Winter Pasture

by Li Juan

  During the migration south, Kama and I herded the sheep and larger livestock by ourselves, so there were enough horses, while Cuma and Sister-in-law had hired a truck. But now, not much was left of the heavy load that required a car to transport: the ice was gone, the bottoms of the sacks of corn and other feeds were visible, and the flour had mostly been eaten. So, there was no need for a truck—a couple of camels were more than enough to haul whatever was left of this home.

  For me, that meant finding a car before the family began their move. I wouldn’t want to wait and wait until after the camels had left and the whole house was empty, leaving only me alone in the desert, in a burrow with naked manure walls, still waiting for a car. Though it was nice of Cuma to offer to leave some bedding, a pot, half a sack of flour, and a handful of salt.…

  In short, just to be safe, it was better for me to leave with the children.

  Their transport had been contacted half a month in advance. The back-to-school season was peak period for every unlicensed taxi driver in the area. They went house to house asking if there were any students returning to school. Once you miss this period, finding a car was tantamount to winning the lottery.…

  * * *

  FOR THE FIRST COUPLE of days after deciding to leave, I put all my energy into organizing my sorry belongings. I gave a sweater and a scarf to Kama, and all my irreparable pants were set aflame, leaving me with one good pair that I wore.

  Kama wanted to leave with us too because her sisters, the ones who had been caring for their grandma, also had to go back to school. Grandma had not fully recovered from her illness so she was still in need of care.

  In addition, Shinshybek wanted to personally accompany his two children back to school. All of a sudden, six of us in total were set to leave the winter pastures at once! It was enough to fill an entire car. But for some reason, Cuma contacted two cars, splitting us into two groups. Regarding this decision, Cuma’s explanation was especially incomprehensible. Only much later did it become clear that he was chummy with both of the drivers and wanted both of them to make a little money.…

  But he went further, asking us to keep it a secret. Whichever car arrived first, those waiting for the other vehicle must keep their lips sealed and pretend like they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. How exhausting … was that really necessary? But Cuma expounded, “We are all people who go up mountains and down winter burrows, we can’t go around speaking carelessly, no way! I’ve asked the two of them to come already, if one were to turn up to find no one here, if that got out, who would ever believe us then? Afterward, if you died here, no one would come fetch you!”

  Indeed, in the wilderness, promises mean more than responsibility toward others; they’re a means of self-protection too. Especially for the people who go “up mountains and down winter burrows.” For those whose existence depends on the vagaries of fate, with no other assurances, one’s word was crucial.

  Yet while we kept our word, the drivers didn’t keep theirs! We waited day after day until a whole week passed by!

  Every hour during the day, someone would climb up the eastern dune to scan the horizon. There was never any sign of a car.

  Cuma and Zhada were getting impatient. They took turns carrying the phone to the tripod where they tried calling the drivers over and over.

  The sky was clear and the wind was calm, so why was there no signal? When Zhada wasn’t out herding (to earn some money while he still could), he was up the tripod waving the antennae around. But what use was that? It wasn’t like a satellite dish that depended on the angle for the strength of its signal.

  But no one was as impatient as I was; I had to leave right away! I’d run out of pants to wear … even my last good pair was starting to tear everywhere.… Strange, we were in a desert, not a forest, nothing but sand, what could they be snagging on?

  Finally, one evening, the call went through. Only then did we learn that someone from a pasture to the east had just passed away. Burying the dead was clearly a higher priority than returning to school, so the drivers put us off and drove the mourners out of the wilderness. The soonest they could return was in two days’ time.

  Two days! But my pants couldn’t last two days!

  Cuma said, “Cars—there’s others. They say there’s one passing by here tomorrow, but it has eight people already. If you want to go, I’ll call the driver!” If I had accepted, the other eight passengers would have hated me.

