by Jiang Rong
They reached a ravine with a copse of wild apricot trees, only a few of which had died. But there were plenty of burned branches on the three-foot-tall trunks. The scent of apricot blossoms that had recently fallen to the now colorful ground permeated the ravine, the floor of which was buried under a layer of rotten apricots. They tied up two bundles of firewood and dragged them back to the cookout site, where Uljii had already skinned the gazelle and sliced off hunks of raw meat; he’d also picked wild onions and leeks, as thick as chopsticks, that grew by the stream.
The men removed their horses’ bits and saddles. After shaking off the effects of their burdens, the horses sought out a gentle grazing slope, then walked up to the stream, where they eagerly drank their fill. Bilgee was feeling good about everything. “There’s good water here,” he said, “very good water. That’s the first thing you look for in summer grazing land.” The horses drank until their bellies were taut, then went up the slope and began to graze, snorting happily.
The cook fire blazed, sending the fragrance of gazelle meat into the air above the swan lake for the first time ever, along with oily smoke redolent of leeks and peppers. They sat close to the lake. The meat, speared on thin branches, was so fresh it seemed to still twitch. Having set out that day before dawn, the men were famished. One after another, Chen polished off strips of meat with peppers and leeks, washing them down with gulps of liquor from the old man’s flask. “This is the second time I’ve been fed by wolves,” he said, “and I’ve never tasted anything better, especially eating it at the site of the hunt.”
Bilgee and Uljii were searing gazelle legs over the fire, slicing off layers as they got cooked, then making several cuts and adding salt they’d brought with them, onions, and a few peppers to cook some more. The old man ate heartily, finishing off layer after layer. After drinking from his flask, he said, “I’m glad we’ve got the wolf pack to watch over this new pasture. In another twenty days, when the lambs are strong enough to make the trip, we’ll move the production team out here.”
Uljii wrapped a strip of meat around a wild onion and bit into it. “Do you think the whole team will come?” he asked.
“The wolves are here,” Bilgee replied, “and so are the gazelles. Why wouldn’t they? If the grass were no good, would the gazelles be here? If there were few gazelles, would the wolves come? I’ll take that gazelle back with us and call a meeting at my place tomorrow. There will be gazelle-stuffed buns for everyone. Once they know how good the water is, they’ll fight to come. For a summer pasture, good grass isn’t enough; you need good water too. There’s nothing worse in summer than having stagnant, dirty water. It makes the animals sick.”
Uljii said, “If anyone objects, I’ll bring them out to see for themselves. ”
The old man laughed heartily. “No need for that,” he said. “I’m the alpha wolf. If I come, the other wolves will follow. You can never be hurt by following the alpha wolf.” He turned to Chen Zhen. “All the time you’ve been following me, has it ever hurt you?”
Chen laughed. “By following the wolf king, I eat good food and drink strong liquor. Yang Ke and the others would love to travel with Papa.”
“Then it’s settled,” Uljii said. “When we get back, I’ll call a meeting to announce the move. The quotas we’ve been given over the past few years have got me to where I can hardly breathe. Opening this new pasture will bring four or five years of relief.”
“And after that?” Chen asked. “Is there any more land out there somewhere?”
“No,” Uljii said, his mood darkening. “There’s the border to the north and other communes west and south. As for the northeast, the mountains are too steep and too rocky. I’ve been there twice. There’s no more available pastureland.”
“So what will you do?”
“We’ll have to control the size of the herds and improve the quality. For instance, we can raise Xinjiang improved sheep,” Uljii said. “They produce twice the amount of wool, and it’s better stuff. Our wool sells for a little over one yuan a pound, but better-quality wool goes for more than four. Wool is our greatest single source of income.” Chen had to agree that this was a good plan. But then Uljii sighed. “China has so many people that I figure our pastureland will fall behind in production in a few years. After people of my generation retire, I don’t know what you youngsters are going to do.”
Bilgee stared at Uljii. “You’re going to have to talk to the people in charge. Tell them to ease the pressure on the livestock units. If they keep it up, the sky will turn yellow, the earth will rebel, and the sand will bury us all.”
