Called to Gobi

by D. I. Telbat

  "When the clan leaves, you will stay behind to pray?"

  Of course, she'd noticed my absence that morning when few others may have.

  "Yes, I'll do that."

  "Can I listen?" She raised her eyebrows in hope. "If I don't interrupt?"

  I considered this. Were her intentions God-centered, or Pond-centered? Her request seemed innocent enough, and she was the only one who seemed open to new things.

  "Okay, but we must be careful," I said.

  "And you teach English this winter to everyone."

  "This winter?" Remembering what I'd read about the long winter months, I knew they were spent in the gers since it was too cold to stay outside any longer than a few minutes. "We shall see," I said, holding my hands toward the flame. "I still must speak to Luyant about it."

  #######

  In the morning, I was awakened by Gan-gaad's call to move out. I crawled out of my sleeping bag feeling more weary than the previous night. It wasn't even light outside! But it was my own doing for not going to sleep sooner. Pulling on my boots, I knew why we were getting on the trail so early: Gan-gaad was making sure we remained ahead of the trailing clan.

  Zima was there to help me tear down my ger since she and Luyant's wife had already put theirs on the wagon. She must've been up early, because I noticed two horses picketed off to one side as the clan headed out—and my bike was in the wagon, too. No one glanced back at the camp as I stood there on the trampled ground. As soon as they were out of sight over a knoll, Zima leapt at me and wrung her hands.

  "Let me see it!"

  That morning, I gave my first Mongolian Bible lesson. I trembled excitedly as I introduced Zima to the basics of how we received God's Word, then set my Bible in her lap.

  "We'll start at the beginning," I said, "by reading the history of God's people."

  "There are so many pages!" she said with admiration. "Have you read it all?"

  "Several times. Start here. And stop when you have a question."

  "Me? Read? Aloud?" Her face lit up as the sun peeked over the eastern hills. "In the beginning . . ."

  As she read, I opened my journal and wrote a page to Gino to share the news of some initial interest, even if it was only from a young lady in her late twenties. And if I taught English to the whole clan that winter, there were certain to be other hearts open to deeper questions about my beliefs.

  Zima stopped often, even in the first chapter, to clarify little things like the singular-plurality of God in verse twenty-six. She read to the end of chapter three, then we both agreed it was time to leave. I tucked my Bible and journal into my coat.

  "Now, I pray," I said, and folded my hands traditionally. She nodded and copied me sincerely. "Some people, when they pray to God, they bow their heads, and some close their eyes so they're not distracted. Some kneel, as if before a mighty king. Through the Bible, we see God as the One and Only Almighty God—but He's also our Father. The closer you grow to Him, the more you'll know how to address Him." I cleared my throat. "With you, I think I'll close my eyes."

  "Okay. I'll watch," she said.

  After bowing my head, I tried to concentrate. Thinking back, I felt like most of what I said were just words that first time. But she was curious and I wanted to show her how to pray.

  "Dear Lord God in heaven, we come before You now in this vast land, Zima and I, Your servants. We thank You for Your forgiveness for the many wrongs we've committed in our lives, and we know that we need Your strength to live as we ought to. Thank You for what we've learned today from Your Living Word. Continue to teach us how to love and forgive others as You love and forgave us. In Jesus' name, amen." I looked up slowly. "At the end, many say, 'amen,' which means, 'let it be so.'"

  "Amen," Zima repeated. "Your God does all of this?"

  I rose to my feet and pulled her up with me. We were suddenly standing too close and I took a step back.

  "He does it all and more. In the Book of Jeremiah in the middle of the Bible, it says He makes the sun, moon, and the stars shine. Also, He knows the number of hairs on your head. Nothing is too big or too small for Him."

  She kept me talking, which may have been an intentional distraction, because before I knew it, she'd led me over to my horse. I mounted and took the reins in my hands.

  "I'll race you!" she yelled.

  Digging her heels in, she took off with a lunge. My own horse pranced sideways, anxious for the signal to go. I squeezed my legs around her thick torso, trying to figure out how not to fall off. But the short aduu took that squeeze as the signal. The mare bounded forward after Zima as I tumbled off the back of the horse.

