[Illustration]
For a moment he was grievously disappointed at having lost his dream,
but soon a great happiness overtook him. Surely this was no ordinary
dream, he told himself. The Great Spirit in his mysterious wisdom had
chosen this way to make his favor known. Although Turgen longed to
rush down the hill and share the night’s adventure with Marfa and her
children, he didn’t--because the dream, for a reason he was at a loss
to explain, seemed to belong to him alone.
Did Marfa notice that something of extraordinary importance had
happened to him? If so, she gave no sign, for it was not her habit to
question. Nevertheless, Turgen felt a sense of guilt that he should
conceal anything from his kind friends.
The children especially might well have asked: “Turgen, why don’t you
tell us stories any more? Why don’t you play the reed and sit by the
komelek and smoke?”
For he did none of these things, being so preoccupied by his own
thoughts and concerns. He went for his milk as usual, gave abrupt
greetings, asked absurd questions which deserved no answers, and
quickly departed.
The truth was, he had to admit honestly, that the family of rams had
become dearer to him than anything or anyone.
At home there was more than enough work to keep him busy, for it was
important that he make good use of what was left of the summer. Hay
must be dried and stored for the rams, wood chopped to last a long
winter, fish and game caught and packed away in a small cellar not far
from the yurta--a hole dug in the ground where food stayed fresh summer
and winter. He remembered the old proverb:
“What the summer gives, the winter will swallow.”
As a result of his dream he suddenly gave most careful attention to his
housekeeping. Every day he swept the floor, and he polished the kettles
and pots until they shone. He did this because, secretly, he cherished
the hope that his wife and son would visit him again. Maybe--who
knows?--the Great Spirit himself might condescend to drop in.
But always the rams came first. At least twice a week, in every kind
of weather, he carried food to them. He fed them even though the
mountains were still green with vegetation, because they were now
more than ever necessary to him. Besides, the succulent grass which
he gathered in the valley gave variety to their diet and they loved
it. While the rams never came close to him but maintained a respectful
distance, they showed no nervousness at sight of him, and this pleased
him very much.
The summer, brief as a dream, had brought changes in the flock. The
rams had taken on flesh, their coats were soft and thick and of a
uniform brown except for tufts of white on the sides, under the groin
and neck. The similar markings confirmed Turgen’s belief that they
were of the same family. Warm weather and plenty of food had made them
active, also; often, out of sheer high spirits, two grown up males
would lock horns in combat. And every day, it seemed, the lambs were
inspired to new feats of inventiveness and daring.
The male lamb especially enchanted Turgen. Everything his elders did he
tried to imitate, executing leaps that made Turgen’s heart turn over in
fear. At times his impudent pranks brought him a sharp reprimand from
the leader.
“The scamp!” Turgen exclaimed. “That one was born to get himself
noticed.”
Soon, Turgen reminded himself, he must exercise still greater vigilance
for with autumn hunters would be abroad in the hills. While he doubted
that his superstitious neighbors from the valley would come near his
yurta, stranger things had happened and he dared not count on it. To
every hunter the rams were an irresistible attraction.