by Chi Zijian
As Nidu the Shaman presided over Tamara’s funeral, a flock of southbound wild geese passed in the sky, in the shape of a forked tree branch, or perhaps a bolt of lightning. The difference is that lightning is white against dark clouds, while the geese were a black line against a clear sky.
Nidu the Shaman intoned a dirge for Tamara that made me recognise the profound love he had for Mother.
Our ancestors believe that when a human leaves this world she proceeds to another, happier one. On the way there, she must pass a very, very deep River of Blood where her previous actions and character undergo scrutiny. If a kind-hearted person arrives here, a bridge will emerge from the river, allowing her to pass safely; if a person who has committed wicked acts arrives here, a stone will leap out of the river. If she shows remorse for bad conduct in her former existence, she can step on the stone and jump across the river. Otherwise, she will be utterly submerged by the River of Blood and her soul will vanish.
Did Nidu the Shaman sing this dirge for Mother because he feared she might fail to cross the River of Blood on her own?
O raging River of Blood
Pray raise up a bridge
For she who treads before you
Is a kind-hearted woman!
If fresh blood stains her feet
It is no one’s but her own.
If there be tears in her heart
They too are her very own!
If you disdain a woman
With blood-stained feet
And tear-filled heart
Pray fix a stepping stone
And let her jump safely across!
If you must assign blame
Then assign blame to me!
If only she reaches
Yonder shore of happiness
Even if doomed to melt
In the River of Blood
I shall not protest!
As Nidu the Shaman sang, Nihau shuddered, as if each word in the lament had turned into a stinging wasp.
Back then we didn’t realise that in her former existence she had forged an affinity with Spirit Songs. In reality, she was a fish swimming in a river invisible to us. Nidu the Shaman’s Spirit Song was bait cast to snag her. But at the time we thought she was shuddering out of fright from Tamara’s death. Luni was distressed for her and held her hands.
‘One day her bones will drop from the trees,’ said Nihau abruptly as she left the wind-burial site, ‘and the bones that fall upon the ground will germinate.’
***
After Tamara’s death, Nidu the Shaman became even more disinterested in the life of the urireng. When to go on the hunt, when to sever reindeer antlers, when to move camp – he was utterly indifferent now. He lost weight more and more quickly. Everyone felt he was no longer fit to be Headman, so Lajide was chosen to replace him.
Lajide’s first act as Headman was to split the urireng’s big family into several smaller ones. Everyone still hunted together, but when they transported their catch back to the camp, except for items such as pelts, antlers and bear galls, which belonged to the urireng and were to be bartered for manufactured items, the meat was evenly divided according to the number of mouths in each household. This meant that except for festivals, each family ate on its own.
The most ardent supporter of this decision was Luni, and I understood why. He didn’t want to hear Yveline ridicule guileless Nihau in front of everyone day in and day out, and even less did he want to see the avaricious and spiteful gaze that Jindele cast upon her.
But Yveline was staunchly opposed. Lajide’s decision was inhumane and would lead to the break-up of the urireng, she said. Ivan and Nidu the Shaman were the loneliest people on the earth, and if they didn’t even have the chance to sit with others and eat, to whom would they speak? Didn’t this mean that Nidu the Shaman could only converse with the Malu, and Ivan with his reindeer?
It was clear to me that Yveline was using the excuse of their loneliness to bemoan her own. She didn’t like to dine alone with Kunde and Jindele, and she often revealed her loathing for father and son. But I didn’t understand the origin of this loathing. I went to ask Maria, and she helped me unravel the mystery.
Maria said Kunde was once a lively and bold young man. One year he went to the bazaar on the banks of the Pa Béra to barter his catch. There he fell in love with a Mongolian maiden, but Kunde’s father didn’t approve of their marriage because he had already settled the matter of Kunde’s future union with Yveline. Compelled to take Yveline’s hand in marriage, Kunde was forever downcast.
Yveline despised dispirited, apathetic men, and she often enumerated Kunde’s shortcomings, describing him as devoid of virtue. Kunde’s father found this offensive. ‘If I’d known you would treat my son like this, I’d have broken his engagement to you and allowed him to marry that Mongolian maiden!’
