Alaska (42 page)

Father Vasili had brought to Kodiak a new vision of the universe, and Sofia Kuchovskaya at last

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recognized and understood it. 'I give my life to Jesus,' she said with soft simplicity, and this time she meant it. Her conversion was completed.

Because she was a young woman of integrity, when she left the chapel she went directly to the shaman's hut, where she waited until Lunasaq brought forth his mummy: 'I've seen a vision of the new gods. I'm reborn this day as Sofia Kuchovskaya, and I've come to thank you with tears in my eyes for the love and assistance you shared with me before I found, the light.'

A kind of wailing filled the hut, emanating both from Lunasaq, who realized that he was losing one of the major battles of his life, and from the mummy, who had known for many seasons that the changes taking place in her islands boded no good: 'Cidaq, you're like a young walrus tumbling on dangerous ice. Beware!' This accidental reminder that her name signified a young animal that ran free brought to mind the immense loss she was facing, and she whispered: 'I shall tumble, no doubt. And I shall miss your comforting. But new winds are blowing across the ice, and I must listen.'

'Cidaq! Cidaq!' the mummy cried, and this mournful intonation was the last time this child of the islands would hear that precious name, for now she knelt before the shaman, thanking him for his guidance, and before the mummy, whose sensible support had been so important to her in times of crisis: 'I feel as if you were my grandmother's grandmother. I shall miss you.'

Eager to retain contact with this worthy child, the shaman caused his mummy to say with no show of anxiety: 'Oh, but you can still come talk with me.'

Then came the wrenching moment: 'No, I cannot, for I am now a new person. I am Sofia.'

With that, she bowed once more to these ancestral forces in her life, and with tears in her eyes she left them, apparently forever. When the hut was bereft of her presence, the old shaman and the ancient one remained silent for some minutes, then from the sack came a scream of mortal anguish, as if the end of a life as well as the end of an idea had come: 'Cidaq! Cidaq!' But the once-owner of that name would no longer hear.

IT WAS A WEDDING WHICH NONE WHO ATTENDED WOULD

ever forget. Huge black-scowling Yermak Rudenko appeared almost pale from his long incarceration, beetle-browed, hunched over, embittered by his previous treatment but relieved at having escaped a return to the Seal Islands; he resembled in no way a bridegroom, for he looked much as he 261

had in his previous incarnation, a skulking murderer of defenseless travelers. Sofia Kuchovskaya presented a striking contrast. Young, exuberant, lacking even the slightest sign of her former mistreatment at the hands of her intended, her hair marvelously long at her back, neatly trimmed almost to her eyelashes in front, and with that big smile in place, she looked to be exactly what she was: a young bride somewhat bewildered by what was occurring and not at all certain that she was in control.

The guests were all Russian or Creole; not one Aleut had been invited, since this day was held by the officials to be one when a native girl was being allowed entrance to Russian society. For her the evil old days of paganism were dead; the bright new days of Orthodox faith were beginning, and it was assumed that she would be grateful for the improvement in her status.

Even Rudenko enjoyed the metamorphosis. He was no longer just another brutal convict sentenced to the Aleutians or a runaway from the Seal Islands; he was now the agency for performing a major mission for the tsarina, the bringing of an Aleut pagan soul into Christianity. He bathed in his newfound respectability and behaved like a real Russian settler.

Father Vasili was engulfed in emotion, for Sofia was the first Aleut woman he had converted and the first Aleut of either sex whose entrance into Christianity could be taken seriously. But to him Sofia was much more than a symbol of the change that would sweep the islands; she was an admirable human being, triumphant over disasters that might have deranged a lesser person, and gifted with a keen sense of what was happening to her people. In saving this young woman, Vasili said to himself as he approached the canopy under which he would stand as he read the wedding service, Russia's getting one of the best. And in his black robes he married them.

There were singing and dancing by the Russian sailors and speeches by officials, who congratulated Sofia Rudenko on her entry to their society and her husband Yermak upon his release from custody. But on the third day these celebrations were marred by the sudden intrusion of the disheveled old shaman, who left his hut, came onto Company property, and in a wild shaky voice berated Father Vasili for having conducted such an infamous wedding.

