A convoy drove through the desert. The center of it was a massive flatbed trailer hauling a section of pipe for the oil pipeline. The other vehicles were camouflaged, soldiers sitting in the back. The convoy drove at speed, sending up a column of dust, bearing down on a settlement, not slowing. The people selling bread and water by the roadside moved out of the way. Zou Lei, who was five years old, opened her mouth and said oh and advanced, looking for the soldiers as they roared by and watching them as they sped away, packed in the back of the trucks in their steel helmets.
An older girl ran up and pulled Zou Lei back from the roadside and held onto her until the convoy had passed and its dust had blown over them and settled. Then she took her by the hand and led her over to one of the adobe dwellings roofed in gray desert driftwood.
She was playing too close to the road and I scolded her. A big truck came by.
I heard it, Zou Lei’s mother said. She was standing at a table in her doorway, half in the sun, making laghman. The sun sliced across the table. She was kneading the dough, wetting it with water from a blue plastic tub.
It was the biggest truck ever. And she wanted to get squashed.
What’s that?
She wanted to get on it. She was running and if I hadn’t grabbed her, she would have run right to it.
Zou Lei’s mother peered at Zou Lei.
What did you do? she asked Zou Lei. To the girl, she said, Did you give her a swat?
I gave her a swat on the leg.
Give her one for me right now while I’m watching. Not to the ear, just the leg.
The girl hit Zou Lei on the leg of her faded orange pants.
You’ve got to put more pepper in it than that. That’s not going to do anything with her.
The girl hit Zou Lei hard on the bottom and Zou Lei was driven forward two steps and put her hand back there to protect herself.
Don’t do it again! the girl said.
Listen good! her mother said.
I tell her, her father is away in the steppe with the army. He isn’t on the truck. If he was on the truck, he would come down. Even if he was working, he would ask the officer for leave to see his family. If they couldn’t give him leave, then he would wave at least so you could see him. They would at least let him do that in the army, to wave.
Her mother wet her hands and began forming the dough into a rope.
Play a game with her, why don’t you? Or sing something. Can you sing anything yet?
I can’t sing, but I know a little dancing, the girl said.
The girl made movements with her hands, pressing her fingertips together, rotating her wrists, undulating her hands.
That’s all I know.
She tried to teach Zou Lei, who did not want to learn.
Pretend I’m a wolf, Zou Lei said.
In the afternoon, after the girl had left and Zou Lei’s mother was resting on the rugs, it was just the two of them in the dwelling while the noodles boiled. Zou Lei crawled over and played with her mother’s hair. Her mother waved a fly away from them. For a time, they played made-up games where they would hold hands and her mother would say, where’s the bread and salt? It’s in the mountains. It’s in the river. It’s in the pasture with the horses.
The light turned golden orange and the heat eased. Another truck went chugging by on the road and they both listened to it passing. Her mother took the noodles out to let them cool before they ate them with a green pepper and an onion.
The shadows fell over them and through the gaps in the drift-wood roof, the sky showed. In the doorway, the sun was setting on the mountains and its rays were coming in a straight line to their eyes, passing from rim to rim across the vast blue-shadowed desert basin.
All we had was soup when I was picking cotton, her mother said. That was before you. You were still being carried around in your father’s cotton sack. He asked if I would like to have you. I said I would, and he gave you to me. Come here and take a bite of this — her mother had peaches that she had picked up from the roadside — let’s brush it off. Don’t eat sand. Sit here now. He’ll be home soon, God willing. Now let me tell you something nice. Let me tell you why you should be happy. Do you want to hear? Now, listen.
Did you know that there is a place that is better than any other? Okay, I’ll tell you about it. First of all, it’s out there, past all the bandits and wolves. It’s a long way off out there, a good three months on horseback at least. The officials don’t tell anyone about it because they want it for themselves. Still, people know it’s there. Now, look, everyone there is full of joy. They spend all their lives feasting and singing, so why wouldn’t they be? No one goes without. Everyone has what he needs. Everyone has shoes, clothes, and a fine cap. It’s a place blessed by God in a green valley protected by mountains and rivers. The herds graze and the grapes grow in the vineyards and, in the summer, they ride up to the larch forest, where it’s cool. They hunt as much as they like and then they ride back down where the sun shines on the green grass. You need only put out your hands and blackberries fill your arms. The air is filled with the sweet music of finches in the trees. Everyone gets yogurt, cream, milk, bread, and meat — as much as the heart desires. The fire is singing and the fat is frying and the pots are tipping their lids. To have a whole roast goat is no great thing there. You don’t have to be rich. If somebody wants it, it will be theirs. All they have to do is say I will have bread! and the bread leaps out straight from the oven. That’s how eating works there.
The women are as beautiful as sun and moon, as the saying goes — cheeks red like apples and a brow fair like milk. Arm in arm, sister and cousin, they go picking flowers, while the men gaze after them with longing, hearing them laughing like nightingales. The men cannot stop singing to them, courting them. A girl will only have to throw her comb on the ground and twenty men will fight to pick it up. If she yawns, the men will make shade for her and call the wind over to cool her, saying: here, Breeze, blow! Well, that’s well, but who will peel potatoes for my mother’s supper while I am lying here? she says, and the men will trip over themselves peeling potatoes.
While everyone is eating and having a good time, there’s music and dancing and singing, lifting everyone’s hearts. All day long, the men hold contests of riding, running and wrestling. Any one of the men could be a prince for looks and bravery. They go galloping back and forth on the steppe, making one thundering pass after another, and each time they go by, the people rise up and huzzah with one voice. The steppe is filled with cheering. You have to imagine that great sound coming from thousands of us at one time, how it echoes out around the world. It makes the red and yellow poppies bloom everywhere on the green mountainsides and the rivers melt with admiration and flow from the snowcaps.
If an official demands taxes, you tell him next week! and he’ll take that for an answer and put it in his book. If he doesn’t, you show him a hair on your head and say, not even this will I give you! and he goes away knowing he’s met his match. The prison gates are flung open and the prisoners come out singing and giving thanks, and go back to their families.