Uljii shook his head. “Who’s going to listen to us? Farming officials run the show these days. They’re more cultured than us, and they speak Chinese. Besides, officials in the pasture areas are obsessed with hunting wolves. By competing over the quantity of livestock, those who know nothing about the land actually get promoted faster.”
The horses had eaten their fill and were resting, heads down, eyes closed.
Uljii led his companions on a tour of the rest of the basin, discussing with Bilgee where to have the four companies set up camp. Chen was greedily soaking up the incredible scenery, wondering if he’d landed in a Garden of Eden in the midst of the grassland. Or a grassland in the midst of a Garden of Eden. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to leave—ever.
After returning to the site of the cookout, they slaughtered and skinned the second gazelle, and as Chen looked out at the carcasses strewn around the horseshoe bend, he felt empty and suddenly gloomy. The smell of blood had driven out the peaceful, romantic feelings he’d experienced when he first stepped foot on the grazing land. After a thoughtful moment, he reluctantly said to the old man, “When wolves kill gazelles in the winter it’s to keep them on ice for the spring. But why do they kill so many in the summer? There are probably more in some of the other bends. They’ll begin to stink in a couple of days and won’t be edible. Maybe the wolves just love killing.”
“They don’t kill all those gazelles for the fun of it,” Bilgee said, “or to display their power. They do it so that the old, sick, and wounded wolves will have something to eat. Do you know why tigers and such can’t survive out here? And why wolves dominate the grassland? It’s because of their pack mentality. Tigers make a kill for themselves, not for other tigers, not even for their mates or offspring. But wolves kill for themselves and for the rest of the pack, even those that can’t be in on the kill—the old, the crippled, the nearly blind, the young, the sick, and the nursing females. All you see now are the carcasses, but when the alpha male howls tonight, half the wolves in the Olonbulag and any others that can claim some kinship with this pack will show up, and there won’t be anything left by morning. A wolf takes care of the pack, and the pack takes care of each wolf. They stick together, which is what makes them such formidable foes. Sometimes the howl of the alpha male will draw a hundred wolves into a battle. Old-timers tell us there used to be tigers out here, but they were all driven off by wolves. Wolves are more family-oriented than people, and much more united.”
The old man sighed. “Back in the time of Genghis Khan, that’s when the Mongols really learned from wolves. Every tribe came together, like spokes on a wheel, or a quiver of arrows. Their numbers were small, but they had considerable power, and every one of them would have gladly given up his life for their mother, the grassland. How else were they able to conquer half the world? Our downfall came when we lost that sense of unity. Now it’s tribe against tribe, individual arrows fired in anger, but easily deflected and broken. Wolves have it all over people. We can learn from their tactics in battle, but the way they stick together seems to elude us. For hundreds of years we’ve tried, but we still haven’t mastered it. But that’s enough—just talking about it is painful.”
Chen looked out over the breathtakingly beautiful swan lake and was lost in thought.
The old man wrapped the meat from the gazelle in its skin and stuffed it into a pair of gunnysacks. After Chen g
ot the horses saddled, the two older men each threw one of the bags over the rump of his horse and secured it behind the saddle.
The three horses galloped off toward brigade headquarters.
17
The final disposition of the case involving the warhorse massacre came down from higher authorities. A major administrative demerit was recorded for Uljii, who was responsible for all production ; he was dismissed from the three-in-one leadership body and was to be sent down to a grassroots unit to toughen himself up through manual labor. Similar demerits were also recorded for the herders— Batu, Laasurung, and the two others—and Batu was replaced as militia company commander. In addition, Bao Shungui, who had by then returned to civilian life, was made head of the leadership body and would be in charge of all revolutionary activities and production.
