Wolf Totem: A Novel (19 page)

Chen Zhen was thinking about the female wolf that had taken one of his lambs a few days before and of the cubs that must be hidden in a den somewhere nearby.

He had just returned from checking the flock, and everything seemed normal. He lay down in the grass and stared fixedly at soaring vultures in the blue sky. Suddenly, he heard a disturbance among the sheep and jumped to his feet, just in time to see a large wolf holding a lamb by the neck. With a flick of her head, she flung her prey onto her back, held it there in her mouth, and ran along a stream up into Black Rock Mountain, where she disappeared. Normally, lambs will bleat in a crisp, shrill voice, and the bleats of one will get an immediate reaction from hundreds of others and their mothers, filling the sky with noise. But by sinking her fangs into the lamb’s neck, the wolf stifled the cry and was able to get away without disturbing the tranquillity of the flock. Hardly any of the sheep knew what had just happened, and maybe even the lamb’s own mother was unaware of what she had just lost. If not for Chen’s keen hearing and his alertness, he wouldn’t have known one was missing until he counted them that evening. As it was, he was as shocked as if he’d been the victim of a master pickpocket.

Once his breathing was back to normal, he rode over to where the lamb had been taken. There he discovered a depression in the ground. The flattened grass was all he needed to see to know that the wolf had not just come down out of the mountains; if she had, he might have spotted her earlier. No, she had lain in the depression, waiting for the flock to draw near before making her move. Chen looked up to see where the sun was in the sky. He calculated that the wolf had lain hidden for more than three hours. During that season, only female wolves would take a lamb in broad daylight, as a hunting lesson for her young cubs. Lamb was also the most tender, most easily digested meat for cubs that had not yet opened their eyes and were still suckling.

Seething with anger, Chen also felt lucky. In recent days, he and Yang Ke had lost a lamb every few days, and they wondered if eagles or vultures had carried them away. Thieves from the sky struck quickly, often catching the herders off guard long enough for them to fly off with one of the lambs. But an eagle swooping down out of the sky sent fright waves through the flock, which reacted with bleats that would not escape the shepherd’s attention. It was a mystery he and Yang had not been able to solve. Now that he had seen the wolf run off with a lamb and had discovered the depression in the ground, the mystery was solved. No more lambs would be lost to that trick.

No matter how guarded he was, Chen could not guarantee there would be no incidents. The wolves used tactics to fit a situation. While they lacked the wings of vultures, they were the true flying burglars on the grassland. Time after time they found ways to surprise people, always resulting in increased vigilance and the wisdom of hindsight.

Chen scratched Erlang lightly behind the ear, for which he received no sign of gratitude.

Snowflakes were swirling in the air when he stepped into the yurt and, together with Yang Ke and Gao Jianzhong, warmed himself by the stove, where dried dung burned. They drank tea and ate fatty meat and some curds that Gasmai had brought over. Since they had idle hours ahead, Chen tried to get them to go looking for a wolf cub. His reasoning, he believed, was convincing: Fights with wolves are inevitable, so by raising one of our own, we can get a better understanding of what makes them tick. Then we’ll know the enemy the way we know ourselves.

Gao Jianzhong, who was cooking meat, had a pained look. “Stealing a wolf cub isn’t child’s play,” he said. “The other day, Lamjav and some of the others smoked a female wolf out of a den when they were trying to steal a cub, and she nearly tore his arm off before three horse herders, one cowherd, and seven or eight dogs managed to kill her. The den was so deep it took them two days, working as teams, to get at the cubs. Even a sheep will defend her young. With a wolf, it’s a fight to the death. We don’t have a rifle. Do you expect us to take on a wolf with spades and herding clubs? Besides, digging up a wolf’s den is exhausting work. The last time I went out with Sanjai, we dug for two whole days and still didn’t reach the end. Finally we lit a fire and sealed the opening, figuring we’d suffocate the cubs inside. Sanjai said the mother wolf would know how to block off the smoke, and that there’d be a secret exit somewhere. By now you should know how wolves can trick us. The herdsmen say, ‘Wolf den, wolf den, empty nine times out of ten.’ The wolves move their dens all the time. If it’s that hard for the locals, what makes you think we’re up to it?”

