by Chi Zijian
I am grateful for the wind-sounds provided by Mother Nature that night, because when we began to voyage on our hidden river of life, enjoying our own unique happiness, a fierce wind began to blow outside our shirangju.
Those wind-sounds were so sonorous that they seemed expressly intended to camouflage and accompany our passion. When my joy was complete and I lay cotton-like in his embrace, I felt Valodya was my mountain, ascending straight as a tower; and I was as ethereal as a cloud, a cloud floating beneath his body for eternity.
***
We passed two years in relative peace. In the summer of 1964, Nihau gave birth to a son, and Luni named him Maksym. His face was large and square with a wide forehead and mouth, big hands and feet, and when he was born his wail – a tiger’s roar – shook the entire camp. Yveline was already hard of hearing, but even she heard it.
‘The child’s cry was so loud that he must have deep roots here on earth. No storm can blow him away!’ Her words moved Luni to tears.
Maria’s death made Yveline revert to her former self. But if she regained her former kind-heartedness, her body was unable to return to the past. When we relocated she had to ride a reindeer, and she couldn’t take a step in the camp without her walking stick.
Kunde said Yveline rarely slept lying down. She always sat next to the hearth and napped, day and night, as if she were the Guardian Spirit of Fire.
But the happiness brought by Maksym’s arrival hadn’t accompanied us three months when the dark clouds of death once again massed above our urireng.
September is rutting season for the forest’s wild deer. Bucks are short-tempered during this period and prefer to be on their own. They often stand alone on a hill in the early morning or evening, and make their long yoo yoo mating calls.
Among the deer that heed this call, some are does attracted by a buck’s virility, while others are envious bucks. The former come for the joys of mating, the latter to do battle.
Our ancestors exploited the male deer’s habitual long cry to invent a sort of deer whistle. They made it by hollowing out the middle of a naturally curved section of a larch tree root, and glued it with fish skin. The top is broader than the tail, but you can blow on either end. It sounds remarkably like a real deer call. We dub it ‘uléwung’, but it is popularly known as a deer-call pipe.
Each urireng possesses several uléwung, most passed down from our ancestors. In the autumn, we use them to lure deer. When a boy turns eight or nine, an adult teaches him how to blow on the pipe. The women who stay behind in the camp might hear a jrr-lu jrr-lu sound, and we honestly can’t distinguish a genuine wild deer call from one originating in a deer-call pipe.
When Maksym was more than two months old we moved again to the Jiin River basin, because that year wild deer were uncharacteristically active there. We didn’t set up at the old campsite, and stayed far away from Listvyanka Mountain.
When the men went hunting, they usually divided into two or three small groups of three or four members each. By that time Ivan, like Yveline, required a walking stick. Since Maria’s death, Hase increasingly showed his age and he was blurry-eyed, so he and Ivan stayed in the camp with us women and handled less demanding chores.
Those who went on the hunt were younger and more robust. Valodya liked to partner with Viktor, Kunde and Puffball, while Luni preferred to go with Vladimir, Dashi and Andaur.
The master deer whistlers were Puffball and Andaur. After Puffball castrated himself, during the dead of winter he liked to blow occasionally on the deer-call pipe, as if summoning his now distant virility. His call was terribly forlorn and touching. As for Andaur, his deer whistle had a gentle air to it. Who’d have imagined that these two mutually attractive sounds, instead of fusing melodiously, would end with the annihilation of the gentle by the forlorn?
During the autumn the falling leaves are dyed yellow or red by a succession of frosts. Frost can be light or heavy, so the dyed hues are unequally dark or light. Pine needles turn yellow, while the leaves of birch, poplar and oak turn yellow or red. Once their colour changes, the leaves become fragile and drop in the autumn breeze. Some fall in gorges, some onto the forest floor, and some into flowing waters. Those that fall in gorges will transform into soil, those that fall onto the forest floor will become umbrellas for the ants, and those that fall into flowing waters become fish that voyage downstream.
At dusk that day I was casting fish nets on the Jiin with Lyusya, she in the water and I on the bank. We were having rotten luck: three times we had hauled in the nets without a fish. September was playing with An’tsaur on the bank. They built one sand castle after another, and stuck straws in them.
