Keldyushov Alexandr Gennadievich was born on July 3, 1972, in the village of Klyuevka, the Republic of Buryatia. From 1979 to 1989, he has been studied at the secondary school of Klyuevka. At school, Alexandr was fond of literature, drawing, and sports. In 1994, he became a full-time student at the Moscow State Academy of Physical Culture, at the faculty of physical health-improving technology, and graduated it in 1998. Since 2001, Alexandr is working in the Moscow State Academy of Physical Culture in the position of chief of security service. At the Academy, he showed interest in psychology, which he began to use later in the storyline of his works. In 1996, he published the first book ‘Ghost Hunters’. In 2008, the second book came out – the collection ‘I Bring You Peace». In 2010 – the novel ‘She-bear’, in 2011 – novels ‘Alienation» and ‘Z.L.O.’, in 2013 – the collection of aphorisms ‘The Wisdom of the Fool’. The author’s website: www.keldushov.ru.

      Siberia is the heart of Russia, where the soul of the Russian person resides. If we compare Russia with the tree, then the roots – the Far East, and the crown – its European part. But the stem itself, which is the foundation of the cultural heritage, – Siberia and the Urals. This is something permanent. In autumn, the leaves of the crown fall and the new shoots emerge in the ground, but the stem remains – solid and permanent. It keeps the connection between the earth and the sun. Those, who have never been to Siberia, will never see the charming perfection of its nature, its grandeur and beauty, will never enjoy its native Russian spirit.

      Taiga is the unconquered virgin world, full of secrets and mysteries. Extraordinary beauty. The mesmerising picture, created by some talented artist, combines the strength, courage, and inspiration. Impenetrable swamps, the bottom of which lurks in the heart of the earth. Dizzying mountain cliffs ringed with snowy peaks. Established hills, reminiscent of the twin-brothers, among which it is so easy to get lost. Mountain rivers and streams, transparent like glass. And the endless green ocean of coniferous giants and tall birches, vanishing on the horizon. Taiga… This consonant word is full of limitless charm and outspoken immediacy, which is childishly naive and manly harsh at the same time. Some bypass it, others fall in love and cannot live without it. The green-eyed taiga – the way of escaping for those, who are tired of civilisation. The shelter from the hustle and bustle. The mother and the wet nurse. Taiga is the mysterious world, hidden behind the soothing whisper of leaves and the caressing touch of grass, the singing of the forest birds and the shrill chirping of insects, the cautious rustle of the stepping animal pads and the sharp flapping of the wings of the soaring birds, the murmur of the pure spring water, running through the stones, and the splashes of the jumping river fish. And only those, who merge with nature with their bodies and souls, will gain something invaluable – themselves. People realise that there is nothing sweeter than the woven, like by the touch of magic, fabulous place, that this is everything they have ever dreamed of. They will understand that everything is intertwined in nature and that the destruction of one evil species will disturb the balance. There are no good and bad animals. Nature is the totality of the animal and plant worlds, the vicious circle. Each death boosts the continuation of life for another inhabitant of the forest. Taiga is not only the herd of slender noble deer, timidly grazing on the wetland meadows barely warmed by the spring sunshine. There are also mighty careful moose, whose proud heads are crowned with regal crowns. It is more than just the stark grey silhouettes of wolves, sadly singing their moon song. It is more than just clumsy brown bears, slowly wandering among the blueberry bushes bursting with juicy berries. Taiga is about the carefully constructed of pine needles and dead branches, mysterious castles of the hard-working ants, as well as their secret inner life, vaguely resembling the human one. It is about the burning, painful bites of the forest mosquitoes and the annoying song of the little blood-sucking midges, winding like a cloud. It is about the light freshness, intoxicating the mind, and the tempting aroma of the air, making one’s head go round with every breath. Taiga is about the rugged windbreaks, reminiscent of some baptised battlefield, where, like the formidable army, the shaggy firs arrayed the watch, bound up with powerful, seasoned veterans – cedars. Taiga is about the flooded, like with bitter tears, glistening drops of pine resin, peacefully rocking the rambunctious breeze in their unshakable crowns. There are kinky mountain ashes, glittering in the predawn haze with bunches of scarlet berries, slender willows, whose branches gently touch the rough waters of the crystal clear mountain rivers. And in the deep waters of these rivers, the rainbow grayling lazily splashes, and the powerful predators – grey lenok – purposefully moves against the tide. Taiga is a state within a state, with its own sets of laws and rules, and only people do not fit into its peaceful life. People have lost their connection with nature, have destroyed the idyll. People only take without giving anything in return. And there is no limit to their appetite. They have lost their sense of measure. They always feel the lack of something. Once emerged from the womb of nature, they selfishly believe now that they have the right to dispose of everything. After all, a human being is a Creation of God, the supreme intelligence, and the animals and plants are something secondary, without souls. So, one can do anything with them: kill, poison, drive. However, people are sadly mistaken. Both animals and plants experience pain and suffering, just like we. Even a small grain of sand has its own forest soul, which suffers the pangs of death.

      And as long as the destructive shots thunder from the trapdoors, the fishing nets overlap the floodplains in the season of spawning fish, the artful snares and loops overlay animal tracks to the watering place, there will be no peace on earth for neither the defenceless animals nor the true lovers of nature. For the poachers have no mercy. They only worship profits. Greed is the meaning of their lives. They look at the world through the sighting bar of the black barrel, greedily searching for the profitable catch, for which they are ready to do anything. After all, they see animals as a commodity with its own price, a cherished goal, a way of enrichment. And God forbid you to be on their way for they will deal with you immediately. When there is no conscience, there is no compassion. They will not hesitate to shoot you in the back. Yes, the law is harsh in taiga – only the ‘strongest ones’ will survive: the fittest, quick, and resourceful ones. In any case, the animals in the human form, to whom nothing is sacred, will not be among them. But you reap what you sow. And the animals, protecting themselves, pay back in their own coin for the death of their cubs with merciless revenge.

      Although, we are the ones, who are to pay for the actions of some scoundrels for only being in a certain specific relationship to them. And if we do not stop this lawlessness, in the future, our children will be getting acquainted with the animal world with the help of documentary films or images in books, where there will be an inscription in red letters under each image – extinct species.

      She-bear

      Through the dense wall of bushes, the eyes, burning with the fierce hatred and being reflected in the flickering light of the campfire with the amber-ruby flame that corroded the soul with unbridled fury, angrily watched the kneeling man. The man muttered something and stood up abruptly, suddenly heading in her direction but, having not reached ten metres to the target, stopped near the tree, cut off a straight branch, and returned to the campfire. She-bear jerked tensely and predatory grinned, exposing rows of tightly compressed fangs. The fur on her neck stood on end. She sat down on the hind pads, preparing to jump. But the danger passed. Nervously shaking her upper lip and listening to the retreating footsteps, she cautiously sniffed the wind, catching the bitter suffocating smoke and the repulsive pungent smell of the human body. Before this, she paid no attention to it, carefully avoiding people, but everything changed today. Now she was looking for the meeting with them. The presence of people meant the accomplishment of revenge for her. Once again, she remembered that sorrowful picture in the smallest details: the blood-stained clearing and the motionless brown nubble. The past overwhelmed her with new sharp spasms of unbearable heartache. And people were guilty of all this. People… The hated two-legged creatures. They were weak, like worms, but guileful and resourceful, like wolverines. They had ruthlessly killed her five-month-old baby… Her son. They took him away. They deprived him of life. For a brief moment, the look, burning with the fierce hatred, got warmer when she imagined him rubbing against her leg, wheezing happily,