villagers hugged with relatives, the old people took turns kissing the younger, greeting them.
„Grandmother,“ Tatya asked Levne, „why is the road called Royal?“
„I don't know, granddaughter. They say that in the old days the Russian tsar paved the way for our villages.“ He liked beautiful sables, that's why his merchants went on this road. Now they transport fish and furs without a stop.»
«Instead they bring sugar, flour, salt, and tobacco to our village,» Khutline joined the conversation.
«That's why we also need this road. One bad thing is that dogs are not used to passing carts. They bark day and night.»
«And now the road is called Royal because it's convenient for us. Walking along a well-paved road is easier: you won't get stuck in snowdrifts.»
«Let's go home, we are waiting for guests tomorrow,» said Levne to the girls, «the reindeer herders will come.»
People moved to their homes.
Summer 1941
In the month of vonzi, when the ringing snow streams are already tired of running, hurrying to the still ice-covered Ob, the river finally breathed. Shore ice became wider, and the river gained strength. With a powerful back it lifted a heavy cover of ice above. Once in the morning, with a deafening crack, the ice moved near the village itself. From the headwaters of the Ob, huge ice floes swayed on the water, tossing and turning, crawling onto each other, and crushed everything that comes in the way. The ice drift began.
The river started. Piled on top of each other, heavy dirty ice swept away islands and trees along the way. The high sandy shores collapsed, and the mighty cedars and thin birches, exposing their roots, rolled upside down to a stormy river – just like people. The weak died, the strong survived in this whirl. The ice, plunging into the dark deep waters, sharply emerged from the seething mess, rushing to the Gulf of Ob.
Having been exposed from the frozen cover, the high-water river As happily breathed in deeply, tossing up the foam and shards of the last ice floes glistening in the sun. Muddy water animatedly played with spring sunshine after a long winter hibernation and extended to the sandy shores. The men rushed to fishing, putting nets on the sors that had been freed from ice.
By the end of June, Anshem iki went afloat when she heard that upstream white fish had approached. Someone in a neighboring village has already caught a big nelma. Anshem iki arrived from fishing with his neighbor. Each of them was carrying a large fish in his fingers by the gills. The lucky fisherman gave his wife a catch and said:
«Two boats are coming from above. The authorities, apparently, will distribute sands among the fishermen.»
«Granddaughter,» said Levne to Tatya, «take Khatan evie and go to your neighbors, invite them to eat fresh fish. Tell them your grandfather brought the narkhul (frozen fish).»
The girls ran to invite the neighbors. The mistress of the house sat flaying a catch.
Soon the boat landed. The guests who arrived from the area explained something to people. A commotion began in the village. Throwing her fish on the grass, the woman, frightened, ran into the house. She cautiously toucher the leg of her husband, afraid to frighten him in a dream as he was having a short sleep after fishing:
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