Called to Gobi

by D. I. Telbat

  Those days before we reached Hasagt blended together with activity as had the days before reaching the previous town of Bulgan. Except, instead of trying to stay in front of Navi-hasgovi's clan, we were a day behind him. This created more problems than just the destroyed watering hole nearly every night. Grazing land became an issue as well. Navi-hasgovi's livestock nibbled everything edible nearly to the roots for a mile in every direction around the night's water source. This meant we had to set up camp, then drive the animals in another direction to graze for a few hours. This made for longer days, because the stock had to be driven back to relative safety in the camp vicinity where they could bed down for the night, rather than leave them to spend the night on the dangerous, open steppe with no water.

  With concern, Luyant noticed that all the animals were losing weight from the extra strain. On paper, we discussed the best remedy, and we brought Dusbhan into our considerations for a solution. I suggested we linger for a week and allow Navi-hasgovi to get far enough ahead so when we came upon his week-old camp sites, the grass would've regrown some. This was quickly dismissed, however, for Gan-gaad would never linger longer than we had to. Besides, the farther south we traveled, the slower the grass would grow since there was less moisture.

  We were already behind schedule that season because of Squirrel's appendicitis. Normally, Dusbhan explained, the clan was a week or two ahead of Navi-hasgovi, closer to the edge of the Gobi before the winter fell upon them.

  Luyant suggested we graze the animals midday, let them rest, then continue in the afternoon to the intended water source where they could graze more if they wanted to. He wasn't worried about longer nights or lack of sleep, only the condition of his stock before the harsh winter set in.

  When we presented our options to Gan-gaad, he was greatly troubled and admitted he'd noticed the fatness of the animals diminishing as well. The answer, he believed, was to overrun Navi-hasgovi once and for all at Hasagt. He decided to ration out the grain stores to build the animals' layers of fat back up, and replace the used grain in Hasagt using the money I'd paid him for my stock. Agreeing with Gan-gaad's solution, we pressed toward Hasagt and even threatened to overtake Navi-hasgovi on the second week out of Bulgan.

  During the days, Dusbhan borrowed my Bible more often. He would ride his horse sitting backwards so he could use the aduu's broad rump as a table for the Book. He usually rode on either the left or right flank where no one bothered him during his studying. And his horse plodded along parallel with the clan without further guidance.

  Without a Bible to read during the long rides, Zima and I lapsed into stories of our childhoods. She spoke of hers as if it were a bad dream nearly forgotten. Though she'd not been abused, she'd been neglected and forced to fend for herself since she was of Russian descent. Her parents had died in Dalandzadgad, a town in the heart of the Gobi, isolated from towns by hundreds of miles of sand and rock. She felt certain the communist MPRP party had killed her parents in the misguided retaliation of Russia's press for Mongolia's independence movement and the privatization of its markets. Orphaned, Zima had been passed from relative to relative and then to a neighbor of a distant acquaintance. One of her guardians saw her value and paid his debt owed to Luyant. That was nearly twenty years before I'd met the clan.

  When Zima had joined the clan, Dusbhan was two years older at the age of eleven. At his uncle's encouragement, Dusbhan tormented Zima nearly every day. He cut her hair, stole her food and blankets, and knocked her off her horse. That lasted until Zima had her growth spurt, before Dusbhan's voice had changed. She'd been a skinny girl, but she was strong and almost as tall as Luyant. She caught Dusbhan one day and whipped him black and blue. He had welts all over his body, and she'd promised him it would be worse next time if he told. And if he told and Gan-gaad beat her, she'd still come for him sooner or later, she'd threatened. But they'd been children then. By the time the young man had grown in size and was strong enough to whip Zima in return, he'd lost interest. Having heard her story, I better understood Dusbhan's reserved personality, at least in part.

  The years after that were consumed with labor. Luyant never hit her, but Gan-gaad had a few times. And when Dusbhan moved out of Luyant's ger, Zima was left alone with Luyant and his wife. As his only other child, though adopted, Zima liked being alone. Luyant's wife was kind and Luyant was silent. With Dusbhan in his own ger with his own wife, Zima had more space and finally found peace for herself in the clan. Because of pressure from Gan-gaad, Luyant never gave her enough affection for her to feel like an actual daughter, but she accepted her place in the clan under his wing.

