by D. I. Telbat
We laughed the tense day away, along with its misgivings and violence, and I felt closer to her than before having experienced it all with her.
Dusbhan and Luyant seemed to have decided upon some course of action and left the campfire, walking to the east. For a moment, I thought they might only be going to the water pump, but they passed it and called out to those in the Navi-hasgovi camp. Navi-hasgovi came forward, as did several other men. Though I couldn't hear what was said, I was pleased they weren't wrestling again! After a few minutes, Luyant and his son returned to the campfire, each with a grin they couldn't hide. As he passed me on the way to his ger, Dusbhan gave a friendly punch to my shoulder. All animosity between us had vanished. I knew it had less to do with the chocolates than the lessons we'd all learned that day.
"Praise the Lord," I said in English.
Zima glanced at me.
"You just spoke English. What did you say?"
"‘Praise the Lord,'" I said, repeating in Mongolian. "It's a reference of reverence, not to a lord of war or a lord of a fortress or a land, but to the Lord God of creation, of the world and of life."
"And why do you praise Him right now?"
"I should praise Him with every breath. I try to. His hand works so many wonders. This morning, I was certain I would be chased from the clan. I saw no remedy to the rift between me and Dusbhan. But God pulls the strings to every man's heart. What seems so difficult to us is simple to God. We must only trust Him."
"Trust Him like Abraham did?"
"Yes." I smiled proudly that she remembered. "Trust Him like Abraham to provide."
"And trust Him like Noah did to save his family." She beamed at the look of pleasant surprise on my face. "Yes, I'm learning. It's easier to see what wrong things men and women do when I read it from the Bible. But they do right things, too, and I can see how your God blesses His people for their obedience. What do you think His voice sounds like?"
"Later in the Bible, you'll read how God's voice is heard. Sometimes it's a still, small voice. Then, it may be a loud, authoritative voice. Or, God may speak through someone else who is close to Him, or through our circumstances."
"Does God speak to you? Do you hear Him besides what He tells you in the Bible?"
"I hear Him, but not in words like those men in the Bible did. Once the Bible was completed with all of God's intentions for mankind, and the instruction He wanted us to have, there hasn't been a need for Him to speak audibly to us as He once did. The Bible is complete and can prove itself. We don't require additional signs when we're to trust by faith and not by sight or other senses. God speaks to His children through His Word, in the minds of those who have Him living inside their hearts. It's something more profound than a mere conscience. He gives us gifts of peace, joy, love, and other things—as He gives us a new heart once we fully decide to follow and live for Him. When the whole world is upset around me, that's when I hear God the most, when I rely on Him the most. This is a state of fellowship with God that everyone should try to seek all the time, but we're often distracted by our own pursuits, which are only temporary satisfactions at best."
Realizing how quiet the camp had become, I looked up from the coal fire at which I'd been staring while speaking. The children still dashed about, but the wives and Luyant and Zima had been listening to my every word, words I'd intended for only Zima's ears as she seemed to be my only pupil. But God has a way of bringing His message to more than just intended ears.
"How is it that you speak so boldly," Tzegabor, Gan-gaad's first and eldest wife asked, "when such things are forbidden?"
"Especially by Gan-gaad!" another added.
Normally, they wouldn't speak in front of other men, but I was a foreigner and Luyant was a mute—and they were obviously curious. Besides, Luyant seemed just as interested.
"Many years ago, during the years that introduced perestroika to Mongolia, your government also made many social reforms, allowing the citizens the freedom to choose between faiths, occupations, and other pursuits. Though the great restructuring, the perestroika, has been difficult on Mongolia after so many other forced changes from the past, the perestroika was meant for good, to rid the land of fear and forced socialism.
"You ask why I speak so boldly. But I ask why we don't all speak and live boldly? The government allows us to express ourselves openly and boldly now, though there are remnants of the old authority still seeking the old ways of absolute control. That generation will pass—and is passing—Gan-gaad's generation. But with the new openness comes evil as well as good. It's the evil I believe Gan-gaad and the others fear most from the perestroika."
