The wolf was a handful, but an enjoyable one. Chen imagined a scene from antiquity or from some current distant spot in which a loving wolf mother licked the belly of her “wolf boy” after his feeding, and the cub grabbed his toes and giggled. A wolf pack surrounded the scene peacefully, even bringing meat to feed the little one. Throughout time, how many wolf mothers had raised infant children and how many humans had raised wolf pups? Chen found himself living out some of the marvelous tales of wolves he had heard over the years, and he was able to both sense and actually touch the warm, gentle side of wolf nature. Deeply moved, he wished he could repay the respect the world of humans felt for these wolf boys, be they Hun, Gaoju, Turk, Roman, Indian, or Soviet. He bent down to touch the cub’s wet nose with his own; like a dog, the wolf licked his chin, which pleased and excited him. It was the first time the cub had shown any trust in him. They were growing closer emotionally, and he wanted to savor everything this pure, innocent friendship offered. He fantasized that his own life had begun to stretch back into antiquity, and he felt unimaginably old.
The one thing that nagged at him was that the wolf had not been orphaned or abandoned; raising an animal under those conditions constituted a natural, primitive love. He, on the other hand, had stolen his cub from its den, an entirely selfish act intended to satisfy a desire for novelty and for study. His story was not a patch on the stirring tales of humans and wolves that had been passed down through the ages. The thought that the mother would one day come to seek revenge was never far from his mind. His impulses had not been noble; rather, he had acted in the name of scientific and cultural progress. He hoped Tengger would understand this callousness and new savagery-for what he wanted was to enter the wolf totem realm of the grassland people.
After eating his portion of the food, Erlang walked slowly over to Chen. Every time he saw Chen stroking the wolf cub, he came up to watch inquisitively, and sometimes he licked the cub’s bulging belly. Chen rubbed Erlang’s head; the dog smiled at his master. Ever since Chen had taken in the wolf cub, the distance between him and Erlang had shrunk dramatically. Was there a bit of the wolf in him too, something Erlang had sniffed out? He suddenly saw how intriguing his situation had become-for here were a man with wolfish characteristics, a dog with a wolfish nature, and a genuine wolf all living together on the grassland. His life had suddenly become more exceptional than the stories of wolf boys.
Since becoming bewitched by the grassland wolves, Chen felt that his already listless, weary blood had weakened further and that what seemed to be alien wolf blood had begun to flow in his veins. His view of life had altered-he treasured it even as it became more vigorous and fulfilling. He now understood why Jack London’s story “Love of Life” was tied up with a dying wolf, why when Lenin was critically ill, he had asked his wife to reread it aloud to him. The Russian dictator had died peacefully, listening to the struggle between man and wolf. His soul may well have been taken to see that of Marx by a wolf totem that belonged to a different race. If even the truly great, with their astonishing vitality, come to the grassland-the land of the wild wolf, and its life force-then why not an ordinary man like him?
The cub began to squirm in Chen Zhen’s lap, a sign that he had to relieve himself. He also spotted Erlang and wanted to play with the big dog. So Chen let go, and the wolf bounded up and onto the ground, where it created a puddle of urine, then flew at Erlang, who happily sprawled on the ground to let all the pups climb him like a mountain. The wolf was first onto Erlang’s back, and then proceeded to knock away all the puppies that tried to follow, howling to any that would challenge him as king of the mountain. Two male puppies fought back, biting the wolf cub’s ears and tail, until all three tumbled off their mountain, with the puppies landing on top; they began biting the cub all over. He fought back angrily, legs flailing, sending dust flying. A moment later, Chen heard one of the puppies yelp in pain and saw blood on its paw. Obviously, the wolf was no longer just playing.
Chen picked the cub up by the scruff of his neck and carried him to the puppy, where he held the wolf’s nose up against the injured paw and rubbed it in the blood. It had no effect on the cub, who bared his fangs and showed his claws, sending the puppies scurrying in fright over to Yir, who first licked the bloody paw, then bounded over to the wolf and roared at it, ready to bite. Chen quickly scooped him up in his arms and turned his back to Yir, his heart pounding, dreading the possibility that someday one of the big dogs would kill his wolf cub. Raising a little tyrant like this with no cage or pen worried him. But first he needed to calm Yir down, which he did by rubbing her head. When he set the wolf cub on the ground again, Yir ignored him and led her puppies off to play by themselves. The wolf clambered again onto the back of Erlang, a fierce animal that was both tolerant and fond of the cub.
After he’d fed the animals, Chen cleaned out the wagon to move to the new pastureland. When he looked up, he saw Bilgee coming toward him on a wagon filled with wood. He jumped down, scooped up the wolf cub, and put him back in his burrow, quickly covering it with the wooden plank and setting the rock down on top. His heart was racing.
Yellow and Yir, tails wagging, rushed out with the puppies to greet the old man. Chen followed to unload Bilgee’s cart, take care of the ox, and lift down the old man’s heavy carpenter’s kit. Prior to every move to new grazing land, Bilgee came over to make repairs to the students’ wagon. “Papa,” Chen said nervously, “I can manage; you don’t need to come do that for us.”
“Manage isn’t good enough,” the old man said. “This is going to be a long trip, and there are no roads. It’ll take two or three days to get there. One wagon breaking down along the way will slow the entire brigade.”
“Well, at least you can go inside for some tea while I unload our wagon.”
“Your tea is too black for me.” Then, without warning, he walked over to the burrow. “Let me see your wolf cub,” he said darkly.
Flustered by this unexpected development, Chen tried to stop the old man. “There’s nothing to see,” he said. “Why not have some tea?”
“It’s been almost a month,” Bilgee said, his rheumy eyes glaring, “and still you won’t let me see it!”
“Papa,” Chen said somewhat desperately, “I’m raising it to breed a litter of wolf hounds… ”
The old man’s face showed how angry he was. “Nonsense!” he roared. “This is absolute nonsense. You might be able to get a wolfhound with wolves from somewhere else, but not Mongolian wolves. What makes you think a Mongolian wolf would mate with a dog? He’d just as soon kill and eat her.” As his anger grew, his goatee quivered. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you people lately. I’ve lived on the grassland for over sixty years, and this is the first time I’ve even heard someone suggest what you’re doing. Do you really think you can raise one of these? Alongside a litter of dogs? How can you speak of wolves and dogs in the same breath? Dogs eat people’s shit; wolves eat people. By eating shit, dogs are nothing but slaves to humans. But wolves eat human corpses to send the souls into the bosom of Tengger. Wolves and dogs, as different as heaven and earth, and you plan to raise them together? And if that wasn’t enough, you’re actually hoping to mate this one with dogs! If we Mongols wanted to mate your Dragon King to a sow, what would you Chinese think about that? You’d call it blasphemy! Well, what you’re doing is an affront to our ancestors. And to Tengger! You’ll pay one day, and so will this old man…”