The Jewish Nation of Mongols

by Boris Zubry

  Keep it that way. The old books made the room look unique, meaningful, and you smart and profound. That’s for better. Impress the youngsters of the new generations. They do not know much anyway, but they may know something when they are the age of old books. So, let them see the books, open a few, dwell on it. It may give them some ideas or maybe not. You are the leader, and the leaders had to be upfront riding the magnificent horses and not trailing behind with the wagons, children, old people, animals, and the memories of the past. What would that do for you? No old books, please. No useless morals. No heavy luggage. Nothing should slow us down. Nothing should be in our way. The leaders will ride up front wearing the shiny armor and write the new books for the people behind, on the wagon train. That’s where your nation is. The wagon train people were not strong and brave enough to be upfront with you. They were the followers – what a comfortable place to be when trying anything was not your cup of tea. The leaders will tell the history the way they see it fit. That’s the benefit of being the leader. That’s your fate and station in life.

  That display of power and money was very impassive to the simple-minded visitors of the palace, but the bed itself took the lion’s share of the interest. The bed was meant to look like it was just a pile of rare carpets intermingled with some animal pelts. Again, it was in the style of the traditional Mongolian yurt but where the luxury was in abundance. It was not very high and yet, not too low. It was just of the right height for the person of the President Vagabundi statue. In general, it looked like a pile of traditional goods used by the hundreds of generations of the Mongols for the rest and the sleep in a tent. It seemed comfortable, so old-style and so authentic. But, the visitors did not know that the middle of the bed contained a very expensive but, nonetheless, comfortable mattress from America called the Tempur-Pedic Mattress. Including the shipping cost, it was more than an average Mongol made in a year, but the average Mongol was not buying it either. The average Mongol may not even know that something like that existed. And, the President could afford even a few of them if needed. That was the difference between the President of the country and the average Mongol that did not need it and could rest just on a carpet, new or old. It did not make any difference for a tired Mongol who just feasted on Kumis. The fermented camel and horse milk did it every time and, if it did not do it quite right, one had to drink more of it. And, they did. The salesman claimed that the foam in the mattress had memory, and it was actually the space-age material explicitly created for NASA by significant scientists from Europe.

  The Secret Service agents stated that they saw this foam and the mattresses sold in the Walmart store they visited in America. They were working tourists and needed to see everything. The state paid for the trip, and many questions about America had to be answered. Should Mongolia lean toward the United States or toward China? China was closer, but America looked better. China seemed like Mongolia but somewhat more prominent and better off. But, if the cards were played right with America, Mongolia could look better than China yet, not bigger. Still, there was no Walmart store specializing in Chinese products in Mongolia. Just give it time, give it time.

  China was just next door, and the Chinese goods were all over the place and not all of them legal. The secret service could not check any information related to Walmart or the products sold there. So, maybe the Tempur-Pedic Mattress was, but perhaps it was not there. Nonetheless, the President was happy, and this report was buried with the rest of the dubious intelligence. President Vagabundi loved his bed, and he firmly believed that only the unique talent of the Mongolian craftsmen could construct such a miracle. What a delightful bed it was, and it had everything he needed. No, he did not have to get up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water or some Kumis. Everything was within the bed and close by, no matter where you were at the moment. He could recall many good memories involving this bed. The bed itself was a good memory. He loved to be the President of such a country like Mongolia. Where else the President had to work so little, be treated like a God, and get rewarded as a Mongolian Khan? Where else? In America? Genghis Khan did not have a Palace like that, and the tributes from the conquered nations were not of this magnitude.

