A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 183 



whereupon they not only fetched tea, but in the hospit- 

 able custom of the country brought out a fine fish. In 

 return I invited them to taste an anglishi riha,i.e. English 

 fish, and loud was their laughter when I produced a tin 

 of skipper sardines. They told me that their names 

 were Maria, Olga, Elena, and Katrina. They were what 

 are known as townsmeyi on the Yenesei — that is, they 

 came down the river for the summer and fished for 

 themselves, not for either AntonofF or Prokopchuk as 

 the Golchika people did. The latter looked down upon 

 the townsmen as upon an inferior class. This family 

 had come from Turukhansk in the barge of the Oryol, 

 and had camped at lonely Kuria. Their flour sacks and 

 fish barrels were stacked beside the stream, and the rest 

 of their worldly goods were contained in two gaudy 

 Russian coffers. For six weeks they fished night and 

 day, hoping to earn enough to live upon for all the rest 

 of the year, and at the end of August they would travel 

 south again. They were all fine-looking girls, tanned 

 by the sun. None of them had ever seen a doctor, and 

 none of them could either read or write. All the 

 summer through they never saw a stranger's face unless 

 they went over to Golchika, but there was little enough 

 time for that. Day and night they worked at the fish- 

 ing, hauling on the nets or packing their catch into 

 barrels. Each ate when she was hungry, and slept 

 when she was sleepy, without any regard for time. 

 And behind the balagan, the water ran down from the 

 melting snowdrifts with a little musical drip-drip, like 

 a clock whose perpetual ticking marked the flight of the 

 short, sweet northern summer. The life of these balagan 



