CHAPTER 7
[Illustration]
The mountain rams had become a part of Turgen’s life almost by accident. It all began so long ago that he never gave thought to it until one day Marfa out of curiosity asked him a question which brought to mind an almost forgotten incident.
“Why do you call them rams?” she wanted to know. “Are not they the same as sheep?”
“Yes and no,” Turgen answered. “In the family of domestic sheep only the males have horns. But all wild rams have horns. Of course, those of the female rams are smaller.”
Marfa nodded. “But is it not strange that only recently you came to love the rams? Surely you knew them before.”
“Of course I knew them. When I was young I used to hunt them.”
“You killed them?” Aksa asked in a shocked voice.
“I did,” Turgen admitted. “It was a sin. Unfortunately, one has to live many years to understand what is good and what evil. Living alone is a help to thinking, and often something will happen to open a man’s eyes.”
He paused, got up and put wood on the fire, sat down again and puffed on his pipe.
“Let me tell you what happened to me twenty or more years ago. It was winter. November. Government officials called to order me to act as guide to an important foreigner, a hunter. The man was impressive--tall and stern and clean-shaven. I couldn’t understand a word he said but an interpreter explained that he had come to hunt our mountain rams. I wasn’t very anxious to go with him, but what could I do? The authorities insisted.
“Well, I led them up the mountain. A hunt--pah! It was a picnic. There were about twenty people in the party, including Russian and Yakut officials. There was so much to eat and drink that soon all were acting as if they were insane--shooting at everything and anything until the hills echoed with their noise. One thing I must admit though. They had excellent guns.”
Tim ventured an observation. “With such guns they undoubtedly killed many animals.”
Turgen’s smile was contemptuous. “No. How could they? They couldn’t even aim straight. In two weeks they killed two wolves, ten rabbits, and one bear they roused out of his lair. As for rams, I confess that I was crafty and led them places where rams were usually not to be found. Yet a family of five did appear suddenly out of nowhere. O, Lord, what firing there was! They all fired at once, seized by greed. And somehow they managed to kill the largest one, who was probably old and the last in line. At least, that’s the only way I can explain their luck. The poor fellow fell, and while the other rams vanished so quickly that not even the dogs could catch up with them, the hunters threw themselves upon him. What a disgusting spectacle it was. And for what? So that the important visitor could have a pelt and some horns. The horns were truly fine. ‘He will brag about them for the rest of his life,’ the interpreter said.
“It was this brutal murder,” Turgen went on, “that awoke in me pity for the rams. I was more sly after that and led the party only to places when rams would never go. When the officials grew angry, complaining that I was a poor guide and that because of me they were disgraced before the foreigner, I answered: ‘What can I do? Your shooting has frightened the animals away and they have run for perhaps a hundred miles.’ They complained and threatened some more. Then they held a council to decide where they could find another guide. But the Yakuts told them that Turgen was the best in the whole region. The affair might have ended differently, but it got cold suddenly, there was a blizzard, and the important visitor left post haste for his own country. Of course, I rejoiced that the rams were now left in peace. But for several winters I did not see them. They had gone from here. In time, as you know, they returned. I saw them rarely. They came and vanished. Still I was happy to have them living again in my mountains.” As they listened intently, Marfa and the children shared Turgen’s fears and happiness. Now they understood his affection for the rams.
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