The weather slowly warmed up. Having suffered through the harsh winter, people and livestock alike began to stretch their limbs and show sparks of life. It was spring, time to cut away the sheep’s thick woolly winter coats and free them from their burden. They emerged freshly lightened from the fold and fattened up quickly on the nourishing new grass.
It was a mild day and the men and women of the encampment would have been getting on with their chores had it not been for Dawa’s pitiful screams coming from the sheep pen. Her head and face were covered in blood and she looked as if she was about to keel over. Baila stood frozen by her side and the sheep that had caused all the trouble had run off and disappeared.
Baila had been holding a ram as she stood alongside Dawa, who was stooped over, tending to one of the sheep. As Dawa had raised her head, Baila’s leg had suddenly given way for some reason and the ram had sprung away from her. It caught Dawa with the sharp point of its horn, stabbing her forehead and making her yell out in pain as blood poured from her wound.
Ciwang happened to be standing by the two of them at the time and quickly went to Dawa’s aid, keeping her upright. He shouted at Baila, who was too shocked to move, ‘Baila, you’re really too much. Your man visits her tent, that’s all – do you have to try and kill her?’
‘No… It wasn’t…’ Baila looked at Dawa’s bloodied face and was too frightened to talk sense. ‘I didn’t… The ram itself…’
‘I saw you throw down the ram with my own eyes and yet you won’t admit it,’ Ciwang said. He picked up Dawa and pushed his way through the crowd. They ran into Danzeng at the gate and Ciwang fixed him with a fierce stare. ‘Your woman is really too horrible, treating a woman with no head of the household like this. How can you let this carry on?’
Seeing Dawa covered in blood, Danzeng was dumbfounded. When his woman ran over, crying, he raised his hand and slapped her. Baila cried even louder and scurried off to her tent.
Cuomu didn’t know what had happened, but she quietly tugged Shida’s arm and urged him to get someone to go to the army base and ask Dr Zhuo to come as soon as possible. Then she hurried after her mother.
When Dawa’s three sons saw their mother covered in blood, they drew their daggers and rushed over to Danzeng’s tent. Everyone followed them. Danzeng’s youngest brother, Duoji, had also taken up his dagger and was guarding the door to their tent. He watched the three raging youths approach with a cold light in his eyes.
A few people tried to plead with them and pull them away, but it was no good. The three young men were like young bulls, afraid of nothing that earth or heaven could throw at them. They raced up to the tent door and set upon Duoji. Danzeng’s second brother, Niduo, pushed through the crowd and entered the fray. The five men wrestled with each other. When Danzeng pulled one of them away, another plunged in. Meanwhile, Baila continued sobbing inside the tent.
No one knew who had stabbed whom, but there was blood on the ground. One of the young men fell to the floor, then another followed him. Then they got up again and started over.
Shida arrived, supporting the tottering figure of Wangjiu, the clan elder he’d brought back with him from another part of the grassland. The crowd automatically made way for the old man.
‘Stop it, all of you!’ Wangjiu’s body was ailing; he shivered constantly when the wind blew and it was getting worse. He did not want to see the clan at war with itself and hoped that the sight of his frail old body might shake them into calling a halt to the bloodshed.
As society had changed, so the role of the clan elder had all but disappeared. Even though Wangjiu was still highly regarded on the grassland, he was rarely called upon to get involved in clan affairs. In fact, there were no affairs that required his input. Team Leader Danzeng was the government’s representative and had authority over the herders in political matters. As for people’s private matters, the head of the household took care of those.
Wangjiu had spent decades roaming the grassland, and though the wind and sun had weathered his body, he still had a wise head. He’d been a mighty man in his youth, afraid of nothing, but in old age he was peaceable, restrained and self-aware, and he knew exactly when and when not to intervene. This was not such a common quality – how often did people rate themselves too highly or too little because they’d forgotten who they were? As a result, Wangjiu commanded great respect from clan members whenever they saw him.
Hearing the clan elder’s angry instruction, the six men separated. All of them except Danzeng were wounded. They stared menacingly at one another.
‘Go home, the rest of you!’ Wangjiu straightened up and glared at the assembled onlookers. His voice was not loud, but it had strength and authority. The onlookers smiled with embarrassment and returned to their tents.
‘So tell me, does someone have to die before you call this off?’ Wangjiu gave a dry cough. He sat down on a chair that Cuomu had brought over and stared down the six men in front of him.
Under the glare of those cloudy eyes, the men who’d just been baying for blood lowered their heads and looked at their boots in silence.
‘Drawing your daggers to resolve an argument between two jealous women – you really are quite something! What fine grassland men you are – killing people is so much easier than killing yaks.’ Wangjiu’s face flushed with anger.
‘Gela, don’t be angry! It’s because I didn’t teach them well. I’ll reprimand them shortly.’
