“Coney!” Chudruk shook me. “It is your turn.” He led me to the field to where my zazul, Yalta, stood quietly. I turned only to see who my competitor was. It was the bully who’d defeated Zerleg. As I began my eagle dance, I pictured what I had seen him do before. He was my size and weight. We would be more evenly matched than he was with the boy. But this man had experience I didn’t.
My dance ended, I crossed the field to my opponent and slapped my thighs. He grinned and did the same. Our contest had begun.
I had decided that I wouldn’t walk around him but would immediately make the first move, which I did, grabbing him by the shoulders. He gripped mine with hands that felt like steel, matching my strength. Jesus. What did they feed these guys? Was it the soup?
We strained against each other, our heads looking down at our legs for an opening…a sign of weakness. Sweat made it difficult to hold on, but I didn’t give in. My fingers and arms burned, but I knew that if I eased up the slightest bit, it would all be over. And that was when I knew that this was going to be much harder than I ever imagined.
And I had thought this was a good idea…why?
Chapter Nine
Luther: Warriors, come out to play-ay.
—THE WARRIORS
I gritted my teeth, which hurt, by the way. It felt like I was going up against a steel beam, which also seemed silly. Now I understood why my training involved wrestling with boulders. This was damn near the same thing.
My opponent kicked at my feet, hoping to knock me down. I looped my right leg around his right leg and tried to trip him. He didn’t budge. It was like trying to topple a redwood tree. I got my feet planted before he could take advantage of my being off balance. We continued to strain.
At some point, it became clear that we could very well be like this all day. He had the best of me and knew it, but I refused to budge…a typical Bombay trait. Soon, however, I would have to break. My muscles weren’t trained for this kind of torture and were rudely beginning to complain.
I’ve been told that because of my pale blue eyes, I have an unnerving gaze. Maybe that would work against an opponent who only ever saw brown eyes grimacing back at him. It was crazy and a little stupid, because my concentration would shift. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I looked up and stared at the top of his head. What was I thinking? He wouldn’t look up. Why would he? I continued to stare at his sweat-soaked dark hair as I held him off at the shoulders. The longer I did, the more I realized that only he could see the position of our legs and feet, giving him the advantage. But I didn’t look down. Look at me, damn you! I thought over and over.
By some small miracle, he actually looked up! I was about to wonder if I was telepathic but abandoned that idea, directing every ounce of energy that wasn’t shoving against this brick wall into my glare. Our eyes locked just like our bodies. Great. So much for that idea.
Until I felt him give a little bit. Not more than a slight shift in his elbow, perhaps. I stared as hard as I could, even though it felt a little ridiculous. The stress was unimaginable. I’ve never, in any fight, had an opponent who didn’t budge in any way. Even his flesh was hard. I decided it was time to use something that had worked for me on other objects of prey. I winked at him.
His eyes widened slightly, and I felt a fleeting slip of victory. Without looking down, I moved my left leg around his and shoved with every ounce of strength I had left. I felt his stance shift. His shoulders gave slightly. I had him! In just a second, he’d be down on the ground and Zerleg would sort of be avenged.
I knew the second I did it that taking my eyes off him was a mistake. But something glinted in the distance, just behind his ear. There was no stopping my wandering eyes as I found the source of my distraction. Blonde hair. There was a woman with blonde hair standing there, her eyes wide and her mouth shaped like an O. I couldn’t stop myself. It was too late, and as my opponent took advantage of my breaking concentration and I fell backward to the ground, the very surprised face of Veronica Gale watched.
I never took my eyes off of her as I rose to my feet and walked over to my coach.
“You did really well.” Chudruk clapped me on the back. Yalta nodded.
“Thanks.” I knew I had done well. It didn’t make me feel better. I wanted to beat that smarmy son of a bitch, but my guard had been lowered and he kicked my ass.
“No, really!” Sansar-Huu laughed. “You lasted longer than anyone else has. Not bad for your first match.”
