Winter Pasture

by Li Juan

  Just then, the sound of a car engine came from the northern sand dune. How unusual! We hurried out to look. Before we reached the sheep pen, a child emerged from the golden halo behind the sand dune! With a bag over his shoulder and a big polyester sack as big as he was in his hand, the boy tottered through the sand toward us. Sayna dropped the cattle reins and rushed up to greet him. That’s when I realized that the most momentous event of the winter was underway—the children were coming! That was when the wilderness said goodbye to its cold silence.

  Moments later, Sayna’s little girl appeared above the dune wearing a flashy new outfit and bright red boots, pulling so many pieces of luggage behind her that she could barely move! I quickly ran to take the luggage from her. What a beautiful girl, no more than eight years old.

  Next to appear on the dune was Kurmash, who had vanished for more than half a month. He was also sporting a set of new clothes, looking dapper and lively.

  The exhausting journey only just behind him, the young boy exchanged his fancy new coat for his mom’s large vest and joined the others in rounding up the livestock with practiced hands. When the camels drifted too close to the flock, he let out an experienced whistle to warn them back.

  After I asked his name and age, he shyly asked for my name. Getting his answer, he gently turned the sound over twice in his mouth like a lollipop—hearing him do this was just as sweet. Then, a moment later, he asked me about my profession—in Mandarin nonetheless! But I soon realized his Mandarin wasn’t all that great—for the rest of the winter, he kept asking me this same question. But no matter how many times I answered, he couldn’t make sense of it.

  It was Shinshybek’s turn to herd the sheep that day. When I went to meet the flock on their way back, I thought I could be the first to give him the good news. But his reaction was calm, as if he already knew. Before long, the boy caught up to help me herd the sheep. After half a year apart, father and son exchanged a polite greeting, as formal as one between two male acquaintances.

  The girl ran out the burrow, still sporting her lovely new outfit, and watched us from afar.

  It was the liveliest moment in the wilderness so far that winter, even considering that the children hardly spoke.

  The boy, who was eleven years old, was called Rahmethan. The girl was nine. Her name was Nursilash, but we all called her “Nurgün.” Both children looked younger than their age. After we rounded up the sheep, I couldn’t resist taking a photo of the brother and sister against the golden twilight. When I showed them the pictures, they let out exclamations of wonder and whispered at length to each other.

  The following day, the little girl came to our burrow three times in the morning. The first time was to bring a plate of candy and tary (a traditional Kazakh specialty that reminded me of a coarse grain like millet), then to borrow a roll of clear tape, and another time to return the roll. Each time she sat for a while at my side, staring at me, making no attempt to hide her curiosity. I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture of her. She really was a very pretty girl! Her eyes and brows were adorable. Her smile dazzled like a flower in bloom. Her manner was that of a young lady, courteous, reserved. Sister-in-law treated her with the same respect as she did any adult. When they chatted, they spoke matter-of-factly and as equals. Sister-in-law poured her a bowl of wheat porridge. As soon as she finished it, she put the bowl away and said goodbye. Although reluctant to leave me and my camera, she didn’t linger a minute longer because that would have been considered impolite.

  From then on, I had a sidekick. Wherever I went, she followed, sticking close behind even when I went to the toilet. She was my little assistant—after every end stitch, she offered me a pair of scissors; when I washed my hands, she hugged the kettle to pour warm water; when I carried snow, she helped support the sack; when I wanted to go outside, she zipped in front to open the door. In short, she took every opportunity to do something for me, as if that was the only way to show her friendship.

  She always sat beside me quietly when she sipped her tea. When I got up from the bed-stove, she leaped to straighten out my shoes on the floor—it was a bit too flattering. In the past, setting out shoes for others had been my job.

  Because I was helping Sayna with her quilting, I spent two hours in her home every day. Under my influence, the girl soon grew fascinated with sewing too. Besides, she was a big girl now, about the age when a girl should start learning needlework. Sayna selected a piece from the freshly boiled red felt, sketched a simple ram’s horn using soap, and began teaching the girl stitch by stitch. Her big brother sat beside her as her adviser, eagerly pointing out her every mistake while laughing mercilessly.

