Wolf Totem

12

The men and horses of the production brigade, along with a pack of hunting dogs, raced through the inky blackness behind Bilgee, heading northwest on the open grassland. Every man had at least one dog; some had two. Winds from the northwest hit them full in the face, neither softly nor with excessive force. A dense cloud cover pressed down on the land, blotting out all light from the moon and stars. Unrelieved darkness surrounded them; even the snow on the ground was invisible. Chen Zhen was tempted to strike a match to see if his eyes were still functioning.

Using sound alone, he moved closer to Bilgee. “Papa,” he said softly, “can I turn my flashlight on inside my sleeve? I’m not sure I still have eyes.”

“Don’t even think that!” The old man chastened him in a low voice that betrayed a prebattle case of nerves and a measure of concern.

Chen didn’t reply but continued on blindly, accompanied by the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves.

The hunting party moved quietly through the night. Wolves are superb night fighters, but grasslanders are also adept at surprise night attacks. Chen sensed that they were up against an uncommon pack of wolves; even with hunger gnawing at them, they had waited for a pitch-black night to emerge in full force. The looming battle was unfolding in accordance with Bilgee’s unusual prediction and in ways for which the old man had planned. Knowing he was about to participate in a contest acted out on the primitive grassland between a pair of wolf kings, Chen was exhilarated.

After negotiating a gentle downslope, the hunting party began riding up a much steeper one. Bilgee rode up next to Chen Zhen, covered his mouth with his sleeve, and said in a more relaxed voice, “You need to train your ears if you want to become a decent hunter. Wolves’ hearing is even keener than their vision.”

Chen also covered his mouth with his sleeve and asked, “Aren’t you afraid the wolves will hear us now?”

The old man whispered, “We’re on a mountain slope, and the sound can’t travel to the other side. There’s also a headwind, so we’re safe if we keep our voices down.”

“Papa,” Chen asked, “can you really lead us to the appointed spot by hearing alone?”

“No,” the old man replied. “Memory is the other factor. I listen to my horses’ hooves to see what kind of ground we’re on, if it’s sandy or rocky under the snow, and I can tell where we are. And to keep from losing my way, I feel how the wind is hitting my face. I also smell things. In other words, I travel with the wind and the smells. The wind carries smells of snow, grass, sand, saltpeter, alkali, wolves, foxes, horse dung, and the camp. Sometimes there are no odors at all, and then I have to rely on my ears and my memory. Your Papa could find the way if the night turned even darker.”

Chen sighed. “How long will it take me to learn how to do all that, Papa?” he asked.

They crossed the peak and moved down onto a flat, vast grazing area, where Bilgee picked up the pace; the others followed, quickly and quietly. The riders felt like a well-trained cavalry unit on a mission, while in fact they were a ragtag group brought together at a moment’s notice, one that included some of the old, the weak, women, and children.

The tension increased as they neared their appointed spot. It had not been long since the wolf pack had taken the first round with its stunning annihilation of the herd of warhorses; now, as the Olonbulag grasslanders were about to throw everything they had against the enemy, whether or not they would even the score was still in doubt. Chen began to worry that launching a surprise attack and an encirclement array against the wolves, with their superior sense of smell, and at night-their favorite time to fight-was like an apprentice showing off before his master. In the past, large-scale hunts had been organized yearly, and had always ended with no more than partial success, half the encirclements coming up empty. The head of the transport section had said sarcastically, “Encirclement hunt, encirclement hunt, a donkey with one ball, always wide of the mark.”

Given the disastrous slaughter of the warhorses, if the hunt fell short this time, the pasture leadership would likely be replaced. Headquarters personnel had said that their superiors were preparing to transfer officials from communes that had enjoyed success in killing off wolves to reinforce the Olonbulag leadership. That was why Uljii, Bilgee, and the horse herders were determined to crush the arrogance of the Olonbulag wolf pack. At the mobilization meeting, Bilgee had said, “This time we’d better be prepared to deliver at least a dozen pelts of big wolves. If we don’t, we might as well bring in hunters from other communes to run things here.”

The night was getting darker, and colder. The oppressive frigid air and encompassing darkness nearly took their breath away. Yang Ke rode up to Chen Zhen and whispered in his ear, “When we spread out, the gaps between us will be so big that we won’t be able to see the wolves when they slip past our horses’ hooves. I wonder what Bilgee has up his sleeve.” Yang stuck his head up his wide sleeve to check the time on his luminescent wristwatch. “We’ve been on the road for more than two hours,” he said. “About time to split up, don’t you think?”

