Called to Gobi Page 5

  "Move, Pond!"

  I leapt aside as Luyant gave Gan-gaad a final push. He nearly collided with me, then crashed on the ground in a rolling heap. Gan-gaad caught his breath from laughter and found his feet. Leaving the bike where it was, he approached me.

  "Forgive my brother." He nodded at big Luyant who stood nearby watching and listening. "His tongue is not all that is clumsy. He's an oaf! Look at him, a beautiful Mongolian specimen. Not an ounce of Kazakh in him, but he's never spoken a word. He just stands there, Pond. But he knows the camels. Yes, he knows the camels. Go on, Luyant. See to the herds."

  Obediently, the big man hung his head and stomped through camp away from us. He was obviously not stupid, only mute. I watched him depart and wondered what had caused his condition.

  "Is America really over those mountains now, Pond?" Gan-gaad asked. "I'd heard they were conquerors, but have they grown so large?"

  "No, nothing like that, though they are involved in a number of military conflicts," I said. "I crossed the Atlantic Ocean, then the Mediterranean Sea, then all of Turkey and Kazakhstan to arrive here. My plane crashed in the mountains, about there, killing my pilot and sending me to you."

  I pointed at a mountain to the far northwest.

  "Huh," he grunted. "You were sent to me? You speak as a man who believes in providence from the gods. Did you see the wolves?"

  "Yes, but they seemed preoccupied with other game. Had they been hungrier, I would've been a meal instead of only an object of curiosity."

  Gan-gaad laughed and clapped me too hard on the back, making me stumble.

  "You have a poet's tongue, Pond!" Then he became stiffly serious. "You know, we despise foreigners, especially me."

  He watched me carefully to see how I might respond. I tried to match his hard eyes that were surrounded by skin as tough as leather from fifty of the harshest winters on earth. He had said I was a friend if I wasn't Russian, Chinese, or Kazakh.

  "For many years, I've lived and dreamed of being in Mongolia. All alone, I learned the language. I'm not a foreigner as much as you'd think, not at heart."

  "Perhaps . . ." He stepped beside me and pointed left and right. "Luyant cares for the camels. They are disgusting animals, but he loves them. My nephew, Dusbhan—you met him—has the highest honor: the horses. They are in excellent condition. Look at them! All fat! And there, my other clansmen watch over the cattle, sheep, and goats. The cattle are prized, but the sheep and goats—they are for scoundrels. I would never allow family to care for sheep or goats. There is my ger in the center. Luyant and his family are over there. He has only one wife. I have three, but two are growing old and one has no teeth. Dusbhan's ger is there, on the other side of mine. He has only one wife, but he is young. See? I am surrounded by relatives. How many wives do you have in America, Pond?"

  "I am not yet married, Gan-gaad," I said. "In America, a man usually has one wife, but some want more."

  "But you have none? You are poor?"

  "When I find the right one, I will know. I'm patient about this matter. Tell me: don't you wish you were more patient with your choices?"

  "Ah . . . I see." He nodded. "Patient for the best stock."

  "Men like you who have experience have advised me to be patient, to find one with which I'm happiest and make her my first and last wife."

  "But all the chores, Pond!" He pointed at the goats. "Look. All afternoon the wives milk the goats and mares. Then, there are other chores. Who mends your clothing?"

  "I mend my own. Or I buy new ones."

  "Bah! It's women's work!"

  Most of the people had gone back to their chores, but some of the children studied me shyly from afar. I offered a teenager a pack of gum and she quickly took it and ran away, the others after her. A tall woman about my age stood amongst the sheep with a pair of shears in her hand. She didn't look my way but I could see her features.

  "Ah, you see Zima already, yes?" He spat on the ground. "A Russian and Kazakh whore! My brother adopted her as a child for payment. She shames my clan. Tall as a man. It isn't natural, Pond. And skin like a Kazakh. But she is my brother's, so I can only spit at her."

  But Zima, in all honesty, was beautiful. Her face wasn't small and round like the Mongolians, but more Caucasian with dark, straight hair. She resembled the Native Americans I'd seen in the States. But since she was a disgrace to Gan-gaad, I said nothing.