  Sayna had a short temper. If it took too long for her daughter to learn a lesson, she would begin to scold. With mom yelling and brother sniggering, Nurgün felt depressed. Yet, in spite of the challenges, the girl persevered through to the end of her vacation. Even if the final product was a mess, at least she had grasped the needle’s logic. In my view, children should be encouraged, so I pointed out her best stitches and said, “These are good!” But she only looked more defeated … turns out those weren’t her stitches after all. Still, the blacksmith’s granddaughter continued undeterred, fortified, no doubt, by her iron will.

  But my needlework was superb, which made the girl exclaim repeatedly, “Wow! So pretty! Wow! So pretty …” Her brother was impressed as well. At some point, he fished out an old coat and bashfully asked me to mend it.

  I could see straightaway that the coat had been patched up dozens of times before, and each stitch was near an inch long! Ay, Mama Sayna wasn’t much of a blacksmith’s daughter after all. But I soon learned that the little lad had mended the coat himself! As the children spent most of the year at a boarding school without mom and dad around, they learned from a young age to take matters into their own hands. Big Brother mended not only his own clothing but his sister’s as well. I couldn’t help but feel a profound respect for him, so I made sure to mend the coat meticulously. Unfortunately, the yarn Sayna provided me with was too thick (if it had been ten times thinner, it would have still been too thick), so there was no way for me to display my talent. But Sayna insisted, the thicker the yarn the stronger the repair!

  * * *

  WHO IS THE HAPPIEST woman in the world if not a mother with her three children at her side? As Sayna sewed, she unwittingly hummed a tune. Soon, the two children started to hum along. Then, Shinshybek, waking up from his nap, joined in. The family chorus made the whole burrow vibrate. The kids sang and danced. Little Karlygash, excited by the sounds, wanted to stand up and dance too, but because she couldn’t, she cried. When she cried, everyone else laughed uproariously. Their laughter bewildered the baby, so she stopped crying and began to laugh along. In comparison, how dreary the household had been—as dreary as the bottom of a deep well.

  Yet, this home—now full of song and laughter—also felt like the bottom of a deep well. Outside, yellow sands rolled in waves, extending winter’s icy grip. The family huddled together around a warm stove, laughing and cheerful. It was a lonesome sort of joy. The children growing up were everything; nothing else mattered.

  Inside the dark burrow, a single shaft of light beamed through the only window. The sight of Rahmethan planting little kisses on the baby’s bottom; the sight of brother and sister discussing the changing of the baby’s diaper; son holding on to father as he cuts strips of cowhide, the two slipping in and out of song together; the little girl Nurgün squatting with dripping-wet hair beside the stove, washing clothes … these scenes moved me immensely. But I didn’t dare to photograph them for fear of disturbing them.

  Besides, the burrow was too dark anyway. People in the photos would have turned out looking like ghosts. As for using a flash, one had to consider the baby; besides, using the flash ruins the colors.… I began to muse: when I’m rich, I’ll buy a new camera with a lens the size of a plate!

  With the presence of two students and a cultured person like me, the ho
usehold quickly acquired an atmosphere of learning. Mother, father, and uncle began to develop an interest in the children’s Chinese textbooks and took turns poring over them. As soon as I stepped through their door, I was barraged with questions about the word for this or that utensil in Mandarin. Of all the members of the family, Sayna was the fastest to pick up new words, followed by Rahmethan, with Kurmash and Nurgün tied for third, and Shinshybek in last place. Shinshybek spent most of his time herding sheep or chasing camels, so his slow progress was understandable. Anyhow, each person set his or her own learning objectives, then proceeded to memorize words and quiz each other. Their conversations became a mixture of Mandarin and Kazakh, putting what they learned to use.