  Landing on my face, I looked up in time to see Zima push her horse faster as she probably heard the hooves rushing up behind her. My mare, of course, hadn't come back for me. Picking up my tired body, I brushed off my clothes and started walking. It was destined, though, as I needed some one-on-one time with God. Around Zima, it didn't take much to have a one-track mind—she was so beautiful!

  *~*

  Chapter 8

  For several days, our mornings began like this, though I fell off my mount less and less. We'd read for an hour, then race to catch up to the clan. Once caught up, I would see to the stray animals in the event that some had wandered off for a nibble of grass, but I otherwise rode toward the rear alone. Dusbhan kept his AK-47 handy and in sight at all times, and constantly cast me scowls, though I knew not why. He certainly didn't seem like a happy young man.

  Two days outside the town of Bulgan, I saw Luyant alone and rode out to him on the right flank. My riding was improving, but anything faster than a trot, I still bounced all over the back of my beast like a rag doll. I needed a lot of practice.

  Since Luyant was mute, we had a muted conversation. I had a pen and paper ready for this opportunity. Riding abreast of him as he admired the sky and landscape, I wrote my message.

  "Do you object if I teach those who want to know how to read, write, and speak English?"

  Passing it to him, I waited ten minutes for his response while he considered it.

  "I don't object, but keep your culture to yourself unless you want Gan-gaad to break your neck. He hates foreigners. What have you been teaching Zima?"

  As to the first part of his response, I understood—enough of the Mongolian culture had been lost to outside forms of collectivization and communism. But what could I say to his question? With Luyant, I decided the truth was the best route.

  "I've been explaining to Zima the ways of the God of her father."

  Luyant reined in sharply and scribbled hastily.

  "That's worst of all! The Russian Orthodox Church killed her father! Whipped to death! You must stop this immediately!"

  Instead of riding away, he seemed to sense I would respond, so he lingered next to me.

  "God is a God of love. How can you inhibit knowledge of the truth because the Russians greatly mistreated and abused their authority?"

  After reading this, he glared at me as if he wanted to punch me again. Perhaps God was using my mistakes for good, because Luyant's eyes drifted down to my hands and he winced, maybe in remembrance of the blow that had dropped him to his seat.

  "Fine, but only Zima, since she's like you—and only in secret! If Gan-gaad finds out, I will swear I never knew."

  "Thank you, Luyant," I said aloud. "I'll pray that you'll have an interest in the Lord God someday as well."

  Before he could respond, I wheeled my mare around on her back legs and raced across the plain to the rear of the procession. Laughing, I bounced along with little control, and the whole clan surely thought I'd gone crazy. I pulled up next to Zima as she handed out that day's food rations.

  "It's wonderful, isn't it?" I asked after she'd read our conversation.

  "This is so important to you?"

  My countenance dimmed. I'd expected her to share my joy.

  "Pond!" Gan-gaad shouted. "Get the bike and spy on Navi-hasgovi! We are less than two days ride from Bulgan."
>
  I parted with a wave from Zima and turned my mare over to one of the men's wives. Pulling my bike from the wagon, I zipped up my coat, and took off to the northwest. No farther than a mile out, I noticed vultures circling ahead. My heart skipped a beat as I knew what it meant—something was about to become vulture food. Changing gears, I sped faster.

  Hitting my brake two miles later, I dove off my bike, relieved to see it was just an animal.

  "Get!" I waved my arms at the bald-headed birds. "Shoo, get out of here!"

  But the carnivores sensed death and hopped only a few yards away. When those circling above saw that I was harmless, they landed nearby as well.

  I knelt next to a black and white kid goat that wasn't yet a year old. It craned its neck and cried up at me. He tried to stand, but one of his front legs dangled limply, broken. Opening my coat, I pulled him into the warmth of my chest as he shivered. With disgust, I kicked at the birds and returned to my bike. There, I examined the kid's leg more closely. It was bad. Gan-gaad would toast to goat meat that night, but until then, the kid was safe. For now, I zipped him up in my coat with his little head and floppy ears poking out just under my chin.

