Wolf Totem: A Novel (61 page)

After packing his basket with cut mugwort, Chen headed back, almost running, picking up a handful of the stuff along the way, squeezing out its juices, and rubbing it on the back of his hand. As expected, the exposed skin attracted few mosquitoes.

As soon as he was back in his yurt, he stoked the fire in the stove with dried cow dung, then ran outside to bring in seven or eight chipped water basins from the willow basket. Choosing the biggest of the lot, he dumped in some smoldering dung and covered it with mugwort. Dense white smoke reeking of mugwort rose immediately.

Chen carried the basin to the edge of the cub’s pen, upwind, and watched as a breeze spread the smoke out over the pen. Mugwort is the mosquito’s deadliest enemy; they retreat at the first whiff even if they’re drawing blood from a victim at the time. It took only a moment for the greater half of the pen to be clear of mosquitoes.

The mugwort had come to the cub’s rescue, but the sparks from the burning dung and the smoke made him tremble with fear. With a terrified look in his eyes, he leaped and ran as far away from the basin as the chain would allow, where he continued to struggle. Like all animals in the wild, he was deathly afraid of fire and smoke. Chen knew that this fear had been passed down generation after generation by the cub’s ancestors. He added more mugwort to the fire and shook the basin to surround the young wolf with the smoke. He’d have to train the cub to adapt to the smoke treatment, since that was the only way he’d survive the terrible mosquito plague. Out in the wild, his mother would have led him up the mountain or over to a patch of mugwort in order to escape from the mosquitoes. But here at the camp, Chen was obliged to be a surrogate parent and smoke the mosquitoes away.

The smoke billowed and the wolf cub struggled, nearly strangling himself. But Chen refused to be moved; he kept adding more plants to the fire. Eventually, the cub stopped struggling, exhausted, and was forced to stand amid the smoke and shiver. Fearful of the smoke though he was, he seemed more relaxed now that the mosquitoes were gone. Finding that strange, he looked all around, then lowered his head to examine his belly. The little marauders that had poked around down there, making him leap into the air, were gone too. The look in his eyes was a mixture of confusion and joy as his spirits soared.

The smoke kept rolling toward the cub, who cringed when he saw it; and when a couple of sparks flew out of the basin, he nearly flew over to a spot as far away from the smoke as he could get. But all that earned him was an encirclement by waiting mosquitoes, which attacked him mercilessly. When covering his face did nothing to help the situation, he started running around madly once again. As his speed slowed after a dozen or so revolutions, he suddenly seemed to grasp the reality that there were fewer mosquitoes in some places than in others, and that those places were under the clouds of smoke. He stared wide-eyed and disbelieving at the white smoke, but soon spent more time in it than out of it. The cub, a smart youngster, sped up his thought processes to analyze what was happening around him. Still, the fear of smoke would not leave, and he floundered between smoke and no smoke.

The dogs lying beneath the oxcart quickly discovered the smoke. Grassland dogs all know the virtues of the white smoke. Their eyes lit up as they excitedly led the younger dogs over to the smoky refuge; now that the mosquitoes had left their bodies, they staked out positions where the smoke was thick enough, but not too thick, and stretched out comfortably, fully enjoying the chance to sleep. This was the young dogs’ first encounters with the benefits of mugwort smoke. They followed the adults into the smoky air and rejoiced; they too found spots to lie down and rest. The restricted area that comprised the cub’s pen was quickly occupied by half a dozen dogs that lay there, a sight that seemed to surprise the cub.

His happiness manifested in his squints, his open mouth, and his upturned tail. He often tried to get the dogs to come play with him, but they invariably ignored him. But on this day they came without being invited, all of them, including Yir, the bitch who hated the cub, and the cub was more excited than if he’d been given half a dozen fat mice. His fear was immediately forgotten as he rushed into the cloud of smoke and jumped onto Erlang’s back, then rolled around with one of the female puppies. Now the lonely wolf was part of a happy family. He smelled them, kissed them, and licked them all over and over. A happier wolf, Chen Zhen thought, would be hard to find.