It was then that Yveline comprehended why Kunde was always so lukewarm toward her. Strong-willed Yveline was furious, and in a fit of anger she came running back to our urireng, swearing never to return to Kunde. She was already with child then.
At his father’s insistence, Kunde came to retrieve Yveline on several occasions, but each time her cursing chased him away. After Yveline gave birth to Jindele she realised that the child couldn’t grow up without a father, so she took Kunde back, on the condition that he move to our urireng.
Having joined us, Kunde passed his days obediently. But whenever Yveline was displeased, she vented her anger on him. For Jindele’s sake, Kunde swallowed her insults in silence.
But no one had imagined the lengths to which Yveline went to chastise Kunde. Maria said that one time Kunde had drunk too much when hunting with Hase, and he cried as he told Hase that he wasn’t living like a real man. She said that having borne him one mongrel was sufficient.
Maria felt that Yveline was going too far, so she had a few conciliatory words with her in private. But Yveline flew into a rage and declared that she, Yveline, would never sleep with someone who didn’t love her. Whenever it occurred to her that, in the darkness of night Kunde might treat her as someone else, she felt nauseous.
Maria told me that the young Kunde was like a blade of emerald grass teeming with thick sap. But having undergone endless kneading in Yveline’s hands, he had become a wizened straw. I understood why Yveline displayed a certain envy and contempt for the happiness and true affection of others.
I sympathised with Kunde, but I also sympathised with Yveline because, like Nidu the Shaman and Tamara, she had suffered on account of love.
Since Yveline’s heart concealed awkward secrets, and Nidu the Shaman and Ivan were truly lonely, I suggested to Lajide that it would be better if everyone sat together and ate as we used to.
‘If you allow lonely and jolly people to sit together,’ replied Lajide, ‘the lonely ones will just feel even more miserable. It’s better to let them be by themselves – that way they still have pleasant memories for company. No other women in our world can completely occupy the hearts of Ivan and Nidu the Shaman like Nadezhda and Tamara once did.’
As for Yveline, despite her loathing for Kunde they needed to live in each other’s company, and forcing them to spend more time alone together was the only way to break down the wall between them.
‘If two people are always seated side by side,’ continued Lajide, ‘they grow older and more feeble with time. As they observe one another’s old and feeble faces, their hearts will eventually soften.’
And so, the new Headman’s decision was implemented amidst Yveline’s curses and protests. At dinner time, she often lit a fire in the campsite, and sat outside her family’s shirangju eating by herself. Sometimes she let loose a stream of abuse at the hovering ravens that hankered after the food in her hands.
Everyone understood that when she cursed the ravens she was cursing Lajide, but he didn’t mind. ‘After a while when Yveline realises that there’s no joy to be had in this, she’ll go and sit with Kunde and Jindele.’
With the arrival of the sno
wflakes, Yveline eventually ceased lighting a fire outside, and learned to gather round the fireplace and eat in her family’s shirangju.
But she was still resentful of Lajide and often found fault with him. Either the share of the meat allotted to her family was too small or there were too many bones in the meat. Lajide didn’t argue. Instead, whenever he divided the catch, he would call Yveline over and let her have first pick. At the beginning Yveline self-righteously selected the choicest parts, but soon she realised that Lajide always left the most inferior meat for himself, and she was embarrassed and stopped being so fussy.
Turkov hadn’t visited our camp since the previous spring, and flour was running short now it was winter. Just when Lajide and Hase were preparing to go to Jurgang – also known then by its Russian name, Uchiriovo – to barter for food supplies, a stout Han on a Mongolian Three River Horse came into our camp. A native of Shandong named Xu Caifa, he owned two stores in Jurgang and appeared good-natured.
Lajide’s elder brother missed him, so he had divided up some flour, salt and liquor and asked Xu Caifa to bring them to our urireng. He told us that the Japanese had founded the Manchurian Livestock Company in Jurgang, and in the future we’d have to exchange our pelts there.
‘But the Japanese can really fleece people,’ he said. ‘Take squirrel pelts, for example. One squirrel pelt can only be exchanged for a box of matches, three pelts for a box of bullets, six pelts for a bottle of baijiu, and seven pelts will only get you a small box of tea leaves. Most anda realise that’s no way to do business, so those who can have left.’
