by Jiang Rong
Zhang walked up to the dugout. “He’s a cute little thing,” he said with a smile. “I can’t wait to pick him up and play with him.”
“He only plays with Yang Ke and me,” said Chen. “We’re the only ones who can pick him up. Gao Jianzhong won’t even touch him, afraid he’ll bite. I don’t think you should try.”
Zhang bent down to get closer to the dugout. “Little Wolf, don’t forget I’m the one who brought you the horsemeat. You’re not the type to forget a friend after he’s fed you, are you?” He called out a few more times, but the cub bared his fangs and refused to come out. Zhang was about to pull on the chain when the cub shot out of his hole, mouth open, ready to bite. Zhang backed off so fast he fell down. Chen wrapped his arm around the cub’s neck to stop him, and then rubbed his head to calm him down.
Brushing the dirt off and standing up, Zhang said, “Not bad. He’s still as ferocious as those in the wild. It’d be no fun if he turned into a dog. I’ll bring him some more horsemeat when I come next time.”
Chen told Zhang about the dangers the little wolf’s howls could bring down on their heads. Zhang returned The Sea Wolf and picked up A History of the World. “Experience tells me that the wolf pack could be here tonight, so be careful, and don’t let them take our cub away. They’re afraid of explosives, so toss a double-kick firecracker if they break into the sheep flock. Make sure those I got you last time are still dry.”
“Yang Ke wrapped them in wax paper and put them in a wooden box, so they should be dry. A few days ago, he got into a fight with the migrants and lit three of them. Scared the hell out of them.”
Zhang Jiyuan mounted up and rode back to his herd.
26
After dinner, Bao Shungui came to Chen’s yurt from Bilgee’s place and gave Chen and Yang a large flashlight that required six batteries; it was a weapon and a tool that normally only horse herders were qualified to use. The gift was accompanied by a special task: "Flash this light if wolves get close to the sheep; instead of using firecrackers, let your dogs take them on. I’ve already told the others around here to rush over with their dogs as soon as they see your light.
“I didn’t realize that raising this little wolf might work out so well,” Bao said with a smile. “If the mother and the rest of the pack come tonight, we can kill seven or eight of them. Where are you going to find a better opportunity to lure wolves than with one of their own cubs? This time we’ll turn the tables on them. Be careful, you two. One of these lights can blind a person for several minutes, and even longer for wolves. You still have to have your spades and clubs ready, just in case.”
After Chen and Yang gave him their promise, Bao left to pass out instructions to other yurts, forbidding them from firing their weapons, since that would scare away the wolves and could injure people or their animals. Then he rushed off.
The excitement of luring wolves by using one of their own energized the grasslanders, even though the consequences, since this had never been tried before, could not be predicted. A few young herdsmen, whose hatred of wolves ran so deep they had stopped visiting Chen and Yang, now came by to gauge the lay of the land. They seemed unduly interested in this new hunting strategy. “Female wolves are so protective of their cubs,” one of the shepherds said, “they’re sure to come if they know one of them is here. I’d love to see them every night, so we could kill wolves every day.”
“Wolves never fall for the same trick twice,” said a horse herder.
“What if a whole pack attacks?” one of the shepherds asked.
“Our dogs’ll outnumber them,” the herder replied. “And if that’s not enough, we’ll join in with our lights and shouts. We can open fire or set off firecrackers.”
After they’d left, Chen and Yang sat on a felt rug near the cub with heavy hearts, feeling profoundly guilty. “This is so ruthless,” said Yang. “If we succeed in luring the mother wolf, that’ll mean that after raiding her den, we now exploit a mother’s love to kill her. We’ll rue this day for the rest of our lives.”