  Continuing north, I reflected on the Scriptures. Much of the Old Testament involved people who were nomads, to some extent. I wondered if King David, when he was a shepherd boy, had found any of his sheep with broken legs. What had he done? Though I was a man who'd lived a hard life, my heart still lamented my little passenger's fate.

  For two and a half hours, I rode hard before I quite suddenly came upon the Navi-hasgovi Clan. They appeared over a hilltop as I was just ascending it. Two men on horseback whipped their mounts after me. I turned and peddled like lightning.

  "Get him!" one yelled.

  If the distance had been greater, I could've worn their horses weary. But as I was only a hundred feed ahead when they charged, their mounts caught me easily. I braked to a halt as they headed me off, then others from their clan joined around on all sides. They appeared to be much the same as my clan when it came to clothing, but their faces were coarser, harder, and I sensed a whipping of some kind was coming. Their whips were short, held in their teeth or on their wrists by the loop at the leather end.

  No one said anything, and I wondered why they waited, but then a Kazakh man on a dark aduu rode up from the approaching clan. The others parted for him and I faced him while still astride my bike. There was a time when I would've glared hatefully at those hard men around me, but I was no longer that man. I pet my passenger's head and ears, whispering comfort.

  "We have seen these bike tracks before," the one on the dark horse stated. He wasn't too tall, but had bold features. "You are with the Gan-gaad Clan?"

  "I am. He's been a gracious host since I joined him a week ago."

  "Your accent . . . You are Russian?"

  "American."

  "Really?" The bold man seemed shocked. "And Gan-gaad hasn't given you your own funeral yet?"

  "He's a man of prejudice, but he's restrained himself from murder thus far."

  "I am Navi-hasgovi. He speaks of me?"

  "Yes, he does."

  "Three head of livestock I have lost because of his carelessness just this week."

  "How?" I asked.

  "You don't know? Hmmm. I supposed you wouldn't. We push our stock hard all day. When we come to water, we find the pools trampled by Gan-gaad's cursed animals. My stock falls dead as they wait for us to dam the streams again. Gan-gaad does it intentionally."

  I considered this, thinking back. The trickling streams had been rather destroyed in our wake.

  "Warn him if he does it again," Navi-hasgovi said, "my men will leave our own stock to the wild and attack him. Rest assured, we won't stop until he replaces every head we have lost this year!"

  "Okay, I understand." I nodded. "I'll tell him, and even if he won't listen, I'll remain behind next time and salvage the stream."

  Navi-hasgovi raised his head.

  "You ride your bike with a kid in your coat?"

  "He broke his leg. In a few hours, I'm sure he'll become stew."

  "You may go," he said, nodding at me. "We often winter near Gan-gaad. Perhaps I will hear your story in the coming months."

  "I'd like that. My name is Andy, but I'm called Pond by the clan."

  The hard-faced horsemen parted for me and I rode away.

  #######

  Again, it was dark by the time I reached my clan's camp, but I wasn't too weary since I was growing accustomed to the grueling days of riding. And that night, I was to stand watch over the herds and flocks—circling my mare around camp until I was to wake Dusbhan for his shift four hours before sunrise. Only one herdsman was needed at night with the principle male animals picketed to keep the others near. It generally worked without a problem. But some still wandered off as if sleep-walking, and there was the ever-present threat of a predator stalking nearby.

  With reluctance, I gave my kid goat to Dusbhan after he volunteered to slaughter it, and he disappeared into the darkness. The women had made a stack of cakes to eat with the venison pudding that night, and I found it much more appetizing. There was a joke amongst them that I couldn't drink the strong mare's milk. Gan-gaad brewed it himself and made it strong on purpose. It was said he enjoyed more than a small buzz before he passed out in his ger every night. I settled contently on drinking only water or fresh mare's milk. During the day, the lactating mares were milked every two hours.

  Zima and I sat together as was becoming customary, and since she was often finished eating before me, she seemed to take pleasure in holding my water bottle or bread cakes as I ate. We were growing closer, which was inevitable with as much time as we spent together. I prayed for God's guidance in dealing with her.

