The Shortness of Life: A Mongolian Lament

By Martina Nicolls

In the winter of 2010, Australian health expert Jorja Himmermann arrives in Ulaanbaatar to work with the Mongolian Ministry of Health providing grants to clinics and hospitals. Her new job is relentless, and the reputation of her boss is formidable. Her Mongolian colleagues include three efficient women, a diligent government team, and Mr. Irresponsible.

In the longest, bleakest winter on record, a flu epidemic strikes. Hospitals are overcrowded, vaccine supplies are depleted, and healthcare workers are pushed to their limits. Crops, cattle, children, and the elderly are dying.

Amid accusations of sabotage, corruption, and misappropriation, Jorja finds peace from her apartment window, watching Brik the unmoving mastiff and Bruce the graceful wrestler. Jorja finds advice in the prophecies of message cards and ancient Mongolian proverbs.

Then the unthinkable happens, and the shortness of life affects them all.

Based on true events, this novel offers a portrait of strength, solidarity, and resilience in the face of a devastating Mongolian winter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781480821088

Martina Nicolls

Martina Nicolls writes from her own experiences as an independent aid worker in developing countries, primarily in postconflict countries and those with transitional or emerging governments, but also countries requesting technical assistance. She was in Mongolia for the winter of 2010.

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Copyright © 2015 Martina Nicolls.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-2106-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2107-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2108-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015949904

Archway Publishing rev. date: 11/2/2015

CONTENTS

Preface: The Horse Is Short, But It Has a Long History

PART 1

THE FOCUSED FALCON

1. There Is Nothing on the Land

2. There Is Nothing in the Shops

3. There Is Something in the Sky

4. The Dog and the Naked Man

5. The Falcon Flies High

6. Mad Max and Batty Bat

7. The Meat-Biting Tooth

8. In the Lazy Person’s Ger

9. I Spy With My Little Eye

10. A Punishing Winter

11. What’s This?

12. Breaking Rope

13. The Horse Race Begins

PART 2

THE STEADY CAMEL

14. Red Letter Day

15. Year of the White Tiger

16. White Mongolian Moon

17. Many Moons

18. Pallor Mortis

19. Horses, Horses, Horses

PART 3

THE RED HERO

20. A Walk in the Park

21. Working Class Heroes

22. The Committee Meeting

23. Quick Sticks

24. Who’s On First?

25. Mongolian Napoleon: Everyone’s a Hero

26. An Inch of Gold

27. Big Men Restless

28. A Silent Beating

29. A Procedural Complaint

30. On the Shortness of Life

31. The Evidence and the Verdict

PART 4

THE JUDICIOUS OWL

32. Midnight Knocking

33. The Decision

34. The Fast

35. Snake Oil

36. The Suspect

37. Heartbreak

38. Healing

39. Stalker

PART 5

THE IRON TIGER

40. Sea Change

41. A Tiger in the Moutains

42. The Horse Is Strong

43. Different Dreams

44. We Need More Heroes

45. Camel, Cashmere, and Silk

46. Deducing the New

47. The Future

Author’s Note

Glossary of Terms

DEDICATION

For the peaceful

Preface: The Horse Is Short, But It Has a Long History

A rich person can find heaven even at the end of a precipice.

Mongolian herdsmen were horsemen. Horse hair, horse blood, horse milk, and horse meat; the honorable horse was at the core of the nomadic Mongolian culture, both physically and spiritually. Mongolian herdsmen were said to live and die by their horses. Rumor had it that they slashed the jugular veins of their horses and drank their blood when famished. With warm weather, sweet mare’s milk would run from their mouths. The horses’ rhythms would determine the pace and rhyme of their poetry and songs. They carved images of their majestic steeds on their two-stringed fiddles, the morin khuur. They competed on horses, slept on horses, lived on horses, and made love on horses. They probably died on horses. And when a horse was thought to be lost, they viewed it as a sign: Who knows? It may bring a whole herd back someday.

