[Illustration]
Anything new has a special wonder. Tim and Aksa had never been in a
yurta like Turgen’s before and they had to explore every nook and
corner. The mountains hovering over it were giants standing guard. The
tiny window which with difficulty let in light might have belonged to a
playhouse they built for their own amusement.
Listening to them exclaim and argue and laugh, Turgen prepared dinner.
Here and there, in and out, the children ran like busy moles. Secretly
they hoped for a glimpse of the mountain rams that same night. Yet they
were willing to wait, for Turgen had promised. It would be hard to say
whether Turgen or his guests were happier.
Dinner was a feast. There was ukha or fish-soup which they drank out of
wooden bowls, there was also fat fish and pheasants roasted on a spit.
And to top it all was tea with ... sugar! Yes, it was a real feast,
something to tell their mother about.
Yet the children’s real joy that day came not so much from the trip up
the mountain and the good food as from the attention Turgen paid them.
They were not used to this. Their mother, they knew, loved them, but
she was always so busy looking after them that she had little time to
play with them. Here was Turgen ready to devote a whole evening and day
to them.
And this was not all. They would hear the story of the rams.
Their stomachs so full that it seemed they must burst, Tim and Aksa
waited while Turgen cleared away the meal. He then went to the door and
stood looking out. They understood that he was hoping for a glimpse of
his rams.
“Can’t see a thing,” he said finally, turning back to the room and
closing the door against the cold air. “What do you say to some more
logs on the fire?”
The children nodded.
Soon flames were dancing in the komelek, the room was snug and warm.
Turgen lit his pipe and smiled at his guests, well pleased with them
and the day. He was content now to sit in silence and enjoy the
comfort. But not Aksa.
“Turgen, is it true that you are old?” she wanted to know. Then, seeing
him smile, she hastened to add, “Mama says that only your hair is
old--that you are strong and walk the earth as lightly as a mountain
ram.”
Turgen’s face showed his pleasure. “A clever girl,” he thought, and was
not surprised by her next question: “You haven’t forgotten your promise
to tell us about yourself and the rams?”
He shook his head. “How could I forget? It is all so close to my heart.”
With that he began to talk. He started with the time long ago when he
had been young and happy, told of his struggles and adventures and
marriage. When he came to the death of his wife and son, Aksa and Tim
shed tears for him in his loneliness. The next moment they were all
smiles again as he described finding the rams who brought new meaning
to his life. But most exciting was the account of his remarkable
dreams. Here Aksa began to fidget on the bench by the fire and pressed
close to Tim, who sat motionless with his mouth open, his unblinking
eyes fixed on Turgen.
To them it was not a dream that Turgen had visited the Great Spirit and
later entertained him as a mysterious wanderer. They accepted it all
as something which had really happened and their admiration for Turgen
was unbounded.
“As I see it,” Turgen declared in conclusion, “the Great Spirit gave
me a love for these rams as a gift for my old age. Then, pleased that
I cared for them according to His bidding, He blessed me with a fine
family.”
The children jumped up, ran to Turgen and embraced him. Their eyes were
full of love, their heads full of questions.
“Now, together, we can protect our herd,” Turgen said with satisfaction.
“But how?” asked Tim.
“Quite simply,” Turgen replied. “We have a custom which says that only
one hunter is permitted in a district. As I live and hunt here, and do
not molest the rams, they are safe.”
“But if you do not come close to them,” Tim persisted, “how can you be
sure they are the same rams you knew long ago?”
Turgen hesitated. “That I can’t know for certain, my boy, but a bird
can be followed by its flight, and an animal by its tracks. I saw their
tracks more than once. The same family? Maybe. Maybe not. One thing I
know well, that rams love to return to their native haunts. Naturally,
they avoided me, for how could they know I was their friend? Their life
was very difficult.”
Aksa’s eyes asked a question.
“Why? Food is scarce and the rams have many enemies: people the most
dangerous of all. They can fight a wolf, run away from a bear, but
a hunter’s bullet is faster than their legs. So they hide among the
mountain cliffs. And what kind of food is there? In summer, a little
grass and a few thin shrubs--in winter, nothing but half-frozen twigs
and old dry moss. Not very nourishing. It is no wonder the poor
creatures die out.”
