七部小说 · Seven Novels

第 19 章 ——《对半之羊》

我在四步处跪下。

我把碗放在我们之间的毡上。

他望着碗。他望着我胯侧的狼。他望着我。

他足有一百数没有说话。

他不说话，是因为这一刻该说的话已在心契上、不在四步之外，是说的话已无需开口的字眼，是中心柱前那个人——他用了十五夜，学会如何把帝国小心翼翼的句子打磨成一件工具，好用在草原话不能割开的房间里——把那件工具放在了链子那一侧的毡上，正如我把碗放下那样，而此刻，他就这么不带工具地坐在中心柱前。

他穿着那身已在链子边穿了三十日的札甲。

札甲右上一片护板的扎绳是松的——第七日勤务兵替他重换大腿那处盐铁伤的药时解开了它，之后的八日里没有再系回去。那个敞口下的内衣是毡子的颜色。内衣之上、喉头那一块皮肤，是冬日柳枝内里的颜色。他这三十日没有洗过。

他身上有羊脂味、有盐味、有营火细小干涩的爆裂味、有一个困于中心柱的男人长久而隐忍的汗味，这股味道是我在十五夜里、于六步与四步之间一直收在胸腔的碗里的味道，而到了这个步数上，它是一具身体的味道。

不是我所识得的某一具身体的味道。

我识得我父亲在我生命第十一年于打谷场上身体的味道。我识得我弟弟在襁褓里身体的味道。我识得麻子刘在班火上风处的味道、小山在背风处的味道，识得魏军士帐口的味道，识得王二郎在茅厕后头马奶酒蒸馏架旁、把鼻梁撞断在弓胎上之后那一小时里的味道。我识得那匹枣红母马的味道，识得蒙克达姆铺位旁那头熊的味道，此刻也识得别勒格特汗在铁匠车南侧三步处的味道。

我不曾识得一个男人身体的味道——在一个女儿选择隔之而坐的那个位置上。

我，此刻，在隔着一只碗的四步处，正是那个女儿。

此前的任何一个时辰，我都不曾是她。

他把重心从那只伤膝挪开。

他用草原话，用压低的小声，向我们之间的毡上说话——这一次不是在心契上，因为心契已在说着，开口的话语是他在心契之外另选择去做的一件事，犹如一个人在火旁把杯子也搁在火边，让手与杯一同暖——

「狼姑娘。吃。」

我让油灯在我们之间爆了一下花。

我用草原话，用同样压低的小声，说：「与你。」

他望着我。他望着碗。他又望着我。

他用帝国话——这一刻，帝国话是开口言说的舌头，因为草原话还不是一种我们要在班毡上隔着四步、于第十五日清晨油灯三更时分把素朴之言坦露给彼此的舌头——说：「狼姑娘。这碗是你的。」

我用帝国话说：「这碗有一半是你的。」

他等着。

他说：「我三日没有吃东西了。」

我说：「我知道。」

他说：「我若把这一半吃下去，数到二百就会在中心柱前睡着，而第十七夜二更我们有一桩事，需要一个清醒着的人在链子边。」

我说：「那便慢慢吃这一半。」

他望着我。

他极轻地说，嘴角动了一下——这十五夜里我不曾见过他的嘴角这样动——「你在叫一个囚徒吃东西。」

我用草原话，向毡上说：「我在叫脱古鲁吃。」

他嘴角那个新的小角度停住了。

他用帝国话说：「那我便吃。」

我这十五夜不曾带过勺。勤务兵的早碗带勺。刘的晚碗，若是刘端来，则不带勺——因为刘在班火旁削那只「是马的鸭、是鸭的马」，他口袋里没有勺，而囚徒帐里也没有勺，是文书依条文，不许囚徒手里有任何在二更时分——文书在黑帆布后头睡熟之时——能成其为「手里之物」的东西；而勤务兵在轮值之始放在链子边的那只锡杯，十五夜以来一直拿来盛小米。