Bao Shungui and Zhang Jiyuan accompanied Uljii to the livestock brigade. Prior to the Cultural Revolution, Uljii had made his office in the livestock brigade or the livestock section. He kept his all-season deel and boots at the livestock brigade, where they were cleaned and tended by women who lived in yurts there. He was used to spending time at the grass roots whether he was sent there or not, doing whatever had to be done, whether it was his job to do or not, his prestige and influence unaffected by this development. But the journey this time proceeded at half the normal speed. He rode an aging white horse suffering from the late-spring cold and, since it was still shedding its coat, it looked like an old man wearing a padded jacket at the beginning of summer.
Zhang wanted to give Uljii his fast horse, but Uljii refused to take it and urged Zhang to let his horse run instead of wasting time plodding alongside him. Zhang had come to the brigade headquarters for batteries to take back to the horse herders, and when he met the two leaders, one current, one former, he decided to see Uljii on the road. He felt better when he heard that Uljii would be staying in Bilgee’s yurt.
Bao Shungui was riding Uljii’s special horse, a yellow skewbald with a velvety, high-gloss coat. Bao was frequently forced to rein it in to stay close to Uljii; it chomped at the bit, unused to its new rider, who kept burying his heels in its sides. From time to time it slowed down to nudge its former owner’s knee with its nose and whinny sadly.
“I did the best I could, Uljii,” Bao said, “to keep you in the leadership group. I don’t know anything about raising livestock. I’ve spent my life in farming villages. But my superiors have assigned me the responsibility over this big pasture, though I’m not sure I’m up to the job.”
Uljii’s forehead was beaded with sweat over the need to constantly spur his horse to keep moving. Riding an old horse is hard on the rider and on the horse; Zhang used his whip on Uljii’s horse to help out, but Uljii reached out and stroked the animal’s head to keep it calm. “They were fair,” Uljii said, “calling it a production issue and not a political problem. The incident had a wide-ranging impact, and if they hadn’t punished me, there’d have been hell to pay in other quarters.”
“I’ve been out here almost a year,” Bao said, “and I can say that the pasture is a lot harder to manage than a farming community. Another major incident or two, and I won’t be running the show for long... Some people wanted you to be sent to the Capital Construction Brigade, but I insisted that you be sent to the Second Production Brigade. With your knowledge of raising livestock, I’ll breathe easier knowing you’re staying with Bilgee. That way, if anything I can’t handle comes up, I’ll look to you for answers.”
Uljii’s face brightened. “Has the revolutionary committee approved the move of the Second Brigade to the new grazing land?”
“Yes, and brigade headquarters has ordered me to see that it’s done, with Bilgee in charge of the move itself. He’ll decide when to move, how to set up the headquarters, and assign sectors. There were objections: too far, too many wolves, too many mosquitoes, no facilities; if something goes wrong, I’ll be responsible. Which is why I’ve decided to go there with you. I have to take a capital construction unit along to build a medicinal pool, a storage facility for the wool, a temporary headquarters and clinic, and to lay some roads through the mountains.”
Uljii had a glazed look, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
“You’ll get the credit for this,” Bao said. “For your vision. There isn’t enough beef or pork for the needs of the country, so the government has increased our quota. All the brigades are complaining they’re short of grazing land, and no one will be able to fill the new quotas without opening up new land.”
“The lambs are still too young,” Uljii said. “They won’t be ready to move to the new grazing land for a while. What are your plans for the next few days?”
“I’m going to select the best hunters for a wolf team,” he said candidly, “and start sharpshooting training. I’ve already requested an increased supply of ammunition. I won’t rest until I’ve relieved the Olonbulag of the wolf scourge. I recently read a report of pasture losses over the past decade. Over half were attributed to wolves, more than blizzards, drought, or disease combined. Increasing the livestock population requires two conditions: eliminate the wolves and open new grazing land.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Uljii said. “Yes, the wolves are responsible for losses, but if you wipe them out, the absence of those losses will prove catastrophic.”
