by Li Juan
* * *
HAVING NEIGHBORS LIKE THESE was great. In addition to being able to divide the work, there was somewhere to visit and chat. If some little thing was missing, we could borrow from each other. When one family made delicious food, they’d share it with the other. No matter what, it was better than being a single family, alone in the vast territory. But as time went on, disagreements inevitably arose. When it came to the division of labor, everyone had their good reasons. On the whole though, there was camaraderie.
At first, when Sister-in-law would ask me to fetch Cuma back from the neighbors’ for dinner, I knocked, opened the door, then stuck my head over the threshold to shout, “Brother, dinner!” Considering the job done, I returned home. Cuma came back right away and rebuked me: “With all those people there, how can you only call on me? If you’re going to shout, then shout for everyone to come. When they hear you shouting for me alone, they’d feel unwelcome.”
I asked, “But if I ask, would they really come eat?”
He said, “It doesn’t matter if they come or not. You should still ask. We all live together, so we’re one big family.” It was a heartfelt complaint.
A little over a month later, when Sister-in-law sent me to fetch their son, Zhada, who had joined us by then, for dinner, Cuma made a point of emphasizing, “Just get Zhada …” which made it awkward for me, so I just stood outside our own doorway and shouted across the distance, “Zhada! Come out!” Only when he’d followed my voice outside and walked near me did I whisper, “Dinnertime …”
14.
Plum Blossom and Panda Dog
THE OTHER IMPORTANT MEMBERS of the Cuma household were Plum Blossom and Panda Dog. When I carried twenty kilos of snow on my back, lumbering up and down over the dunes, heart thumping, puffing like an ox, only to look up and see that home was still no more than a speck in the distance … in moments like these, I felt envious of Plum Blossom and Panda Dog. They must have been the happiest creatures in the world! While I was struggling, Plum Blossom was likely testing out the most comfortable position possible for sleeping, and Panda Dog likely also had zilch to do, besides try hard to kill time, searching everywhere for imaginary foes. When I pictured Plum Blossom sleeping beside the warm stove, a paw over his face one moment, a paw over his ear the next, as if the whole world was disturbing his precious nap, and Panda Dog dozing, curled up as tightly as she could with her head under her belly, like a headless, tailless ball of fur … I could only sigh—no work, no burdens, to sleep whenever you’re tired, what a blissful life that must be!
In reality, the wilderness does not tolerate helpless things, and the two pets had their troubles too.
Plum Blossom was still too young to catch mice. As a loafer, he had a lowly status in the home. Whenever Cuma was in a drunken rage, he was always the primary target. It wasn’t like the dog, who could run away whenever the club was about to land. The burrow was only so big; where could the kitten go? It was so cold outside, so unfamiliar—he was only four months old, and its horizon hadn’t expanded beyond his home. So, under this roof, he kept his head down. He lived his cat life with his tail between his legs, never daring to fight or even meow back. After a beating, he still had to bow down in supplication. Whenever he could, he practiced catching mice, sharpening his claws, working hard to grow into a useful cat.
Plum Blossom was once a yellow cat. One day, Cuma was out marking the camels, using red spray paint to write such and such county’s such and such team on their felt blankets, even including his name and phone number. When he finished, he shook the can and noticed that there was plenty of paint left, so he gave the camels a red beard and a red tail. Then he shook the can again and there was still some paint left, which was unfortunate for the yellow kitten who was cautiously slinking around the yurt.… From that moment, the yellow cat became a pink Plum Blossom.
Furiously, I yelled at him, “How could you do that! If the paint gets in his eyes he’ll go blind!”
Hearing this, Cuma didn’t respond, he just sprayed, ksss ksss, gave the poor kitten two bright red cheeks. Angrily, I tried to grab the kitten from him, but he wouldn’t let him go and quickly smudged the red paint all over his little ears and four paws. My mistake, Cuma isn’t someone you can criticize.
