*
Six years passed. The sun and the moon rose and set over the plateau, and the children grew, changing a little with every day. Basking in the grassland sun, Cuomu slowly matured into a young woman. Her beauty and her naturally lovely voice were Cuoe Grassland’s most vibrant scenery, and she began to draw the eyes of young men from tents near and far.
Cuomu was the only child in her tent. To her father, mother and two uncles, she was as precious as their own eyes. So when she announced that she was now old enough to live by herself, her two uncles immediately set about making her a charming little white tent to stand beside the family tent. The day it went up, several young men circled around it. Cuomu knew exactly what they wanted. She peeked out through the tent flap at the glances being cast in her direction and giggled. The young men assumed that she would now be free to do as she liked after dark, but when they saw the fierce dog her uncle had led over and was now chaining up beside the tent, their eyes darkened.
As night fell, the dogs stationed outside the tents of the encampment’s unmarried women would bark without let-up at every visitor. Only if their mistress came out and called them off would they desist. Her graceful figure would appear in the doorway, and a shy smile would play across her face. That meant that the man outside her tent had captured her heart.
That night, Cuomu amused herself by watching the shadows flitting past. She laughed loudly, shut the tent door, opened the roof flap and sat on her brand-new rug. Her younger uncle had exchanged a fox-skin for it and it was the palest blue, like the lake water in springtime. Beyond the roof flap, stars glimmered against the black night. She began to sing the old herders’ song with great feeling.
‘The stars in the sky
Are like Brother’s eyes
Watching Sister’s silhouette.
The butter lamps ablaze all night
Cannot see your eyes, Brother,
As they fall inside the tent
To light up Sister’s heart.’
‘Our snow lotus has grown up,’ Cuomu’s mother Baila said as she heard Cuomu’s song. She was pouring milk into a wooden bucket and taking a rest between pours. ‘Her buds will open and bear fruit. It’s just we don’t know which young man will be able to climb to the mountain peak and pluck our tent’s flower!’
‘Luobudunzhu has already circled the tent quite a few times!’ Cuomu’s elder uncle, Niduo, said, looking up from the shoes he was repairing.
‘Luobudunzhu? Would Cuomu accept him?’ Danzeng put down his tea and glanced out at the white tent. ‘A girl’s first night always goes to the man she likes. I don’t see Luobudunzhu getting into our Cuomu’s tent.’
‘Then who? Shida? They do get on very well,’ Cuomu’s younger uncle, Duoji, said.
‘I don’t think it’ll be Shida. If they were going to get together, they would have done so already – no need to wait until today!’ Baila said, laughing and keeping her eyes trained on the goings-on around the white tent.
‘Do you think she’s waiting for Gongzha?’ Danzeng said. ‘She’s been unsettled ever since he left.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Baila said unhappily. ‘If your old lover’s son marries your daughter, it would be quite reasonable for you to move in, wouldn’t it?’
‘Cut the sarcasm, can’t you? That family’s having a hard time. What’s wrong with me checking up on them regularly – has it meant you’ve had any less to eat or drink?’ Danzeng set his cup down heavily and left the tent in a huff.
He walked over to his daughter’s tent and kicked the dog, which was staring at him. Dragging its chain, the dog whimpered and went off to lie down.
‘Aba.’ Cuomu saw her father and stopped singing.
‘This is not at all bad – you’ve made it very neat.’ Danzeng sat down and gazed at his precious daughter’s moonlike face. ‘Have a little chat with your aba.’
Cuomu got up and moved over to sit beside him. She lay with her head in his lap, her long, skinny plaits fanned out around her. ‘Aba, would you say I’ve grown up?’
‘I would. My snow lotus has definitely grown up,’ Danzeng said, stroking his daughter’s cheek.
‘I want to ask you a favour, Aba.’ Cuomu traced her finger aimlessly across her father’s chuba.
‘Tell me, my snow lotus. What would you like to ask your aba?’ Danzeng smiled indulgently. All four adults treated Cuomu like a pet and did everything they could not to overburden her with chores. When she was young, a wandering monk had told them that she was a maid from King Gesar’s palace and that she would remain in their tent for only twenty years. She was eighteen now.
