I Grew My Boobs in China (49 page)

I was amazed that he had found his way back after hours of wandering the desert. I tried to imagine how in this world he managed to walk as far as the first ger where no one was home, and then walk to the ger he saw from there to circle around and come up behind us. Since the sun was rapidly setting, we had to focus on packing up and getting back to the young boy’s ger. We left the van there in the desert after loading our gear onto the backs of Chewy and the horse.

“Oh, wait. There’s one more thing.” I let all the Normans go as the spare tire was being fastened onto the horse’s wooden saddle.
As if someone’s going to steal our spare tire out here!

Future and Ammon took the lead with the camel that carried four backpacks tied together and slung between its humps. The boy pushed his bike and kept up with us effortlessly. Bree and I walked side-by-side pulling the horse, and Mom made sure the spare tire didn’t fall off the saddle. I turned back every so often to watch the van get smaller and smaller. The ger was forty-five minutes away, “in that direction,” but we hardly noticed the walk at all. We’d been saved.

A second, “supposed-to-be-white” horse was tied to the fence of a poopy, goatless goat pen next to the two gers. The family consisted of grandparents and their two grandchildren: the boy with the bike and a younger sister. The children’s parents worked in
Ulaanbaatar
to provide for their family and came home only occasionally to visit and bring supplies. The grandparents were both worn and small, their skin leathery and darkened over the years by the sun.

The smaller of the two gers was used for storage, and we found the grandpa busy cleaning it out for our use as we arrived. When Future told us that, my heart swelled in response to them and their unreserved hospitality.

We released Chewy once we’d stored our backpacks in the storage ger, but he didn’t seem to understand that we were freeing him when he was untied.

“Shoo, shoo. Go! Be free!” we shouted at him, but it had no effect. Seemingly indifferent to states of freedom or captivity, he hung around for quite some time before finally wandering off. I did feel a little sad at the time and hoped he would be able to find his friends again.

The rice provided by Future and the unsuspecting, absent neighbours was already cooking, and we were ushered into the family’s ger for salty, milky tea. As desperate as I was for water, I drank the hot, salty liquid and tried not to wince too obviously.
At least we’re safe, but now what? How long are we going to be stuck here?
I thought, staring down into my cup, knowing I would have to finish every last drop before I could have some dinner because the family rarely had this many guests at once and owned only a few dishes.

The sustenance from the black pot was warm, well intended, and very much appreciated, so I choked it down. I didn’t ask for seconds and decided to eat the hard, if slightly more palatable, flour biscuits instead.

After dinner, Future told us his plan. “Ammon, you come. Neighbour has car, we go to him.” Future, Ammon, the boy and his dog left. Absent our trusty leader and translator, I once again felt stranded, this time with elderly folk who looked like they might fall over dead at any given moment.

Ammon and Mom had both warned us not to count on getting back to the capital tomorrow. We gave up waiting for him to return around midnight, and Mom told us, “Well, I guess he’ll be back later. Let’s just leave the candle burning so he can see when he comes in.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I woke the next morning, Ammon was sleeping next to me. His dark brown mop shooting out from the tangled, green sleeping bag reminded me of a hairy caterpillar.

“What time did you get in last night? And tell us what happened,” I said, as I unravelled my feet from a wool blanket.

“Starting from what point?” he asked, crawling out of his cocoon.

“The beginning.” I slithered over to the bowl on the floor and reached for one of the hard biscuits. “From the time you left.” The usual thick, sheep hairs weren’t hard to find, but the biscuits were so stale and dense that the hairs broke off inside and were impossible to avoid.

“Well, we went off trying to find the neighbour up and over some hills in that direction,” he started, waving his hand to show us, “looking for the ger which we eventually spotted in the distance. When we got close to it, the guy’s five dogs came charging out at us, barking like crazy. Future actually swung the kid around to protect him, kind of thing!”

“He used the kid as a shield?!” Bree interrupted.

“No, silly! Behind his back! So the kid wouldn’t get mauled by the dogs. Then some dude came out of the ger and yelled at the dogs. They stopped
right
in front of us, just before we were attacked and made into minced meat. It was kind of scary, actually. They were big dogs!”

