Villager: If he’s the best with the gun and the knife, with whom does he compete?
Chris: Himself.
– THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN
Sansar-Huu immediately volunteered to let Ronnie stay with his family. I was a little surprised until I remembered that the Mongols are famous for their hospitality. Veronica became somewhat shy around them. She was definitely out of her comfort zone. Odgerel patted a spot beside her on the blanket, indicating that Ronnie should join her. I nodded in encouragement. With one last look up at me, Ronnie sat down and was immediately handed vodka. She sipped it carefully and smiled when she recognized it. Oh, this was going to be fun. I couldn’t wait for the family to slaughter a sheep and divvy up the carcass for us to eat right there on the floor.
Zolbin, Yalta’s other grandson, had done quite well and was in the finals. Part of his success was luck. He had managed to draw competitors much smaller than he was. Tall like his brother, Zolbin was heavier, hewn with a great deal of muscle. He was much more outgoing than his sibling and took to wrestling very naturally. I was curious to see him go up against an athlete closer to his level.
I’d managed to get into my sweatpants and deel. Sitting in my uniform felt awkward. Others did it, but I wasn’t them. And it took the comedic wind out of Ronnie’s sails. When Zolbin was called up to wrestle, she joined me in front, slipping her hand into mine. I looked at her more closely as she observed the field. Her short hair blew in the wind. She wore a T-shirt and sweater with jeans and hiking boots. Watching the curiosity on her face inspired me. I remembered when I couldn’t wait to learn everything and anything.
Zolbin was going through the motions of his eagle dance, and I noticed with surprise that his competitor was none other than the man who had bested me and Zerleg. This was going to get interesting.
“His name is Sukhbaatar.” Chudruk appeared at my side. “It means ‘Ax Hero.’”
Veronica looked at my friend with interest. “That’s a tough name.”
He nodded. “He is favored to do well at nationals.”
The combatants slapped their thighs and we turned our attention to the field. Both men were matched for height and weight. The only difference was experience, as Chudruk whispered. Zolbin was a bit newer to the sport.
Unlike his cautious brother, Zolbin dove immediately for Sukhbaatar’s hips. His opponent broke free and grabbed Zolbin’s ankle. Zolbin spun on his heel and slipped from his grasp. Apparently, this match was going to be quite different. Sukhbaatar had to fight for every inch, and it became clear immediately that Zolbin’s very aggressive and active fighting style was a problem for him. I noticed Zerleg cheering for his brother on the other side of Chudruk.
Sukhbaatar charged Zolbin’s hips, but Zolbin stepped just out of reach. He spun behind Sukhbaatar and from behind managed to throw him to the ground. The crowd roared, and I noticed with some pleasure that Zerleg was pumping his fist in the air in celebration. Yalta even sported a slight grin.
Zolbin did not grandstand. He merely nodded modestly at the crowd, then walked over to his opponent, extending his hand. Sukhbaatar’s face was bright red as he slapped Zolbin’s hand away. The crowd jeered. No one, no matter what culture, thought bad sportsmanship was acceptable.
The families celebrated the win with cooked mutton bought from a vendor. More vodka was passed around, and we all got pleasantly drunk as the day drew to a close and the competition ended. By besting his opponent, Zolbin achieved the coveted rank of zaan, or elephant. Both families, Sansar-Huu’s and Chudruk’s, celebrated the win as if they were all related. This was the way of the steppes. They now had a connection, and I was more than a little touched that I was the catalyst.
I insisted that Yalta and Zolbin ride in the cab of the truck while Veronica and I climbed into the back with the others. The darkening sky brought a chill to the windy road as we drove along. I was warm in my fur-lined deel, but Ronnie began to shiver. I put my arm around her and pulled her close. She resisted at first, then relaxed against me. The alcohol buzzed warmly in my veins and I felt good.
Our friends chattered around us and I translated a bit for Ronnie. She laughed at the jokes a few moments later than they were told-and at many mangled translations I attempted-but I could tell she was starting to feel comfortable. That convinced me I had been right to invite her. In the sterile environment of a hotel in the big city, she wouldn’t learn anything.
Eventually we arrived at the camp. Ogderel invited Ronnie to share their ger, but I insisted she be put up in mine. Too much cultural overload was not a good thing. It would be better if she was with someone she knew. Someone who spoke English. Someone who wanted to have sex with her. Yalta sent the boys over with an extra cot and blankets. Ronnie watched nervously as I set her up on the other side of the tent.
She sat quietly on her cot, cuddling Sartre while I made some tea. It was warm in the ger. The felt walls kept in the heat put out by the small cookstove.
“What are you doing?” she asked sharply.
I kept unbuttoning my deel. “Getting undressed.”
Ronnie’s face had a look of sheer panic. “Surely you aren’t going to strip right here in front of me!”
“You’ve seen me in nothing but a towel. Get over it.”
“I’ll…I’ll go outside and wait.”
“Why?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Can’t you just sleep in that?” Patches of red spread over her cheeks.
I shook my head. “It chafes and isn’t very warm.” I found it hilarious that, in spite of her modesty, she didn’t look away as I peeled off my zodag, leaving nothing but my shuudag. In fact, she looked a little frozen with fear.
“Well, since you can’t take your eyes off of me, I’ll turn around.” I smiled. With my back to her, I pulled off the briefs, leaving myself completely naked. For a moment I entertained the thought of turning around…just for the fun of it. But the fact that she was nervous about being here changed my mind.
Did I imagine it, or was there a brief intake of air coming from this modest young lady? I slipped on a sweat suit and socks and turned around.
Veronica looked stricken. And maybe a little excited. I couldn’t tell. It made me wonder if she had sex very often. Now, why did that pop into my head?
She accepted the tea gratefully and drank. “This is good. I was afraid you would give me more vodka. Or…what did they call it?”
“Arikh. You’ll only see that in the cities and at festivals. For the most part, we will be drinking airag.”
“What’s that?”
“Fermented mare’s milk.”
She blanched. “Thank God you have tea.”
“And that’s another thing I should warn you about. They drink their tea with salt and animal fat.” I watched with amusement as she grimaced. “But I have the good stuff.”
She shook her head. “I never thought I’d hear tea called ‘the good stuff.’”
I smiled. “There’s a lot you will have to get used to here. We eat a lot of mutton and goat cheese. Just remember to stay away from tarvag.”
“Why?”
“It’s marmot. And they still carry the black plague.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened. “I guess I really am immersed in Mongolian culture now. What do we do during the day?”
“We aren’t expected to help out, but I think you should. It will give you a little more experience. And Odgerel speaks some English. I’ll be training. You are always welcome to watch Yalta kick my ass.”
This made her smile. “I’d like that.”
I nodded. “I knew you would.” Exhaustion pulled at me, begging me to sleep. Veronica put the guinea pig back in her cage and slid between the blankets on her cot. I turned out the lantern.
“Good night, Ronnie,” I said quietly as I climbed into my bed.
“Cy?” she replied in the darkness. “Thank you for bringing me here, and for explaining and translating and everything.”
“You are very welcome.” And I meant it. Veronica Gale was getting under my skin, and I enjoyed it. In fact, I wondered, as I heard her breathe across the ger, whether I would actually get any sleep at all.