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第7部分（第1页）

unted　Jurchen　warriors　of　the　great　Jin　dynasty　into　a　snowdrift；　and　the　following　spring　he　sent　men　back　to　collect　the　spoils　of　war。　There　were　mountains　of　swords　and　spears　and　bows　and　arrows；　plus　helmets　and　armor；　and　saddles　and　lan—terns。　Where　else　could　he　have　learned　that　but　from　wolves？　If　you　add　up　all　the　major　battles　involving　Mongols；　more　than　half　were　fought　with　skills　learned　from　the　wolves。”

The　two　men　walked　back　to　the　ravine　behind　them；　and　when　the　dark　horse　saw　its　master；　it　jerked　its　head　up　and　down　excitedly。　Every　time　Chen　saw　this　horse；　which　had　once　saved　his　life；　he　pat—ted　it　on　the　head　to　once　more　show　his　gratitude。　The　horse　accepted　his　thanks　by　nudging　him　on　the　shoulder。　This　time；　however；　Chen　felt　a　powerful　impulse　to　somehow　pat　a　wolf　on　the　head。

They　removed　the　cowhide　fetters　from　the　horses’　hooves；　mounted　up；　and　rode　off　at　an　easy　canter　toward　home。

The　old　man　looked　up　at　the　sky；　“Tengger　is　protecting　us；”　he　said。　“The　weather　will　hold　tomorrow。　If　a　blizzard　came　tonight；　we　wouldn’t　wind　up　with　a　single　gazelle。”

狼图腾（英文版）3（1）

Fine　weather　greeted　them　the　following　morning。　Kitchen　smoke　rose　from　the　yurts　like　slim　white　birches；　the　tips　of　their　high—est　branches　boring　into　the　heavens；　into　Tengger。　The　cows　and　sheep　were　ruminating　leisurely；　the　sun　had　driven　off　the　cold　night　air；　and　frost　on　the　animals’　hides　was　just　then　turning　to　dew；　to　eventually　rise　from　their　bodies　as　mist。

Chen　Zhen　asked　his　neighbor　Gombu　to　tend　his　sheep　that　day。　As　a　onetime　herd　owner；　Gombu　was　kept　under　surveillance；　and　his　right　to　tend　sheep　had　been　taken　from　him；　but　the　four　Beijing　stu—dents　asked　him　to　watch　their　animals　whenever　they　could；　for　which　Gasmai　would　let　him　earn　the　appropriate　work　points。　Chen　and　one　of　the　other　herders；　Yang　Ke；　yoked　up　a　light　cart　and　headed　to　Bil…gee’s　yurt。

Yang；　a　classmate　who　lived　in　Chen　Zhen’s　yurt；　was　the　son　of　a　famous　professor　at　one　of　Beijing’s　most　prestigious　universities。　They　had　as　many　books　at　home　as　a　small　library。　In　high　school；　Chen　and　he　had　often　traded　books。　They’d　exchange　views　when　they　finished；　and　were　best　friends。　In　Beijing；　Yang　had　been　a　shy；　mild…mannered　boy　who　blushed　whenever　he　met　a　stranger。　No　one　could　have　pre—dicted　that　after　two　years　of　eating　lamb　and　beefsteaks　and　cheese；　after　baking　in　the　strong　rays　of　the　Mongolian　sun　season　after　sea—son；　he　would　be　transformed　into　a　brawny　son　of　the　grassland；　with　a　face　as　sunburned　as　the　native　herdsmen　and　none　of　the　bookish　manners　he’d　brought　with　him。

Yang　was　more　excited　than　Chen；　and　as　he　whipped　the　back　of　the　ox　he　said；　“I　didn’t　sleep　at　all　last　night。　The　next　time　Bilgee　takes　you　hunting；　be　sure　to　let　me　go　along；　even　if　I　have　to　lie　there　for　two　whole　days。　This　is　the　first　time　I’ve　heard　of　wolves　performing　good　deeds　for　people；　and　I　won’t　believe　it　until　I　personally　drag　one　of　the　gazelle　carcasses　out　of　the　snow。　Can　we　really　take　a　cartload　of　them　back　with　us？”

“Would　I　lie　to　you？”　Chen　smiled。　“Papa　said　that　no　matter　how　hard　it　is　to　dig　them　out；　we’re　guaranteed　a　cartful；　which　we　can　s　for　other　things；　like　New　Year’s　items　and　some　large　pieces　of　felt　for　our　yurt。”

