Amyil likes the bear bones and oh we also have someone who hunts them..

UnP1000156expected home visits in Siberia are the best. There is something in the trust and hospitality of the Russian people that is not comparable to other nations. So was the story of last weekend, when I randomly become a cossack. My zemlak,  Estonian business man Artur, who has been a big helper in Estonian community in Krasnoyarsk took me to his sister´s teremok. While we drove there, in the radio russian cheesy pop songs were playing  – and we did not mind.

From the garden, Amyl, cute white dog, greeted us. The owner,  vital and energetic Vitja was doing gardening maintenance and laughed at my weird use of Russian language.  I noticed big bones on the grass. They looked strange.

„ I guess European people always thought that in Siberia bears are strolling around in the streets. Well – those are bones of bear,“ Vitja explained with a kind smile. I looked Amyil playing with them. He thumped them with paw and  I asked how did the dog got his name. He was named after Krasnoyarsk Krai river. Moreover, his brothers-sisters were also named after famous rivers.

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„ Do you know how the the word Немец came to life?“ asked Vitja and glanced at me with sly eyes. I had no idea. Then he went on monologues on past times and people, when foreigners started to immigrate to Russia. From prisoners to religious people.

„Немец –  it is не мой. They did not speak our language, did not look like us. So they are not-ours.“

Interesting, I thought. For some reason I felt stupid. Vitja took another glance at me and added:

„ Actually, I made that up.“

Amyl was playing with me and bear bones. The garden smelled so fresh, when the owner thoroughly showed his riches. Oh look there  grows the most sweet pears! There are so big potatoes! Of course big, bigger than in Estonia! Here are the most cutest raspberries and here the most tasty cabbages!

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„ Let´ go for tea!“ invited Marina, warm and sweet lady from the door step. With welcoming smile we entered to wooden teremok. Beer skin was on the wall in the living room. The hoziaka was preparing the tea, while Artur spoke about his childhood – memories of time spent here. I saw interesting hats and thought they belonged to the Russian army. Actually they belonged to Vitja´s grandfather who  had been a cossack. They were  East Slavic-people who became know as members of democratic, self-governing, semi-military communities. The word comes from Old East Slavic word kozat, which meant „ free man“. They were righteous, honorauble loyal men men who helped the tsars to exercise the right power. Me and Artur tried the hats.

„ Hey – try the uniform also!“ suggested Vitja.

„ It might not fit,“ added he.

He did not know that I had had my own Ramadan for a week. ( I am not moslem, I just wanted to make „ one week of starvation“ sound more interesting).

It fit. I became a cossack. I felt the loyalty, the righteousness. I felt I am in a movie. Or in computer game. Not sure exactly.

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„ Sit in the table,“ asked Marina.

The table was filled with different sweets, pastries, tasty tea and different jams.

„ I guess you thought that here in Siberia bears run around and everyone is starving,“ laughed she. How sweet was the food! How great was to sit there as a cossack! Then  I found out that Vitja is a hunter. First, he gave a small historic lecture of indigenous people around Siberia. Then he took us on hunting journey. Kilometres of emptiness, wild Siberian taiga, harsh wind and low temperature. Warm clothes and total silence. One man and a rifle. Small movements, silent whispers. A man against nature. Oh look there are footsteps of fox! Who is there walking so loudly! Oh look it is the powerful rain deer!  Let´s try to get closer. Prepare your rifle! Almost, oh no, he got away. Birds screaming, nature waking up. Animals in alert. And then again.. silence, lonely man, tired, hungry but not giving up. Somewhere there lurks a prize, somewhere there is fatty meat, somewhere there is goal, mission; endless hours, breathtaking views to rivers, mountains and frozen trees, just to meet the dangerous Russian bear.

I listened, mouth open.

„ Are you still here?“ asked Marina. Since I was Estonian, I was to slow to answer.

„ Maybe you need wine!“ she said proudly and presented their home wine, made from pears. It was so sweet, so juicy, su pure.

„ Do not hold yourself back!“ taught Artur. I answered that I am in sober regime. They thought I was joking. That is why I soon was finishing my second glass. I loved the stories of hunting.