“I’m beginning to wonder again whether raising this cub was such a good idea,” Chen said, his head bowed low. “Six cubs paid with their lives for this one, and who knows how many more will die. But I can’t stop now. Scientific experimentation is like butchery sometimes. It’s hard on Bilgee, trying to lead the people, too much pressure. He has to endure the sadness of wolves slaughtering the livestock, while feeling the pangs of having to kill wolves. But for the sake of the grassland and the people, he has to do whatever’s necessary to preserve the balance of interdependent relationships. I wish I could ask Tengger to tell the mother wolves not to come tonight, not tonight or tomorrow night. They’d run right into a trap. Give me a little more time and I’ll return the cub to his mother when he’s a bit older.”
Later that night, Bilgee came to check on their battle readiness. He sat with them and silently smoked a pipe. “The horses are going to suffer again when the mosquitoes come in a few days,” he said softly, as if to console them. “If we spare the wolves, we won’t have many ponies left this year, and that won’t please Tengger either.”
“Do you think the mother wolf will come tonight, Papa?” Yang Ke asked.
“Hard to say. I’ve never seen anything as ruthless as luring a mother wolf with a cub raised by humans. Never heard of it either. But Director Bao has ordered us to use him as bait. So many foals died that we’re forced to let him and the horse herders kill a few wolves to vent their anger.”
The old man left and the pasture was quiet, except for the sheep chewing their cud and the occasional flicking sounds of their ears as they tried to drive away the mosquitoes. The first swarms had come quietly, without fanfare, but only a small squadron of recon aircraft; the heavy bombers hadn’t yet appeared.
The men chatted softly some more before turning in. Chen went to bed first, while Yang, staring at his night-glow wristwatch and gripping the large flashlight, kept a watchful eye on the area, his firecracker-stuffed book bag hanging from his neck.
After finishing the horsemeat, the cub sat at the edge of his pen waiting expectantly, stretching the chain taut and pricking up his ears, focused on sounds he longed to hear. His shiny eyes seemed to ears, focused on sounds he longed to hear. His shiny eyes seemed to pierce the mountain ridge; he looked as sad as an orphan yearning for his kin.
The howls came soon after midnight, as the wolves launched a bombardment of noise: a relentless howling from three sides, intended to wear the enemy down. The dogs immediately counterattacked, responding with loud barks. The howling stopped, but it started up again as soon as the dogs went quiet, this time more ferocious than ever. After several rounds, the dogs barked only intermittently, as if there were no immediate danger and also to conserve their voices for a real war.
Chen Zhen and Yang Ke quickly walked up to observe the cub in the faint starlight. The clanging of the chain sounded in the pen as he circled anxiously. When he tried to imitate the howl, he was drowned out by the barking dogs, so he started to bark like a dog, since Erlang, Yellow, and Yir were nearby. Part bark, part howl, his voice was having trouble finding its own way. Erlang led the other dogs, nervously running back and forth on the northwestern edge of the sheep flock, barking constantly, as if they’d discovered the enemy’s whereabouts. Soon wolf howls were heard from that direction, seeming much closer to Chen’s flock. Dogs from other teams gradually stopped barking, as the wolf pack seemed to be gathering in the hills behind Chen’s yurt. His lips quivering, Chen said softly, “The main force is directed here, where the cub is. Wolves truly never forget.”
Beginning to grow frightened, Yang gripped his flashlight tightly and felt for the firecrackers in his book bag to reassure himself. “If they concentrate their attack on us, I won’t hold back. I’ll throw these at the pack, and you signal with the flashlight.”
The dogs finally stopped barking. Chen whispered to Yang, “Crouch down and watch the cub. He’s going to howl.”
With no i
nterference from the dogs, the cub listened to the howls from the wild. He stuck out his chest, pricked up his ears, and closed his eyes. He’d learned to listen carefully before trying to imitate the sound. The howls were aimed at him, and he was anxiously trying to identify the source, turning his head toward the sound. He began running around, since the howls came from three sides.
By listening carefully, Chen detected a difference in that night’s howls. The night before, they had been more unified, as if to harass the humans, but now there were variations, some high, others low, like questioning, testing, even perhaps a mother wolf calling out to her cub. Chills ran through his body as he listened.