I paused before the next part and peered into their eager faces. What I'd said was essentially forbidden in this clan, but I couldn't stop now.
"It's not so much a battle between good and evil as it is a spiritual war between the One and Only God and the demon angel, Satan. And as in any war, we must choose a side. If we don't choose, we automatically stand with Satan, because if we don't live as a servant of God, then we only serve Satan's worldly purposes in our flesh. There are only two ways. One is right and difficult, though fulfilling. The other is wrong and tempting, though ultimately destructive."
"But we have our gods," Tzegabor said. "Why would we need another?"
"There is only one God," Zima said. "All the others we sing in tatlagas about are made from the minds of our ancestors. Pond's God made everything, even our imaginations, but we still dishonor Him by admiring false and imaginary gods."
"Who are you to speak, Zima?" Tzegabor frowned. "What do you wear on your wrist?"
Zima held up the bracelet of gods molded in such detail, the only remnant of the memory of her mother. With a mighty yank, she tore the strand of leather off her wrist. She stood and violently cast the bracelet into the fire.
"There should be no confusion in what I believe now!" Zima stated.
And that concluded the conversation, punctuated by Luyant rising to his bulky height and walking to his ger. That was everyone's cue to disperse. Luyant's wife extinguished the fire and the others began to catch the children as they ran past.
Zima and I rose to our feet. She started toward Luyant's ger when I took her hand and stopped her. We were familiar with the other's casual touch, and even the time we'd spent alone wasn't sparked with tension at all. But in that moment, I felt butterflies in my chest, and her hand in mine felt softer than it had in the past. I was falling for this beautiful Russian-Kazakh.
"I know you wanted me to pick up something for you from Bulgan, something special, besides all the chocolates."
"It's okay." She smiled, and tenderly touched my bearded cheek. "We all loved the candies, and I'm sure they weren't cheap."
"But I bought you something, anyway." I grinned.
"You did? What is it?"
I led her to my ger and left her standing outside as I crawled in and wrapped the mirror in the scarf I'd brought from New York. Under the half-moon, I stood and gave her the small bundle. With girlish excitement, she unwound the scarf.
"It's a neck scarf from America made from fine cotton."
"Oh, it's so soft!" She draped the scarf over her shoulder when she found the mirror inside. The reflection of the moon lit her smiling face as her fingers traced the decorated frame. "I love it. It's the first mirror I've seen in many years."
"And it's plastic, too, so you don't have to worry about it breaking so easily."
"You think of everything."
"Well—"
"Don't you need the scarf? It'll be cold this winter."
I swallowed nervously.
"What I feel in my heart right now will keep me warm through ten winters."
We gazed into each other's eyes for a long while, and I thought for sure she was going to plant one on me.
"Thank you, Pond," she whispered, looked around, then wrapped her arms around my neck.
When I thought the embrace was finished, I realized she was crying softly against my nec
k. I didn't know why she was crying, but I hoped it was from happiness. Gently, I held her until she was quiet, then she pulled away. The cold air was giving us both a chill. Without a second glance, she stepped around me and slipped over to Luyant's ger. My heart did flip-flops as she disappeared inside. How could I sleep now? How could I ever sleep again? What a day!
"She loves you, American," Dusbhan said from an opening in his ger's hide-covered doorway. I didn't know he'd been watching. "No one else would ever touch her because she's Russian and Kazakh. But both of you, your hearts aren't your own. They belong to each other now."
He climbed out of his ger and stood beside me as we admired the starry sky. When he offered me a puff on his cigarette, I accepted as is customary, and passed it back. It was a gesture of the peace between us.
"Dusbhan, I didn't know you were a romantic."
"I listen to the radio with my wife." He shrugged. "We listen to people who call on telephones to talk to experts about marriage."
"And what have you learned?"
He flicked his cigarette butt into the frozen dirt. Across camp, one of the clan men in charge of goats was riding his horse on watch.
"That it's easy to be a man. Not so easy to be a husband. But if there is love, hard and easy don't matter. You know my wife is pregnant?"
"Really?" I rested a hand on his sturdy shoulder. "Congratulations."