  "Will you stay the day, Pond, or must you travel on your bicycle?"

  "I've run out of food, Gan-gaad. It seems I must find employment to earn my keep for a time."

  "Hmmm." Gan-gaad scratched his shaggy head. "I don't need another hand. Nor another mouth to feed. You have no money?"

  "What's your offer? I do have a little money."

  "You could buy some stock from me so I could buy supplies in Bulgan next week. It's southeast of us."

  "I would need a ger as well—but not a whole one; I only need half a ger," I said. "Just a place to lay my head since I have only a small amount of gear and I have no wives."

  "Half a ger will be a lonely place with no wife during the winter," Gan-gaad said. "But we could move provisions from one into another to make space. It would be an odd thing for you to be in my clan. Others will think you are Russian. I hate Russians."

  "Perhaps you're a man who sees wisdom in a transaction," I said. "In time, the towns we come to will know I'm American. How much for a ger and . . . what livestock will you sell me?"

  "I will sell one ger, but half will be for fodder storage, and five head of every animal is all I can spare. At the market, you pick which five, but otherwise, you help where help is needed, no matter which animal. Are you too proud to work with goats?"

  "No, I have a close companion who is a shepherd and must often deal with goats." I said, considering the Good Shepherd. "How much?"

  "Ten thousand tugriks." He watched my face as I contemplated the price. "You have this much?"

  Quickly, I computed the currency equivalence. Eleven hundred tugriks equaled one US dollar. At ten thousand tugriks, he was offering me a poor man's fortune worth of livestock for less than ten dollars. In the city, an upper-middle-class family would earn no more than $2,000 a year. Here, though, cash was something of a rarity.

  "It's a good price," I finally agreed. He sighed and smiled. "But I have only US currency, which comes to less than ten dollars."

  "American currency? I will take it," he said without hesitation. "The men in Bulgan will think it's worth much more. Let me see it."

  I dug through my backpack for a Velcro pouch containing two hundred dollars and my passport. Hastily, I counted out ten dollar bills and gave them to him. He held them up to the sun to study them, turning them this way and that, then flipped them all over.

  "It's real money in America?"

  "Yes, it's real. Some selfish men live and die by it."

  "What will these buy in America? These . . . ten?"

  "Any number of treasures." I shrugged, not wanting to discredit his livestock price, nor did I want to be dishonest. "When I was young, I had a friend who bought an automobile for one dollar from his father as a favor."

  "A whole automobile? Was it a good automobile?"

  "Not really." I chuckled at the memory. "It was called a Falcon, an old automobile that required more than one mechanic before it could be driven."

  Gan-gaad folded up the money and shoved it under his shirt.

  "I've never been in an automobile. There are many things I wish to know about America, but later." He took me by the arm and led me toward the cattle. "These animals are all we have, Pond. I hate them. They stink and are dumb, but I love them, too. Do you understand?"

  "They are a necessity," I said, nodding.

  "Yes. The Navi-hasgovi Clan wishes to ruin me by stealing my livestock and ruining our grazing land. We fight always. They have twice the men I have and many more livestock. Every year, we go to market in Dund-Us in the north. Navi-hasgovi is always there at the same time. But he is slo
wer because his animals are greater in number. Now, we each race for the grazing land in the south on the edge of the Gobi before the winter kills the grass. Always, Navi-hasgovi is near. But today, we're ahead of him, and it's a good day. In a week, we'll be in Bulgan. After that, Hasagt. You know these places?"

  "Only as names on a map."

  "Map." He laughed. "I've seen maps and books. They don't do justice to life. I'm a socialist at heart, you know. I hate the perestroika. You know what that is?"

  "Russia's restructuring." I nodded, familiar with the mid-90's movement away from communism—which Gan-gaad apparently disliked.

  "I'm glad you know. I hate Russia. They ruined my family, but we fought them and kept our commune. Still, I fight the perestroika because they tell my workers they may privatize and take my livestock. You work for me now. I'll protect you from the perestroika. If you work, you receive an equal share. If you don't work, you receive nothing."