我们没有勺。

他望着链子边的锡杯。

他拿起杯。他舀了一半小米，平平地倒进杯里。他把杯放回我们之间那只碗南侧的小空地上。

他把碗推过四步。

他没有抬眼。

他用草原话，用压低的小声向毡上说：「你先吃。」

我接过碗。

我按小山教我的法子，一小口一小口、平平地把那未给他的半碗吃了——先把热气吃出去，手指稳，手腕压在自己大腿那条线上，作一个班火旁的兵在吃东西时不愿让全班逮着任何一丝不该有的饥意的那种小心姿态——而别勒格特汗在我胯侧，把头放在两爪之间，以一头狼曾在心契上听见过那男人许可之后的耐心眼神，看着中心柱前的男人吃。

中心柱前的男人慢慢吃。

他把锡杯靠在他那只好膝上，杯稍稍倾斜，让小米送进嘴里非断鼻的那一侧嘴角，他咀得慢，咽得慢，咽下了才再举杯送第二口入嘴，眼睛落在链子边的毡上，不在我身上。

他在这一吃里，是一具配得上班里小米的身体。

而十五夜里，每一次我把碗放在链子边而后离去的时辰，他都不曾是那一具配得上班里小米的身体。

他咀。

他咽。

他用帝国话，对着杯子，极轻地说：「狼姑娘。给我讲一桩安石的事。」

我吐出一口气。

我说：「安石是我弟弟。」

他说：「我知道。」

我说：「他十二岁。」

他说：「这个我也知道。」

我说：「他用乌鸦羽做了一只风筝。乌鸦羽是他从村井上头一个鸦巢里偷来的。他用米浆把它们粘在竹篾骨上。风筝在打谷场上飞了两百数，然后风停了，风筝掉进了羊圈，羊把骨上的米浆都嚼了去，风筝回家时是一具没有乌鸦羽的竹篾骨，安石哭了半更。」

他吸气。

他吐气。

他笑了。

那是一声小小的声响。

那是一声从他喉底深处冒出来的小响——是一个困于中心柱、第十五夜、油灯三更时分的男人所能发出而仍称之为笑的最小的一声响——那声响从他身上出来，犹如箭离弓时最后四分之一磅拉力的释放，是弓一直绷着的东西在小小一记干净的解脱里出去的样子，他的双肩在那一记释放里动了。

我这十五夜不曾见过他的双肩在一记释放里动。

我见过他的双肩在被拖入时动。我见过他的双肩在举杯就唇时动。我见过他的双肩在勤务兵换药的腕下动，见过它在刘换缚的腕下动，见过它在第十一夜二更文书蜡板的笔尖下动。我不曾见过它在一记释放里动。

它动了。

他用帝国话，眼睛仍落在杯上，说：「那些羊。」

我说：「那些羊。」

他说：「我有个妹妹。」

我说：「我知道。也速。」

他等了一下。

他说：「她八岁。」

他说：「她偷我的箭。这一年里她已偷了我六支。她把它们从我床头毡墙内侧挂着的箭袋里偷走，藏进她自己缝在 德勒 衬里里的一只口袋里，那口袋的形状是个箭袋，可是她——在我目前对她施加的任何压力下——都不肯承认那是个箭袋。她只承认那口袋里装着几根我为了一桩还没告诉你的小事正在收集的、小小的、直直的木棍，哥哥。」

