by Shen Shixi
Flame had to circle the well a few times before she found two stones the size of fists. But the well was about three or four times the size of the black carp’s hole, and two fist-sized stones would not save this situation. It was like a drop in the ocean. There were lots of pebbles on the sandy banks of the Guna River, but that would mean crossing two mountains, a hike of almost ten kilometres. A round trip would take at least an hour and, by the time she had filled the well, Sweetie would be long dead.
Maybe she could adapt the method, and scoop mud into the well instead? She gave it a try, but the earth around the well was hard and full of little stones. She scraped until her paws hurt, but only managed to scrape up some thin earth and grass. She wished she were an armadillo because they have such sharp claws, and can burrow their way through hard earth, sending the soil flying as they dig. But Flame couldn’t do that, her claws were already worn out, and she would never be able to dig enough dirt to fill the old well. Maybe she could try filling it with branches? She tried, but this method wasn’t so good either, because summertime is exactly when the plants are growing, and there aren’t many branches lying around. A jackal’s strength is limited, and it is very difficult to pull a leafy branch down from a tree.
The pale white fish belly of dawn was emerging on the horizon, the hazy start to the day. Sweetie was calling from inside the well, her cries more sad and pitiful than ever. The pup’s mournful howls pierced through Flame’s heart, one steel needle after another. What could she do? It was a really difficult situation. She banged her head against a tree trunk in frustration. She wanted her brain to think up a solution as quickly as possible. In special circumstances, animals can be just as innovative and creative as humans.
Flame suddenly remembered the bharal she had caught the previous evening. She had only bitten off half a leg, and had hidden the rest of the bharal in the woods. It was a big animal, and if she could drag it over and push it into the well, then it should do the trick. It was not a bad idea. It was worth a try.
She ran off to wood, and swept aside the leaves. Thank goodness, nothing had touched or taken her prey. She bit hold of the bharal’s leg, and used all her strength to drag it towards the well. Even with one of its legs missing, the bharal still weighed thirty to forty kilograms. The road was bumpy. Each step was an enormous effort. She had to keep stopping to catch her breath. Fortunately the road was not long, and there was no trouble on the way. There were no scoundrels and no thieves. But she was exhausted, and every time she had to go up a hill or cross a scarp, she almost collapsed with fatigue. Another two kilometres and she’d be there. She’d been on the road for almost three hours, crawling along since dawn. The sun was now high in the sky. Eventually she dragged the bharal to the edge of the well.
She lay by the side of the well, looking down. Sweetie’s entire body was in the water, limp and bedraggled, only her head above the waterline, sopping wet. She was dull and lifeless. Her howls were so weak. She was more or less in the final stage of life. Flame frantically tore off some flesh and threw it down. She was relieved to see the little thing could still chew and swallow. As she ate, her colour and spirit gradually improved.
Flame carefully moved the bharal to the edge of the well, and with her muzzle pushed it in. It slipped to the bottom without hitting or crushing Sweetie and landed at an angle, making a very convenient stepping stone. The little thing stepped on to the bharal’s middle, and climbed up to its shoulders. With her back leg on the bharal’s body, and her front leg leaning against the wall of the well, she pulled herself up till she was standing on its hind legs. When she was as tall and straight as she could go, her front paws were still half a metre from the mouth of the well.
Although Sweetie was not fully grown, and was still developing the fierce tenacity that wolves are known for, she could certainly jump up half a metre. It would need some effort, she would need to dig her front paws into the mouth of the well, and pull her body up, but this was quite easy for a wolf. She hesitated as she tried to convince herself she could do it.
Flame lay by the side of the well, saying encouraging things to spur her on: ‘Don’t be afraid. Be brave! Put some strength into the jump. I know you don’t want to die in this old well. I know you want to go home. You have to jump. As soon as you’re out, we’ll go home. You can do it!’
