by D. I. Telbat
These were things I pondered for an hour as we traveled until I reined in sharply, causing Skaamaan to fall against the buckboard.
"Sorry about that." I pointed ahead. "Look."
Skaamaan gazed around me. Before us, Navi-hasgovi occupied the next watering hole. His livestock were grazing in every direction.
"He's supposed to be a day ahead of us!" Skaamaan whispered fearfully. "Gan-gaad will be here by nightfall!"
"Navi-hasgovi must've had problems if he had to stay here two nights in a row." I rubbed my brow, a headache beginning to throb. "This is going to get ugly for both clans, but we have to take Zima to Hasagt."
"No, Pond, you must stay behind. There's no one else to keep the peace, otherwise—as you did in Bulgan."
My heart groaned. If that was peace, then what was war? Staying and dealing with more clan disputes was not what I wanted to do! I wanted to go to Hasagt, take care of Zima, pick up the Bibles, and send word to Randy and Gino that I was still alive.
"You're right, Skaamaan." I sighed and tore a page from my journal to write instructions. Gan-gaad didn't normally allow Skaamaan or the other women in the clan to venture into any towns. "Take Zima to the largest clinic or hospital you can find. Locate a doctor or a nurse, and give him or her this note that I'm writing in both English and Cyrillic. Though you don't have any money, most doctors vow to care for the sick and injured no matter what. If it helps, tell them I'm an American and I expect Zima to be cared for before I arrive. And I have money. They'll use a machine to x-ray her arm to look at the bones, then they'll straighten the bones. I'm telling you so you know what to expect, okay? I'll join you in Hasagt as soon as possible. Zima considers you her mother, so I'm sure you're worried about your daughter."
"And will I stay with her all the time?"
"Much of the time, yes. At some point, they may ask you to wait in another room, but it will be brief as they operate on her arm. Then, they'll put her in a room or ward where you can sit with her while she lays in bed and rests."
"What do I do with the cart and horses?"
"Oh. I don't know, Skaamaan. I hadn't thought of that. You may have to abandon them outside. They should be safe. I trust your judgement. If anything happens to the cart or horses, don't concern yourself with it. When I arrive, I'll deal with it. Just focus on Zima."
"Maybe I should wait and . . . my son can go with me."
"Zima needs help now, Skaamaan. Dusbhan is miles behind us. Go. I'm sure you'll do wonderfully well. Drive the cart right into town down the street and ask for directions to the hospital. And I'll see you sometime tomorrow."
"Okay, Pond. I'll do what you say."
"I'll be praying. God will watch over you."
She nodded.
Untying my horse, I took my gear from the cart and touched Zima's cheek as she slept.
"She's Your child, Lord. Speed them along safely."
Skaamaan slapped the reins and was off. Right away, she left the path and made a wide arc around Navi-hasgovi's herds. I watched her go at a trot, then beyond the herds, she returned to the trail, which angled southeast.
Now, I had to focus on the problem before me. Navi-hasgovi had probably done this on purpose, knowing he could play the bully since he had more men than Gan-gaad. That's why he'd continued destroying waterholes, I assumed. But there wasn't another watering hole for perhaps twenty or thirty miles.
"Lord," I prayed, staring at the rolling, dry landscape, "tell me what I should—"
And then, it came to me—just like that.
Turning my horse away from Navi-hasgovi's clan, I started up the trail back to the north until I could no longer see his herds. Then, in a shallow bowl where thick, green grass grew, I dismounted. The green grass meant water was close to the surface. My mare began to graze as I adjusted the head of my shovel at a ninety degree angle. The clan would arrive in about three hours. Three hours to find water or there'd be a war. Fortunately, my hands were already calloused from the hard work, and my back and arms were strong. It had already been a taxing day emotionally, but I wasted no time digging into the ground and uprooting the green grass.
As I chopped at the soil, I turned in a circle about the size of a ger. Once that layer of ground was loose, I adjusted my shovel head and scooped the dirt out of my circle, throwing it off as far as I could.
