I Rode a Horse of Milk White Jade

by Diane Wilson

  “What’s gotten under her hide?” Genma asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” But I could feel Bayan’s uneasiness stirring the hairs on the back of my neck. Something was wrong.

  Genma turned her attention to the whereabouts of her two daughters and left my side calling their names. Neither Bayan nor Bator flicked an ear to her voice as the little cat joined the mare in staring into the distance. With a concerned frown I moved toward Bayan, hand outstretched. The moment my fingers touched her shoulder she whinnied loudly. I jumped. Bator looked up, meowed, and looked away.

  “What’s wrong?” I murmured, scratching the fuzzy white neck in big, soothing circles. Bayan shook all over, continued shuffling. I looked down at Bator. “What is it?” He ignored me, although his mouth opened and he began to pant rapidly. Following the eyes of my two friends, I squinted toward the thicket. Nothing was coming that I could see.

  Or was it that the two wanted to be going? The path leading to the next arrow station stretched into this thicket. My heart bounded as I remembered Genma confirming what Echenkorlo had told me: ten thousand white mares waited to the south. I was certain I would find my swift horse among them. Observing Bayan’s leg, I noticed some stiffness, but no serious lameness, although shuffling was hardly galloping. And if my plan was to work, we would have to gallop—fast and hard.

  I retreated to the shade of a large pine tree to study Bayan’s leg further and to go over the details of my plan. Genma ignored me as she waddled back to the station house followed by Otgon and Davasuren. The girls appeared some time later carrying milking bags and disappeared over a small rise. They returned—and this I found strange—to unhobble the horses and lead them over the rise. Pounding hooves signaled their release. Only Bayan and the sheep were left in the meadow.

  Not until late afternoon did Genma call my name. Bayan had finally ceased her shuffling, though she lifted her head between snatches of grass to continue staring southward. Bator had moved to my lap, but he, too, was keeping a watchful eye on the path through the thicket. He didn’t even complain when I dumped him to the ground to answer Genma’s summons.

  The moment I entered the station house I could tell that Genma’s fitful nature had shifted to the stormy side. Everyone was working in silence—Davasuren lugging in fresh water and Otgon beating the ayrag—while Genma rocked upon her orange stool, muttering to herself as she stirred the cooking pot. I saw the girls exchange knowing glances. The odd son sat in his corner as usual, but even he remained quiet. That prickly feeling crept up my back. When at last we sat down to eat, all eyes darted apprehensively back and forth to Genma’s scowling face. Not until halfway through the meal did she speak. And then it was bluntly.

  “Is it your crippled foot that has kept you from marrying?”

  Heat rushed to my face. Slowly I nodded.

  “Did your father—I assume you still have one—ever try to arrange a marriage?”

  I nodded again. “At last year’s festival at Karakorum,” I whispered. “But no one would have me.”

  Genma stared into her bowl, rhythmically swirling the broth for several long breaths. Then she raised her head, pulled herself as tall as her wide frame would allow, and, in a voice full of authority, said, “You will marry my son Delger.”

  The daughters and I gasped in unison. “But he wants—” began Davasuren.

  “Hush!” ordered Genma. She emptied her uneaten stew into the cooking pot, dangerously rapping the porcelain bowl on the bronze rim. Setting it aside, she dragged the kettle of boiling water from the embers and plopped a chunk of tea leaves into it. “I know Delger wants to be a lama,” Genma said evenly, though she glared at her elder daughter, “but I want babies in my house. Now! It will be two or three more years before you marry and leave me to go live with your husband, even longer for Otgon.” The hungry dark eyes swept over the head of her younger daughter, coming to rest upon my equally stunned face. “But it is past time for Delger. How many springs have you seen, Oyuna?”

  “Nearly thirteen,” I croaked.

  “Past time for you as well. The gods have smiled upon me by guiding you to my house—and they well know how few women have passed through this door flap. You have been sent by them to be my daughter-in-law.” Genma leaned forward, quivering with excitement. “You find my son handsome, don’t you?”

  Again I flushed, for I remembered how, just last night, I had admired Delger’s round head, his thick lips, his sensitive fingers. To marry such as him would be any girl’s dream. But marriage, I now knew, was not his dream.

