On the Run in Siberia

4. Out of Range

61 4 out of range Icaress helene with my gaze, her fine, pale face, plump red lips, and jet-black hair that falls in wisps around her ears. Quite slowly and tenderly, I lay my arm around her throat. With my other hand, I open a button on her shirt and glimpse her white, round breasts, which peek forth from beneath her lingerie. She leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Rane, come home to me.” Her words dart through me like a stream of light, and I give in. At once I feel my whole body shake. “What’s happening? Who’s there?” I roar, jumping up in bed. “Easy now, it’s only me,” replies Ivan, who is standing shaking me impatiently by the shoulder. He is fully dressed in winter jacket, mittens, and a big fox-fur cap, which is pulled down over his head. “What the hell is the time?” I ask, dazed and rubbing my eyes. “I suppose it’s half past four. Get up and pack your things.” Ivan goes over toward the door but stops for a moment. “We’re leaving right away. The police are on the way from Zyryanka to arrest you.” It is the beginning of January. It has been a week since I returned to Siberia after ten days of vacation in St. Petersburg. There I had waved goodbye to Uffe, who had hurried home to Copenhagen to receive the many sable furs that we had bought during the month of December and that we both supposed were now on their way and previous: Sable hunting in the Siberian wilderness. facing: The author (right) holds a dead hare next to Ivan Danilov and the hunting dogs. 62 . out of range would soon reach the Danish fur auctions. As for myself, I stayed in St. Petersburg, where I was to meet my girlfriend of four years, Helene . My expectations for our reunion had grown out of proportion during our many months of separation, and in hindsight disappointment was lurking just around the corner. And indeed our meeting was characterized from the start by a strange, oppressive deadness. Helene told me that her father had fallen sick and lay dying. She was in shock, and even though she never said it directly, her sad gaze showed that she clearly wanted me to come back to Denmark. As for myself, I was physically and mentally exhausted after the many months in Siberia and felt only emptiness in my heart. Helene had become so strangely irrelevant, obsolete to me. I was determined to go back to the Yukaghirs to drive the fur project on and to complete my fieldwork. When we parted, our relationship was in tatters. I stood at the airport and watched her disappear into the throng of busy travelers, with a sick feeling of having failed her at the worst conceivable moment. Nevertheless, I went back to northeastern Siberia with the clear expectation that the fur project was now on track. But the situation would turn out to be quite different. When I landed in Zyryanka, I was met by Ivan, who was quite nervous. He explained to me that Shadrin had been arrested. Nobody knew why or where he was now. In addition, all the sable furs had been confiscated. The news came as a shock. Also, Ivan told me that there were rumors that the police in Zyryanka were awaiting an arrest warrant for “the Dane,” who was to be imprisoned for illegal trade and poaching. He urged me to jump on the same plane I had arrived on, back to Yakutsk and on to Denmark. Should I really go back? My decision was a difficult one, since rumors of my imminent arrest had also been rampant when Uffe and I were gathering furs, but had not been followed by actual problems with the forces of law and order. The police from Zyryanka had turned up only once, but since our passports and papers had been in order, they had left us in peace. I considered for a while, and then I told Ivan, in a tone that did not invite negotiation, that “it may be that the fur project is now in ruins, but I still have my fieldwork to complete.” out of range . 63 Ivan nodded reluctantly. Next, he ordered me up on the back of the snowmobile, and with the throttle fully open...