After an hour, I shed two layers of clothing. I hadn't worked this hard since joining the clan. Finally, I was down to just my white t-shirt. My horse had wandered a good distance away toward Navi-hasgovi's herds, but I didn't have time to get her. She was thirsty, no doubt, and smelled the water down the plain.
The hole was finally waist deep, but there was still no sign of even a little mud. I wasn't much higher than the water table, I hoped.
By the second hour, my depth hadn't quite doubled. I was laboring more to heave the dirt out of the hole instead of simply throwing it aside.
Suddenly, I dropped to my knees and dug my fingers into darker soil. It was wet and sticky.
"Thank You, Lord!" I praised the One who was watching over me.
Steadily now, I carved away the steep edges of my water hole so the animals could approach it easier. It would still be crowded, but with a little patience, they'd have water. After the sides sloped at an agreeable angle, which had required moving more than a couple of tons of dirt, I dug fervently where the dirt was darkest and heaviest.
I hadn't shoveled another foot deeper when muddy water seeped around my shovel blade. Widening the area, I tossed sloppy mud out of the new cistern. With my pant legs rolled up, I took off my shoes and socks to wade in the deepening hole.
As I was working on the approach again, I was nudged aside by my thirsty aduu and she stepped into the hole I'd dug. Where there'd been no water, now there was. She sniffed the muddy liquid. I continued to spread the displaced soil around as the mud settled and my horse filled her belly.
The sun was just setting when the first of the clan's horses trotted up to my watering hole. I picked up my boots and gear and moved a distance away to collapse on the ground.
Gan-gaad was still scratching his head, not quite remembering this watering hole, when the clan began to set up the gers. Dusbhan rode up to me as I tugged on my boots.
"What happened? Where's my mother and Zima?"
"They had to go ahead. Navi-hasgovi's at the next water hole just over that rise," I said. "I knew there'd be problems if I didn't find us water."
Dusbhan slowly acknowledged with a smile.
"You . . . dug a new well?"
"I didn't see any other way. It'll work, I hope."
"It's small, but it'll work. Zima and my mother are alone then?"
"Your mother's a strong herdswoman," I said. "She can fend for herself for a day or two. I gave her written instructions for when she reaches town. Zima's life depended on me sending them ahead. There's blood clots to consider, not to mention a fever and shock and—"
"Are you going ahead to Hasagt?"
"As soon as I can get something in my belly."
"I'm going with you. I'll get more horses."
In minutes, Dusbhan had gathered two fresh mounts for each of us to relay while riding through the night. He explained his intentions to Luyant, ignored Gan-gaad, and came back to me with a brick of goat cheese and a stick of dried meat.
"We'll change horses every hour," he said as he swung onto his horse. "They have three or four hours on us, but we should gain on them at such a pace. Can you do it?"
"I can do it." I tied my pack securely onto my spare aduu.
"You love her, don't you?"
Nearly ready to mount my horse, I froze. Love? In a romantic way? Had we come that far already? Dusbhan was grinning and wasn't moving until I answered.
"I look forward to every minute I can spend with her. Her touch warms my heart and melts my knees to jelly. I hope that's not love, Dusbhan."
"That's love, Pond!" He laughed with a wild cheer, took his spare aduu's lead rope, and gallo
ped away.
Glancing back at the clan, I saw Gan-gaad watching us with his hands on his hips. His frown gave me a chill. No one had told him what was happening, and we were riding away with four of his horses. For argument's sake, however, I did own five head of each herd and flock, so it wasn't stealing.
My two horses turned and we dashed after Dusbhan. It would be a long night.
*~*
Chapter 14
The town of Hasagt was the end of the line in two ways. First, it was the most southwestern remnant of civilization worth calling a town just inside the Gobi Altay Mountains. When travelers are heading into the massive territory of Xinjiang Uygur Province in northwest China, they pass through Hasagt. Anywhere to the north or south, the journey would end through impassable mountain ranges or the seemingly endless Gobi Desert.