“Yah, I know. I’ve seen ’em. Those dogs are insane!” Mom agreed.

“So then he invited us inside.” The household consisted of the man, his wife, and one daughter. Ammon told us the man appeared to be a miserable drunk, but Future informed him of our problem over tea. The ferocious looking dogs were still glaring in at them from the doorway only a few feet away. The man didn’t have a car, but he did have a couple of simple, basic tools. Eventually they agreed on a course of action and headed out to take a look at our vehicle.

“So off we marched, up and over the hills and up and over more hills, and we somehow ended up exactly where the van was. I don’t know
how
that happened! I was totally lost. It all looks the same out there to me!” He was still struggling to comprehend the Mongolians’ amazing navigational skills.

Once back at the van, the men gathered around to inspect the damage before crawling under to see what they could do. Because the protective shield was inconveniently sitting in the trunk, the oil pan had been bashed almost beyond recognition. They started trying to fix it using Future’s cell phone as a light, but decided against it given its limited battery life. Future then promptly sent the boy to collect shrubs and twigs so they could light a little fire next to the neighbour, who was on his back hammering away. At this point in Ammon’s story, I was shaking my head and thinking,
Is it totally crazy that they apparently had a small fire under the car, or is it just me?

Whatever the case, it must have worked, but it was fully dark by the time Future told Ammon, “Okay this is take a while. It not be quick fix. Go back to ger and sleep.” When Ammon asked him how the hell he was supposed to find his way back, he replied, in typical Future fashion, “Yes, following kid. You go. Sleeping.”

“So then the kid, the dog and I walked back in the dark. I had no clue who knew the way, the dog or the kid, but I just picked a star on the horizon and followed it, and after over a half-an-hour I was, like, ‘Okay, are we lost? What the hell?’ but I couldn’t talk to the kid anyway, so I thought, ‘They seem confident enough, so I’ll just go along.’ A bit after that I saw a tiny light in the ger and made it back to you guys.” He ended his tale with a nod and a big bite of his biscuit.

“Wow, you
did
have an adventure.” Mom said.

“It was kind of scary,” he admitted.

“I would’ve died!” I said, but I was amazed by the kind of trust these people shared.

“So what’s the verdict for today, then?” Bree asked.

“Well, last I saw, they were under the van banging away. I really doubt they’ll get it fixed. So the next option is waiting to get a ride. There will be transport at some point. Didn’t Future say the kids’ parents come with supplies? It could be days, weeks, months – who knows?” Ammon waved her concern off and looked like he was prepared to become the little nomadic family’s adopted son.

“But can’t they get word out? They must be in some kind of contact,” Mom said, taking her turn at a hairy biscuit.

“Nope. They just have to wait. I don’t think they have postal service, and what use would a cell phone be way out here without any reception?” he asked. “Future couldn’t use his, except as a flashlight. Nobody has transport, and that scrawny horse isn’t going to get very far. The neighbour didn’t have a car, only some tools. We’re not getting out of here tonight, let’s just say that. Or were you guys thinking of maybe tying all the goats to the front like reindeer and flying to
U.B.
?” he added when he noticed our dirty, disappointed faces.

“I’ll just die if I have to eat another bowl of that disgusting, nasty---”

“Don’t even go there, Savannah,” Ammon warned without looking at me.

“Horrendous,” I continued in the background, “fat-tailed, lard-butt---”

“Stop it!!” Ammon growled, this time training his cold, blue eyes on me. “We get it, alright?!” I pinched my lips together until he turned away again.

Watching cautiously, as if for a swinging backhand, I finished my sentence quietly with, “dead sheep,” and immediately felt a bit better.

“Well, how long do you think it’ll take?” Mom asked. I couldn’t believe how desperately I wanted to be back in the hostel that had initially made me cringe.
I’m
s
o stupid not to appreciate the luxury of food, a bed, and a shower.
Gosh, it seemed so safe there, with people and vehicles and communication and everything
. Every day, I realized more just how much I’d taken these simple things for granted back home, and even back in
Ulaanbaatar
.
My grateful thoughts were interrupted, though, because just then, the little wooden door to our ger swung open and Bree shouted, “FUTURE!”