  “Well, don’t you?” Genma prodded.

  I looked up. Truthfully I said, “It would be an honor to be Delger’s wife. But if it is his dream to be a lama, then—”

  “Dreams!” Genma spat the word. “Dreams aren’t for the likes of us.” She pulled one of the coral carvings from her ear, tugged on the fleshy lobe, then replaced the earring. “Delger dreams of becoming a lama—and him with those thick, dirty fingers! Well, even I know you have to own beautiful hands to be a lama, for singing the songs. And you!” Just like a spring storm, the woman’s temper unexpectedly blew in my direction. “You tell me you’re dreaming of riding right up to the Khan’s palace and handing him his treasure. Well,” she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice as if she shared a secret, “my eyes may be growing cloudy, but they can still see that you’re a cripple, Oyuna, and last I knew they don’t welcome the ugly and infirm into the presence of Kublai Khan.”

  Satisfied with her outburst, Genma sat back upon her creaking stool and began to pour tea. For her, the skies had cleared. “The sooner you give up hoping for something that’s not going to happen, the happier you’ll be,” she said matter-of-factly. She handed me a tea bowl, with a warm smile. “Now, you just plan to stay here with my family and you and Delger can have lots of babies and you’ll both see just how nice life is to live.”

  Genma abruptly changed the subject then, turning to Davasuren to ask about the number of lambs expected this spring. My hands trembled as I cupped my tea bowl and turned over Genma’s words. She was partly right, I admitted. I, a girl—and yes, a cripple—had no business riding to the royal city of Khanbaliq. I didn’t even know how far it was, or exactly where.

  The image of Delger’s handsome face flashed in my mind. Where else would I find such a husband? Ever so slightly I shook my head. Delger was at the temple at that very moment, against his mother’s wishes, because he wanted to learn to be a lama. It wasn’t his dream to marry and—I was growing more confident now—it wasn’t mine either. My heart’s true desire lay to the south. I had to ride on.

  I probably would not have spoken another word that evening, having so much to think about, but Bayan’s strange behavior continued. Somehow she managed to nose her way inside the slanting storage shed next to the station. Ripping open a bag of grain, she scattered the precious foodstuff all over the ground, gorging for no one knows how long. It wasn’t until well after dinner, when we were just heading for our beds, that a suspicious noise made Genma send Davasuren to investigate. When the girl returned to report the spillage, Genma’s face again grew stormy. My frantic apologies fell on deaf ears as the woman rose, pulled a short knife from the cabinet, and stomped into the darkness.

  I think Genma enjoyed “treating” Bayan that night. Saying that the horse’s blood would be too rich carrying all that grain, the huge woman twisted my mare’s upper lip with one strong fist and, by the light of torches held by her daughters, poked the knife inside Bayan’s mouth. After searching for just the right spot, Genma jabbed the glistening pink gum. I gulped, my stomach churning, as I watched the blood drip and drip from Bayan’s gaping mouth. Genma showed no pity, even though the old mare groaned and writhed beneath her grip.

  “Trust me,” she muttered. “I know what is best.”

  The station was silent after that and we crawled beneath our covers with few words
. Yet long after Genma and her family fell to snoring, I lay with my fingers rubbing at my collarbone, for I felt as if the herdsman’s urga had tightened around my neck. I had to gallop from this place and it had to be tomorrow.

  19

  Bayan Is Lost to Me

  I awakened in the still-dark, my escape plans instantly withering: Genma was gone from her bed. Hurriedly I pulled on my boots, but before I could slip outside I heard the heavy footsteps approaching. The girls stirred, though neither they nor their younger brother arose. By the pinkish light sifting past Genma through the door flap, I saw that the sleeves of her berry-colored del were pushed to her elbows and that her meaty arms were smeared with blood.

  She flinched, momentarily surprised at seeing me sitting upon the edge of my bed.

  “May the sun shine upon you,” she said in greeting. “Won’t you stir up the cooking fire, dear one? I’ll ready us some tea.”