Chen leaned over and stuck his face up Yang’s sleeve until he could read the dial on the old Swiss watch. He rubbed his eyes as his fears grew.

Suddenly, a chilled fragrance wafted over on the wind. It was the sweet medicinal smell of artemisia, a strong, cold, refreshing smell. As soon as the horses stepped on the thick artemisia, Bilgee reined in his horse. So did the others. The old man and the heads of the production teams behind him, as well as the hunters in the party, exchanged whispered comments, and the line began to spread out in both directions. A column of more than a hundred riders was quickly transformed into a straight rank of evenly spaced fighters. The sound of horse hooves stretched far and eventually died out. Chen Zhen stayed close to the old man.

All of a sudden, Chen was blinded by a light. A beam from Bilgee’s flashlight tore through the darkness and was answered by lights from both directions. The old man swung his light three times, and the distant lights forwarded the signal up and down the line.

Then the old man’s dry, shrill voice broke the silence: “Wu-hu-”

The sound echoed and splintered, and within seconds was answered: “Wu-hu-” “Yi-hu-” “Ah-hu-”

Male voices, female voices, old voices, youthful voices, all merging together. The calls from the nearest group, Gasmai’s Mongolian women’s unit, were loud and crisp, ranged from high to low, and hung in the air a long time. Her calls were especially resonant as all the women and all the men in the brigade shouted as if they were on night watch in order to frighten and trick the wolves; the sound rumbled through the night, wave after wave pressing toward the northwest.

At the same time, more than a hundred dogs strained at their leashes and filled the air with frenzied barking, thundering through the sky.

In the wake of the sound war, the opening salvos of a light war commenced, with beams from all sorts of flashlights sweeping the northwestern darkness. The inky-black, snow-covered ground suddenly reflected countless beams of cold light, creating a scene more awesome and more fearsome than a flash of swords slicing through the frigid air.

Waves of sound and beams of light filled the gaps between the people and the dogs. The humans, the horses, the dogs, the sounds, and the lights formed a loose but effective, powerful, and dynamic net spreading over the wolf pack.

Chen Zhen, Yang Ke, and all the other Beijing students were so excited by the extraordinary scene that they whooped and hollered and gestured wildly. The people’s morale soared, their voices rocked the heavens. Chen was now able to see where he was. It was a spot just south of the site of the horse massacre. Bilgee had unerringly led the party to the northeastern edge of the great lake, where they had then fanned out to form a net. Before he knew it, men, horses, and dogs had all skirted the lake and, with amazing speed, set up an encirclement on its northern edge.

Bilgee whipped his horse as he galloped down the line of hunters, anxiously searching the ground with his light for tracks in the snow as he inspected the formation, moving people when necessary. Chen followed close behind him. The old man reined in his horse. “The pack passed by here not long ago. A lot of them. See those tracks? They’re fresh. It looks like we’ll get them this time, and all these people won’t have frozen out here for nothing.”

“Why not just encircle the wolves here at the lake?” Chen asked.

“That wouldn’t work,” the old man replied. “The pack feeds on frozen horsemeat in the early-morning hours and slips away before the sun is up. If we surrounded them while it was still dark, how would we be able to trap them? The dogs couldn’t see them, and the wolves could run in all directions. We’d come up empty. The party had to set out after midnight and have the encirclement in place before daybreak.”

Flashlight signals continued from left and right. Bilgee stood up in his stirrups, holding on to the horn, and sent a stream of light commands in both directions, some long, others quite short, with crosses and circles, all part of a complicated set of signals. The semicircle of hunters moved ahead nervously but in orderly fashion, with human shouts, horse whinnies, and dog barks advancing in waves. Beams crisscrossed on the snowy ground and in the air, creating fans of light. Humans, horses, and dogs shrieked and snorted and yelped when they spotted wolf tracks in the snow, a sure sign of excitement as the battle loomed.

“What are you signaling?” Chen asked.

Without a break in his signals, the old man said, “I’m telling the people to the west to slow down and the ones to the east to hurry a little to link up with the people coming down the mountain. And I need for the people in the middle to hold the line and not get overanxious. Moving too soon is as bad as starting too late.”

Chen looked up into the sky, which no longer resembled a steel curtain; he could make out the shapes of clouds that were drifting to the southeast and a bit of gray on the edges.