With all the dogs and one wolf cub, the limited amount of smoke began to lose some of its potency, and the pen’s generous “master” was nudged out of the stream by the canine visitors to his territory. He tried to move back in, but the two male puppies blocked his way. He was obviously puzzled, and endured the attacks by mosquitoes as he tried to figure out the dogs’ behavior. A few moments later, the light of understanding shone in his eyes. The questioning look was gone. He knew that the dogs had come not for his company, but for the white smoke, smoke that he had feared but that was a comfort zone where none of the wretched mosquitoes dared to enter. But it was his place. For the first time in his young life, he had gotten the worst of a situation, and that made him angry. He charged into the cloud of smoke, claws poised and fangs bared, to drive the puppies out of his territory. One defiantly refused to budge and was dragged away from the smoke by his ear, crying out in pain. The cub recaptured his spot, where the smoke was thick enough to keep mosquitoes away but not thick enough to choke him, and lay down to enjoy in comfort the freedom from mosquitoes. The cub, whose inquisitiveness and need to get to the bottom of things were so well developed, kept his eye on the basin, fascinated by the way smoke spewed from it.

Chen heard the sound of approaching horse hooves. His horse too was seeking refuge in the white smoke. He ran up, removed the fetters, led the horse over to the far edge of the wolf pen, and then replaced the fetters. The thick layer of “rice husks” flew up into the sky, and the white horse snorted heavily, lowered its head, and fell asleep, its eyes still half open.

In the midst of the great mosquito plague, the mugwort basin, like a delivery of coal in a snowstorm, brought salvation to a wolf cub, an adult horse, and half a dozen dogs. The eight creatures were all Chen’s beloved animals, and he was comforted by the thought that he’d been able to come to their aid when they most needed it.

Mugwort fires were lit in all the brigade camps that night, hundreds of them releasing dense smoke in the moonlight and creating an image of giant dragons rolling and dancing in the air. It was as if the primitive grassland had suddenly entered the industrial age, with factory chimneys spewing white smoke to create a magnificent panorama. The smoke not only held off the crazed mosquitoes but also had an awesome effect on the wolves, who had been starving under the plague.

Sometime before dawn, Chen saw that a few of the distant camps were no longer burning mugwort. He then heard shouts from women on the night watch and the sounds of Beijing students driving their sheep home. Either they had used up all their mugwort or someone was hoarding his precious dried cow patties.

The mosquito swarms grew denser, the movement among them more intense, the buzzing louder. Peace no longer reigned at half the brigade’s camps, where human shouts and dog barks rose in the night, in which more and more beams from flashlights were visible.

Suddenly the night quiet was shattered by two rapid gunshots, and Chen Zhen’s heart sank. The wolf pack had struck again. After enduring unimaginable suffering from mosquito bites, they had spotted an opening. Chen sighed as he wondered whose head this calamity had fallen onto. At the same time, he was comforted by the thought of how his fascination with wolves had worked to his advantage. The more one understood the wolves, the less vulnerable one was to disaster.

The grassland returned to stillness after a while. Shortly before sunrise, dew began to settle, wetting the wings of the mosquitoes to keep them grounded. The fires died out gradually, but the dogs remained alert as always, making their rounds to see that all was well. It must be about time for the women to come out and milk the cows, Chen estimated, which meant that the wolf pack had retreated. He covered his head with a pair of thin fur jackets and fell fast asleep, the first real sleep he’d enjoyed over the last twenty-four hours. He slept for four solid hours.

The following day was sheer agony for Chen as he tended his sheep up on the mountain. Shortly before sunset, when he drove the flock back to camp, he felt as if the welcome mat had been laid out for him: back to camp, he felt as if the welcome mat had been laid out for him: There, stretched out on top of the yurt were two large sheepskins; the cub and all the dogs were joyfully feasting on lamb and large bones. He stepped inside to find strips of meat hanging from the rack where the bowls and utensils were kept and all along the sides of the yurt. A pot filled with meat was cooking on the stove.

“The flock at Olondun’s place up north was hit last night,” Yang told him. “Like Dorji, Olondun is a Mongol from northeastern China who came to the grassland years ago. A new bride from an area that’s half agrarian, half nomad had just come into the family, and she was still used to sleeping through the night. So after setting a few fires, she lay down and slept alongside the flock. Well, the fires went out and the sheep ran off into the wind. They met up with some wolves that killed a hundred and eighty of them and injured a few more. Fortunately, the dogs’ barks were loud enough to awaken the people in the yurts. The men grabbed their rifles and rode out, driving the wolves away with gunfire. If they’d been a little later, the whole pack would have been involved, and there wouldn’t have been many sheep left alive.”

