The Birch Forests

On the second morning, the train was already four hundred kilometres east of Moscow. Polly woke up on the small folding table where she had spent the night under a corner of the woman's beige cardigan. The light through the window was the soft grey of an early summer northern morning. The woman was already up and drinking tea from a glass with a metal holder.

Asubuhi ya pili, treni ilikuwa tayari imepiga hatua ya kilomita mia nne kuelekea mashariki mwa Moscow. Polly aliamka kwenye meza ndogo inayokunjwa ambapo alilala usiku kucha chini ya kona ya sweta ya beige ya mwanamke. Mwanga kupitia dirishani ulikuwa wa kijivu laini wa asubuhi ya mapema ya majira ya joto kaskazini. Mwanamke huyo alikuwa tayari ameamka na alikuwa anakunywa chai kutoka kwenye glasi yenye kishikio cha chuma.

"Birches," the woman said.

"Mibiru," mwanamke alisema.

Polly looked. Outside the window, white-trunked trees were running past at sixty kilometres an hour. They were everywhere. They went on. They were not in groves. They were not in clearings. They were the entire landscape. The forest had become a continuous fact.

Polly alitazama. Nje ya dirisha, miti yenye magamba meupe ilikuwa ikikimbia kwa kasi ya kilomita sitini kwa saa. Zilikuwa kila mahali. Ziliendelea. Hazikuwa katika makundi. Hazikuwa katika viwanja vya wazi. Zilikuwa mandhari yote. Msitu ulikuwa umekuwa ukweli unaoendelea.

This was the western edge of the Russian birch belt. White birch, Betula pubescens. Some downy. Some silver. The species has the widest natural range of any deciduous tree on Earth. It can grow on land where almost nothing else will. It thrives in cold poor soils, in marshes, on the edges of forests where larger trees cannot get a foothold. It is the tree that says: there has been a fire here. Or: there will be a forest here, eventually, but I am here first.

Hii ilikuwa ni ukingo wa magharibi wa ukanda wa mibiru wa Urusi. Mbiru mweupe, Betula pubescens. Baadhi yenye manyoya. Baadhi ya fedha. Aina hii ina eneo pana zaidi la asili kuliko mti mwingine wowote wa majani duniani. Inaweza kukua kwenye ardhi ambapo karibu hakuna kitu kingine kitakachokua. Inastawi kwenye udongo baridi na duni, kwenye mabwawa, kwenye kingo za misitu ambapo miti mikubwa haiwezi kupata nafasi. Ni mti unaosema: kulikuwa na moto hapa. Au: kutakuwa na msitu hapa, hatimaye, lakini mimi niko hapa kwanza.

The young man with the laptop, whose name turned out to be Pavel, looked up from his typing. "You are the parrot," he said in flat English. "I noticed." He went back to typing. The woman, whose name was Galina, poured a second glass of tea and offered it to Polly. It was the colour of strong amber. The lemon slice on top floated like a small yellow boat.

Kijana mwenye kompyuta mpakato, ambaye jina lake lilikuwa Pavel, aliinua macho kutoka kwa uandishi wake. "Wewe ni kasuku," alisema kwa Kiingereza kilichonyooka. "Niliona." Alirudi kwenye uandishi wake. Mwanamke, ambaye jina lake lilikuwa Galina, alimimina glasi ya pili ya chai na kumpa Polly. Ilikuwa na rangi ya amber yenye nguvu. Kipande cha limau juu kilielea kama mashua ndogo ya njano.

Polly drank a sip, carefully, off the edge of the glass. It was very hot and very sweet. The samovar at the end of the carriage had been running for twelve hours straight.

Polly alikunywa funda moja, kwa uangalifu, kutoka kwenye ukingo wa glasi. Ilikuwa moto sana na tamu sana. Samovari mwishoni mwa behewa ilikuwa imekuwa ikifanya kazi kwa masaa kumi na mawili mfululizo.

Polly hopped to the window. The birches kept going. Occasionally a thin black river. Occasionally a small village of grey wooden houses with carved window frames. Then more birches.

Polly aliruka hadi dirishani. Mibiru iliendelea. Mara kwa mara mto mwembamba mweusi. Mara kwa mara kijiji kidogo cha nyumba za mbao za kijivu zenye fremu za dirisha zilizochongwa. Kisha mibiru zaidi.

"The longest part of this trip," Galina said, "is the trees. People do not understand this until they ride it. You sit in a train for six days and you look out at trees. There is no end to them. In the maps it is a green colour like any other green. In the train it is something else."

"Sehemu ndefu zaidi ya safari hii," Galina alisema, "ni miti. Watu hawaelewi hili mpaka wanapopanda treni. Unakaa kwenye treni kwa siku sita na unatazama nje miti. Hakuna mwisho wake. Kwenye ramani ni rangi ya kijani kama kijani kingine chochote. Kwenye treni ni kitu kingine."

Polly tilted her red head.

Polly alitikisa kichwa chake chekundu.

The taiga begins, technically, somewhere past the Volga. The forest she was watching now was still mixed European forest. But the structure of it, the way it filled the window without any landmark to anchor it, was already what taiga becomes. Most of Russia is covered by forest like this. About forty percent of the country's land area is taiga. The country contains roughly twenty percent of all the world's standing forest. From the air, in winter, Russia is mostly snow on trees.

Taiga inaanza, kiufundi, mahali fulani kupita Volga. Msitu aliokuwa akiutazama sasa bado ulikuwa msitu mchanganyiko wa Ulaya. Lakini muundo wake, jinsi ulivyojaza dirisha bila alama yoyote ya kuutambulisha, tayari ulikuwa kile taiga inavyokuwa. Sehemu kubwa ya Urusi imefunikwa na msitu kama huu. Takriban asilimia arobaini ya eneo la ardhi ya nchi ni taiga. Nchi inayo karibu asilimia ishirini ya msitu wote uliosimama duniani. Kutoka angani, wakati wa baridi, Urusi ni theluji juu ya miti.

Polly drank a second sip. Pavel typed. Galina returned to her book. The train made its steady rhythm. Outside the window, four hundred kilometres slid past as if it were one continuous birch.

Polly alikunywa funda la pili. Pavel aliandika. Galina alirudi kwenye kitabu chake. Treni ilifanya midundo yake ya kawaida. Nje ya dirisha, kilomita mia nne ziliteleza kana kwamba ilikuwa mbiru moja inayoendelea.