The big dogs had already picked up the scent of wolves, and their barks took on greater ferocity and irritability. Erlang was biting his leash, fighting it, struggling to burst ahead. Holding him back with all his strength, Chen reached out and tapped the dog on the head with his lasso pole to get him to obey.

While most of the wolf tracks pointed northwest, some went in other directions. Bilgee never stopped inspecting the tracks or flashing signals.

“How did people manage before there were flashlights?” Chen asked.

“With torches, wood wrapped with butter-soaked felt. They were as bright as these, and the wolves were scared to death of them. If one came at you, you could burn its fur.”

As the sky lightened, Chen could make out the sights of the grassland; it was where he had grazed his sheep for several months. Off to the northwest, in his mind’s eye he could see a broad basin ringed by mountains on three sides, with a gentle slope on one. That was likely where Bilgee planned to tighten the noose. The horse herders were lying in ambush behind the mountains, so as soon as the wolves were driven into the basin, the men, horses, and dogs behind them would close the door, and the war of annihilation would begin. But Chen could not even guess how many wolves might be caught. If the pack was really big, the cornered wolves would fight back, and the hunters would have to engage them in close combat. Chen removed his herding club from the saddle and looped it around his wrist, ready to try Batu’s special wolf-killing skill but still feeling jittery.

The wind was getting stronger, the clouds moving more rapidly; the sun’s rays seeped in between the clouds to bring some hazy light to the grassland. Cries of surprise erupted from the men when they reached the mouth of the basin. In the faint morning light, they saw two dozen big wolves pacing and stopping, looking all around, but not daring to move into the basin. Near the opening to the pass, another pack moved in and out of sight; they too appeared concerned about the lay of the land. For all he knew, they may have already gotten a whiff of the danger ahead.

Chen gasped in admiration over Bilgee’s precise calculations and his guidance in the formation of the encirclement line. By the time the wolf pack realized where they had been driven and saw the array of hunters around them, the noose had been tightened; as soon as the flashlights lost their power to intimidate, the hunters’ lasso poles were in sight. The wolves were, in fact, trapped as the two ends of the semicircle neared the outer limits of the basin.

After several of the leading wolves assessed the situation, they turned and, without a moment’s hesitation, led the pack back to where it had come from. They had just eaten their fill of horseflesh and were it had come from. They had just eaten their fill of horseflesh and were incredibly spirited. They ran with power and awesome ferocity. A terrifying layer of wolf mist rose from the snow as they streamed past; nothing, it seemed, could stop them. Shouts erupted from the herdsmen as they brandished their lasso poles and rode out to meet the charging wolves. The riders on the two ends moved quickly to seal the gaps that had opened up.

The wolf pack offensive remained strong but slightly altered the direction of its main attack as it stormed the group of women, who wore the most colorful clothing and had the fewest lasso poles. None of the women, including Gasmai, blanched in the face of the attack. Standing up in the stirrups, they flailed their arms and shouted at the top of their lungs, as if prepared to block the way with their arms alone. But since the women had few lasso poles, the wolves saw this as the weak link in the chain and hoped to break through with a concentration of might and determination. Chen’s heart nearly stopped as the likelihood of a breakdown loomed.

At that moment, Bilgee stood up in the saddle, raised his arm high, and brought it down sharply. “Release the dogs!” he shouted. From up and down the line, whistles and commands arose, as the handlers let go of the leashes and more than a hundred snarling dogs with harnessed power and red eyes exploded in the direction of the wolves from the east, the south, and the west. Bar, Erlang, and several other of the biggest, bravest, and fiercest assassin-dogs of the brigade headed for the leaders of the pack. The other dogs followed, anxious to show their mettle in the presence of their masters, barking madly as each tried to outcharge the others.

Meanwhile, horsemen sped to strengthen the array, those with lasso poles spurring their horses on to join the charge by the dogs. Snow and dirt flew from the pounding hooves; the intrepid Mongol warriors filled the air with bursts of murderous shouts once feared the world over-Hah! Hah! Hah!-accompanied by the rhythmic tattoo of galloping horses.

The daunting offensive rocked the wolves, whose leaders skidded to a stop, turned, and led the pack in a race to the mountain pass, their only means of retreat and a chance to link up with the wolves just beyond. They split up, heading toward three separate slopes to break out of the encirclement and take the high ground, either to reach the mountain peaks and negotiate a circular route or to charge downhill.

