Wolf Totem: A Novel (55 page)

Standing on either side of the horse, they picked up the foal and gently laid it on the ground. The big horse turned and sadly looked down at the foal. No longer able to raise its head, the foal could only look at them with its lovely big eyes. Crying out in pain, it pushed against the ground with its front hooves, but it was no use.

“Can we save it?” Chen asked.

Zhang said, “Batu checked the wound and said it was beyond help. We haven’t had meat in a long time. Let’s kill it. Laasurung sent another injured foal over to Bilgee.”

Chen’s heart skipped a beat. He got a basin of water so that Zhang could wash up. “Has there been another attack on the herd? How bad was it?”

Zhang replied glumly, “Don’t ask. Wolves killed and ate two horses last night and injured another. Laasurung fared even worse; the wolves got five or six of his. I don’t know about the other herds, but I’m sure they didn’t do well either. The brigade leaders all went down to check on them.”

Chen said, “I know the wolf pack surrounded the camp and howled all night long. But if they were here, how did they end up attacking the horses?”

“That was their plan: an all-out attack from four sides, hitting the east to divert attention from the west, covering for each other, feigning an attack on one side while mounting a major assault on the other; they advanced when they could, and when they couldn’t, they tied us up so that we couldn’t cover both the head and the tail, or both east and west. Their strategy was more lethal than combining forces to launch assault waves.” He finished washing his hands and added, “Let’s kill the foal quickly. We won’t be able to let out any blood once it dies, and blood-clogged meat doesn’t taste good.”

“They’re right when they say that horse herders are more like wolves than anyone. You look like a real herder now, and you sound like one, with some of the cruel savagery of an ancient grassland warrior.” Handing his brass-handled Mongolian knife to Zhang, he said, “You do it. I can’t bring myself to kill such a beautiful foal.”

“Wolves killed this foal,” Zhang said, “not humans. This has nothing to do with human nature. I’ll do it. But that’s all I’ll do. You have to do the rest—skin it, gut it, and cut up the meat. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Taking the knife, Zhang put his feet on one side of the foal’s chest while holding down its head. Following grassland tradition, he let the foal’s eyes face Tengger as he plunged the knife into its neck and severed an artery. There wasn’t enough blood to spew, barely enough to drip slowly. As if looking at a butchered sheep, Zhang watched the foal struggle and finally die.

“I killed one the other day,” Zhang said, “but it wasn’t as big and meaty as this one. We horse herders had two meals of horsemeat buns. Foal meat is tender and fragrant, but the herders eat it in the summer only when that’s all there is. After thousands of years, foal has become a grassland delicacy.” After washing his hands again, Zhang sat down on the shaft of a water wagon to watch Chen skin the horse.

Chen was happy to see all the tender meat under the foal’s skin. It was a good-sized animal, nearly as big as an adult sheep. “After a month, I’ve almost forgotten what meat tastes like,” he said. “Actually, I’m doing fine without it. It’s the cub that concerns me. Without meat, it’s more like a sheep, and I’m afraid one day he’ll bleat like a lamb.”

“This was the first foal born this year, and both its parents are big. If you like the meat, I’ll bring you another one in a few days. Summer is the season of death for horses. The mares are foaling, and the wolves love to go after the babies. Every few days, a herd will lose one or two foals to the wolves, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them. Mares add a hundred and fifty foals to each herd. The grass is good and the mares have plenty of milk, so the foals grow fast. They run around a lot, so the stud horses and mares can’t look after them all the time.”

Using an axe, Chen removed the wolf-bitten areas on the foal’s head, chest, and neck, and chopped them into small pieces. The six dogs had surrounded Chen and the foal, five tails wagging like reeds in an autumn wind. Erlang was the only exception—his tail stood out straight as a bayonet as he watched Chen, waiting to see how he’d divide up the meat. The cub, which hadn’t tasted fresh meat in many days, was running around anxiously, making doglike noises.

