Unesnõiduja. Tšuktši muinasjutte

In the far northeast corner of Asia lies Chukchi. On the peninsula wedged between the Arctic Ocean and the Pacific Ocean, the frosts are not as severe as in the interior of Eastern Siberia, but it is still very cold. Winds and rainfall make the weather here more unhealthy than inland. Snowstorms often rage for weeks and months. In such a storm, one cannot see beyond the tip of one's nose. Anyone who dares to leave the house at this time will be buried by snow. Today, technology and medical science have given the Chukchi the means to overcome so many problems, but in the old days, people were quite powerless against the tumult of nature.

The Chukchi beach man lived almost entirely on hunting and fishing. However, hunting is impossible during a snowstorm. There were often not enough food supplies. If the riots happened to last for a very long time, the people starved. The grease ran out in the moss-lined stone vessels that served as lamps. The lights went out one after the other. The cold took hold in the chambers. Hungry, homeless people sat in the pitch dark and cold, with their hands folded, but their spirit resisted. After all, there were storytellers among them who knew how to fill this forced idle time with the amazing colors of the fairy-tale imagination. Of course, these stories told in harsh conditions are themselves harsh, often even horrible, but still, those staying in the magical world of fairy tales forgot their own troubles and troubles. Storytelling was intended to overcome the rage, and in a way it was.