Wolf Totem: A Novel (42 page)

Chen nodded. “I thought about it, but Papa says it can’t be done.”

Bao turned to Uljii. “Has anyone on the grassland ever tried it?”

“The herdsmen venerate wolves,” he replied. “They don’t use them to breed hybrids.”

“It’s worth a try,” Bao said. “That would be a true scientific experiment. If you can come up with a breed of Mongolian wolfhounds, you’d have something that would make Siberian wolfhounds puny by comparison. Mongolian wolves are the world’s biggest and fiercest, so any mixed animals they sire will be the best. The army would be interested in something like that. If this works, we won’t have to go abroad to buy dogs for them. And if the herdsmen had Mongolian wolfhounds to watch over the sheep, wolves would probably stay away. So if any of the herdsmen complain, just tell them it’s a scientific experiment. But don’t forget, safety first.”

“If Bao says you can raise the cub, then go ahead,” Uljii said. “But I’m warning you, if something goes wrong, it’s on your head. Don’t make things hard on Bao. I think this is risky, and you’re going to have to keep it on a chain for the safety of people and sheep.”

“That’s right,” Bao said. “Don’t let it harm anyone. If he does, I’ll kill him on the spot.”

Chen was so nervous his heart nearly leaped out of his chest. “Absolutely! ” he said. “But I have one request. I know the herdsmen won’t approve, so please help me out with them.”

“They’ll listen to Bilgee more than they will to me,” Uljii said.

“Ah,” the old man sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve led this youngster astray. I’ll have to do something, since it’s my fault.”

The old man left his carpenter tools with Chen Zhen, harnessed the ox to his wagon, and headed home, followed on horseback by Bao Shungui and Uljii.

Like someone who has just won a reprieve, Chen was excited and exhausted. He sat down weakly beside the wolf pen and held the cub in his arms, squeezing him so hard he wrinkled his nose and bared his fangs. Chen quickly rubbed him behind the ears to relax him. Shutting one eye, the cub closed his mouth halfway, his tongue lolling from the side, and pushed up against Chen’s hand. Then he lay out straight and moaned contentedly.

19

Bao Shungui led Batu, Laasurung, and three other hunters, along with Yang Ke and seven or eight big dogs, to the new grazing land. A pair of horse-pulled carts piled high with tents, ammunition, and kitchen items followed.

When they reached a mountain peak west of the new land, Bao and the hunters surveyed the basin and the surrounding ravines, the river’s bends and branches, and the grassland through binoculars; there were no wolves and no gazelles. Nothing but ducks, wild geese, and a dozen or so swans on the lake.

Most of the hunters had little interest in hunting wolves on that early summer day; they were mesmerized by the vast emerald grassland arrayed before them. Yang Ke felt as if the sight had turned his eyes green, and when he looked at the others, he saw the same color in theirs, like the beautiful yet terrifying eyes of a wolf on a winter night. As they made their way down the green mountain slope, their nostrils were filled with the scent of new grass carried on the clean, fresh air. The horses’ hooves and the carts’ wheels were stained green, as were the ends of the lasso poles that scraped along the ground. The horses strained at the bit to start grazing. The one thing Yang Ke would have liked to see was the blanket of flowers Chen Zhen had described for him. It had withered and fallen, leaving a monochromatic green panorama.

Bao Shungui looked like a man who had found a gold mine. “This is a perfect site!” he shouted. “A jade cornucopia. We should have let the military brass drive over here for a few days’ vacation, hunt some swans and ducks, and have a barbecue.”

Yang Ke didn’t like the sound of that, as the image of the “Blackwinged Demon” in the ballet
Swan Lake
flashed before his eyes.

The horses ran down the mountainside and crossed a gentle slope. “Look to your left,” Bao Shungui said, keeping his voice low. “There’s a flock of swans over there. They’re busy eating. Let’s go get one.” He signaled a couple of hunters to follow him before Yang Ke could stop them. So he fell in behind them, rubbing his eyes as he ran. Suddenly the hunters reined in their horses and lowered their rifles. They shouted something. Bao Shungui also brought his horse to a stop and took out his binoculars. Yang Ke quickly did the same. He could hardly believe his eyes. The expanse of white that filled his eyes turned out to be a vast array of white herbaceous peonies. The previous summer he’d seen peonies on the old grazing land, in patches here and there, but never in such tight profusion. He fantasized that he was looking at a field of transformed swans.