Yang　was　so　pleased　he　whipped　the　back　of　the　ox　until　it　glared　angrily。　“It　looks　like　your　two…year　fascination　with　wolves　is　begin—ning　to　pay　off；”　he　said。　“I’ll　have　to　start　studying　their　hunting　techniques　myself。　Who　knows；　it　might　e　in　handy　in　a　real　fight　one　day　。　。　。　What　you　said　could　be　a　pattern。　Living　on　the　grassland　over　the　long　haul　as　a　nomad；　it　makes　no　difference　which　ethnic　group　you　belong　to；　since　sooner　or　later　you’ll　start　worshipping　wolves　and　treating　them　as　mentors。　That’s　what　happened　with　the　Huns；　the　Wusun；　the　Turks；　the　Mongols；　and　other　nationalities。　Or　so　it　says　in　books。　But　the　Chinese　are　an　exception。　I　guarantee　you；　we　Chinese　could　live　out　here　for　generations　without　worshipping　a　wolf　totem。”

狼图腾（英文版）3（2）

“Maybe；　maybe　not；”　Chen　said　as　he　reined　in　his　horse。　“Take　me；　for　instance。　The　wolves　have　won　me　over　in　a　little　more　than　two　years。”

“But　the　vast　majority　of　Chinese　are　peasants；”　Yang　countered；　“or　were　born　to　peasants。　The　Han　have　a　peasant　mentality　that’s　impossible　to　break　down；　and　if　they　were　transported　out　here；　I’d　be　surprised　if　they　didn’t　skin　every　last　wolf　on　the　grassland。　We’re　a　farming　race；　and　a　fear　and　hatred　of　wolves　is　in　our　bones。　How　could　we　venerate　a　wolf　totem？　We　Han　worship　the　Dragon　King；　the　one　in　charge　of　our　agrarian　lifeline—our　dragon　totem；　the　one　we　pay　homage　to；　the　one　to　whom　we　meekly　submit。　How　can　you　expect　people　like　that　to　learn　from　wolves；　to　protect　them；　to　wor—ship　and　yet　kill　them；　like　the　Mongols？　Only　a　people’s　totem　can　truly　rouse　their　ethnic　spirit　and　character；　whether　it’s　a　dragon　or　a　wolf。　The　differences　between　farming　and　nomadic　peoples　are　simply　too　great。　In　the　past；　when　we　were　immersed　in　the　vast　Han　Chi—nese　ocean；　we　had　no　sense　of　those　differences；　but　ing　out　here　has　made　the　inherent　weaknesses　of　our　farming　background　obvious。　Sure；　my　father　is　a　renowned　professor；　but　his　grandfather　and　my　mother’s　grandmother　were　peasants。”

“In　ancient　times；”　Chen　said；　picking　up　the　thread；　“the　impact　of　Mongols　on　the　world　was　far　greater　than　that　of　the　Han；　who　out—numbered　them　a　hundred　to　one。　Even　now；　people　in　the　West　call　us　members　of　a　Mongol　race；　and　we　accept　that。　But　back　when　the　Qin　and　Han　dynasties　unified　China；　the　word　Mongol　didn’t　exist。　I　tell　you；　I　feel　sorry　for　the　Han　Chinese。　We　built　the　Great　Wall　and　crowed　about　what　an　achievement　it　was；　considering　ourselves　to　be　the　center　of　the　world；　the　central　kingdom。　But　in　the　eyes　of　early　Western　people；　China　was　only　a　‘silk　country；’　a　‘ceramic　country；’　a　‘tea　country。’　The　Russians　even　thought　that　the　little　Khitan　tribe　was　China；　and　to　this　day；　they　still　call　China；　Khidai。”

“It　looks　like　your　fascination　with　wolves　was　worth　it；”　Yang　said。　“It’s　contagious。　Now　when　I　read　history；　I　keep　looking　to　the　barbar—ian　tribes　of　the　four　corners　and　am　tempted　to　look　for　their　connec—tions　to　wolves。”

“Look　at　you；”　Chen　said。　“You’re　damned　near　a　Mongol　yourself。　All　you　need　is　an　infusion　of　wolf　blood。　Hybrids　are　always　superior　creatures。”

“I　can’t　tell　you　how　happy　I　am　that　you　urged　me　to　e　to　the　grassland。　Do　you　know　what　it　was　you　said　that　touched　that　special　spot　in　me？　You’ve　forgotten；　haven’t　you？　This　is　it：　you　said；　‘The　grassland　contains　the　most　extensive　primitivism　and　freedom　anywhere。’　”

Chen　loosened　his　horse’s　bit　and　said；　“I　think　you’re　putting　words　in　my　mouth。”