I turned toward my friends. They were complimenting me. I needed to cool down. No one expected me to win. This was my first naadam. In their minds, the fact I’d lasted so long was cause for celebration.
“Tand bayarlaa,” I said with more feeling this time. And I meant it. Cooling my heels was a good idea, because I was pretty sure that if I spoke to Miss Gale now, I’d explode.
We walked back to the others and they all joined in the congratulations. I only half listened as Zerleg in particular grinningly told the story in more detail than I remembered. Apparently, he was satisfied that I’d avenged his loss. At least that was something.
My brain buzzed. What the hell was Ronnie doing here? This was no mirage. I saw her. And what were the odds she’d be in Mongolia…let alone this tiny fragment of it? I wanted answers to these questions, but not yet. First I had to honor my friends, who’d done so much to get me this far.
“To Coney!” Chudruk pushed a glass of vodka into my hands and raised a toast. Both families cheered as I drained my cup. The warmth surged through my veins, which was good, because I was still wearing my uniform and it was a bit chilly.
“Cy?” Veronica’s voice caught me off guard, and I turned to see her at the edge of the crowd. The Mongolians stared at her. I wondered if any of them had ever seen a blonde woman before.
I nodded to my hosts, then crossed over to her. She looked me up and down, then did something unexpected. Veronica Gale burst into laughter.
“You…you look great!” She giggled.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I growled.
This drew her up short. “You…you’re mad at me?”
I wrestled mentally with this one. “No,” I lied.
She pointed at me, eyes wide in astonishment. “You are mad at me! Unbelievable!”
“I’m not mad at you,” I said quietly, clearly indicating that I was. “I’m just upset at losing my concentration and losing the match.”
Her eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her hips. “You blame me for this! Don’t you?”
I took her by the elbow and guided her away from the others. “No. I don’t blame you for this.” Because that would be unreasonable. “I blame myself.” Liar.
Veronica did not look convinced. “Right.”
We stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. Then I realized I was actually happy to see her, in spite of being pissed off.
“Let’s take a walk,” I said as I took her hand and led her away from the festival. We didn’t have to go very far to find a place to be alone. We must have looked odd to the Mongolians—two blond Caucasians, bickering. Veronica just held on to my hand and followed.
It surprised me how intimate it felt to hold her hand. I didn’t have many opportunities for that. Most of my liaisons since college didn’t feature enough time for that simple, affectionate act. Holding Ronnie’s hand made me feel the stirrings of an emotion I’d long since given up on.
There was a collection of rocks about two hundred yards from the party. I sat down on a large, flat stone and Veronica joined me, dropping my hand and drawing her knees up under her chin. It was pretty adorable.
“What are you doing here?” The walk had given me a chance to calm down.
“I could ask you the same thing.” She met my gaze defiantly. It seemed as though, while my anger had dissipated, hers was just heating up.
“I’m here to participate in the festival.”
“I’m here to observe it,” she said flatly.
I guess she was pissed off with the way I’d acted.
“Why?”
“It’s part of my doctoral thesis. And I’ll be interviewing natives and outsiders at the national competition. I came early to get a grasp on everything.” Veronica looked away for a moment, as if she didn’t want to meet my eyes.
“Another paper, eh?” I grinned.
“I take my education very seriously.”
“I believe that. But what will you do once there is nothing left to study?”
Her shoulders slumped, and I wished I could’ve taken the words back. “I don’t know.”
I decided to change tack. No point in beating her up over this. I’d done it enough before.
“So, tell me how coming here relates to your thesis,” I said with what I hoped looked like a reassuring smile as I sat there on a rock in pink briefs.
“My dissertation examines the ways men choose to glorify violence through everything from tribal war games to murder and assassination. Unfortunately, my thesis committee considered my writing ‘too stiff and dry,’ so they wanted me to observe these war games up close and hopefully apply that to my research.”
“But the national naadam isn’t for another few weeks,” I pointed out. “Why come early?”
