by D. I. Telbat
"What are you talking about?" the English woman asked me, glancing from the sky to my face. I didn't know she'd followed me outside. "Did you see something?"
I looked into her eyes.
"Jesus is the only One who can deliver us from the wrath to come," I stated, reflecting on Thessalonians. Sighing, I wiped my eyes. "It's just the beginning. People need to recognize Jesus Christ or perish in their sins."
"Oh, you're one of those." She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. "No wonder you're way out here in the middle of nothing. I see your kind on the telly all the time. Is that why you're here? Conspiracy theories?"
"I'm a missionary, sharing God's love."
"And these people actually listen to you?"
"Haven't you ever wondered what your purpose was on this earth?" I asked, ignoring her sarcasm.
"Sure." She laughed uncomfortably. "Nothing that a visit to the pub won't cure, love. Just be glad you're safe and don't over-think it all, okay? I'm going to find Willie. You'll be okay. Thanks for your help."
She patted me on the arm and left. I took a deep breath. As a man who takes the Bible literally, I knew the Rapture was coming soon. All the prophecies, the degree of sin, and the many false teachers . . . Everything was falling into place for Christ's return.
"Give me strength, Lord, to do Your will in these Last Days."
Inside the infirmary, I found Skaamaan and Dusbhan sitting beside Zima while she slept peacefully, buried under a small mountain of cotton blankets. Her arm was encased in a white plastic and Velcro brace from elbow to fingertips. Sitting on the edge of her bed, I watched her face. She was beautiful. I was happy that at least she, out of the whole clan, was going to be saved from the wrath to come. Perhaps that was a selfish thing to think. But I still needed to reach the others with the Truth as well—Luyant, Skaamaan, and yes, even Gan-gaad.
"The doctor said to wear the brace for six weeks." Skaamaan held Zima's good hand on the bed. "Is that right, Pond? So long?"
"It sounds right." I nodded. "How long until she'll be able to move about?"
"Two days. He gave me these for her, too."
Skaamaan handed me a baggie with two kinds of pills. One was an antibiotic in case of infection. The other was for pain.
"Gan-gaad won't be patient with her, Pond," Dusbhan said.
"He's already threatened to dismiss me from the clan," I said. "Maybe I can convince him to take us back."
"Perhaps Father will take half the clan and part from Gan-gaad once and for all," Dusbhan said with hopefulness. "Gan-gaad needs us more than we need him. Maybe that would teach him a lesson."
Skaamaan frowned at her son, but she didn't say anything in front of me.
"You two had better rest and then meet up with the clan," I suggested. "They should be here tonight, right?"
"Will you stay with Zima?" Skaamaan asked. "You may be left behind if Gan-gaad wants to keep ahead of Navi-hasgovi after he gets supplies for the winter."
"Just leave us two horses. We'll catch up to you. I don't think we'll be more than a week behind. Thank you both for your help."
After a while, they left with four of the horses and the cart to find a place to rest near the stables. I remained with Zima's silence and my racing thoughts. Though I was bone-tired, I couldn't sleep, and it was just as well since I had things to tend to. Using a notepad, I wrote Zima a message in case she woke in my absence.
Then, I arranged with the nurse to use a phone. It rang twelve times before Randy answered.
"Oh, I was just thinking about you," he said wearily. "Have you heard the news?"
"Yes." I sighed. "What are your thoughts, Randy?"
He didn't speak for a few moments, but I could hear him weeping. The image in my mind of this God-fearing man crying brought tears to my own eyes.
"Andy, I've been up for two days. It hasn't been easy contacting the States with the time difference and all. I believe we've seen the last of the United States of America. This event may be why there's not more than a hint of America in Scripture's future prophecies."
"It's really that bad, then, isn't it?"