„ Sometimes my man goes to hunt and is gone for 3 days.“ told Marina.

Then hunter took us outside to show his prey. He presented us skies made from rain deer skin. They were perfect to move in slippery snow upwards, no way you can fall back with those. Then there were skins of foxes, bag full of beer skin. Amyl was at the same time playing with bear bones, I was still a cossack,  the hunter feverlishly introduced his work. Then he took proud look at his garden.

„ So sad that it might disappear.. the municipality wants to build here a road.“

I felt sad how commercialism had no respect for effort to protect the nature. To grow  own fruits and vegetable. To even make own samagon! We returned to the table and hosting family gave us lecture how to make samagon. I listened, mouth open.

„ In autumn, visit us again! Then we produce it!“ told the family.

It was so sad to take off cossacks clothes. It was sad to part with family and say goodbye to Amyil. What a warm welcome, what a meaningful memory.  We parted ways. Back to road and again Russian pop music.
„ They are good people,“ I told Artur.  He agreed.

„ You are good person.“ I added.

Oh you. Stop!“

I was very grateful to my zemljak for showing his teremok.

Koerale meeldivad karukondid ja meil on siin keegi, kes neid jahib ka..

Pole siiramat rõõmu kui tulla võõrana kellegi koju ja saada sooja vastuvõtu osaliseks. Seda enam olen tänulik Arturile, kohalikule eesti ärimehele, kes mind oma õe teremoki viis. Sõitsime põrnikaga, raadios mängis vene popp muusika ja see ei häirinud meid.

Puu-ust avades jooksis meile vastu  elav kutsa Amõl, kelle rõõm ei mahtunud aeda ära. Kohe tervitas meid ka maja peremees, vitaalne Vitja, kes parasjaga maad kaevas. Aias vedelesid suured kondid ja ma imestasin, mis need on.

„ Teil seal Euroopas arvatakse, et Siberis tatsuvad karud ringi! Näe –  need seal on karukondid!“ Viskasin pilgu kontidele ja tunnistasin, kuidas Amõl nendega mängis. Amõl sai nime jõe järgi – täpselt samamoodi nagu tema vennad-õed.

Vitja oli elu täis. Naeris mu naljaka vene keele üle. Arvas alguses, et olen sakslane.

„ Kas sa tead, kuidas sõna nemez tekkis?“ Ausalt öeldes ma ei teadnud. Mees alustas ajaloolist lugu sisserändajatest, vangidest ja jumalateenijatest. Sinna mahtus ka ilmasõjad ja massiline sisseränne.

Nemez tähendab nemoi. Kuna nad ei rääkinud keelt, ei mõistnud kultuuri, olid nad mitte-meie.“

Huvitav. Mul polnud aimugi. Seisin ja imestasin nagu tobuke.

„ Ma mõtlesin selle välja,“ lisas Vitja ja itsitas.

Amõl mängis karu kontidega. Aed lõhnas nii värskelt ja kaunilt. Peremees hakkas ennastunustavalt taimi tutvustama. Vaadake, siin on nii magusad pirnid! Seal maa all kasvavad suured kartulid! Suuremad kui teil Eestis! Näe seal ootavad oma aega magusad maasikad! Ja kui te veel vaarikaid maitseksite!

„ Tulge teed jooma!“ hõikas perenaine Marina ukse vahelt. Ta oli soe ja naeratav. Astusime teremoki sisse, mõnus puulõhn tervitas meid. Ja oh – seina peal karunahk! Artur kirjeldas oma lapsepõlve ja väitis, et siin veetis ta oma esimesed eluaastad. Perenaine kattis laua. Märkasin kihvte mütse. Need kuulusid kasakudele. Tegemist oli Vitja vanaisa mütsiga. Kasakud olid rojaalsed vabamehed. Vana slaavi keeles tähendas kosak vaba meest. Kunagistel aegadel kuulusid nad demokraatlikesse, poolsõjaväelistesse kogukondadesse. Ausad, lojaalsed mehed, kes võitlesid õigete põhjuste eest ja kaitsesid tsaari. Panime Arturiga mütsid pähe.

