by Chi Zijian
When the Malu King died, the does were due to fawn in a month but we were lingering at our old campsite and still hadn’t selected an ideal location. But just a few days later, Nihau announced: ‘A new Malu King is about to be born!’
And her pronouncement was not mistaken. A white-spotted doe suddenly cried out and then gave birth to a snow-white fawn! It resembled an auspicious cloud that had just fallen to the earth.
As we ran towards the fawn, Nihau suddenly halted, opened her mouth, and effortlessly coughed up the copper bells. One bell in each hand, she proceeded slowly towards the new Malu King. Those bells looked so pristine and shiny that they seemed to have just been forged. There must have been a crystal-clear river flowing inside Nihau to have scrubbed those dusty bells so thoroughly!
That fawn became our Malu King the moment Nihau attached the bells to its neck.
When we buried the old Malu King, Nihau intoned the first of her Spirit Songs:
Your snow-white mantle
Melted in springtime.
Grass burgeons green
From your blossom-shaped spoor . . .
And that pair of silver clouds
Are your ever-shining orbs!
While Nihau sang the Spirit Song, two round, snow-white clouds appeared in the dark blue sky. Gazing at them was like gazing into the luminous eyes of the Malu King we had known so well. Luni held Nihau against his chest affectionately, and stroked her hair lightly, so gently and sorrowfully. I understood. He longed for our clan to have a new Shaman, but he was also unwilling to see the woman he loved racked by the physical pain of being possessed by the Spirits.
***
The grass grew green, flowers bloomed, swallows flew back from the south, and the waves shimmered again on the river. The ceremony marking Nihau’s designation as our clan’s Shaman was set to take place amidst the sights and sounds of springtime.
According to established practice, a new Shaman’s initiation should take place at the urireng of the former Shaman. But Nihau was pregnant again, and Luni was worried that it would be hard for her to travel to Nidu the Shaman’s old urireng, so Ivan invited a Shaman from another clan to come and preside over the Initiation Rite.
She was known as Jiele the Shaman. Past seventy, she still had a straight back, a set of neatly spaced teeth and a head of jet-black hair. Her voice carried far, and even after downing three bowls of baijiu without a pause her gaze didn’t waver.
We erected two Fire Pillars to the north of our shirangju, a birch tree on the left, a pine on the right, symbolising the co-existence of mankind and the Spirits. They had to be big trees. In front of them we also placed two saplings – once again, a birch on the left and a pine on the right. We stretched a leather strap between the two big trees, and attached sacrificial offerings – reindeer hearts, tongues, livers and lungs – to show reverence to the Shaman Spirit. Blood from a reindeer heart was smeared onto the saplings. Besides all this, Jiele the Shaman hung a wooden sun to the east of the shirangju, and a moon to the west. She also carved a wild goose and a cuckoo out of wood, and suspended them separately.
The Spirit Dance Ceremony commenced. Everyone in our urireng sat next to the blazing fire observing Jiele the Shaman as she taught Nihau the Spirit Dance. Nihau was wearing the Spirit Robe left behind by Nidu the Shaman, but Jiele the Shaman had adapted it because he had been fat and taller than Nihau, so the Spirit Robe was too loose for her. That day it seemed that Nihau was a bride again. Clothed in a Shaman’s costume, she was lovely and dignified.
Attached to the Spirit Robe were small wooden replicas of the human spine, seven metal strips symbolising human ribs, and lightning bolts and bronze mirrors of every size. The shawl draped on her shoulders was even more resplendent with teal, fish, swan and cuckoo bird adornments fastened to it. Twelve colourful ribbons symbolising the twelve Earthly Branches hung from the Spirit Skirt she wore, and it was also embellished with myriad strings of tiny bronze bells.
The Spirit Headdress she donned resembled a large birch-bark bowl covering the back of her head. Behind it draped a short, rectangular ‘skirt’, and at the top rose a pair of small bronze reindeer antlers. Several red, yellow and blue ribbons were suspended from the branches, symbolising a rainbow. In front of the Spirit Headdress dangled strands of red silk that reached the bridge of her nose, endowing her gaze with a mysterious air, since her eyes were visible only via the gaps between the strands of silk.