我没有说话。

我说：「六支箭。」

他说：「我的六支。我不知道她偷了我父亲的安答别尔克多少支，但别尔克——在东北二十里冰溪源头那片柳树边的别尔克——去年春的库里台上抱怨过，说她也钻进了他的箭袋。」

我说：「她是个狼姑娘。」

他吸气。

他放出一声更长的笑。

那笑从喉底以同一记释放出来，却出得更远——越过箭离弓那一记干净的释放，进入了箭去之后弓发出的那一声低长的余音，那余音停住、停住，而后缓下去。

他抬起眼。

他望着我。

他用草原话——不是在心契上，是开口的字眼——说：「狼姑娘。她会爱你的。」

我没有动。

我用草原话，用同样压低的小声说：「我也会爱她。」

他吐气。

他用帝国话说：「把剩下的吃了。我吃够了。」

我说：「你没够。」

他说：「我够了。我不会在第十七夜二更带着一肚子被班里小米睡着了的胃在链子边。」

我说：「那再吃一杯。」

他说：「你也吃一杯，才好。」

我说：「今早班火上我已吃了三杯小米。」

他说：「那就在这儿吃第四杯。」

我们吃了第四杯。

我们隔着四步、隔着我们之间的碗吃下了它，别勒格特汗在我胯侧，可汗之眼在补给车背风处那顶小帐的椽上，那头熊在帐侧、 莫尔盖 已从肩上摘下，三更时分的油灯仍守着它的三更不肯下降，帐口的朱漆卫士把脸朝向风里，黑帆布车里的文书在吃东西的任何一次呼吸里都没有抬起他蜡板上的封印。

他把杯放下。

他用帝国话说：「再讲一桩。讲果园的事。不要风筝。要风筝之前的那一桩。」

我稳住自己。

我说：「我父亲田地西南角有一棵苹果树，比这个村子都老。我祖母说它比她的祖母老，她的祖母又说它比她自己的祖母老，那棵树已在一根独根上结了七代果。」

他说：「什么苹果。」

我说：「小的。皮上黄。蒂下红。第一口酸，咬到核时甜。十一月里我们把它们送到榨子上压成酒。在我生命第十一年，我父亲派我把西南角的苹果搬到榨子那里去，用一对小绵羊那么大的两耳篓装着。那天我搬了十四篓。」

他说：「一日十四篓，对一个十一岁的孩子，是傻子的数。」

我说：「我知道。父亲是当天傍晚告诉我的。他从我手里接过篓，把它放到榨子边，把手按在我后颈上，他说，玉兰。你今日做的是傻子的活。一个女儿在某一日为她父亲做了傻子的活，会被她父亲长长地、在饭桌上记得许多年，而做父亲的，会在那张饭桌上、为她在碗的正中央留下肉里那一小块软的，留她一辈子。孩子，不要再为我这样做了。记得就够了。」

我把呼吸调匀。

我说：「他后半辈子都在碗的正中央为我留那一小块软的肉。新月留，半月留，满月留，到我骑出果园门、带着征调勘合出发的第二月初三那个早上，他已在饭桌上、米饭碗旁的小盘子里，留出了我十一岁那年搬过的苹果里头那一小块软的。他把那一块藏在厨房后头的冷库里，专为骑出去那一早留着。」

他很安静。

他用帝国话说：「狼姑娘。」

我说：「脱古鲁。」

他说：「中心柱前的这个男人，是第二个会在他骑出去那一早、在米碗旁的小盘子上为你留下那一块软苹果的父亲。」

我把节拍记下。

我说：「他已做了十五夜了。」

他吐气。

他说：「是吗。」

我说：「军士在帐口写的那些牛皮纸方片，是那一小块软的。札甲整顿的那番训话，是那一小块软的。勤务兵每晨在链子边放下的那碗小米，是那一小块软的。大腿绷带打的那一记兵结，是那一小块软的。二更时分搁在铺位上的那些纸条，是那一小块软的。中心柱前的这个男人，十五夜里——没有说出过任何一句会让一个女儿在文书可能进帐的任何一夜的二更被困在链子边的话——他，就是那一小块软的。中心柱前的这个男人，今晨在心契上把那女儿的名字三次轻轻送进她胸腔里的那只碗——他，就是那一小块软的。脱古鲁，你已做了十五夜了。你做这件事的样子，正是我父亲做了十九年的样子。」