“My professors thought it would be good for me.” She cocked her head. “Do I seem dull to you?”
I laughed. “No. Not at all. I had fun with you in Miami.” And I did too, I realized.
“Well, the people I work with think I don’t know how to live. They believe I think fun is a four-letter word.”
My laughter came a little harder. “At least you didn’t correct them there.”
Her eyes grew wide. “What do you mean by that? Of course I told them fun has three letters.”
Wow. She needed to lighten up. “You know what? I understand why they sent you here now.”
She fairly growled. “Well, I don’t get it. Honestly—Mongolia? Why couldn’t I find something like that in Paris? But no, I have to pick something located in a barren wasteland where the language is impossible. Fine. I’m here, but I don’t have to like it.”
I couldn’t help smiling. Was I the only person who found this little tiff engaging?
“I mean,” Veronica continued, “who in their right mind thinks of Mongolia when going on her first vacation since starting college seven years ago? Well, it’s too late to back out. It was nice of Professor Bialsky to arrange for a grant and everything, since I couldn’t afford the trip otherwise. But why do I have the feeling in the back of my mind that they are trying to get rid of me?”
“Are you talking to me or yourself?” I asked.
“You are laughing at me.”
“Only on the inside, I swear.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be laughing so hard if you had a mirror.” With that she folded her arms.
I looked down at myself. My body was in peak condition. It wasn’t terribly embarrassing to be wearing such a skimpy uniform.
“I mean, what’s with the little panties and tiny shrug?” She started smiling at last. “And the little pointed hat and curly-toed boots? I can’t figure it out!”
“All right, Ronnie. Here’s your first lesson.” I then explained the reason for the open-chested zodag and the fact that the “panties” were for ease of movement.
Unfortunately, I had no idea about the little hat and elflike boots.
Her mouth dropped open, and for a moment I wondered what it would be like to kiss that mouth when she was sober.
“You mean this…whatever you called it”—she fingered the edge of my sleeve—“is to keep women from competing? Seriously?”
I nodded. “Genghis Khan referred to this as the Three Manly Games. He used them not only to train his warriors, but also to pit political rivals against one another. He obviously believed the sport shouldn’t be tainted by women. And the Mongolians concur.”
She snorted. “Sounds mighty sexist to me.”
I shook my head. “Genghis Khan wasn’t exactly a feminist, but he had high regard for women. He revered his mother and his favorite wife. They had a lot of power for women of that time. But he felt that this was a man’s world and sport.”
“You sound like you admire him.”
“I do. The man came from nothing. He was a peasant and a bastard, and ended up ruling an area stretching from Russia to China to India. He did this with a group of archers on horseback. He opened up the Silk Road, introducing East to West, and his sons and grandsons ruled Russia, China and India until the nineteen twenties. There’s a lot to admire about a man like that.”
Veronica sat silently, digesting the information. As a cultural anthropologist, she was bound to be interested.
“I read an article before I came,” she said as she stared off into the distance, “that said that a large percentage of people in the world can trace their DNA back to Mongolia. That must be why.”
I let her think for a while, soaking up her interest with affection. I loved learning. I missed the ivory tower a bit. Watching her think was somewhat erotic for me.
“I have an idea,” I said after a while. “Why don’t you come with us? Stay with me and my friends. You’ll experience the culture and observe the training. And in my downtime, I can try to give you some insight into the…” I paused. “How did you put it? Violent interests of men?”
“Oh.” She looked uncertain. “I don’t know….”
“Where are you staying now?” I asked.
“In Ulaanbaatar.” She pointed to a rickety truck that made Sansar-Huu’s beat-up Chevy look like a Rolls-Royce. “The driver brought me out here just for the day.”
“I can’t think of a better way for you to do what your committee wanted you to do than by joining us. And instead of feeling completely alienated back at the HoJo or whatever, you can learn about these people and their nomadic culture and have a built-in translator.”
