by D. I. Telbat
"I'm fortunate your aim is as good as your Mongolian," I said with a friendly smile. "If they fit you, I'd give them to you."
He dismissed the thought with a wave.
"Ah, I was drunk that morning. Or was it night? I don't remember, but I remember you. You are not dead? Not even injured? I shot at you a number of times."
"Just a scratch." I shrugged. "God was looking out for me."
His eyes narrowed.
"You know, we war with Russia. If I shoot you now, I get a promotion."
"Oh, I'm not Russian, but you could still shoot me. I knew that when I came over here."
"What are you? European? French? German?"
"I'm an American."
"American!" He exclaimed with widening eyes. He looked past me at the Kazakhs. When he spoke again, his English was nearly perfect. "I speak better English than my own Chinese. I went to Princeton, can you believe that?"
"It's a good school. I grew up in New York City."
"Ah." He nodded, his face lost in memories of a better time and happier place. "Why're you here with these Mongolians?"
"Sharing God's love with a hungry people."
"A missionary. What faith?"
"The only faith. I'm sharing Christ's forgiveness."
"Ah, yes. The blood, the cross, I know it all. Do they listen?"
"Some. They're rooted in tradition and old gods," I said, "but you know tradition is only so fulfilling."
He ordered his men in Chinese to stand down. They relaxed their trigger fingers and rifles, for which I was thankful.
"So what were you doing the other night in the old garbage camp?"
"Winter is coming and we didn't have much when we fled." I peered to the east and down the slope. "I'd returned for supplies."
"And now you play horse games?"
"A wedding celebration mixed with a final farewell to summer days."
"They were not saddened by so many of their people dying? I saw the wolves tearing at their loved ones' remains."
I stared at the ground for a few breaths before answering.
"These are a close people, but strong as well. It hasn't been easy, but with the few things we've salvaged, they're learning to live again, even to laugh again."
"What's your name?"
"Andy. And yours?"
"Sergeant Xing. I must be honest with you, Andy. I was drawn by your horseback game, but there are rumors of sabotage and spies in your midst."
"Among these people?" Frowning, I turned in the saddle to study my companions. They were far away, but I knew them all by name now. "I don't believe it," I said, looking back at Xing. "Now I'm a leader among them, and no one has time for any of that. Besides, we all agreed to stay away from you. And none of us has weapons."
"I'm not talking about weapons. It takes little effort and time to turn on a radio and report troop movements across the plain, Andy. If it persists, we'll see if the forest can burn in extremely cold weather. Understand?"
A radio? I swallowed hard. He wasn't bluffing, but he was warning me. The soldier knew something I didn't. Maybe he was testing me as well.
"Are you fighting America?" I asked. "I haven't heard any news for some time."
"The US is too unstable to fight now. The bombing of Washington crumbled morale. Be glad you're not in New York, huh?"
"In the name of Jesus, I'll pray for us all, Sergeant Xing, that our souls aren't lost with the evil of this age. May God save us."
"Maybe we'll meet again, Andy from New York. Your friends wait for you. I'll tell the supply officers not to shoot at the clansmen here, but still be careful. No one listens much to a mere sergeant anymore."
"Thank you, Sergeant. God's peace to you."
With an expressionless face, he grunted as I turned my horse and trotted back to the playing field. Behind me, the engines started and their vehicles bounced to the south.
"What did he say?" Sembuuk asked for everyone.
"He's the one who shot at me the other morning. He went to school in America not far from my hometown."
"Was he among those who killed our families?" Kandal growled.
"I think not. He said he would instruct the others to leave us alone, but he's not sure they'll listen. We must be careful still. But I know his name now, and though he's a lowly officer, if we have any problems with them, I may be able to reach him one way or another. It seems he frequents this area now.
Zima rested her hand on my leg and shook her head as she looked up at me.
"You made my heart nearly stop beating, Pond, when you went to them. Why do you do these things?"