‘Danzeng, I’m not talking about you. You’re a production-team leader, but if you can’t manage the affairs of your own tent, how can you manage the team?’
‘Yes, yes, Gela has spoken correctly. I have not managed them well.’ Danzeng bowed in response.
Cuomu poured a cup of water and offered it to Wangjiu with both hands. ‘Bola, please drink.’
The old man accepted the cup, took a sip and said, ‘Call your mother out.’
Cuomu went back into the tent and pulled the weeping Baila in front of the old man.
‘You have quite a few men in your family, don’t you? If you kill one, there will still be two left, right?’
‘I…’ Baila was racked with sobs and her hair was dishevelled; she did not dare raise her head.
‘The only woman in your family, and you spend all of your time watching someone else’s tent – do you have no self-respect? Has Dawa taken any space in your tent or any of your belongings? Does your man not come back? Has he left you and become her support instead? How could you be so vicious – using a ram’s horn to stab her!’
‘I didn’t… I don’t know how, but the ram sprang out of my hands.’ Baila raised her head, cast a nervous glance at the elder, then looked down again.
‘The ram sprang out of your hands by itself? Baila, how can you say that? Everyone on the grassland knows that your wild jenny personality will never change and that when your man visits another woman’s tent you flare up. Why not tie him to your waist so he can’t leave at night!’
‘Gela… I…’ Baila could only cry piteously.
‘Enough. Go and see her and take her some butter. Unless you really want to see a war between your men and her sons?’ Wangjiu gave her a sharp look. He was angry and upset, which brought on another coughing fit. He covered his mouth with his hand and Cuomu quickly massaged his back with her fingers.
‘You three, come over!’ He beckoned to Gongzha’s three brothers.
The three young men were covered in blood. They walked quietly over to the old man, bowed and stood up straight.
Wangjiu looked them up and down. ‘So you’re all grown-up and you want to avenge your mother? Your father died young, and Gongzha is away in the army. If it hadn’t been for your Uncle Danzeng, wouldn’t you have been food for the wolves long ago? Now that you’ve grown up, you take your knives to your Uncle Danzeng’s tent for something like this? Your hearts have been eaten by wolves!’
The boys looked at one another. Eventually the second eldest, Gongzan, walked over to Danzeng, bowed and said, ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Danzeng!’ Without waiting for Danzeng to reply, he turned and kicked his brothers – ‘Let’s go’ – and the three of them raced off across the grassland.
*
It was not helpful to measure grassland distances in kilometres; much better to count the number of hours you’d need to ride it. If someone said how many hours it took by horse, everyone knew how far it was; if someone used kilometres, everyone rolled their eyes. Zhuo Mai’s border unit was based at least four hours’ ride from Cuoe Grassland; getting there and back took a whole day.
‘How is she, Dr Zhuo? Will it leave a scar?’ Ciwang asked warmly when Zhuo Mai arrived two days later.
‘A cut this big? Of course it will leave a scar!’ Zhuo Mai replied without turning his head.
Ciwang gasped and took a step back. ‘Will… will it look ugly?’
‘Well, it won’t look like it did before.’ Zhuo Mai took out a syringe and said to Dawa, ‘I’m going to give you some anaesthetic. The cut is deep and I’ll need to put in some stiches for it to heal.’
Dawa nodded and smiled drily. ‘Thank you, Dr Zhuo. If it’s going to be ugly, then let it be ugly. This face has never brought me any luck; things will be simpler if it’s ruined.’
‘What are you saying? Such a beautiful face, how can it be ruined just like that?’ Ciwang tapped his foot. ‘I need to find Danzeng.’
‘What can you achieve by finding him? Don’t you think his woman has caused enough damage? Go home, Ciwang. My sons are here; they can take care of me. Thank you for helping me yesterday.’
‘Well… alright.’ Ciwang made his way slowly to the door, then glanced back at Dawa. ‘If there are any problems, send Gongzan to find me.’
Dawa waved at him and closed her eyes.
Ciwang left and returned to his own tent, humming a song. When he stepped through the door, he called to his woman to serve tea and whistled cheerfully.
‘Managed to flatter your way into her heart, did you?’ Ciwang’s woman banged the wooden tea bowl down in front of him. ‘There’s just one thing I don’t understand: how come the ram managed to escape Baila’s grip so easily?’
Ciwang chuckled darkly and did not reply.
‘Baila has a sharp tongue and she’s always hated Dawa for taking her man, but she wouldn’t go so far as to hurt her. It’s very strange.’
‘That’s Buddha’s punishment to her.’ Ciwang laughed coldly.
‘Why would Buddha want to punish Dawa? That woman only had one man on this grassland. Wouldn’t Buddha get a little tired if he concerned himself with private family matters like that? I don’t think it’s Buddha’s punishment – I think it’s yours. Because she likes Danzeng and she doesn’t like you.’