The meat and bones were divided into the usual three big portions and three little ones. Chen gave half of the head and half of the neck to Erlang, who wagged his tail and took his share over to enjoy in the shade under an oxcart. Yellow, Yir, and the three puppies all got their portions and ran into shady areas or over next to the yurt. Chen waited for the dogs to leave before cutting the select chest meat and bones into small pieces and filling the cub’s bowl half full. Then he poured the remaining blood from the foal’s chest over the bones, before walking up to the cub and shouting, “Little Wolf, Little Wolf, time to eat.”

The skin on the cub’s neck had grown thick and tough. When he saw the fresh bloody meat, he strained so much against the chain he looked like an ox pulling a wagon up a hill; he was drooling. Chen rushed the bowl over and placed it in front of the cub, who pounced on the meat as if tearing the flesh of a live horse; he snarled at Chen to chase him away. Chen went back to work on the foal’s hide, continuing to scrape the bones and slice up the flesh meat as he watched the cub out of the corner of his eye. The young wolf was gobbling up the meat frantically, but he kept a wary eye on the humans and the dogs. His body bent like a bow, he was prepared to drag the fresh meat over to his dugout if necessary.

“Can’t you horse herders do anything about the wolves?”

“I’ve been a herdsman for nearly two years, and I think the weakest link in herding on the grassland is the horses. Each herd has four or five hundred horses, but only two herders. That’s just not enough, even with the addition of a student for each herd. Two or three people take turns and work in shifts, meaning there’s only one watching the herd at any given time. It’s an impossible situation.”

“Why don’t they assign more to each herd?”

“Horse herders are the aviators of the grassland. It takes a long time to train one. No one would let an unqualified herder out there with the horses; a guy could lose half his herd in a year. It’s a tough, exhausting, high-risk job. When a white-hair blizzard strikes, the temperature can be thirty or forty degrees below zero and it can take all night to round up the horses. You can lose your toes to frostbite if you’re not careful. In the summer, the mosquitoes can suck your and your horses’ blood dry. Lots of horse herders quit after eight or ten years; they either do some other kind of work or stop working altogether because of injury. Of the four student herders who started out two years ago, I’m the only one still at it. There just aren’t enough to go around.”

“Why would a herd of horses run off, as if asking to be killed?”

“Many reasons. First of all, it’s so cold in the winter that they run to keep warm. Then in the spring, they need to sweat in order to molt, so they run. They run against the wind in the summer to escape the mosquitoes, then they fight the cows and sheep over good grazing land in the autumn, so they need to sneak away. But mainly they run to get away from wolves. All year round they’re running for their lives. Dogs won’t stay with a horse herd because it moves too much and too often. So a herder has to watch over a bunch of cowardly horses without the help of dogs. How’s he supposed to do that? On moonless nights, wolves often come out to prey on horses. If there aren’t too many of them, the herder and his stud horses can keep them at bay. But if it’s a big pack, the herd is startled into flight, like a defeated army on the run. At times like that there’s nothing the herder or stud horses can do.

“Now I know why Genghis Khan’s cavalry could travel so fast,” he continued. “His horses were forced by wolves to run night after night, building up speed and stamina for long distances. I often witness the relentless, tragic struggle for survival between horses and wolves. The wolves attack at night, ruthlessly, and they never let up, not giving the horses a chance to rest. Once they lag behind, the old, sick, slow, and small horses, as well as the foals and the pregnant mares are surrounded and eaten alive. You’ve never seen the sad sight of horses running for their lives. They run and run, foaming at the mouth, drenched in sweat. Some use up all their strength to escape; they die as soon as they stop and lie down. They’re literally run to death. The fastest ones can take a break and gobble up some grass when they get a chance. They’re so hungry they’d eat anything, even dry reeds, and so thirsty they’d drink anything, whether it’s foul water or water mixed with cow or sheep urine. The Mongol horses rank number one in strength, stamina, digestion, immune system, and the ability to withstand cold and heat. But only the horse herders know that all these qualities were forcefully developed by the wolves’ speed and fangs.”

Captivated by Zhang’s description, Chen took the foal meat and the bones inside and then came back out and spread the skin over the top of the yurt. “After more than a year as a horse herder,” he said, “you’re an expert. I want to hear more. It’s hot out here. Let’s go inside. You talk while I make the fillings and wrappings.”