  Zima sympathized with my years of foster homes. I told her of my crimes and my prison term—and all that God had saved me from, though I still had to pay my debt in jail.

  The two of us still remained behind after every camp to repair the watering holes and read the Bible each morning. And in the afternoons, we rode ahead to see the damage Navi-hasgovi had left us.

  *~*

  Chapter 13

  When we were two nights out from Hasagt, Zima and I rode up to a small lake that Navi-hasgovi couldn't destroy, though he may have wanted to. It was half the size of a football field and even had fish in it! That was the first real body of water I'd seen in Mongolia. While I was happy we didn't have to rebuild a dam that evening, Zima was enthused for another reason.

  "I'll ride back to the clan and you can bathe!" she ordered rather than suggested. "Tomorrow, you ride ahead and I'll stay back and bathe."

  Lifting my arm, I sniffed.

  "Am I really that smelly? I've smelled Luyant. He smells like a camel!"

  "That's the point, Pond!" She laughed. "You're starting to smell like Luyant!"

  As she rode away, I stripped down and waded into the icy—and I mean icy—water. It was the first I'd seen anyone in the clan show any concern for personal hygiene. I'd noticed everyone else living like cavemen, so I'd joined them! The women no doubt sponge-bathed with heated water in their gers, but I knew Luyant and Gan-gaad hadn't washed in months. Now Zima had actually told me to bathe!

  Shivering and turning purple, I dressed as the clan arrived and the animals trotted forward for a place on the shore. Feeling self-conscious now, I changed my clothes and washed my dirty ones in the lake, vowing to do my laundry more often. The issue had so bothered me that during my night watch when starry darkness covered the steppe, I waded back into the pool, this time with my bar of soap from my pack. At that point, I realized it didn't hurt to practice a few American customs—like cleanliness.

  The next day, after our reading and my journal writing, it was Zima's turn to bathe. Since she hadn't seen or smelled scented soap in years, I let her use my bar. Riding ahead, I joined the clan where Dusbhan noticed my arrival and asked for my Bible.

  I rode alone in the rear for a while until I was joined by Uhaat. Uhaat was a fifteen-year-old boy who'd been encouraged by Gan-gaad to take up the responsibilities of a man. He was Gan-gaad's firstborn by Tzegabor, who was now buried. The next oldest was Chita, Squirrel's older sister of twelve. Before that day, Uhaat, who was small for his age and a little slow, had avoided me as the rest of the youngsters had. But on this day, instead of playing riding games with the younger children, Uhaat had been coaxed into riding horseback all day along with the adults.

  "What kind of name is ‘Pond' in America?" he asked.

  "It's like a small lake, but that's not really my name," I said. "Your father mispronounces the word ‘blond,' which refers to my hair color. My real name is Andy."

  "Andy. So what should I call you?"

  "Pond is fine. I believe a man's name isn't as important as how a man makes a difference for the better in the lives around him."

  "You buried my mother," he stated suddenly. "Were you sad?"

  "Very sad, Uhaat. That was a difficult time for all of us."

  "I don't think Gan-gaad likes me as much as Marbin. He's the one you call ‘Squirrel.' Do you think Gan-gaad will kill me like he
killed my mother?"

  Gasping, I tried not to show my shock. He was a maturing youth with many concerns. But no question was too trivial.

  "No, I don't believe he'll kill you, Uhaat. I think he's ashamed for what he did to your mother, and when he looks at you, he may be reminded of that sad day when his anger overwhelmed him. Squirrel is special to him, but don't doubt his love for you. Men like Gan-gaad oftentimes don't know how to show love to the ones they love most because they're so busy acting strong for the whole clan.

  "Look at Luyant, your uncle. Much larger than your father, he's like a small giant. Luyant doesn't speak, and most of the time, he lumbers about like a great big bear. But at night, he plays his morin-khuur, right? For his wife, he plays love songs, tunes with silly lyrics, and music with no words. He doesn't have to speak to show his love, but you still have to pay attention to notice how he expresses his love.

