Wolf Totem: A Novel (62 page)

An all-cadre meeting was under way at Bilgee’s home. "The clouds are neither thick nor especially thin,” said the old man, "so don’t expect any rain. In this muggy weather, the mosquitoes will probably eat our horses alive. We don’t have enough people to watch our livestock properly, and since the disaster that hit the flock of sheep, we can’t spare anyone to go out and relieve the horse herders.” Bao Shungui and Bilgee decided to assign the brigade cadres to tend the sheep.

Zhang Jiyuan, though weakened by unrelieved exhaustion, knew that once he made it past the current calamity, he’d be permitted to herd horses alone on the grassland. Chen and Yang gave him a great deal of encouragement, out of the hope that one of the students from the yurt where the wolf cub was being raised would produce a first-rate horse herder.

The afternoon turned muggier still; with no prospect of a heavy rain in sight, even the hope for a drizzle was dashed. Grasslanders look forward to rain but fear it as well. Heavy rains keep the mosquitoes from flying, but afterward more insects are born, and when increasing numbers are sated with wolf blood, they produce offspring that are more wolfish and more prone to attack. The Olonbulag was transformed into hell on earth, and Zhang Jiyuan was prepared to go down into that hell, joining the other horse herders in riding out to the marshy grassland.

But Bilgee, in company with Batu and Zhang, drove the herd out to a desert region some sixty or seventy
li
to the southwest, where there was a scarcity of both grass and water, resulting in fewer mosquitoes. The spot was a buffer zone about a hundred
li
from the border. The other three brigade herds followed Bilgee’s example, driving their horses as rapidly as possible to the arid land.

“This desert was once fine Olonbulag grazing land,” Bilgee said to Zhang, “with streams and lakes and some of the best grass anywhere. Cattle and sheep could fatten up slowly without having to stuff themselves with diminishing amounts of grass.” He looked up into the sky and sighed. “And this is what it’s become in only a few short years. Sand has even filled in the dry riverbeds.”

“How did it happen?” Zhang asked.

The old man pointed to the herd. “They grazed it into ruin, them and the migrants from down south. The country had only recently been liberated, and there weren’t many motor vehicles. The army needed horses; so did farmers and the people who transport material, including loggers in the northeast. The whole country, it seemed, needed horses. Where were all these fine horses to come from? Inner Mongolia, of course. We were ordered to set aside the best grassland for horses. People from down south came here to try out, select, and buy horses, and before we knew it, the place had been turned into a racetrack of sorts. Over the centuries no ruler would have had the heart to turn this land into an area for raising horses. It didn’t take many years to create a wasteland. Now, as a desert, it has one virtue; there are relatively few mosquitoes, so we can bring the horses out here during a mosquito plague. Uljii has given the order that this sandy spot is only to be used when it’s the sole means of keeping the herds alive. He wants to see how long it will take for the grassland to reassert itself in the sandy soil. But he has to give in this year.”

“Papa,” Zhang said, “now that trucks and tractors are so common, and tanks have taken the place of cavalry during wartime, there won’t be as great a need for horses. Will the grassland be able to make a comeback?”

The old man shook his head. “Men and tractors are even worse, and with the increased preparations for war, the authorities decided to establish a production and construction corps on the grassland. People and tractors are on their way.”

Zhang was speechless. He hadn’t expected the establishment of the corps to occur so soon.

“In the old days,” the old man continued, “the farmers’ hoes and fires were our greatest fear. Now it’s tractors. A few days ago, Uljii and some old-time herdsmen wrote a letter to the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region authorities asking them not to turn the Olonbulag into a farming region. Who knows if it will do any good? Bao Shungui has been in a terrific mood lately. He says it’s a terrible waste for all this land to go unused, when it could support farms, and sooner or later, it’s going to be used to . . . expand . . . expand the production of grain.”

A silent moan arose in Zhang’s heart. Now that the age of tractors had arrived, a conflict between those who lived off the grassland and those who lived by leveling it was nearing its end game.

