out; this is the best part of the season.’ I said, ‘Let it be. Life is more
important.’ ”
The situation at Andrei Pochepnya’s house was more complicated. The
Lopatins lived next door and they knew the family well. “I know what
Andrei’s father told him when he came back from the army,” Lopatin
said. “He said, ‘I fed you. I raised you. Now, you look after me; feed me.’
He liked to drink, you know. It was a tough time, and Andrei was just a
young boy out of the army who didn’t know how to live his life. He had
talked to the supervisor of a logging crew who sort of promised him a
job, but it wasn’t a sure thing and both his parents were on his back,
‘sawing on him.’ ”
Andrei was in a bind: his parents didn’t want him to risk his life in the
forest, but he was the oldest son and was expected to contribute. At that
point, no one was hunting the tiger and no one knew where it was, what
its intentions were, or how long this paralysis would last. For Andrei, this
uncertainty combined with the situation at home was intolerable. At least
the taiga was quiet and he could be his own boss, and if he got lucky and
caught some mink or weasel, he would have something to show for
himself.
On Friday, December 12, Tamara Borisova held a ninth-day vigil for her
husband. Vigils were a holdover from the days of the church: nine days
after a person’s death, the soul is believed to still be wandering, searching
for its place; at that time, friends and family gather to drink, eat, and
remember the deceased. On the fortieth day, there would be another vigil
and by then the soul is expected to have settled. “Markov’s son came and
woke me up,” Denis recalled. “He said, ‘Let’s go; people are gathering.’ I
told him, ‘I’ll go get Andrei and we’ll come right over.’ I went to
Andrei’s, but they said he had gone to the forest. We hadn’t planned on
going anywhere that day because it was Markov’s ninth-day vigil. I don’t
know what happened; I think Andrei had an argument at home or