  Just think about it: they had already stuffed eight people into a small four-seat Beijing 212 jeep. When the eight of them wanted to get out of the jeep, would they be able to unglue themselves? I’m afraid they might have merged together by then.

  The most crowded ride I had ever experienced was in a minibus in the countryside. It was so crowded that they were throwing people out, but they couldn’t throw me out so the driver let me sit on the dashboard next to the steering wheel along with two others. The three of us sat hunched, our backs to the windshield, facing a bus full of grimacing passengers. Every time the driver shifted gears, he shouted, “Leg!” and I lifted my leg as quickly as I could. Only when he was done shifting gears could I put it down.

  In short, that’s how bad it gets.

  * * *

  I WASN’T THE ONLY one anxious because of my pants—little Nurgün was devastated because she had been wearing her new red boots, which she had been saving all winter, thinking she might leave at any moment. She was terrified of wearing them out.

  The most frustrated, though, was Zhada. Each day, he was torn between wanting to herd to make some money and the fear of missing the car. When evening came and it became clear that it was another no-show, he griped: if only he knew there would be no car, he’d have herded the sheep!

  On those days, when Sister-in-law wanted to trick Zhada to get out of bed, she no longer said, “Guests are here,” but instead, “The car’s here!” It worked like a charm.

  Nonetheless, during those final days of waiting, the burrow settlement was a hive of activity! All three mothers took turns preparing feasts, and with the weather warm and sunny, women and girls flocked from the neighboring pastures to our burrow settlement. On Sister-in-law’s day to play host, she boiled meat in the white enamel kettle that she stewed tea leaves in, and she used tea water to boil it! The meat came out looking like it had been red braised, all dark brown and red, and the meat-broth-and-tea-water combo had an odd taste too. I eagerly observed everything that unfolded—I might have been there three months, but there would always be new things to learn, fresh experiences to be had.… Cuma noticed how avid I was and sighed: “Wait until Li Juan gets home with her mother to find there’s no tea, no nan, no grease … it won’t be a week before she thinks, forget it, I’m going back! She’ll be back in the winter burrow in no time.…” I grinned ruefully but said nothing. A parting sadness was finally swelling inside me.

  * * *

  AT LAST, AT THE END of February, the long-awaited Beijing jeep arrived. Except … the driver was only twelve years old. He was making use of his winter vacation to earn some cash.…

  Of the two groups that were leaving, I was in the first group with Zhada, but somehow I didn’t feel especially lucky … that said, if the others dared ride in the jeep, why not me? There was nothing but desert and sand in any direction, with neither cliffs nor rivers to worry about. What was there to be afraid of, that the kid might drive the car into the sky?

  Because the driver was too short, there were two thick cushions under his butt.

  The kid was impressive. Not only did he have a car, but he also ran a little shop. Not long into our journey, he turned to ask if I wanted to buy some bubble gum, then after another stretch, tried to hawk me some biscuits. This was taking business to the next level!

  Aside from me, Zhada, and another man (who I later learned was with the boy driver), there were no other passengers. I knew this couldn’t be. And sure enough, along the way, whenever we came to a burrow settlement, we’d make a detour. Before lon
g, we’d picked up a man, a girl, a young woman, two bags of things to be transported to Ulungur, and a few messages to pass on.

  Every time we arrived at someone’s home, whether there were passengers to join us or not, we all sat down for a couple bowls of tea first. If there was a dombra in the burrow, people took turns performing. It felt like we were traveling together, what a fun time.

  At first, I felt uneasy. I was only a passenger, a total stranger to all these people. Eating their food along with the driver felt embarrassing, so I ate as little as possible even if I was drooling on the inside. Only later did I realize that my attitude was all wrong: by rejecting their kindness on the basis of unfamiliarity, I was implying that I’d already made my mind up to never repay them … that was selfish. In the wilderness, accepting others’ help and helping others are equally important.