“Oh, ho, ho. Good morning!” he chuckled as he burst into the room. “We go! We are go!”

“What do you mean? You found a car?”

“No, my car. Is good! Is fix,” he announced as he stepped aside to let us see it there outside the door. Our eyes adjusted to the sunlight as gradually as our minds adjusted to the miracle of the resurrected car.

“We are go!”

Chapter 42

Last Lap Before a New Start

“Do you want to hear joking?” Future asked, possibly for the hundredth time. “I making funny jokes.”

“Oh no, not again!” we laughed, amazed that he was not yet bored with his homemade jokes.

“Ammon and some friends swimming in the beautiful lake. Suddenly some girls crying from beach, ‘Look, look. Is that crocodile?’ ” Future squirmed, howling again at his favourite part. “ ‘Hurry up guys, they have dangerous crocodile. Let’s come out water.’ Every guys quickly come out from water, but Ammon not. Only crocodile slowly swimming and coming near the beach and stands up, and asking, ‘what’s happened?’ in human language. But everybody knowing the crocodile was not real crocodile – was Ammon!” Future banged his head against the headrest in a fit of laughter. “Oh Ammon, so funny!”

As his laughter began to slowly die off, the car began complaining far louder than the usual clunking and banging noises it had a habit of making. The shock absorber had come off, and our ride was even bumpier and slower from then on, something I could hardly believe was possible.

“Jesus, I sorry! I think Jesus not like that I joking. Forget last night’s joke. Just forget,” he begged.
But how could we forget that one?
He’d told it at least half a dozen times. Despite the newest dilemma, I smiled as I remembered it. “ ‘
What is that big white thing in the sky,’ they asking Ammon. He saying, ‘I don’t know, I not from here.’ But everybody knowing it is the moon.”

On our way to the capital, we needed diesel urgently and finally drove past a very small town. Our relief turned into consternation when we found that the whole town was deserted, including the gas station where we’d hoped to fuel up.

“I’m so hungry! Are we ever going to stop for food?” I asked as we approached.

“Not if you want to make it to
Ulaanbaatar
tonight. It’s still 360km (224mi) away! That’s pushing it as it is. Here’s another biscuit. Eat that,” Ammon replied as he threw one back at me. Bree and I instinctively parted like the Red Sea to dodge the edible bullet. As a final farewell, the granny where we’d stayed while the car was being fixed had given us a woollen bag full of flour biscuits for our journey. We were extremely moved by her generous offer, a feeling we’d experienced often over the past few weeks, but despite our gratitude, they were still the same hard, tasteless biscuits that Bree and I, in particular, had a hard time choking down.

“We’ve been chewing on those all day,” she muttered.

“But after a while you kind of get used to them. They’re just like water. They don’t taste like anything. You just eat them because you know you need to,” Mom said.

“You should be happy you’re not eating mutton,” Ammon reminded us.

“I am glad, but either way, I’m still eating wool,” I complained as I pulled another long, dark hair from the cracks.

Under protest, we both managed to choke down a biscuit before we finally found a rare passer-by who we could stop to ask where everybody was. Apparently, the entire population had gathered on the outskirts of town for their own local Nadaam Festival celebrations. He waved for us to follow him; he was headed to the same place.

“Crap! Now we really won’t have time to stop and eat if we’ve got to go find this guy.” My complaint was completely ignored in light of our obviously more pressing need for fuel, but I didn’t push it. I was learning, even if I couldn’t always keep quiet about it.

It took a while to find the owner. We received various answers when we asked the spectators in the crowd if they knew who and where he was.

“Yah, my neighbour has a car. He will know!” one had told Future, sounding proud of his neighbour’s success and pointing across the large sea of heads. “He’s over there.” We chased down a number of such vague leads but eventually, by following a series of pointing hands and pushing through the throng of onlookers, we “found Waldo” and took him back with us to get refuelled. Unfortunately, we also noticed that the new patch job had been leaking oil. Judging by the visible puddle forming underneath the van, it had been dripping for quite a while. After purchasing what we hoped would be enough oil and diesel to make it back to
Ulaanbaatar
, Future leapt back into the driver’s seat and exclaimed,“Okay, we are go!”