  Still, it was more than enough for the simple Mongol taste that was not very simple back then. Could the American President live like that? He did not think so. The American President was a puppet of his people, and the Mongolian President had the people for puppets. Asia was always Asia and no matter in what country it was. He loved to think of himself as a puppet master of the Mongolian people, but he did it in a quiet of his mind. Who knows what happens if people hear of that. They always were wild people. Him and his beloved country. Him and his precious people. Him and his women… Well, let’s not go there for now. That could be a slippery slope. Even the President should have some decency and apply it when needed. It was not the wild West even in the most savage of times. No President was ever impeached in Mongolia, and not even a loud word was ever said against him. Could a woman become the President of Mongolia? A strong woman… A woman ready for blood? A Genghis Khan type of women? Yes, but only in her dreams. What is it, America? And, even there, in America, it happened just in her dreams. Still, it was a great dream, full of fantasies and profits and a very disappointing awakening. Not too many people would be alive after that, but she, the American one, was still well and kicking. What a shame, what a shame, and she was not in prison. Maybe she was too mean and too greedy not to survive or just fade away. Could they do something like that in Mongolia? His mother-in-law could. She was mean enough.

  “What is it, Mr. President? Where is it? Are you okay? Where you hurt?” The senior security officer was shielding the President moving his gun in a wide arch and taking in the entire scenery at the same time.

  He was of the Mongolian descent, and that was obvious. Yet, it was more in his attitude that in his looks. Was he a purebred Mongol? Was anyone a purebred Mongol? Anywhere? Was anyone purebred at all? Most likely, everyone in Europe and Asia had some of the Mongol blood, and every Mongol had in his veins something of the others. Even the big world could be just a small village when it comes to ancestry. That’s what you get when you travel a lot and not too busy working but socializing with every opportunity and without one. The security officer was born in the Soviet Union, not too far from the Mongolian border, served in the Soviet military and then, in the security forces of the USSR. The Soviet crowd and prison control doctrine dictated that the best result came when the security forces were staffed with the citizens that came from far away places and were not of the same race with the citizens they had to control. For instance, in the central part of Russia or Ukraine, they would employ troops coming from the Caucasus or Central Asia. Yet, in Central Asia, they may employ the Ukrainians or the Georgians, Armenians or anyone else who was not from there. Divide and conquer. People did not understand each other did not know the customs, and hated each other’s guts. They were brutal when it came to be controlling the crowd and guarding a penitentiary. That was one of the reasons why everyone hated everyone else in the Soviet Union of universal brotherly love. Of course, there were more reasons, and all of them were based on racism. That’s how you divide and conquer. Yes, the socialist union was divided quite well and conquered without a doubt.

  The Soviet-made bayonets and the AK-47s were perfect for the job. The Soviet tanks abstractedly “plowed” the fields of the peaceful nations that were called brothers. Was there the brotherly love somewhere? Anywhere… In the end, the locals, no matter where the locality was, lost time and time again, and that made them angrier and angrier. That anger had to go somewhere, and occasionally they said “NO.” And, the rules became tighter. It was not a healthy situation getting worse by the minute. Everyone was becoming enemy of everyone else and fast. The universal brotherly love was never there in the first place being weaponized with every opportunity the leaders had.

  So, the President’s guards came from that experience and were brutal.
Yet, they may have some Mongol blood. They spoke the language, well, some of it and knew some of the customs. But, they were loyal as they had to be. They could easily fit in, and no one had to know where they really came from. What difference did it make in the end? Finding the local Mongols with good useful military or, law enforcement experience was hard. And, the intelligence or secret service community did not exist at all. So, like many other things, these things had to come from the former Soviet Union or China. Thus, jobs were posted, and funds allocated. There was no shortage of “professionals” applying for those jobs and claiming the pay.

  A good job was a luxury when your skills were on the limited side, and Mongolia was just fine. Where else would they go if they just came from there and there was nothing? How do you make a living if you have so little to sell, but they could sell the brutality that was in demand in some corners of the world? For them, Mongolia was better than Africa or the Middle East. It was safer, that’s for sure, and close to home. In short, it was more civilized. No matter what the others said, it was not too bad to have some Mongol blood. It paid.