他没有动。

他极轻地用草原话说：「我不是你父亲。」

我用草原话说：「你不是我父亲。」

他呼吸。

他用帝国话说：「两夜之后，我会是铁门关脚下、向东三夜路程之外一座蒙古包正中央毡上的那个男人。那一夜，我会是你将与之一同躺在毡上的那个男人。那一夜，我会是一个既非父、也非弟、也非军士的男人。我会是——如果你让我跟你走，狼姑娘——那个男人。」

我守着沉默。

我用帝国话，用我在任何一顶帐里说话都不曾用过的最小的声音——比那一夜在魏的帐口说「我已选了两个」时的第三种腹底的声音还小，比在补给车背风处对着风说出的第四种声音还小——

「你可以来。」

他吐气。

他说：「好。」

他说：「在链子那一侧睡。帐口的朱漆卫士会把一具身体的呼吸数到半更。两具身体以同一节拍呼吸，前面以一更半夜的寂静与第三数处的一声轻响为铺垫——这是朱漆卫士分辨不出一具与两具的。我们已在第十一夜、第十三夜、第十四夜学过这个。在这里睡。狼会守在门口。椽上的鸟，眼睛盯着东南那道接缝。在链子边的一更里，你是安全的。」

我用帝国话说：「好。」

我在链子边的毡上躺下。

我以一个行军中入睡的兵小心的角度躺下——右侧卧，右臂枕在头下，左手压在自己心口上——而在躺下时，我没有看他的脸。

他也没有看我的。

我们睡了半更。

我们隔着四步在毡上睡了，链子在我们之间，狼在帐口，鸟在十二步以东那顶毡帐的椽上，熊闭眼坐在那顶帐侧，蒙克达姆在她那处、鼓在她左膝旁，那只空了的碗在我们之间，油灯守着它的三更，东南那道接缝没有系上，黑帆布车里的文书伏在蜡板后头睡着，朱砂帘后头那个橘皮男人睡着，帐口的朱漆卫士把脸朝向风里，另一名手背搭在帐里下缘。

我们睡的样子，是一个男人与一个女人——在那个意义上「在一起」睡了——在一顶毡帐的毡上的那一夜睡的样子。我们不曾触碰。我们不曾移动。我们在任何一次呼吸里都不曾跨过那四步。

我们一起睡了。

四更换班时我坐了起来。

我起身。我没有去收那只碗。我把碗留在链子边，等勤务兵早班来。

我以毛毡的 德勒 站在四步处，德勒 在内衣之下、内衣在札甲之下——因为札甲与内衣方才一直在链子边压在我背下的毡上，而毛毡 德勒 是蒙克达姆在帐门口给我的那件 德勒 ，我此后未曾脱下，那件 德勒 会在札甲下穿到五更换班时——届时我会在铺位旁把它脱下，留给第十七夜的清晨。

我用草原话，在心契上、用压低的小声，向那只碗里说——

两夜。

他用草原话，在心契上、用同样压低的小声，把它送回我的心契里——

两夜。

我钻出帐口。

别勒格特汗在十二步以东那顶小帐的门前抬了一下头，又把头放回两爪之间。

我穿过被踩平的草地，回到班线东端的羔羊毡。

我没有回头。

我在铺位上躺下。

我闭上眼。

我睡了。

那狼，此刻，许我做梦。

我梦见黄河之南一片果园，十一月，第七代那棵树的榨子前，我左手里捧着一小块软的苹果，正向榨房门口中心柱前那个男人走去，那个中心柱前的男人就站在门里，他身上没有链子。

他把苹果含进牙齿后头。

他用草原话，向果园里头说，在梦里——

狼姑娘。

我说，在梦里，向他嘴里——

脱古鲁。

梦守着。

我把它守了半更。

我在第十五日清晨擂晓鼓时醒来，德勒 在札甲下，胸口——我未再缠回的束胸布之下——已不再是平的——别勒格特汗在铺位脚边，头夹在两爪之间，耳朵贴着地、朝向囚徒帐的方向——而那一小块软的苹果，在梦里，还在我自己的牙后头。

我守着它。

我在醒来的任何一次呼吸里，都没有咽下去。

Chapter Nineteen

Mutton, Halved

I knelt at the four paces.

