Do you know the river Lena? Day and night I am alive here by the riverbank. I was born here. The Khan kindled me. And is now feeding me with wood and branches day and night to keep me alive. His wife sings until her voice is hoarse and sore. Then the Khan sings until his voice is sore. They sing for their son fighting for his life in the icy stream.
I am heat. I am fire. What I cannot do is fight the water. I can only stay here close. I can keep the light. I can keep the warmth. But the water, the river and its cold waters are not mine. The course of the river and its water is not to be changed. I see the pain of the mother, but I cannot take it away. All I can do is burn.
Her husband the Khan keeps feeding me. And if he ever forgets. If he ever once or twice during the night falls into despair, his wife feeds me. And sings. The young Khan is pale. He doesn’t move as much now as he did in the first days. I think that he struggled against the water for a fortnight before giving up the struggle. Before allowing himself to just be overwhelmed by the water. The river is cold and sad. Something very wrong must be righted.
Now thirty days and nights have passed, and the Khan’s wife is first into the water with her husband limping right behind. They allow no one else to untie him and they carry him to the riverbank and to me. I can give him a moment of warmth, but he still needs the winds to have a go at him. We will stay here. The Khan will feed me, and his wife will sing to her son. They will keep me alive to keep him alive.