“Bao Shungui and Bilgee were busy all day,” said Gao Jianzhong, “mobilizing all the manpower they could to skin and gut the dead animals. Half of them were trucked into town to sell cheaply to the cadres and the laborers; the rest were kept for us in the brigade, two per yurt, free, but the skins have to be returned. We brought back two big ones, one dead, one still alive. I don’t know how we’re going to finish off all this meat in such hot weather.”

Chen Zhen was speechless, and very happy. “Have you ever heard anyone who’s raising a wolf cub complain about too much meat?” Then he asked, “How is Bao Shungui going to punish that family?”

“They have to pay up. Half their pay will be deducted every month till Bao says they’ve paid enough. Gasmai and all the other brigade women tore into the stupid husband and his mother for letting a new bride from outside the area take the night watch during a mosquito plague. When we first came out here, Gasmai and the others went out at night with us for two months before they’d let us take the watch on our own. Bao also gave the couple a tongue-lashing, telling them that they’d brought shame to all Mongols from Manchuria. But he made sure the laborers from his hometown benefited from the disaster by handing a third of the dead sheep over to Old Wang, which pleased the hell out of his people.”

“That bunch really benefited from the wolf attack,” Chen said.

Gao Jianzhong opened a bottle of grassland liquor. “Eating the wolves’ meat,” he sang out, “will make this stuff taste especially good! Come on, you guys, drink up while we feast.”

That appealed to Yang Ke, who said with a laugh, “I think I’ll get potted! Everyone’s been waiting to see what will happen to us for raising a wolf cub. So what happens? We get to laugh at somebody else. They don’t know it, but a wolf can teach people not only how to steal a chicken but also how to keep the rice you used to lure it.”

That made them all laugh.

The cub lay sprawled beside his food basin, so stuffed he couldn’t move. But Chen noted how he guarded the meat remaining inside the basin—like a wild animal guarding its prey. It was, in a way, a meal provided by his wolf kin as disaster relief, Chen thought wryly.

29

It took Batu and Zhang Jiyuan two whole days, during which they each switched horses four times, to drive their herd of horses to a mountaintop northwest of the new grazing land. Given the strong winds, there was no need to worry that the horses would turn back and gallop into the wind. The men were so tired that their legs felt fused to their saddles, and they weren’t sure if they could even dismount. But after taking several deep breaths, they managed to roll out of their saddles and lay immobile on the ground. They opened their deels at the neck to let the cool mountain air rush in and dry their sweat-soaked tops.

The wind blew from the northwest; the lake lay in the center of the southeastern plains, where the herd was spread across the gently rounded mountaintop. The horses, choosing water over running into the wind to rid their bodies of blood-sucking mosquitoes, took off running toward the wild-duck lake, thousands of pounding horse hooves driving hordes of mosquitoes up out of the tall grass; these new, and very hungry, insects fell upon the sweaty hides of the running horses, biting so savagely that the terrified animals, trying to drive the assailants away with their hooves and their teeth, stumbled crazily.

Seeing their herd running down the mountain, Batu and Zhang fell asleep, not even buttoning up the collars of their deels. Mosquitoes spotted the openings and attacked the men’s necks, but even their stinging bites did not waken them.

In their mad dash for the wild-duck lake, the herd carried the mosquitoes with them like a coat of dust. Their blood nearly sucked dry, they were so thirsty that hardly any sweat oozed from their pores. They leaped into the water, more desperate to wash the mosquitoes from their hides than to quench their thirst, and fought to make it to deep water. The cool water killed the insects and stopped the itching; the horses whinnied their excitement and shook off the dead bugs, which covered the surface of the lake like a layer of chaff.

Men and horses all awoke at about the same time. None had eaten for several days, so Batu and Zhang rode over to the nearest yurt, where they drank as much tea and soupy yogurt and ate as much meat as they could. Then they slept again. The hungry horses climbed onto the bank to graze. The high sun baked their hides, opening up cracks in the protective mud, which attracted new swarms of mosquitoes. Grass alongside the lake had already been heavily grazed by cattle and sheep, so in order to keep from starving and to regain their strength in case of a wolf attack, the horses returned to their original slope, where they suffered anew the agony of mosquito assaults as they grazed the tall grass.