“How long does the electricity from the wind-powered generator last?” Yang asked.
Batu laughed. “When it’s windy, the generator will churn all day and store the electricity in batteries that will last two hours. If that’s not enough, I also have a small diesel generator.”
Soon car horns sounded outside; nearly everyone in Gasmai’s “tribe” arrived in cars and motorcycles, turning the spacious living room into a sardine can. The old grassland friends were particularly affectionate; friendly thumps from fists kept falling on Chen and Yang, who were then made to drink so much they began to sway and spew nonsense.
Lamjav, Laasurung, Sanjai, and other old friends followed suit and asked to borrow the car from Yang, who, in a drunken stupor, said yes to them all. “No problem. No problem at all. And come to me when you need to file a lawsuit.” Then he tossed the keys to Lamjav.
The others all burst out laughing, before breaking into song. The last song was one made popular by Mongolia’s most famous male singer, Tenggeer. The voices were high, old, and sad, with the resonance of wolf howls.
The drinking and singing went on all night; the tears never stopped flowing.
During the drinking feast, “orders” were placed for Chen Zhen and Yang Ke as if they were divorcés sent back from Beijing. There would be two feasts a day, each hosted by a different family with drinking, eating, and singing. The blue Cherokee was turned into a vehicle for the old herders for test drives and entertainment, and for transporting the liquor they bought. It was also used to bring over friends from other sections, turning Batu’s yard into a parking lot.
By the following afternoon, nearly half the cars and motorcycles from the brigade were parked outside Batu’s house, but there were few horses. One of the herders said, “People would probably give up raising Mongolian horses if not for the difficulty of herding sheep on motorcycles during snowy winters. Only one of the Second Brigade’s four horse herds is left, and it’s only half its previous size.”
“The wolves are gone and grass is getting sparse,” Batu said. “The horses are lazy and can’t run very fast. They’re smaller than before. No one wants our horses anymore.”
Chen noticed that all the old men of Bilgee’s generation were gone. The grammar school students that Yang Ke had taught were now the main workforce.
In three days, the two men drank so much that their blood pressure shot up and they suffered accelerated heartbeats. Luckily, the Han vegetable garden was well stocked, so they enjoyed a large salad at every meal; otherwise, even their cholesterol levels would have suffered. Half of the herding in the section was halted by the series of drinking parties, and the families had to rely on outside help. Chen was told by one of the hired hands that they were paid two hundred a month plus two adult sheep, room and board included. They also got year-end bonuses for a good job.
Both friends spent that day and slept the night in the homes of their former hosts.
On the fourth day of their visit, Chen chatted with Gasmai and her family well into the night.
On the early morning of the fifth day, Chen Zhen and Yang Ke got into the Jeep Cherokee and headed toward Black Rock Mountain.
The mountain gradually came into view as the Jeep crossed the border highway. Yang Ke slowed down on the grassland dirt path.
Chen sighed and said, “The presence of wolves is the ecological index to the existence of the grassland. When the wolves are gone, the grassland loses its soul; life here has completely changed. I miss the lush green, primitive grassland.”
Rubbing his temple with one finger, Yang said, “I’m nostalgic too. As soon as I got here, my head was filled with herding scenes. It may be thirty years, but it seems like yesterday.”
The Jeep was now entering the pasture south of the highway, where the grass was so short it looked if it were hugging the topsoil, like a driver training ground. Yang drove off the dirt path and headed toward Black Rock Mountain.
The reedy grove in the foothills was long gone, leaving behind dry, yellowing land of short, sparse grass through which the Jeep traveled up the gentle slope.
Yang asked, “Do you think you can find Little Wolf’s den?”
“How could a student forget the location of his teacher’s house?” Chen said forcefully. “I’ll stop at the foothills nearest to the old den, and we can walk the remaining distance. We have to walk.”
As the Jeep neared the birthplace of the cub, Chen felt a sudden anxiety, like an old war criminal asking for forgiveness at a memorial, which, in this case, was the burial ground of the seven Mongolian wolf cubs he’d killed. Five hadn’t opened their eyes or been weaned, and the sixth had just learned to run. He had snipped off the canines of the seventh cub, stripping him of his freedom with a chain during his short life, and in the end crushing his head. Someone who loved freedom and was increasingly respectful of freedom had committed a vicious act of the kind perpetrated only by the most tyrannical, totalitarian people. He had trouble facing the bloody crimes he’d committed in his youth. Sometimes he even loathed the result of his own research, for it was precisely his curiosity and research interests that had taken away the happiness and freedom of seven wolf cubs. The manuscript he’d completed was written with their blood, animals in which the noble blood of the White Wolf King may have flowed. For over two decades, he’d been tormented by this blood debt. But he also understood why grasslanders who killed wolves would willingly give their own bodies to the wolves at the end of their lives. It was not simply so that their souls would rise up to Tengger, or as a consequence of their belief in “returning flesh after eating flesh.” They probably also felt a heavy burden of guilt and wanted to repay a debt to the grassland wolves they revered. There were no more sky-burial grounds on the grassland.
Over the past two decades, the admirable, lovely, and pitiable Little Wolf had often appeared in Chen’s dreams and thoughts, but not once did the cub bite him or seek revenge. Little Wolf always ran to him joyfully, wrapping his legs around Chen’s, rubbing up against his knees, and licking his hands and chin. In his dreams, Chen would wake up on the grassland to see Little Wolf lying by his head, and he would instinctively cover his throat with his hand. But the cub saw him waking up and would simply roll on the grass to expose his belly for him to scratch. In the countless dreams over the past two decades, Little Wolf never showed resentment; instead, he was as affectionate as a loving child. What puzzled Chen was that not only did the cub not hate or snarl at him, but he always displayed the friendship and affection of a wolf. This sort of ancient, bleak, tender, and innocent affection could never be found in the human world.
At the sight of the loose rocks and wild grass on the barren slope, Yang seemed to recall the cruel extermination of nearly thirty years ago; guilt feelings and self-reproach showed in his eyes.
The Jeep stopped, and Chen pointed to a level area and said, "That was the cubs’ temporary hiding place. I was the one who dug them out; I was the culprit. The cave had collapsed when I left the Olonbulag and not a trace of it remains now. Let’s walk from here to the old den.” With Chen leading the way, with a backpack, they meandered their way toward the small hill.
When they reached it, they saw that the dark spot originally hidden by tall brambles and grass stalks had turned into a barren slope. The green tent of reeds the wolves had used as a cover was also gone. Several yards ahead, the hundred-year-old cave came into view. Now completely exposed, it looked bigger than before, almost like an abandoned cave dwelling on a loess hill in northern Shaanxi. Holding his breath, Chen rushed up and, as he got closer, realized that the cave was the same size. It only looked bigger because it no longer had tall grass as a screen. The shape hadn’t changed much, owing to years of drought, but the ground was littered with pebbles and dirt. After walking up to kneel by the cave, Chen took a few seconds to calm himself before looking inside, which was half filled with tumbleweeds and bramble stalks. He took a flashlight from his backpack to shine into the opening and saw that the bend in the tunnel was nearly blocked by rocks, yellow sand, and weeds. Despondent, he sat down on the ground and stared blankly at the ancient cave.