The Visitor

by Brent Ayscough

  The first event was the Kokpar. One of the several hundred horsemen, each wearing a black cape and black turbine, carrying a lance and shield, galloped toward the dead goat on the ground that was dropped by another. He then ran his lance through it, letting out a yell as he galloped off, carrying it toward the other side of the huge playing field. Several horsemen on the other side came at him head on, holding out their shields to ram him. There was a loud crashing of their shields, and he fell off his horse. There was scrambling around in circles by the attackers as well as the defenders who rushed in to lance the dead goat, and the man who fell off his mount was trampled. When the group moved out of that area, and the dust cleared slightly, it could be seen that the man on the ground was not moving and, without so much as stopping the game, an older man, formerly a competitor, accompanied by two young men, still too young to compete, ran in to pick up his body and take his horse off. The man was dead.

  The horsemen, dressed in their traditional garments adorned with turbans, ignored the incident and frantically continued the chase for goat’s carcass, as though nothing had happened at all.

  “What does the name of the game, Kokpar, mean?” Tak asked Kairat.

  “It means ‘fighting for a goat’s carcass,’” he answered. “It comes from a Kazakh custom of sacrificing a goat to get rid of evil.”

  “Do you believe it rids of evil?”

  “Many do, but I’m not sure.”

  After Kokpar, the large number of horses cleared the huge field. Then two mounted men came onto the field. “This is called ‘Audaryspak,’ which means wrestling on horseback,” Kairat explained.

  The two strong men fought each other while on horseback until finally one knocked the other off his horse. The crowd erupted in cheer for the victor.

  Following that short event was a game where a young man put a handkerchief out on the ground in the field, not far from the bleachers, with an old silver coin in it. A horseman came at it galloping at full speed and leaned over all the way to the ground, off the side of his horse, to try to pick it up. If he missed, he was out of the game.

  “This was shown to Alexander the Great,” Kairat told her. “It is called Kumis Alu, which means pick up the coin. Alexander was very impressed with this skill performed on horseback.”

  Following that game, assistants set up for another. Appearing on the field were two teenagers on horseback, but one was a girl. This was the first female in the events. The horses had a woven blanket under the saddle and white lower leg wrappings, which looked very dressy. Both the girl and the boy wore traditional garb with head gear consisting of a white band two inches thick with a colored, round top of material with weaving. The girl wore a vest with a colorful woven pattern on the front. She also had a fearsome looking black whip in her hand.

  “Is that female part of the game?” Tak asked.

  “Oh yes!” Kairat said eagerly. “This game I have done myself. It is called ‘Kyzkuu,’ which means ‘overtake the girl.’ The boy and the girl start from the same spot, but the girl starts first. The boy then goes as fast as he can to try to overtake her. She can try to stop him by lashing him with her whip. If he can catch up to her, he will kiss her on her horse signifying a victory for him. If, by the time they reach the end of the course, he has failed to overtake her, she then turns around, follows him back before the crowd, and whips him all the way back as she does, signifying a victory for her and great loss of face for him.”

  “And you say you have done it?” she asked.

  He smiled proudly, his chest puffing up. “Oh yes, even last year. But I always won easily, and this year the girls who are competing all know me and refused to compete against me. They don’t want to be disgraced again.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the first two contestants. The girl took off first on her horse at a full run, followed by the boy just afterward in hot pursuit. The male contestant was faster than her and was soon about to overtake her on the right side as they crossed in front of the shouting crowd.

  He caught up to her and kissed her while riding. He led her back to the crowd and was declared the winner by an official, also in traditional garb. The crowd hooted and cheered, delighted at the male victory.

  The second pair got ready to compete and Tak’s interest mounted in the game. They galloped out and the chase was on! The boy worked his way toward the girl, gaining slowly as the crowd cheered them on. He overtook her and got his kiss. The crowd cheered wildly for the male victor once again.

  A third pair competed and the results were similar to the first two.

