Wolf Totem: A Novel (63 page)

Batu, on the verge of being completely unnerved, signaled with his flashlight and shouted, “Forget the southeast! Concentrate on driving the horses to the northwest! Don’t let them head to the border!” This snapped the herders out of their confusion and, to a man, they galloped toward the northwest.

The first taste of victory had increased the wolves’ wills and their appetites. Not content with killing the slow-moving foals that had been separated from their mothers, they went for the panic-stricken two- and three-year-olds. After starting one-on-one, the wolves began to attack in groups of two and three, bringing down several young horses in succession, their tendons and arteries bitten through, sending blood flying and throwing such a fright into the rest of the herd that the surviving members cared about nothing but running for their lives.

With the thunder and lightning gone from the skies, the herders’ shouts and flashlights had regained their effectiveness; the fleeing horses began to return to their families following the whinnying of the stud horses. The herd was heading south, picking up equine soldiers along the way. Thirty or forty powerful stud horses formed a line in front of the herd and bore down on the wolves, who turned and ran. That was the sign for weak, young, and injured horses to rejoin the herd, the source of their salvation, while many of the stud horses brought their reduced families back into the fold, where there were calls for family members to come together.

The wolf pack retreated in orderly fashion, apparently in no hurry to return to the downed animals and begin the feast, choosing instead to go after stragglers before the herders and stud horses brought them back into the herds. Batu and some of the senior herders rode up to the front to count the number of stud horses, and discovered that a third were unaccounted for. This chilling development sent Batu to the rear of the herd, where he told four herders to split up into pairs and expand the roundup area to the east and to the west. The other herders were told to drive their animals ahead. Finally he sent Zhang Jiyuan to the southeast to drive the wolves out of the area.

Wolves in the northwest raced to link up with those in the southeast, who were in a killing frenzy; some of the horse families had lost all their foals. After joining forces, the wolves went after the sick and crippled adult horses. Shouts and whinnies from the northwest drew nearer, but the wolves concentrated on the killing, leaving the eating for later. Seeing that one man was powerless to drive the wolves away, Zhang decided to go back and help with the herds. The wolves, with their intimate knowledge of grassland weather, seemed to be waiting for the right moment to make their big move.

The herders had driven the horses to within three or four
li
of the sandy hill when hordes of mosquitoes from the marshland rose like a dense cloud to envelop the herd. The most vicious mosquitoes of the year immediately buried their needles in horseflesh. After surviving the dual attacks from lightning and wolves, the horses erupted into uncontrolled madness.

The punishment almost immediately fell on the hide of the protectors of the herd, the stud horses. The powerful animals, with their smooth, almost hairless hides and taut muscles, had suffered for days, their tails sticky with blood, until their ability to sweep away the mosquitoes had fallen to zero. The greatest concentration of insects focused their attention on the stud horses’ eyelids and genitals, which drove them crazy, robbing them of their reason and their sense of responsibility. At that moment, the mosquitoes’ enemy, the wind, died down and pointed out the direction the herd needed to take to create some wind. The stud horses, bitten nearly blind and half mad, abandoned their mates and offspring and ran like the wind into the wind.

The herders had come out from the sandy hill, where there were few mosquitoes, and were not wearing masks. Their faces, necks, and hands were immediately bitten mercilessly by the blood-sucking insects. Their eyelids were swollen, their eyes mere slits; their faces were “fat,” as if burned. Their lips were so puffy that they twitched painfully, their fingers thickened until they could barely hold their lasso poles. Mounts ignored their riders’ commands, rearing and prancing crazily. One minute they’d lower their heads and stretch their necks to relieve the itching; the next they’d take off running again, barely able to keep from rolling on the ground, with no thoughts for their riders.

The fight had been taken out of men and horses as they sank into a sea of mosquitoes. Most of the herd animals were running pell-mell into the wind; the stragglers took their lead, racing to the northwest.