Bao Shungui was not upset by what he saw; rather, he was happy. “My god!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such gorgeous peonies. They’re so much nicer than the ones in Beijing parks. Come over here and look at them!” Several horse riders rode up.

When he reached the flowers, Yang Ke nearly fainted. Thirty or forty patches of flowers were blooming in wild profusion in the rich soil. The bushes stood three feet tall. He went up for a closer look. The pistils were in clusters, the petals sprinkled with water, delicate and more handsome than ordinary peonies, more sumptuous and graceful than Chinese roses. Never before had the natural world presented him with such unspoiled beauty.

Bao Shungui was also spellbound. “This is a true rarity!” he exclaimed. “How much do you think these would sell for in town? I’m going to send some of these bushes to the military brass, let them share in this wonder. The older officials have no interest in money, but they love celebrated flowers. They’ll take these to their heart. Yang Ke, I’ll bet you don’t have peonies like this in your Beijing guesthouses.”

“Guesthouses? You won’t find flowers like these in royal gardens.” Bao turned happily to the hunters. “Did you hear that? These flowers are a real treasure. Make sure you take special care of them. When we get back, cut down some apricot branches to make a fence.”

“What happens if we move away? Someone else will come out and dig them up.”

Bao Shungui thought a moment. “I’ve got a plan, don’t worry.”

Yang looked troubled. “Don’t try to transplant them; you’ll only kill them.”

The horses and wagons arrived at a bend in the river, where the hunters quickly spotted places where wolves had surrounded groups of gazelles. Only skeletons, horns, hooves, and patches of hide remained; even the skulls had been picked clean. “There’s been more than one attack here,” Batu announced. “And plenty of wolves. By the amount of droppings, I’d say that even old and lame wolves participated in these hunts.”

“Where do you think they are now?” Bao asked.

“My guess is they followed the gazelles into the mountains, or maybe they’re off hunting marmots. Or they could have followed gazelles up to the border. At this time of year, the young gazelles run as fast as the adults, which means the wolves have trouble catching them. That’s why they picked the bones clean.”

“Now you see the positive side of wolves,” Batu said to Bao. “If not for them, this virgin land would have been destroyed by gazelles, not just by grazing, but by what they left behind. When our sheep come out here, if they smell gazelle urine, they won’t eat the grass, not a bite. This is a perfect spot. Even the horses want to stay. Let’s find a spot to pitch our tents so the horses and dogs can rest. We’ll go into the mountains tomorrow.”

Bao gave the order to cross the river, so Batu chose a spot where the water was shallow and the riverbed sandy. Then, after he and some of the hunters had fashioned ramps on both banks with their hoes, he led one of the wagons across the river. Meanwhile, the other hunters set up a tent on the eastern slope. Batu told them to erect a stove and make some tea, then said to Bao, “I’ll go check out the ravine to the south. I might find an injured gazelle. People haven’t come all the way out here just to eat the dried meat we brought along.”

Bao agreed enthusiastically. So Batu and a couple of hunters rode off to the mountain, taking the big dogs with them. Bar and Erlang, who had hunted gazelles in that area, raced ahead, driven by their hunting instincts.

Yang Ke was so fascinated by the swans out on the lake that he reluctantly, even painfully, passed up the chance to go hunting with Batu so that he could sit on a slope and gaze down at his swan lake. In order to keep watching the swans, he’d pestered Bao Shungui and Bilgee for two days to let him come ahead of the brigade—all the people, the horses, and the livestock. He wanted to take full advantage of the opportunity to drink in the beauty of the swan lake scenery, which easily eclipsed Chen Zhen’s descriptions. He sat on the ground, took out his telescope, and watched breathlessly. Sitting all alone, he was immersed in tranquil thoughts when he heard a horse ride up behind him.

“Hey!” It was Bao Shungui. “I see you’re studying the swans too. Let’s go, just you and me—we’ll bag one and get something good to eat. The herdsmen won’t eat fowl, not even chicken. I tried to get them to go with me, but they said no. They won’t eat it, but we will.”

Yang turned to see Bao holding up his semiautomatic rifle and nearly wet himself. Waving his arms, he stammered, “Swans . . . precious, rare creatures... can’t kill them! Please, I beg you. I’ve loved
Swan Lake
since I was a kid. During the three difficult years I cut school one day and went hungry so I could stand in line late at night just to buy a ticket to watch a performance by a joint troupe of young Soviet and Chinese dancers. It’s truly beautiful. Educated people and great men everywhere love swans, so how could we come to a true swan lake just to kill and eat them? If you need to kill something, kill me.”