Bao looked up at the sky. “I’ve heard people say that you and Bilgee and some of the older herdsmen always take the side of the wolves. Go ahead, say what you want to say, you needn’t worry... ”
Uljii cleared his throat. “Worry? I worry about the grassland. I can’t be the one to see the land our ancestors passed down to us destroyed. I’ve been telling people about the wolves for many years, and I’m not going to stop now . . . I took on the responsibility for the grassland more than a decade ago, and I’ve seen the livestock population more than double. We supply twice as many cows and sheep as other pastures. Our most important responsibility has been to protect the grassland, since it’s the foundation of livestock raising. It’s a difficult task that requires keeping the population of grazing animals in check, especially the horses. Cows and sheep are ruminants, so they don’t graze at night. But horses never stop eating—they have to eat in order to stay fat and healthy—which means they never stop shitting either. It takes twenty acres to feed a sheep for one year, but two hundred for a horse. And their hooves are murder on the grassland. A herd can be in one place for a couple of weeks and leave it in ruins, nothing but sand. It rains a lot in the summer, so the grass grows fast, but for the rest of the year we have to move the livestock every month or so to keep the animals from eating every blade of grass in sight. Cows are also hard on the grassland. The biggest problem with them is that they come home every night, and not when they feel like it individually, but always together. Their weight and their heavy hooves tear up the ground, and if you don’t move often, the area around the yurts for a mile or more winds up as nothing but sandy ruts. Add sheep to the mix, and you have to move your base every couple of months or nothing will grow within a mile of the base camp. We live as nomads in order to give the land a chance to breathe. Heavy hooves and overpopulation are its greatest enemies.”
Seeing that Bao was paying close attention, Uljii continued, “The key to protecting the grassland is limiting the number of wolves we kill. There are many destructive animals on the grassland, but ground squirrels, rabbits, marmots, and gazelles wreak the greatest damage. If there were no wolves, squirrels and rabbits alone would lay waste to the grassland within a few years. Wolves are their natural enemy; they keep them in check. Protecting the grazing land increases our ability to ward off natural disasters. Take blizzards, for example. We experience them more often than most other areas. When a blizzard hits the grazing lands at other communes, they can lose up to half their herds. Our losses are never that great. Why? Because our land flourishes. Every autumn we cut down enough grass for emergencies, and now that we have grass cutters, we can mow the entire pasture and store
up all we need against the possibility of a natural disaster. And because the grass flourishes here, it grows so tall that most snowfalls aren’t heavy enough to cover it completely. With a healthy grassland, erosion is avoided and the wells don’t dry up, so even during a drought, the animals have water to drink. With good grass, the animals thrive. No diseases have spread through our herds in recent years. Our production is up, so we’ve been able to buy machinery that helps us dig wells and build pens, which increases our resistance to natural disasters.”
Bao nodded and said, “What you say makes sense. Protecting the grazing land is what makes raising livestock possible. I won’t forget that. I’ll take officials down to the brigades as often as possible and make sure the herdsmen move on when they’re supposed to, and I’ll see that the horse herders stay with their herds twenty-four hours a day to keep them on the move and not let them stay in one spot too long. I’ll inspect every team’s grazing land once a month, and if there’s overgrazing, I’ll deduct work points. I’ll reward those teams that take pains to protect the land, labeling them model units. As long as I employ military management methods, I’m confident the Olonbulag will continue to be well managed . . . But I still don’t see how you protect the grazing land by relying on wolves. Are they really that effective?”
Seeing that Bao was still listening, Uljii smiled and said, “You’ll be surprised to learn that a nest of ground squirrels will eat more grass in a year than a gazelle, and they store up food for the winter. I’ve dug up their nests and found bales of the stuff down there, and it’s all the finest grass and grass seeds. They have four or five litters a year, ten or more young each time, and by the end of the year, one nest has become ten. You can figure how much grass that many squirrels can eat in a year. Rabbits are the same, with several huge litters every year. And you’ve seen the marmots, how they dot the mountainsides with their burrows. Figuring roughly, all those creatures eat several times more grass in any given year than all hundred thousand head of livestock in our pasture, which is the size of one of your counties down south. But there are only about a thousand people living here, and if not for the students from Beijing, there wouldn’t even be that many. With those numbers, what do you think the chances are that we could eradicate all those pests?”