As night began to fall, four herds of horses entered the Bayan Gobi, an area of several dozen square
li,
where the moist sandy ground occasionally gave way to a variety of desert plants that had grown astonishingly tall in the rainy season. There were no longer any signs that this had once been grazing land; rather, it looked like an abandoned construction site. “The grassland has but a single life,” Bilgee said. “The roots of the edible grass have to overwhelm the weedy growth, but once those roots are eradicated, the weeds and sand take over.”

The herds moved to the center of the desert. Though there was precious little edible grass for them out there, the relative absence of mosquitoes allowed Bilgee to rest the horses and give them a brief respite from the ravaging insects.

Bao Shungui rode up with Uljii. “This is all we could do,” Bilgee said to them. “We’ll have to let them go hungry at night. In the morning, when there’s dew on the ground, we can herd them over to the marshland to eat, then drive them back when the mosquitoes are out again. They won’t put on much weight, but we can at least keep them alive.”

Bao heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks to the wisdom of you two, these horses can live on. I’ve been sick with worry the past couple of days.”

But Uljii’s forehead was creased with anxiety. “I can’t stop worrying that the wolf pack has been waiting for the herds to show up. Anything we can dream up, the wolves can too.”

“I distributed an extra supply of ammunition to the herders. My worry has been that we won’t find the wolves. I’m hoping they do come,” said Bao.

On the first night, spared the harassment of mosquitoes and wolves, the herds were fully rested by morning, when the dew kept the mosquitoes from flying. The herders immediately led their horses to the marshland, where they gobbled up the tasty grass. As the sun burned off the dew, the mosquitoes rose into the air, and the horses headed back to the desert on their own. The second night was a repeat of the first. On the third night, Bao Shungui sent over a pair of large sheep on a light wagon; the herders, having caught up on their sleep, sat around the fire after dark, happily eating and drinking. They sang and shouted as they feasted on the food and spirits, scaring away any wolves in the area. Zhang’s capacity for liquor had grown noticeably over the preceding year; now drunk, he entertained the others with a rendition of “The Wine Song” at the top of his lungs; his voice, it seemed, had taken on the quality of a wolf’s drawn-out howls.

On the morning of the fourth day, a messenger galloped up to tell them that two officials from the production and construction corps had shown up at the brigade headquarters and wanted Uljii and Bilgee to brief them. The two men had no choice but to head back, but before they left, Bilgee stressed the importance of staying alert.

Once the two authority figures were gone, some of the young herders began thinking and talking about the women they’d left behind. As night was falling, two of them rode off to find young women who were heading out for the night watch. The term
night watch
had two meanings on the Olonbulag, and if anyone joked about it, the young women would stay up all night waiting.

The herds had grazed the land until only dry stalks remained. The endurance of the horses, deprived of their nightly consumption, was waning. But the stud horses were like unyielding prison guards, keep-waning. But the stud horses were like unyielding prison guards, keeping a close watch on members of their families, stopping any that took even a few steps in the direction of the marshland. They were all being punished by hunger, but the stud horses maintained their tight patrols.

Where they waited patiently, concealed in the tall weeds, the wolves too were starving, and had been drawn to the smell of the meat cooking in the camp. The paucity of mosquitoes had given them a chance to build up their strength, and they were prepared for a fight. Batu predicted that half the Olonbulag wolf packs were in hiding somewhere in the desert region, though they hadn’t yet found the courage to attack. The herders were armed and ready for anything; powerful stud horses had taken up positions on the periphery of the herd. A few that were looking for a release for their wildness stamped their hooves and roared threateningly at wolf shadows in the darkness, as if what they needed was to sink their teeth into a wolf’s spine, fling it into the air, and, when it crashed to the ground, crush its skull with their powerful hooves. And yet, there were soft spots in the herds—no dogs accompanied them. The grasslanders simply had no interest in training their family watchdogs to guard horse herds.