  Tak was now bored with the results of what did not appear to be a real contest. “They really are not very well matched. The males are much better at this than the females. I think I could do better.”

  Kairat looked surprised at her comment and fanaticized that he might win a kiss from the beautiful, foreign woman in front of his friends. “Why don’t you and I compete?”

  She wondered if she should dare to follow up on her assessment. “Oh, I don’t have a horse, and I don’t have the clothing. But thank you for asking.”

  The idea of defeating her and getting a kiss in public from the gorgeous, red-haired Westerner with his friends looking on was beyond irresistible to Kairat. “I can borrow a horse as well as the outfit for you. You are supposed to wear the traditional costume in the game. Why don’t we?”

  The opportunity of experiencing first hand this Earth sport was all too tempting. She looked to Baron for an answer to see if her Earth guide and husband would veto the idea.

  “As you wish,” he said.

  She gave in to temptation. “I’ll try it!”

  Kairat led her to the area behind the bleachers and to a yurta, an Arabic tent used, in this case, for changing clothes. He called inside to someone in Kazakh, and a young woman came out. Kairat spoke to her and the arrangements were made.

  “She will lend you clothes for the event,” he said to Tak. “I’ll go change and come back.”

  Kairat returned in a traditional outfit, wide-legged red pants, brown boots, a brown shirt, and a brown leather jacket. He wore one of the hats that the other contestants had, a dome-looking affair with a white band of cloth about the bottom and the top in a red cloth with weaving.

  Tak exited in a traditional, bright yellow outfit of loose pants held up by a woven multi-colored sash, the legs of which were tucked in high-topped riding boots. She wore a black sweater, a matching yellow vest with weaving in blue and red on the front, and a black and yellow hat similar in shape to his.

  “You look Kazakh,” he told her, intending the statement to be a compliment.

  “Good. I’m ready.”

  At the staging area, Kairat was recognized by the horse handlers, from his previous competitions, as a very good horseman. Kairat spoke to the handler, who smiled and agreed to what he wanted, a horse for the less-than-competitive-female that he would compete against.

  The handler got a fast, healthy horse for Kairat, and then selected a smaller horse for Tak as though she needed an economy version as a female.

  “No, not that one,” Tak dictated to him. She looked around at the horses and saw a frisky black stallion that was standing alone on the far side. She pointed. “That one.”

  The handler understood from the pointing but doubted that she could handle the big fellow. He spoke to Kairat in Kazakh, who interpreted, “He says that the big one you pointed to is not safe for you.”

  “I want the black one.”

  Kairat assumed that this upstart, infidel female would fall right off such a beast and then decided to approve it for her, notwithstanding the fact that he was supposed to return her unharmed that day.

  The handler reluctantly went to the black one and tried to get hold of its leather bridle. The horse reared up to stomp on him, and he jumped back just barely out of the way. He then went around from the side, came up, grabbed the bridle, and put his arms around the neck. The big horse pulled its head up and raised
the handler two feet off the ground, but the handler would not let go. After several yanks up into the air, the frisky horse finally stopped and let the handler control him. The man then put on the traditional blanket and saddle.

  Kairat and Tak walked their horses to the staging area and got in line behind a pair of contestants. Kairat mounted his horse.

  The handler held the stirrup for Tak. She put a foot in it but, in the anticipation and excitement, she forgot her additional strength in this lower gravity and jumped up on the horse in a single movement from the ground. Kairat was not sure if he saw her correctly and rubbed his eyes to take another look but, when he did, Tak was already sitting on her horse, smiling.

  The assistant handed Tak a whip. Seven feet in length, light, and thin at the end, it was intimidating.

  They moved up in line until it was their turn. The crowd was cheering at the victor of the round before them, the boy having again won as usual, and being kissed by the inferior female contestant.

  Tak’s mount, although not quiet, seemed to her to be worth the experience as weighed against the risk. After all, she told herself, she was here to experience the natives and their ways.