With Flame’s encouragement, Sweetie summoned up the courage to jump. Whoosh! Flame saw two front paws appear about half an inch above the top of the well, then two ears almost level with the top. But the pup could not get a grip in the crevices or grass roots. Her body brushed against the side of the well, and she slipped down to the bottom, her head, her whole face, covered in wet sand from the wall of the well. The little thing landed with her legs up in the air, and struggled for ages to get to her feet. After another big effort, she managed to stand on the shoulders of the bharal again. Flame growled reassuringly to guide and inspire her: ‘You almost did it just now. Gather your strength and leap up to the mouth of the well. Try again. Take a deep breath. Push down hard with your back leg. You must believe in yourself. I know you can do it. I know you can get out of the well!’
Flame tensed and flexed the muscles in her legs in preparation. As soon as the pup could secure her paws in the crevices or grass, her head would show about ground level, and if she could hold on a moment or two, then Flame could hook her out with her leg.
Sweetie hesitated for a long time. Eventually she jumped. It was even worse than before. She could not get her front paws above the well, and when she fell, her body slid down the slippery slope of the well. She was scared she was hurt. Her face was half-covered in blood.
Flame kept up the encouragement: ‘Come on. Quick as you can, get up on to the bharal’s shoulders.’ But Sweetie’s back legs would not stop trembling and she was stooping forward. She would not be able to stand for much longer. Her eyes were full of terror. Flame could see that she had completely lost any belief in herself. Flame had originally planned to carry on saying encouraging things to urge the little thing to jump out. But when she thought about it, the pup had already done so much – it was not easy to climb on to the shoulders of a bharal, then straighten up and jump. The jumping was not going to improve. The more tired she became the worse it would be.
Although there was only half a metre to the top of the well, Sweetie had spent nearly ten hours up to her neck in water. She was weak. No matter how hard she tried, it would be difficult to jump out. Standing on the shoulders of the bharal was a bit like standing on a soft old mattress; it was not a good platform to jump from. What’s more, the little thing had missed twice already. She had lost her nerve and her confidence. If she were to miss again, it was quite likely she would give up altogether, might lose her will to live. If she were to jump and fall badly, she might not be able to climb on to the shoulders of the bharal again. If that was the case, then she’d die in the well.
Flame needed to think of a way of helping the little thing to deal with the feeling of failure. It was a psychological barrier. She still wanted to put things into the well, and raise the pup higher, but that was unrealistic. The other option was to grab hold of her as she jumped. But how? Jackals’ paws don’t work like hands. When they want to carry a pup or move food, they use their mouths. If Sweetie could get high enough, Flame could catch her by the scruff of her neck and pull her out. But the little thing was in no fit state to do this. Right now, Flame could do with the tail of a golden snub-nosed monkey! It would be more use than a jackal’s mouth.
Flame had seen for herself, or rather she had experienced for herself the magic power of the golden monkey’s tail. It happened early one morning in autumn. She’d gone looking for food in the jungle in the southern foothills of the snowy mountains. As she had passed a stretch of wild olive trees, she’d heard the chatter of golden monkeys coming from the tops of the trees. She hadn’t stopped, merely glanced up at the treetops, carrying on her way.
It wasn’t that she had no interest in monkey-f
lesh, it was more a case of knowing that golden monkeys spend their lives up trees. They are up in the treetops from dawn till the dead of night. Jackals cannot climb trees, so the thought of eating a golden monkey didn’t even occur to her. It would be easier for a jackal to climb to heaven than to catch a golden snub-nosed monkey. Animals are pragmatists. They accept that there are some things they cannot get.
Flame had been just about to turn round and go, when all of a sudden there was a cracking sound in the branches. She had heard a few gasps of shock, before something fell. It had been a golden snub-nosed monkey, still of suckling age! The young monkey must have been acting up, slipped, then lost its grip and come tumbling down. Flame had felt this was heaven sent. It would be a waste not to eat it. It is as rare for a jackal to eat golden monkey, as it is for humans to eat birds’ nest soup or shark-fin soup. Flame had been thrilled. After its long fall, the monkey’s nose had been black and blue and its face was swollen. When it saw the sharp teeth and wide mouth of the jackal approaching, it had been petrified. It had wrapped its arms around its head, and curled itself up in a ball on the ground.