After dinner, Batu took Zhang to the far perimeter to look for traces of wolves amid the weeds. They kept looking, enlarging the circle as they searched, but found no new tracks. That did little to lessen Batu’s worries, for when, a few days earlier, he’d been out scouting in the distance, he’d spotted a couple of wolves, although he hadn’t seen any at times when security around the herds was relatively lax. He was well aware that before the wolves launched an attack, they often separated themselves from their target in order to confuse the livestock with a feigned retreat.

For some strange reason, Zhang Jiyuan was on edge—it was too peaceful for him. Both he and Batu simultaneously thought about the weather and looked up into the sky. No stars, and dark clouds were pressing down on the desert. They turned their horses around and raced back to camp.

The shouting began sometime before midnight, as flashlights lit up the sandy ground. Fearless herders and powerful stud horses ringed the herds, some of the larger animals seeming to sense the presence of wolves; they moved to the perimeters to form walls of flesh and blood to protect the mares, the young horses, and the foals, who did not budge from their mothers’ sides. Zhang imagined that he could hear the rapid beating of all those hundreds of equine hearts, a pace that equaled his own.

Sometime after midnight, strong gusts of wind were followed by the explosive crackles of thunder. The ground shook and the mountains swayed, sending all the horses into the start of a panicky stampede. The stud horses turned, reared up, and beat back their terrified charges with their lethal hooves. The herders shouted at the top of their lungs and used their whips to help the stud horses maintain the last line of defense. But another series of thunderclaps followed the lightning that streaked across the heavens like spastic nerve endings snaking down toward the herds, which split like ruptured dikes, the horses breaking through the perimeter defense created by the stud horses and horse herders. They ran as if possessed.

The thunderclaps drowned out the shouts, the whinnies, even the gunfire; lightning bolts blotted out the flashlights beams, and in the brief instance of nearly blinding light, the gray figures of wolves were visible as they stole into the herds. The herders’ faces paled from the sight.

“Wolves!” shouted Zhang Jiyuan in a voice even he barely recognized. “The wolves are here!” For the first time in his life, he was witnessing a massive concerted attack by packs of wolves, aided by the deafening peals of thunder and electrifying bolts of lightning sent down by an angry Tengger. Like a heavenly army sent down to exact vengeance for the grassland, the wolves were intent on their murderous mission—to annihilate Mongol horses, the scourge of the grassland.

The terrified horses came under attack from all sides by the prideful wolves. They began to run for their lives. Under the protection of darkness, and aided by the heart-stopping thunder and lightning, the wolves penetrated the defenses like arrows and met in the center, where they turned and launched their assault, creating mass confusion among the panic-stricken horses, which was precisely what they needed to attack individual animals.

Foals were the first victims. Having been subjected to the terrifying sight and sound of thunder and lightning for the first time, the young horses, paralyzed by fear, were taken down one after another by the big wolves. Within minutes, a dozen or more lay dead or dying on the sandy ground. The more courageous foals stayed close to their mothers as they ran like the wind; if they could not find their mothers, they avoided being slaughtered by seeking out their more powerful fathers.

Zhang Jiyuan anxiously looked for his favorite, the one he called Snow White, fearing that a white horse would be especially visible, and therefore more vulnerable, in the enshrouding darkness. As two more bolts of lightning lit up the sky, Zhang saw a pair of stud horses fighting with teeth and hooves to protect a white foal from an attack by three wolves. The foal stuck to its father like glue, and even dredged up the courage to kick out at its attackers. The pack’s greatest asset was speed; the instant they saw that it had failed them, they retreated into the black night to seek out another hapless foal. The stud horses called out to the mothers in the herd, for they were the only other animals who had the courage and the composure to protect their offspring, which they did with all the weapons available to them as they made their way toward their mates, their foals alongside. The fiercest stud horses and the most courageous females and foals warded off the first assault by the lightning above and the wolves below, forming mutually protective clusters of families.

The greater part of herd unity, however, had collapsed. The battle-tested wolves threw themselves into the fight, like lethal bombs, sending waves outward like ripples on a lake. No vestige of protection remained for the herders, and within half an hour, they had nearly lost contact with each other.