Tim, who had been listening intently, now blurted out: “I think they
must be stupid to live in such places. All they have to do is come to
lower ground where there is plenty of food.”
“On the contrary,” Turgen told him, “they are smart. Where they live
there is sand and gravel and loose stones to warn them of the approach
of an enemy. Have you ever tried to walk quietly on gravel?... Well!
The rams had their choice--to live in terror of their lives below where
there is food, or to go hungry and free. The dead need nothing. They
chose to live and be free. In their independence they remind me of my
own people--the Lamuts. We too are dying out, but we are free.”
“The poor rams,” Aksa commented. “During a snow storm we keep a fire
burning day and night, but they have no way to warm themselves.”
“Yes,” Tim agreed. “And even with fire and food we do not have an easy
time of it in winter.”
Pleased to have aroused the sympathy of his young guests, Turgen
replied, “It is impossible not to pity these fine savages. Fortunately,
God has provided them with some things to help them in their struggle.
They are strong, have great endurance, and towards winter their wool
becomes thick and long. Moreover they are intelligent. You see how I
built my yurta between cliffs. In winter everything is so covered with
snow that there is not a chink for the wind to enter in. And wind is
far more dangerous than frost. The rams know this, so they seek for
themselves caves in the mountains where they too will be protected from
the wind. Their great misfortune is hunger.”
Tim considered a moment. “Is there no way to help them?”
“If we would, yes,” Turgen answered. “I have heard that in other
countries rare animals are protected by law. It is forbidden to hunt
them. But we have no such law, even for animals as rare and harmless as
these.”
“We could tame them and use them,” Tim offered. “One of our neighbors
has sheep and I have heard that mountain rams are wild sheep.”
Turgen shook his head. “So are dogs related to wolves. But there is
a proverb: No matter how much you feed a wolf, he will still long for
the woods. I have never seen or heard of a tame wolf. Wild rams are not
wolves, but it is impossible to tame them.”
“What about Lad? You tamed him,” Aksa interrupted.
“That is right. But Lad was very young, and at the time I got him he
was helpless. For a time he was satisfied to stay with me, but you
should have seen how eagerly he rushed to his father the instant he
heard his voice! When I called he turned his head and looked at me.
That was all.”
“Ah, how ungrateful!” Aksa exclaimed.
“It is not a question of gratitude at all. Imagine that you were lost
in the woods and hurt yourself. Someone found you and took care of you.
Then suddenly you saw your mother.... Wouldn’t you run to her?”
Aksa’s eyes opened wide. “But Mother and I are people,” she objected.
“So,” Turgen nodded, smiling. “But animals too have a feeling for their
own kind.”
Tim now came to his sister’s defense. “I think Lad should have stayed
with you. Then he would have been warm and well fed.”
Turgen answered with a question: “Would you leave your mother who is
poor to live in the yurta of a rich neighbor?”
“Oh, no, no!”
“I didn’t expect any other answer,” Turgen told the boy. “Our own
family always comes first. And sooner or later, looking at the
mountains, Lad would have been seized with longing to be there with the
other mountain rams. Only by force could I have kept him. Then, maybe,
by the second or the third generation....”
“Why didn’t you?” Tim wanted to know.
“Keep him by force? No. Better he should live in freedom.” Turgen
paused, and added, “Besides, I was afraid.”
“Afraid!” Aksa exclaimed in disbelief. “What were you afraid of?”
“The Great Spirit might have been angry,” Turgen explained, “had I not
given the lamb back to his family. I feared too that the people from
below might come and kill. If they could believe he was a devil in
disguise, they could do anything. There in the mountains he is safer.
It is where he belongs.”
Turgen rose. “Now come. It is time to sleep if you want to see my rams
in the morning. They come to gather on that near cliff at sunrise.”
After a day of such excitements, with the hope of more to come,
the children had hardly time to cover themselves with blankets and
quickly say a prayer than they were asleep. Turgen did not follow them
immediately but sat smoking by the fire. His face reflected joy in his
new fortune. In his heart too was a prayer.
“I thank Thee for the gift of this fine family, and for your goodness
to my rams who are also dear to me. Teach people to let them live in
peace. For nothing is impossible to Thee.”