They　laughed　happily。　Snow　flew　from　the　wheels　of　the　cart　as　it　sped　along。

Humans；　dogs；　and　carts　formed　a　scene　on　the　snow　like　a　Gypsy　carnival。　Every　member　of　Gasmai’s　group—four　hots　（two　adja—cent　yurts　prised　a　hot）；　altogether　eight　yurts—sent　men　and　carts。　The　eight　carts　were　loaded　with　felt；　ropes；　hoes；　kindling；　and　wooden…handled　hooks。　Everyone　was　wearing　grimy　old　clothing　for　the　dirty；　tiring　work　ahead—so　grimy　it　shone；　so　old　it　was　black；　and　dotted　with　sheepskin　patches。　But　the　people　and　the　dogs　were　as　cheerful　as　the　tribes　that　had　followed　the　ancient　Mongol　hordes　in　sweeping　up　battlefields　to　claim　the　spoils　of　war。　A　large　　felt…wrapped　flask　of　liquor　was　passed　from　the　head　of　the　procession　all　the　way　to　the　rear；　and　from　the　hands　of　women　to　the　mouths　of　men。　Music　filled　the　air：　Mongol　folk　songs；　songs　of　praise；　war　chants；　drinking　songs；　and　love　songs—the　dam　had　broken。　The　forty　or　fi　fty　furry　Mongol　dogs　were　acting　like　children；　giddily　showing　off　on　this　rare　and　happy　occasion；　running　around　the　carts；　rolling　in　the　dirt；　　play—　fighting；　and　flirting。

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狼图腾（英文版）3（3）

Chen　Zhen　and　two　horse　herders；　Batu　and　Lamjav；　plus　five　or　six　cowherds　and　shepherds；　clustered　around　Bilgee；　like　bodyguards　for　a　tribal　chief。　Lamjav；　a　man　with　a　broad　face；　straight　nose；　and　Turkish　eyes；　said　to　Bilgee；　“I　could　be　the　best　marksman　anywhere　and　I　still　wouldn’t　be　your　equal。　Without　firing　a　shot；　you’ve　made　it　possible　for　every　family　in　the　team　to　enjoy　a　bountiful　New　Year’s　holiday。　Even　with　an　apprentice　like　our　Han　friend　Chen　Zhen；　you　haven’t　forgotten　your　old　Mongol　apprentices。　I’d　never　have　predicted　that　the　wolves　would　launch　their　attack　out　here　yesterday。”

The　old　man　glared　at　him。　“In　the　future；　when　you　have　a　success—ful　hunt；　don’t　you　forget　the　old　folks　and　the　Beijing　students　in　the　team。　I’ve　never　seen　you　deliver　meat　to　anybody。　You　only　gave　Chen　Zhen　a　gazelle　leg　because　he　visited　your　yurt。　Is　that　how　we　treat　our　guests？　When　we　were　young；　the　first　gazelle　or　snow　otter　of　the　year　always　went　to　the　old　folks　and　to　guests。　Young　people　today　have　forgotten　customs　handed　down　from　the　great　khans。　Let　me　ask　you；　how　many　wolves　do　you　have　to　kill　to　catch　up　with　Buhe；　the　great　hunter　of　the　Bayan　Gobi　mune？　You　want　to　see　your　name　in　the　newspaper；　hear　it　on　the　radio；　win　a　prize；　don’t　you？　If　you　hunt　the　wolves　to　extinction；　where　do　you　think　your　soul　will　go　after　you　die？　Don’t　tell　me　you　want　to　be　like　the　Han；　buried　in　a　hole　in　the　ground；　where　you　can　feed　the　worms　and　other　insects！　If　you　do；　your　soul　will　never　make　it　to　Tengger。”

“Batu　is　your　son；”　Lamjav　said　as　he　touched　the　back　fl　ap　of　his　fox…fur　cap。　“You　may　not　believe　me；　but　you　ought　to　believe　him。　Ask　him　if　I　have　any　interest　in　being　a　great　hunter。　A　journalist　from　the　Mongol　League　came　to　the　horse　unit　to　see　me　the　other　day。　Batu　was　there；　you　can　ask　him　if　I　didn’t　cut　the　number　in　half。”

“Is　that　true？”　the　old　man　turned　and　asked　his　son。

“Yes；”　Batu　replied；　“but　the　man　didn’t　believe　him。　He　asked　people　at　the　purchasing　station　how　many　wolf　pelts　Lamjav　had　sold　them。　You　know　that　after　they　check　the　quality　of　the　pelts　to　determine　the　price；　they　give　the　seller　twenty　bullets。　And　they　keep　records。　After　the　journalist　returned　to　the　league；　he　said　over　the　air　that　Lamjav　had　nearly　caught　up　with　Buhe；　which　so　frightened　Lamjav　that　he　asked　others　to　sell　his　pelts　for　him。”

The　old　man　frowned。　“You　two　hunt　wolves　too　often。　You　get　more　kills　than　anyone　on　the　pasture。”

Batu　defended　himself：　“The　grazing　land　for　our　herd　of　horses　is　the　closest　to　the　border　with　Outer　Mongolia；　and　that’s　where　most　of　the　wolves　are。　If　we　don’t　hunt　them；　they’ll　cross　the　border　in　even　greater　numbers。　Most　of　the　foals　that　year　did　not　survive。”

“Why　are　both　of　you　here？　Did　you　leave　the　herd　in　the　care　of　Zhang　Jiyuan？”

狼图腾（英文版）3（4）

“The　wolves　e　at　night；”　Batu　said；　“so　we　relieve　him　then。　He’s　never　taken　gazelles　during　the　day；　so　we

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