Wolf Totem

30

A cold autumn rain abruptly ended the short summer on the Inner Mongolian grassland and froze the mosquitoes.

Staring intently at the quiet grassland, Chen Zhen thought he understood why the mosquitoes and the wolves would be in such a frenzied state. Summers are short out there, but the fall is even shorter, followed by a six-month-long winter, the season of death for animals that do not hibernate, including the mosquitoes, half of which would die out even if they managed to hide in the marmots’ caves. Without fat and thick fur, the wolves cannot survive the winter, when most of the scrawny, old, sick, and wounded are killed off. That is also why mosquitoes must take advantage of the short growing season to suck as much blood as possible; the crazed attacks are their way of saving their own lives. The wolves too must engage in bloody battles to prepare for the winter and possible famine in the following spring.

Two stinking front legs and the entrails remained from the foal allocated to Chen Zhen’s yurt. The cub had been able to enjoy a period of full stomachs, and even now the rotting meat was enough to last him a few more days. His nose told him there was still food left, so he was in a good mood. He liked his meat fresh and bloody but did not mind when it was rotten and crawling with maggots, which he swallowed along with the meat. “He’s fast becoming our trash can,” Gao commented.

What surprised Chen more was that the cub never got sick, no matter how foul, rotten, or dirty the food was. Chen and Yang admired the cub’s ability to endure cold, heat, hunger, thirst, foul odors, filth, and germs. One had to be impressed by a species that had survived millions of years of selection in an unimaginably inhospitable environment.

The bigger the cub grew, the handsomer and more magnificent he looked. Now he was a grassland wolf in every respect. Chen gave him a longer chain and tried calling him Big Wolf. But the cub preferred to stick to his old name. Whenever Chen called out “Little Wolf,” the cub ran over to play with him, licked his hands, rubbed up against his knees, jumped onto his stomach, even lay down on the ground and exposed his belly for Chen to scratch him. But he ignored Chen if he called him Big Wolf. He’d look around to see who Chen was calling.

Chen laughed at him. “You’re a foolish wolf. Will I still have to call you Little Wolf when you’re old?” The cub stuck his tongue out, as if teasing Chen.

Chen admired every part of the wolf’s body. For a while, he enjoyed playing with his ears. Being the first part of him to grow to adult size, they stood straight up, sturdy, clean, unmarred, and alert. And the cub had a growing sense of self-awareness that was instinctual of grassland wolves.

Inside the pen, Chen would sit cross-legged and play with the cub’s ears. But the cub would only let him do that after Chen had scratched the base of his ears and his neck, which made him tremble contentedly. Chen liked to fold the ears backward and then watch them spring to their upright position again. If he bent both at the same time, they sprang back one after another, never together, making popping sounds that startled the cub as if he’d heard enemy movements.

For some time, Chen had noticed an increased number of military vehicles on the grassland, raising trails of dust, a sight that distressed him. He realized that he belonged to the first, and perhaps the last, group of Han Chinese to actually live and observe the lives of nomadic herdsmen in the farthest reaches of Inner Mongolia. He was not a journalist or tourist; he enjoyed the proud status of a nomadic shepherd. He also had an observation site that he could be happy with-the Olonbulag, hidden away in a spot where large numbers of wolves still roamed. And he was raising a wolf cub he had personally taken from a den.

He vowed to memorize his observations and contemplations, not leaving out the tiniest detail. In the future he’d tell his story to friends and family over and over, until the day he departed this world. It was a pity so much time had passed since the Yellow Emperor’s descendants had left their grassland origins. A nomadic lifestyle would soon come to an end, and the Chinese would never have a chance to return to the pristine place of their origin to pay tribute to their ancestral matriarch.

Should he secretly set the cub free, returning him to the cruel but open grassland and giving him back the life of a wolf? He didn’t dare. The cub had lost the weapon he needed to survive on the grassland when Chen snipped off the tips of his fangs. They were no longer sharp like awls, but round and blunt, worse than dogs’ teeth.

What pained Chen most was the crack the pincer had caused in one of the teeth. He’d been careful not to damage the roots, but the crack, though tiny, went all the way down. A short while later, he realized that the tooth was infected; it had turned black, like the diseased tooth of an old wolf. Whenever he saw that black tooth, his heart ached. It might fall out within a year. Teeth are the source of life for grassland wolves. If the cub only had three blunt teeth left, he couldn’t even tear at meat, let alone hunt and kill.