From the forested beech, cedar, and fir valleys in the north to the barren expanse of stubble steppes, the squat Mongolian horses were famed for their stamina and resilience. Believed to have originated beyond the northern boundaries of modern Mongolia from the harsh isolation of southeast Siberia, in the Russian region between Irkutsk Oblast and the Buryat Republic, Mongolian horses lived in a treasure trove of evolutionary science. Horses rose from the wilderness surrounding Lake Baikal, the oldest, deepest, and largest reservoir of fresh running water in the world. Twenty-five million winters around the crater, and the immeasurable variety of flora and fauna surrounding it, shaped the horses’ heritage. Roaming in the coniferous forests and mountain steppes to the west of the lake, the pine woods to the east, and the deciduous bush land to the north, the horses were sheltered by abundant foliage: Siberian fir, alpine bearberry, the marsh thistle, and dwarf birch. The horses were not alone; storks, falcons, reindeer, deer, wolverines, and wolves also inhabited the ancient picturesque landscape.

Lake Baikal had many names, but it was known to the Chinese as the North Sea and to the Russians as Baikal Sea, but it was not salty. Lake Baikal had many nicknames, such as the Galapagos of Russia, the Pearl of Siberia, and the Rift Valley of Asia. It was ancient in years, but young geologically. The rift floor of the lake widened approximately two centimeters annually on account of the seismic activity of hot springs and earthquakes along the fault line of the Baikal rift zone. The Academician Ridge separated the northern and central basins while the area around the Selenga Delta and the Buguldeika Saddle separated the central and southern basins. The lake drained into the Angara tributary of the Yenisei river system flowing to the Arctic Ocean. Rising in Mongolia, it followed a northerly course to the Yenisei Gulf in the Kara Sea, draining a large part of central Siberia, the longest stream following the Yenisei-Angara-Selenga-Ider river system. Little wonder Lake Baikal was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1996.

The Trans-Siberian railway, built between 1896 and 1902, transported its produce of freshwater fish from the southern edge of Irkutsk to Moscow for three days across two hundred bridges and thirty-three tunnels, or for three days to Vladivostok on the Pacific Ocean. During the harshest of winters, horses walked across the frozen expanses of ice, across the three basins—north, south, and central—where lesser beasts and humans would perish. The horse had not perished, not in a thousand years.

Unique among large, high-altitude lakes, Lake Baikal was completely surrounded by mountains. Traditional folk spread the belief that a Supreme Spirit visited the lake, ascended the summit of a mountain, and blessed the country to the north—Russia. The Spirit turned south to Mongolia and, looking across Lake Baikal, waved its hand and exclaimed, Beyond this there is nothing.

Part 1

The Focused Falcon

1. There Is Nothing on the Land

Good fortune may forebode bad luck, which may, in turn, disguise good fortune.

When does nothing become something? When does the middle of nowhere become somewhere? If ever the middle of nowhere had a physical location, it was Ulaanbaatar.

The snow is early this year, said Temulbaatar Bagabandi. As he said it, a punctured tire forced their vehicle off the road. The driver and Temulbaatar raised their sheepskin collars and deftly attended to the situation as if it were a regular occurrence. Neither emitted a grunt, a groan, a sigh, or any sign of complaint.

Jorja Himmermann remained in the car. A dead pigeon lay on the cement pathway in a pool of melting snow. It was flat on its back, and flakes of wispy snow landed on its scaly pink feet. Another dead pigeon tangled in a chicken-wire fence dangled with its entrails exposed. Jorja watched a short, ruddy-faced Mongol, who had a small cart of fur pelts, tap Temulbaatar on the shoulder as he hunched over the wheel’s flat tire. Temulbaatar shook his head, stood, pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket, and slapped the fur trader on the back. The three men shared a cigarette and a conversation, stamping their leather-booted feet in the snow. A phlegmatic cough emanated from the old hawker as he continued pushing his cart along the pathway and onto the road, forcing traffic to slow to a snail’s pace.

He’s selling bear fur? asked Jorja as the driver and Temulbaatar entered the car.