  * * *

  THE FAMILY THAT LEFT the deepest impression on me was the one that lived on an incredibly flat terrain. When I got out of the jeep to look around, I immediately thought, had I lived here, carrying snow alone would’ve been the death of me … smooth, open plains as far as the eye could see, barely a slope to catch the drifting snowfall.

  But their burrow was incredibly cool! Amazingly, the walls were lime washed. And there wasn’t a single crack in the door! When you closed the door, no wind leaked through.

  And there was another home where a very beautiful, stylish girl lived. To me, having now spent a whole winter in the desert, she looked as fashionable as anyone in the city. She was even wearing high heels! Just sitting there, her beauty was striking, like a rose blossom in a bed of chives. She had put on heavy makeup, permed her long hair, and was drenched in perfume. Sitting quietly beside her, drinking tea, I sensed that it wasn’t just me, but everyone was captivated by her.

  When I learned that she was coming with us, my heart did a little dance.

  No wonder she was so dressed up; like me and Nurgün, she was ready to leave at a moment’s notice!

  * * *

  FROM THE START, I was prepared to be crammed into the car with six or seven people. But even as the journey was coming to an end, there were still only five of us! Not to mention we were all skinny, so everyone had plenty of room.

  Skeptically, I asked, “Really only five? We’re really not going to pick anyone else up?”

  The man beside the little driver replied, “There’s no one else, really.”

  Then he added, “But there are two horses … at the next stop.”

  My jaw dropped. I turned to look out the rear window at the truck bed. It was tight—a palm-sized space that was already stuffed with our luggage and the cargo that we’d been asked to deliver. Two horses? Not even two sheep could fit! Then what followed … was a real eye opener. I was struck with a profound sense of men’s limitless strength.

  It only required some discomfort on the part of the two horses, soon to be smooshed into one horse.… To celebrate the success of loading the horses, all the men who’d lent a hand gathered around the jeep to take a group photograph with the two horse heads.

  While the men worked their brute force and wisdom to load the jeep, I was invited to join a sanguine old woman for tea in her burrow. Inside were a short-haired white dog with a black head, an unbelievably chubby baby with a lovely disposition, a filthy but happy child with an impressive appetite, and a young, shy mother.

  Nestled in the warm burrow drinking tea, eating baursak, unwrapping candies … what could I do for my hosts in return? I had to take as many pictures as I could. Then I showed them the shots on my camera … seeing the joy on their faces made me want to give them the whole camera!

  Before long, a young man, his wife, and two girls appeared one after another to check me out—and my camera. What a bustling settlement, it housed four families!

  The four families lived by a massive sand dune. The sand dune was striking, towering over a flat expanse. Not a blade of grass grew on it, a magnificent edifice. When we drove past it earlier, the man in the passenger seat repeatedly pointed it out to me and suggested that I take pictures of it. He told me that this was the biggest “sand mountain” within a day’s horse ride, an ancient landmark for herders.

  Had I lived there, I would’ve climbed it every day to gaze out.

  * * *

  WITH THE HORSES LOADED onto the jeep, our journey continued without any further stops. The car cruised north.

  The farther north we drove, the more snow there was. Gradually, there was no more exposed earth. At the same time, the road became more distinct, wider and straighter. This wasn’t the same road that we’d ridden our horses along on our way south; it seemed to lie west of that.

  Oh, and I was holding my Panda Dog pup the whole time. Cuma had promised to give it to me a long time ago. The young girl beside me occasionally reached out to stroke the pup’s head as if she was worried it might die at any moment. The girl had chubby cheeks and wore brightly colored, pretty clothing. At about seven years old, she was only a little younger than Nurgün. Traveling alone, she seemed calm and brave.

  This whole trip, Zhada was quiet and proper. Whenever folks were loading and unloading the car, he always helped. Whenever we arrived at someone’s home, he rushed to help carry the luggage … how endearing! A completely different person than the Zhada I knew at home.