The formation of hunters stretched out into a straight line and sealed the mountain pass. Bilgee had the wolves just where he wanted them.

On the other side of the mountain, the director Uljii and the military representative Bao Shungui stayed hidden in tall grass, nervously observing the situation on the battlefield before their eyes. Bao excitedly hit the snowy ground with his fist. “Who said that Bilgee always takes the wolves’ side?” he exclaimed. “You see, he trapped this pack exactly when and where he was supposed to. He’s amazing. I’ve never seen so many wolves. You have to hand it to the old man. I’ll see he’s rewarded for his service.”

Uljii too breathed a sigh of relief. There were, as he could see, forty or fifty wolves caught in the trap. In years past, a pack of ten or twenty was the best they could hope for. But Bilgee was the Olonbulag alpha male. At each year’s encirclement hunt, if he wasn’t in charge, hunters did not feel like participating. But the slaughter of the horses had enraged him. Uljii turned and said to Batu, “Pass the word: no one is to fire his weapon, not even into the air. There are too many people out here today, and we can’t take the chance of a stray bullet hitting someone.”

“I’ve told them several times already,” Batu said.

Behind the mountain, the horse herders and hunters were in the saddle, waiting for a signal. They were the best the pasture had to offer, expert riders with superb lasso-pole and herding-club skills. For this hunt, they had chosen their fastest, most spirited mounts, horses they normally pampered, for they were still filled with anger over the loss of the horse herd, anger they planned to purge on this day. The horses, hearing the frenzied barking of dogs, were in the grip of prebattle tension. Their heads lowered as they tugged on the reins, they pawed at the snowy ground, chest and leg muscles pulled taut. Their hind legs were like springs in a trap, and the moment their riders relaxed the reins, they would burst forward. The leashed hunting dogs had also been chosen for their ferocity, alertness, and extensive training. They too had heard the sounds of impending battle, but they remained silent, mouths open, eyes glued to their masters, well-disciplined and battle-tested veterans.

Uljii and Batu slowly arched their bodies, ready to give the signal.

The main force of the wolf pack seemed focused on breaking through the encirclement at the highest point off to the northwest. Neither men, horses, nor dogs are a match for wolves in gaining high ground. With their powerful physiques, unparalleled stamina, and enviable lung capacity, they are used to leaving their enemies behind as they race to the tops of mountains. Even the few hunting dogs and lasso horses, which can outrun wolves on level ground, quickly drop behind once the wolves begin running uphill. When they reach the mountaintop, they stop to catch their breaths, search for the surest way to elude their enemy-the steepest slope, a hidden valley, a ravine-and move like lightning. Often, by the time horse and rider are at the top, the wolves have vanished without a trace; if they happen to be in sight, they will already be far out of rifle range.

The wolves ran for the mountain at full speed, their pursuers lagging behind. The fastest wolves were at the head of the force, the alpha male and several large wolves off to the side. Uljii pointed to one of them, a wolf with mixed gray-and-white fur on its neck and chest, and said to Batu, “That’s the leader! He’s the one who led the pack in the horse massacre. He’s yours. Let’s go!”

The pack was several hundred feet away. Batu stepped back, grabbed his lasso pole, and jumped into the saddle. Uljii climbed onto his horse and yelled, “Attack!”

Batu thrust his pole high into the air, like a battle flag, as the horse herders cried out “Go! Go!” Dozens of hunting dogs and horses were on the mountaintop almost at once. The dogs zeroed in on their targets like torpedoes. Two-thirds of the horse herders rode out in front and formed a semicircle nearly halfway down the slope, where they linked up with the hunters under the command of Bilgee. The remaining third rode straight at the wolves with their long poles.

When the ambush was sprung on the wolves, their ranks were thrown into chaos. They were caught in the sort of trap they themselves used with such skill and familiarity. With that knowledge, they were more panic-stricken than the gazelles they had once trapped, and they were furious. As their sense of disgrace gave way to rage, they turned and headed back downhill, giving up the higher ground to engage in a decisive battle with the men and dogs. With reckless disregard for their own lives, they tore into the line of charging dogs, sending many of them tumbling. The snowy slope was turned into a site of terrible tangled warfare, with fangs-wolf and dog-ripping and tearing, sending snow and animal fur flying. Dogs whined, wolves howled, dog blood and wolf blood spurted from necks and heads. The horrified students, who had never seen such bloody warfare, were speechless.