There were many stories about the love of a mother wolf for her cubs. In order to teach them to hunt, she’d take great risks to catch a live lamb under daunting circumstances; in order to protect her cubs in the den, she’d fight hunters to the death; for the cubs’ safety, she’d carry them to a different place each night; and to feed them, she’d gorge herself to the point of bursting, and then empty the contents for them. And, in the interest of the pack, females who had lost their cubs nursed others’ cubs.
Bilgee had told them that hunters and horse herders never took every cub in a den after a kill. The remaining cubs would have plenty of wet nurses and would grow strong with all that milk, which is why Mongolian wolves were the biggest, the strongest, and the smartest of all the wolves on earth. Chen had felt like adding, “And that’s not all. A mother wolf’s love can extend to human orphans even though humans are their chief enemies.”
At that instant, he felt the urge to untie the leather collar and let the cub be reunited with his mother, along with all the other mothers. But he didn’t dare. He was worried that, once the cub left the area under the camp’s control, his own and the neighbors’ dogs would tear it to pieces. And he didn’t dare take him into the darkness to set him free, for that would place him in the midst of the frenzied mother wolves.
The cub seemed to detect the differences in the howls but did not know what to do about the sounds coming from all directions. Obviously, he did not comprehend the nuanced differences in the varying howls, nor did he know how to respond. The howls slowly died down, after failing to receive any response. They were probably puzzled by the cub’s silence.
At that moment, the cub steadied himself, faced northwest, and lowered his head as he made the first tentative noise. Then he breathed in, raised his head, and sent out the second tone. Eventually he managed a howl, though it was slightly off. The distant howls stopped abruptly. What was that sound? The wolf pack waited.
A moment later, a sound echoing the cub’s emerged from the pack, perhaps from a young wolf. Chen could tell that the cub was puzzled; he didn’t understand the question being asked. Like a deaf mute who has regained his hearing and voice, he couldn’t tell what was being said and was therefore unable to express himself.
After getting no further response, the cub lowered his head and breathed in deeply, then raised his head and released a long sound. This time he reached the heights of the night before. Obviously happy with his effort, he released one long howl after another without waiting for a response from the pack.
Led by Erlang, the dogs directed their ferocious barking to the northwest, and when they stopped, the cub began to howl again. Little by little, he learned to ignore the dogs’ interference and skillfully and accurately produce wolf howls. After five or six in a row, he stopped and ran over to the water bowl, where he drank before running back to the same spot to howl again. He stopped after a moment and pricked up his ears to listen.
There was a long silence, and then a deep, somber howl arose on the western slope. Short and with distinct intonation, it was a sound with authority, probably an alpha male. From it, Chen could envision the animal’s powerful body, broad chest, wide back, and full throat.
Surprised at first, the cub then leaped joyfully into the air. After lowering his head to breathe in, he stopped, not knowing how to respond. So he tried imitating the howl he’d just heard. His voice was obviously young, but it was a good imitation. He repeated it several times but drew no response.
Chen Zhen racked his brain to guess the meaning of this dialogue and its effect. Maybe the alpha male was asking the cub, “Who are you? Whose child are you? Answer me!” But the cub simply repeated the questions, even attempting to imitate the alpha male’s commanding tone, which must have angered the adult and increased his suspicions.
By daring to imitate the alpha male’s questions, the cub was revealing his ignorance of the hierarchy and protocol within a wolf pack. The other wolves must have been thinking that the cub was brazenly ignoring authority and was disrespectful of his elders, for a short noise then erupted from the pack, maybe indignation or maybe a heated discussion.
The pack soon quieted down again. The cub, on the other hand, was just getting started. Though he didn’t understand the alpha male’s questions or the pack’s anger, he sensed that the shadows in the darkness had noticed his existence and wanted to communicate with him. He was eager to continue the dialogue but didn’t know how to express himself, so he kept repeating what he’d just learned, howling at the darkness. “Whose child are you? Answer me! Answer me! Answer me!”