  The well-dressed young woman didn’t say one word the whole ride until finally, when her cell phone had a signal, she talked on it nonstop.

  The two men chatted the whole time. The assistant driver seemed especially curious about me and kept turning around, asking questions and pointing out places like a tour guide, telling me the names of all the places we passed, how many families and pastures were located there … with such passion that it felt like he wanted me to pull out my notebook and write down every word, but I was far too lazy to bother. Little Panda Dog nuzzled softly against my chest, probably hungry. But soon, the life of drift and toil will be behind it. I had every intention of making up for all the hardship it had suffered that winter.

  From setting out in the morning to turning onto the asphalt country road along the Ulungur’s south bank, the ride took seven hours. As soon as we reached the road, the child driver switched places with the man sitting next to him. Obviously, the kid didn’t have a driver’s license. Although I suspected that there weren’t any traffic police on this road anyway. We drove for another hour on the asphalt without passing another car.

  All the goats we saw along the road had dirty butts that were hard to look at. Compared to the sheep in the winter pastures, these must have been living wretched lives indeed. The snow was so thick that no grass, not even withered grass, poked through. They had no choice but to become marauders, stealing hay from people’s roofs and waiting outside shops. Whenever a paper bag or a cardboard box was thrown out, they pounced on it and munched.

  We passed one snow-covered place after another—villages, fields, woods—like a dreamworld. Although the countryside was sparsely populated, I couldn’t help but feel an ineffable sense of opulence. I thought long and hard about it until I finally realized that in fact, it was all the utility poles protruding from the ground.

  My stop was the last one. The car was empty, the roadside scenery looked more and more familiar. It was Akehara. We reached the yellow building I called home. The jeep pulled up outside my family’s shop. Even though the world before me was still engulfed in a thick layer of snow, white as far as the eyes could see, to me the winter was over. What felt like a long, interminable trial now felt ever so brief and cursory, much to my bewilderment.

  The Little Panda Dog that I brought home from the winter pasture

  Glossary

  Ada: Grandpa

  Apa: Grandma

  aqyns: improvising poets and singers who practice the art of aqyndyq

  ayak-kap: a small embroidered bag for storing utensils and knickknacks, which is often hung on the wall

  bata: a ritual prayer made before slaughtering an animal, in
order to make it halal

  baursak: fried dough balls

  bolangu: a two-faced drum with two pellets attached to cords. The pellet drum is played by holding the handle and twisting it back and forth, causing the pellets to strike the drum faces.

  chök: the call to make camels lie down

  Chulpan: Venus, morning star

  dastarkhān: There are no tables as we know them in the earthen burrow, only a tablecloth laid over a wooden board in the center of the main seating area. Throughout South and Central Asia, dastarkhān refers to the main seating area where people eat.

  irimzhik: cottage cheese made from sour cream

  Jengetay: Sister-in-law

  Kara Jorga, Black Horse Trot: a traditional style of Kazakh folk dance, as well as the name of the song played when practicing this dance

  kazan: a large cooking pot

  koychy: a versatile exclamation, often meaning “no way,” “no thanks,” “get out,” “leave it out”

  kurt: a hard cheese made by straining boiled yogurt

  kuurdak: stewed meat (mutton or beef) and potatoes

  nan: flatbread

  oshak: a kind of stove or hearth for wood fires

  plov: pilaf

  sajayaq: a metal tripod used to suspend the kazan pot over a fire

  suluv: beautiful

  syrmak/tekemet: quilted patchwork carpets made from felt, which are often colorful. Syrmak, which are the more finely detailed of the two, are also used as wall hangings.

  tary: dried wheat fried in fat, served with honey and hot milk

  terme: band-weaving, the technique for making baskur or zhelbau. Baskur is a wide decorative band wove from about five different colors of wool yarn using a loom. Zhelbau is a thinner version of baksur. They are used to decorate a burrow or yurt, normally hanging in front of beams and around doorways.