traitor devil

PLATE 4: WE DISCOVER A BURYAT MAN TIED TO THE GROUND AND RELEASE HIM. Lovely and sunny this morning, with a cool breeze and excellent visibility. We are in the midst of the elusive Siberian autumn, when the conditions here are at their most tolerable; the clouds of biting insects and stifling humidity of summer are gone, and the frigid winter has yet to begin. Westcott, in an unusually genial mood, rises early and cooks us a fine breakfast of tinned eggs on the primus stove. While we eat, he entertains us with tales of his impoverished boyhood in Wales. Despite this merriment, I feel concerned; we must find a settlement before the cold weather sets in.

That afternoon we finally encounter another human being. Rounding a low hillock we notice a strange shape clearly delineated against the distant horizon; it turns out to be a hooded man, tied to the ground with a crudely painted sign hung around his neck. We stop several yards away from the figure while the Welshman translates the sign for us. Its ambiguous message, “Traitor Devil”, instigates a debate about how we should proceed. In Westcott’s opinion the man is a criminal, an outcast of society, possibly a communist collaborator; he may even be an evil sorcerer or “black” shaman who has been sentenced to languish in this inhospitable place by tribal law. In any case, he is probably dangerous and should not be approached. Both Bindon and I are of the opinion that the wretch cannot be merely left here to die, and furthermore might be able to give us invaluable information about the location of Buryat villages. Put out to be overruled, Westcott fumes until Bindon placates him with a swig of malt.

Cautiously, we approach the figure. As we draw closer a muffled cackling is clearly audible beneath the hood, and then a penetrating guttural command in a thoroughly unknown tongue. “Give him some whiskey, boyo,” the Welshman rasps from behind the camera. Bindon immediately pulls out his flask and gives the man a drink while I start to untie him. We lift him up onto his feet and help him take a few faltering steps, but no sooner is this done than the man runs off at high speed towards a small group of trees on the horizon. Bindon and Westcott take off after him, but are easily outpaced by the man’s uncanny ability to perform prodigious leaps over rocks, bushes, and any other obstacles in his path, all with the hood still covering his face.