"China may be able to lose a million or two in a war," Randy said, "but the US . . . ? We're looking at close to forty million dead. A couple more million will die in the next couple weeks and months from exposure alone. As of yet, the military is stretched too thin between Homeland Security and overseas operations to organize any kind of offensive. No one's claiming responsibility, either, but China seems to be the culprit. I think it's safe to say, Andy, that we're cut off from what was once our home country. And as much as my family and I would love to be rescued from the coming havoc, I feel a last minute passion to reach out to a few more souls. The Church as a whole will be spared the wrath to come, Andy, but we may have tough times, nevertheless, with what time we have remaining."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."
"Did you get the Bibles in Hasagt?"
"That's where I am now, so I'll be picking them up in a few minutes. But I won't be near a town for months, Randy. We'll be wintering in the south, out of contact. I'm not sure I can stand not knowing what's going on."
"None of the world matters, Andy. We'll both finish this race doing what we've been sent to do. Do you remember what Peter wrote?"
"'In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials.'"
"That's right. Go get your Bibles, Andy. See to the people you're with, and after the winter, Lord willing, I'll speak to you again. Otherwise, my brother, we'll rejoice together in a place that isn't on this earth."
"All right. I'm with you."
"Yes, I know you are. You didn't come all this way for nothing."
"Oh, I led a woman to the Lord a few days ago."
"Andy, that's great!"
"I'll write you all about it before I leave town. I'm swimming through obstacles, but the blessings and fruit are obvious. How're things there?"
"They're disappointing. The more modernized these eastern towns become, the less the people listen to me about their need for a Savior. Simple commerce and technology seems to tend to all their needs, so they ignore the needs of their souls."
We each prayed on the phone. The events so far away in the world gave us a sense that this was the last time we'd be talking together—in this age, anyway. When I hung up, I did feel encouraged. Yes, the end was near. But God was my strength. Those were the only two things I needed to remember as I continued my ministry.
I found a small warehouse on the east side of town that served as the postal service. The clerk watched me with an odd look on his face when I opened the box of Bibles in front of him while trying to hold back tears. There was a letter from Randy, signed by the few believers in his small church. Then, there was an email from Gino, and my knees nearly gave way as I began to read. Gino had no doubt perished by now—or was soon to be gone. With such disrupted communication across the Atlantic, there was no way to know for sure.
Dear Andy,
I'm praising God about the progress of your work there that Randy passed on to us. I've read your letters to the congregation as well. God is doing mighty things through you. We can't wait to hear from you again. You remember Travis and Samantha? They used to always sit in the front pew. They're almost done with language school, enough so they can join Jim Beckley by Christmas in Turkey. And I passed your letters on to a sister church in Boston. They want to support you! Even though you're so independent, their help will be needed in the purchase of more Bibles and other materials you may need. I have enclosed a traveler's check. I know it's not much, but it's from our church here in Ridgewood. We hope to do more for you next month. May God keep you safe and use you mightily—continually!
In Christ, Gino and Family
Closing my eyes, I said a short, quiet prayer for those special people. Their status was unknown, whether they were living or dead, but God knew. What a man of God Gino was! And I could think of
no greater honor or compliment given by men than to call another a man of God.
Packaging what pages I had filled in my journal, I sent them to Randy. They were written for Gino, but Randy was my accountability partner now, I figured. Randy had graciously converted Gino's traveler's check into tugriks already, so that saved me a hassle. It was the equivalent of about one hundred dollars, which would last me a long time in western Mongolia.
While whispering a prayer, I walked back to the hospital, then led the two horses to the stable area that Dusbhan had left me. I paid the keeper for three days, and returned to the infirmary without looking around to find Dusbhan and his mother. Zima hadn't moved since I'd left. Exhausted, I slumped into the chair against the wall. As I sat there staring at Zima's peaceful, silent face, sleep gradually overtook me. My head bowed over my weary body, and I slept.
*~*
Chapter 15
We spent four days at Hasagt. By the time we departed, Zima was moving around well enough to ride a horse. I'd been instructed by the physician to make sure she kept the plastic brace on her arm, even though it could easily be removed. For the time being, her arm was cradled in a sling, but as the pain subsided, she would lose the sling and begin to use her fingers that protruded past the end of the plastic.