'Go back, old fool!' a guard warned, to no effect, for the old fellow persisted in his disturbing accusations until Rudenko, irritated by this interruption of festivities at which he was the central figure, rushed at the shaman, bellowing: 262

'Out of here!' and when the old man pointed a long finger at the bridegroom, crying in Russian: 'Murderer! Debaucher of women! Pig!' Rudenko became so angered that he began clubbing at him with his fists, and he struck him so often and so hard that Lunasaq, staggered, tried to steady himself by holding on to his assailant, then took two sharp knocks to the head and fell into the dust.

Now Sofia intervened. Pulling her husband away, she knelt beside her old counselor and gently slapped his face until he regained consciousness. Then, ignoring her wedding guests, she started to lead him to his hut, but to her surprise Father Vasili interceded, placed his own arms about his enemy's trembling body, and led him to safety. Sofia, watching the two men disappear, knew that she should be with them and began to run after them, but Rudenko, infuriated by what had happened and his wife's participation, grabbed her by the arm, spun her around, and struck her so heavily in the face that now she lay in the dust. He might have kicked her, too, had not Ensign Belov intervened, lifted Sofia to her feet, and brushed away the dust. The dark blood dripping from her chin, where Rudenko's fist had cut the flesh enclosing her ivory labret, he could not wash away.

YERMAK RUDENKO WAS NOT DISCIPLINED FOR BEATING his wife or thrashing the shaman, because most Russians considered Aleuts less than human and proper objects for brutal punishment. In lawless Kodiak, Russian opinion was that all native wives, Aleut or Creole, profited from a justified beating now and then, while the castigation of the shaman was seen as a service to the Russian community. But when Father Vasili heard of what Rudenko had done while he was helping the shaman to his hut, and saw during prayer services the extent of Sofia's cuts, he did not go to console her, but he did accost Yermak: 'I've seen what you did to Sofia. This must never happen again.'

'Mind your business, Black Robes.'

'It is my business. Humanity is my business.' The frail priest looked ridiculous, speaking thus to the huge trader, and both men knew it, so with a big paw, not a fist, Rudenko pushed Vasili away, and the priest's feet became so entangled that he fell. Others saw the accident, for that was how it should be defined, since Rudenko did not strike the priest, and they interpreted it as yet another thrashing their bullyboy had administered to an interfering priest, and when they saw that Vasili was afraid to take counteraction, they began to denigrate him, until it became general opinion that

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'we were better off with drunk old Father Pe'tr, who knew enough to stay clear of our affairs.'

Some days later, when Sofia appeared at prayer with her left eye bruised, Father Vasili knew he could no longer avoid taking action, and when service ended he approached the bully, and said in a voice loud enough for others to hear: 'If you ever abuse your wife again, I shall have you punished.'

The listeners laughed, for it was obvious that the priest had neither the personal strength to punish Rudenko nor the authority to demand that some official do so, and this pusillanimity indicated the low estate to which The Company had fallen.

But this situation was about to change, a third visitor was about to reach Kodiak, and his arrival would make a vast difference. On a day in late June 1791 a sailor, looking down the bay on whose shores Three Saints stood, spotted a small sailboat that looked as if it had been slapped together from bits of wood and sealskin. Unfit for ocean travel or even the crossing of a lake, it was struggling to make landfall before it disintegrated, and the sailor wondered if he should first hurry to the shore to try to save it or run for help.

Choosing the latter option, he dashed toward town, shouting: 'Boat arriving! Men aboard!' Assuring himself that he had been heard, he ran back to the shore and tried to haul the boat onto the rocky beach, but the near-dead sailors, beards salted white, were unable to help. When he tried to do the job alone he recoiled in horror, for in the bottom of the boat lay the corpse of a baldheaded man too old for such adventure.

The first islander to reach the stricken craft was Father Vasili, who shouted to those coming behind: 'Hurry! These fellows are near death!' And as others arrived he started to administer rites to the body in the bottom of the boat, but as he did so the man groaned, opened his eyes, and cried with delight: 'Father Vasili!'

The priest jumped back, looked more closely, and gasped: 'Aleksandr Baranov! What a way to report for duty!'