Unsurprisingly, the kitten was distressed, yowling and pawing at his eyes. Little did he know, his paws were covered in poisonous paint too. When he rubbed his eyes, he screamed. So first, he learned to clean his paws, licking and licking until his mouth was bright red too. Then he tried to clean his face, and after a long struggle, he managed to smudge the red paint everywhere, making the situation even worse. Most likely bothered by the smell of the paint, he turned to lick his stomach, which meant more paint in his mouth.… I was livid! Cuma had gone too far! The kitten was so little, so fragile, that if the paint didn’t poison him to death, the fumes would suffocate him.
That evening was mellow and relaxed; music played through the speaker, mother and daughter cooked dinner, and Cuma read the newspaper. Only I was exasperated, pouring water out of the kettle, trying to wash the kitten’s paws and face. But how can you wash off paint? Not even soap made a difference.
Cuma pretended he was surprised by the kitten’s new color, teasing, “Eh, what’s this? I’ve never seen a cat like this before!” and he used a roll of newspaper to bop his head. “What happened? How’d you end up looking like this?”
The kitten’s eyes must have really stung because he was squinting, unable to open them. Pointing at him, I blamed Cuma. “See, he’s blind now! It can’t open his eyes!”
So Cuma called out, “Mushi mushi” (the sound we made to tell the kitten there’s meat), and Plum Blossom immediately turned to look at him with his big round eyes! The fool!
Cuma laughed. “See! See!” How frustrating.
In the days that followed, he kept picking up the cat and cooing, “Li Juan says you’re blind. But tell me, are you blind?” Which was his passive-aggressive way of letting me know that I had made a fuss over nothing.
Perhaps he was right; perhaps these creatures were far more resilient and tenacious than I gave them credit for.
During our second week in the wilderness, I dropped some of the snow I was about to boil for water. Plum Blossom quickly ran over and thirstily licked up every last drop. Only then did it occur to me: no one had ever given him any water! Heavens, how had he even survived those two weeks?
Cuma said that if he was thirsty, he could have squeezed out through the crack in the door to eat the snow outside.
“How would he get back in?” I asked. The door opened outward, so squeezing out was no problem, but squeezing back in would require some creativity.
Cuma replied, “Dunno, but he could’ve.”
One day, I saw with my own eyes how he got back in. First, he clawed at the door until it opened a crack. Then he quickly shoved his head in the crack, propping the door open with his mouth before wriggling his head until he forced his whole head inside. The rest was simpler, kittens being soft-bodied little animals. Ah, he was no fool.
Finding water to drink was essential, so fear of cold and dog notwithstanding, he still underwent this daily struggle. Growing up isn’t easy.
Plum Blossom loved the scraping sound of a knife being sharpened. A sharpened knife always meant there was meat to be carved, and when meat was carved, he always got his share. Sometimes, when Cuma whet a knife for cutting cowhide, he would charge over there, full of hope. Cuma would scold, “You! Not even human!”
At first, I thought that Cuma didn’t like the kitten, given that he beat him mercilessly whenever he’d had a drink. Seeing it made my skin crawl. But when there was meat, Cuma ignored all objections and cut slice after slice of meat for the kitten. It was no wonder that even after all the cruelty, Plum Blossom still adored him.
When Cuma fed the kitten meat, Sister-in-law would object, “Koychy!” When Sister-in-law fed the kitten meat, Kama would object, “Enough, enough!” When Kama fed the ki
tten meat, I objected, “It’s already had plenty!” When I fed the kitten meat, Cuma would object, “It’s eaten more than you have!” Anyhow, that was how the family tried to keep each other in check all the while spoiling Plum Blossom.
Sometimes Cuma would scold the kitten: “You sleep all day! You only know to eat meat! You don’t even slaughter your own sheep, you always eat ours!”
I wondered, “His own sheep?”
Cuma said, “Aren’t the mice his own sheep?!”
If the neighbors’ big leopard cat was Karlygash’s toy, then our Plum Blossom was Cuma’s toy. One moment he lifted the kitten by its ears and as if weighing him declared, “Twenty-four pounds!” The next moment, he cupped the kitten’s cheeks as he asked, “Why so angry? Did Li Juan hit you again?”
He was clearly the one doing all the bullying, pinching the creature till he squealed! But if I yelled at him to stop, he’d cradle the kitten in his arms and feign compassion. “Who just hit you? Tell me, don’t be afraid.… Who was it, who? … Ah? Was it her?” He held the kitten’s paw and pointed in my direction.