Crazed stinging, crazed running, crazed killing—mosquitoes, horses, and wolves. A convergence of plagues—thunder and lightning, winds, mosquitoes, and wolves—fell onto the Olonbulag horse herds, and Zhang Jiyuan once again sensed with his entire being the difficulty of life on the grassland; he doubted that any other race of people could possibly survive in such a cruel environment. Ashen-faced Batu whipped his horse frantically, even on the animal’s head to make it forget the stings of mosquitoes. Zhang Jiyuan, impressed by this bold display, confidently and courageously turned and charged.

“Force the herd west!” Batu shouted. “There’s sand there! Move! Move! Make sure they don’t head for the border.”

“Hey! Hey!” the herders shouted in response.

A scream caught Zhang Jiyuan’s attention; he saw a horse stumble and throw its rider to the ground. No one came to help; they were too focused on charging ahead.

But how could horses burdened with riders be expected to catch up with riderless horses being harassed by mosquitoes and wolves? The herders’ inability to drive the horses westward shattered their last hope. And still, Batu and the other men shouted at the top of their lungs and kept the chase going.

Suddenly, beams of light split the darkness from a distant mountain. “The brigade has sent a rescue team!” Batu shouted. The herders shouted excitedly as they flicked on their flashlights to show the newcomers where the herd was. Robust shouts emerged from the riders behind the mountain as they stormed up a ridge and swept the area ahead with their flashlights, as if setting up a blockade to keep the horses from running off. All this resulted in getting the herd rounded up and turned around. As the horses were forced to huddle together, they crushed mosquitoes between their bodies.

At this critical juncture, Bilgee, like a tribal leader, arrived on the scene to take charge; the herders, reinvigorated by the sight of their old wolf king riding up, launched an assault on the wolf pack, which had been caught unawares by the shouts and bright lights. They did, however, recognize Bilgee’s voice, it seemed, for the alpha wolf turned and beat a hasty retreat, all the others right behind him. Their objective was clear: they were heading back to the first killing field, where they would eat as much as they could before disappearing into the mountains.

Along with Bao Shungui and Uljii, Bilgee led a dozen or more sheep and cattle herders, as well as Beijing students, in bringing the horse herd together and racing off to the sandy refuge. He sent one of the herdsmen to tend to the injured herder. Chen Zhen rode up to Zhang Jiyuan to find out what had happened during the night and to tell him that Bilgee and Uljii, having anticipated an attack on the horses, had organized a rescue squad even before the weather had turned bad. “That was close!” Zhang said. “We could have lost the whole herd this time.”

Once they were safely on the sandy hill, the sky lightened. Herders rounded up some of the strays, but the losses to the herd had been substantial. Four or five of the old, sick, and disabled horses had been killed, as had twelve or thirteen of the two-year-olds. Foals had suffered the most, with fifty or sixty taken down by the wolves, making a total loss of over seventy members of the herd. Lightning strikes, wind, and mosquitoes had abetted the massacre this time, but the actual killer had, as always, been the wolves!

Bao Shungui surveyed the scene on the sandy hill and the marshland. “Didn’t I tell you that eliminating the wolves was our highest priority in setting up the new pasture?” he said angrily. “But you people wouldn’t listen. Well, look around—this is your punishment for not heeding my warning! From now on, anyone who speaks up for the wolves will lose his job and be sent to attend a study session. And make restitution for our losses!”

With one hand cupped over the other, Bilgee looked up into the sky; his lips were moving, and both Chen and Zhang had a good idea what he was saying.

“Mastering the grassland is too hard on a man,” Chen whispered, “and anyone who tries will likely wind up as a scapegoat for failures.”

Zhang went up to Bao Shungui. “No one could have held off a natural disaster of this magnitude,” he said. “I think we got off lightly, and we’re fortunate that Bilgee and Uljii had the foresight to send the herd over to this sandy area five days ago. We’d have lost the whole herd if they hadn’t.”

“I don’t care what you say,” Bao argued. “Those wolves killed a lot of our horses last night. Mosquitoes don’t kill horses, no matter how many there are of them. Would this have happened if we’d wiped out the wolves when I wanted to? The corps commanders have spent the last few days at brigade headquarters. If they saw all these dead horses, they’d demote me in a heartbeat. These packs are scourges, and we’re going to keep killing wolves until there are none left. That’s the only way to protect our livestock. The corps is getting ready to move into our pasture, and if you won’t kill off the wolves, I’ll ask them to do it. It’ll be easy, with their trucks, jeeps, and machine guns.”

