Everyone in the country is shouting slogans like ‘Smash in Liu Shaoqi’s dog head’ and ‘Down with Liu the dog.’
“Why do we hate and curse dogs? Mainly because dogs don’t follow Chinese rules. You know all about our ancient sage Confucius, right? Well, even emperors throughout our dynastic history have bowed down before him. He established a series of rules to live by, and over the centuries we’ve followed those rules. Every literate person had his own ‘quotations,’ like today’s little red book of quotations by Chairman Mao, and anyone who didn’t follow the rules was considered a barbarian; death awaited the worst cases. The biggest problem with dogs is that they don’t follow the Confucian rules of behavior. They bark at strangers, violating our rules of hospitality; they are incestuous; and they eat human feces. But the main reason we hate dogs, why we kill and eat them, is that we’re a farming people, not nomads, and we seek to impose our habits and customs on other people.”
Bilgee and Batu heard Chen out in silence, and did not appear to be offended. “Young man,” Bilgee said after a while, “it would be a good thing if more people, Han and Mongol, were as reasonable about such things as you.”
Gasmai sighed and remarked indignantly, “The worst thing that ever happened to dogs was being introduced into Chinese society. What they do best they can’t do there, and their shortcomings are all you see. If I were a dog, I’d stay as far away from there as possible. I’d much prefer to stay here, even if a wolf got to me.”
“Not until I came here,” Chen said, “did I realize that dogs and humans are so much alike, that dogs are truly man’s best friend. It’s only the impoverished, backward farming peoples who will eat anything, including dogs. One day, maybe, when all Chinese are well off, when there’s enough food for everyone, they’ll make friends with their dogs and stop hating and eating them. I’ve grown to love dogs. A day without dogs is a wasted day for me. If someone were to kill the dogs at our yurt, Yang Ke and I would beat the hell out of him.” Chen’s emotions got the better of him, to his own amazement. Having grown up with the concept that a gentleman argues but does not fight, he now found himself articulating feelings more wolfish than human.
“When you return to Beijing one day,” Gasmai said, “will you raise dogs?”
“I’ll love dogs for the rest of my life,” Chen replied with a smile. “Love them as much as you do. Just so you’ll know, I haven’t eaten all the fine hard candies my family sent me from Beijing. I haven’t even given many to you or Bayar. I’ve saved them for my dogs.”
Batu slapped Chen on the back. “You’re at least half Mongol now.”
More than six months had passed since that conversation about dogs, but Chen would never forget the promises he’d made that day.
Quiet had settled over the site of the hunt. The exhausted and injured dogs were grieving over the loss of their comrades, sniffing their bodies nervously, fearfully, and circling them over and over, a rite of farewell perhaps. A young boy lay prone on the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around the body of his dog. Adults tried to get him to leave, but he wailed mournfully, his tears falling on the lifeless body of his beloved dog. His wails hung in the air for a very long time, and all Chen Zhen could see was a blur.
13
After Bao Shungui and Uljii led a party of pasture officials to view the spoils at the site of the hunt, they rode up to Bilgee. Bao dismounted and said excitedly to the old man, "A marvelous victory! Truly wonderful! And we have you to thank for that. A signal accomplishment, as my report to my superiors will state.”
He reached out to shake hands with Bilgee, who responded by spreading out his bloody fingers. “Too dirty,” he said.
But Bao grabbed the old man’s hands. “Some of your good luck might rub off on me with a little of that wolf blood, and some of your glory.”
The old man’s face darkened. “Please don’t talk about such things as glory. The greater the glory, the deeper my sins. This cannot happen again. If there are any more hunts like this, the wolves will disappear, and the gazelles, the ground squirrels, the rabbits, and the marmots will rise up. That will be the end of the grassland, and will infuriate Tengger. We and our livestock will pay dearly.” He raised his bloody hands to Tengger in fear and trepidation.
With an embarrassed laugh, Bao turned to look at Erlang, covered with blood. “Is that the wild dog I’ve heard about?” he asked emotionally. “He’s so big it’s scary. I watched him fight from up on the slope. A real tiger. He was first to charge the wolf pack. He killed one of its leaders and scared off most of the others. How many wolves did he kill altogether?”
“Four,” Chen replied.
“A hell of a dog!” Bao remarked. “I’d heard you had a big, wild, sheep-killer of a dog. People complained that you were making a mockery of grassland rules and wanted me to have the dog killed. Well, I’m in charge here, and I say keep that dog and make sure it’s well fed and well taken care of. If he kills any more sheep in the future, I’ll spare him. But the skins of sheep he kills will belong to the commune and you’ll have to pay for the meat.”
Chen and Yang happily agreed to the conditions. “We students didn’t kill a single wolf, which means we’re not the equal of dogs, and certainly not this one.” Everyone laughed, even the other students.
“That doesn’t sound like something a Chinese would say,” Uljii said with a laugh.
Bilgee was visibly pleased. “This youngster respects the grassland; he’ll be one of us someday.”
The battlefield was strewn with pale wolf carcasses and stained with their blood. Patches of fur above their paws were all that remained of their coats. Bao had the hunters gather them up and stack them to form the character jing,
, for a well. When they were finished, the three dozen or so dead wolves were stacked nearly head high. Bao brought out his camera and took pictures from four or five angles. Then he had the successful hunters raise their trophies and stand on both sides of the stacked carcasses. More than thirty hunters held their pelts high, tails hanging to the ground, with the badly injured, blood-covered assassin dogs crouching in front of their masters, steam rising from their bodies. Bao asked Chen to take a picture with him in the center, holding up the biggest pelt of all. Bilgee stood there, a pelt draped over his right arm, his head lowered, and a sad smile on his face. Chen snapped two pictures.
Bao stepped forward and turned to the hunters in front of him. “As representative of the Banner Revolutionary Committee,” he said, “and commander of the military district, I thank you all! You are heroes of the wolf hunt, and your pictures will be in the papers in a few days. I want all people to see with their own eyes the wolf scourge of the Olonbulag, to see how many wolves were killed in a single hunt, wolves that came mainly from Outer Mongolia and were the perpetrators of the warhorse massacre. I also want to tell them that the Olonbulag officials, herdsmen, and Chinese students did not bow down before those wolves and that, thanks to steely determination and careful organization, they counterattacked with a vengeance. This extermination campaign has just begun, and we are confident it will continue until every Olonbulag wolf is dead.”
Bao ended his speech by thrusting his hand in the air and proclaiming, “We won’t stop fighting until all the jackals are dead!”
There was no reaction from anyone except for Dorji’s family and a few of the students. Bao disbanded the hunting party. The people sat down to rest and wait for Batu.