The Answer Presents Itself to Me

Mischievously the moon floats in and out of the clouds. I wonder how often this band of thieves goes raiding, why they don’t wait for the new moon and total dark. Just then the clouds part, flooding the world with light, and the answer presents itself to me. In the total dark, people are more vigilant. They hold tighter to what is dearest to them. When the moon’s light is present, their grip is not as tight.

Now in the flickering darkness the driver is careful to keep the wheels in the deep tire tracks worn in the grass by countless vehicles over time, which in Mongolia are the equivalent of highways. Out here we are hundreds of kilometers from paved roads. If we deviate from the ruts, anyone could follow our tracks.

Then the truck shifts into a lower gear. Slowly we climb a small hill. When we crest, the next ger presents itself in the middle of a vast emptiness. In the moonlight I can see twenty or more kilometers in every direction. As I stand in the truck bed looking out over the cab, it is as if the whole world belongs only to me. The distances are staggering. It could take you an hour to drive to a spot on the edge of the horizon, yet that spot feels like it’s just within reach. This is what it means to live on the steppe. There are no walls between you and nature. You are nature.

Fifteen minutes later we coast up to a pen where at night the animals are kept away from the jaws of wolves. The tailgate comes down easier this time. Things go smoothly. Soundlessly the little girl jumps out. I follow. Soon there are two adolescents, one male, one female, making their way shyly up the ramp like newlyweds. Quickly the animals move to the corner where the other is still trapped among the boards. Already they are a family.

At the third house I don’t get out of the truck. Within minutes an older female drifts up the gangway. The old ewe makes straight for me and lets out a small bleat. I hold my hand out. The skin of my palm grows moist from the muggy breath steaming out her nostrils. I try to imagine what she’s thinking. She keeps nibbling my fingers even after she realizes my hand is empty.