"Not so easy to be a father, either, I think," he said. "But I think love makes it easier. Do you think?"
"You'll make a good father, Dusbhan," I said. "And you'll have much to share with him as he grows."
"Yes, I think so." He nodded and ducked back into his ger.
I lay down in my own shelter with a smile on my face, and fell asleep with a prayer of praise on my lips.
*~*
Chapter 11
In the morning, it was as if I'd awoken with a completely different clan. Since we weren't traveling, the women were seeing to the laundry at the water pump. I stared at them for several minutes to ensure my eyes weren't deceiving me—because I saw the women of Navi-hasgovi's clan washing their laundry as well—with my clan's women! And more, they were clucking away like old hens, gossiping and sharing grievances of their travels and struggles over their obtuse husbands.
It was truly a sight of wonder, and I wasn't the only one admiring the compatibility. The Navi-hasgovi men who'd been left behind as the others went to town for supplies watched from the midst of their herds while their wives and older daughters chatted with our women. Dusbhan sat backwards on his aduu and watched his wife. Luyant sat at a small fire stringing a pair of snowshoes. Every few seconds, he looked up at the gathering at the water pump. I sat down next to him and watched him work.
"There isn't much snow in the south where we're going, is there?"
He strained as he stretched one last withered length of sinew around the wooden frame, then handed it to me for inspection. Of course, I knew the purpose for snowshoes, but I'd never held any in my hands. What was I to inspect? I checked the tightness of the sinew, as well as the heel and toe straps that would fasten a boot in place. Finally, I passed it back to Luyant.
"They look good," I told him, nodding.
Picking up a pencil and tablet, he wrote me a message and handed it to me.
"When the mountains receive their first big snow, Dusbhan and I will go hunting to the west. The snow will push the game down into the steppe, but sometimes we must still walk into the snow. You may come if Gan-gaad approves."
"I'd like that," I said. A real Mongolian hunt? How could I say no to that? In the books I'd read, the hunts were usually accompanied by hunting eagles and dogs, but this wasn't a normal clan. What opportunities and doors God was giving me!
Suddenly, I jumped to my feet. My heart skipped a beat. I looked from the women at the pump to the approaching bulk of Gan-gaad on his horse.
"Luyant, is this going to be a problem?"
Slowly, Luyant stood and dropped his snowshoe materials in front of the fire. Gan-gaad was riding alone, most-likely checking on us since Squirrel wasn't yet ready to leave the clinic. Dusbhan slid off the rump of his horse and crushed out his smoke. He caught at Gan-gaad's bridle as the clan leader stepped off his aduu.
Gan-gaad was fuming mad. There's no other way to describe him. He pointed at the water pump and stepped toe-to-toe with Dusbhan. Dusbhan moved back, but his uncle kept coming.
"What is this? Now we are happy neighbors with the Kazakhs?"
"But . . . the women must see to the clothes while we aren't—"
The clan leader back-handed Dusbhan and sent his nephew sprawling onto the cold ground. Dusbhan tried to scramble away, but Gan-gaad booted him in the ribs.
"How long have you betrayed me? My own blood! Did you not even watch them in the night as they steal our stock? Or have you given them free reign to come and go from your fire?"
"Uncle, please!"
Gan-gaad continued to curse and kick at the young man as he backed into the filth of the livestock. Sensing the scene was escalating, all the women at the pump withdrew to their clans for fear of more retaliation against them for what Gan-gaad saw only as betrayal. Zima ran to my side holding a pair of still dripping wet riding pants.
"I turn my back, you traitor!" Gan-gaad spat. "And you make alliances with the enemy!"
But Luyant wasn't standing aside this time. He stalked over to Gan-gaad and shoved his smaller brother away from his son. Luyant tried to use sign language to explain the situation, but Gan-gaad only pushed him back.
"How could you let this happen? My own brother! Sleeping with the Kazakh dogs!"