  Reluctantly I poked at the embers with two dung cakes and, after adding my breath, coaxed a small fire. Genma and I were soon seated beside the flames, sipping tea, and while I tried to keep up with her chatter about horses, I kept eyeing her bloody arms and wishing I was far, far away. One by one her children awakened and, yawning, took bowls in their hands to join us. I didn’t realize I was still rubbing at my collarbone until Genma asked what was the matter. I could only throw up my hands and laugh weakly.

  After breakfast Genma found one thing and then another to keep me at her side. She dug through a chest to show me an ancient and brittle silk scarf that had been carried all the way from Shangtu. Placing each of her delicate tea bowls one by one into my cupped hands, she told me when she had received each and the name of the rider who had given it to her. Genma went so far as to drape a length of pale, thistle-colored silk across my shoulder and promise to begin sewing me a new del the next day—as if I had already agreed to join her family!

  In this manner the morning crawled along. Bator padded in and out, dozing in the moving circle of sunlight before, time and again, jumping up suddenly to skitter outside. I longed to follow him, but each time my eyes wandered, Genma slapped me upon the back and pulled another treasure and another story from her trunk.

  When I could tell, even within the shadows of the arrow station, that the sun had risen high in the sky, I politely interrupted her ramblings. “Please,” I said, “I must see to Bayan now. Perhaps her leg is better.”

  The large woman’s face fell. Her shoulders rose and sank, expelling a long sigh. Squatting spraddle-legged on her orange stool, Genma motioned to me. “Come, Oyuna,” she said somberly. “I have something to tell you.”

  Panic-stricken, I somehow managed to push my feet forward until I was engulfed in the meaty arms, pressed into the squashy bosom. Genma smothered me in her embrace while she rocked back and forth upon the squeaking stool.

  “I’m sorry, Oyuna. Very, very sorry.” She murmured these words into my ear. “But Bayan did not live the night. I found her near death this morning.” Holding my trembling body at arm’s length then, Genma looked into my face and said, “Too much grain. It was the kindest thing—ending her life. I know you would not have wanted her to feel any more pain.”

  I shook my head, a sick fear squeezing my heart. “No! I must see her. Where is she?”

  “She is dead, Oyuna. There is nothing you can do. Better you stay inside here today until I can harness the ox and drag the body away.”

  “No!” I said again, shaking my head vigorously. “No! I won’t. I must see her. You can’t keep me here.”

  I twisted free of her grip. But with unexpected swiftness, Genma lunged toward the door frame and blocked my escape with her large body. “Oyuna,” she said in a strangely calm voice, “I have known horses for many years more than you. I know what is best. Now, it’s all right to cry, child. Why, I shed some tears myself when I found your poor old mare suffering so.”

  She sounded so caring, yet every bone in my body was telling me to run from that place.

  “I understand how you feel, Oyuna,” she was saying. “So you just go back and sit by the fire and we’ll talk about your mare—about Bayan. You can tell me all about your days with her and after a long cry you’ll feel better. And tomorrow will be better and the day after that and so on. You’ll see.”

  At that moment, Bator rushed in between Genma’s fat ankles, looked around wildly, and bolted back outside. I had to follow him, I felt, or stay caught forever in Genma’s greedy trap. My own quick glance around the room showed that my saddle and bridle were missing. So was the leather pouch given to me by Echenkorlo. And the Khan’s twin goatskin bags.

  But I still had the knife I had slipped into my boot on the day I had cut off my braid. Holding Genma’s angry gaze, I slowly reached my hand inside my boot, found the small knife’s iron handle, and pulled it out, aiming the point at the woman’s fat middle. Genma’s eyes widened.

  “Oyuna!” she scolded in a mother’s voice. “You put that down this instant. I won’t have such behavior in my home.”

  “Let me out of here,” I said between gritted teeth.

  “Now, Oyuna,” she began to say, but in one swipe her huge arm knocked my fist aside, sending the knife flying into the fire. With eerie precision it angled off the bronze cauldron, pierced the embers, and—most unlucky—stuck, small flames lapping at the handle. Genma gasped. The hairs on my neck stood stiff. Yet so determined was I to escape that place that I moved toward the knife anyway.

  The rush of air at my side told me Genma’s grasp had fallen short. “No!” she cried, still clinging to the door frame. “The knife has cut the fire. We must call the shaman!”

