Babushka’s youngest daughter, Natalya’s mother, was a Yakut beauty who married a Russian driller searching for oil in the same area where the village was located. Ten months later, Natalya’s mother had given birth to Natalya. The young wife was just sixteen and died in the process. After that, her father, a forty year old but still very handsome alcoholic, ran off with another woman, leaving the baby girl to the care of her sweet babushka. He was never heard from again.
Now Natalya was twelve years old, and grateful to give her babushka any comfort she could. Her babushka was the kindest and best person she knew, and today was the promised day. Today her babushka had promised Natalya that she would see the face of the man she would marry. After all, she was a woman now and would soon have a family of her own and give her babushka great grandchildren to hold and fuss over and keep her old bones warm.
Her babushka, because of the hard life she had lived, was granted a special gift by the wonderful spirits, the icci, which watched over their village and land around it. It was the gift of seeing with her soul; it was the gift of knowing what was to come; it was the gift of knowing the hidden good from the hidden evil.
Many years before, the Russians rounded up the shamans from all the tribes and herded them to the gulags, the Siberian prison work camps, where they died along with everyone else in the camps. Between three and four million people died in those camps - Siberian shamans were well represented.
Now, her babushka was the closest thing to a shaman the village had. She was not a real shaman; she didn’t have the heavy shaman’s coat with the hanging iron bones representing her own skeleton, nor the hanging bronze snakes representing knowledge of the other world levels; she didn’t have the shaman’s drum which, during a trance, became a horse to carry the shaman to other world levels. And her gift didn’t always work; no, she wasn’t a real shaman, but she understood fire and she understood bones. To the Yakut, bones represent the primal connection between generations. Natalya’s babushka taught her early to preserve the bones of animals and never break them. Many times, after she and her babushka ate an animal, Natalya would carefully gather the bones and bury them or place them in a tree in respect for the animal’s spirit.
Natalya’s babushka, furthermore, did not want to be a shaman. The Yakut people expected more from a woman shaman than a man shaman. The Yakut elders said that the first shamans were women and, even now, when a shaman approached the Master of the Forest, the Great Spirit living in the taiga, he donned a woman’s headdress and carried a woman’s weapon, the bow. Her babushka had always told Natalya that she did not want a shaman’s responsibility, which were varied and many; nevertheless, she was still greatly blessed by the icci, and what she did say always came true.
But the sight wasn’t always given to her. Sometimes it just didn’t come. When it didn’t, the old woman told whoever sought the knowledge that the sight wasn’t working that day. If they came back later, it might work then, or maybe the tree spirits were mad at the person for some reason. Did that person forget to tie a cloth or food to the spreading branches of the sacred trees, or ask permission of the tree spirits to pass? Who knows? A Yakut could offend the icci in a thousand different ways.
But tonight, her babushka had told Natalya she would see the vision for sure. The old woman had already seen Natalya’s husband and the girl would not be disappointed. He would not be what she expected, but she would not be sorry, and her’s would be a love and life which would inspire song stories to be sung for many years in countless yurts. Natalya asked again and again for some small hint of who he was and what he looked like but her babushka only smiled and told her to be patient.
But tonight was the night and Natalya was prepared. As soon as she saw her vision, Natalya would draw his face. She had a great talent for drawing, and drew every chance she got, as long as she had the materials, whatever they might be. She used everything from her own blood to charcoal and drew on paper, cloth, bark, stones, it didn’t matter - she had done it all.
As she rubbed her babushka’s feet, her dark eyes watched the old woman’s pupils dart around below her closed eyelids. Yakuts mostly resemble Japanese. No one in the village knew why, and very few people in the village had even seen a Japanese; but, they were told they resembled them and they believed it. The Yakut were a believing people.
The old woman’s sunken lips made unintelligible sounds. She hadn’t a tooth left in her head, and Natalya always chewed food for her and fed her like a bird. That’s why her clan called her Little Bird. That was fine. She would do anything for her babushka.
Siberian pine crackled in the open fireplace. Her uncles and cousins came often and cut wood for them, considering it their responsibility. It was just the two of them now living in the old yurt. Babushka’s children had their own yurts filled with growing families or had moved to work in Yakutsk where, most of the time, there was work for the Yakut, low paying and miserable, but work. There was mining, lumber, and hides to cure. And there was always the large boot factory just to the north of the city. The reindeer skin and felt boots produced there were world famous. Yes, if a Yakut worked until his bones ached and hands bled, there was usually enough to feed a family and maybe a ruble or two left over for some vodka.
But the true Yakut preferred the taiga, the never-ending pine and birch forests. The Yakut were called the “horse people,” and the wealth of a Yakut in the taiga was gauged by the number of horses he owned.
After rubbing for a few minutes, Natalya gently place the old woman’s foot in a comfortable position and quickly prepared the horsemeat and positioned it over the fire. She also warmed the dried fish and vegetables. She watched her babushka and listened to her chant prayers to their ancestors. Natalya did not interrupt her, knowing her babushka was preparing to show her the man she would marry. This task would take great spiritual energy and Natalya did not want to break her babushka’s concentration.
When the horsemeat was done, Natalya bit off some of the hot, savory meat and chewed it sufficiently for her babushka to swallow. Then she moved next to the old woman and, placing a hand over her babushka’s chin and one over her forehead, she parted the old woman’s mouth and, covering it with her own, pushed in the masticated meat with her tongue. The old Yakut’s eyes opened and she smiled at her granddaughter, tasting the wonderful meat and relishing its warmth.
Natalya repeated the process with more horsemeat, the dried fish, and the vegetables until her babushka raised her left hand indicating she was done. The girl then ate, taking small bites and tasting each morsel. Food was sometimes scarce in winter and the girl wanted the excellent taste to last as long as possible. If it were not for her family, Natalya knew that she and her babushka would starve to death.
When Natalya’s stomach was sufficiently full, she carefully wrapped the remaining food in scraped, chewed-to-softness hide to be eaten the next day. Then she took a cup of melted snow and placed it to her babushka’s lips. The old woman drank and smiled, letting the clear, clean water dribble down her chin onto her reindeer shirt. Then Natalya drank from the same cup, still listening to her babushka’s invocation to the spirits on her behalf.
The old woman suddenly stopped mumbling and opened her pitch-black and oh-so-penetrating eyes. “Hey, Little Bird, I see your pretty eyes. You grow more beautiful every day.”
Natalya smiled. “Thank you, Dear Heart. I am very happy that I please you.”
“Are you ready to look at your husband?”
Natalya’s eyes grew wide in anticipation. “Oh, yes. Many times yes. May I see him now, Dear Heart?”
“Yes, Little Bird, you may see him now.” Her babushka’s eyes