‘Can I choose my own man?’ Cuomu said, biting her lower lip, her face reddening, her voice as soft as a mosquito.
‘What did you say? Speak up – Aba can’t hear clearly.’
‘I said… will you and Ama let me choose my own man?’
‘Of course we will. Isn’t that why you’ve got your own tent, so you can choose for yourself? Don’t worry, we definitely won’t interfere.’ Danzeng was laughing loudly now that he’d understood.
‘That’s not what I meant.’ Cuomu’s finger wandered across her father’s chuba again. ‘What I mean, Aba, is can I choose the man I marry?’
‘You want to get married?’ Danzeng’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘I’m talking about later on. Will you and Ama let me choose for myself?’
‘You want to find your own man?’
‘Mmm… Will you let me do that, Aba?’
‘I certainly have no objections, but your ama… I doubt she’ll agree to it.’
‘I’m begging you, Aba, let me decide for myself. I want to spend my days with a man I like.’ Cuomu jiggled his knees and pouted at him.
‘Alright, alright. Aba agrees. But you’ll have to persuade Ama yourself.’ Danzeng laughed resignedly. He’d never been able to refuse his stubborn daughter.
On this vast wilderness, where wind, sand, rain and snow battered the land and its inhabitants throughout the year, the only way humans could continue generation after generation was by relying on one another for help. It was the tight bonds of marriage that guaranteed this help would be given. The people of the grassland knew from experience that strong relationships made life more stable and more prosperous. Their sons and daughters could do what they liked with their bodies, but they had to do what their parents said when it came to marriage. This tradition had been handed down from ancient times; it was an established custom and everyone stuck to it. If a family were to have a child decide for herself, they would be seen as having turned their back on tradition and experience and would become the laughing stock of the grassland.
The reason Cuomu had dared to suggest to her father that she be allowed to find her own man was that she knew he was bitter about not having been able to decide his own marriage. Who on the grassland did not know about him and Gongzha’s mother, Dawa? Her father’s feelings for Dawa were complicated – when did a man looking for a simple fling seek out the same woman for decades?
That night, the herders watched the goings-on around the small white tent with interest. Everyone wanted to know who would be the first to pluck Cuoe Grassland’s snow lotus. Cuomu’s dog repeatedly leapt up and barked fiercely, inciting the neighbouring dogs to bark with him, but no one heard Cuomu call out to him. If she had, everyone would know who she’d chosen and that would have been the end of it. But Cuomu never made a sound, quietly letting the dog howl. Finally, she called her youngest uncle over, saying she was afraid and wanted him to keep her company.
Many tents accommodated entire families, but that didn’t stop the young men from making their nocturnal visits. At night, when everyone was in their own corner of the tent, they would still come and try their luck, and the adults weren’t bothered by this at all. But Cuomu was on her own and when she suddenly called her uncle over, that sent a different message. It told the young men she wasn’t interested in any of them. They turned away mournfully and for the
rest of the night the grassland was silent.
Three days later, Cuomu and her good friend Yangji were sitting by the lake. A herd of sheep were grazing behind them. Yangji picked up a flat rock and skimmed it. She watched it skip three times, then turned to Cuomu and told her the gossip.
‘You know what, Cuomu, they’re betting on which man you’ll pick.’
Yangji was Ciwang’s youngest daughter. No one knew why, but Ciwang had suddenly been removed from office and had recently returned to the grassland. For a former Commune Revolutionary Committee Director to return home and become a herder again was a significant fall from grace. Some people said he’d been chasing a Han cadre – Han cadres weren’t like the women of the grassland and didn’t let men go dog-driving. They also said that because he’d never properly dealt with the living Buddha or found the Medicine Buddha, the higher-ups were unhappy and had fired him.
Cuomu and Yangji were the same age. They’d grown up together.
