one! – And keenly listening, he added perplexedly:

– We need to hurry while the beast comes to the hunter! If we miss this chance, we will have to run after it around taiga!

The man hurriedly uncovered a rifle and promptly put cartridges, filled with bullets, to the chambers with a trained hand. He snapped sharply the bolt and flicked off safety. Holding his rifle tilted forwards, he rushed to the forest, having selected a direction, focusing on the noise. And without turning, he said over his shoulder:

– Keep up!

Mikhail quickly joined his friend. They ran up the hill and, having stopped, listened. The beast was growling nearby.

– There! – The old men dabbed at crackle sideways with his finger in the direction of the stream. And they ran again.

– The main thing is not to hurry! Take a pause! Stop, recover your breath, and then fight! – more experienced Petrovich taught the younger fellow on the move. – Do not lose courage! The bear is an unpredictable beast. When it will rise up on its hind pads, you can act! Carefully aim exactly in the chest and gently pull the trigger! You will shoot right in the heart. One bullet is enough to kill it, regardless of its size! Only do not let it come close! Keep the distance!

– Yes, I know what to do! – Mikhail irritably snapped, being hot under the collar because of, as it seemed to him, the unnecessary guardianship. – I am not in taiga for the first time and have some experience! You dinned into the head! When I see it, I will kill it! That’s all!

– A bear is not an ordinary beast! – Petrovich cheerfully exhaled. – It is very smart and cunning beast, it likes to play with people! A person will have a high opinion of himself, will develop a plan of hunt taken from the book, and will certainly expect that everything will happen according to that plan! And a bear will surprise him! It has no idea of ABC, as it is an illiterate beast! And the result is well-known: either wounds or a funeral!

Mikhail shut his ears to the farewell speech of the old man for he had already made a certain conclusion, a beast would be a beast even in Africa. There was no difference – big or small, an elephant or a hare – the victory depended only on the calibre of the rifle and the mass of the bullet. The hunter would not try strength against the animal. Lost labour. The rifle would do all the hard work for the person. The explosive bullet is a forcible argument even for the most impenetrable skull, and two bullets – absolute fatal result. Only Mikhail did not take into account that overconfidence had ruined many experienced hunters, and did not think of the adverse concatenation of circumstances. After all, sometimes, fortune was capricious and left the hunter.

– Hush! – Petrovich warned in a whisper and switched to easy step, clutching a rifle. – We are close!

The man carefully looked around and listened keenly. On the edge, on the right side, he heard a faint scuffling. Mikhail gently parted the bushes of honeysuckle and curiously stared at the brown nubbin, joyfully exclaiming:

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