  Her mount moved as though he knew that he was about to be on stage in the competition. His breaths were loud and he made more loud noises with his lips as he waited restlessly in the staging area. His bridle was held tightly by a large man who started the competition in the age-old manner of simply letting go of the horse. Another held the bridle of Kairat’s mount and would let it go shortly after Tak was away. The men looked at Tak and Kairat and saw that they were ready. Tak leaned forward, in a ready-to-go position, and held the reins tightly in her left hand, the whip in her right hand on the side where Kairat would be riding.

  Kairat was somewhat calmer about the competition, assuming he would have no difficulty in beating the completely inexperienced Tak, and was already anticipating the public kiss from the foreigner, which would give him great face.

  The man let go of her horse, and off she went! The horse went into a full run on its own. Tak was startled, but leaned over and did her best.

  Then Kairat came up just behind her. Tak’s high-spirited horse put nearly two lengths on Kairat’s mount, as he followed in hot pursuit. He closed the gap, but not enough to catch her before the finish line.

  She was then entitled to follow him back to the crowd--whipping him all the way. As they rode back, she whipped him strongly with her whip, Kairat crying out in pain with each stroke.

  Kairat tried to ignore the pain and dug his heels into his horse’s belly, but she was still there with her whip, continuing the strokes. They came to the area in front of the crowd, and she continued the whipping.

  The crowd cheered, but much more subdued than the last couple, not wanting to see an inferior female win. They mumbled among themselves about how it could happen, as the female almost never won.

  Kairat gathered up his composure as best he could in front of the crowd, stood, and began to walk, back toward the tents, vanquished, totally humiliated in front of people he knew well. Tak and Kairat walked back, not together, each to their respective changing yurta.

  Kairat began to boil. He had never lost any such event, and now, in front of all of friends, he was reduced to nothing, disgraced, and by an infidel and inferior woman. He concluded it would do justice for Allah to kill that infidel bitch, who did not have the decency to cover her harlot head with a Hijab.

  He followed her back, unseen, to her yurta, and looked about outside. No one was watching. As part of his traditional garb, he sported a traditional hunting knife in his belt, an ornate knife with a Damascus blade and wooden handle with jeweled trim, encased in a jeweled sheath. He took out the weapon and opened her yurta, murder in his mind.

  Tak had just removed her borrowed clothes and was standing, naked, her back to the yurta opening. She heard him coming and turned to face him. Looking at the knife and his violent expression, she knew what was about to happen.

  As Kairat stared at the lower part of her naked body, he knew it was not what it should be or anything he had ever seen and witnessing it unearthed a feeling of inadequacy deep inside him, making him lose the impetus of his intended violent assault. He regained his composure and determination and went for her, the knife in his right hand, intending to kill her.

  Tak saw the knife coming at her and managed to grab his wrist with her left hand, and then with her right, to keep from being stabbed. She leaped at his torso with her naked legs and got hold of him around his throat with her agile toes--seven on each foot, which were like fingers--and choked him. Kariat dropped the knife.

  Just then Baron came to the yurta, in time to see the attack. He grabbed Kairat by the back of his hair and yanked him away so hard he fell backward.

  Tak made ready her wrist laser weapon, but Kairat was done in from the fight. He raced out of the yurta, leaving the knife behind on the floor.

  Baron picked it up and handed it to Tak. “A souvenir for you. I guess Kairat did not like losing.”

  ***

  The Dastarkhan dinner was arranged at the home of the relatives of Dr. Dorogomilov’s deceased Kazakh wife Karina. Having been given notice that there were two special guests were visiting, supplemented by a gift of one thousand US Dollars expense money from Baron, the family had morphed the meal into not just a modest Dastarkhan, but a memorable one.

  The living room had been converted to a dining hall with a number of make-shift tables and mismatched chairs. Baron was seated at the end, with the baroness to his side around the edge of table. Kairat was nowhere to be found.