As time went on, Chen’s despair deepened when he saw the consequences of his reckless decision. He could never return the cub to the grassland, nor could he ever travel deep into the grassland to visit his wolf friend. He regretted not freeing the cub weeks earlier, when the mother wolf had come for it. Scientific research was not for him, for he had neither the temperament nor the qualifications to conduct it. The cub was not a lab rat raised for medical dissection, but his friend and teacher.

The grassland inhabitants were waiting anxiously for the arrival of the Inner Mongolian Production and Construction Corps. The letter signed by Bilgee, Uljii, and other elders had achieved its purpose; the corps decided that the Olonbulag would be used for herding, but that the Olonbaolige Pasture would be converted to a herding regiment, with a portion of the land given over to farming. The remaining pastures and all the other communes would be turned over to agricultural production. The Majuzi River area, where the famous Ujimchin warhorses were raised, would be a large-scale farmland, leaving a small area for both farming and herding.

The corps’ grand design had already incorporated the ancient Olonbulag. The main idea was to quickly end the primitive nomadic herding style of production that had dominated the area for thousands of years, and create settlements. The corps would supply money and equipment, along with engineering teams, to build brick houses with tiled roofs and sturdy animal pens made of cement and stone; it would also dig wells, pave highways, and build schools, hospitals, post offices, auditoriums, shops, and movie theaters. The teams would also reclaim the fertile land to plant grass and grain for animal feed, and vegetable crops. They would set up mechanized harvesting and transport teams, and tractor stations. They would eradicate the damage caused by wolves, disease, insects, and rodents. They would strengthen the grassland’s ability to fight commonly occurring natural disasters. They wanted to ensure that herders, who had lived for thousands of years under the most inhospitable and difficult conditions, could gradually settle down and lead stable, happy lives.

The students and young herders, as well as most of the women and children, looked forward to the arrival of the corps, anticipating the beautiful future described by Bao Shungui and the corps cadres. Most of the older and middle-aged herdsmen, on the other hand, were quiet. Chen Zhen went to talk to the old man. Bilgee sighed and said, “We’ve always wanted a school for our children, and hoped we no longer had to take our sick to the banner hospital by oxcart or horse-drawn wagon. We don’t have a hospital, and many people have died who needn’t have. But what will happen to the grassland? It’s already too fragile to support the heavy load of livestock. It’s like an oxcart that can carry only a limited number of people and animals. More people and their machines will tip the cart over, and when that happens, you Han Chinese will just go home. But what about us?”

What worried Chen the most was the future of the wolves. Once the farmers came, the swans, ducks, and wild geese would either be eaten or fly away. But wolves aren’t birds. Would they, after generations on the grassland, be exterminated or chased out of China, their home?

After downing two bowls of cool tea, Yang said to Chen, “Who’d have thought that the corps would be here so soon? I hated the military life during peacetime, and I barely managed to avoid being sent to the Heilongjiang Production and Construction Corps. Who’d have thought I’d one day be under the control of its Inner Mongolian counterpart? I don’t know what’s going to happen to the Olonbulag, but we have to figure out something for the wolves, and soon.”

As they talked, a fast horse sped toward them along the oxcart path, trailing a long cloud of yellow dust. One look told them that Zhang Jiyuan was back to get some rest.

They sat down to eat some steamed and boiled millet, mutton stewed with mushrooms, and pickled wild leek flowers.

"You have a fast horse, and you’re up to speed on news,” Yang said to Zhang, “so tell us about the corps.”

“Well, the brigade office is now the corps office, with the arrival of the first group of cadres, half Mongols, the other half Han. Their first task may be to exterminate the wolves. They were outraged when they learned how many young horses they killed. They said the first thing the army traditionally did when they arrived on the grassland was to wipe out the bandits. This time they’ll kill the wolves first. They’ve sent their best men. They say they’re doing it for our good, but it’s put the old Mongols in a tight spot. Trying to explain the benefits of wolves to farm boys in uniform would be like playing music to an ox. The wolves’ coats are full now, so their pelts will fetch a good price. The corps cadres aren’t well paid; even the staff officers and clerks get only about sixty or seventy yuan a month. A wolf pelt can bring in twenty yuan, plus an award. That’s why they’re so eager to get started.”

Yang Ke sighed. “Mongolian wolves,” he said, “the end is near for you. The situation has changed; the age of heroes is over. Hurry up and flee to Outer Mongolia.”