  Most interestingly, Rahmethan was always reciting the textbook loudly, focusing especially on the phrase “Children are young, they don’t understand, so let’s just forget about it!” which he repeated all day, saying it and writing it, as if he was preparing for the day when he would need to beg for mercy on behalf of his two little sisters.

  Rahmethan was a handsome child, though a little pale and ordinary compared to his younger sister. But he was exceedingly bright. When Sayna sat down to teach Nurgün how to weave a patterned belt, he learned it after watching for a bit, while Nurgün still wasn’t clear what went where. When Sayna lost her patience and gave up, he stepped in to save the day, showing his sister how it was done, weave by weave. But Nurgün still couldn’t figure it out.

  He had a strong sense of responsibility, always proving himself an indispensable member of the family. He never hesitated to haul snow and manure, and at every dawn and dusk, no matter how foul the weather, he helped out with cleaning the sheep pen and padding its floor. Wielding a shovel taller than himself, he worked like a pro. Hard work certainly makes a person stand tall and proud!

  Of the two siblings, brother worked outside while sister worked inside. Nurgün was responsible for sweeping, dusting, washing dishes, and cleaning diapers. She hardly had a moment’s rest all day long, always singing as she worked. Whereas Rahmethan was shy and introverted, Nurgün was cheerful and easygoing. While she didn’t possess the sharpest brain or very good grades, and while she couldn’t learn to sew or weave a belt, she was a wonderful singer and dancer, a highlight of her school’s entertainment programs, I’m sure! Especially when it came to singing, she could even deliver that nasal, sobbing timbre found in pop songs.

  As the eldest, the male, the heavy lifter, and the smartest, Rahmethan didn’t miss any chance to boss his little sister around: “Shut the door!” “Bring the scissors!” “Put your schoolbag down!” And she always complied without complaint, even if it was in the middle of an argument or if she was in the middle of another chore.

  Likewise, as the stronger of the two, he made sure to look after his sister. In the middle of dinner, when he heard that the calves had returned, he left fried meat fresh out of the wok behind, grabbed his hat, and ran out. (After Rahmethan arrived, I was relieved of my calf-herding duty. He was much more responsible than I was!) Sayna saved an extra-big bowlful of the meat off to one side, which his little sister couldn’t take her eyes off. When the young lad returned and noticed his sister’s mouth watering, he ate less than half of it and gave the rest to her, much to her delight. Seeing her so happy, he acted like it was nothing.

  Of course, there were occasions when the siblings argued. Sometimes they even insulted each other in Mandarin. Sister would shout, “Ben dan!” (idiot) and brother would shout back, “Wang ba dan!” (bastard)—which amused them to no end.…

  Then, they both turned to ask me, what do “ben dan” and “wang ba dan” mean? For the sake of complete honesty, I offered them a boring literal explanation: a ben dan is a chicken egg that’s gone bad. And a wang ba dan … luckily, I had just seen “The Tortoise and the Hare” in Nurgün’s Kazakh textbook, so I pointed to the tortoise: “This is wang ba.” They let out an “oh.” Then I added, “Wang ba dan is its child.” A disappointed “oh”; they were unable to understand what was so special about a bad egg and a tortoise’s child that these terms could be used as insults? Thoroughly underwhelmed, that was the last time they insulted each other using these words.

  * * *

  BOTH SIBLINGS LOVED THEIR baby sister, Karlygash. They came up with all sorts of ways to make her laugh because her happiness gave them joy. Compared to Nurgün, Rahmethan was the more affectionate. He played with her patiently and gently. When Nurgün thoughtlessly placed the scissors she was using while embroidering a little too close to the baby, he would scream and move the scissors far away while giving Nurgün an earful. Nurgün responded with an apologetic smile.