Hah, a little pile of meat ready and waiting! Flame had thought. Her paws had been one step away from the monkey’s neck when all of a sudden there had been an almightly racket as an adult monkey came swinging down from the olive trees, its long tail wrapped around a branch, hanging upside down like an acrobat. It had spread its arms wide as it descended, then right in front of Flame’s eyes, it clasped its arms together and scooped up the little monkey, whisking it up into the treetops.
Flame looked on in astonishment. The image of the adult monkey curling its tail around a branch and hanging upside down had carved a deep impression on her. Beside the old well was a sprawling honeysuckle, its stem about as thick as a jackal’s paw. If she had the tail of a golden monkey she could hook it round the stem, lower herself into the well, and pull the little thing out of her misery. Unfortunately, jackals’ tails are quite short, only half a metre from the body to the tip of the tail. They can’t wrap their tails around tree branches. Compared with golden snub-nosed monkeys, jackals are stiff and clumsy.
Wait a minute! Did she just say tail?!
Flame moved her bushy tail from side to side, as though it held the secret of how to rescue Sweetie. She had a flash of inspiration. A jackal can’t wrap its tail around a branch, but it could clamp its teeth around a branch, and lower its tail down into the well. It would have the same effect as lowering a ladder. If the pup bit hold of her tail, she could use her strength to pull her out of the well. What a brilliant idea! She howled with excitement.
She bit hold of the honeysuckle stem, and lowered her bottom over the well. It was perfect. Her tail reached just far enough for the soft fur on the tip to touch the pup’s mouth. It would require very little effort for the pup to bite hold of her tail. She was confident that this plan would work.
Flame had just lowered her tail into the well when a shiver ran through her. She whipped her tail back up. Was this a sensible thing to do? A jackal’s tail is made of fine soft bone. Being so fragile, it is easily broken. Although Sweetie was still a pup, she already had long sharp fangs. But she was still young; would she know the difference between ‘bite into’ and ‘bite hold of’?
Flame was afraid of losing her tail and didn’t want to see it at the bottom of the well. What if the pup panicked? ‘Biting hold of’ means holding in the mouth, where the lips do the holding, with the teeth in the background. It doesn’t matter how tight the grip, or how sharp the teeth, there will be no damage to the one being held. Lots of mother animals move their young in this way: jackals, wolves, leopards, lions, tigers, crocodiles . . . They ‘bite hold of’ their babies. ‘Biting into’ is quite different. It means pulling back the lips, baring the teeth and using them to pierce through skin and flesh, to crush bones. If the little thing were to ‘bite into’ Flame’s tail with her sharp, fine wolf-teeth, she could indeed bite off her tail. And although a jackal could live without its tail, it would still be a major injury to lose it. It was a risk that needed consideration. Jackals aren’t like geckos, which can grow a new tail in no time at all. When a jackal’s tail is gone it can’t be replaced. It will be tailless for the rest of its life.
A jackal’s tail has many functions. It helps to maintain balance when running at top speed. It acts as a rudder when a jackal makes a sudden turn. It helps to coordinate the other parts of the body. If a jackal jumps down from a high place, the bushy tail helps to break the fall, a bit like a parachute. In the winter, when the snowy mountains are covered in ice and snow, and it’s time to sleep at night, a jackal will pull its soft furry tail over its body like a cover and wrap it around its neck to keep out the bitter cold. In the summer, when mosquitoes are rampant on the Gamar grasslands, a jackal looking for food in the marshes will thrash its tail about to drive off those tiresome bloodsuckers. For a she-jackal, her tail is important for attracting the opposite sex. A beautiful tail on a jackal is like a beautiful dress on a woman. The light, slow movement of a jackal’s tail can be a subtle expression of interest; it can captivate a male jackal. If a she-jackal loses her tail it’s a disfigurement, and can trigger a whole series of unfortunate things.
