Chen grabbed hold of the cub and forced open his mouth with his thumbs. There wasn’t much blood from his throat wound, but one of his teeth was bleeding. Gripping the cub’s head tightly, Chen told Yang Ke to feel the tooth. Yang moved it back and forth. “The root’s loose, so the tooth is probably useless.” To Chen, it felt worse than losing his own tooth.
For two days the cub had struggled, causing a number of serious injuries to his body and ruining a tooth. Chen let go of the cub, who kept touching the bad tooth with his tongue, a clear sign that it hurt. Yang carefully applied some medicine to the cub’s paws.
After dinner, Chen prepared a basin of semisolid food, using leftover noodles, small pieces of meat, and soup. After it cooled off, he gave it to the young wolf, who gobbled it down. Chen could tell, though, that the animal was having trouble swallowing; it was as if something was stuck in his throat. Then he went back to touching the bad tooth with his tongue, soon began coughing, and spit out some bloody, undigested food. Chen’s heart sank; the cub not only had a bad tooth but something was wrong with his throat as well. But where would he find a vet who would examine a wolf cub?
“Now I understand something,” Yang Ke said to Chen. “The wolves are unyielding, not because the pack has no ‘traitors’ or wimps, but because the merciless environment weeds out the unfit.”
“This cub has paid too high a price for his wild, untamed nature,” Chen said sadly. “You can see what a person will be like as an adult when he’s only three, and what he’ll be like as an old man when he’s seven, but with wolves, it only takes three months to foresee an adult wolf and seven months to see into his old age.”
The following morning, when Chen was cleaning the wolf pen, he saw that the usual grayish droppings had been replaced by black ones. Startled, he quickly opened the cub’s mouth and saw that his throat was still bleeding. He got Yang Ke to hold the cub’s mouth open while he tried smearing some medicine on the wound with a chopstick and a piece of felt. But it was too deep for the chopstick to reach. They tried everything, all the home remedies, until they were both exhausted, regretting that neither of them had studied veterinary science.
On the fourth day, the color of the droppings started to lighten, and the cub regained his vitality. The two men breathed sighs of relief.
34
Bilgee was never again invited to attend the corps or division production meetings. Chen often saw him at home, silently doing leatherwork in his yurt.
The leather bridles, reins, bits, and hobbles belonging to the horse, cow, and sheep and horse herders’ horses had all been softened in the summer and autumn rains; after drying in the sun, the leather had stiffened and cracked, making it less durable. It was not uncommon for a horse to snap its reins or break its hobbles and run back to the herd.
With time on his hands, Bilgee was able to make new leather fittings for his family, the section’s horse herders, and the Beijing students. Chen Zhen, Yang Ke, and Gao Jianzhong often took time out to learn leatherwork from the old man. After a couple of weeks, they were able to produce passable bridles and whips. Yang even managed to make a hobble, which was hardest of all to make.
The old man’s spacious yurt was transformed into a leather workshop. Finished work was piled high; the smell of leather salt permeated the air. All they needed to do now was to apply marmot oil.
Marmots produced the best oil on the grassland. During severe winters, oil from sheep and other animals solidified; marmot oil, the sole exception, could be poured even at thirty degrees below zero. It was a grassland specialty found in the homes of all herdsmen. When the white-hair blizzards blew in the depths of winter, all the people had to do to keep their faces free from frostbite was to smear on a layer of marmot oil. Mongolian flour cakes fried in marmot oil were golden brown and delicious; they usually only appeared at wedding banquets or for special guests. And on burns the oil was as effective as badger fat.
Marmot oil and pelts were two important sources of income for herdsmen. In the fall, when the marmot skins were at their thickest, herdsmen went into the mountains to hunt them, keeping the meat for themselves and sending the skins and oil to the purchasing station to swap for bricks of tea, silk, batteries, boots, candy, and daily necessities. A large skin sold for four yuan, and a catty of oil fetched at least one. Ideal for women’s coats, the skins were exported for foreign exchange.
But income from hunting was not steady. Wildlife on the grassland is no different from fruit trees in other parts of China; there are good years and bad years, determined by weather, growth of grass, and natural disasters. But the herders on the Olonbulag knew how to control the scale of their hunting and never set a growth rate for each year. They would hunt often if there were many animals, less often if there were fewer, and stop altogether when there were none. It had gone on like that for thousands of years, which was why there were always animals for them to hunt. Most of the time they sold the marmot skins but not the oil, for it was used widely, mostly on leatherwork, turning it a rich brown color, soft yet resilient. The leather would retain its salt if marmot oil was regularly applied during the rainy season, thus prolonging its life and reducing the frequency of accidents. They often ran out before hunting season arrived.
With an eye on his leatherworking tools, one day Bilgee said to Chen, “I only have half a bottle of oil left, and I have a craving for marmot meat. It tastes best at this time of year. In the old days, aristocrats wouldn’t eat mutton around this time. Tomorrow I’ll take you out hunting for marmot.”
“When he brings them home,” Gasmai said, “I’ll treat you to some tea and cakes fried in marmot oil.”
“That’s great news,” Chen said, “but I can’t keep coming here for food.”
Gasmai laughed. “Once you started raising the cub, you pretty much forgot about me. How often have you come for tea over the past few months?”
“You’re the section leader, and I’ve already caused you trouble over that cub. I haven’t dared come to see you.”
“If not for me,” Gasmai said, “your cub would have been killed by herdsmen long ago.”
“What did you say to them?”
Gasmai smiled. “I said that the Chinese hate wolves and they eat them, all but Chen Zhen and Yang Ke, that is. The cub is like their adopted child. They’ll be just like us Mongols once they learn everything about wolves.”
Filled with gratitude, Chen thanked her effusively.
Gasmai laughed out loud. “You can thank me by making some dumplings for me. I also like your mutton-stuffed flat bread.” That made Chen happy. She then signaled with her eyes and pointed to the dejected old man. “Papa likes those Chinese mutton cakes too.”
Chen laughed. “We still have half a bundle of the green onions Zhang Jiyuan bought at the brigade office. I’ll bring it over tonight, and you and Papa can eat all you want.”
A faint smile appeared on the old man’s face. “No need to bring any mutton; we just killed a sheep. Gao Jianzhong’s mutton cakes are much better than those sold in the restaurants. Make sure you ask Yang Ke and Gao Jianzhong to come drink with us.”
That night, Gao taught Gasmai how to make the fillings, roll the wrappings, and fry the cakes. Then they sang, ate, and drank until the old man abruptly put down his bowl and said, “The corps wants the herdsmen to settle in one place, saying that way we wouldn’t get sick so often and our workload would be reduced. What do you think? You Chinese like to settle in one place, right?”