The sun descended into the mountains. ‘We’ve had bad luck today. The fish are all lingering at the bottom, so let’s go back,’ I said.
Lyusya walked out of the water and up onto the bank. When she’d entered the river she was wearing waterproof, genuine fish-skin trousers, and now they radiated a bright, moist yellow light thanks to the water and the setting sun. It looked as if she were coming ashore astride a pair of beautiful, plump goldfish.
We chatted as we brought in the nets. ‘September is already eight years old, why not have another?’ I said. ‘I’d like a granddaughter.’
Washia and Lyusya were both my daughters-in-law, but I didn’t speak like this to Washia. That Andaur didn’t sleep with her was common knowledge.
Lyusya blushed. ‘We’ve been trying, but no luck. It’s strange. Perhaps September isn’t fated to have a brother or sister.’
‘If I’d known that earlier, I would have done like the Han and named him “Brother-bringer” or “Sister-bringer” instead of “September”,’ I said.
‘Well, I see that he loves to play with sand, so naming him “Sand-bringer” wouldn’t be unfair to him,’ replied Lyusya. This thought tickled me.
It was Zefirina who brought the bad tidings. We hadn’t finished laughing when we saw her running towards us crying. She smelled heavily of salt since she had been busy drying jerky for several days.
Zefirina said just one thing: ‘Andaur has gone to drink water in the Heavens!’ Then she collapsed on the riverside and began to wail.
In the small hours before the morning stars had retired, the men had broken into two groups, and carrying their pipes and shouldering their rifles, they went to hunt wild deer. We weren’t up yet when they left.
Valodya led Viktor and Puffball towards the south-east, and Luni led Andaur, Dashi and Vladimir towards the south-west. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have encountered one another, but this was an odd coincidence.
The two groups passed the whole day in the mountains but didn’t shoot a single deer. On the way home they both altered their original routes in the hopes of encountering a wild deer. As Valodya’s group came to the foot of Listvyanka Mountain, they heard a deer call come from above, and thinking there was a buck on the crest, they halted.
Puffball blew on his uléwung and very quickly a wild deer’s long reply travelled down from the mountaintop.
Valodya’s team blew their pipe as they walked up towards the summit, and the source of the deer call they had heard at first came closer and closer. By this time Viktor had his rifle in his hands, ready to shoot the buck that might appear at any instant.
Valodya said he’d never heard such melodious deer calls, with each animal’s call rising and falling like music, passionate and pure. He didn’t want to make such a lovely sound disappear for ever; actually, he didn’t even want Viktor to fire his weapon.
But just thirty to forty metres from their destination, the deer call opposite Valodya’s team became even more heated. A cha-cha rustling sound emerged from a thicket, tree leaves stirred chaotically and a muddy yellow shadow flashed before their eyes. Viktor fired twice without hesitation.
But after the gun’s report, a cry rang out: ‘Tian ah! Tian ah!’ It was Vladimir.
‘Oh no!’ groaned Viktor, and he was the first to run across towards the voi
ce.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. He had shot his own younger brother, Andaur!
It transpired that when Luni’s group passed by Listvyanka Mountain on the way back to the camp, Luni began thinking of his dead son Tibgur who was buried there. He wanted to go up and take a look, and Vladimir, Dashi and Andaur climbed with him to the summit.
The sun leaned to the west and Luni was weighed down with grief. He sighed. ‘I wonder if there are any deer in the sun?’ he said to Vladimir.
‘I’ll make a deer call,’ replied Andaur, ‘and then you’ll know.’ Whereupon he faced the setting sun and sounded his uléwung. He blew and blew, and lo and behold, there was a response from down the mountain.
Luni was very pleased. ‘The sun is truly a Spirit. It knows that we desire a wild deer, and now it has dispatched one to us.’
Andaur and his group blew their deer-call pipe as they descended the mountain, while Valodya and his group blew theirs as they ascended. In fact, both were emitted by deer-call pipes, it’s just that the mating calls whistled by Puffball and Andaur were too close to the real thing, so each team believed a deer awaited them.