As Jiele the Shaman had instructed her, before the Spirit Dance Nihau first addressed a few words to the entire urireng. She proclaimed that after she became a Shaman she would unquestionably use her own life and the abilities bestowed upon her by the Spirits to protect our clan, and ensure that our clansmen would multiply, our reindeer teem, and the fruits of our hunting abound year after year.
With her left hand holding the Spirit Drum and her right hand grasping the drumstick made from the leg of a roe-deer, she followed Jiele the Shaman and began her Spirit Dance.
Although Jiele the Shaman was very elderly, as she began to perform the Spirit Dance she was full of energy. When she beat the Spirit Drum, birds came flying from afar and alighted on the trees in our camp. The drumbeat and the chirping of the birds blended poignantly. That was the most glorious sound I’ve heard in my life.
Nihau danced with Jiele the Shaman without pause from high noon until the sky went dark. Luni lovingly brought Nihau a bowl of water to get her to take a sip, but she didn’t even glance at it. Meanwhile, the rhythm of Nihau’s drumbeats grew more compelling, and her dancing more skilful and eye-catching with every step.
Jiele the Shaman stayed in our camp for three days and danced the Spirit Dance each day, and she used her drumming and dancing to transform Nihau into a Shaman.
As Jiele the Shaman prepared to leave, Ivan presented her with a gift of two reindeer. Just then Yveline appeared among those who had come to see off the Shaman. In her black attire, Yveline looked just like a raven. ‘I’ve set the date for the marriage of my son, Jindele,’ she explained. ‘When he returns from Uchiriovo, he’ll take Zefirina as his wife. My son’s marriage ceremony must be presided over by a virtuous and prestigious Shaman.’
Yveline admired Jiele the Shaman, so she was extending this invitation ahead of time, and requested that the Shaman consent now.
I still recall how Jiele the Shaman’s lips twitched. Then, without a nod or shake of her head, she simply mounted a reindeer, waved to us and told Ivan that she should be on her way. As they departed, the crisp sound of a woodpecker hammering at a tree travelled towards us, like the lingering sound of the Spirit Drum that Jiele the Shaman had beaten in our camp.
No sooner had Jiele the Shaman and Ivan left than Jindele and Yveline began squabbling.
‘Even if I marry, I won’t live in the same shirangju with that crooked-mouthed girl. If that’s really how it must be, I’d be better off living in a grave!’
Once he’d had his say, his moist eyes glanced at Nihau. Nihau pursed her lips and hastily looked down. ‘Then you go right ahead and move into your grave!’ sneered Yveline.
When the men left again for the Kwantung Army Garrison, Yveline really did begin preparations for the marriage. The odd pieces of cloth that she had regularly set aside were all brought out. She planned to sew one set of clothes each for Zefirina and Jindele. I admired Yveline’s needlework, so when she was busy with her sewing I took Andaur in my arms and watched.
Yveline had stored a fish-skin blouse and she spread it out to show me. It was pale yellow with a speckled grey pattern, an open collar, straight sleeves, and lapels that met in the front and were knotted in place; simple yet beautiful. My grandmother wore it in her youth. Yveline said Grandmother was of medium height but somewhat thin, while she herself was tall and slightly chubby, so she’d never been able to wear it. She said that clothing made of genuine fish-skin is actually tougher than roe-deerskin.
She held the blouse up against me to gauge the size. ‘Looks like it fits you,’ she
said, pleasantly surprised. ‘It’s not too tight. I’ll give it to you!’
‘Zefirina is soon to be Jindele’s bride,’ I said, ‘and her figure is just right, so keep it for her.’
Yveline sighed. ‘She’s not our flesh and blood. This has been passed down from our ancestors. Why give it to her?’
From her long sigh I could sense that deep down she wasn’t too pleased with this marriage either, so I urged her not to be so hard on Jindele. Since he didn’t care for Zefirina, why force the matter?
Yveline looked straight at me, unblinking for a moment, and then she said softly: ‘You loved Lajide, but where has Lajide gone? Ivan loved Nadezhda, but didn’t she take the children and abandon him? Linke and your Egdi’ama both loved Tamara, but they almost became enemies. Jindele loved Nihau, but didn’t Nihau marry Luni? I’ve seen through it all. Whatever you love, that’s what you end up losing. On the contrary, it’s what you don’t love that stays by your side for ever.’