At that moment, Batu was staring down at the gray-coated wolf king from high up on the hill. Brandishing his lasso pole, he charged. But the leader did not dash downhill with his pack, choosing instead to turn and run due west. Four or five big wolves surrounded him in an attempt to break through the encirclement. Batu, along with three hunters and five dogs, took after the leader and his escort. But the wolf king, with his intimate knowledge of the area, had his eye on an alternative, but dangerous, escape route. The ground beneath the snow was covered with small but slick rocks, and as soon as the wolves landed on them, the rocks began to roll downhill. But with their large, thickly padded paws, they were able to race across the slippery rocks without sliding downhill themselves, leaving behind a roaring avalanche. The dogs, with their smaller paws, were able to stumble along and keep the chase alive, but the horses were not. The three hunters had barely reached the stony slope when one of the horses lost its footing, sending it and its rider tumbling down, his lasso pole snapping into three pieces. The other two frightened hunters reined in their horses, jumped out of their saddles, and ran to rescue their comrade.

Batu, obsessed with vengeful thoughts, dismounted, stood his lasso pole straight up to use as a walking stick, the narrow tip threading the spaces between rocks, and continued the chase on foot, leading the horse behind him. “Catch him!” he shouted. “Catch him!” As he crossed a ridge, he heard the pitiful yelps of dogs, so he vaulted back into the saddle and rode quickly to where the sound was coming from. A moment later he saw one of the dogs lying on the ground, half dead, and another with a missing ear and a bloody face. The other three dogs were backing up in terror, their hackles raised. As soon as they saw the lasso pole, the wolves turned and ran into a reedy valley, followed by Batu, one of the hunters, and the three uninjured dogs.

After Uljii saw Batu ride over the ridge, he led Bao Shungui to the best vantage spot in the encirclement, where he could observe the battlefield and effectively deploy his troops, slowly tightening the noose to trap the pack. All the battle-tested Mongol hunters had an instinctive grasp of the situation and a perfect understanding of their responsibilities; no one fought to gain personal glory. Any wolf that broke through the encirclement was immediately set upon by one or two of these “outside” hunters and either caught by a lasso or driven back inside the circle. Even the spaces that opened up when these hunters were on the move were quickly filled by others to maintain the integrity of the formation.

The center of the circle was a mass of men, horses, dogs, and wolves. A few dogs and wolves lay on the ground without moving, blood and steam rising from their mortal wounds. Forty or more wolves had been surrounded by as many as 170 dogs. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, back-to-back, tails touching, fangs bared, facing death with a unified defense. The chests and shoulders of many wolves and dogs were torn and bleeding. Behind the front line of dogs, several dozen riders swung their lasso poles at the innermost wolves. The wolves and dogs fought viciously, biting and clawing; it was virtually impossible to tell where the wolves ended and the dogs began, making it difficult for the hunters to reach out with their lassos, since none wanted to snare a dog by mistake or catch one of each in the same noose. Nor did they dare launch an attack, since there were too many wolves with too much fighting spirit; not many had been taken out of the battle, and an inadvisable attack could initiate a coordinated attempt by the wolves to break through the ranks of dogs and men in the confusion, and from there put pressure on the loose net of riders beyond.

A few of the more experienced hunters swung their lasso poles out over the heads of the wolves, waiting for one to separate itself from the pack; when that happened, they dropped the noose-not caring if it settled around the neck, the body, or a leg-pulled it tight, and dragged the animal far enough for the assassin dogs to pounce on it and tear out its throat.

The students and the women and children were deployed outside the encirclement. Bilgee had sent Chen Zhen and Yang Ke halfway up the mountain, where they had an unobstructed view of everything happening down below.

Inevitably, one after another, the wolves were lassoed, dragged away, and taken down by dogs. Husky howls burst from the throats of trapped wolves, who immediately changed tactics: instead of leaping up and going after the dogs’ necks, they lowered their heads to fight, making it impossible to lasso them from above.

Chen observed the battle through his telescope and saw that even though the wolves had no chance of escape, they kept their wits about them. Not content to take down one enemy or to be overjoyed to take down two, they were driven to kill as many of the hunting dogs-the main force surrounding them-as possible. They fought in threes and fours, coming to one another’s aid, using their deadly fangs and tasting blood with every bite.

Bilgee, who was directing the campaign from behind the ring of hunters, abruptly shouted, “Charge, Bar, charge!” Then he gave the sign to retreat.

