*~*
We spent four days at Hasagt. By the time we departed, Zima was moving around well enough to ride a horse. I'd been instructed by the physician to make sure she kept the plastic brace on her arm, even though it could easily be removed. For the time being, her arm was cradled in a sling, but as the pain subsided, she would lose the sling and begin to use her fingers that protruded past the end of the plastic.
While still at the hospital, I didn't tell Zima about the war and devastation. We were happy together, alone from the rest of the clan. She was grateful for my help, and we spent hours talking between her naps. It wasn't right for me to withhold the state of the world from her, yet I wasn't sure she could fully understand the level of destruction one bomb could do—the sheer impact of lives lost was staggering. Her world had been small and sheltered within the confines of Gan-gaad's own sense of preservation. She seemed to sense my hidden grief, though not the source, but she didn't ask me to explain my countenance. Thus, I didn't share my burden of sorrow.
During those days in Hasagt, I anticipated the long winter that was approaching, so I purchased supplies of my own. I bought more bars of soap and winter clothing. From the stables, I bought a third aduu to carry my additional gear and backpack. We weren't a day's ride out of Hasagt to the south when we noticed a clan far to the east. It was several times larger than even Navi-hasgovi's clan, and I pointed it out to Zima.
"It's a Kazakh clan," she said. "There are many clans in this region. They may be close to the mountains preparing for the early winter hunts."
I watched the clan move parallel to us all that day. Unlike Gan-gaad's Mongol clan that had evolved with its own traditions and customs, what I saw of the Kazakh migrators reminded me of the texts I'd read of the truest and most widely known western Mongolian nomads.
In the mid-nineteenth century, the Russian Empire troops had pushed Kazakhs into neighboring countries. The Dzuuz Clan, specifically, had fled into Mongolia and were allowed to settle in the Bayan Ulgii area. For over two hundred years, their isolation preserved their traditions. They became the Mongolian Kazakhs. Even after Kazakhstan's president promised money and livelihoods to the Kazakhs to move back to their homeland in the 1990s, many remained in Mongolia. Those who returned to Kazakhstan were valued for their knowledge of the old customs since they'd not been so polluted by Russian influence. It was this remnant that stayed in Mongolia, and other clans like it, that I observed to the east.
As the first night gradually closed upon us, we left the trail and rode across the steppe toward the Kazakh clan. Gan-gaad would've been furious that we intended to mingle with another clan, but Gan-gaad wasn't the one whom I obeyed. God had sent me to Mongolia to reach out to everyone from any clan or nationality, even if it was Gan-gaad's despised foes, the Kazakhs.
"When we're close, we must yell out our arrival," Zima said. "If we don't, their hunting and herd dogs may attack us since we're strangers with a strange scent."
"Herd dogs!" I exclaimed. "Of course! Why doesn't Gan-gaad have them?"
"Navi-hasgovi has no dogs, either, but for good reason. Both clans' stubbornness is to blame. About eight years ago, when Navi-hasgovi and Gan-gaad began to use the same migration lands, they started killing each other's dogs. Dusbhan was involved. Killing dogs was once against the law in Mongolia, but now it's not so condemned since there are so many strays. No one knows for sure, but I believe Gan-gaad started the war to cripple Navi-hasgovi's travels since he was a superior clan. Both men are so arrogant and determined to outdistance the other that they haven't taken the time to buy new pups to train. Every time Navi-hasgovi buys pups, Gan-gaad finds ways to bait them from camp and kill them. The last couple of years, both clans seem to have settled into a routine of life without dogs, though they forget how much better life was with them."
Even as half-Kazakh herself, Zima had never lived with her own people. However, her Russian blood was rich, and her features alone would separate her from either culture, as would mine, though I was often assumed to be Russian. It was these people—the Mongolian Kazakhs—whom I'd come to reach specifically, but God led me to Gan-gaad for a reason. It seemed that the reason was so Dusbhan and Zima could be reached with the Gospel, but the others were on my heart as well.
I peered through my binoculars to the far south, seeking a flicker of distant firelight. Gan-gaad was at least a day's ride ahead of us. How serious was he about kicking me out of the clan permanently? He was a stubborn man, but even he had a weakness to the working of the Holy Spirit.
A low, deep growl, then barking brought me back to the present. I stowed my binoculars in a pocket.
"Hello!" I yelled at the Kazakh camp. "Two riders from Hasagt!"
Unlike Gan-gaad's camps, the Kazakh's burned their fires mostly inside their gers. Even more amazing was the size of these gers! They were twice as wide as the other clans' gers, and tall enough for a short man to stand up inside. The gers used for supplies and gear were smaller, though.
A number of men walked toward us. Dogs were roaming all around the camp. There seemed to be about forty gers interspersed across the hillside with livestock—mostly sheep. Like Gan-gaad, all the ger openings faced south since the cold northeast winds were increasing.