When she finished speaking, Yveline sighed again. I couldn’t bear to talk about something like the importance of happiness – even if it’s short-lived – with this woman who had stored up so much melancholy in her heart. I just let her be.
For Jindele, Yveline sewed a Tibetan-blue changpao with openings down both sides. The collar and cuffs were edged with pale green lace.
She even took advantage of originally unusable scraps of deerskin and cloth to put together a wedding gown for Zefirina. It had a tight-fitting, long skirt with a wide hem, a crescent-moon collar, horse-hoof cuffs and a jade-green band inset at the waist. It was very beautiful, and reminded me of the bird-feather skirt Nidu the Shaman made for Mother. Matching this gown was a pair of buckskin boots bordered with lace.
Besides these items, she also made a roe-deerskin blanket and an under-bedding of wild boar fur. She said you couldn’t let a new bride sleep on bear fur – she’d be infertile.
When the men came back from training at the Kwantung Army Garrison, Yveline had already procured everything necessary for the marriage ceremony.
That was the latter part of summer, the time of the year when the plants in the forest were growing most vigorously. When Yveline brought up the subject of his marriage with Zefirina, Jindele no longer objected.
This time when Dashi returned he brought a loess-coloured cotton overcoat and appeared in high spirits. He had not only learned how to ride a horse in the Kwantung Army Garrison, he had also secretly crossed the Argun and gone to the Left Bank on reconnaissance.
When Maria heard that Dashi had been to the Soviet Union, she fell to the ground in fright. ‘What if you didn’t come back?’ she repeated. ‘Are the Japanese trying to push my only child off a cliff?’ This refrain of hers made everyone fall about laughing.
Dashi told us he and two others used the cover of night to paddle a birch-bark canoe across the Argun and set foot on the Left Bank. ‘We hid the boat in a grove on the bank, and followed the road to search for rail tracks, count the bridges and roads in the area, and record how the Soviet army was deployed.’
Dashi was responsible for taking pictures. The team member who was literate took notes, and the other was responsible for observing and calling out numbers. Train types, frequency and the number of individual carriages running on the railway daily – all had to be recorded. On their backs they carried rifles and bags of dry rations, with enough jerky and biscuits to survive for seven or eight days.
‘One day when I was taking a picture of an arch bridge on the railway, a Soviet soldier on patrol spotted me. He shouted and chased us. We were scared to death and ran like madmen all the way, escaping into the forest.’
Fortunately the camera was hanging around his neck, he said, otherwise it would have been lost in the panic.
From that day onwards, they discovered that more frequent and better-manned patrols were set up on the roads and bridges, so their reconnaissance work became increasingly arduous.
Dashi and his team remained in the Soviet Union for seven days, and then they returned to the place where they had stashed their canoe and took advantage of the night to return to the Right Bank. The Japanese were very pleased with the results of their reconnaissance work, and rewarded each of the men with a heavy cotton overcoat.
As we listened to Dashi’s tale, Yveline suddenly turned to Ivan. ‘If you learned how to conduct reconnaissance like Dashi and went to the Soviet Union, you could bring Nadezhda back, right?’
Ivan twisted those two hands of his together, said nothing and walked away, sullen. Kunde sighed. He probably thought about admonishing Yveline with a few choice words, but he didn’t dare.
Hase said that since the Japanese were dispatching men to enter Soviet territory and secretly survey those things, it looked like they intended to extend Manchukuo’s boundaries.
‘They’re dreaming,’ snorted Yveline. ‘This isn’t even their territory. They’re basically poaching their food and drink over here, and now they’re thinking of going over there to the Soviet Union to steal another mouthful? Do they think the Soviets are pushovers?’
We were just about to move from our summer camp to the autumn site, but Yveline said it was absolutely necessary to carry out the marriage ceremony before relocating. So she and Kunde went to the bride-to-be’s urireng and fixed the date.
It was a bright sunny day when Ivan led the entourage, including Jindele, which formally welcomed Zefirina into our urireng. Jindele was wearing his brand-new long changpao, and he appeared very detached. Zefirina wore the wedding gown and boots that Yveline had made for her, sported a wreath of wild flowers in her hair, and smiled cheerfully with her crooked mouth. She looked beside herself with joy.