„ Proovi vormi ka! Samas ei tea.. äkki sul ei lähe selga!“

Tohoh! Kuidas ei lähe! Kas nad ei teadnud siis, et olin nädal aega ramadani pidanud? ( Pole moslem, lihtsalt tahtsin, et nädala-pikkune nälgimine kõlaks tähenduslikumalt.) Panin vormi selga ja tundsin ennast paremana, tähtsamana. Tundsin, et olen filmis või arvutimängus.

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Marina palus meid lauda. Nii palju magusat, pirukaid, moose ja mett! Rikkalik vastuvõtt!

„ Ilmselt te arvasite Euroopas, et Siberis möllavad karud ja kõik nälgivad!“ itsitas ta. Laua taga selgus, et Vitja on kirglik jahimees. Varsti viis ta meid retkele. Metsik taiga ja mäslevad tormid. Lumekrõbin ja üksik mees püssiga. Kuskil krabistab metsik loom, linnud annavad häirekella ohu lähenedes. Kuskil sumpab karu. Pikad kilomeetrid ja täielik üksindus. Kes see kõnnib seal valju sammuga? Kas need on rebase jäljed! Miinus kakskümmend, julgelt üle jõe! Seal ta ongi, võimas, loodusime, ohtlik põder! Püss aga õlale ja katsu pihta saada! Kurat! Mööda! Kadunud… Mets ärkab ellu, keegi krabistab, keegi jookseb,  kõik on nii lähedal, nii käes! Aga siis jälle kadunud.. tühjus, vaikus – üksik jahimees, tema püss ja pikad kilomeetrid. Aga jahimees ei anna alla, trotsib nälja, tujutust. Üks eesmärk, viimane pingutus, et näha teda, kardetut, metsavalitsejat – Siberi karu.

Kuulasin suu ammuli.

„ Oled sa ikka siin?“ itsitas Marina.

Kuna olen eestlane, läks vastamisega aega.

„ Sul on vist veini vaja,“ arvas ta. Väitsin, et olen kuival režiimil. Selle peale kallati mulle pirniveini, mis maitses kui noorus, magus ja mahe, justkui oleks just vene neiut suudelnud.

„ Ära hoia ennast tagasi,“ õpetas Artur.

Varsti sai ühest klaasist kolm. Jahijutud jätkusid.

„Vahepeal on mu mees jahil, kolm päeva kadunud.“ ütles Marina.

Jahimees viis meid välja, et saaki näidata. Kuuri seinal rippusid kähriku nahad, katsusin rebast. Kotis oli karunahk. Vitja tõi välja isetehtud suusad, mille tallad olid põdranahast. Nendega oli hea mäkke rihtida, hõõrdejõud ei lubanud suuskadel tagasi vajuda. Amõl mängis karukondiga, mina olin ikka kasak ja vein hakkas pähe. Jahimees viskas pilgu aiale ja ütles kurval toonil:

„ Kahju, et varsti seda pole.“ Selgus, et kohalik omavalitsus plaanis sinna maantee rajada. Inimeste puud-põõsad ja inimlik kätetöö oli hukkumas raha-ahnuse tõttu. Kurb oli kuulata, kurb oli mõelda. Kasvatada omi puid ja põõsaid! Vahel isegi teha samagoni! Pere juhatas mind teremoki, et samagoni tegemise protsessist rääkida. Kuulasin suu ammuli.

„ Sügisel tuled, siis teeme,“ arvas Vitja.

Väga kurb oli kasaku riideid ära anda. Tundsin ennast jälle lihtsa Krismarina. Kahju oli lahkuda, viimast patsu anda sabaliputavale Amõlile. Viskasin viimase pilgu armsale aiale ja jätsin pererahvaga hüvasti. Istusime rõõmsana autosse. Mängis jälle imal popp muusika.

„ Nad on head inimesed,“ ütlesin Arturile.

Artur nõustus.

„ Ja sina ka.“ Lisasin.

„ Ah lõpeta!“

Olin väga tänulik oma kaasmaalasele selle laupäeva eest.

 

 

 

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