"My God puts it on my mind to love my enemies," I said for the others to hear as well as her. "The Chinese are certainly our enemies. God knows we are hurt and angry, but you are a strong people. I believe we met this sergeant by God's will. He's a soldier at heart, I think, but he can feel a little compassion for your losses. That's why we must pity and pray for him rather than hate him. Only God can change his heart. We can talk of him more later. The sun is wasting. What's the score?"
#######
As fun as my first experience of kekbar was, I wasn't too discouraged when Jugder said we should conclude the event. Both men and horses were exhausted, and I'd fallen off my aduu more than anyone else. I was pretty sure I'd cracked a couple ribs when a hoof had come down on me while I was on the ground. It hurt like fire to breathe, but it was all worth it.
To conclude the event, the winning team was to take the fox skin and throw it into the ger of the family who would host the after-game celebration. This was called dostarkhan. But since North Camp was already hosting the party and wedding, there was quite a roar as Sembuuk led the march back to camp and Manai helped him throw it into his own ger. But dostarkhan itself was still put on hold since the next event in that late afternoon was the wedding. Hastily, I slipped out of camp to the pool I'd built and quickly bathed. After washing, I trimmed my hair and beard, then dressed in a clean set of clothes. I was interrupted by Bolor and a few other men as they watered the horses. They laughed as I shivered and turned blue from the icy water.
What can be said of a wedding in such a setting? Dusty rays of the sun peered through the green heights of larch and cedar trees. Sembuuk was my best man, and Bolor stood beside him. Kandal ushered Zima through the throng of standing observers. Zima had chosen two maids of honor, and Beveg was the flower girl, though she had only green leaves to sprinkle on the ground. None of this was Kazakh tradition, but they all loved the ceremony, anyway. It was a flavor of my country as well as Zima's heritage, though she'd never seen this part of her Russian culture.
Zima and I stood together as Kandal slowly read the script I'd prepared for him. As we stated our vows, Zima and I held hands, neither of us needing to read our pledges since we'd both memorized exactly what we wanted to say.
"Though our lives have been full of turmoil, I have never known such peace." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I believe God sent you into my life for two reasons, Pond. First, to show me the true God, my Savior. And second, to hold my hand. I love you and exist as yours entirely."
How could I match such words? I took a deep breath.
"I was born thousands of miles away in a country of people who've never heard the Mongolian language spoken. But God put it in my heart to sail a ship across a sea and fly a plane over mountains and deserts to come here, to see the passionate people of this wild land, to feel your pain, and to laugh with you. I will always be an ambassador of my Lord, with you serving beside me, and I will hereafter also be your loving husband, through good days and bad, through laughter and through crying. And if the water's not too cold, I promise to bathe at least once a week."
Everyone howled with laughter. Even the dogs barked.
"I now pronounce you man and wife," Kandal said. "Andy, you may now kiss your bride."
And I did.
Jugder presented Kandal with a repaired morin-khuur, and we all knew he'd snuck into the plain to get it. Kandal beg
an to pluck away as two other men sang in turn, and I joined in with the others in dance. Since I didn't know the steps, I drew more laughs than I'd heard in a while.
As darkness settled, the central fire was lit and stoked. We crowded around to hear Kandal sing in his ancestors' Turkic, then the hunting stories began. Around the circle we went, each man telling a tale—true or not, no one cared—always working in a toast to Zima and I and our happiness.
When it came time for my story, I admitted I'd never actually been hunting before, but I knew a hunter's story. I told them the whole story of Samson, the foxes, the lion, even Samson's fall and death. It was a hunting story only as far as the Philistines had hunted Samson all his days. Then I raised my cup and toasted to a woman—my woman—and to companions who were a hundred times better than Samson had. Most everyone would've been drunk by now, but the airag hadn't fermented much.
The night was drawing to an end and our guests slowly left in small parties. Manai stubbornly agreed to sleep in Kandal and Bolor's ger instead of mine, and Zima and I cuddled together under the felt covers as the first great freeze of the year fell upon the forest.
