Pe STS nee aa OT ne PTS Te The Return Short story by Boris Gorbatov HE story of Satanau’s return Was told me by Rebrovsky, Who is a Communist party of- feial in Chukctka. The two of us Spent a solid month at the Maina Pylgina supply de- Pot on the Bering Sea coast. € were waiting for a steam- » 4nd no steamer came. Th the daytime, we would ander about the shore, look- 8 listlessly at the brown ig of sperm whales at play |.) the sea. (It had been amus- § at first, then boring, then © had got sick to death of ir, ever have I seen animals blunt Stupid than these wet ened monsters!) The SS iad We spent sprawled a okins spread out on the ing co ning, yawning, play- an, this time, I knew all affai Rebrovsky’s first love iY and the story of his mar- sa and what dishes he fa- ~~. I have an idea that by er, Ww, No of ..We were devilishly sick few ch other too. The last i ie evenings we just lay «si- “Ww €ach in his own corner. sto ant me to tell you the : of Satanau2” he asked ‘“q_ &* Sudden one night. “Ro ahead.” abs Ut first you'll have to hear Sut Nam-Bok.” Be net may that be?” Well ished out. a_ tattered, ~,.Umbed book from un- Tack “a pillow and read me Ondon’s story, Nam-Bok aS NVeracious, Box is the story of Nam- After 10 years of roaming distant seas, he came back to - the fires of his tribe. The Eski- mos shrank from him: he had come from the Kingdom of Shadows, they were sure. Nam- Bok told them of the things he had seen in the white men’s land, of the house made of iron that moved without paddles over the water, of the monster which was fed with stone and in return towed men about ...He told them of many such wonders. But the Eskimos laughed at him and called him a liar, iron goes to the bottom, monsters do not feed on stone. And they cast out Nam-Bok and drove him away in disgrace. There is the story of Nam- Bok as told by Jack London. And here is the story of Satanau, as told me by Reb- rovsky at Maina Pylgina on the Bering Sea coast in those weary days of our “forced landing.” * The steamer came from the east. She anchored in the road- stead, past the cliff, for the bay was still packed with ice: the north wind had been blow- ing the day before. Today a strong westerly breeze was clearing the ice out of the bay, and the captain hoped to come closer in by nightfall and start unloading: He stood on the bridge, pulling. at his pipe and staring out indifferently at the long-familiar shore. An impatient tugboat darted towards the steamer from the among the floating blue and green ice floes, it nosed its way to the ship, and the man aboard clambered up the lad- der eager to get the papers and the mail and hear the latest news, and even more eager to see some fresh faces and have a talk with somebody differ- ent. : It was the first ship that year and everybody in the place swarmed out to meet it: the wintering party at the Polar station, the Chukchi- trappers, their wives and children ana dogs. They crowded on the shore, bustling and babbling excitedly. At last the tug came back. She dug her nose into the wet sand, and the occupants jump- ed out—men of the. ship’s crew and passengers, some of the wintering party. The last to come ashore was a man in blue overalls, the pockets stitched on with a double line of white thread. You see overalls like that in Alaska, at the Japanese fish- ing stations, and in this coun- try—out in Kamchatka. A knapsack dangled on the man’s back—all the baggage he had. Without looking at anybody or speaking to anyone, he strode confidently up the bank like a man who knew his way about’ these parts, picked the driest stone he could find, sat down, and proceeded solemn- ly to pull off his boots. From the knapsack he brought out a pair of shoes, a bright-red tie-and a blue polka-dot de- sign, and a bandana to match; all this he laid out lovingly on the stone, stuffed the boots into the knapsack, put on the shoes and tie, tucked the bandana into his breast pocket and smiled, well-pleased with him- self. Then he headed for the people standing about on the shore. * He walked straight up to a little knot of Chukchi and planted himself in front of them, a grin on his face and legs importantly wide apart. “Here I am back again,” he said in Chukchi. “Here I have come back.at last.” Dozens ot eyes stared in sur- prise. They did not recognize him, he realized, and it pleas- ed him well. He laughed again, thrust ‘his chest out proudly, drew forth the bandana and waved it about his face. “Who are you, that speak like real men?” an ancient be- spectacled man, asked in a quavering voice. Se “Oh, is it you, Pelyaugyn?” The newcomer laughed. “Who gave you spectacles? And that . is that Tygrenkau?” he went on peering into the faces. “Is: that 2 s