‘What foolish talk is this?’ Ciwang pounded the table and stood up, slapping her so hard that her body spun. ‘You’ve gone crazy.’
His woman gave a hollow laugh. ‘I saw Baila being pushed by someone – the ram only got away because she couldn’t stay upright. I’m not crazy – you’re the one who’s crazy!’ She dabbed the trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth and stared at her man with reddened eyes.
Ever since their daughter Yangji had run away, she had blamed everything on her husband. As a mother, she couldn’t stop thinking of her child out in the empty wilderness. Where had she got to? Had she run into a wolf or a bear? Her man wasn’t worried; her man’s eyes were fixed on another woman; her man’s heart was fixed on driving away the other men around that woman and bringing her into his embrace. That made her angry; it made her hate her man even more. So when, from another corner of the sheep pen, she’d seen her man give the ram that Baila was holding a surreptitious shove, she’d felt crushed. That hateful act turned her heart as cold as a chunk of ice frozen for a thousand years.
‘You’ll be punished for this!’ She sank to the ground, her hair dishevelled. Her wrinkles had got a lot deeper in recent days. She looked across at her man, who was humming a tune, fumbling open a bottle of baijiu and pouring it into his mouth. There was nothing she could do but suffer.
*
After her wound healed, Dawa took a bandage she’d got from Dr Zhuo, cut it into it circles, squares and triangles the size of her fingernails and carefully pasted them onto her cheek. This was apparently very popular in the city, so Danzeng had told her after coming back from the county town one time. Dawa had sought out Dr Zhuo and asked for a bandage, saying her leg hurt, but she’d never used it. She took it out now because she didn’t want to give that woman of Danzeng’s the satisfaction of thinking that just because she was no longer beautiful, she had also lost the power to attract. She wanted her to understand that even if her face was ruined, Danzeng would still want her.
When the sun had warmed the grassland, Dawa left her tent wearing the silk dress that Danzeng had bought her, deliberately letting its soft collar show outside her sheepskin chuba. She had washed her hair and used butter to smooth it down until it gleamed; then she’d asked Ciwang’s woman to help her braid it into tiny plaits. She fixed pieces of turquoise around her head and gathered her plaits into a net inlaid with yellow jade. With great ceremony, she led her horse to Danzeng’s tent, then called, ‘Danzeng, dear Danzeng, come out!’
Baila came out. When she saw the lively, healthy Dawa, her face changed colour and she disappeared back into the tent.
Danzeng walked over, smiling. ‘Has your wound healed? You’re leading your horse – where are you going?’
‘I want to go to the town to send Gongzha a letter. But I heard that bears have been making trouble along the road through No Man’s Land, so can you come with me?’ Dawa smiled, her face as fresh as a spring breeze.
‘Alright. Wait a minute.’ Danzeng went into his tent and came out with his rifle on his back. He unhitched his horse from beside the tent.
The two walked down the road side by side and after a short distance leapt up onto their horses at the same time. Dawa knew Baila would be watching. She wanted her to watch, she wanted her to know that the man at her side would come away with her anytime she asked. Baila should not think she could tie down her man’s heart just because she had a tent. Men’s hearts were like shooting stars: the flowers on the ground could not determine where they would fall on a given night. Catching this falling star was not something that could be achieved through treachery.
There was another pair of eyes following them – Ciwang’s.
Ciwang’s woman was also standing beside her tent, watching the two horses disappear into the depths of the grassland. She laughed coolly. ‘Someone really wasted his efforts,’ she said.
Ciwang swung his foot back and kicked her in the side.
‘Go on, kick me!’ his woman said, scrambling to her feet. ‘Kick me to death and you still won’t get your prize – she doesn’t like you at all.’
Some days later, Dawa began to sense that something wasn’t right. When she went out in the middle of the night to urinate, it was as if someone was watching her, but when she turned round there was no one there. What was going on? One night, when it happened again, her heart began to pound. Was she thinking too much or was there really someone watching her?
The next day, everyone else in the encampment went to the pasture. But Danzeng said that she hadn’t yet recovered her strength after her injury and he gave her special dispensation to stay close to home and look after some sick lambs.
Dawa gave the lambs some tea water to drink, closed the pen and tied the dog up at the gate before returning to her tent. She pulled out a shovel and began to clean her own tent’s sheep pen while humming a herding song. Suddenly everything went dark. A black cloth had been thrown over her head. Then came a forceful blow to the back of her scalp, and that was the last thing she knew.
That night when everyone came home from the pasture, they found Dawa wandering aimlessly around the encampment, hair tousled and stark naked.