Chen and Yang knew what the old man had in mind. “Erlang, charge!” they shouted. “Erlang, charge! Charge! Charge!”

The two savage, red-eyed dogs understood both the shouts and the hand signals; they backed up several steps and changed tactics. With loud roars, they made a mad dash for the biggest wolf in the pack, the leader. Erlang, the quickest, hit the wolf first, knocking him back some three or four yards; but he stayed on his feet, just in time for the fierce, heavier Bar to hit him like a sledgehammer and send him tumbling. Then, before he could get to his feet, Erlang charged and, without waiting for support, sank his teeth into the leader’s throat, sending four streams of blood skyward and onto the snowy ground; Erlang’s red-stained face threw a fright into the pack. The dying leader, fangs bared, clawed wildly with what strength remained, leaving bloody tracks across Erlang’s chest and belly; but the dog’s wildness was greater, and nothing was going to make him let go of his victim’s throat until the wolf was dead. The pack knew this savage dog; they had encountered his fighting skills before. They backed off, wanting to stay clear of their leader’s killer.

The other big dogs learned from the tactic, it seemed, since they began butting the wolves and sending them flying. Erlang and Bar, the assassins, went on a murderous rampage, opening a hole in the wolves’ defenses and letting the hunters in. Lasso poles rained down on the pack, disrupting their formation and driving many of them into the nooses or the teeth of waiting dogs.

Seeing that the battle was lost, the pack split up and, relying on the might and courage of each individual wolf, ran to break through the encirclement in all directions, throwing the battle plan into confusion; it was their last chance to escape with their lives. But each wolf was immediately surrounded by several dogs and a hunter or two; escape was impossible. With a chorus of shouts, the outer ring of hunters- men and women, young and old-charged with their lasso poles.

In the inner circle, Lamjav, who invariably compared himself to a wolf, saw a pair of dogs grappling with a wolf; he rode over, bent down in the saddle, and held his lasso pole low enough to let the wolf pass over it, then jerked it up and caught the animal’s hind legs in the noose. Before the wolf could turn and attack the pole, Lamjav spun around and dragged it away like a gunnysack. Scraping its front claws on the ground in a desperate attempt to get away, it left furrows in the snow as Lamjav called for the dogs.

Lassoing a wolf on the grassland is hard, killing one even harder. Wolves’ necks are so short and thick that they can easily slip a noose. It is like roping a log, and pulling it tight often makes it slip off. Experienced hunters therefore prefer to snag a wolf around the hips, the thinnest part of its body; if successful, this hold is escape-proof. But then comes the tricky business of killing the wolf. Dragging one by the neck usually ends in strangulation, but when the noose is down around its hips, and if only one hunter is involved, the difficulties mount, for when the hunter climbs down off his horse, the wolf will charge back toward the pole, often snapping it in two, and then either attack the hunter or run off. Only the most courageous and skillful hunter will not wait for the wolf to get to its feet, but will drag it up close and kill it with his herding club or a knife. Most do not dare take on a wolf single-handed, and will sacrifice the pelt, forced to drag the animal over to another hunter or to the dogs.

Lamjav dragged his wolf to a spot where the snow was deeper and searched for an assassin dog. Several dogs surrounded the wolf, filling the air with their barks and nipping here and there before falling back, unwilling to go in for the kill. Seeing that Erlang had just brought down one wolf by its throat, Lamjav dragged his wolf toward Erlang and shouted, “Kill! Kill!”

Erlang abandoned the mortally wounded wolf, turned, and went after the one snagged by Lamjav, held its head and chest down with his front paws, and sank his teeth into his throat. Even with its carotid arteries severed, the wolf tried to fight Erlang off with its claws; it failed.

Lamjav jumped down out of the saddle and shouted to other hunters, “Drag them over here. They’re no match for this dog!”

Nearby, Bar was killing a wolf caught in a noose. Several hunters who had trapped wolves with their lasso poles dragged their victims over to Erlang and Bar to dispatch.

But they were not the only dogs involved in the frenzy of killing. Several huskies were also showing their mettle. Renowned wolf killers owned by Dorji, each was a trained assassin, and there were eight of them, perfectly suited to work in concert with the others: the fast ones ran down the wolves; the slow ones butted them to the ground and held them down for their more ferocious comrades, who went for the throats. They fought as a unit, never alone. That is how they were working now: a team of eight dogs killing one wolf after another, quickly, efficiently, already three and counting.

