Part 17 (2/2)

Men arrived on horseback from the town, hungry for news. They had learned of Suhbataar's visit two days ago from the truck drivers' grapevine. They sat around the fire as Baljin told the story yet again, and an impromptu party got going. The younger men showed off their horsemans.h.i.+p to Baljin. Baljin was respected as one of the finest archers in all Dalanzagad, male or female, and she was unbetrothed, and the daughter of a government employee. Baljin's aunt made some fresh airag airag, stirring mare's milk into fermented milk. The mares were grazed on the previous autumn's taana taana gra.s.s, which makes the best gra.s.s, which makes the best airag airag. It grew dark, and fires were lit.

'Tell us a story, Aunt Baljin,' says my host's eight year-old. 'You know the best ones.'

'How come?' says a little snotty boy.

'Because of Grandpa Bodoo's book, stupid. My Aunt Baljin helped him write it, didn't you, Aunt Baljin?'

'What book?' says Snotty.

'The book of stories, stupid.'

'What stories?'

'You are so facile!' The girl exhibits her recent acquisition. 'Aunt Baljin, tell us The Camel and the Deer The Camel and the Deer.'

Baljin smiles. She has a lovely smile.

Now; long, long ago, the camel had antlers. Beautiful twelve-p.r.o.nged antlers. And not only antlers! The camel also had a long, thick, tail, l.u.s.trous as your hair, my darling.

['What's ”l.u.s.tous”?' asked Snotty.]

['Shut up, stupid, or Aunt Baljin will stop, won't you, Aunt Baljin?']

At that time the deer had no antlers. It was bald, and to be truthful rather ugly. And as for the horse, the horse had no lovely tail, either. Just a short little stumpy thing.

One day the camel went to drink at the lake. He was charmed by the beauty of his reflection. 'How magnificent!' thought the camel. 'What a gorgeous beast am I!'

Just then, who should come wandering out of the forest, but the deer? The deer was sighing.

'What's the matter with you?' asked the camel. 'You've got a face on you like a wet sun.'

'I was invited to the animals' feast, as the guest of honour.'

'You can't beat a free nosh-up,' said the camel.

'How can I go with a forehead as bare and ugly as mine? The tiger will be there, with her beautiful coat. And the eagle, with her sw.a.n.ky feathers. Please, camel, just for two or three hours, lend me your antlers. I promise I'll give them back. First thing tomorrow morning.'

'Well,' said the camel, magnanimously. 'You do look pretty dreadful the way you are, I agree. I'll take pity on you. Here you are.' And the camel took off the antlers, and gave them to the deer, who pranced off. 'And mind you don't spill any, er, berry juice on them or whatever it is you forest animals drink at these dos.'

The deer met the horse.

'Hey,' said the horse. 'Nice antlers.'

'Yes, they are, aren't they?' replied the deer. 'The camel gave them to me.'

'Mmmn,' mused the horse. 'Maybe the camel will give me something, too, if I ask nicely.'

The camel was still at the lake, drinking, and looking at the desert moon.

'Good evening, my dear camel. I was wondering, would you swap your beautiful tail with me for the evening? I'm going to see this finely built young filly I know, and she's long been an admirer of yours. I know she'd simply melt if I turned up in her paddock wearing your tail.'

The camel was flattered. 'Really? An admirer? Very well, let's swap tails. But be sure to bring it back first thing tomorrow morning. And be sure you don't spill any, erm, never mind, just look after it all right? It's the most beautiful tail in the whole world, you know.'

Since then many days and years have pa.s.sed, but the deer still hasn't given back the camel's antlers, and you can see for yourself that the horse still gallops over the plains with the camel's tail streaming in the wind. And some people say, when the camel comes to drink at the lake he sees his bare, ugly reflection, and snorts, and forgets his thirst. And have you noticed how the camel stretches his neck and gazes into the distance, to a far-off sand dune or a distant mountain top? That's when he's thinking, 'When is the horse going to give me back my tail?' And that is why he is always so sad.

Dust-devils bounced off the sh.e.l.l of the jeep like kangaroos. Nothing amongst these rocks but scorpions and mirages, for the length and breadth of the morning.

Bodoo's brother stopped in an isolated ger. A camel was tethered outside, but there was no one around. As Gobi etiquette permits, my host entered the ger, prepared some food, and drank some water. The owner's camel snorted like a human. A warning flared up from my host's unconcious, but it went before I could locate its source. The wind was strong but the world was silent. There was nothing to blow against, or in, or through.

We got back in the jeep. Gazelles darted through the distance, flocks of them turning like minnows in a river. Bodoo's brother drove down the Valley of the Vulture's Mouth, where we stopped at a store for enough provisions and petrol to get us to Bayanhongoor. Bodoo had pa.s.sed through early that morning. We were catching him up.

Hawks circled high. One of the last Gobi bears shambled along the fringe of forest. There are less than a hundred left. Bodoo's brother slept in the jeep, under several blankets. It gets cold at night, even in summer. Dreams came, of bones and stones with holes.

The next day, the dunes, the longest running for eighty miles, swelling and rolling, grain by grain. Bodoo's brother sang songs that lasted for miles, with no beginning and no end. The dunes of the dead. There were bones, and stones with holes.

There was a stationary jeep in the s.h.i.+mmering distance. Bodoo's brother pulled up to it, and cut his engine. A figure was asleep under a makes.h.i.+ft canopy in the back.

'Are you all right, stranger? Are you in need of any help? Any water?'

'Yes,' said the figure, suddenly sitting up and showing his face, chewing gum. 'I need your jeep. Mine seems to have broken down.' At point blank range Punsalmaagiyn Suhbataar fired his handgun twice, a bullet for each of my host's eyes.

n.o.body replies. Firelight without colour. Outside must be night, if there is an outside. I am hostless and naked. The faces all stare in the same direction, all of them all of their ages. One of them coughs. It is Bodoo's brother, his eye wounds already healed. I try to transmigrate into him, but I cannot inhabit a shadow. I've never known silence so deep. By being what I am, I thought I understood almost everything. But I understand almost nothing.

A figure rises, and leaves the ger through a curtain. So simple? I follow the figure. 'I'm sorry, I'm afraid you can't come through here,' says a girl I hadn't noticed, no older than eight, delicate and tiny as an ancient woman.

'Will you stop me?'

'No. If there is a door for you, you are free to pa.s.s through.' Wrens flutter.

I touch the wall. There is no door. 'Where is it?'

She shrugs, biting her lip.

'Then what shall I do?'

A swan inspects the ground. She shrugs.

Tallow candles spit and hiss. These few guests are many mult.i.tudes. Thousands of angels swim in a thimble. From time to time one of the guests stands up, and walks through the way out that is not there. The wall of the ger yields, and re-seals behind them, like a wall of water. I try to leave with them, but for me it never even bends.

The monk in a saffron robe sighs. He wears a yellow hat that arcs forward. 'I'm having some problems with my teeth.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' I say. The little girl talks to her twitchy marmot.

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