Kelena laid out her instruments on a clean bleached piece of sealskin: sharpened knives, needles and bones, tightly wound thread made of deer tendons, pieces of fur and long strips of clean, soft deerskin.Īrmol’ carried the struggling puppy into the room. While Armol’ was off on his errand, the sick man was moved closer to the center, and the braziers were raised high on supports, so that their light could fall from above. “Armol’, go and bring a puppy from my yaranga,” said Kelena, taking charge.
“But we have still got a long way to go,” Orvo objected. “To save this man, we must slaughter a dog,” said she to Il’motch, quietly, but with authority. Perhaps it was due to the huge strength and confidence emanating from her tall, withered frame, that people inevitably felt reassured and trusting toward the big and kindly woman who could not fail to help them. It seemed, whenever the shaman-woman cast her eyes into a shadowy corner, that she shone a torch into the darkness.ĭespite her unattractive appearance, Kelena aroused neither fear nor revulsion. Kelena’s eyes burned with yellow light, as though each eye housed a blazing grease lamp. Toko couldn’t tear his eyes away from her fingers, marveling that a woman could have such powerful hands. But her hands and her eyes were astonishing. Bristly hairs sprouted from her wide nostrils. Her face was long and thin. Tattoo lines disappeared into deep wrinkles like footpaths in the tundra hills. The men obeyed her without question, spreading out a well-scrubbed leather rug, while Orvo sharpened the shaman-woman’s knives with great concentration. She ordered an extra pair of braziers, so that there was enough light.
Kelena threw back the sleeve of her kerker and bared one stringy, dried-out breast, which drooped like an empty leather bag.
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