The hunters too were working in groups of three or four. As soon as one bagged a wolf, the others jumped down, grabbed it by the tail and hind legs, and crushed its head with their clubs. Wild shouts erupted in the northwest, where five or six hunters were chasing a pair of large wolves.

The two animals, driven dizzyingly from one hunter to the next, had nowhere to go. After being knocked to the ground several times, one of them could no longer run. So Laasurung threw down his lasso pole, took his feet out of the stirrups, and jumped up until he was crouching on the saddle, from where he leaped onto the wolf’s back. Before it could react, he was sitting astride it. Grabbing it by the ears, he thudded its head to the ground; blood seeped from its mouth and nose. Other hunters rode up and threw themselves onto the wolf, until it could barely breathe. Finally, Laasurung drew his knife and killed the beast. The other wolf was harassed by three young horse herders who took turns kicking it, until one of them ended the game by killing it.

Chen Zhen, Yang Ke, and the other students let their lasso poles droop to the ground. Their role in the hunt had been as observers. What disappointed them most was that the only one of their number who had been sent into battle, the horse herder Zhang Jiyuan, had failed to lasso a wolf.

Seeing that all was well in hand, Bilgee rode up to Chen and Yang. “You students did a fine job,” he said. “You held your positions. With you here, I was able to send more hunters into the battle with their lasso poles.” Noting the disappointment on their faces, he laughed and said, “That dog of yours made a heroic contribution. I counted for you: by himself he killed two wolves, and he helped hunters kill two more. So each of you has a pelt coming. Custom dictates that the other two go to the men who lassoed the wolves.” He turned and led them down the slope.

The hunt was over. Except for half a dozen especially fast or skillful or just plain lucky members of the pack who had used speed or cunning or a shattered pole to break out of the encirclement, all the wolves had been killed.

The hunters in the outer ring came charging downhill, shouting the whole way, to get a close look at the spoils of the battle. Bilgee had already told people to drag two carcasses to where Chen and Yang were standing, then rolled up his sleeves and helped skin them. Gasmai had people bring over the two wolves Bar had killed and two others that Sanjai’s dogs had killed. Sanjai and Gombu came to help her skin them.

Chen had learned from Bilgee how to skin a wolf; now it was his turn to teach Yang. He began by cutting the skin away from the jaw-bone, then tugged it back over the head. After having Yang anchor the teeth with a leather strip, he pulled the skin back to the neck. From there he kept pulling backward, cutting skin from flesh, like removing a set of leotards, and ending by cutting away the legs and the tail. At this point, the pelt was turned inside out, so the two men reversed it, as if it were a length of intestine, to expose a perfect pelt.

“Good job,” Bilgee complimented them. “Not much grease. When you get home, fill it up with dry grass and hang it on a tall pole. That way, the people of the Olonbulag will acknowledge you as true hunters.”

Erlang and Yellow sat on their haunches beside their masters looking on; Erlang licked the blood from his injured chest and front legs the whole time. He appeared to be enjoying it. Yellow, who was uninjured, licked the injuries on the top of Erlang’s head, like a pampered pet. Still, many of the hunters were praising him, telling how he had wrestled several wolves to the ground and taken bites out of their rear legs. If not for Yellow, Lamjav would have been unable to get his noose on the wolves.

That made Yang happy. “Lamjav is like me, after all,” he said, to even a score, “standing brave behind his dog.”

Chen took some hard candies out of his pocket and gave them to the canine generals, three for Erlang, two for Yellow. He’d had a premonition that Erlang and Yellow would make him proud that day. The dogs laid the candy on the ground and peeled the paper away with their teeth, then picked each piece up with their tongues and, heads held high, crunched them loudly. All the other dogs could only look on and slobber, or lick the paper on the ground. The students’ arrival had taught the dogs that there were more good things to eat in the world than they were used to, and eating candy in front of all those dogs brought Erlang and Yellow canine glory.

Grinning, Gasmai walked over and said to Chen, “I guess you’ve forgotten your old dog since moving out of our place.” She reached into his pocket, retrieved some candy, and gave it to Bar. Chen hurriedly took out all the remaining candy and handed it to Gasmai. She smiled, peeled the paper from one piece, and popped it into her mouth.