Gongzan was shocked. He quickly pulled off his leather chuba, wrapped his mother in it and took her home. Dawa’s two legs hung bare, kicking uncontrollably. She shouted wildly, ‘Danzeng, come on, come and visit my tent! No need for you to drive the dog away; I’ve tied it up! Hee hee hee… You’ve knocked out my dog – I don’t want you. You dead ghost, you’ve already gone, you won’t take care of me anymore, how will I look after so many children?’
How could a healthy person lose her sanity so quickly?
*
When Gongzha got the news, it was already ten days after the onset of Dawa’s madness. He ran to the company commander’s office with the telegram in his hand; he didn’t even knock, just pushed the door open and burst in.
‘Gongzha, you fucker, you’ve been in the army eight years and you still haven’t learnt to knock?’ The old company commander was now the regimental commander. He’d been looking at a map with the new company commander. When he saw that it was Gongzha making such a noisy entry, he swore at him affectionately.
Gongzha chuckled. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I forgot again!’ He went back to the door, snapped his heels together and roared, ‘Reporting!’ His shout frightened the orderly serving tea so much his hand shook and the teacup smashed to smithereens on the floor.
‘Gongzha, you fucker, if you don’t yell “Reporting!”, you scare people to death, and when you do yell “Reporting!”, you scare them even more.’
‘Ha ha, sir…’ Gongzha strode over, scratching his head with an embarrassed laugh.
‘Give it to me, give it to me. Is it that you want to go fucking hunting again?’ Because Gongzha was both a skilled marksman and a local, the regimental and divisional leaders always liked taking him when they went hunting, and it was usual for him to accompany them for several days.
‘No, sir, it’s not for the regimental commander to go hunting…’
‘Of course I’m not going hunting. Gongzha, you fucker, what level of Mandarin have you actually reached?’ The regimental commander took the piece of paper from his hand. ‘Oh, your mother’s unwell? You want to ask for leave to go back home?’
‘Yes, sir. I didn’t have a father, only a mother. Now that she’s poorly, I’m sick worried.’
‘It’s “worried sick”, not “sick worried”,’ the regimental commander chided with a laugh. He passed the company commander a leave slip. ‘Where did you come from, if you didn’t have a father? You can’t even speak!’
The company commander signed the leave slip and passed it to Gongzha. ‘Off with you.’
Gongzha laughed embarrassedly, took the slip, snapped his heels together and saluted, then ran out of the office, repeating, ‘Worried sick, worried sick, worried sick.’
The regimental commander and the orderly doubled-over laughing.
Gongzha repeated ‘worried sick’ all the way back to the barracks.
‘Old Squad Leader, how did it go? Did they approve your leave?’ Gongzha had been the squad leader for five years, so the new recruits all called him Old Squad Leader. He should have retired from the army long ago, but the regimental commander liked him and had persuaded him to stay on until a suitable job became available. This year a directive to that effect had finally arrived. Gongzha could soon hope to return home for good.
‘Approved, approved – two months!’ Gongzha smiled contentedly and with this smile forgot ‘worried sick’ again. He quickly asked the other men, ‘What was I saying when I came in?’
‘“Worried sick.” You were saying “worried sick” over and over. Old Squad Leader, what are you were worried sick about?’
‘Right, right, right, it’s “worried sick”. I’m worried sick about my mother’s illness.’ Gongzha laughed, smacked his head and began to get his things together.
When his fellow soldiers heard that Gongzha was going home to see his family, they all brought him specialities from their hometowns and stuffed them one after the other into his backpack. The regimental commander’s orderly also came and gave Gongzha a bag of fruit sweets, saying they were from the regimental commander for his mother.
‘The regimental commander really likes you, Gongzha.’
‘I’m honest, alright? Not like you lot, visiting women’s tents all over the place, trouble the regimental commander giving,’ Gongzha replied in his distinctive Mandarin. He continued organising his things.
‘Weren’t you the one who took us? When trouble came, you ran faster than a fox.’
‘I was just your translator. I tried to get you to study hard, but you didn’t want to, and even now you can’t speak Tibetan. That’s not like me at all, I studied Mandarin so diligently, I’m…’
‘Sick worried!’ a couple of soldiers said in unison, laughing together.
‘Right, I’m off. My brothers, when I come back, I’ll bring you some of our grassland’s wind-dried meat – it’s much better than the greasy stuff we get here.’ Gongzha lifted his bag onto his back and walked out; ten or more soldiers crowded around to see him to the gate.
*
The sunbeams sparkled, the sky was completely clear and waves rippled on Cuoe Lake. The warm breeze was making both people and animals lethargic. The yaks in the distance and the antelopes closer to hand were all extremely still, eating or resting, enjoying the gentle caress of the beautiful day.
Gongzha hurried home in a cloud of dust. After hearing what had happened, he suspected that Baila had something to do with it. His hand flew to his dagger and he raced even faster across the plain.
As he reached his family tent, Gongzan came out to greet him. ‘Brother, Ama’s acting up again.’