Yang Ke, on the other hand, thought it was a great idea. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “I’ve got a pointed rod, sort of like a bayonet. I don’t believe the two of us can’t handle one female wolf. We’ll also take a chopper and some double-kick firecrackers. By hacking with the chopper and setting off the crackers, there isn’t a wolf alive we can’t scare off. And if we manage to kill one in the process, everyone will be talking about us.”

“Dream on,” Gao said sarcastically. “You need to be careful a wolf doesn’t turn you into a one-eyed dragon or give you rabies. That’d put an end to your scrawny life.”

Yang wagged his head. “Back at school, during the Red Guard faction fights, four out of the five members of our group were wounded. I came through without a scratch. So I know I’ve got luck on my side. Lamjav likes to say I’m a grass-eating sheep and he’s a meat-eating wolf. But if we go out and come back with a wolf cub, he won’t be able to say that anymore. I’d do it even if it cost me an eye.”

“Great!” Chen said. “You’re in? Don’t back out later.”

Yang banged his mug down on the table. “When do we go? The sooner the better. After this, maybe they’ll let us join their wolf-encirclement hunt, something I’ve dreamed of doing.”

Chen stood up. “How about as soon as we finish eating? We need to do some scouting first.”

After wiping his mouth, Gao said, “Gombu will have to watch the flock for you, and that means our yurt will lose a day’s work points.”

Yang replied snidely, “You’re so damned petty. What about that time Chen returned with a wagonload of gazelles—how many work points was that worth? You’re pathetic!”

Chen and Yang were saddling their horses when Bayar rode up on a big yellow horse. He told Chen that his grandfather, Papa Bilgee, wanted to see him. “It must be important if Papa sent for me,” Chen said.

“Maybe it’s about the hunt,” Yang said. “Go on. While you’re there you can get some hints on what we need to do to get one of those cubs.”

Chen jumped into the saddle. Since Bayar was too short to remount his horse on his own, Yang offered to give him a boost. Bayar said no. He led the horse over to the wagon, stood on one of the shafts, and climbed into the saddle. The two horses sped off.

8

Before Chen had dismounted, he smelled the meat cooking inside the old man’s yurt. Strangely, it didn’t smell like mutton, so he rushed inside. "Not so fast,” Bilgee barked. Chen stopped and immediately noticed that three sides of the floor covering were rolled up, and a new horsehide was spread out in the middle, on top of which lay seven or eight wolf traps. Steam rising from the pot filled the yurt with a rank odor; inside a black, oily liquid bubbled. Gasmai was on her knees next to the stove, her face covered with grimy sweat as she stoked the fire with dried dung. Her five-year-old daughter, Checheg, was playing with sheep bones, sixty or seventy of them. Batu, who was still recuperating at home, his face a patchwork of new skin, was polishing traps with Bilgee’s wife, Eeji. Chen sat down beside the old man.

“What are you cooking? Wolf traps?” Chen asked jokingly. “You must have strong teeth.”

Bilgee’s eyes narrowed when he laughed. “You’re half right. I am cooking traps, but my teeth are no good. If it’s good teeth you want, look at the traps. Good ones, wouldn’t you say?”

“But why are you cooking them?” Chen asked.

“To catch wolves,” Bilgee answered. “Let me test your sense of smell. What kind of meat is that?” Bilgee pointed to a bowl beside the stove. Chen shook his head.

“It’s horsemeat. I brought it back from the frozen lake. First I cooked a pot of horsemeat in water, and then cooked the traps in the soup. Know why? It’s how I get rid of the rusty smell.”

“I see!” Chen grew excited. “So that’s how you get the wolves to step into your traps. I guess we’re smarter than wolves, after all.”

The old man stroked his gray beard. “Not if you think like that. They have a keener sense of smell than dogs, and if there’s so much as a trace of rust or human odor, you’ve wasted your time. Once I cleaned my traps until there wasn’t a spot of rust anywhere. No wolves. Eventually, I figured out why. After setting the traps, I coughed up a bit of phlegm, and if I’d scooped it and all the snow around it up, that would have been fine. But I stepped on it, covering it with snow, and figured that would do it. The wolves smelled it out.”

“That’s incredible!” Chen said admiringly.

“Wolves are intelligent, they’re looked after by the gods, and they get help from all sorts of demons. That makes them a formidable enemy.”

