2003, Lovozero
“Syoy, syoy!” Baba Lena heaps steaming venison onto our plates. She is a Karelian. Old man Andrei is a Komi. An Izhem Komi. He is clearly proud of his origins.
It is warm in the little forest cottage. That is the most important thing – half an hour before, Volodya and I were shivering like animals, completely soaked in the spray of the savage waves on Lake Love (as we nicknamed Lovozero, which really did sound like Love-ozero).
Andrei is a short, wrinkled, easily drunk old man with striking blue eyes. True alcoholic’s eyes are dull, constantly tearing up. But in his, there was not the slightest glimmer of such.
“Don’t you think I haven’t seen anything just ’cause I live in the forest now? I have seen a lot.” He is constantly on the move: sitting at the table, jumping up