  "Just tell me what to do." I nodded. Communism was apparently alive and well in parts of Mongolia. I had my work cut out for me.

  "Go ask Luyant." He gestured toward the camels. "He'll tell you what you'll do besides standing guard."

  He turned away, signaling that the conversation was over. I stared across the small valley at the huge man tending to the camels. Luyant didn't speak, so how would he tell me what to do?

  Luyant wasn't like his communist brother whatsoever. Though Luyant was larger, he was younger than Gan-gaad, and that explained the hierarchy. With gestures and by example, Luyant patiently explained to me what I was to do. He gave me a tool with a moon-shaped blade and showed me how to clean each of the five different animals' hooves. There were thirty head of horses that needed the least care, since they grazed where they pleased. I realized right away I'd need to learn to ride a horse. Sooner or later, I'd probably be climbing onto one of the twenty drooling, mangy camels as well. Above all, I wanted to prove to the chief clansman that I could and would handle anything he threw at me. It helped that I was coordinated, strong, and willing. Though it was too early to share my faith openly, there was no reason why I couldn't show it by my willingness to help.

  *~*

  Chapter 6

  By noon that first day, I was standing alone on top of the hill crest to the northwest of the valley. My responsibilities seemed simple, but they weren't. I was to keep the animals grouped together while they grazed and let none stray too far from the others. The herd of goats had the greatest number of animals: close to eighty. The sheep numbered near fifty and the cattle, forty.

  The difficult part would come when nighttime fell. I imagined the worst scenario: the wolves and bears would belly-crawl up to the camp perimeter from a down-wind direction. The animals would spook and crowd away from the predators, but in the morning, one or two would be missing and I would be to blame.

  The cattle could tend to themselves. The horses, especially the ones that remembered the days before domestication, would be safe since they'd lived on the open steppe before man. The camels had hooves that were deadly to any predator. So, the sheep and goats were my concern. They wanted to run around everywhere—in camp, out of camp, between the camels' legs, and out of sight on the range. I grouped them the best I could, but that first day, I wasn't much of a shepherd at all. Eventually, I found myself laughing at two kid goats who took turns head-butting one of the cow bulls. The bull, seemingly familiar with the game, kept his head lowered as the kids rammed him on his broad skull until they were thoroughly dizzy. Then, after shaking their heads, with their big ears flopping, they charged elsewhere. The bull acknowledged me as if to say, "We do this daily. When their headaches wane, they'll be back for more. And I'll be here for them because it's all I have to do."

  Near sundown, my stomach was beyond growling. I was starving, and I won't deny the fact that I ate some grass since the animals made it look so appetizing. As a guest of Gan-gaad's, I half-expected more consideration. But then I remembered his words: food was earned. And I was being proven. Besides, I wasn't the only one standing around the perimeter. Luyant was still beyond the camels, and another man rode an aduu around and around the entire camp. The rider looked funny, I thought, since his horse's legs were so short and the man's longer legs often dragged through the grass. His saddle was hand-made completely of rawhide, worn but practical for the job.

  The day closed, and I watched the clan crowd around their ger fires to serve portions from an assortment of blackened cookware. The smell reached my senses, and I fought to think of something else. My mind naturally drifted to my unfinished responsibilities that day. I'd spent no time in the Word and hadn't paused to pray much at all.

  I lifted my eyes to the star-studded heavens. There were no clouds like the night before. It was a beautiful, crisp night. Though it had been almost sixty degrees all afternoon, the temperature had dropped quickly with the setting sun. If there was more precipitation to retain the heat, it would've been warmer, but it rarely rained, and large bodies of water were scarce.

  "Father God in heaven," I prayed aloud in English, "today, I find myself as a shepherd when I know more about being one of Your sheep. Give me the wisdom to approach this job wisely, and the strength to complete every step. And Lord, please open the hearts of these people to Your Word. I came so far to share so much, I don't know how long I can keep it in. Show me when it's time to open my mouth." Jogging down the ridge of the hill, I chased a ewe back into the herd. Then, I returned to my elevated place, checking the shadowy landscape behind me for prowlers every few minutes. "Lord, I've already sensed tension within the clan, and I pray You would open my eyes so I can stay alert for the doors You alone must open for me to minister."