Gongzha strode into the tent to find a tousle-haired Dawa trying to get up off the couch and his little sister tugging at her clothes and crying. ‘What’s this, Ama?’ He walked over and pressed down on Dawa’s shoulder, holding her steady, then sat down beside her. ‘Ama, do you know who I am?’
Dawa looked at him, laughing crazily. ‘Ha ha, which tent did you go to that you’re only coming back now after such a long time?’
After she was calm again, Gongzha set off to collect some herbs for her. He took out the old gun and weighed it in his hand. He hadn’t used it in a long time and it felt unfamiliar to the touch. He slung the gun across his back, put on his leather chuba, hung the leather bag of gunpowder off his belt, and led his horse out from behind the tent.
On his way out of the encampment, just as he was about to mount his horse, he saw Baila coming towards him. When he thought of the scar on his mother’s forehead, his face fell.
Baila rolled her eyes when she saw Gongzha, snorted at the ground, and cursed. ‘Bairuo!’
‘Bairuo’ meant ‘your father is a corpse’ and was the most vicious insult on the grassland. His father’s untimely death had left a deep wound in Gongzha’s heart and even if he’d been of a calm disposition, he probably wouldn’t have let such a hurtful insult pass. But Gongzha was not known for his even temper. He pulled his foot out of the stirrup, turned and glared at Baila, his face trembling with rage.
‘Bairuo!’ Baila cursed again as she passed him.
Gongzha immediately raised his hand and slapped her, hitting her so hard that she spun round several times before she fell to the ground. ‘You stay away from me from, you hear? Otherwise I won’t be responsible for my actions,’ he said coldly. Mounting his horse, he cracked his whip and disappeared across the grassland in search of his mother’s herbs.
A crowd gathered when they heard Baila’s cries. They asked her what had happened.
‘The son of that wild jenny Dawa hit me! How dare he!’ Baila smacked the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust. ‘Danzeng, is that the sort of woman you spend your time with – a woman who raises her sons to hit your own woman? You’re really something. The punishment for your tent visits has come, and it’s come to your own woman!’
‘Ama, how could Gongzan have hit you?’ Cuomu pushed through the crowd and helped her mother up. ‘Isn’t he in his tent looking after his mother?’
‘What Gongzan? It’s that yak Gongzha. I’m telling you now: if you carry on seeing him after today, don’t blame me if I don’t recognise you as my daughter.’ Baila wiped away her tears, leaving streaks of dirt across her face.
Cuomu’s eyes lit up. ‘Gongzha’s back?’
‘I’ve told you, I forbid you from seeing him again.’ Baila clasped her back with her hands. ‘Ow! My back… That dead yak, bairuo…’
‘Ama, don’t curse!’ Cuomu supported her mother back to the tent; when they were almost there, they ran into her two uncles, who were on their way back from herding.
‘What’s wrong with your mother?’ her elder uncle, Niduo, asked.
Cuomu was about to speak when her mother butted in. ‘It’s that woman of your brother’s – yet again. She told her son to hit me. I can’t even straighten my back, and as for my face, well, see for yourselves.’ Baila turned the swollen, reddened right side of her face towards them, her tears falling thick and fast. ‘Oh, my three men have all become grass-eaters. Their woman gets beaten up by a wild yak and all they can do is look!’
Her words had the desired effect. A grassland man could take being called stupid, he could even take being called useless, but to say he was no better than the grass-eating livestock was an insult that struck deep. A man without the bloodlust fundamental to survival on the grassland was no man at all. If a man lost that, he lost the respect of his woman, and if even his own woman didn’t look up to him, he had no standing on the grassland.
‘Let’s go.’ Niduo jerked his chin at his younger brother, Duoji, who was standing next to him. Ignoring Cuomu’s shouted protests, they headed off, taking with them a stave from beside the tent.
The two enraged brothers plunged into Gongzha’s family tent. Gongzan and his siblings were tending to Dawa. Sensing something was wrong, they automatically reached for the knives at their waists. Niduo and Duoji didn’t even look at Gongzan; they just took their staves and lashed out in every direction. The pressure cooker and bowls clattered noisily to the ground, and clothes were thrown across the floor. Gongzan and his two brothers defended themselves with whatever household items came to hand. Their little sister Lamu was badly frightened, she only knew to protect her mother Dawa and hid sobbing in the corner.
By the time Danzeng and Cuomu had hurried over, Niduo had been stabbed in the back. He lay on the ground trying to hold his wound, blood staining his fur-lined chuba. Gongzan had been hit on the head with the stave and blood was trickling down his forehead.
‘Don’t fight, don’t fight…’ Cuomu quickly tried to help her uncle up, but his body was so weak he couldn’t stand. When she saw how pale his face was, she was badly frightened. ‘Aba, Uncle is done for!’ she yelled.