Fox and marmot mostly, answered Temulbaatar. "Marmots are like American groundhogs; we call them tarveg. Do you have them in Australia? Some say they can foretell the weather. The man with the cart says the fur is darker this year: a sign of a long winter. Long winters bring hardship, and hardship demands more money. He’s asking a high price. The driver mumbled a response in Mongolian. Nekhii says it’s too early to ask a high price."

Both men had the thickened skin and bearded stubble of arctic explorers on the last leg of their journey. Hairy dark eyebrows formed lines, like woolly caterpillars, over Temulbaatar’s small, beady eyes and Nekhii’s drowsy eyelids. Temulbaatar, short and stocky, contrasted with the slightly taller but thickset Nekhii. Their soft-spoken voices and wide smiles belied their rugged and coarse appearances.

Nekhii stopped the vehicle at the entrance of a gray apartment block. Temulbaatar looked around before punching the security code into a panel on the outside wall. Four sand-colored stray dogs jogged past, stopped abruptly, and turned on each other. With teeth bared, rapid shallow bites, and claws against fur, their fight was fierce but brief. Their impatient aggressiveness startled Jorja, but Nekhii merely showed them the sole of his black riding boot. It didn’t connect with the feral dogs; it merely acted as a warning for them to disperse, which they did. Their aggressiveness was aimed at each other, not at Jorja or her companions. Temulbaatar advised Jorja to strike a dominant pose if they troubled her, and they would surely leave her alone.

Temulbaatar looked around again. Nekhii and Jorja glanced around too. Jorja saw a short naked man enter the adjacent apartment building. Naked in the winter snow! Thinking it was her imagination, she craned her neck to take a closer look, but he was gone. A rugged young man in head-to-toe black leather held the iron door open behind the naked man and glanced furtively from side to side. To Jorja, it looked as though the young man was taking advantage of the open door, slipping in without entering his security code. They locked eyes momentarily. The man dipped his head as if to hide his face under the visor of his cap. He wiped his nose with his gloved hand before entering the building.

Temulbaatar reentered the code. At the sound of the click, Nekhii pushed the heavy iron door inward. Paper, plastic bags, and cigarette stubs swirled in the darkened corridor as a cold blast of air surged inward. Automatically a light flickered on. Nekhii trundled Jorja’s suitcase to the two elevators; one wasn’t operational. They exited on the sixth floor into a gloomy corridor of closed doors and stopped outside the second door on the left, facing the stairwell. They waited for Temulbaatar to unlock the red door with a large golden knocker. An odor of over-boiled cabbage hung in the corridor.

As I said, the dogs won’t attack, but it’s best to avoid them. They can be quite vicious if they are looking for food and you are carrying a grocery bag, advised Temulbaatar.

I’ve heard of the famous Mongolian sheep dogs, said Jorja.

Nekhii shook his head. His leather cap didn’t move. Temulbaatar said, "Those dogs weren’t sheep dogs. The sheep dog, or bankhar, is larger and much hairier, and it’s usually black. Bankhar means ‘chubby in the cheeks.’ You’ll recognize a bankhar the moment you see one. The bankhar is an ancient breed—perhaps the most ancient of all. The more ancient the breed, it is believed that the higher its intellect, the healthier its body, the more powerful its adaptability, and the more universal its genetics."

Jorja wondered whether he was referring to the great Mongol Genghis Khan or the great Mongolian horse, for his words could easily apply to the ancient warrior or the magnificent steed.

"The word for dog is nokhy and puppy is gulge. The dogs you saw were khotosho." Nekhii nodded at Temulbaatar’s translation, wrinkled his nose as if in disgust, and repeated the word: khotosho.

"Khotosho?" asked Jorja.

Mongrel. Yard dog. Low breed, explained Temulbaatar. Nekhii spoke in Mongolian and Temulbaatar laughed. He said that yard dogs don’t keep you warm in winter. That’s true. They are skinny, nervous dogs, and not good for children. Foreigners introduced the yard dogs years ago; they are not native to Mongolia. They’ve become more and more aggressive, especially in winter.

