Alexandr Keldyushov - She-bear

Winding like a snake among the towering hills, the barely noticeable taiga trail meandered. Two people were confidently walking along it, unwittingly bending under the weight of their bloated backpacks. Hunters already lost count of the number of flat ridges they overcame, the cliffs they bypassed, the mountain rivers they crossed, resisting the rapid current that was knocking them down. But they stubbornly moved to the target. Two days on way. Exhausting days and short night breaks. Sleep was more similar to wakefulness, and with the dawn, they were on the road again. The sweat, flooding the eyes. Stinging bites of mosquitoes and midges. They were already a little interested in how many kilometres were left behind. They were more concerned with when this crazy transition would be completed. But the end justified the means. People were almost exhausted but with an animal’s tenacity moved to the bear thawed patch in anticipation of the desired prey. Bear bile was highly valued on the black market, and they could make good money. They could also sell pads and skin. All this promised a significant amount of money, which they would not earn for a year in the timber industry enterprise. The meat would remain for the winter, so they would no longer need to buy pork, prices on which rose significantly this year. It would be a really good catch. The bear was a dangerous beast, but it was not the first time they were hunting for it, at least for one of the hunters. And that encourage optimism that they would not come back without the prey. Besides, they both were experienced riflemen, well armed. The worn-out lacquered butts of double-barrelled guns crushed against the khakis, and leather cells of cartridges were packed with explosive bullets, which would be enough to shoot all the bears in the area. The last steep ascent, and the hunters finally came to the desired area. From the top of the hill, taiga spread before the eyes; at feet, as far as one could see, there was the magnificent cedar forest, and only at the bank of the mountain river winding like a silver thread, willows and birches timidly clung.

– Here we come! – the elderly hunter satisfactorily chuckled, gently going down the flat slope, and assured: – When we cross the river we will be at the right place! – On the next turn, leaning his backpack against the tree, he wiped big drops of sweat sliding down his stubborn forehead with his wide calloused palm, and, smoothing back his soft grey hair, thoughtfully concluded: – There are two more kilometres left! We will go to the river and at the ‘dead wood’ out there, on the Grishenskaya clearing, we will set up a camp!

– You just made me happy! – The black-haired man, twenty years younger than his companion, wearily exhaled. He tried not to lag behind his older comrade, whom this familiar terrain sort of gave more strength, and disappointedly complained: – This walk to the ‘cordon’ has finally exhausted me! I have no strength to carry this damn backpack! I have the feeling that my wife put some bricks in it on some purpose for me to die on the way! – And he threatened dully: – I will come back and will make her run around the house with this backpack! She will see the circus! She put so many useless things there like I was going to taiga not for three days but for the winter! She can only dream about this! – The hunter’s anger had no limit. – Give a fool rope enough, and she will hang herself! Damn! – The man looked like he was thirty-five years old; one could call him handsome, tightly built, scrubby and broad-shouldered, vaguely resembling the English bulldog, with the same crooked feet and with a protruding lower jaw. But his black eyes, looking frowningly, were the most scaring, as insane lights were blazing in them with bright flashes. Not everyone in the village could withstand this look of a pissed-off beast burning with hatred without that treacherous feeling of chills of fear. For his uncontrollable violent nature, Michael was known among the villagers as a fierce brawler. Hot-tempered, getting angry in a flick of a finger, he constantly got into fights, most of which he had started. People were afraid of him and tried to avoid in order not to get in the heat of the moment. He was not just a cruel man but a real sadist, who knew no pity and compassion. Often getting drunk to unconsciousness, he was brutally beating his wife, throwing into action his heavy fists. And when she lost consciousness, he was beating her, already lying on the floor, with his feet, after which she rested in bed for weeks, barely recovering from the beating. He always had the reasons for the use of brute force, so the woman had bruises and abrasions on her swollen face for months, demonstrating to others the hard temper of her husband. Although he often got drunk and constantly kicked up a row, no one could object to the fact that Mikhail was a skilful and desperate hunter. He alone was hunting for the wild boar, and sometimes he even brought the elk. And once he strangled with his bare hands a full-grown wolf that attacked him, the skin of which now covered the floor of the kitchen, serving as direct evidence of his strength. In his lifetime, he killed many animals, but this was the first time he was hunting for bear. And he hoped not to lose his face in front of the senior fellow, relying on his accuracy and significant experience in hunting for other big animals.

– My goodness! We reached our destination! – Sergey Petrovich contentedly exhaled, promptly throwing the backpack to the ground and wearily sitting down next: – Now it is a matter of technique – to find the bear and to take aim at it! And the rest comes down to luck: either we will kill it or it will kill us! There is no other way! – The man laughed out loud, showing his teeth yellowed from nicotine, looking around the clearing with tenacious hunter’s eyes and trying to find even the slightest indication of the presence of the master of taiga.

– Finally! – Mikhail sighed with relief, sitting down beside his friend, and quickly took off kersey boots, providing rest for his legs tired of walking. – What a bliss! – The man tenderly moaned, stretching out his bare feet and considering the reddened fingers. Though he was not a physically weak man, but even he had been exhausted by the forty-kilometre marathon. – Couldn’t you find a closer spot for hunting for bear?!

– At closer places, all the animals have been shot! – Sergey Petrovich said in a mocking tone, rolling the home-grown tobacco and wetting the cigarette paper with saliva. – There are more people in the woods than mushrooms! They killed all the animals!

– That’s true! – Mikhail confirmed, alternately massaging the soles of the feet, and said dreamily: – I would like to take a nap for an hour or two! It would be good to relax a little and to begin hunting with fresh vigour!

– We will catch up on sleep in the afterlife! – Sergey Petrovich said mockingly. – We are running out of time! Firstly, we need to set up a camp until dark! And secondly, we need to have a bite! Nobody knows when we will have time to eat! – and, untying the backpack, he peevishly began to complain: – Real men should eat well! One cannot be fed with sleep only! We need meat! Lots of meat! All man’s strength is in meat! And we need a lot of strength today! Really! Bears eat wimps for lunch! The moment you gape, relax, and it will get you! It will grab you in the pads, and you will be dead!

– Stop lamenting! We are not of the chaff too! We will be able to stand up for ourselves! – Mikhail snapped, lovingly stroking the lacquered butt of the double-barrelled gun. – And this gun will kill not only a bear but an elephant! A bear for my ‘old lady’ is like a mouse for a cat! It will be gone in a flick of a finger!