  "Is that English?" a woman's voice asked in Mongolian.

  Startled, I turned to my left as Zima, the young outcast owned by Luyant, climbed up the hill with a bowl and pitcher. She handed me the meal.

  "Yes, it is." I sniffed the food. Since I couldn't see it in the darkness, I asked myself if I really cared what it was. And I didn't. With two fingers, I scooped into pudding that smelled like spoiled venison. Ashamedly, I gulped half of it down ravenously before I remembered my manners. "Thank you. Your name is Zima?"

  "Yes. And you are Pond."

  She offered me the pitcher and I guzzled a thick, sour froth that burned all the way down to my gut. I knew what it was, but I hoped my stomach could handle it. It was airag, fermented mare's milk—this batch being a little more fermented than the casual beverage, I guessed.

  Zima watched me eat and I suddenly stopped with a chill of suspicion moving up my spine. Everyone down in camp was eating, even those at the other perimeter posts.

  "Have you eaten?" I asked.

  "There . . . isn't enough," she answered hesitantly, lowering her eyes shamefully. "Gan-gaad said to bring this to you. You worked harder than me."

  Just like that, I lost my appetite, and offered her my bowl.

  "Here, take it."

  "I can't!"

  "Go ahead. Finish it," I said. "It's strange food to me, anyway. You must eat something."

  She needed no more convincing and Zima scooped into the pudding with four fingers. Only on the Mongolian range could a woman eat like that and still be considered a lady. As far as Gan-gaad was concerned, though, she wasn't even human. It was my fault she wasn't being given her portion. Gan-gaad had said he didn't need another mouth to feed.

  My eyes blurred suddenly, and I wavered on my feet, my head spinning. I sniffed the contents of the pitcher. The airag was quite a bit more potent than I'd suspected. Then, I dropped the pitcher. That was odd, I thought as I peered at my feet. There was no pitcher on the ground. But then I noticed Zima had taken the milk from me; I hadn't dropped it after all. She guzzled it dry and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Though I shook my head, the two Zimas I saw weren't blending into one. She giggled and waved her hand in front of my face.

  "I think I'm drunk," I said, whether in English or Mongolian, I don't recall, b
ecause I fell asleep at that instant. And I don't even remember hitting the ground.

  #######

  Since I hadn't been drunk in many years, and because it wasn't intentional, I believe God spared me the agony of a hangover. I awoke before sunrise and noticed someone had kindly thrown me and my gear into one of the gers packed with saddles and riding blankets. My feet had lain outside the door all night and my toes were freezing. After crawling outside, I stomped my feet to get the circulation going.

  I wasn't the only one awake, though. Later, I found out that Luyant had thrown me in the ger and had pulled the early morning watch while it was still dark. But when I stepped from my ger, he wasn't watching the stock at all. He'd propped my bike up with a stick for a kick-stand and was kneeled beside it, studying the gear mechanics. Before he realized I'd approached, I crouched beside him.

  "Fascinating, isn't it?" I admired with him. He glanced at me curiously, and nodded. "Sometimes the chain comes off the track when I switch gears without peddling. That's the trick: when you switch gears, you have to be peddling."

  He stood and continued to nod, gently patting my shoulder as if to say he understood.

  "Something needs to be done about Zima not receiving a meal because of my extra mouth to feed," I said.

  Luyant's face hardened and he crossed his arms over his massive chest.

  "Zima's like a daughter to you, right? She's your property?"

  He hit me so hard, my feet came off the ground before I landed six feet away on my back. I was so angry, embarrassed, and surprised that I sprang back to my feet like a cat. In prison, I'd fought for months, though it was years earlier. With the best of them, I could take a punch as well as sling them. He'd hit me on the cheekbone, which isn't a vital bone to knock someone silly; it only makes them mad. As a reflex, I swung an uppercut into his chin that nearly broke my hand. Luyant weighed one hundred pounds more than me, but a solid punch to the chin will drop just about anyone. His knees wobbled and he sat down with a dazed look on his face.