The red door led into an expansive area. A large, rectangular, wooden table divided the kitchen from the living area. An imposing wall cabinet on the left, by the front door, served as a coat stand and a cupboard for kitchenware. Next to it was a boxy, top-loading freezer. Both men entered and checked the domicile, opening doors and switching on lights and electrical appliances as they showed Jorja her home for the next four months.

The kitchen to the right of the entrance was sparse. There were no kitchen cupboards, only a square foldaway table beside the front door. Underneath the table was a flip-top plastic bin. A new, metallic, half-sized refrigerator purred in the corner. Left of it was a new four-burner stove. Beside it, a lower table held crockery, cutlery, two pots, and a pan. Against the wall, vertically opposite the front door, the sink jutted out with its plumbing exposed. Beige tiles protected the wall behind the sink. Bare floorboards spread throughout the apartment.

Beyond the dining table was the living room with a flat-screen television. A glass-topped coffee table indented the beige shag-pile rug. A settee and two oversized seats, all in matching faux leather, lined the right wall.

Along the short hallway, to the right, the spare room had a single desk and chair, and to the left, the clean and modern bathroom had a toilet, washing machine, sink, and combined bath with shower. The ample mirror above the sink, without natural light, seemed to distort Jorja’s appearance.

At the end of the hallway lay an enormous bedroom with two sets of windows, making it light and bright. It contained a double bed, two side tables, a wire clothes rack, and a two-door freestanding wardrobe. A blue, silk sash tied the curtains in place, but only on the larger window.

Silk sash bash, Temulbaatar sang, as if reading Jorja’s mind. "I can’t help singing the Suzi Quatro song whenever I see a blue silk sash. It’s a khadag," he explained, a symbol of greeting, luck, and abundance. The landlord is very thoughtful.

From the smaller northern window, Jorja had a view of her neighbor’s sunroom: a small, narrow alcove. An array of empty pots and rusty gardening tools covered the vinyl tablecloth. On the floor were towering mounds of yellowed newspapers. It was not a well-used room. From the eastern window at the back of the apartment, Jorja could see a construction site. The four sand-colored yard dogs she had seen in the front of the apartment were squeezing between palings. As they entered the site, one lifted his head and whined until it howled. Another ate clumps of grass and vomited, which its companion quickly devoured. They sauntered away to find shelter from the lightly falling snow.

The city looks better in summer, said Temulbaatar. That’s when tourists come to see Mongolia, the Land of the Eternal Blue Sky. The countryside looks better than the city. Times are changing, and more people are moving to the capital where there’s more work: mainly construction work. Oil and gas have been discovered in the Gobi, and the government expects to find even larger quantities. Then Ulaanbaatar will be on the map. But when? He shrugged before answering his own question. When the rivers run to the sea or when the long song ends. He whistled and sang Somewhere over the Rainbow while lifting his elbows to imitate a bluebird.

When the skies are blue, do you believe that dreams really do come true? he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued whistling the light-hearted, lilting tune as they all walked to the front door. He handed Jorja the keys. Nekhii indicated that Jorja should lock the door behind them, and she nodded.

Temulbaatar turned and walked quickly into the living room. I forgot to check the heaters for you. As he touched the heaters in each room, he sang a more melancholy tune, about wreckage from the ruins. Jorja listened intently to the familiarity of the lyrics: children of the last generation, and wondering when life was going to change. Temulbaatar nodded with each tap on the heater as if to reassure Jorja that the heaters were functioning. He closed the top opening of his jacket and said, "Nekhii will pick you up tomorrow morning. Just wait in the apartment and he’ll knock on the door. Don’t wait downstairs because it will be too cold and too dangerous. In the afternoon he’ll take you to Sky Shopping Center to buy food because the shop in this neighborhood is just a convenience store with not much in it. In fact, there’s not much in this area at all, except apartments. It’s not the shopping area and it’s not the tourist area. It’s the nothing area. Only the Black Market is nearby, but I suggest you don’t go there alone. It’s not the illegal black market; it’s called Black Market. You can buy used cars, vehicle accessories, saddles, horse riding tack, anything made in China, snuff bottles, and equipment to build our traditional Mongolian home—the ger. Everything’s cheap, but you have to pay an entry fee. If you do want to go, go with Nekhii. It has a bad reputation for pickpockets, bag-slashers, and devious men who rob unsuspecting tourists. Thieves obstruct people, deliberately bump into them, and snatch the tourists’ bags and run away. Here, these tourist pamphlets, that the landlord left on the table, have warnings about pickpockets in the Black Market."