  "Gan-gaad seems like a tough wolf sometimes, so you may have to look for the special ways he loves those around him. Maybe love doesn't come out of Gan-gaad like his brother, but he expresses himself in other ways. He makes sure we're all fed every night. He tries to find good locations for our gers so we don't have far to travel for water. These are small ways that he shows he loves you. I'm sure if you considered it more, you could think of other ways, too."

  He nodded and seemed to consider that for a long time. We both turned around at the sound of Zima's horse trotting up the trail. The reins were dragging along the ground and its back was bare except for the saddle. No Zima.

  I stopped my horse and wheeled to the north.

  "If anyone asks where I am, Uhaat, tell them I went to look for Zima. Something's happened to her."

  "Can I take your place here at the rear?" he asked with hopefulness.

  "Yes!" I yelled over my shoulder, and heeled my aduu into a run.

  Trying not to panic, I knew there were any number of possible reasons why Zima's horse was riderless. It could've wandered away while she was bathing. Or other herdsmen from the eastern plains had ventured to the pond and found a beautiful woman, spooked her horse, and—

  Topping a rise with a prayer in my throat, I saw Zima afar off, alone, walking on the path. As I slowed my horse and trotted up to her, I noticed she held her left arm with her right hand.

  "I was thrown." Her face, still rimmed with wet hair, displayed worry. "I think it's broken, Pond."

  "We can deal with a broken arm." I climbed off my horse and rolled up her sleeve gently. "If it was a leg, your head, or your spine, those would be a challenge—or a sprained finger. That would be the worst. I'd probably faint at the sight of a sprained finger!"

  She tried to chuckle, but she was in too much pain. Indeed, her arm was broken—and not just slightly. Below the elbow, her ulna bone protruded through the skin. Swelling had begun around the rupture. I wasn't worried as much about the pending deformity as I was about the threatened nerves or marrow poisoning. Nerve damage from such a break could render the rest of the arm and hand useless.

  "It . . . hurts to move, Pond, even to walk." She looked pale.

  "Can you wiggle your fingers?"

  "I can't even feel them. Satan is trying to discourage me, I think."

  "Let's get you up on my horse, all right?"

  She hadn't taken a step before her knees buckled. I caught her halfway to the ground. My mare sensed something amiss, and she shied away, but I held the reins tightly in one fist. Lifting Zima into my arms, I drew my mare closer.

  "Zima? Can you help me out here?"

  But she was out. Loudly, I scolded the nervous, prancing aduu as I tried to heft Zima onto the mare's back. After a couple minutes, I managed, then tried to mount behind her while holding Zima from falling off. Finally, my mare steadied for a few seconds, and I vaulted upward. I landed behind Zima as she sat side-saddle limply in front of me, her head against my chest. She was breathing steadily, but I checked to make sure her throat hadn't swelled from shock, though I don't know what I would've done if I'd found swelling.

  We started off at a walk. Staying on the horse by myself was something I'd barely managed. Now, I had to keep two of us up there. It wasn't easy.

  My mare knew we were headed back to the clan and the other animals, so she began to hasten her pace. I loosed the reins and she sped into a jolting trot that made Zima moan in anguish, though she wasn't fully conscious. At last we were moving fast enough to catch the clan.

  It was noon before the clan came into sight. They'd paused on the trail to milk the mares and to pass out food rations. Gan-gaad saw me coming and shook his head. But Luyant and Dusbhan rode their mounts toward me. Luyant's wife, Skaamaan, who drove the wagon with most of the children, abandoned her station and ran to inspect Zima. Luyant relieved my tired arms as he and his wife lowered Zima to the ground.

  "Her arm is badly broken," I said. "I have to get her to the medical clinic in Hasagt. She'll lose the arm otherwise."

  Luyant pointed to the cart in which two children rode with some fodder and supplies. It was drawn by two cattle and driven by Gan-gaad's second wife.

  "Yeah." I nodded. "That's the only way to go."

  Dusbhan turned his horse away.

  "I'll harness a fresh pair," he said.

  "Husband?" Skaamaan asked Luyant. Her face was full of worry for her adopted daughter. "May I go? One of the others can drive the wagon. This is . . . Zima."