Three of the closer dogs stopped barking as their masters approached, but they continued to pace slowly to and fro before us. With eyes that seemed almost human-like, they studied me and Zima cautiously. Their thickening winter coats were mostly black with golden spots above the eyes, which meant they were purely bred. Off to my left were three wooden plates on the ground that were sure to be the dogs' feeding dishes. I wondered if we should have approached from a different direction, but the dogs were everywhere.
"Lion! Shepherd! Lucky Hunter!" one of the men yelled at the dogs. The dogs instantly acknowledged him, ready to obey. He pointed at the flocks drifting on the graze land. "See to the sheep!"
The dogs turned and trotted away to shepherd the flocks. The man stepped close to me and gripped my horse bridle to see me better in the fading light. He and his men all wore dels, the ankle-length felt coat I'd seen in books. This man had gentle eyes, though, unlike his dogs, and regardless of the loose-fitting del, I could see he was lean and powerful. Though in his early forties, he had barely a wisp of a mustache.
The clan men behind him, however, were all larger and fiercer-looking. They searched beyond me and Zima for any companions or aggressors. It was then that I realized two of the five men in the background carried rifles slung over their shoulders. Farther into the clan's camp, others paused in their duties to study us as well.
"Where is your clan?" the man asked. "Neither of you are Mongolian, yet you have nomadic belongings."
"We're from the Clan of Gan-gaad," I said. By the name itself, he knew it wasn't a Kazakh clan. "He's one day ahead of us and we have no shelter for the night."
"You know of Gan-gaad?" the man asked one of the other men.
"Small Altay herder," the man responded with a shrug.
"I am Lugsalkhaan," the man greeted with a sudden smile. "Come, both of you. I hope you bring news of the war."
"What war?" Zima asked me with a frown, but I gestured to her that now wasn't the time.
We were welcomed with open arms and a warmth that I would expect from a clan of Buddhist shamans. We were whisked off our horses and our animals were taken away for water and pasture. One clansman with a tradesman's eye inspected the stitching on my American-made backpack. In minutes, we were surrounded by dozens of curious Kazakhs ranging in all ages, even women and girls. Lugsalkhaan grabbed my arm and led me through the throng with Zima at my side.
"Zima, I'm sorry, I should've told you about the war," I managed to say along the way. "America was bombed. I found out in Hasagt and didn't want to worry you."
Looking behind us, I noticed several young men admiring the supplies I'd bought in Hasagt. They sniffed the bars of soap approvingly. With their curiosity quenched, they closed up my packs and carried them after me. Everywhere I looked, I saw smiles and excitement. Even the dogs near the sheep crept closer in interest, daring reprimands from their masters.
There was a much different atmosphere here than with the previous clan. Instead of a shy people raked by fear, here were joyful families glowing with life itself.
We reached one of the middle gers and I glanced through its doorway. Three wood-framed, short-legged beds—actual beds—lined the circular dwelling. A metal stove stood in the middle, the pipe rising to the toono—the small hole in the ceiling to expel smoke and allow sun and air into the shelter.
"You have a Russian look to you," Lugsalkhaan observed as he studied Zima's face.
Zima, shocked that she, being a woman, was being addressed so openly, could only nod in speechless astonishment. The clansman turned to me.
"But you . . . English?"
"American," I said. "How'd you know I wasn't Russian?"
"Ah. I must admit, I saw the patch on your backpack. It is in English, no?"
"It is. You have a good eye."
"I'm Russian-Kazakh," Zima finally said.
"My brother-in-law is half-Russian. He lives . . . there!" He pointed at a group of four gers with a flock of sheep and dogs nearby. "Everyone will want to speak to you both, but I will be first, yes?"
"Of course." I glanced at Zima. She shrugged her approval. "Will you be continuing south?"
"Yes, to the edge of the Gobi, I fear," the man said with a frown. "Other clans press us from the east, and we must move into other ranges now as well. All around the Hangayn Mountains, there is development. It's sad to see the old ways pass away. We run, but they follow."
He led us into the ger, and others crowded around to sit with us on the soft beds. The children—all of them belonging to Lugsalkhaan—touched Zima's arm brace in curiosity.
"Do you know the clansmen we will live near this winter?" he asked me. "We wish to keep peace if possible. Since we are the largest clan in this region, we may make the winter easier for others. But before we continue, spare me the embarrassment of calling you ‘American.' What are your names?"
"I'm Andy, and this is Zima."
"You are man and wife?"
"No, only . . ." I said, pausing. What were we? "We're close friends right now."
"Ah, I see," Lugsalkhaan stated skeptically. His knowing eyes had surely noticed how Zima's right hand was never far from my left. "And the clans?"
"I'm recently from America, still learning your ways, but Zima has lived here for many years."
"Many of the clans are small," Zima said. "There are more in the mountain valleys to the west and even into Xinjiang Uygur Province, but you won't be going that far west, will you?"