‘Are these Japanese even more black-hearted than Turkov?’ asked Yveline.
Xu Caifa had news of that sly anda. ‘Turkov has gone back to the Soviet Union. When a black-hearted fellow encounters another of his kind, it’s the worse of the two who remains!’
I remembered Rolinsky fondly, so I asked about him. ‘Rolinsky was a fine fellow, but unlucky! These last few years he fell in love with booze, and last winter while transporting a consignment from Jalannér to Uchiriovo, he ran into a pack of wolves,’ recounted Xu Caifa. ‘His horse took fright and went on a mad gallop. The goods weren’t damaged, but Rolinsky was dragged to death.’
‘Hmph,’ groaned Yveline. ‘Of course the goods weren’t damaged. They were dead to start with!’
‘In the future the Russian anda won’t dare enter the mountains to deliver goods. If the Japanese find out, who knows what’s in store.’
After he unloaded his goods, he took a few swigs of liquor, ate two pieces of meat and set off. Lajide gave him a few squirrel pelts and deerskins in gratitude.
***
One snowy day not long after Xu Caifa left, three men arrived on horseback: a Japanese, Lieutenant Yoshida; a Han interpreter for the Japanese, Wang Lu; and their Evenki guide, Ludek.
That was the first time I heard Japanese spoken. That jeeleewala of theirs resembled someone speaking with a stunted tongue. I was so amused that I chuckled, and little Dashi and Viktor laughed along with me. Noting our laughter, Yoshida frowned and looked very displeased.
Wang Lu was a kind fellow, and seeing Yoshida express his hostility towards our mocking laughter, he made up a white lie. ‘When the Evenki like what someone says, they make a laughing noise.’
Yoshida’s brows relaxed. ‘Last year most of the hunting peoples were called down from the mountains for a meeting to select their new leaders. You were all neglected then, but we haven’t forgotten you. Now that we’ve come, all of you will enjoy happy lives. All Soviets are bad, and in the future you’re not to deal with them! We Japanese are your most reliable friends.’
Wang Lu interpreted Yoshida’s speech, and we could see that he didn’t understand our tongue either.
‘When a wolf wants to eat a hare, it’s bound to compliment its beauty!’ said Yveline.
‘If the Japanese are our friends,’ said Hase, ‘how come they just exchange one box of matches for a squirrel pelt? Rolinsky would give us at least five boxes!’
‘It seems the Japanese have only brought a pan,’ said Lajide, ‘and they’re waiting for our meat to start cooking!’
‘But their tongues are so short I’ll bet it’s not so easy for them to eat meat!’ Luni’s words made everyone howl with laughter.
But Ivan, his head hung low, didn’t laugh. He stared vacantly at his huge hands like a pair of iron tools gone rusty. Emptiness was written all over his face.
Yoshida noticed that his interpreter and guide were laughing, and assuming this meant that they approved of what he was saying, he laughed and raised his thumb.
When we were summoned earlier for Yoshida’s speech, Nidu the Shaman hadn’t come. But just when Yoshida asked Wang Lu if any urireng members were absent, Nidu the Shaman made his entrance in the shirangju. In his hands was the Spirit Drum, and the Spirit Robe was draped over his shoulders, but he hadn’t donned his Spirit Hat so his grizzled hair hung loose.
His demonic appearance gave Yoshida such a fright that he shuddered and took a step back. Tongue-tied at first, he pointed at Nidu the Shaman, and asked Wang Lu: ‘Who is this man?’
‘A Shaman,’ said Wang Lu, ‘a Spirit!’
‘What does a “Spirit” do?’
‘The Spirits can make rivers run dry,’ I told him, ‘or make waters overflow when rivers run low. They can make roe-deer flourish or wipe out all the wild creatures.’
‘The Spirit cures human illness,’ was Wang Lu’s translation.
Yoshida’s eyes lit up. ‘So he’s a doctor?’
‘Yes.’
Yoshida rolled up his trouser and pointed to a bloody scar on his leg. ‘Can you make this scar disappear right now?’ he asked Nidu the Shaman.