I set the bowl down between us on the felt.

He looked at the bowl. He looked at the wolf at my hip. He looked at me.

He did not say anything for the count of a hundred.

He did not say anything because the saying was at the bond now and not at the four paces, and the saying did not need the open-air word, and the man at the centre-pole — who had spent fifteen nights learning how to make the small careful imperial sentence into a tool for a room where the steppe-tongue did not cut — had set the tool down at the chain-side of the felt, the way I had set the bowl down, and was, this hour, sitting at the centre-pole without it.

He was in the lamellar he had been wearing for thirty days at the chain.

The lamellar was open at the upper plate on the right side where the orderly had unlaced it on the seventh day to redress the salt-iron wound at his thigh and had not, in the eight days since, relaced it. The under-shirt at the open place was the colour of the felt. The skin at the throat above the under-shirt was the colour of the inside of a willow-branch in winter. He had not, in thirty days, washed.

He smelled of mutton-fat and of salt and of the small dry tick of camp-smoke and of the long careful sweat of a man at a centre-pole, and the smell was a smell I had been holding in the bowl of my chest for fifteen nights at six paces and four, and it was, at this paces, the smell of a body.

It was not the smell of a body I had known.

I had known the smell of my father's body at the threshing-floor in the eleventh year of my life. I had known the smell of my brother's body in the cradle-blanket. I had known the smell of Pock-faced Liu at the windward of the squad-fire and the smell of Little Mountain at the lee, and the smell of Wei at the flap of his tent, and the smell of Wang Erlang in the small hour after he had broken his nose on the bow-stave at the kumis-still behind the latrine. I had known the smell of the bay mare and the smell of the bear at Möngke-Dam's cot and the smell of Belegt-Khan, now, at three paces along the south side of the smith's wagon.

I had not known the smell of a man's body at the place a daughter sits across from a man whose body she has chosen to sit across from.

I was, at the four paces with the bowl between us, that daughter.

I had not, in any hour before this hour, been her.

He shifted his weight off the bad knee.

He said, in the steppe-tongue, in the small low voice into the felt between us — not on the bond this time, because the bond was already saying, and the open-air saying was a thing he had chosen to do beside the bond the way a man holds a cup beside a fire to warm both his hand and the cup —

"Wolf-girl. Eat."

I let the lamp gutter once between us.

I said, in the steppe-tongue, in the same small low voice, "With you."

He looked at me. He looked at the bowl. He looked at me again.

He said, in the imperial — and the imperial, this hour, was the tongue of the open-air saying, because the steppe-tongue was a tongue we were not, yet, going to say plain things in to each other across four paces of squad-felt in a tent at the eastern end of a squad-line at the third quarter of the lamp on the morning of the fifteenth day — "Wolf-girl. The bowl is yours."

I said, in the imperial, "The bowl is half yours."

He waited.

He said, "I have not eaten in three days."

I said, "I know."

He said, "If I eat the half, I will fall asleep at the centre-pole at the count of two hundred, and we have business at the second watch of the seventeenth night which requires a man at the chain who has been awake."

I said, "Then eat the half slowly."

He looked at me.

He said, very quietly, the corner of his mouth moving in a way I had not, in fifteen nights, seen it move — "You are telling a captive to eat."

I said, in the steppe-tongue, into the felt, "I am telling Toghrul to eat."

The corner of his mouth held its small new angle.

He said, in the imperial, "Then I will eat."

