The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

But the Volga was not always indulgent or obedient. Calm and magical on a quiet night, it would become inclement and threatening when struck by a moriana. That is what we called a severe and persistent windstorm from the sea, “the broad Caspian.” It blew from the south, but it was no southern breeze. It would make the enraged Volga rear up and whip its waves into whitecaps. Its raging was no joke. It would rip apart rafts of logs coming down from the Kama River and scatter the heavy timber like matchsticks. The steam ferries which ran between the high and low banks of the river, would not dare to venture out into the storm and would hunker down wherever they could when caught by the weather in the hope that the moriana would cease by nightfall and they could take up their whistling and huffing the next morning. Even the passenger steamers, wary of being smashed against piers, would seek a sheltered spot in the river and wait out the storm on all anchors.

Once two playmates and I almost drowned when caught by a moriana on the “other side” where our fishing passion had taken us. It seemed that my buddies in all our exploits were always younger than myself. I recruited them, was their leader, and they depended on me as their senior. At that time I was a bit shy of ten; one of them was nine and the other eight. A moriana sometimes struck unexpectedly, with a scant warning to the experienced eye that was a dark gray strip along the water to the south. I noticed it in time and we rowed ashore, having decided to get home on the steam ferry. But the ferry was not running at all that day. We were out of luck. The moriana stormed with all its might. Suppressing our disappointment, we decided to wait it out. And then, as if in spite, out of the undergrowth there came toward our beached boat four professional Volga fishermen. They were huge men and not cowed by the storm, having seen its like before. They were preparing to cross the river under canvas sail, the strength of which they trusted completely.

One of the men, noticing our envious glances, suddenly said, “Hey, lads, come with us. We’ll tow you.” He may have been half-joking, but we immediately seized the opportunity with joy. The oldest of the fishermen, clearly displeased, grumbled something to his mates. They seemed to pause, but the offer had been made and accepted. Their pride and self-confidence along with the Russian trust in the blind luck of “what if?” kept them from backing out. Once agreed, it was a done deal. A rope from our prow was tied to their stern and the sail was unfurled. Then everything followed with lightning speed. The sail billowed forward, and we took off. The shore quickly receded. We were in a happy delirium when suddenly a thunderclap resounded right over our heads. The trusted sail had split right in half, punished by the wind and the extra load. Suddenly the men’s faces darkened. They quickly glanced at each other, and one of them clearing his throat said: “Well, lads, we’ll have to take to the oars to get out of this one, but you had better go back, that shore

Viktor Chernov, Idylls on the Volga

9

is nearer.” The rope was thrown back to us and we were left at the mercy of the raging waves.

I knew that we should not row back in a direct line because then we would be parallel to the waves and any one of them could overturn us. We had to go at an angle and slice the waves with our prow while slowly approaching the shore. I managed to explain this to my eight-year-old helmsman, but the rudder was mounted high on the boat and was useful only in calm weather. Now, every time the stern was lifted by a wave, the rudder spun uselessly in the air. Then we had to steer with the oars, and rowed with interruptions and half-effort. After all, we only had the strength of kids. The boat danced on the waves, but whether we were making progress or were being blown away by the wind, no one could tell. Shivering goose-bumps ran up and down my body. Nothing was helping, the only way out was to the bottom. I kept this thought to myself, pretending that everything was fine, but I think that the boys were not convinced by my show of courage.