  But I would not listen to her anymore. With the toe of my boot, I kicked the knife clear of the flames. Then I knelt, slipped my hand inside the sleeve of my del, and seized the hot handle. Heart pounding in my ears, I rose.

  “Let me out now!” I said, again pointing the knife at Genma and taking a confident step toward her.

  Fear blanched Genma’s fat face, for now I threatened her with bad luck as well as a weapon. Her small eyes hard on the blade, she eased her weight aside, giving up just enough daylight for me to dart past.

  Outside I stumbled over the bloody carcass of a sheep but gave it no mind when I saw that one of Genma’s horses, a dapple gray gelding with two white stockings and a white belly patch, stood saddled and waiting. The bulging goatskin bags were slung across his back. At that instant I heard a leisurely clip-clopping and looked down the path to see Delger riding toward us. Genma was behind me now, waving and shouting for him to hurry. But he couldn’t hear her. Cupping a hand to his ear, Delger rode up to the arrow station and reined to a surprised halt.

  Brandishing my knife, I ordered the wide-eyed Delger to step from his horse and hobble it. While he was doing so, I spun around, slashing the knife wildly through the air. I could see the two sisters, open-mouthed, peeking at me from around the corner post. So fierce I must have appeared! Like an animal I crouched, lifting my lip to reveal clenched teeth.

  A grunting noise made me spin, slash the air again. But it wasn’t Genma. There at my feet, playing in the dirt, was the odd son. He was grinning at me and grunting, earnestly trying to tell me something. From behind his back then he pulled the leather pouch given to me by my grandmother and held it high in the air. For just a moment my fury melted. I smiled at him, squeezing his chubby hand as I took the pouch. I brandished the knife one last time at the others, then untied the gray’s reins and stepped into the saddle. Thumping my heels, I galloped down the path and into the thicket.

  “You don’t know the way!” I heard Genma shout. “You won’t make it through the mountains!”

  You may be right, I silently answered. But at least I’m choosing my own path.

  Fear and excitement washed through my veins as I bent over the neck of the sprinting horse. Jumbled pictures, pieces of thoughts blew through my mind l
ike the wind through the whipping mane. Was I headed in the right direction? Would I be safe? What, in the name of Tengri, had happened to Bayan? And where was Bator?

  Bounding uphill, galloping in grunting leaps, we shadowed the tumbling stream. Kept pushing, springing, until we climbed up and over the first rise, then pushed on again until we cleared the second rise. Only then did I pull the gray to a stop. He was blowing hard. Too hard. And a new fear began to strangle my stomach. This horse I sat upon, the one I needed to escape, was not fast. Genma’s boasts fell short of their target. The poor animal’s legs were trembling with the sudden effort. They carried neither strength nor stamina. Why, any one of my father’s horses could outrace him.

  Hidden from view in a brushy hollow lying between one rise and the next, I pulled Genma’s horse into a circle, letting him find his breath while I held mine, listening for followers.

  My ears heard no hoofbeats, no triumphant shouts of chase. But they did catch the far-off cry, carried on the breeze, of a small animal. I smiled at Bator’s complaining. Although I itched to gallop farther away from Genma’s arrow station, I waited.

  Finally the tiger-striped cat bounded through the brush, pink tongue fluttering between loud meows. At least I had one of my friends back, though Genma’s telling of Bayan’s death chilled my heart.

  “Come up, Bator,” I said, patting my leg for him to jump into the saddle.

  But the wailing animal ignored me. Blinking his upturned green eyes against the bright sunshine, Bator also circled anxiously, meowing, then turned away from the babbling stream to trot along the hollow. Biting my lip, fearful that we would still be caught, I reined in the gray behind the scurrying, stiff-tailed animal.

  Not a dozen breaths later, a familiar whinny wafted through the air. Bayan! I was sure of it! I stood in my stirrups, looking, but I could not see her, for the mountainside slanting around me folded into gullies and rose into hillocks. Newly leafing bushes stretched their green branches across my face as if to further hinder my search. Bator was quickly trotting ahead, so I urged the gray to hurry up and follow him around the jagged base of a long, rocky slope. Before the horse responded, Bator disappeared.