Trush smiles broadly and spreads his arms like wings, exclaiming, “And
the doors flew open!” It is because of situations like this that the Tigers
never work alone.
Given the remoteness of his beat, and the ease with which the taiga can
absorb a body, Trush has reason to be much more cautious than he is. But
Trush has a contagious confidence, and some of this is due to his beagle-
sized Laika, Gitta. The two are inseparable. Gitta has saved Trush’s life at
least twice, and he has returned the favor an equal number of times. She
is his eyes, ears, and sixth sense in the forest. It seems both comical and
poignant that such a small dog could mean so much to such a large man,
and yet the intensity and clairvoyance of their bond is profound—one
best understood by K-9 corps officers, waterfowlers, and the blind. Gitta
keeps Trush’s heart strong in the forest, but it is Lubov Trush who simply
keeps his heart. They have been married for forty years. Fully a foot
shorter than Trush, she is his emotional backbone, and it is a steely one.
Herself a former kayak champion, Lubov is tightly bundled, kind and
industrious. Goodwill and good food seem to emanate from her. Yuri may
run you hard in the bush, but a visitor can still grow fat at Lubov’s table.
At home in their fifth-floor apartment, Trush seems too large for the
space, and the simple furniture appears insufficient to hold him, as if it
had been designed for a smaller scale of human. In this calm and cozy
sanctuary, where Lubov holds sway, there are few signs of her husband’s
working life. But there are some hints: the kettlebells in the corner, shiny
with use; the tiger-striped blanket on the guest bed; the improvised
punching bag filled with wheat germ hanging in the hallway. Stashed in
closets and drawers are more obvious clues: a pair of Udeghe-style
hunting skis; a tiger’s claw; a Dragunov “Tiger” sniper’s rifle; a mangled
bullet, its crevices still packed with matter from a tiger Trush shot in the
icy spring of 1996.
ron
(Ron)
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