  The ceremony for the most honored guest was a performance for Baron, who was seldom matched in style. Naturally, he assumed he would be designated the most honored guest, and so he had prepared ahead by learning what to do when so designated.

  Lamb was brought out on two large plates, the first with the meat. The second, called a koy-bas, was the sheep’s head cooked intact, presented to Baron with great honor. He stood to distribute the meat from the head and other parts of the sheep that were on the plate, being very careful not to offend.

  He asked who was who in the group, in Russian. “Who are the young men?”

  Several young men held up their hand, although it was obvious.

  “You take these ears to make you more attentive.” He then cut off the ears from the head and cut them up to distribute among them.

  “Now, the girls,” Baron said, carving out the palate from inside the head of the sheep and passing it to them. “This will make you more diligent and hard working. I have hipbones here for the elder men, as honored guests,” he said and served them ceremoniously to the senior men. “Who are the daughters-in-law? They get the breast.” He passed the pieces to them. “Who are the married women?” He passed the neck bones to them and one to Tak. “The boys?” They got the kidneys and heart to grow into a man more rapidly. “Who are the sons-in-law?” Once identified, they got the breastbone. “Now, are there any pregnant women?” Baron looked about until one identified herself. “You get this vertebra. Now here are the brains, but not for children. It will make them weak-willed.” Baron put servings of brains on plates, with that warning, as some of the women passed them to others sitting beside the children. “Here’s an elbow and an ulnar bone. Anyone can have this, except an unmarried woman or young girl, as it will make her left on the shelf with no husband.” Baron passed the elbow toward someone who wanted it.

  When Baron completed his performance, all done as though he was born Kazakh, he sat down. The rest did not touch their food until Baron, the most honored guest, began to eat.

  “Only a true Kazakh would know such things,” Dr. Dorogomilov complemented.

  “Common knowledge,” Baron said in an understatement.

  The head of the sheep on the table was facing Tak, and it was more than a little distracting. Completely horrified, she tried a bit of a few things to be polite. She looked at Baron, who chuckled at her shock,
enjoying the effect it was having on her.

  When no one was listening, she said to him, “Am I actually asked to consider letting these people go into space?”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Dalai is Mongolian for ocean and Lama is Tibetan for spiritual leader and hence the translation Ocean of Wisdom,” Shanta read to Andrew as they sat in the square living room of the boxy houseboat on Lake Cumberland. He listened, while assembling a radio-controlled model airplane on the dining room table and sipping a bourbon.

  The Saunders family had always had a houseboat on the Kentucky Cumberland Lake. The vessel did not look like a boat at all, but more like a house trailer on hidden floats--hardly a seaworthy vessel. But it was not used in the same manner as ocean boats, as it had a relatively small engine. If the boat was in the middle of the lake, it was too deep to anchor so it would just sit as there, as there were no significant currents to make it drift appreciably. The typical day out on the lake would be to just cruise off somewhere and then turn the motor off. They could then soak up the atmosphere as the houseboat sat in the calm of the lake, which, especially in the mornings and evenings, was as flat as glass. One could fish, but Andrew did not care for fishing.

  A small runabout motorboat, tied to the back of the houseboat, provided transportation if they wanted to go ashore to one of the few restaurants on the lake. It could also be used to go look about the lake, but there was not much to see, apart from a waterfall over a rock that one could take a runabout under, just missing the water.

  “Have you always built models?” Shanta asked Andrew as he worked intently on the model.

  “Yes. I stopped for some years, but now I like to do it again.”

  “What is that model you are building?”

  “This is a Cessna 182, converted from wheels to floats so I can fly it off the lake,” he said proudly as he held the fuselage up for her to see. “It is powered by a .90 cubic-inch, four-stroke engine. Here are the wings,” he said, holding them up. They measured over five feet in length. “They go on and off for easy storage. I crashed the last one. This is a replacement.” Andrew adjusted the neutral point of the control servos and then asked, “Where does the Dalai Lama actually live?”