Her shout made everyone else freeze. They all stared at Niduo.
‘Why don’t you come and help me?’ Cuomu called to her Uncle Duoji.
Danzeng and Duoji carried their brother Niduo out of the tent and took him home on their backs. As soon as they’d laid him on the couch, Zhuo Mai raced in, pulling his son with him and carrying his medical bag. He felt for Niduo’s pulse, pulled up his eyelids and then sighed, shaking his head.
‘He’s dead.’
Cuomu sat on the floor, her face deathly pale, wanting to cry but unable to shed any tears. Danzeng could barely stand; he staggered and put out a hand to steady himself on the chest. His youngest brother looked on in a daze. Baila’s eyes rolled and she fainted.
Zhuo Mai caught her and signalled for a glass of water.
When Baila woke and saw Niduo’s bloodied corpse at the side of the tent, she let out a great cry.
‘Brother Danzeng, things have already gone too far,’ Zhuo Mai said, giving Danzeng a sympathetic look. ‘Being upset is not helping – you need to resolve this quickly.’
Duoji’s eyes flashed fire. He fixed Danzeng with a stare and spoke in a low, steely voice. ‘Second Brother cannot die like this. Oldest Brother, it’s for you to say: what should we do?’
What could Danzeng say? Could he say they would not seek revenge? No, he didn’t dare say that. No matter what he felt in his heart, he had to deal with this. His brother was dead, his corpse laid out right there in front of him. He was the head of the household, the backbone of the family. It was his responsibility to ensure that the people of his tent were not wronged. Danzeng was a man of standing. His brother had been killed and this was a blood feud that could endure for generations – how could he not take revenge? How could it stop here? And yet, what sort of revenge should he take? Should he kill one of her sons? A life for a life. Blood for blood. Thinking of her now, so delusional that she didn’t even know him, how could he bring another bloody disaster on her tent?
‘Brother, I know you like that woman, but now her son has killed our brother. No matter how much you like her, is a woman really more important than a brother?’ Duoji looked at him, his face tense.
Looking down at Niduo’s mute, motionless, bloody body, Danzeng’s heart was like an eagle about to pounce. Blood rushed to his head. ‘Alright, let’s avenge Second Brother.’ Danzeng looked at his youngest brother, grimaced, and forced the words out from between gritted teeth. He lifted his feet and prepared to go out.
‘No, Aba, Uncle, don’t kill again! Uncle Niduo has already gone. No matter how much more blood is spilt, it won’t bring him back.’ Cuomu held onto her father’s leg, her tears falling like rain.
‘Will your Uncle Niduo die for nothing? A debt of blood must be repaid in blood.’ Baila’s eyes were bloodshot and she was hungry for revenge. ‘That woman… Your father was so good to her, and for what? He helped her bring up her son, and now see what’s happened – bitten by the leopard you raised,’ she said viciously. ‘Let go of your father, Cuomu. Don’t make the people of the grassland look down on him.’
When Danzeng heard his woman say that, he knew he had to go. He turned to leave.
‘Wait, wait. Will you just let me say one thing?’ Zhuo Mai glanced round at everyone in the tent. His voice was not loud, but it was full of authority. ‘When I’ve finished, you can go and kill people or burn down tents, whatever you want.’
Danzeng looked at his brother and his woman and sat down without saying a word.
‘Times have changed, and things are different here on the plateau now. Outsiders used to dismiss this land as a place of evil ghosts. They said that once you came up here, you could never leave. So no one wanted to come. And you yourselves never left, never mixed with the outside world. You settled everything among yourselves. If a man killed another man, the following day someone would come and kill him, and on it would go. If you wanted to put an end to the generations of blood feuds, you discussed how much would be paid in compensation, but the price for the lives lost was never equal.
‘Now it’s different. The Liberation has come. You’re not anyone’s serfs anymore, and you no longer have to run around for other people. Everyone is equal before the law: if you kill someone, you die, and if you owe a debt, you pay. There’s no difference in the value of a life now.
‘We can’t keep holding on to the old ways, paying blood debts with blood. I suggest that you go quickly to the town to report this matter and let the government handle it. Brother Danzeng, you’re the team leader and you’re well known on the grassland. If you set an example by changing the way justice is done on the grassland, future generations will thank you.’
‘Dr Zhuo is right.’ Wangjiu, the old clan elder, stooped in under the tent flap, supported by Shida and another young man. ‘That is the history of our grassland. If you kill a member of my family, I will kill one of yours. Year after year there is blood and sacrifice, and it goes on for generation after generation.’
Danzeng got up to let Wangjiu sit.
‘People say that we people of northern Tibet are abuhuo, that we’re hot-headed and unreasonable, that we’re dirty and unruly. We murder one another, turn our knives on each other. Why can’t we control ourselves? Why can’t we let the government help us deal with problems when they arise? Blood-letting doesn’t solve anything.’