"I have something for you," I said, and produced the box I'd carved.
She traced her fingers over the letters fashioned into the lid.
"Oh, Pond, I like it. I'll keep the sewing kit you gave me inside it. And I have something for you, too." From her Bible, she unfolded two pieces of paper and handed them to me. "One's for you, and one's for me. We'll keep them in our Bibles, okay? They'll be our symbol of this day since we have no rings."
I read the papers. Both were identical. It was a marriage certificate written in Zima's flowing script, then signed by every adult from all three camps as witnesses. She'd secretly gathered them all sometime before the wedding, though I'd never suspected it.
The certificates would be legal in any court on earth. We were truly married. I had a wife. And with Manai, we were a family.
*~*
Chapter 22
"What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this camp," I instructed the adults in North Camp. Beveg and Manai were still asleep. I'd decided to tell Bolor, Sembuuk, Kandal, and Zima the rest of Sergeants Xing's words. The coals from the previous night's celebration still smoked and the morning was bitterly cold. Though we had our chores to do, I'd called the camp meeting before anything else.
Briefly, I explained Sergeant Xing's warning, that the saboteur among us must cease his efforts or we would all suffer.
"Now, I know it's none of us five," I said, "but I don't know all of what the other two camps do. We know that Jugder snuck down and got that morin-khuur and who knows what else from the camp. That's his business. If someone feels they must covertly fight the Chinese down there, that's not my business, either. What is my business, though, is that those actions endanger the ones I love. We made an agreement, I thought, to stay clear of the Chinese. Am I wrong?"
"You're sure it wasn't a general warning not to interfere?" Sembuuk asked.
"I don't think it was general," Kandal answered for me. "According to Andy, he made specific mention of a radio. That's unexpected. They know someone is broadcasting their troop movements—broadcasting among us or near us."
"That's true," I said. "Frequencies can be traced with the right equipment."
Studying Kandal's face, I saw he knew more than he was saying. I didn't know these people as well as I thought I did; they were keeping secrets.
"I'm not a violent man," Bolor stated, "but I will tear the man to pieces if it brings harm to my Beveg."
"It must be someone in one of the other camps," I said. "We'll identify him, then decide what to do. Any objections to that?"
"Oh, I'll tell you what I'd like to do to him," Sembuuk said.
"Don't talk that way," Zima said. She would've never corrected a man in her old clan. "We can't say what we'd do when we don't even know who it is yet." She stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders. "I move more often among the camps than you. I'll notice anyone acting suspicious."
"But you and Andy are traveling south, aren't you?" Sembuuk asked. "My raptor and I will watch for tracks leading off in a strange direction. If someone has a radio, they may be hiding it outside camp so the others don't find it."
"Zima and I will be back in about a week," I said, "but all of us should pay more attention until the person is identified."
I looked into each of their faces. Kandal still evaded me, though. He knew something that I felt I should know. Had I missed something? Perhaps I'd overlooked someone's deception? And what would we do to such a person who endangered the others? Reporting troop movements of the Chinese would profit the Kazakhs little, but something was certainly amiss.
Since we were in fact leaving on our "honeymoon" the following morning, Zima and I busied ourselves by preparing North Camp to make do in our absence. Seven-year-old Beveg was an avid milker and could cover for Zima. Bolor and I had stacked a wall of firewood against the courtyard's northern fence. It was due to snow any time, but the dense tree cover overhead would protect us from all but a few white flakes. Sembuuk provided us with a week's-worth of meat and assured us we weren't taking too much from their own mouths. Since the winter cold was pushing more game into our forest for his eagle to hunt, the meat supply would be better than when he'd lived on the steppe. However, he tried not to hunt too near the camp so game would be plentiful nearby when the temperatures made traveling far more difficult.