The inevitable tragedy occurred at that instant. If only Andaur hadn’t bent over and imitated a wild deer as he blew his deer whistle, and if he didn’t happen to camouflage himself in buckskin that day, then sharp-eyed Viktor would have sensed something wasn’t quite right, and wouldn’t have fired so hastily.
But Viktor’s marksmanship was spot on. One of the bullets struck Andaur’s skull, the other went through his chin and hit his chest. Even before Viktor arrived Andaur ceased breathing.
My poor Andaur. At his last moment he must have figured the hunter was concealed in the setting sun from where the bullet came from. Perhaps being shot by a hunter in the setting sun was something worthy of pride, so Andaur’s countenance was serene when he departed, a smile hanging from the corners of his lips.
We performed a wind-burial for Andaur on Listvyanka Mountain. The Greater Khingan Range comprises several mountains, but the only one imprinted on my heart is this one, because it shelters two members of my family. From then on, we never approached this mountain and no longer blew on our uléwung.
After we buried Andaur, we embarked on a major relocation that took three days. We hoped never to lay eyes on the Jiin again. It was a poisonous snake and we wanted to leave it far, far behind.
Snowflakes came in the midst of our move, for the winter arrives when it pleases. Yesterday’s red and yellow forest was transformed instantly into silver. Shrouded in a vast expanse of snowflakes, we and the reindeer were their slaves. Their icy bodies lashed our faces incessantly.
The move was very depressing. Those mounted on reindeer were listless and those who were on foot hung their heads in dejection. Perhaps seeking to dilute this rueful ambience, Vladimir pulled out his mukulén and began to play. The mukulén possesses a sensitivity of sorts, and whatever mood the player is in, it also infects the instrument. Though its sound was moving, its timbre was bleak. The mukulén didn’t blow away the dark clouds on our faces, but it did blow down our tears.
Only Washia was untouched by grief. Zefirina told me when she broke the news of Andaur’s death, Washia was eating pine nuts. She spat out a cracked purple shell with a pei!, raised her eyebrows and said: ‘Am I really that lucky?’
Washia’s parents urged her to go to Listvyanka Mountain to take one last look at Andaur. ‘I saw my fill of that idiot long ago!’ she quipped.
And she really didn’t bid farewell to Andaur. The day of his burial, back at the campsite she chewed jerky at her leisure while An’tsaur played in front of her. ‘The Big Idiot is no more. When will the Little Idiot leave? Once you’re both gone, I’ll be free!’
She even told Zefirina that in the future she’d worship the deer-call pipe as a Spirit because it had brought light into her life.
I longed for Washia to leave us. I reckoned she’d remarry quickly: she certainly wouldn’t mourn for Andaur for the customary three years. ‘You can go your way whenever you like. Don’t worry that An’tsaur will be a burden to you. You don’t care for him, so leave him to me.’
‘No need to remind me. I’ll go when the time is right. After all, getting married to two men isn’t a shameful thing. Didn’t Hadam’eni do so?’ said Washia sarcastically.
We address our mother-in-law as ‘Hadam’eni’. After Lyusya married Viktor, she always called me that, but not Washia. This was the only time she ever addressed me like this. Not out of respect, but to insult me.
‘Andaur has departed. You’re free, and I am not your Hadam’eni any more.’
After we pitched camp at the new site, the squirrel-hunting season arrived. All the men and women busied themselves except Viktor and Washia. After he shot Andaur, it was as if he’d been struck by lightning. Viktor looked vacant and remained silent all day, speaking neither to us nor to Lyusya. If he wasn’t drinking then he was sleeping, and his eyes were red and puffy. He especially couldn’t bear the sight of An’tsaur, Andaur’s son. As soon as he saw the boy, tears would roll down his face like someone encountering a strong wind.
I assumed that Viktor would gradually recover from his low spirits since no wound remains unhealed, even though that old wound may still ache on rainy days. We didn’t dissuade him when he drowned himself in drink.