  "They've lost some time," I explained as I finished my food. "The Navi-hasgovi Clan is at least a day behind from livestock exhaustion."

  "How so?" Gan-gaad asked.

  "When we leave a watering hole, we're destroying the streams so the pools are ruined for those who follow."

  "Hah-hah!" Gan-gaad belched and slapped one of his wife's knees. "And it has slowed him? Wonderful!"

  "He requested that we leave the dams intact and the streams as we found them," I said. "Under threat of him attacking us, as well as realizing what's honorable, I assured him we would be more civil."

  "Bah!" Gan-gaad laughed, then realized I was serious. "No! Who are you to speak for me? Pond, it would take too long to repair our sites. It's out of the question. Let his stock die. He would do the same if he were ahead of us."

  "You know I'm an American," I said.

  "Of course, Pond. A fine representative, too!"

  "And I'm ignorant of many Mongolian practices."

  "You'll learn our ways." He shrugged. "In time, you will learn."

  "Wouldn't it be proper to show courtesy to your neighbor, regardless of his intentions?" I asked. "Let your neighbor's guilt be on his own head. Why don't we do the honorable thing?"

  Gan-gaad stood abruptly, knocking his bowl and one wife to the ground. He glared at me with fiery contempt. Luyant, on my right, rose slowly. As a more cautious man, he glanced from his brother to me. I knew where his loyalties lay, but I wondered if he knew what was right.

  However, I remained seated, feeling no need to stand and fight physically with the clan leader. Or his larger brother again.

  "You're right, American!" he blurted, pointing a thick finger at me. "You know not our practices!"

  "Then I will assume you have a plan for when he attacks us in full force," I said slyly, "all his men thundering down on us over a few head of cattle." I clucked my tongue. "I admire your courage, Gan-gaad. A lesser man would stand down in the face of sure defeat, but not you." Slowly, thoughtfully, he eased back down to his seat. "No, not you. This is why I ride with you, Gan-gaad. We ride to the death, the death of us all."

  I raised my canteen to salute him. In his semi-drunken state, he probably wasn't sure if I was mocking him or a
ctually sincere. Zima had started to squeeze my arm, but she relaxed as the tension passed.

  "He wouldn't leave his own herds to attack," Gan-gaad said.

  "But he swore he would," I said, "and he wouldn't leave us until all his stock was replaced by our own."

  "Let them come!" Dusbhan said daringly from the darkness behind me. The hammer slid back on his rifle. "I'm not afraid of them!"

  Zima appeared as if she wanted to speak, but she wasn't allowed to be involved in the matters of men, and she held her tongue. Perhaps in a more modern clan than Gan-gaad's, her opinion mattered, but not here.

  "To avoid a range war, I could stay behind every morning," I said, "and fix our sites while the clan moves on. I have a good shovel and I enjoy healthy labor toward a peaceful resolution."

  Gan-gaad played with his mustache and Zima fingered her bracelet nervously. Luyant was still on his feet as if he were prepared to separate two lions. However, a dozen verses from the Bible were drifting through my thick head. Be humble. Be gentle. Love never fails . . .

  "You don't know Navi-hasgovi like I do," Gan-gaad said with slurred words. "Last year he did the same thing to me all the way to Hasagt!"

  "Even in the face of injustice, an honorable man maintains honor. If the whole matter is a bother, give it to me and think no more of it. You have enough to worry about."

  "Yes, I do! Fine, Pond, you deal with the remains of our sites after we leave. Your reasoning is not realistic, but it is sound. Just be sure it doesn't interfere with your other duties. I'm going to sleep now." His wives helped him to his feet. "Wake me at the end of your watch, Pond. We'll leave then so we can reach Bulgan before sunset."

  Dusbhan went to his ger as Gan-gaad and his wives went to theirs. A stone's throw away was the fire where Gan-gaad's other three men and their families gathered. There seemed an immense gap between the two groups, as if a caste system existed that I hadn't noticed until then. Rarely did the three other men even speak to Gan-gaad. Dusbhan was the one who gave them their few orders. The clan had been doing this for so long, their motions could be done in their sleep—their hearts had been that cold for so long.