While still at the hospital, I didn't tell Zima about the war and devastation. We were happy together, alone from the rest of the clan. She was grateful for my help, and we spent hours talking between her naps. It wasn't right for me to withhold the state of the world from her, yet I wasn't sure she could fully understand the level of destruction one bomb could do—the sheer impact of lives lost was staggering. Her world had been small and sheltered within the confines of Gan-gaad's own sense of preservation. She seemed to sense my hidden grief, though not the source, but she didn't ask me to explain my countenance. Thus, I didn't share my burden of sorrow.
During those days in Hasagt, I anticipated the long winter that was approaching, so I purchased supplies of my own. I bought more bars of soap and winter clothing. From the stables, I bought a third aduu to carry my additional gear and backpack. We weren't a day's ride out of Hasagt to the south when we noticed a clan far to the east. It was several times larger than even Navi-hasgovi's clan, and I pointed it out to Zima.
"It's a Kazakh clan," she said. "There are many clans in this region. They may be close to the mountains preparing for the early winter hunts."
I watched the clan move parallel to us all that day. Unlike Gan-gaad's Mongol clan that had evolved with its own traditions and customs, what I saw of the Kazakh migrators reminded me of the texts I'd read of the truest and most widely known western Mongolian nomads.
In the mid-nineteenth century, the Russian Empire troops had pushed Kazakhs into neighboring countries. The Dzuuz Clan, specifically, had fled into Mongolia and were allowed to settle in the Bayan Ulgii area. For over two hundred years, their isolation preserved their traditions. They became the Mongolian Kazakhs. Even after Kazakhstan's president promised money and livelihoods to the Kazakhs to move back to their homeland in the 1990s, many remained in Mongolia. Those who returned to Kazakhstan were valued for their knowledge of the old customs since they'd not been so polluted by Russian influence. It was this remnant that stayed in Mongolia, and other clans like it, that I observed to the east.
As the first night gradually closed upon us, we left the trail and rode across the steppe toward the Kazakh clan. Gan-gaad would've been furious that we intended to mingle with another clan, but Gan-gaad wasn't the one whom I obeyed. God had sent me to Mongolia to reach out to everyone from any clan or nationality, even if it was Gan-gaad's despised foes, the Kazakhs.
"When we're close, we must yell out our arrival," Zima said. "If we don't, their hunting and herd dogs may attack us since we're strangers with a strange scent."
"Herd dogs!" I exclaimed. "Of course! Why doesn't Gan-gaad have them?"
"Navi-hasgovi has no dogs, either, but for good reason. Both clans' stubbornness is to blame. About eight years ago, when Navi-hasgovi and Gan-gaad began to use the same migration lands, they started killing each other's dogs. Dusbhan was involved. Killing dogs was once against the law in Mongolia, but now it's not so condemned since there are so many strays. No one knows for sure, but I believe Gan-gaad started the war to cripple Navi-hasgovi's travels since he was a superior clan. Both men are so arrogant and determined to outdistance the other that they haven't taken the time to buy new pups to train. Every time Navi-hasgovi buys pups, Gan-gaad finds ways to bait them from camp and kill them. The last couple of years, both clans seem to have settled into a routine of life without dogs, though they forget how much better life was with them."
Even as half-Kazakh herself, Zima had never lived with her own people. However, her Russian blood was rich, and her features alone would separate her from either culture, as would mine, though I was often assumed to be Russian. It was these people—the Mongolian Kazakhs—whom I'd come to reach specifically, but God led me to Gan-gaad for a reason. It seemed that the reason was so Dusbhan and Zima could be reached with the Gospel, but the others were on my heart as well.
I peered through my binoculars to the far south, seeking a flicker of distant firelight. Gan-gaad was at least a day's ride ahead of us. How serious was he about kicking me out of the clan permanently? He was a stubborn man, but even he had a weakness to the working of the Holy Spirit.