"No, no. The farthest we'll hunt is to the mountains to the southwest. I'm not excited about grazing my stock off sha-mo's thin grass and thorns, but graze land will be difficult for everyone this winter. The weather experts from Ulaanbaatar say it will be a difficult season."
Since I didn't know otherwise, I only nodded. His use of the Chinese word "sha-mo" I knew referred to the Gobi as the sand desert, which told me that the clan wasn't as isolated traditionally as I'd first thought. The fact that his brother-in-law was half-Russian spoke volumes as well. The Russians had oppressed the Kazakhs in time past, especially during the Bolshevik era.
"Tell me, Andy, the war. What do you know?"
When I took a breath, many leaned forward to hear my words.
"I know it's just the beginning. What has happened in America—though it has impacted America greatly—will escalate to great wars around the world. The millions who have died in America will be followed by many more in Asia, Europe, and Africa."
"It's God's judgement," Zima said. "Paul told us this would all happen, didn't he, Andy?"
Her openness to share the Gospel shocked me for a moment. Of course, she was right to speak so openly! As a child of God, she was led by the Holy Spirit, even if she didn't understand everything. She had a hunger to learn and share that I couldn't and shouldn't hinder.
"Who is this Paul?" Lugsalkhaan asked for everyone. "He's an official?"
Zima nudged me to expound. All eyes were on me.
"He wrote of many things to come in the Last Days before mankind is to be judged as individuals before God Almighty. Only those who accept His gift of life will be spared. Some writings were penned by Paul, and many others—Daniel, Isaiah, John, and Jeremiah—penned truths as well. Most of all, Jesus, the Son of God, fulfills all truth."
"It's all in the Bible," Zima added. She wasn't often such a focal-point of attention. Here, she was regarded as an equal. "The Bible is more profound and truer than the texts we have from India and Tibet—which aren't even complete. The Dalai Lama may have been enlightened by men's standards, but Jesus was truly God Himself."
Again, she looked to me to complete her words. We were like a spontaneous relay team. If Lugsalkhaan had heard of the Bible, he gave no contrary indication. They were all listening intently. Very rarely did outsiders come to bring them news of the outside.
"Yes, it's true. The Bible explains the origin of man as well as God's wisdom to man. He is the One and Only God who possesses wisdom and knowledge from eternity past, long before Buddha himself walked the earth."
"Like you," Zima said with empathy, "I was raised to learn and practice Lamaism. But when I took time to study the Bible and its complete text, I understood the world better. I became one with the Creator through belief that His hand guides all things by love and justice. And in here," she placed her hand over her heart, "I'm a better person, free from the judgement that will soon come on all people. If a bomb lost its way today and landed right here instead of in Urumqu because of a war with America, I know in my heart that I'll immediately be with my great God and Savior who loves me.
"We won't be reborn as animals, my new friends, or as other people. That is an old belief from men's minds when they tried to grasp understanding of the afterlife. The truth is we will be judged for the good and bad that we do." She pointed to a young boy on the floor at our feet. "When you fight with your sister, you know it's wrong. That feeling of knowing wrong—where does it come from? God made us to know right and wrong. Pond, tell them the true story of the beginning of the world and languages!"
Her enthusiasm was contagious and not merely to the young minds present. Several men and women stood at the door listening to our words with great interest.
I began to tell the story, my hands motioning wildly and excitedly as I spoke. Zima's memory of Genesis and our talks were like crystal cutting through stone as she added details and more graphic vocabulary where appropriate. At one point in the middle of the origin of the rainbow, several clanswomen brought us meat and bread on plates, but hardly anyone noticed. They were too spellbound by the story of the righteous few delivered from a flood. While I ate, Zima spoke, and I was in awe at the way we were being used as true mouthpieces for God that night.
Here were answers to prayer. Here were people whose hearts had been prepared for our words of hope long before we ever arrived. Here were people hungry for something beyond their ancient traditionalism. It was late into the night when I concluded at the end of the dispersion of people at Nimrod's tower.
"The lesson being," I said, "that even when many people get together to do great things to lift up their own names, they will only be humbled as God corrects their proud hearts. We should live our lives for God, assuming every day may be our last, lest we are punished as the nations are beginning to be punished right now for their godless ways—punished by the ugliness of war and death."
The youngest children were tugged from our midst by their mothers as Lugsalkhaan clarified several points about creation and how sin entered the world. He was an observant man—so much so that he asked questions he seemed to understand himself, but he wanted the other men and women present to see the finer points as well. On that first night, I believe many in that ger listened for mere entertainment, out of interest or even politeness. But some listened because they needed to. And the seeds of truth were planted.
"I never want to leave these people!" Zima whispered to me as Lugsalkhaan discussed with his people where Zima and I would sleep while we were with them. "I feel alive around them, Pond. They deserve to know the truth. I don't want to go back to Gan-gaad!"