Wang Lu’s face displayed panic, but Nidu the Shaman was quite calm. He instructed Wang Lu to inform Yoshida: ‘If he wishes his wound to vanish, then the horse he rides must be sacrificed.’ As he pronounced these words, he altered his typically depressed mien, and looked extraordinarily composed.
Yoshida thought Nidu the Shaman intended to kill his horse. He became enraged. ‘This is a battle steed selected from more than one hundred horses. It is my good companion and under no circumstances can it be put to death!’
‘If you wish for your war-horse to survive, then your eyes shall not see your scar healed. And I, Nidu the Shaman, need not kill your war-horse with a knife. I shall terminate its life with a dance.’
Yoshida laughed. He didn’t believe Nidu the Shaman possessed that sort of power.
‘If Nidu the Shaman can really make my wound vanish without a trace, I am willing to sacrifice my battle steed,’ Yoshida said merrily. ‘But if he fails, Nidu the Shaman must burn his ritual vestments and Spirit Drum in front of everyone, kowtow before me and beg my forgiveness.’
When Wang Lu finished interpreting these words, there was dead silence within the shirangju. It was dusk just then, the sun midway on its downward path.
‘We must await the night’s arrival before commencing the Spirit Dance,’ said Nidu the Shaman.
‘What you await,’ said Yoshida in words pregnant with meaning, ‘is most certainly your own dark night.’
Wang Lu translated Yoshida’s words, and then said to Nidu the Shaman: ‘Perhaps it would be better not to dance. Just say that your body is not strong enough today, and you will dance another day.’
Nidu the Shaman sighed. ‘I want him to comprehend that I am capable of summoning a dark night, but it will not be mine. It will be his!’
Darkness fell and Nidu the Shaman struck his drum and began to dance. We huddled in the corners of the shirangju, apprehensive. Ever since the deer plague, we had begun to doubt his powers.
At times he raised his head to the sky and laughed heartily, at times he lowered his head and moaned. When he neared the fireplace, I saw a tobacco pouch hanging from his waist, the one Mother had sewn for him. He didn’t look his usual feeble self. His back straightened miraculously, he made the Spirit Drum emit intense drumbeats, and his fee
t were so nimble that I found it hard to believe that someone could take on such a different demeanour when dancing. He appeared full of vitality, just like the Nidu the Shaman of my youth.
I was pregnant with Andaur then. It wasn’t time for labour to begin, but after I anxiously watched Nidu the Shaman perform the Spirit Dance for a while, I began to feel a wave of stomach cramps. My palms and forehead sweated profusely. I held out my hand to Lajide. He thought the sweat was due to fright, and kissed me tenderly by my ear to placate me. And so I withstood the severe pain and watched Nidu the Shaman complete his performance. It never occurred to me that, like watching Mother at Luni’s marriage celebration, I was witnessing his ultimate trance dance.
When the dancing stopped, Yoshida came over to the fireplace and lifted his leg. We heard him emit a bizarre cry: a moment before his wound was a vividly coloured blossom, but now it had dispersed in the wind fabricated by Nidu the Shaman.
Following Nidu the Shaman, we left the shirangju for a look at the horse. On the snowy ground illuminated by the stars in the camp’s pine grove, we found just two horses standing. Yoshida’s mount had already collapsed and no longer drew breath.
This made me think back to my earliest memory of the grey fawn that had collapsed in our summer camp. Yoshida caressed his dead battle steed, its corpse free of the slightest wound. Then he turned to Nidu the Shaman and began to shout his jeeleewala Japanese. ‘Spirit Man, we need you!’ translated Wang Lu. ‘Come with me to serve Japan!’
Nidu the Shaman coughed a few times, turned and walked away. He hunched over again and discarded first his drumstick, then the Spirit Drum, and then the Spirit Robe and Spirit Skirt. The Spirit Robe was decorated with many metallic totems, and they jingled as they hit the snow.
We remained around the dead war-horse, as if keeping watch over a gigantic boulder that had dropped from the sky. We observed Nidu the Shaman’s back in a daze. No one stood up.
Only Nihau followed slowly in his wake, scooping up each item as he discarded it. When there was not one ritual instrument or piece of Spirit Garb left on him, Nidu the Shaman collapsed.