  Luyant looked at me. I nodded. It would help to have another person, especially a woman, caring for Zima. Thankfully, Luyant shrugged, which Skaamaan took as a nod. She hugged him briefly, then knelt over Zima again.

  I ran to help Dusbhan with the cart. We loaded the supplies and fodder into the other two wagons. While I was tying my own mare to the back of the cart, a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. Gan-gaad's eyes were full of fury.

  "What do you think you're doing, Pond? You can't take my cart!"

  "Luyant offered it." At this moment, I barely held my own frustrations in check with him. "I have to get her to Hasagt before it's too late!"

  "Strap her onto her horse since she can't stay on it!" he bellowed. "I'll not have you or her holding up the entire clan by taking one of my vehicles!"

  I was about to bark back at him when Luyant set a heavy hand on Gan-gaad's shoulder. Luyant nodded at me to continue preparing the cart. But Gan-gaad had to have the last word:

  "You do this to me, Pond, and you are part of this clan no longer! You or your cursed Kazakh!"

  My eyes locked with his, but I didn't respond. If that was the case, so be it. I marched over to the wagon that carried my gear and grabbed my pack. Wasting no time, I set the pack in the cart with Skaamaan and Zima, then climbed onto the driver's seat, which consisted of a plank nailed to the front. The cart was only two-wheeled, but its bed was as long as a wagon. As it was nearly empty now, the fresh horses Dusbhan had harnessed in place of the others could pull the cart easily. Though I'd never driven a cart before, I'd been watching for some weeks. Taking the reins in my fingers, I gave the horses a snap on the rump and we started forward.

  "We'll see you at Hasagt," I said to Luyant and Dusbhan.

  They waved at me and Skaamaan as we pulled ahead of the clan. Behind us, I heard Gan-gaad's boisterous yell to get the clan moving—and that the kids on foot had better not become a hindrance or cousin Dusbhan would shoot them with his gun! Dusbhan growled playfully with the children as they squealed and dashed around the wagons. But part of me felt Gan-gaad was serious. Perhaps Uhaat was right and there was little or no love in Gan-gaad after all. Thinking of Uhaat, I twisted around and peered back at the clan. There was Uhaat watching us go. He was squinting his eyes and craning his neck to see who I was looking back for. But I pointed at him and waved. Uhaat grinned and waved back wildly, then we passed from sight over a hill.

  "Oh, Skaamaan?" I asked her nervously. "Exactly how far is it to Hasagt?"

  "If we hurry all night, we can be there by mid-morning."

  Sudde
nly, all the necessary items we would need for such a journey came to mind. But a look in the back told me that Skaamaan hadn't forgotten to come prepared. She'd packed food and there was a water skin in the front of the cart. Relieved, I focused on the pace of the wagon—not too slow, but not so fast as to weary the horses, either. And if necessity demanded, my mare—tied onto the back, trotting happily and burden-free—could spell one of the horses.

  Finally, I had a few minutes to think. I considered Zima's broken arm and all it entailed. She would have a cast for the first few weeks of winter. That would cut back on her usefulness and slow her down during chores, especially the milking. Perhaps I could do the milking when I wasn't on watch at the campsites. That was . . . if I'd be allowed into camp again. Gan-gaad was such a rash man and his brother too mute to reason with him for me. No one else was bold enough to face the brute. If Zima and I were really outcasts, I decided then and there I would buy a second bicycle in Hasagt. Once Zima was able to move about, we'd start for Randy's in Ondorhaan several hundred miles away.

  But no, that wouldn't work, either, I realized, with bitter winter approaching. I wasn't about to get caught in the Selenge Basin on a rural highway on our bikes when the wintertime high temperature was seven degrees below zero! We'd have to stay in Hasagt for the winter, which would drain me of my finances. Then, we could buy a vehicle somehow to drive east, or convince Gan-gaad to take us back into the clan.

  I felt the inside pockets of my coat. My journal was where I always kept it, but no Bible. Dusbhan had borrowed it! But I wasn't too disheartened. How could I be? Dusbhan, by God's grace, would discover all the truth he needed to. The Bible was in good hands. In Hasagt, Randy would have five more Bibles waiting for me. How exciting! Zima could have her own, and Dusbhan his. I would certainly need mine back from him. That would leave three available to give away or share.