The wolves must have been growing anxious, not knowing what was happening, for they were probably the first pack in thousands of years to encounter such a cub, one living with humans, dogs, and sheep, a careless youngster who was full of nonsense. Was he really a wolf? If so, then what was his relationship to a wolf’s natural enemies—humans and dogs? He sounded eager to communicate with the pack, but also seemed to get along well with dogs and humans. His voice was full, which meant he must eat well. Since people and dogs were good to him, what was he up to?
Chen tried to imagine what the wolves were thinking as they stared into each other’s green eyes, increasingly suspicious of the cub.
The cub stopped howling, perhaps wanting to hear responses from the dark shadows; restless, he pawed the ground and waited anxiously.
Chen was disappointed and worried about how this was turning out. The alpha male could be the cub’s father, but the cub did not know how to communicate with him. Chen was worried that the cub might lose the opportunity to gain his father’s love, and if he did, would the lonely cub truly belong to humans now, to him and Yang Ke?
Suddenly, a long howl cut through the darkness. It was a gentle, tender, and mournful sound filled with the pain, sorrow, and longing of a mother wolf. The end note quivered for a long time, apparently a howl invested with deep meaning and emotion. Chen guessed it might mean: “Little Cub, do you still remember me? I’m your mother. I miss you; I’ve been looking all over for you, and now I finally hear your voice. My dear child, hurry and return to your mother. We all miss you-u-u.”
A mother’s song to her child, echoing through the ancient, desolate grassland. Chen was unable to hold back his tears; Yang Ke’s eyes were also glistening.
The cub was apparently deeply touched by the intermittent sad sound. Instinct told him that it was a call from his own family, and that sent him into a frenzied struggle against the chain. Nearly strangled by the collar, he stuck out his tongue and panted loudly. The mother wolf began to howl again, and was soon joined by more mother wolves with the same sad voices, plunging the grassland into deep sorrow.
Their dirgelike howls rose and fell repeatedly on the grassland that night. It was as if the mother wolves wanted to vent their accumulated bitterness of losing cubs year after year over the millennia, submerging the vast, dark grassland into thousands of years of sadness.
Chen stood up silently, feeling the bone-chilling cold, while teary-eyed Yang walked slowly up to the cub, where he held the collar around the cub’s neck and patted him on the head and back to comfort him.
As the mournful howls from the mother wolves gradually faded, the cub broke free of Yang and jumped away, as if afraid the sound would disappear altogether. He leaped toward the northwest and stead
fastly raised his head to send out long howls from his limited memory.
Chen’s heart sank. “It’s all over,” he whispered to Yang. “They can tell that his howl is different from the mother wolf’s.” He seemed to have focused on imitating the sad, plaintive voice. But his voice lacked power, and since he couldn’t sustain a long howl, the pack went silent.
Staring at the slope that had suddenly gone quiet, Chen speculated on the anger in the hearts of the mother wolves that were anxiously looking for their cubs. How dare he make fun of their suffering? Experts in setting traps to lure their prey, the alpha male and lead wolves, who had often seen their kind snared by humans, must have concluded that the cub was bait, a seductive and lethal wolf in disguise.
Possibly the pack concluded that it was a dog, not a wolf. On the Olonbulag, the wolves often spotted men in green carrying rifles on the road up north. They were always accompanied by five or six big dogs whose ears stood straight up, just like the ears of wolves; some of them could howl like a wolf as well. They were far more menacing than any local dogs, and every year there were wolves who fell victim to them. More than likely, this little bastard would grow up to be one of those wolf-eared dogs.
Then again, maybe the pack believed it was a real wolf, Chen speculated, because the cub urinated on the slope when Chen took him out on his evening walks. Maybe some of the mothers could detect the smell of their cubs. In any case, while the grassland wolves were certainly clever, they could not easily overcome the cub’s ineptitude with their language.
Silence still reigned in the wolf pack.
On the quiet grassland, there was only the howl of a chained cub whose throat was swollen and hoarse. But the long howls he made were so confusing, so unintelligible, that the wolves stopped their probing, ignoring the young wolf’s pleas for help. The poor cub had now missed his chance to learn how to howl from the wolves.