Cuomu shrugged off one sleeve of her leather chuba and tucked it into her belt. She gazed at the ripples on the lake and laughed. ‘They’re crazy.’
‘So who will you pick to be your wild stallion?’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t pick your man – I know you like Shida.’ Laughing, Cuomu pulled Yangji’s plaits. ‘Didn’t he visit you last night?’
‘Screw you.’ Yangji blushed and splashed water at Cuomu’s hair and face.
‘You’re still embarrassed about that? Even so, Yangji, you need to be careful. Your father looks down on Shida and wants you to marry someone from the town.’
‘Why are you still going on about it? If you mention it again, I’ll kill you!’ Yangji pushed Cuomu, who laughed as she fell back against the rocks, spreading out her arms and letting the sun warm her face and body.
Yangji caught a ladybird on the shingle and called to Cuomu. ‘Get up! Get up! Let’s see where our men are.’
Cuomu came over and crouched behind Yangji, and they both stared at her cupped hands. Young girls often played this game: whichever direction the ladybird flew off in would be the direction in which they’d find the man they would marry.
Yangji slowly opened first one hand and then the other. The ladybird crawled up her palm and flew off to the left.
‘Your man is that way.’ Cuomu giggled, slapping Yangji on the shoulder.
‘And your man is that way!’ Yangji turned round and pinched her.
The two girls laughed as they tussled on the stony shore.
After they’d had enough, Yangji propped herself up on one hand and, looking sideways at Cuomu, asked, ‘Be honest, who do you really like? Is it Luobudunzhu?’
‘Him?’ Cuomu laughed disparagingly. She lay back on the ground and with her eyes half closed watched a white cloud creep across the sky. ‘He’s not worthy of entering this celestial maiden’s tent.’
‘Then who is worthy of this celestial maiden?’ Yangji laid her face next to Cuomu’s and looked into her eyes, full of curiosity.
‘None of your business!’ Cuomu gave Yangji’s head a little shove. ‘It’s not Shida, anyway.’
‘You still miss him, don’t you?’
‘Who?’
‘You know who. It’s been years, and he’s only come back to see you twice. Are you going to wait for him forever?’
‘Who’s waiting for him? It’s just there’s no one I like on the grassland.’ Laughing, Cuomu pillowed her head on her hand as her heart conjured the image of Gongzha in his uniform.
‘You need to stop thinking about him. Your mother will never agree to it, anyway, and if you keep waiting for him, Miss Snow Lotus, you’ll wither. You should find a man while you’re still young and pretty.’ Yangji lay down, following Cuomu’s example.
‘Spoken like an old matchmaker.’ Cuomu smiled and nudged her friend’s waist.
Yangji rolled away with a laugh.
Three horses clattered up. Luobudunzhu and his two companions dismounted and came towards them.
‘I was wondering who was laughing so prettily! It was our snow lotus! Cuomu, do you want to see what I’ve brought you?’
Cuomu turned over and sat up. ‘Luobu, what are you doing coming here instead of going home?’
‘I was going home, but the laugh of the celestial maiden led me here.’ Smiling, Luobudunzhu drew a red cotton headscarf out of his chuba. ‘What do you think? Do you like it? I actually sent someone to the county town to buy it!’
‘Thank you, but I can’t take it. You should keep it for the woman you like!’ Cuomu laughed, sprang up, dusted herself down and set off towards the distant herd of sheep.
‘You are the woman I like,’ Luobudunzhu said eagerly, grabbing her by the arm. ‘Cuomu, I’m serious, I want to marry you.’
Cuomu whooped with laughter when she heard that, as if it was the funniest joke in the world. ‘Luobu, you want to make me your woman? I’m afraid my parents would disapprove!’
‘They wouldn’t – your parents like me.’ As he looked into her flower-like face, he couldn’t resist dipping his head to kiss her, but Cuomu blocked him.
‘My mother likes you, but I don’t like you.’ She peeled his hand off her arm and ran towards the herd, her laughter drifting back on the wind.
Luobudunzhu’s expression changed as he stared after her. Most people saw him as a young man with prospects, and all the other girls greeted him with a smile. Only Cuomu thought him unworthy.