The herdsmen went out in groups to clear the scene of slaughter, which kept them busy and depressed all morning.

The surviving foals trembled when they saw the bodies of those that had died. This lesson in blood would make them more vigilant and courageous the next time they were caught in the middle of a calamity of this nature. But a disturbing thought occurred to Chen Zhen: Will there even be a next time?

30

A cold autumn rain abruptly ended the short summer on the Inner Mongolian grassland and froze the mosquitoes.

Staring intently at the quiet grassland, Chen Zhen thought he understood why the mosquitoes and the wolves would be in such a frenzied state. Summers are short out there, but the fall is even shorter, followed by a six-month-long winter, the season of death for animals that do not hibernate, including the mosquitoes, half of which would die out even if they managed to hide in the marmots’ caves. Without fat and thick fur, the wolves cannot survive the winter, when most of the scrawny, old, sick, and wounded are killed off. That is also why mosquitoes must take advantage of the short growing season to suck as much blood as possible; the crazed attacks are their way of saving their own lives. The wolves too must engage in bloody battles to prepare for the winter and possible famine in the following spring.

Two stinking front legs and the entrails remained from the foal allocated to Chen Zhen’s yurt. The cub had been able to enjoy a period of full stomachs, and even now the rotting meat was enough to last him a few more days. His nose told him there was still food left, so he was in a good mood. He liked his meat fresh and bloody but did not mind when it was rotten and crawling with maggots, which he swallowed along with the meat. “He’s fast becoming our trash can,” Gao commented.

What surprised Chen more was that the cub never got sick, no matter how foul, rotten, or dirty the food was. Chen and Yang admired the cub’s ability to endure cold, heat, hunger, thirst, foul odors, filth, and germs. One had to be impressed by a species that had survived millions of years of selection in an unimaginably inhospitable environment.

The bigger the cub grew, the handsomer and more magnificent he looked. Now he was a grassland wolf in every respect. Chen gave him a longer chain and tried calling him Big Wolf. But the cub preferred to stick to his old name. Whenever Chen called out “Little Wolf,” the cub ran over to play with him, licked his hands, rubbed up against his knees, jumped onto his stomach, even lay down on the ground and exposed his belly for Chen to scratch him. But he ignored Chen if he called him Big Wolf. He’d look around to see who Chen was calling.

Chen laughed at him. “You’re a foolish wolf. Will I still have to call you Little Wolf when you’re old?” The cub stuck his tongue out, as if teasing Chen.

Chen admired every part of the wolf’s body. For a while, he enjoyed playing with his ears. Being the first part of him to grow to adult size, they stood straight up, sturdy, clean, unmarred, and alert. And the cub had a growing sense of self-awareness that was instinctual of grassland wolves.

Inside the pen, Chen would sit cross-legged and play with the cub’s ears. But the cub would only let him do that after Chen had scratched the base of his ears and his neck, which made him tremble contentedly. Chen liked to fold the ears backward and then watch them spring to their upright position again. If he bent both at the same time, they sprang back one after another, never together, making popping sounds that startled the cub as if he’d heard enemy movements.

For some time, Chen had noticed an increased number of military vehicles on the grassland, raising trails of dust, a sight that distressed him. He realized that he belonged to the first, and perhaps the last, group of Han Chinese to actually live and observe the lives of nomadic herdsmen in the farthest reaches of Inner Mongolia. He was not a journalist or tourist; he enjoyed the proud status of a nomadic shepherd. He also had an observation site that he could be happy with—the Olonbulag, hidden away in a spot where large numbers of wolves still roamed. And he was raising a wolf cub he had personally taken from a den.

He vowed to memorize his observations and contemplations, not leaving out the tiniest detail. In the future he’d tell his story to friends and family over and over, until the day he departed this world. It was a pity so much time had passed since the Yellow Emperor’s descendants had left their grassland origins. A nomadic lifestyle would soon come to an end, and the Chinese would never have a chance to return to the pristine place of their origin to pay tribute to their ancestral matriarch.