Yet there are those who do not embrace the truth. Even as the piety of the people increases in the eyes of the Creator, so still is there superstition and partnership with Evil.
There is a sorcerer among them who retains the people’s reverence even as they profess faith in God. This aged man mocks civilization by wearing along with his shaman’s costume some kind of gentleman’s hat that he says he obtained in trade with Shelikhov’s men.
This sorcerer is doing much to disrupt our endeavor. He claims to have caused the illness and fever in Father Pavel, and more troublesome, the people believe it is so. He benefits from coincidence. Two weeks ago he claimed that a certain native woman with a black tumor would die before the day ended. Her family begged him to help, but he said he would not. She died at sundown.
Some of the elder natives say that in years past this sorcerer has caused both the sun and moon to disappear, and that his leg is lame because he was shot with an arrow as he flew from tree to tree. They believe he can give and take away the breath of life. He tells them where best they can hunt their animals, and in times of starvation, they say he has called the wild creatures within reach of their spears. They also say he correctly predicted our arrival at Perkins Island.
Before a crowd of devoted Christian natives, I called out this man. I explained that it is only through God that his people may seek Truth and Life after death, that the ways of the Devil can result only in eternal suffering. After listening to my sermon, he repented and firmly promised to halt his practices.
At 5 o’clock that evening, I served Vespers and Matins. At 9 o’clock, we were informed that the sorcerer was atop the log cupola of our modest chapel. A group of native men stood outside and said they had watched the sorcerer fly to his location. It was dark and difficult to see, but I am horrified to report that indeed I saw a black shape atop our blessed chapel.
To please us, the people say they no longer heed this sorcerer. However, we know they continue to look to him for guidance, healing, and Dark Arts.
Eminent Master, I pray that our Creator’s benevolence will flow through your heart and bless me with words of comfort, knowledge, and instruction. In your fatherly kindness, inform us as to how best we can continue to bring the Wisdom and the Word of God to this wild land. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.
Your humble and devoted servant,
Hierodeacon Joseph
Dear Mr. Forrester,
I had to share this letter with you. I tracked it down in a book about the Orthodox Church’s presence in Alaska, and it includes firsthand narratives?—?diaries and letters translated from Russian?—?of missionaries who came to Alaska in the 1700s. I read the book several years ago, and thought of it as I was going through your papers. I remembered that there was a reference to Perkins Island.
I have to say, it gave me chills when I read it this time. Nearly a hundred years before the Colonel. Weird.
I’m making good progress on transcribing the diaries, even though I’ve been able to spare only a few hours here and there. I was out last week. The caribou were just north of Alpine, so I went hunting with our neighbors. But now I’m back, and our freezer is full, so I don’t have any plans to be gone for a while. The rest of the winter here at the museum it should be quiet with the tourists gone, so I’ll be able to put more time into transcribing. I’ve resisted bringing it home to work on in the evenings, because Isaac hates it when I spread my papers all over the house. I guess I’m a bit like your sister in that way. And, by the way, I am a big fan of yellow stickies, too.
Since you mentioned your curiosity about Alaska, I’ll try to give you a sense of “downtown” Alpine. It’s a strip of highway that parallels the Wolverine River. There’s a church, a gas station, our museum (which is an old log church that has been renovated), the public library, the junkyard, the post office (which also doubles as a convenience store), and two bars. The main social events are the wakes at one of the bars when one of the old-timers passes away and the flu shot clinics at the library each fall.
There’s really not much to it, but somehow I missed it when I was away at college in Seattle. It was just small things?—?being able to light a campfire in my own backyard and stand around it with friends and neighbors. The cold air off the glacier. Ice skating on the lake in the dark of winter. The northern lights. The mountains. Knowing everyone at the post office. There is the feeling here that civilization is still just a speck, and it makes me feel small in a good way. Seattle made me feel small in a bad way, if that makes any sense.
I’ve been back home for about five years. It makes my mom happy. She likes to cook dinner for us. We had caribou roast and mashed potatoes last night.
By the way, please call me Josh. Whenever I see “Mr. Sloan,” I think I’ve opened someone else’s mail by accident.
All best,
Josh