‘Elder Wangjiu, I…’ Danzeng looked up at the old man, then clasped his head in his hands and knelt on the ground in front of him. His eyes slowly filled with tears.
‘Danzeng, your grandfather died in a revenge killing and your father died in a revenge killing. Now your brother is gone. Will Cuomu have to die before all this stops?’ Wangjiu spoke with feeling and patted Danzeng’s shoulder.
His words made Danzeng and Duoji hold their heads and howl. Danzeng agreed to go to the town and report the case the next day.
*
While all that was going on, Gongzha was halfway up Mount Chanaluo, carefully searching the rocky crevices for herbs. Loose stones occasionally rolled past him. The upper slopes, above five thousand metres, had snow year round and the summit got a fresh covering every day. The smallest disturbance could trigger an avalanche and bring down half the mountain, so Gongzha moved slowly and kept his breathing as light as possible for fear the vibrations might bring the snow crashing down on top of him.
Mount Chanaluo’s eastern face overlooked the lake. There were ravines on both the north and south sides, and to the west lay the endless sweep of Cuoe Grassland. The mountain was a haven for yaks, wolves and bears, and according to the legend of the Wolf Spirit it was forbidden by the Buddha to go there. The herders didn’t dare, and only the older, braver hunters ventured up there with their guns, in groups of two or three, but they always hurried away.
Gongzha’s father had often hunted up there, taking Gongzha with him. Zhaduo had also gone there to gather herbs and he’d told Gongzha the mountain’s story. He said that beyond the first layer of the mountain range was a snow valley and that this was the bears’ haven. When you were almost at the ledge just below the summit, there was a large black boulder, and on the boulder lay the magical chain sent from heaven that King Gesar had used to tether the Wolf Spirit. The main gate to Shambhala was right next to the chain.
Shambhala was the heaven that occupied many a herder’s heart. Was it really on this earth? Gongzha shook his head. He’d heard these kinds of stories since he was young. The children of the grassland could easily tell several days’ worth of stories about Shambhala. But no one could say what Shambhala looked like; they just put whatever they imagined was most beautiful into their stories. As he looked at the cloud-veiled mountain peak, he thought of the story that Cuomu had told him. How Chanaluo had once had a heart that beat, but that now, no one knew why, the heart was gone and all that remained was a cavity. Was that ledge Chanaluo’s heart cavity?
He stared hard at the mountain peak. He wanted to explore up there, investigate that mysterious ledge, the heaven-sent magical chain and the legend of the Wolf Spirit. But not tonight. Gongzha tilted his head and looked at the sky: the moon had already reached the mountaintop and Ama would be waiting for him. He checked the herbs in his pack and, stepping onto the packed snow, carefully slid down the mountain.
Just after he rounded a large rock, he suddenly saw Kaguo standing on a nearby boulder. Her thick fur stirred lightly in the breeze, and in the moonlight her small eyes shone bright and clear. She watched him quietly.
Gongzha froze, then instinctively reached for his gun. But slowly he lowered his hand. Under the light of the moon, man and bear looked at each other across the snow mountain. The mountain was utterly silent save for the in- and out-breaths of the man and the bear.
Then Kaguo jumped down from the boulder and bounded back up the mountain. In a little while she’d completely disappeared.
Gongzha stood staring after her for some time. He thought about how Zhaduo had instructed him to find her, how she would supposedly lead him to the Buddha and let the Buddha’s light shine on the grassland once more. This was what Zhaduo had requested and it had become Gongzha’s burden. Kaguo was a bear, what could she do? What did the Buddha have to do with a bear? Gongzha didn’t understand. He thought of the black Buddha he’d buried when he was a child and the book that looked like a religious text but wasn’t. Maybe he should find them and move them to another place. With these thoughts in mind, he continued his slide down the mountain, found his horse, mounted, and with a crack of the whip raced back to the grassland.
He got back to the tent before dawn to find his home in a shambles. The pressure cooker, washbowls and blankets were strewn all over the place and their one small wooden chest had been smashed to pieces. His three brothers were clearing up and his mother was asleep. When his sister saw him, she buried herself in his arms and sobbed.
‘What happened?’
Gongzan explained.
Gongzha’s face darkened. He put the medicinal herbs he’d collected beside the window and began to help his brothers clean up.
When morning came, Gongzha made his youngest brother, the brother who’d stabbed Niduo, go to the town and turn himself in.
Because the guilty party had proactively reported themselves, the situation was now a lot less inflammatory. The government had stepped in and, whatever the outcome, that would at least guarantee there’d be no ongoing blood feud. As for settling Niduo’s funeral arrangements, the clan elder called Gongzha and Danzeng to Zhuo Mai’s tent to discuss them.