Bao was shocked that anyone could be that ungrateful. He glared at Yang, his enthusiasm dampened. "
Swan Lake
—what the hell is that all about? Capitalist hogwash. You’re a high school graduate, and you think that makes you better than me? We can’t stage
The Red Detachment of Women
till we drive
Swan Lake
off the stage.”

When Laasurung saw Bao heading toward the lake with a rifle, he galloped over to stop him. “Swans are a sacred bird, given to us by Mongol shamans. You can’t shoot them, you can’t. Besides, Chairman Bao, it’s wolves you want to kill, isn’t it? Well, when the wolves up in the mountains hear gunfire, they’ll take off, and we’ll have come for nothing.”

That stopped Bao. He reined his horse in, turned to Laasurung, and said, “It’s a good thing you alerted me to that, or I might have done something stupid.” He handed his rifle to Laasurung, and then turned back to Yang Ke. “Come with me,” he said. “We’ll scout the area around the lake.”

Yang listlessly saddled his horse and followed Bao. As they drew up to the lake, flocks of ducks, wild geese, and a variety of waterbirds soared into the air and dropped water on their heads as they flew over. Bao grabbed the horn of his saddle and stood up in the stirrups to look over the reeds as a pair of swans stretched their wings, thrust out their necks, and skimmed the tops of the reeds, frightening him by passing no more than ten feet above his head. He sat down hard in the saddle, startling his horse, which burst forward and nearly threw its rider. The swans, apparently unafraid of people, soared lazily above the basin, circled the lake, and disappeared behind the reeds.

Bao got his horse back under control and adjusted the saddle. He laughed. “This must be the easiest place anywhere to hunt swans. All you need is a slingshot. They’re the emperors of birds. One bite of their flesh makes life worth living. But we’ll wait till we’ve finished off the wolves; then we’ll come back for these.”

Yang Ke said tentatively, “When you saw those peonies a while ago, you said they were a treasure and needed to be protected at all costs. Those swans are national treasures, international treasures, so why won’t you protect them?”

“I’m a farmer,” Bao replied, “and I look at the practical side of things. Treasures are things people can get their hands on. If you can’t, they’re not. Peonies have no legs, so they’re not going anywhere. But swans have wings, and when the people and the livestock arrive, they’ll fly north and wind up as pan-fried treasures for the Soviet or Mongolian revisionists.”

“The Soviets will treat them as treasures; they won’t kill and eat them.”

“If I’d known how unenlightened you are,” Bao said testily, “I wouldn’t have brought you along. You wait and see. I’m going to turn your swan lake into a watering hole for horses and cows.”

Yang swallowed his response. He’d have loved to pick up a rifle, fire into the air, and send the startled swans flying out of the grassland, out of the country, and all the way to the nation that produced the ballet
Swan Lake
. That’s where you find people who love swans, he thought. How could this nation, where even sparrows have been eaten nearly to extinction, where the only things left are toads, be a place for swans?

Laasurung signaled for the two of them to return, so they rushed back to camp, where Sanjai, who had come from the southeastern mountains, was harnessing up his wagon. Batu and his party had shot wild boars up in the mountains and sent him for a cart to haul the carcasses to camp. They told him to bring Chairman Bao back with the cart. Bao could barely contain his delight. He slapped himself on the leg. “Are you telling me there are edible wild boars here on the grassland? That’s a surprise. They’re better eating than domestic pigs. Let’s go.” Yang had heard of hunters bagging wild boars, but he hadn’t seen one since coming to the grassland. So he and Bao rode off in the direction Sanjai pointed out for them.

They saw where the wild boars had rooted the ground even before they reached Batu. Acres of rich soil by a stream, at the foot of the mountain, and in the ravine, looked as if they’d been plowed by an out-of-control ox. The fat, big-leafed stalks of tall grass had been eaten, leaving the area around them strewn with dry leaves and stalks; much of the foliage was buried in the rich soil. Fine grazing land now looked like a potato patch in which pigs had been let loose. The sight infuriated Bao Shungui. “Those damned boars are a menace! If we plant crops here one day, they could be very destructive.”