When the exhausted men were lifted ashore and given hot drinks, it was Baranov, miraculously revived, who surprised both his shipmates and those who had rescued him brushing off his muddied clothes, pressing down his few strands of hair, and taking command of the impromptu meeting at the edge of the bay. His report was brief, its items recognized by all who sailed in Russian ships: 'I am Aleksandr Baranov, merchant of Irkutsk and chief manager of all Company affairs in Russian Amer—

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ica. I sailed from Okhotsk in August last year and should have reached here in November.

But you can guess what happened. Our ship was leaky, our captain was a drunkard, and our navigator put us onto rocks seven hundred miles off course, losing our ship in the process.

'We spent a dismal winter on an island with no people, no food, no tools and no maps.

We survived principally because this fine fellow, Kyril Zhdanko, son of our lady director in Petropavlovsk, had island experience and courage. He built this boat, sailed it to Kodiak, and now receives promotion as my assistant.

'If Father Vasili, a friend of mine from Irkutsk, will lead us to his church, we will offer thanks to God for our salvation.'

But when the procession reached the pitiful shack that served the priest as his church, Baranov voiced loudly a decision which informed the islanders that a new man with strong ideas was now in charge: 'I will not give thanks in that pigsty. Not fit for the presence of God, or the work of a priest, or the attendance of a chief manager,'

and under the open skies beside the bay he bowed his bald head, folded his arms over his sagging belly, and gave awed thanks to the various miracles that had saved him from drunken captains, stupid navigators and a winter's starvation. At the conclusion of the prayer, which not the priest but he gave, he reached for Kyril Zhdanko's arm and said: 'It was a near thing, son,' and before that day ended he issued what sounded like contradictory instructions. To Zhdanko he said: 'Begin planning immediately to move our capital to a more likely spot,' but to Father Vasili: 'We'll start building you a real church tomorrow.'

Zhdanko, who knew that he would be doing most of the work, protested: 'But if we're leaving this place, why not wait to build our new church at the other spot?'

'Because I have no commission more important than giving our church proper support.

I want conversions. I want children learning Bible stories. And I certainly want a decent church, because it represents the soul of Russia.'

But when Zhdanko discussed this preposterous decision in greater detail, he found that what Baranov really wanted was some building, any building, that carried on top the comforting onion dome of a Russian church: 'Sir, I don't believe we have anywhere on Kodiak a man who can build an onion dome.'

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'Yes, you do!'

'Who?'

'Me. If I could learn to make glass, I can learn to make a dome.' And on the third full day of his residence in Three Saints this energetic little man identified a building which, if its top were knocked off, would support an onion dome which he, Baranov, would build. Assembling woodmen to provide him with timbers and sawyers to cut curved planks, he scratched Kodiak for nails and commandeered the few crude hammers, and soon he had rising in the cool air beside the cottonwood trees a fine onion dome, which he wanted to paint blue, but since Kodiak had only brown, he settled for that.

At the dedication he revealed his strategy: 'I want every board to be numbered, in sequence, because when we move to our new location, we'll take our dome with us, for I do believe we've built a good one.'

The incident of the dome convinced the people of Kodiak that this dynamic little man, so like a gnome, so unlike a manager of frontier posts, was determined to make Russian America a vital center of trade and government, and his broad interest probed into all aspects of life in the settlement. For example, when the attractive young girl Sofia appeared with a black eye, he summoned Father Vasili: 'What happened to that child?'

'Her husband beats her.'

'Husband! She looks an infant. Who is he?'

'A fur trader.'

T should have known. Have him brought here,' and when the hulking brute shambled in, Baranov shouted: 'Stand at attention, you dog!' And when it became possible to conduct a reasonable disciplinary interview, the new manager snapped: 'Why do you think you can smash your little wife about?'

'She . . .'

Moving very close to him, the little fellow bellowed: 'She what?' and before Rudenko could respond, Baranov shouted: 'Fetch me Zhdanko!' and when that no-nonsense Creole appeared, adopted son of the powerful Madame Zhdanko and future governor of the Aleutians, Baranov gave him one simple command: 'If this swine ever beats his wife again, shoot him.' Turning with scorn to Rudenko, he said: 'I'm told you like to kick priests about, too. Kyril, if he ever touches or in any way threatens Father Vasili, shoot him.'