That afternoon, I climbed the mountain with Lucky Hunter, but only high enough to see over the tallest of the trees. Hidden in the forest below me were the three camps living off the land that God gave us. Beyond the forest was the rolling plain where the Chinese vehicle tires dug ever deeper ruts into the near-barren ground.
I sat on a boulder as Lucky Hunter dug at a ground squirrel hole nearby. From the Word, I read and prayed, then opened my journal. Since I wouldn't be near a post office anytime soon to mail letters to Randy, my journal had taken a new route. I began to write a book—a story of my life and my calling to the Gobi region of Mongolia. It is this journal from which you read now. If it somehow happens into your hands, I pray you sense even a fraction of my passion that I have for this land and its special people.
A tumble of pebbles drew Lucky Hunter's attention, and then mine, then we watched Manai make his way up the slope toward me. He was alone, which meant he'd followed me out of camp, but he must've gotten lost in the forest along the way because I'd been on my boulder for an hour. Nevertheless, he was rosy-cheeked and grinning when he finally reached me.
"Hi, Andy!" he said and climbed onto the boulder with my help. Lucky Hunter went back to his ground squirrel. "Can I go with you tomorrow?"
"Not this time, Manai. Zima and I need to find some of our friends from the last clan we lived with before we met yours."
"Why did you leave them?"
"Because Zima broke her arm and we stayed behind at the town hospital for her treatment." I tucked my Bible and journal into my coat. "You'll be okay with Bolor, won't you? Sembuuk might even take you hunting."
"Oh, yeah! Whoosh! Ah!" His hands acted out a dramatic eagle hunt and an unfortunate rabbit's demise. "Could I have my own eagle someday? This spring there'll be chicks born. We can go find their nests up in the cliffs!"
"Having an eagle is a big responsibility. If you feel you could care for it as Sembuuk does, the clan could certainly use another mighty hunter."
"Zima said she's going to teach me to read this winter, then I can read that history book you're always reading with her."
"That'd be wonderful," I said, "but I have a book you can read just from its pictures."
"A picture book?"
"Pages and pages of pictures that tell a very exciting story."
He climbed onto my back and I carried him down the slope. Lucky Hunter nipped at his dangling heels and Manai squealed with laughter, urging me faster.
Back at camp, about a ten minute hike from the western forest edg
e, I dug through my backpack to find John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress in illustrated form. I presented it to Manai whose eyes bulged at the front cover where Christian wielded a sword of light and fought a foe of darkness. On each page, he fingered through illustrations that came alive with comic book color. The captions to the illustrations were in English, but once Manai knew the story, he could simply look at the pictures and the characters would come to life.
Beveg sat on my right and Manai on my left at the central fire while I told them the story I knew by heart. In America's frontier days, Pilgrim's Progress had been second in print only to the Bible, and both had seen many trails in saddlebags into the West.
Kandal listened from across the fire for an hour as we worked through the exciting story. Zima prepared a thick venison stew, and eventually we were all gathered around the fire.
"It's like a life story," Beveg said with understanding.
"That's true, Beveg. Some people don't understand the deeper lessons. This book takes important lessons from the Bible and draws them into a man's journey. It's not more important than the Bible, but we can learn a lot from it."
"How can you be so certain, Andy, that your Bible speaks the truth?" Kandal asked. "Why not Buddhism and our ancient texts from Tibet?"
"Buddhism is full of philosophy, Kandal," I explained. "At the heart of its philosophy is the remedy for all of my problems: myself. But every man knows, no matter how wise or loving or enlightened he may become, he's still powerless over his own life and death. The remedy, so to speak, must be greater than mere man. The answer is God, Kandal, a loving God with open arms. He's heartbroken that we worship His creation more than we worship Him."
Kandal scratched his head. Everyone waited for him to respond to me.
"If you compliment the ger I made for you," he said in argument, "then it pleases me, even if you don't praise me directly."
"True," I agreed, "but I don't praise the ger for making itself presentable, nor do I expect the ger to help me become a better person because I admire it."