Who is the man in the black leather jacket and the naked man? asked Jorja.

Temulbaatar looked at Nekhii. What naked man? What man in the leather jacket? We didn’t see any men, did we Nekhii? Nekhii didn’t answer.

When we arrived, there were two men entering the building on the left.

Surely you’re mistaken. He smirked. Naked man, there’s no naked man. Bye. Temulbaatar hummed as he strode down the stairs, two at a time, while Nekhii walked toward the elevators. Nekhii caught Jorja’s attention and mimed the twist of a key in the lock. Jorja nodded, but she was concentrating on Temulbaatar’s humming. It was an Australian tune, she was sure. She shut the door, locked it, and began unpacking her suitcase.

She stared out of the rear window at the adjoining block of land in the preliminary stages of construction. No excavation had commenced, but earth moving equipment and steel rods were positioned in preparation. Beyond the empty block was a line of dark cars, a main highway, and a railway track. On the horizon, the mountains were shadowed in the afternoon’s fading light. It was the back of beyond, the end of the line, and the last suburb of nowhere.

2. There Is Nothing in the Shops

Don’t expect to find ivory in a dog’s mouth.

In the fading light of the cold afternoon, Jorja donned two coats to find the convenience store close to her apartment block. The sleeted concrete pavements forced her to move gingerly for fear of skidding. The frigid air seeped into her gloves and around her neck. Shocked by the stinging breeze, her face froze. Every muscle on her forehead ached with the prick of invisible syringes. Children were more effectively dressed; they wrapped woolen scarves around their faces, covering neck to nose, and they pushed their hats down, covering their eyebrows. Only round, dark eyes were visible. Young children of similar sizes were only distinguishable by the color and design of their anorak hoods: frogs, bears, wolves, ducks, or kittens. The animalia-dressed children clung, with mittened hands, onto their mothers or any nearby woman.

Two women, with plastic curlers in their hair, sat near the window of the hairdressing salon on the ground level of the adjacent apartment. A young boy entered the telecommunications kiosk on the same floor. A man appeared with a grocery bag as Jorja rounded a corner. A sign in Mongolian advertised a supermarket. To the left, a new steel-tubed, multi-colored slippery dip, swing, and set of monkey bars emerged out of the snow: an icy, vacant playground. To the right, a path snaked its way around more apartment blocks. The set of six matching ten-story rectangular apartments, built in 2001, resembled primitive building blocks, like children’s toys.

Five steps led into the small corner supermarket. Two women greeted Jorja with a nod as she entered. The security guard handed her a wire basket and walked beside her. As she strolled along the five aisles, the guard never left her side. There was no fresh milk or dairy produce, no meat, and limited vegetables—only potatoes and onions. Fresh food of any kind was virtually non-existent. Instead, there were thousands of bottles and tins of food: jam, fruit, beans, gherkins, potatoes, pickled onions, processed meat, carrots, peas, and sauerkraut. Cereal packets and pasta occupied a full shelf. Rows and rows of alcohol lined the shelves in the third aisle: vodka, beer, and spirits, but no wine. The only product that rivaled alcohol in abundance was confectionary. Washing powders, soaps, detergents, scrubbing brushes, matches, and candles were situated in the last aisle, against the back wall. Jorja collected a few basic items: tea, coffee, powdered milk, bread, and a bar of chocolate.

She paid the cashier who commenced placing the items in a plastic bag. Jorja said she had a cotton bag. The young girl shrugged and carefully filled the cloth bag, with the guard’s assistance. When everything was packed, the guard smiled—for the first time—and held the door open. His pistol was visibly strapped to his upper thigh.

Despite