SUN AND MILK

By Nikolai Mordinov

(In this story the narrator and his friend Kesha are travelling in the northern part of Yakutia in Siberia. At Oimakon airport they stayed for a night. They met many interesting people there. The head of the airport was Mr. Kuporidze.)

"Why are you going to the collective farm?" - asked Kesha while striding side by side with Mr.Kuporidze.

"The baby of a woman who is going to Lower Kolyma has fallen ill. The baby is one year old and there is no milk for him here at all! It's so stupid. I'm sorry!"

When they were resolutely going away from me I called after them:

"How far is it?"

"Nine kilometers. If we fail to find the milk there, we'll have to go to the next farm which is eleven kilometers far there away. There should be some milk for sure. Never mind! We are keeping them company. The grayish horse is very fast. Have a nice meal!".

Kesha and I had our supper calmly while talking about the people who were so considerate of the unknown woman with her little baby and decided to start for a far away farm for some milk. Just "to keep the volunteers company" in the dark cold night!

Kesha and I had an enormous supper in a quiet atmosphere. We decided to find out the result of this trip by all means before going to bed.

As soon as we entered the bedroom somebody knocked at the door. Two young girls entered the room. A tall girl with a woolen shawl over her head, catching it with her hands under her jaw, stopped shyly stooping in the doorway. The second girl of small stature and with a snub nose was in a blue dress and wearing a short sheepskin jacket. She came right up to me.

"Did you have supper?".

"Yes, we did. Thank you!".

"Then on behalf of our Komsomol Organisation we'd like to invite you to meet our club-members. Could you tell us about the All Union Writers Congress in Moscow?".

"My God, dear girls, its midnight already. And how are you going to gather the audience?".

"The audience is ready," the girl standing at the door said, giving a nice smile to us and opening the edges of her shawl. The people are here, please!".

"Well, but you were to have arranged this meeting with me beforehand. By the way I'm very tired today. I'm not a young Komsomol member after all," I tried to make my voice angry but failed. All of a sudden I began to feel young and full of force. I was feeling a strong desire to go to the meeting. What nice people!

"The audience is ready".

"What am I to do, Kesha ?" I asked.

"You are to go. There is nothing else to do," said Kesha, picking up his tie and putting it around his neck again. It's improper to refuse. And the girls are so determined…"

"As if I invited them on my own!" I said taking up my suit from the chair back.

"Katya, go there. Go now! And I'll accompany them to the club by myself."

The first girl flitted out quickly.

The club hall was full of people. While pushing my way through the audience I was planning to make a short report and go right home to sleep.

However it turned out that our meeting went on for a long time. I was carried away by my speech, looking at the young girls' and men's smiling faces, listening to my story carefully with a great interest. I had fully deviated from my plan. Our talk took too much time.

There for Kesha and I didn't manage to learn about the result the trip for the milk before going to bed.

*** *** ***

Somebody stirred me up from my sweet sleep in the morning. Kasha was already up and clothed and washed, ready to go for breakfast. There was Mr. Kuporidze in the room.

"What about the milk, Mr. Kuporidze?" I shouted, getting up.

"What milk?"

"Goodness sake, tell me quickly about the milk for the baby of the woman going to Lower Kolyma!"

"They bought it! Luckily they found it at the farm situated nine kilometers away! The woman was so glad. It was so horrible for her without milk. Poor mother! Let's have some tea. The weather may be too bad to fly." I washed in a hurry, and then we had our morning tea with Mr. Kuporidze, packed our luggage up and went to the airport.

"It's a pity that I haven't seen that woman ", I said to Mr. Kuporidze, striding by his side.

"They left hours ago!" said Mr. Kuporidze, waving his hand to the north. "They must be in Lower Kolyma by now and drinking the rest of the milk. I don't remember her surname. I think that she is an accountant. Oh, what nasty weather! You should fly among high rocks. It would be rather dangerous.

When we writers write about positive things, the weather must be nice, the sun should shine brightly, the skylarks should sing out loud. The snowstorms or rains, the cold wind and darkness are described only when we write about negative things. But they fly away like cigar smoke.

To tell the truth, there was a strong wind and low clouds at Oimyakon airport that day. But in my heart there was sunshine, something warm and happy.

The low buildings of the airport reminded me of the girl with a woolen shawl over her head, who bust out into a nice laugh, widely opening the edges of her shawl.

Looking at the buildings, it seemed to me that the dark clouds went away, the strong wind stopped and the sun was shining brightly.

This illusion came to my mind at Oimyakon airport because of that unknown woman who was happy to have some milk for her baby.

Translated by Nadya Varlamova