  “Doctor is on his way, Sir. He should be here very soon. Are you hurt? I am a trained medic. What can I do for you? Mr. President?” Announced the second security man talking to the microphone attached to his wristwatch while the third man was searching the bathroom and the closet. That one looked somewhat jumpy. They all looked like brothers, twins or even triplets and maybe they were. That did not matter, but they were good, and that mattered.

  “There was something in the bed. Under the covers.” Cried out the President holding his ass with one hand and pointing at the bed with another. His face was as white as the bed sheets, totally drawn off blood and showing the deep agitation. He was terrified and full of pain. Actually, there was a little blood on his hand. Was it a snake? Was it poisonous? It was something with sharp teeth. Did someone put it in there? Was it a conspiracy to kill him, to attack the government? To overthrow the government… Was it a signal for an uprising? Who was that strong in opposition? Was it Chinese, the Russians? Americans? Why would Americans get involved that deep with such a small country in the middle of nowhere? Why, he was a good President, possibly the best. He did not do anything to anyone who did not deserve it. Well, he did not really do anything to anyone. He was corrupt to the gills, and that’s it. That was the accomplishment. This President did not get involved much with anything government, just standing aside, and the country was doing better and better.

  “What the hell was it?” He screamed again. “Find it now. It could be a snake.”

  “What snake, Mr. President?” The agent in charge was full of attention. “We do not have snakes in the capital. In the palace… Do we? Here? Hey, people!” He looked around the room and at the agents and the staff piling in the room. “Do you know anything about the snakes in the capital? Who does? Get that guy in. The Academy of science across the square. Call them now, and I mean now. I want a herpetologist or whatever they call it here and now. Who is not afraid of snakes? Step forward. You will handle it until the herpetologist gets in.”

  “You, idiot!” Screamed the President Arban Vagabundi. “Someone, the opposition, the enemies of the state, may want to kill me using a snake. Could that be a foreign agent? A poisonous snake would be easy and convenient. Too convenient… It bites, poison and I am dead. The President is dead. In my own bedroom. The snake escapes or gets killed. Who cares. Untraceable. How could you miss it? Where were you all this time? Where is the doctor? Get the vaccine. Any of you could bring it in and put it in my bed. Do I really know any of you? Check the bed. Search the room. Search the entire house. Investigate everyone working in this building. My opposition. There are few smart asses there. It could be even my wife for all I know.” He was hysterical but still holding his ass tight. It was hurting. His ego was in pain, and that was clear. In his own bedroom.

  “Your wife is not here, Sir.” Said the maid loudly sobbing in the corner. “She left a day ago. She could not have brought a snake. She was not here for a day already.” The poor girl was beside herself. Only a few hours ago (during the lunch), she was making love to the President and in that bed. If there was a snake, the snake could have bitten her as well. What kind of a career in the government would that be? She was distressed beyond the comprehension. She was distressed beyond the distress. That was so close, so upsetting. She was taking chances. Would that pay off? Anytime soon? She wanted to succeed. She had to succeed. She could not go back to the steppes just like that. No, who said that the career in government was easy? She may have to fight for it. Well, he promised, and she may get that position in the Ministry of Education. She liked the kids and had a University degree. The pay would be good and the social status – to die for. She could’ve died today if the snake bit her. No, no, that was too much, but what could she do. She just worked there, and he wanted sex. He was always horny and they, the servants, had to oblige. It was not her job “per se,” but how could she argue. Was it even possible? To argue… With the President… In Mongolia… What if he gets angry?

  “My wife is a snake.” Slowly pronouncing every word said the President. “If she bites anyone, there is no antidote. The result is guaranteed. I’ve seen it. She is too mean for anyone to survive. And, the mother-in-law… She could poison a snake. Who else is absent from the palace? Is it only my wife? Who went over there with her? Guards… Driver… Maids… Who else?” The agents stopped doing whatever they were doing at the moment and looked at the President. Was he serious? Was there a conspiracy they could’ve missed?

