“Then you must have learned how to eat sheep from the wolves,” Chen said.
They laughed. “Yes, that’s about it,” they agreed. Chen ate three more lengths of sheep intestine.
Gasmai laughed happily, and Chen recalled her telling him that she preferred guests who wolfed their food down. But knowing just how wolfish he must have seemed embarrassed him, and he dared not eat more. He knew how much Bilgee and his family liked this particular delicacy, and he’d already finished half of it. Gasmai cut off a piece of blood sausage and picked up another length of intestine with the tip of her knife. “I knew you wouldn’t be in a hurry to leave,” she said with a smile, “so I cooked two lengths of intestine. One’s for you, all of it, and I expect you to be like a wolf, no leftovers.” Everyone around the table laughed as Bayar reached up and took the second link from Gasmai. In the two years he’d been there, Chen had still not figured out what sort of relationship he should have with Gasmai. Elder sister-in-law seemed most appropriate, but sometimes he felt she was more like his own big sister, while at other times she was like a kindly old aunt or a perky younger one. Her happy nature was like the grassland itself-bighearted and innocent.
Chen finished off an entire length of intestine, which he washed down with half a bowlful of butter tea. “Bayar isn’t afraid of grabbing a wolf’s tail or crawling into a wolf’s den or riding a wild horse,” he said. “Aren’t you afraid that something will happen to him?”
“That’s how we Mongols are,” Gasmai said with a smile. “When he was young, Batu had more courage than Bayar. There was no adult wolf in the den Bayar crawled into, and since cubs don’t bite, clearing out the den was nothing to brag about. But when Batu crawled into a den, the mother was still inside. And he had the courage to drag her out.”
Amazed by this bit of news, Chen asked Batu, “How come you never told me? I want to hear it now, in detail.”
The laughter during the meal had lightened Batu’s spirits a bit, so he took a big swig of the liquor in his glass and said, “I was thirteen. Papa and some other men had just found a den after a long search. It was so big, so deep, there was no way to dig in far enough, so Papa decided to see if there was a mother wolf inside by smoking her out. But even after all the smoke had cleared, no wolf emerged, and we assumed the den was empty. So I took some matches and a gunnysack and crawled in to get the cubs. I was barely inside when I saw the wolf’s eyes, no more than two feet from me, and I nearly peed my pants. I lit a match and I saw that that scared her, her tail between her legs like a frightened dog. I lay there, not daring to move, but as soon as the match went out, she charged. I didn’t have time to back out, and I figured that was it for me. Imagine my surprise when I realized she wasn’t coming at me, but was going to jump over me to get out of the den. Well, I knew they weren’t expecting that outside, and I didn’t want the wolf to get to Papa, so I found the nerve somehow to straighten up and block her way. My head rammed into her throat, so I pushed up and drove her head against the ceiling. Now she couldn’t get out and she couldn’t get away. She clawed madly, ripping my clothes, but it was me or her, so I sat up straight, pinning her throat and head against the ceiling to keep her from biting, then reached out and managed to grab her front legs. Now she couldn’t get her teeth or her claws in me. But I was stuck too. I couldn’t move, and my strength was running out.”
Batu related his experience dispassionately, as if it had happened to someone else. “Meanwhile, the people outside wondered what was keeping me. Sensing that something was wrong, Papa crawled in and lit a match. There I was, pinning a wolf to the ceiling with my head. He told me to hold on and not move as he wrapped his arms around my waist and began slowly edging toward the opening, with me pushing up with my head and holding on to the wolf’s legs as it moved with us. Papa yelled for the people outside to grab hold of his legs and pull; they had no idea why until his body was halfway out the opening. They stood there with their knives and clubs, and as soon as we got the wolf to the entrance, someone jabbed a knife into her mouth and stuck her to the top, while the others ran up and beat her to death. Once I recovered my strength, I crawled back into the tunnel, which kept getting narrower, until it was barely big enough for a child. But then it opened onto a room where a litter of cubs was curled up on a chewed sheepskin with clumps of fur everywhere, nine altogether, all alive. To protect her litter, the mother had nearly shut the entrance to the room where they slept with dirt and kept guard outside. The smoke hadn’t killed her because she’d made small openings here and there to the outside. All I had to do was move the dirt out of the way, reach in and grab the cubs, throw them into my sack, and back out…”
Chen could hardly breathe as he listened. Apparently, the family hadn’t heard the story in a long time, for they too were tense. Batu’s story was different from others Chen had heard about taking cubs from a den. “People say a wolf will fight to the death to protect her cubs,” he said. “But not this one. Why?”
“Actually,” the old man said, “wolves are afraid of people, since we’re their only predators. This wolf had nearly been smoked out, and when she saw someone holding a lit match as he worked his way into her den, how could she not be afraid? She was a mature wolf, but I could see she was no more than two years old, and that this was her first litter. It was sad. It’s something no one would have brought up if you hadn’t asked.”
There was no smile on Gasmai’s face. Her eyes glistened from a layer of tears.
“Chen Zhen’s going up to the mountains tomorrow to get a cub,” Bayar said, “and I want to go along. He and the others are too big to crawl inside. I’ll stay in their yurt tonight and head out with them first thing in the morning.”
“All right,” Gasmai said, “go ahead. But be careful.”
“No!” Chen said, waving his hands. “Something might happen. He’s your only son.”
“This spring our group raided one den,” Gasmai said, “and we still owe them three. If we don’t deliver at least one more litter, Bao Shungui will punish us.”
“I don’t care,” Chen insisted. “I’d rather not go than take him with me.”
The old man pulled his grandson over. “You stay home, Bayar. I’m going to catch a big wolf or two, and instead of cubs, I’ll give them the pelts to meet our quota.”
9
By half past three in the morning, Chen Zhen and Yang Ke, along with two big dogs, were perched on a hill in the vicinity of Black Rock Mountain. Their horses, cowhide fetters in place, were hidden behind the hill. Erlang and Yellow had strong hunting instincts, and getting up so early could only mean one thing: a hunt. They were sprawled atop the snow, not making a sound and alertly looking all around. Clouds blotted out the moon and the stars, turning the gloomy grassland extraordinarily cold and terrifying. Chen and Yang were the only two people within miles, at a time when the wolf pack was on the prowl, when an attack was most likely. Close up, Black Rock Mountain was like a sculpture of enormous beasts, its sinister presence bearing down on the two men and raising chills on Chen’s back. He was worrying about the horses and beginning to panic over this dangerous exploit.
Suddenly the baying of a wolf off to the northwest tore through the silence and echoed in the valleys around them, the fading strains sounding like a flute or a reed pipe, drawn out and cheerless. The sound died away and was followed by the distant barking of a dog. Neither sound stirred the two dogs beside Chen. They were familiar with hunting protocols: guarding the pens at night required constant barking; hunting in the mountains demanded strict silence. Chen stuck one of his hands down into the fur between Erlang’s front legs to warm it and wrapped his other arm around the dog’s neck. Yang had fed both dogs about half full before setting out; on a hunt a dog must not be too full or overly hungry. Too much food deadens the dog’s fighting spirit; too little saps its strength. The food they’d been given was already doing its job; Chen’s hand warmed up quickly, and he used it in turn to warm the dog’s icy nose. Erlang wagged his tail lightly. Having the dog beside him steadied Chen’s nerves.