Yveline had hoped that Jiele the Shaman would preside over the wedding ceremony, but Ivan insisted that our own Shaman host it, so Yveline had to back down. When Nihau blessed the couple on behalf of the urireng, Zefirina broke out in a broad smile, and she looked at Jindele. But Jindele’s eyes were fixed on Nihau, his gaze so tender and forlorn that I felt a twinge of sadness in my heart.
The marriage ceremony over, everyone gathered round the bonfire and drank and ate roasted meat, and the singing and dancing began. Jindele toasted each person courteously with a bowl of baijiu. Then he waved his hand to the revellers and said, ‘Go ahead and eat, drink, sing and dance! I’m awfully tired. I’m going to leave you all.’
Everyone assumed he’d been worn out by the marriage ceremony and was going back to his shirangju for a rest. Right after Jindele left, so did Dashi. We knew that he was going for his daily horse-ride down by the river.
At dusk Dashi suddenly appeared by the bonfire, his face covered in tears. Everyone was having a ball watching Hase and Luni, both drunk, perform the Bear Fight Dance that pits a man against a bear. With their legs bent, bodies leaning, wobbly dance steps and exaggerated growling, they were terribly amusing.
Dashi’s tears gave Maria a fright. She thought something must have happened to his horse. Just as she was going to ask, Nihau stood up from the side of the fire, and a shiver ran down her spine. ‘It’s Jindele, isn’t it?’ she said. Dashi nodded.
As Dashi was riding back to the camp, he’d caught sight of Jindele’s corpse suspended from a withered pine tree.
I had noticed that tree before. Even though it stood upright, it was all dried up and had no leaves, just a forked branch that stuck out at an angle. At the time I was gathering kindling with Yveline and about to take my axe to the tree, but she stopped me.
‘This tree’s dead,’ I said. ‘Why not chop it down?’
‘That branch resembles a deer’s antlers,’ she said. ‘We shouldn’t chop it down. There’s no telling – it might come back to life one day.’
It didn’t occur to Yveline that this very tree would claim Jindele’s life. That forked branch looked so dry and brittle that it probably couldn’t even support an owl. Who’d have imagined that it would prove good and firm, firm enough to hang Jindele? If it wasn’t made of steel, then he must h
ave been made of feathers.
‘Jindele was very kind-hearted,’ said Nihau. Even though he intended to hang himself, he didn’t want to hurt a vibrant, living tree. So he chose a dead one because he knew that, according to our folk custom, whoever hangs himself will undergo a fire-burial along with the tree that hanged him.
I still recall when we arrived at the site how that shrivelled tree suddenly cawed like a raven. Its trunk leaned to the west, and Jindele, still suspended, leaned westward too. It was as if the tree was embracing Jindele, and then it fell to the ground with a crash and splintered into several pieces. Oddly, the body of the tree shattered but the branch resembling a set of deer antlers remained perfectly intact.
Yveline marched forward and stomped furiously on the forked branch. ‘Ghost! Ghost!’ she shouted hoarsely. Try as she might, the branch remained whole, continuing to display its beautiful prongs.
Yveline began to wail, but Kunde couldn’t cry, his face twisted in agony. ‘Now at last he’s your son, eh?’ he said to her, his voice trembling.
It’s unlikely that any other Shaman has presided over a marriage and a funeral in one day, both for the same person, as Nihau did.
The funeral for someone who has hanged himself must be conducted the same day. So we took Jindele’s clothing and the things he had used, and we cremated them along with his body and that tree. When Nihau lit the fire, Zefirina suddenly charged towards it, screaming: ‘Don’t abandon me here, Jindele! I want to go with you!’
Maria and I joined forces to pull her back, but her feet still reached the fire. She was just too strong for us. Finally, it was Ivan’s huge hands that pulled her out. She sat down and wailed.
The flames tore apart the night and shone red on Zefirina’s face. Out of the blue, Dashi approached Zefirina and knelt down before her. ‘Jindele doesn’t want you. Even if you went with him, he wouldn’t want you. Pursuing a man who has no place in his heart for you, isn’t that foolish? Marry me. I’ll take you as my wife, and I promise you, you won’t end up throwing yourself onto a bonfire!’