Wangjiu coughed, drank a little water, raised his head, and said, ‘What’s done is done. You are your respective tents’ head of household. I called you here today to discuss the funeral of the dead man.’
‘It is we who were in the wrong,’ Gongzha said. ‘How much money do you want? We are willing to pay.’ He saw that the hair on the side of Danzeng’s head had begun to go white and his heart sank. The Danzeng he remembered was a strong, authoritative man. How could he have lost that overnight? His back was stooped, his leather robe hung loose around his waist, and his hair was dirty and unkempt.
Ever since Gongzha had come to understand such things, he’d been witness to Danzeng’s comings and goings in their tent. In the lean years, it had always been Danzeng who went hungry so that they could eat; he’d looked after Gongzha and his siblings like a father. Then when Gongzha had grown and could look after his own tent, Danzeng had put him forward for the army. In Gongzha’s heart, Danzeng was like his own father. He’d always hoped that one day he would return to the grassland, marry Cuomu and take good care of Danzeng in his old age. But now this had happened.
‘Let’s say three hundred. Things aren’t easy for his family.’ Danzeng glanced at Gongzha then quickly lowered his head. It was hard to look into the eyes of this young man whom he had once loved and cherished as his own child, whom he had taken hunting and herding. How could he have grown up so fast and become his enemy? Was fate so impossible to anticipate, so impossible to fathom?
‘Alright.’ Gongzha took out a large wad of ten-yuan bills and tossed it to Wangjiu. It was two months’ salary and even after the two hundred he’d given his youngest brother, there was still more than a thousand left.
‘There’s no need for that much,’ Danzeng said. ‘His mother needs money for the doctor.’ He grabbed a wodge of notes, put it in his chuba and returned the rest to the clan elder, who passed it to Gongzha.
‘I don’t need it,’ Gongzha said in a muffled voice, and pushed the money back.
The elder sighed and motioned for Zhuo Mai to put the money in Danzeng’s chuba. ‘You should take it,’ he told Danzeng. ‘Accept the gesture.’
Danzeng lowered his head and his eyes blurred with tears.
Gongzha glanced at Danzeng; he wanted to apologise, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He rose, bowed to the clan elder, turned and went out of the tent.
Cuomu was standing outside in the sunlight. She looked at Gongzha askance, and his feet froze to the ground.
Danzeng also came out. Seeing his daughter, he said in a low voice, ‘Let’s go.’
Cuomu walked mechanically behind her father, looking back every three steps.
Zhuo Mai came over to Gongzha’s side. ‘You must give her time, and give her family time.’
With such hostility between the two tents, would it ever be possible for the pair of them to be together?
The wind began to blow, increasing in strength, turning every which way and howling. It was always like that on the grassland: the wind and rain came and went at whim.
*
Five days later, people from the county town came to take Gongzha’s youngest brother away. Everyone in the encampment turned up to watch. After all, this was the first blood feud the government had stepped in to resolve, a new way of seeing justice done on Cuoe Grassland.
The affair stopped Gongzha and Cuomu’s love in its tracks. How could love flourish amid the pain of a family member’s death? Their love was no longer protected and carefully tended, no longer unconditional but smothered under hurt and dust.
The once singing, smiling Cuomu changed overnight, like the summer grass. She became silent and withdrawn; she no longer joined in with the other young people’s activities. No matter how large the dance circle or how exuberant the singing, she wouldn’t even look at it. She just searched for something else to do: cleaning the lamb pen, carrying water, washing clothes… If there really was nothing to do, she would sit by herself out on the plain, staring vacantly at the distant snow mountain.
She got thinner by the day. The young men sighed when they saw her, shocked that such a free-spirited beauty could become skinnier than a two-month-old lamb in such a brief space of time. In the dead of night, the white tent that they’d all once been so interested in now often emitted the sound of stifled sobbing.
Gongzha was also withdrawn, but like the mountains on the grassland, he stood tall and immutable. Seeing Cuomu get thinner and weaker, seeing her deep silence and deeper pain, made his heart so sore it grew numb. Every day, he followed Cuomu with his eyes. Watching her wander lonely on the grassland, his heart was like dried grass bending in a fierce wind; it twisted with such pain he could barely stand it.
Deep down, he blamed himself. If he’d controlled himself that day, if he hadn’t raised his hand against her mother, everything would be different. Her uncle would still be alive, his brother would not be cowering in jail, and the two of them would still be slipping away to a corner of the grassland and whispering their warm, bewitching words.
His mother’s mental state had become much more stable, at least, thanks to the herbs. Most of the time she sat quietly in the tent, neither speaking nor moving. But Gongzha could not suppress his longing for Cuomu. When he could bear it no longer, he would go out into the vast wilderness and yell hysterically, or he would take his old gun and go hunting, killing wolves, or foxes or nothing at all, simply riding on and on until he was exhausted.