She considered this for a moment, much to my delight. I wanted her to stay. Wanted to be with her. Veronica Gale brought out something in me that had been dormant a long, long time. And I knew I could help her. And maybe there would be sex. I liked sex.
“But my things are in the hotel room,” she protested weakly.
“I’ll see if my friends can pick them up.”
We sat for a moment, looking at each other.
“Okay,” she replied, and I felt a wave of relief. “I’ll do it.”
I stood and took her hand, hauling her to her feet. “Let’s go take care of the details. And then your education begins.”
Chapter Ten
Villager: If he’s the best with the gun and the knife, with whom does he compete?
Chris: Himself.
—THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN
Sansar-Huu immediately volunteered to let Ronnie stay with his family. I was a little surprised until I remembered that the Mongols are famous for their hospitality. Veronica became somewhat shy around them. She was definitely out of her comfort zone. Odgerel patted a spot beside her on the blanket, indicating that Ronnie should join her. I nodded in encouragement. With one last look up at me, Ronnie sat down and was immediately handed vodka. She sipped it carefully and smiled when she recognized it. Oh, this was going to be fun. I couldn’t wait for the family to slaughter a sheep and divvy up the carcass for us to eat right there on the floor.
Zolbin, Yalta’s other grandson, had done quite well and was in the finals. Part of his success was luck. He had managed to draw competitors much smaller than he was. Tall like his brother, Zolbin was heavier, hewn with a great deal of muscle. He was much more outgoing than his sibling and took to wrestling very naturally. I was curious to see him go up against an athlete closer to his level.
I’d managed to get into my sweatpants and deel. Sitting in my uniform felt awkward. Others did it, but I wasn’t them. And it took the comedic wind out of Ronnie’s sails. When Zolbin was called up to wrestle, she joined me in front, slipping her hand into mine. I looked at her more closely a
s she observed the field. Her short hair blew in the wind. She wore a T-shirt and sweater with jeans and hiking boots. Watching the curiosity on her face inspired me. I remembered when I couldn’t wait to learn everything and anything.
Zolbin was going through the motions of his eagle dance, and I noticed with surprise that his competitor was none other than the man who had bested me and Zerleg. This was going to get interesting.
“His name is Sukhbaatar.” Chudruk appeared at my side. “It means ‘Ax Hero.’”
Veronica looked at my friend with interest. “That’s a tough name.”
He nodded. “He is favored to do well at nationals.”
The combatants slapped their thighs and we turned our attention to the field. Both men were matched for height and weight. The only difference was experience, as Chudruk whispered. Zolbin was a bit newer to the sport.
Unlike his cautious brother, Zolbin dove immediately for Sukhbaatar’s hips. His opponent broke free and grabbed Zolbin’s ankle. Zolbin spun on his heel and slipped from his grasp. Apparently, this match was going to be quite different. Sukhbaatar had to fight for every inch, and it became clear immediately that Zolbin’s very aggressive and active fighting style was a problem for him. I noticed Zerleg cheering for his brother on the other side of Chudruk.
Sukhbaatar charged Zolbin’s hips, but Zolbin stepped just out of reach. He spun behind Sukhbaatar and from behind managed to throw him to the ground. The crowd roared, and I noticed with some pleasure that Zerleg was pumping his fist in the air in celebration. Yalta even sported a slight grin.
Zolbin did not grandstand. He merely nodded modestly at the crowd, then walked over to his opponent, extending his hand. Sukhbaatar’s face was bright red as he slapped Zolbin’s hand away. The crowd jeered. No one, no matter what culture, thought bad sportsmanship was acceptable.
The families celebrated the win with cooked mutton bought from a vendor. More vodka was passed around, and we all got pleasantly drunk as the day drew to a close and the competition ended. By besting his opponent, Zolbin achieved the coveted rank of zaan, or elephant. Both families, Sansar-Huu’s and Chudruk’s, celebrated the win as if they were all related. This was the way of the steppes. They now had a connection, and I was more than a little touched that I was the catalyst.
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