Having seen enough of Gan-gaad's outburst, Luyant picked up his brother by the collar of his coat. With strength I've rarely witnessed before or after that day, Luyant lifted him two feet off the ground at arm's length. He then twisted him sideways and slammed him hard onto the ground. Gan-gaad was motionless on his back, eyes wide and staring, the wind knocked out of him.
Luyant didn't seem willing to take any chances, though. He rolled his brother onto his belly and put a sturdy knee on his back to hold him in place. Dusbhan, having recovered slightly, tripped and bolted toward his ger. Luyant waved me over to them and signaled for me to talk to Gan-gaad, to explain things. And with such an audience! Besides our own, Navi-hasgovi's clan was watching intently, too.
"Lord, give me wisdom here," I prayed under my breath.
I crouched down in front of Gan-gaad to see his face when he lifted his head.
"You! I should've known you were behind—"
Luyant pushed Gan-gaad's face into the ground, filling his foul mouth with grass and soil. Gan-gaad spat and coughed and cursed.
"He wants you to listen to me for a few minutes, then he'll let you up," I said. "Um, yesterday, we had a big fight with the other clan. That's why our faces are still red and swollen. Since Navi-hasgovi has more men, we fought hard because we tried to keep the water pump for ourselves, but we were losing horribly. They were about to stomp us into the earth and take all of our stock, so we had to make a truce. One on this side, and one on that side of the pump. In your absence, it seemed the best solution to save your stock while we must all coexist here for a few days." I glanced at Luyant. Was that enough? He urged me to continue. "Uh, no one's betraying you, Gan-gaad. All of us bear the wounds of the fight yesterday; we all shed blood while defending the clan. You're missing no stock. No loyalty has been lost. We're still your clan."
Nodding, Luyant slowly eased off Gan-gaad. I stepped away to give the man space.
Gan-gaad's face was graven, his eyes downcast in humiliation. He rose to his knees, paused to look around, then lifted his bulk to his feet. Ignoring me and Luyant, he stomped away toward his ger. Those in his path quickly leapt aside. But when he reached his ger, he snatched Tzegabor by the wrist and threw her into the ger. She yelped out in pain from the force as he disappeared into the ger after her.
Then, one of the most horrifying times of my life took place
. Even after my violent and careless upbringing, I still grimace when I recall that morning.
Inside his ger, Gan-gaad began beating his first wife. I knew well the sound of fists. But her whimpers of pain—my soul ached for her. In the five minutes that it lasted, I turned numb and felt sickly. Twice, I moved to halt the beating, but Luyant gripped my arm firmly and shook his head as if to say, "It's his wife and not your affair this time."
But I felt it was our affair. It had been a mutual agreement among us all to make peace with the Navi-hasgovi Clan. If anyone was to be beaten, it should've been me.
Our clan stood in shock through those five minutes. I tried not to hate as I prayed for us all, including Gan-gaad, and especially Tzegabor. Toward the end, I fell to my knees, a tear rolling down my cheek. How could anyone be so brutal?
Zima ran to me and fell beside me, weeping for Tzegabor.
"Can no one . . . do anything?"
When it finally stopped, I sighed with relief. Even the livestock were still, not even grazing, sensing the horror in the air.
Gan-gaad emerged from his ger's doorway, his knuckles stained crimson. In places, I saw he'd torn the flesh of his own skin, exposing bone. We all held our breath. Zima squeezed my cold hand. The clan leader walked over to the deserted water pump and washed his hands. No one moved toward his ger. Then, he walked past us, climbed onto his horse, and galloped into town, whipping the aduu the whole way.
I took a deep breath and rose to my feet. Luyant moved up beside me as Zima clung to my left.
"It's bad, Luyant," I said softly in warning. "I know what men's fists can do. She can't be a sight for the women to see."
Together, Luyant and I walked to the ger. I knelt and crawled in first as Luyant held the flap open for the light. Gently, I touched Tzegabor's bare leg. I reached up farther toward what was once her hardened but motherly face, and searched her neck for a pulse. My hand was wet with blood. Choking on my own breath, I prayed away the vomit rising in my throat. Withdrawing my hand, I shook my head at Luyant. He nodded in understanding, then made a rolling gesture with his hands.