Viktor gave the rifle that killed Andaur to Valodya, and said that even if he starved to death, he’d never hunt again. He didn’t touch meat again either, and when he drank baijiu it was dried fish and prunes that he munched on. When we went squirrel hunting, he remained in the camp with the young and the elderly.
As for Washia, even though Andaur held no place whatsoever in her heart, when she sought an excuse to avoid the hunt she said that since Andaur had just died she was very sad and in no mood to kill squirrels.
One evening when Lyusya and I brought a few squirrels back, Viktor came to my shirangju. ‘Eni, it’s probably better for Andaur that he died, for if he’d lived he would have suffered a lot.’
‘It’s better if you can see things like that,’ I said.
Then Viktor told me haltingly that recently when he was drinking alone in his shirangju, Washia came looking for him. Seeing he was drunk, she snuggled up against him, kissed his neck and said she wanted to sleep with him.
When Viktor pushed her away, she said: ‘Once you’ve slept with me and know the wonderful taste of a real woman, you’ll forget that idiot!’
Furious, Viktor grabbed Washia by the hair. ‘If you dare call Andaur an idiot again, I’ll cut out your tongue!’ Washia cursed him and his brother, and ran off crying.
I feared Washia would continue to harass Viktor, so after that incident I arranged for Lyusya to remain in the camp too. But my worries were unnecessary. A dozen or so days later, a horse trader came to our camp with four horses in the hopes of bartering them for two reindeer. We didn’t make this trade because we didn’t need horses; horses would conjure up painful memories. What’s worse, he wanted the reindeer for their flesh. He had heard that reindeer meat was very tasty. How could we put our beloved reindeer in the hands of such a man?
The horse trader stayed one night in our camp, and early on the second day he gathered his horses and left. But he didn’t leave alone – he left with Washia in tow.
From then on, An’tsaur lived in our shirangju.
***
In 1965, four men came to our camp: an Evenki hunter serving as a guide, a doctor and two men who had the air of cadres. One reason they came was to conduct a survey of the state of our health, and the other was to encourage us to resettle. They said the living environment in the mountains was poor and we had little access to medical treatment.
So after soliciting suggestions from the Evenki on how to proceed, the government established Jiliu Township at the meeting point of the Bistaré and the lower reaches of the Uldihitt Rivers, and began construction of a permanent settlement there.
We were all quite familiar
with the location of Jiliu Township. The woods in that region were lush and the scenery was lovely, so it was well suited to human habitation.
But there was a problem: what about the reindeer? If the reindeer of all the urireng went there, they couldn’t forage moss in the Bistaré River basin for ever. In the end, wherever they went, we had to follow them.
Valodya said residing there over the long term just wasn’t feasible.
‘What’s the difference between these “Four Dissimilars” you raise, and cows, horses, pigs and sheep?’ asked the cadres. ‘Animals aren’t as picky as human beings. Your reindeer can eat tender branches in the summer, and hay in the winter. They won’t starve.’
These words left us all exasperated.
‘Do you take reindeer for cattle or horses?’ asked Luni. ‘Reindeer won’t eat hay. They can forage hundreds of different foods in the mountains. If you make them eat just grass and branches, their souls will suffer and die!’
‘How dare you compare reindeer with pigs!’ said Hase. ‘What are pigs? It’s not as if I haven’t seen any in Uchiriovo. They’re filthy things that even eat shit! In the summer, our reindeer walk among dewdrops. When they eat flowers, butterflies accompany them. When they drink they can see fish in the water. And in the winter, when they scrape away layers of snow to eat moss, they can even find red love-peas hidden in the snow beneath, and hear little birds chirping. How can pigs compare with them?’
The two cadres could see that everyone was angry. ‘Reindeer are fine, reindeer are Spirit Deer!’ they said hastily. Right from the start, many people had concerns about living in a fixed location because of their reindeer.
The doctor with the stethoscope around his neck also met with problems when he began conducting physical examinations.
When he had the men unbutton their upper garments and expose their chests, things went fairly smoothly, but when he did the same to the women, everyone except Yveline resisted.
‘Except for Dashi, no one can ever expect to see my chest while I’m alive,’ said Zefirina.