Chen was about to ask about the gods and demons when the old man rose up on his knees to take a trap out of the pot. After Chen helped him fish it out, they laid it on a greasy gunnysack and put another one into the pot. The traps were so big and so heavy that he could only cook one at a time. “I had everyone in the family clean traps yesterday,” he said. “I’ve already cooked them once; this is the second time. And this won’t be the end of it. Pretty soon I’m going to brush on intestinal oil from a horse with hairs from its mane, then repeat the process. That’s when they’ll be ready to use. I’ll wear gloves and add dry horse dung when I set the traps. Fighting the wolves is like waging war. If you’re not careful, you’re lost. You need to be more meticulous than a woman, even more meticulous than Gasmai,” he added with a chuckle.

Gasmai looked up and pointed to a bowl on the rack. “I know how much you like my butter tea,” she said. “My hands are dirty, so help yourself.” Chen, who did not like stir-fried millet, was especially fond of Gasmai’s curds. He put four or five pieces in a bowl, took down a warm teapot, and poured a bowl of butter tea. “Papa was going to take Batu with him to lay traps, but Batu can’t go outside with his face like that, so Papa’s taking his favorite Han Chinese with him.”

Chen laughed. “Whenever wolves are involved, Papa can’t help thinking about me. Right, Papa?”

“Young fellow,” Bilgee said, “I think the wolves have got you in their clutches. I’m an old man, so I’m passing what knowledge I have on to you. Learn it well, and you’ll get your wolves one day. But don’t forget what I told you, that wolves are sent by Tengger to safeguard the grassland. Without them, the grassland would vanish. And without wolves, we Mongols will never be able to enter heaven.”

“Papa, since wolves are the divine protectors of the grassland,” Chen asked, “why kill them? I understand you agreed to the hunt at the headquarters meeting.”

“If there are too many of them, they lose their divine power and turn evil. It’s all right for people to kill evil creatures. If they killed all the cows and sheep, we could not go on living, and the grassland would be lost. We Mongols were also sent by Tengger to protect the grassland. Without it, there’d be no Mongols, and without Mongols, there’d be no grassland.”

“Are you saying that wolves and the Mongols protect the grassland together?” Chen asked, moved by what the old man said.

A guarded look came into the old man’s eyes. “That’s right,” he said, “but I’m afraid it’s something you... you Chinese cannot understand.”

“Papa, you know I’m opposed to Han chauvinism and that I oppose the policy of sending people here to open up farmland.”

The old man’s furrowed brow smoothed out and, as he rubbed the wolf trap with horse’s mane, he said, “Protecting the grassland is hard on us. If we don’t kill wolves, there’ll be fewer of us. But if we kill too many of them, there’ll be even fewer.”

An almost mystical truth seemed hidden in the old man’s words, one not easily grasped. Chen swallowed the rest of his questions, feeling a sense of uncertainty.

Once the traps were ready, the old man turned to Chen. “Come with me to set these,” he said. “Watch closely how I do it.” Bilgee put on a pair of canvas gloves and handed a second pair to Chen. Then he picked up one of the traps and took it outside where a light wagon was waiting. The bed was covered with a tattered piece of felt that had been soaked in the intestinal grease of a horse. Chen and Bayar followed with more traps; as soon as they were outside, the grease froze into a thin, oily coat, making the metal invisible. Once they were all loaded, the old man went to the side of the yurt and returned with a sack of dried horse dung, which he also loaded onto the wagon. Now that everything was ready, the three of them saddled up. But before they started, Gasmai ran out and shouted, “Chenchen, be careful with those. They can easily break your arm.” He assumed she was actually saying that for the benefit of her son.

As soon as Bar and some of the other big dogs spotted the traps, their hunting instincts kicked in, and they were about to run after them when Batu grabbed Bar by the neck and Gasmai wrapped her arms around one of the other dogs. Bilgee told them to stay. Then the three men and four horses trotted off toward the lake ahead of the loaded cart.

Clouds were pressing down on the mountaintops; a light snow was falling, velvety and dry. The old man leaned back to let the snow land on his face, where it quickly melted. Taking off a glove, he caught a bit more snow and rubbed it all over his face. “I’ve been so busy these past few days,” he said, “I forgot to wash my face. Snow does a decent job, and it feels good. My face gets smoky when I sit by the stove for a long time. The snow gets rid of the smell and makes the job easier.”

Chen washed his face with snow too, and then sniffed his sleeve. He detected the faint odor of sheep dung. “Will this smoky odor make a difference?” he asked.