  “Don’t look at me, idiots. Check the bed. Lift the covers. Under the pillow. There, there. Use the swords from the wall. Do not get bitten yourselves. Under the bed. Check every centimeter of the room.”

  Two agents cautiously lifted the bed covers using the swords from the wall display while the third one, the one in charge, aimed the gun at the center of the bed. He was ready to fire at whatever was hiding in there and threatening lives of the President and whoever was with him at the time. Anyone could be there with the President, and that was dangerous. There was silence full of the most profound tension.

  “Guff. Guff, guff…” It was loud and too unexpected. Everyone, including the Secret Service Agents, jumped back and assumed the fighting stances. Oh, they were ready to fight. All of them working in the palace had training in martial arts. Some were good at it, and some were not that hot. Still, all knew how to use it. No matter what you did in the palace, the job description included fighting if needed.

  “Guff, guff, guff.” That was coming from under the pillow now. The pillow moved, and the head emerged. The pillow moved more and the little Chihuahua – Batu Khan, jumped out bearing the small but very sharp saw-like teeth.

  “Guff, guff, guff…” All present suddenly became still and quiet and looking in the same direction. That was the most important direction, the direction of the President’s ass. That was the first ass of the nation. They could see the newspaper headlines: “In the fight for supremacy, President Vagabundi lost to the Chihuahua dog Batu Khan. The dog bit the President in the ass, drawing blood. Heil to the dog!” Should they take the dog out and shoot? Should they torture it first? Would there be a hearing? Hearing of what? Hearing whom? The dog was guilty or was he. What was higher, the first dog or the first ass? Ass took the precedence. Could there be doubt there?

  Who would even have thought of the Chihuahuas in the wilderness of Mongolia? In the steppes… Dogs should be dogs and not like this, no one knows what. Was it good eating? Has anyone tried it? What happened to the Wolves, Hounds, Sheppard dogs, the hunting dogs. The hunters… Those were the real friends of a man, and the man needed them, in good and bad times, always. Chihuahua… Nothing to look at and even that has a character. We live in dangerous times. We are in danger. The danger is just about everywhere. This is a violent beast. It just bit the President. What is next? Should the President bite it back? Genghis Khan probably would. Batu Khan probably would. Sh
ould they roast it on a spit and eat for breakfast? That’s what Genghis Khan would do. He was known for that and a few other things. To him, it would be an insult. Wrong message. No, Genghis Khan would not let it slip unless it was meant for laughs. They needed to laugh back then quite often. Was it funny? Sometimes. And, some people laughed if that was expected.

  It was extremely uncomfortable to sit out there on the dog bitten ass and watch the sour faces of the comrades in arms (members of the government). He was looking at them, and the inner circle was looking back at him. What did they want? What happened again? Who the hell cares? That dog. The President changed the security detail right away. The old one let him down. Now, they have dogs in the Secret Service as well as people. Dogs should be counterbalanced by dogs and he, the President, made it clear today. No more bites the President in the ass, you, little nothing of a dog, Batu Khan. And, he thought he was being assassinated. He called his wife a snake, and it did not sound good. He was scared, and that did not look good either. Well, so what, she was a snake. She is the sneakiest snake in the palace and the most poisonous in the political world. After all, she was the first lady. What if she was the President? Would he be called the first man or the first husband? This was funny, and he smiled a little. It was not a real smile but a little twist of the lips yet, it was amusing. Let’s grant it, it was funny, and he could smile, but it was so uncomfortable to sit. He should’ve asked for another chair, but that would not look good either. Did they know what happened in the bedroom, with that dog? A weak Mongolian President? That was not acceptable, not in this country. He had to show that pain was nothing for him, he could take it. The old khans did. He was in charge, and that felt good despite the tickling and the uncomfortably itching pain in the ass. Some would say that it was only pain and a grown man could take it, but it was his pain. It was so annoying yet, he had to smile for the public. Yes, it was a show, was not it. Everything was for the show. What a life. Even the President had to be a showman. Would they applaud in the end or just bury him?