  Before heading out for work, the little lad always sternly bid his sister to take good care of the baby. And when he returned, he first shed his icy clothing and warmed his hands near the stove before picking up the baby. He kissed her greedily and sucked on her ear, nibbling it. And that soft little ball of flesh, that enchanting smile, that tiny living thing always gazed trustingly back into his eyes.…

  Karlygash was the family’s center of gravity. Her favorite activities were playing with a ball of yarn and ripping pages from books. When she was kept from those games, she cried woefully. They had no choice but to let her have her way, handing her balls of yarn to unravel, which Sayna would have to then rewind. Pages of the homework book were handed to her to rip apart, only for Rahmethan to have to tape back together. All the unraveling and rewinding, ripping and taping led to endless hours of amusement.

  There was a chess set in the house. The men used it to gamble. Karlygash used the pieces for chewing. The brother and sister threw them at each other. It was another source of endless amusement.

  And the siblings’ faces were never without injuries. When I asked, they would calmly say, “Karlygash!” followed by a resigned, generous smile. And poor Nurgün, whose pretty little cheeks were marred with three deep red streaks. I jokingly called her “class captain.” Instead of outright denying it, she proudly informed me that her big brother was the actual “second captain” of his class!

  When they first arrived in the wilderness, the two children were handsomely dressed. A few days later, they had changed out of their outfits. The brother wore his dad’s big shoes and the sister wore her mom’s big shoes. Above those, they both put on their mother’s old coats (Sayna is very petite). As for their own nice clothes and shoes, those had to be saved for when school started.

  At first, Nurgün only did housework, no heavy lifting. But after two weeks, she began to haul snow and manure alongside her brother. I felt touched every time I saw the brother and sister tottering through the wilderness with sacks of snow on their back, one in front of the other. As they neared, I could see the little girl’s back hunched like an old lady’s, her face barely a foot from the ground! As she struggled past me, she offered a shy smile to make light of her awkward stance. Her cheeks were frozen red and frost covered her eyelashes.

  Even when the load was too heavy to lift, she never gave up or asked for help. She would drag the sack if she had to because there is nothing more shameful than giving up! As a result, after spending five minutes dragging a sack of manure a dozen meters, she was panting for breath. After I finished herding the cattle out to pasture, I hurried to help her pull—the heft! Even I couldn’t carry or drag it very far!

  * * *

  WITH THE ADDITION OF two little helpers, life became easier for not only Sayna, but me as well. I no longer needed to deal with the calves or clean the sheep pen. Besides carrying snow and tidying the burrow, most of my day was spent embroidering. And soon, my first work of the winter was complete—a soft black woolen shawl with eight symmetrical flowers and a floral edge. I wrapped it around the little girl and took photos of her in the snowy twilight. How glamorous! Rahmethan rode by on a white horse bareback. After a moment of watching his sister posing like a model, he snickered and kicked the horse, trotting away. I immediately took the opportunity to snap a few photos of his parting
silhouette.

  20.

  Kurmash

  TWENTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD KURMASH WAS like a shadow, flickering in and out of view. His speech quivered, his eyes fluttered; even his purpose was as mercurial as the clouds. It was like he was never fully present. That is, unless he had put on a new set of clothes.

  The one thing that signaled Kurmash’s presence was music. The moment you heard music playing from a cell phone, you knew that Kurmash was about to appear. Kurmash was passionate about music. Then again, it wasn’t just him—all Kazakhs are passionate about music. The memory card on Kurmash’s phone was a veritable library of every Kazakh pop song currently in fashion. There were two things that he did every day: one, play with his cell phone; two, charge the battery.

  Because of his cell phone, he and I learned quite a bit about one another throughout the winter. He couldn’t understand the phone’s Chinese notifications. Whenever he found himself with an error, he immediately came to ask for my help.

  The young man didn’t know a sentence of Mandarin so when he tried to explain what was wrong with his phone, the only thing he could do was to press various buttons while muttering, “This, this, this …” But, somehow, I was able to send him away satisfied every time. Heaven knows how we understood each other.

  Once, I considered teaching him the Chinese characters in the phone’s notifications, but soon abandoned the idea. Just the thought of the vocabulary—“personalize,” “background theme,” “time settings”—how much Kazakh would I need to know to translate that!