Yangji shot him a sympathetic look, then raced off after Cuomu.
*
The grassland was as empty as it was vast. As the girls’ bodies matured, so did the workings of their hearts. For girls with something on their mind, there was plenty of room to roam by themselves, alone with their thoughts and their turbulent hearts, free to yearn and to dream.
Cuomu often sat alone in the remotest parts of the grassland, absorbed by the rolling mountains. Her longing for Gongzha would creep up on her without warning. Yes, Gongzha, her childhood sweetheart, her companion in herding and singing, her friend who in the space of just a few years with the army had become an eagle.
The first time he came back to visit his family, the two of them had sat together by the lake. As they gazed at the water under the light of the moon that first night, they pledged to marry each other.
The green grassland turned brown; the brown turned to green again. As the seasons changed, any unrest on the grassland slowly settled; peace returned and people’s hearts grew calm again.
Cuomu knew her mother’s feelings. It was not Gongzha she disliked; it was Gongzha’s mother, Dawa. Everyone on the grassland knew about Aba and Dawa’s relationship. Even though they were both old and the passion was no longer there, Aba still frequented Dawa’s tent. This made her mother furious; she said Dawa was a disruptive jenny who’d seduced her father. Once, her mother had even gone cursing to Dawa’s door and fought with her. Danzeng stayed home for two days after that, but on the third day he crept back to see her again.
The next time Gongzha came home to visit, Cuomu kept out of her mother’s sight and quietly went with Gongzha to an unused sheep pen. The two of them tumbled together on the dried sheep droppings.
‘Brother, I missed you so much. When you’re not here, I miss you every day, and I keep wondering when you’ll come back for good.’
‘I miss you too. I miss you when I’m eating and when we’re doing drill. Cuomu, Cuomu, you are my celestial maiden, you are my one and only celestial maiden!’ Gongzha gazed at the woman in his arms, the person he cherished most in the world.
‘Yes, I am your one and only celestial maiden. I am your Cuomu.’ Cuomu caressed his tanned and ruddy cheeks, her tears glistening. From the moment she’d understood what love was, she’d given her heart to him; she had never considered taking another man, and her tent was open only to him.
‘My celestial maiden, we just need to wait a bit longer. My senior officer says I should wait until I’ve got a work assignment before I leave the unit. So let’s wait till then.
Trust me – I promise I’ll come back and marry you. I promise I’ll make you the woman of my tent.’
‘Alright. My man, do not forget the grassland, and do not forget that your woman is waiting for you.’
This was their vow, made in a tumbledown sheepfold full of dried droppings. As they held each other, the faint smell of sheep dung wafting up their nostrils, light clouds racing across the blue sky overhead, and the clear, jade-blue waters of the lake in front of them, they promised to spend the rest of their lives together.
And so they waited, month after month and year after year.
He’d said that this winter he would come home for good. To Cuomu, this was a promise, and motivation enough to continue quietly waiting. She wanted to be his woman, to be with him and only him for the rest of her life. Such strength of feeling was unusual on the grassland. Her friends got tents of their own and began raising children, and meanwhile Cuomu waited, day after day and year after year.
Baila was always dropping hints to her daughter, saying that Luobudunzhu was a good man, that he was kind to the elderly, courteous to others, and wise, but Cuomu never responded. ‘You need to get married,’ Ama repeated at every opportunity. ‘You need to find a man to spend your life with.’ Today, Cuomu had escaped her mother’s nagging and was sitting on the grass, hugging her knees and staring at the distant mountains. Her longing surged through her like the floodwaters of Cuoe Lake, covering everything in its path.
Recently, Ama had taken to going out early and coming back late; when she returned, she would whisper secretively to Aba and the uncles, and as soon as Cuomu walked in, they’d fall silent. Cuomu knew what they were discussing, so one afternoon when they were all home she said, ‘Ama, there’s no need for you to find me a man. Stop interfering in my life.’
Love In No Man's Land Page 8