When he hit Plum Blossom, of course he fled. At which point, Cuma would begin sharpening the knife on the stove top. When the kitten heard the sound, he came back, only to be beaten all over again … the fool!
When he couldn’t find the hammer, Cuma would blame it on the cat. “Since everyone else says they didn’t take it, then it must have been you! Quick, hand it over!”
Even a kind and gentle person like me sometimes bullied Plum Blossom. Exhausted from lugging snow back home, I tossed the sack onto the bed without checking first. The sack crushed the kitten’s leg—who had taught him to sleep all splayed out like that? At any rate, the injury was fairly serious; the kitten yowled on and on and had a limp for the rest of the day.
* * *
ALTHOUGH PLUM BLOSSOM’S situation was far from ideal, compared with Panda Dog, his life was blessed to the point of “decadence.”
The dog was a fairly pure Tobet breed of Kazakh shepherd dog with a large head, big ears, stocky build, and a dense, curly coat. But her color came in patches of black and white like a Holstein dairy cow. The first time I saw the dog, I asked Cuma, “What’s her name?” He made up a name on the spot: “Black-and-white dog!”
So I decided to call her Panda Dog.
Kazakh Tobets are stout and clumsy, with floppy ears that block their ear canals. To make them more alert to sounds at night, herders often cut off their ears when they’re young. Our Panda Dog also only had a pair of ear stubs. The ear stubs usually stayed upright, but when the dog groveled, they fell to the sides, making her look bald, and even more timid than usual.
At first, I thought Panda Dog was living a good life. At least every evening she had food to eat—after finishing our dinner, Sister-in-law would take a few pieces of old nan from under the cloth napkin and put them into her bowl, then pour a little milk and starch water on top. Mama Jakybay and her family, whom I’d lived with before, never fed their dog anything. So, how did it survive? By sticking to a dog’s unbreakable habit.… I have no idea why they hated dogs so much.
But Cuma’s family wasn’t like that. As soon as Cuma sat down on a sand dune, Panda Dog crouched close by his side. When Sister-in-law went out the door, Panda Dog stuck to her heels like glue. At most, they shouted at Panda Dog a little, but they never bothered her much.
The sheep had their pen, the cattle had their burrow, and the camels slept pressed up against the sheep pen walls. Only Panda Dog slept on the roof of the burrow, fully exposed to the wind. Even though, as I mentioned, the roof radiated heat, without any shelter, how comfortable could she have been? I considered digging a burrow for the dog, but was too lazy to actually do it. Besides, it seemed like she really didn’t need one; she looked comfortable enough. This was especially true during the winter slaughter when we all took turns to feed her offal and odd bits of meat. The whole time, Panda Dog beamed with a joyful, wrinkle-faced smile.
Panda Dog’s worst troubles came from the cattle. If Panda Dog wasn’t around when Sister-in-law put food into the dog bowl, the cattle would run over to steal her food. If Panda Dog caught them in the act, her hairs raised immediately, and three steps away from them, she dipped her shoulders, hackles raised, stuck up her rear end, and barked ferociously. The fact was that no matter how much Panda Dog threatened them, if the cattle ignored the barking and growling, she was powerless. But cattle scare easily and they really did back off. Panda Dog then leaped onto what was rightfully hers and pitifully wolfed down whatever morsel remained. By then it was inevitably frozen solid.
For a time, because her meals had become too sumptuous, Panda Dog started to become a picky eater, leaving a few scraps in her bowl every day. As time went on, more and more food accumulated until it all became one frozen spiky ball. Then, for a while, the food became meager, so Panda Dog had no choice but to deal with the frozen ball. Pitifully, she gnawed and gnawed, and whenever she could, she gnawed some more until, after days of gnawing, the spiky ball was finally finished.
But those were Panda Dog’s good days. After that came Panda Dog’s bad days.…
Winter is the season of birth. The cows’ bellies protruded, ready to calf. The sheep ballooned one after another with little lambs on the way. For a while now, we’d been preparing for these births. But no one imagined that the first babies to be born would be Panda Dog’s! None of us could tell … no wonder she was so fat.