Back inside the yurt, Chen chopped green onions, made the dough, minced the meat, and heated pepper oil for the meaty buns that were so popular among the herders.

Zhang drank some cool tea and continued: “I think about horses all the time. In my view, it was wolves that nurtured the endurance and toughness of Mongol horses, which in turn created a cavalry for the Huns, Turks, and Mongols.”

“According to history books,” Chen said, “there were more horses than people on the ancient Mongolian grassland. When the Mongols went to war, riders would take five or six horses to ride in turns, which was how they could travel a thousand
li
a day. They were a primitive motorized army, specializing in blitzkriegs. They had so many horses that they could turn injured ones into food for the soldiers. They ate horsemeat and drank horse blood, saving the trouble of having to supply troops.”

Zhang laughed. “That’s right. I remember you said that all the grassland tribes that waged war here, from the Quanrong, the Huns, the Tungus, and the Turks, down to the present-day Mongols, understood the secrets and value of wolves. That’s making more and more sense to me. The wolves have given the Mongols their ferocious combat nature, the wisdom of sophisticated warfare, and the best warhorses. These three military advantages led to their stunning conquests.”

As he kneaded the dough, Chen continued, “You’ve made an important discovery, figuring out how wolves have trained the battle-savvy Mongol horses. I used to think that the wolf totem was the sole reason why the Mongols were so brave and fierce, as well as wise in military strategy. I didn’t realize that wolves were their unwitting trainers, drilling world-class army horses for the Mongol hordes. Such formidable horses were like wings for people who already possessed exceptional character and wisdom. I’m impressed! You haven’t wasted your time out there.”

Zhang smiled. “I owe it all to the influence of a true wolf fan. Over the past couple of years, you’ve shared what you learned from history books, so I’m obligated to repay you with some living knowledge.”

Chen laughed. “That’s a fair trade. But one thing I’m still not clear on. Exactly how do the wolves kill the foals?”

“They have many ways. I’m always on edge when we take the horses to a spot where the grass is high or the layout of the land is complex. Wolves can crawl like lizards. Without looking up, they can locate their prey by smell and sound. The mares often call out to their foals, softly, which helps a wolf determine the location of the foals as they inch closer. If a stud horse isn’t around, the wolf will pounce on a foal and bite through its neck before dragging it away to finish it off in a secluded spot. But it will quickly run away if discovered by the mare or the stud horse, then come back to finish the foal off after the herd leaves, since the herd cannot take the dead foal with it.

“The most cunning wolves are especially good at tricking the foals. When a wolf finds a mare by a foal’s side, it’ll crawl over to where the grass is tall and lie on its back, hiding in the grass and sticking out its paws, waving them back and forth. From a distance, they look like the ears of a wild rabbit or some other animal looking around, but nothing like a dog or a wolf. The newborn foals are naturally curious, and they’ll run over to check out anything smaller than they are. The wolf will snap the foal’s neck before the mare can stop it from leaving her side.”

“Sometimes I feel that wolves are demons, not animals,” Chen said.

Zhang agreed. “You’re right, they are. Just think, the horses are spread out during the day, making it hard for us to be sure that everything is okay, even though we stay with the horses. Come nighttime, the wolves run wild; they steal and snatch at will. If they can’t do either, then they attack as a pack. The stud horses will keep the mares and foals safe inside the herd while fending off the wolves with their hooves and teeth. It’s hard for an average-sized pack of wolves to break through the united line of defense of a dozen big stud horses. But when the weather is bad and the wolves are driven by hunger, the stud horses are powerless. That’s when we’re expected to protect the herd with lights and rifles. If we fail, the wolves will get into the herd and kill the foals. By this time the wolf cubs are grown and the demand for food increases dramatically. If they can’t catch gazelles or marmots, they turn their attention to the foals.”

“How many are lost each year?”

Zhang paused for a thoughtful moment. “Last year the herd Batu and I watch had over a hundred and ten foals, but we only have about forty left this summer. Seventy were killed or eaten by wolves. That’s a sixty percent loss, but it was actually the best record in the brigade. Section Four only has about a dozen left from last year, an eighty percent loss. I asked Uljii once about the average loss in the whole pasture each year, and he said it’s usually about seventy percent.”