Chen helped the two of them into the Jeep and drove them back to their house. They had a gigantic stone pen, twice the size of the one back at the herding team. As they passed the pen he saw, to the west of the fence, a row of spacious new houses, equipped with TV antennae and wind-powered generators. Beneath a window was an old Beijing Jeep with a faded canvas top. Sandy soil covered the area; nothing grew there except for sparse, waist-high wild vegetation. Chen parked by one of the houses, feeling intense disappointment that now, twenty years later, he could not step into the yurt where the old man had lived.
Chen and Yang unloaded cigarettes and liquor, canned drinks, jellies and milk candy, shawls, knee patches, leather belts, lighters, and other gifts, like pesticides. They took everything into the Mongolian-style living room, which was over a hundred square feet, furnished with sofas, tea tables, a TV and VCR, a liquor cabinet, and drinking paraphernalia. In the middle of the wall hung a large yellow tapestry showing Genghis Khan from the waist up. The Great Khan’s slanting eyes seemed to be observing his Mongol descendents and their guests with a tender look. Chen spent a few respectful moments before the picture.
Gasmai said, “A relative of Papa’s brought that over from Outer Mongolia when he visited the Olonbulag. He said we were doing well over here and our roads were nice, but our education and pasture weren’t as good as theirs.”
They all sat down to some milk tea and fresh dairy products. Gasmai had outgrown her love for the milk candy, but she appreciated their thinking of her. She said with a smile, “You remembered! Back then you gave the candy to the dogs, not to me.”
Gasmai quickly found a new favorite in the fruit gelatin, which she tried for the first time. Mimicking Chen Zhen, she squeezed the gelatin squares into her mouth, one after the other, and laughed. “How did you know I lost all my teeth? These are perfect for a toothless old woman.”
Chen touched the side of his head and said, “I’m getting old too. See the gray hair here? I’ve lost a few teeth too. But how could I have forgotten you? I’ve told lots of people in Beijing about how you grabbed a wolf’s tail and even broke its tailbone, all by yourself. Many of them want to come to the grassland to meet you.”
Waving her hands, she said, “No, no. Our Outer Mongolian relative said that they have a special preserve for the wolves and have banned wolf hunting. On TV here they’re also talking about banning wolf hunting. So why do you keep telling people about the bad thing I did?”
It was getting dark, and from outside came the familiar sounds of sheep hooves. Chen and Yang went outside, where they were surrounded by sheep that rushed toward them like a flood. A shepherd dressed in Chinese clothes was herding the flock on horseback. Chen thought that the man must be a new employee on the grassland. They went up to help him herd the flock into the pen. Batu smiled. “I see you two haven’t forgotten your old profession. Even after twenty years you remember not to herd sheep too fast when they’re full.”
Chen laughed. “I’ll never forget anything about the grassland. This is a huge flock. How many are there?”
Batu said, “Nearly four thousand.”
Yang whistled and said, “If they bring in an average of a hundred and fifty yuan or more, you’re talking about nearly seven hundred thousand yuan for the sheep alone. Add in the cows, the houses, the cars, and the motorcycles, and you’re a millionaire.”
“Assets on sandy land aren’t reliable,” Batu replied. “If this pasture turns into a desert, like those of the outsiders, then we’ll be poor herders again.”
“How many sheep can your pasture support?” Yang asked.
As he closed the gate of the pen, Batu said, “With enough rainwater, the pasture can support over two thousand sheep, but only a thousand if there’s a drought, which we’ve had regularly in recent years. We haven’t had enough rainwater for four or five years. Keeping even a thousand is very hard.”
Chen was shocked. “Then why are you still raising so many?”
“You’re probably going to talk about capacity, right? The herders here are from Gasmai’s herding section and were trained by Papa. They understand the importance of capacity and take good care of the grassland. I’ll raise half of the flock for only six months and will sell two thousand before the snows come. That means selling fourteen hundred or more big lambs born this year, plus a few hundred brown sheep, and the old ewes. Then we’ll have enough grass to feed the remaining flock for most of the winter, and make up the difference by buying a big pile of dry green grass with some of the money from the sale of the sheep. In late summer or early fall, I’ll take the sheep into the mountains. Because of the droughts, most of the mosquitoes died out, so the sheep can survive and put on some fat in the mountains.”
They went back into the living room. “The families in our section still follow the old Mongolian ways,” Batu continued. “We raise more sheep when the grass is good, and fewer when the grass is bad. When raising our sheep, we follow Tengger and the grass, and avoid greedy people. But, of course, the outsiders know nothing about the old rules, so they often sneak their sheep over to eat our grass when they finish theirs. It’s very upsetting. Then there are the local Mongolian drunks. They trade all the sheep they were allocated by the government for liquor. Then when their wives run away and their children go astray, they live off the rent they collect from leasing the pasture, about ten or twenty thousand yuan a year.”
“Who leases their pastures?”
“Outsiders from farming-herding areas,” Batu said indignantly. “These people don’t give a damn about capacity, so they raise two or three thousand sheep on land that can only support five hundred. Their sheep graze the land for a few years and turn it into sand; then they get out of their lease, sell their sheep, and go back home to do business with the money they got here.”
“I never imagined that the outsiders could actually get worse,” Yang said to Chen. “Sooner or later they’ll ruin the grassland completely.”
Feeling more confident about Batu and Gasmai’s pasture and family enterprise, Chen said, “I’m so happy to see you’re doing well.”
Gasmai shook her head. “The big grassland is gone, and our small one won’t last forever. The land is dry, and Tengger refuses to give us rain. Our pasture is getting worse by the year. I have to put four kids through school, then save some money so they can get married and build houses. There are also the medical expenses and the savings we need for hard times. Kids these days only care about today and want to buy whatever they lay their eyes on. They saw your fancy Jeep just now, and they’re already trying to get Bayar to buy one like yours. I’m afraid that once the old folks are gone, the youngsters will ignore the old rules and raise as many sheep as possible so they can own new cars, big houses, and nice clothes.”
“Now I see why they pestered me about the price of the Jeep as soon as I got out,” Yang said.
“Mongols should also practice birth control,” Gasmai continued. “The grassland can’t support too many children. The two boys will have to return to herd sheep if they can’t get into a college; then we’ll have to divide up the household and the sheep after they get married. Each flock will be smaller, which will likely make them want to raise more. But the size of the pasture doesn’t grow. The grass will be crushed if a few more houses are built on this tiny piece of land.”
Bayar was slaughtering a sheep outside; after a while, his wife, an equally robust Mongol woman, came in with a basin brimming with meat. Chen and Yang brought out the cans and other vacuum-packed food. Even though it wasn’t completely dark yet, the lights were turned on in the living room.
Chen said to Batu, “Hey, that’s bright. Now you herders no longer have to use sheep-oil lamps. Back then I often burned my hair when I tried to read by an oil lamp.”