CHAPTER 24

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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.”

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