Cuma was the first to find out. That afternoon, he unexpectedly began digging a hole by the cattle burrow, explaining that it was a burrow for the dog. I thought this was just some of his nonsense and ignored him. The next morning, he asked me, “How many puppies do you want?”
I replied, “What puppies?”
He said, “Our puppies, four of them!”
I said, “You must have been dreaming again?”
Annoyed, he dragged me to look, and of course, in the newly dug burrow, four naked little pups were squeaking their frozen little tails off!
Panda Dog had given birth to the puppies the day before in a pile of snow, so Cuma dug the burrow and helped move the puppies inside. The weird thing was, normally, when dogs give birth, they become hostile even to family, snapping at anyone who comes near. And if you touched their pups, it’d be like poking a hornet’s nest. But Panda Dog was so gentle! When I lifted a puppy out from under her belly, she didn’t mind at all and even licked my hand, so trusting.… Perhaps she knew how harsh nature could be and that the pup would need the help of humans to survive the long, cold winter ahead.
As luck would have it, a cold front was sweeping in. A radio forecast warned that the nighttime temperatures would drop to minus forty-three degrees. Even at midday, the thermometer read below minus four!
Although the dog burrow was dug out of a pile of sheep manure, at best it would provide cover from the snow, but it would be useless against the wind and cold air. I had a feeling that the puppies wouldn’t survive.
Those were some of the coldest days we experienced. On the way home with the sheep, my eyeballs hurt so bad, I didn’t dare open my eyes wider than a squint.
For two days, Panda Dog neither ate nor drank. She curled up in a ball protecting her pups. The burrow was too small; a part of her body lay outside (I hadn’t realized at this point that the roof was half-collapsed). What a wretched life. Even worse, before she gave birth, Panda Dog’s bowl had been full of frozen soup, so Sister-in-law hadn’t fed her for several days as punishment, forcing her to eat the iced soup before she could get a refill. At the time, none of us knew she was an expectant mother!
Cuma told me to bring the frozen dog food inside and place it by the stove. After the better part of a day, it finally melted. The bowl was now full of liquid noodle soup and contained one measly chunk of nan. I was hesitant to put the defrosted meal outside again in case it refroze, so instead left it in the burrow. I forgot about it until the following evening when the puppies started yapping all of a sudden. Fin
ally, Panda Dog had come looking for food! I went outside to confirm and sure enough she was anxiously sniffing around the area where the bowl used to be. I ran back in to retrieve the bowl, then back out again, but Panda Dog had already returned to her puppies’ side. No matter how much I called, she wouldn’t leave them again. So, I snuck over to place the bowl beside their burrow.
Sure enough, the next day, the food was frozen solid. She hadn’t eaten a bite because she didn’t want to leave her babies again, if even for one moment.
After that, whenever Panda Dog braved the world outside her burrow in the hope of finding food, I cringed, having nothing good to offer her.…
Sister-in-law soaked two Ping-Pong-ball-sized pieces of nan for her every day—it was far better treatment than what most families gave to their dogs, but was it really enough? I had raised dogs before and knew that they had bigger appetites than humans.
I’d heard that kurt was the best thing for staving off hunger, so I planned to steal some (kurt was too precious even for our dinner; it was only when Kama went out to herd that Sister-in-law produced two pieces from the securely tied bag). I stuck a piece straight into Panda Dog’s mouth. The dog didn’t even lift her head, she just swallowed it whole. Such a big chunk and the dog didn’t even chew it!
Then I remembered that raw flour has a higher nutritional value than fermented or cooked flour. Rolling noodles that evening, I discreetly slipped a clump into my pocket. When I fed it to Panda Dog, she also swallowed the clump whole.
Sometimes, Sister-in-law gave me pieces of candy, which I saved for Panda Dog. They were calories after all.
Dogs need to eat bones. They need more calcium than any other animals. Every four or five days, we boiled lamb and there’d always be plenty of bones left over after the meal, but Sister-in-law was always careful to gather them all up—they could be sold back at the encampment. In this case, I didn’t need to steal, I simply laid out my argument for why Panda Dog should be given some. Cuma agreed for me to take a few to the dog, but only a few.…