A layer of heat had settled over the hunting ground; steam rose from the wolf carcasses, the horses’ bodies, the dogs’ mouths, and the people’s foreheads as they separated into family units and skinned the dead animals. Tradition was followed in dividing up the spoils of battle. There were no arguments. The herdsmen always knew which dog or hunter had killed which wolf. A few words might pass between two men who had both gotten their nooses around a single animal, but Bilgee settled the matter with a single comment: Sell the pelt, buy a crock of liquor, and split it. Hunters and herdsmen who had killed no wolves watched enthusiastically as the others skinned their kills, even offering positive comments on the pelts and the people’s dogs. With good dogs, the pelts were flawless; with bad dogs, the pelts were chewed up. Those who wound up with the most pelts loudly invited everyone to their yurt for a drinking celebration. On the grassland, everyone benefited from an encirclement hunt.

People rested on the now quiet site of the hunt.

Women had the most unpleasant work-patching up the injured dogs. Men used dogs during a hunt, but women relied on them for watching the livestock at night. And it was they who raised them, almost as if they were their children. When dogs were hurt, or when they died, it was the women who grieved. A few of the dogs lay dead on the ground. Where they lay was where their souls had flown up to Tengger; what had sent them on their way was their mortal enemy- the wolf. “The dogs should thank the wolves,” Bilgee said, “for without them, the herdsmen would have no need to keep so much meat on hand, and their pups would be off to Tengger soon after they came into the world.”

The dead dogs lay undisturbed, for no grassland Mongol would give a second thought to the lush, beautiful coats. Dogs were their comrades-in-arms, their best friends, their brothers. Grasslanders survived in two enterprises: hunting and tending livestock. For both, dogs were indispensable. As production instruments and livestock guards, they were more important to them than oxen were to farmers on the Central Plains. And their relationship to the humans was closer; they helped to dispel the loneliness of the wildwood.

The Mongolian grassland-vast, underpopulated, and dangerous- was a place where dogs kept people safe. Gasmai told Chen and Yang that she could not forget how Bar had saved her one autumn when she was out dumping stove ashes and hadn’t noticed a still-smoldering piece of dried sheep dung. A strong wind ignited a fire that quickly spread to the dry grass in front of her yurt. She was alone that day with old Eeji and her child, doing needlework, unaware of what was happening outside. Suddenly she heard Bar barking violently and ramming the door. She ran outside, where a fire was threatening haystacks belonging to other production brigades; they were tall, densely packed, and oily, and if they caught fire, there would be no saving them. Animals that were not killed or injured in the fire would starve without that year’s hay, and she would be punished. Bar’s warning had given her time that was more valuable than life itself. She ran out with a large piece of wet felt straight into the flames, wrapped herself in it, and rolled on the ground, managing to crush the fire before it reached the hay. She often said that without Bar she’d have been lost.

“Our men are such big drinkers,” she said to Chen and Yang, “that sometimes they fall off their horses and freeze to death. Those who don’t die can thank their dogs, who run home, grab their mistresses’ clothing with their teeth, and lead the women to their husbands, where they dig them out of the snow and bring them home. Every yurt has someone whose life has been saved by the family dog.”

And so eating dog meat, skinning a dog, or sleeping under a dog skin were considered acts of unforgivable betrayal. This was one of the reasons why herdsmen had come to hate inhabitants of farming regions and Han Chinese.

Bilgee said that in olden days, Han armies would come to the grassland and start killing and eating dogs, infuriating the herdsmen and inciting armed resistance. Even now, shepherds’ dogs were often stolen by outsiders, who killed and ate them. Their coats were secretly sent to the Northeast and to China proper. The pelts of Mongolian dogs-large, with lush fur-were favorites for making hats and bedcovers. The old man commented angrily, “But you’ll never find that mentioned in books written by Chinese!”

Bilgee and his family often asked Chen: “If you Chinese hate dogs, curse them, even kill them, why do you eat them?”

Embarrassed by the question, Chen had to think long and hard to give them a satisfactory explanation.

One evening he said to the family as they sat around the fire, “There are no nomads among the Han, and few hunters. Just about every wild animal that can be killed and eaten has been. So we Han don’t know the value of dogs. With our dense population, it’s hard for Chinese to be lonely, so we don’t need dogs to keep us company. We have dozens of curses based on dogs: ‘rapacious as a wolf and savage as a dog’; ‘A dog in a sedan chair does not appreciate kindness’; ‘You can’t get ivory from a dog’s mouth’; ‘Only busybody dogs catch rats’; ‘Throw a meaty bun at a dog, and it won’t come back’… And some have entered politics.

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.