A low, deep growl, then barking brought me back to the present. I stowed my binoculars in a pocket.
"Hello!" I yelled at the Kazakh camp. "Two riders from Hasagt!"
Unlike Gan-gaad's camps, the Kazakh's burned their fires mostly inside their gers. Even more amazing was the size of these gers! They were twice as wide as the other clans' gers, and tall enough for a short man to stand up inside. The gers used for supplies and gear were smaller, though.
A number of men walked toward us. Dogs were roaming all around the camp. There seemed to be about forty gers interspersed across the hillside with livestock—mostly sheep. Like Gan-gaad, all the ger openings faced south since the cold northeast winds were increasing.
Three of the closer dogs stopped barking as their masters approached, but they continued to pace slowly to and fro before us. With eyes that seemed almost human-like, they studied me and Zima cautiously. Their thickening winter coats were mostly black with golden spots above the eyes, which meant they were purely bred. Off to my left were three wooden plates on the ground that were sure to be the dogs' feeding dishes. I wondered if we should have approached from a different direction, but the dogs were everywhere.
"Lion! Shepherd! Lucky Hunter!" one of the men yelled at the dogs. The dogs instantly acknowledged him, ready to obey. He pointed at the flocks drifting on the graze land. "See to the sheep!"
The dogs turned and trotted away to shepherd the flocks. The man stepped close to me and gripped my horse bridle to see me better in the fading light. He and his men all wore dels, the ankle-length felt coat I'd seen in books. This man had gentle eyes, though, unlike his dogs, and regardless of the loose-fitting del, I could see he was lean and powerful. Though in his early forties, he had barely a wisp of a mustache.
The clan men behind him, however, were all larger and fiercer-looking. They searched beyond me and Zima for any companions or aggressors. It was then that I realized two of the five men in the background carried rifles slung over their shoulders. Farther into the clan's camp, others paused in their duties to study us as well.
"Where is your clan?" the man asked. "Neither of you are Mongolian, yet you have nomadic belongings."
"We're from the Clan of Gan-gaad," I said. By the name itself, he knew it wasn't a Kazakh clan. "He's one day ahead of us and we have no shelter for the night."
"You know of Gan-gaad?" the man asked one of the other men.
"Small Altay herder," the man responded with a shrug.
"I am Lugsalkhaan," the man greeted with a sudden smile. "Come, both of you. I hope you bring news of the war."
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"What war?" Zima asked me with a frown, but I gestured to her that now wasn't the time.
We were welcomed with open arms and a warmth that I would expect from a clan of Buddhist shamans. We were whisked off our horses and our animals were taken away for water and pasture. One clansman with a tradesman's eye inspected the stitching on my American-made backpack. In minutes, we were surrounded by dozens of curious Kazakhs ranging in all ages, even women and girls. Lugsalkhaan grabbed my arm and led me through the throng with Zima at my side.
"Zima, I'm sorry, I should've told you about the war," I managed to say along the way. "America was bombed. I found out in Hasagt and didn't want to worry you."
Looking behind us, I noticed several young men admiring the supplies I'd bought in Hasagt. They sniffed the bars of soap approvingly. With their curiosity quenched, they closed up my packs and carried them after me. Everywhere I looked, I saw smiles and excitement. Even the dogs near the sheep crept closer in interest, daring reprimands from their masters.
There was a much different atmosphere here than with the previous clan. Instead of a shy people raked by fear, here were joyful families glowing with life itself.
We reached one of the middle gers and I glanced through its doorway. Three wood-framed, short-legged beds—actual beds—lined the circular dwelling. A metal stove stood in the middle, the pipe rising to the toono—the small hole in the ceiling to expel smoke and allow sun and air into the shelter.
"You have a Russian look to you," Lugsalkhaan observed as he studied Zima's face.
Zima, shocked that she, being a woman, was being addressed so openly, could only nod in speechless astonishment. The clansman turned to me.
"But you . . . English?"