Flame’s sister Beauty was born with the most beautiful tail. As she matured and experienced young love, she had young males hot on her trail. These handsome suitors would not leave her alone. They were like bees round a honeypot. When she was about a year and a half old, something unfortunate happened while she was out hunting: a desperate snow rabbit bit her on the tail. The tail that was the pride and joy of the entire jackal family was completely bitten off. Beauty became the stump-tailed jackal. The suitors disappeared, and sweet love vanished, as though someone had poured a bitter herbal medicine into the honeypot. Her life turned bitter too. She had three pups, but the lack of a tail affected her hunting abilities, and the lack of a mate by her side to help her look after them made her life hard. Within a month the pups had died, one after the other. Poor wretched Beauty grew thinner and paler as each day passed, and not long after, on a stormy snowy night, she died of hunger in the wilderness.
If Flame’s tail were bitten off, it was very likely that a similar tragedy would befall her.
If the pup trapped in the well was her own flesh-and-blood pup, she would not have hesitated to let her tail down. A mother is brave enough to sacrifice herself for her offspring, and in such circumstances, Flame would not mind losing her tail. But the pup in the well was the offspring of her enemy. Was it worth risking her beautiful tail for the pup?
She was holding back, measuring up the situation, unable to make up her mind as to what she should do. From down in the well came the sad, hoarse howls of the little wolf pup. Flame flinched, as though each howl sent a sharp pain through her heart. Whichever way you looked at it, the little thing thought of Flame as her mother. Could she really see it suffering like this, and walk away?
OK, OK, OK, she would risk her tail. After all, a jackal’s tail isn’t so flimsy and doesn’t break so easily. They had a mother-and-daughter relationship, and for that she could lose the tail. Having made up her mind, she straightened her tail and let it down into the well, as though lowering a rope or a ladder. She swayed her tail from side to side, a signal to the little pup to bite hold of it. The special rescue operation had begun.
‘But please,’ begged Flame, ‘don’t bite too hard. I don’t want to be a tailless jackal. I taught you the difference between “biting into” and “biting hold of”. I hope you haven’t forgotten it.’
Flame heard a gentle puffing sound in the well, then felt a sharp tingle in the tip of her tail. She knew that the little thing had jumped up, opened her mouth and bitten hold of her tail. With a spurt of effort, she tried to haul the pup out of the well. She felt her body slipping. She held on tight to the honeysuckle stem, dug her claws into the earth, and grasped at the stones and grass. She concentrated all her strength on resisting the downward pull, and bit by b
it, she struggled to pull forward.
Her tail was as tight as a bowstring, as though it might snap at any moment. Her anus was swollen in stretched agony, and she felt an uncontrollable urge to empty her bowels. The pup hadn’t really grasped the difference between ‘bite into’ and ‘bite hold of’, and her sharp teeth were cutting through the skin and flesh of her fine tail. It felt like a rusty saw slowly cutting through the bones in her tail. The pain was excruciating. It felt like her insides were being torn apart. A jackal’s tail is not like a crane designed to lift things and it was not easy to winch a ten-month-old pup out of the well. Flame felt as though her insides were being dragged out, as though her entire insides were emptying out.
This was the cruellest thing imaginable. Had she known it would be so painful, she would not have been so foolish as to lower her tail for the pup. But it was too late for second thoughts. If she stopped now, she would fall to the bottom of the well with the pup, and there was no guarantee that she would still have her tail. How do those sayings go? By the time you hear the bow, the arrow has gone. It’s easier to board a pirate ship than to get off one. She couldn’t turn back now even if she wanted to. She had to grit her teeth and see it through to the end.
‘Aagh, oagh,’ came the moans and groans from the corner of Flame’s mouth. She was in too much pain to be patient: ‘Don’t just hang from my tail like a useless lump! I can’t hold on much longer. Put some effort into it, OK? Stick your claws out, and try to walk up the side of the well!’
Flame could hear earth falling down to the bottom of the well. The pup was doing as she was told and trying to climb up the wall of the well. The pressure on Flame reduced significantly. She was able, with some effort, to take a couple of steps forward. Suddenly she felt the weight beneath her vanish, as though she had let go of a 2,000-kilogram weight, and her body felt light and free. She could hear the pup whimpering behind her. She looked back and saw her climbing out of the well, her face wild with joy at having escaped death, her entire body shaking with excitement. The pup had been rescued. Flame sighed the longest sigh.