Hasagt was also the end of the line as it was the last hint of notable civilization before passing through fragmented foothills of the Gobi Altay into the Gobi itself. The highway that connected Dund-Us to Bulgan and Hasagt did continue toward the desert region, yet no one traveled it. It was hundreds of miles to Dalandzadgad with few fueling stations, no shopping markets, and certainly no above-ground moisture. So why would anyone travel down there? There was no reason unless a man knew where to find the underground rivers that ran beneath the wells and the water holes, which were more often seasonal than not.
And because Hasagt was the end of the line, few found it necessary to visit its humble streets and twentieth century buildings. It was an outpost, the residents more or less ambassadors in businesses of furs and flocks rather than residents by choice. Pride in their universal monarch, Genghis Khan, lived on, but most of the country's citizens were too poor to tour the west where the conqueror had marched his forces—and was rumored to be buried. These were citizens from necessity, and in many ways they were a second generation remnant stationed at the outpost by a government that had once demanded more than it offered. While technology was booming in the eastern cities, it was barely trickling to the forgotten Mongolian west.
It was into this Hasagt that we rode, admiring the hustle and bustle as clansmen from other clans also gathered their winter stores and supplies. Many of them would graze their livestock somewhere to the east, closer to the Selenge River Basin, and closer to such towns as Tsetserleg and even Ulaanbaatar, the Red Hero City Capital. And while eastern herdsmen were more inclined to settle vast ranches than to follow nomadic herds, smaller clans, like Navi-hasgovi and Gan-gaad's, remained in the west to serve the needs of the Gobi Altay Range. In the spring, the ewes and mares and other animals would bear lambs and foals, and the trek back to Dund-Us would complete the yearly migration to off-load livestock at the markets.
Dusbhan and I found the hospital without much trouble. We arrived before noon, not far behind Skaamaan, after relaying our horses through the night to preserve them. And what a grueling night! I couldn't tell which looked more haggard—us or the horses.
As expected, Skaamaan's cart was outside the hospital entrance. The two horses, still in their harness, had collapsed in exhaustion, but their necks were extended as they nibbled at a stand of decorative bushes growing against the hospital wall. Two old men stood nearby admiring the weary animals. Most clan animals were picketed or stabled at the edge of town, so our arrival brought much curiosity. We dismounted next to the cart, and I volunteered to tend to the six animals while Dusbhan ran inside to locate a hose and bucket to haul water to our animals before they dropped dead. The two old men scratched their heads, and I knew they were wondering about my blond hair and thick beard, but they preferred to mumble between themselves rather than quench their curiosity by questioning me.
After taking care of the animals, I figured they'd be safe from thieves, so I trudged into the infirmary to locate my friends. It was a smaller building than the Bulgan hospital where we'd taken Squirrel, but I hoped size didn't matter when it came to quality care. I hadn't gotten beyond the administration desk and intersecting halls before I was drawn to the nurses' desk by a barrage of English.
"Oh, this is no good, darling!" a man said in a British accent. He checked a watch on his wrist. "In three hours, I'll be as good as dead in a coma with the word ‘insulin' still on my lips!"
He was a backpacker, I guessed at first glance, though trimmed and so manicured I could tell he hadn't been in the country long. His wife or companion bit her nails nervously.
"Try pantomime again, love," she suggested. "They have to understand!"
I stepped up to the high counter as the gentleman acted out the motions of giving himself a shot. The two nurses who watched shook their heads and diverted their eyes every time the backpacker lifted his shirt and pinched his skin. When they all noticed me looking on, their confusion was put on hold for a few breaths. My blond hair was acknowledged, as was my rugged, herdsman appearance and smell.
"Please tell me you speak English!" the man said to me, pleading.
His girlfriend touched her nose with a grimace. I couldn't have smelled that bad; I'd bathed only a couple days earlier.
"Oh, I don't think so, love," she said. "He's Caucasian, but probably Russian. They have blonds, too, you know."
"What's with these two?" I asked the nurses in Mongolian.
"Foreigners," the eldest nurse said, accepting me the instant I spoke their language. "They want syringes for their drugs. Western capitalists! I'll not give them any sort of needle!"
"We're pretending we don't understand they're asking for syringes," the other nurse added proudly. "Soon, they'll give up and go away."
I chuckled, perhaps inappropriately, but it was quite silly.
"They think you want drugs," I mused in English to the Brits.
"Drugs?" The man gasped, then noticed the obvious. "You speak English! Oh, thank heavens!"
"What happened to your insulin?" I asked.
"We rode the rail from Beijing to Buyant-Uhaan. I had two syringes on me, but one case must've been left aside at the customs desk. The other one broke on the train here."
"Maybe we can track down the other case this afternoon," the woman said. Both of them appeared to be in their mid-thirties. "But first things first, right? He hasn't had a shot in nearly twelve hours!"
"You two on your honeymoon?" I asked.
"Here? Never! We're seismologists." He pointed at the nurses. "Would you be a pal, please, before I lapse into a coma?"
I leaned over the desk, trying to keep a straight face.
"They're not drug users," I relayed in Mongolian. "They're scientists. This one . . . he has a condition known as diabetes."
"Yes, we know what diabetes is, but—" The older nurse caught herself as it all became apparent. "He wants insulin! We have that."
"Not all foreigners are evil and corrupt," I reassured them. "Could you tell me where the woman with the broken arm might be?"
"Down the hall and to the right, but she's not yet conscious."
"Did you tell them, mate?" the Brit asked. "Do they have any?"
"She'll take care of you," I said. "Hope you two know where you're going. It's pretty rugged territory along the northwest fault line, not to mention winter comes early here."
"Well, I'd rather be eaten by wolves than get blown up in Beijing!" the man said.
"Wouldn't you? That's all we have to fear out in the snow, right? Just wolves?"
"Blown up in Beijing?" I asked. "What're you talking about?"
"He doesn't know, love!" The woman covered her mouth. "I guess he's been away from the telly. Are you American, sir?"
"Yes . . ." I answered hesitantly. "What's happened?"
"The Chinese have bombed Washington!" she exclaimed.
"They're not certain it was the Chinese, darling," the Brit said. "Truth is, they're not certain of a whole lot, mate. Half the satellites in space were given a good electromagnetic shock and have malfunctioned. Our handheld picked up the BBC in Beijing. We figured it was time to leave, being foreigners and all. The best pl
ace to be is anywhere but America's first target for retaliation—if it was China."
Swallowing hard, I took a step back. My palms were sweating.
"The bomb . . . How big was it?"
"I don't know the kiloton, friend. Nobody's certain, you see. Millions dead, though. The whole eastern seaboard, they say. Maybe multiple bombs, is my guess. The fallout isn't a handsome thought, though, not with Britain just over the pond!"
"It's World War III." The woman shrugged casually. "Everyone knew it would happen, just not when."
"You don't look so well, friend," the Brit said to me. "Maybe you should find a seat while I get my insulin. Darling? Stay with him, won't you?"
Nearly collapsing against the wall behind me, I slid down until I sat on the floor. My eyes were sightless, my body numb. A bomb? I was just there! How could this be? Flashes of the weather channel for New England's states came to my mind. Living in New York my whole life, I knew the storm patterns. Anything that ever hit D.C. always blew northeast. New Jersey and New York would be wiped out, poisoned by nuclear fallout. Hundreds would be killed while fleeing the panic. Gino, his family, the few Christian brothers and sisters I knew . . . Millions . . . gone . . .
Finally, I felt the English woman's hand brush my hair out of my eyes as she felt my forehead. Gathering my legs under me, I rose to my feet. She was talking to me, but I wasn't listening. I trudged back down the hall to the entrance. Once outside, I walked past our horses and past the two old men until I was away from the building to stare up at the clear, blue sky.
As if in a trance, I searched the sky for some meaning to the news I'd just heard. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I had no family in the world, but my heart ached over the pain I knew was being experienced on a massive scale. The sky in Mongolia was blue, but far away, it was ashen gray. People were gasping for breath and dying. And it was just the beginning.
"'You will be hearing of wars and rumors of wars,'" I said, quoting from Matthew. "'See that you are not frightened, for those things must take place, but that is not yet the end. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and in various places there will be famine and earthquakes. But all these things are merely the beginning of birth pangs.'"