I had not, in fifteen nights, brought a spoon. The orderly's morning bowl came with a spoon. Liu's evening bowl, if Liu was carrying it, came without — because Liu carved the duck-that-was-a-horse-that-was-a-duck at the squad-fire and his pocket had no spoons in it, and the prisoner-tent had no spoons in it because the secretary did not, by writ, permit a prisoner to have anything in his hand that could be a thing in his hand at the second watch when the secretary was asleep behind black canvas, and a tin cup the orderly had set at the chain-side at the start of the rotation had served, in fifteen nights, for the millet.

We had no spoon.

He looked at the tin cup at the chain-side.

He picked it up. He scooped a small even half of the millet into the cup. He set the cup on the felt at the small space at the south side of the bowl between us.

He pushed the bowl across the four paces.

He did not look up.

He said, in the steppe-tongue, in the small low voice into the felt, "Eat first."

I took the bowl.

I ate the half I had not given him in the small even mouthfuls Little Mountain had taught me — with the heat out first, with the fingers steady, with the wrist on the line of my own thigh in the small careful gesture of a soldier at the squad-fire who is not, in the eating, going to be a soldier the squad has caught at any hunger he is not entitled to — and Belegt-Khan, at my hip, set his head down on his paws and watched the man at the centre-pole eat with the patient eye of a wolf who had heard, on the bond, the approving of the man.

The man at the centre-pole ate slowly.

He ate with the tin cup at his good knee, the cup tilted so the millet went into the corner of his mouth and not the corner with the broken nose, and he chewed slow and swallowed slow, and only then lifted the cup for a second mouthful, his eyes on the felt at the chain-side and not on me.

He was, in the eating, a body the squad's millet was good for.

He had not been a body the squad's millet was good for, in any hour of the fifteen nights I had set the bowl down at the chain-side and left.

He chewed.

He swallowed.

He said, in the imperial, into the cup, very softly, "Wolf-girl. Tell me a thing about Anshi."

I breathed out.

I said, "Anshi is my brother."

He said, "I know."

I said, "He is twelve."

He said, "I know that too."

I said, "He built a kite from crow-feathers. He stole the crow-feathers from a nest above the village well. He glued them to a bamboo frame with rice-paste. The kite flew for a count of two hundred over the threshing-floor and then the wind died and the kite fell into the goat-pen and the goats ate the rice-paste off the frame and the kite came home as a bamboo frame with no crow-feathers and Anshi cried for the length of half a watch."

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

He laughed.

It was a small noise.

It was a small noise in the back of his throat — the smallest noise a man at a centre-pole on the fifteenth night of his captivity at the third quarter of the lamp can make and have it be a laugh — and the noise came out of him in the way an arrow comes out of the bow at the last quarter-pound of the draw, in the small clean release of a thing the bow had been holding, and his shoulders moved at the release.

I had not, in fifteen nights, seen his shoulders move at a release.

I had seen his shoulders move at the dragging-in. I had seen his shoulders move at the lifting of the cup to his mouth. I had seen his shoulders move under the wrist of the orderly at the redressing, and under the wrist of Liu at the changing, and under the secretary's stylus at the wax tablet at the second watch of the eleventh night. I had not seen them move at the release.

They moved.

He said, in the imperial, his eyes still on the cup, "The goats."

I said, "The goats."

He said, "I have a sister."

I said, "I know. Yesüi."

He waited.

He said, "She is eight."

He said, "She steals my arrows. She has stolen six of them in the last year. She steals them out of the quiver hung at the inside of the felt-wall behind the head of my bed, and she puts them in a pouch she has sewn at the inside of the lining of her own deel, and the pouch is the shape of a quiver but she will not — under any pressure I have so far put on her — admit it is a quiver. She admits only that the pouch holds small straight sticks I have been collecting for a small reason I have not told you, brother."

I did not speak.

I said, "Six arrows."

He said, "Six of mine. I do not know how many she has stolen of my father's anda Berke, but Berke at the willow at the head of the frozen creek twenty li north-east complained at the kurultai of last spring that she had got into his quiver also."

I said, "She is a wolf-girl."

He breathed in.

He let out a longer laugh.

It came out of the throat at the same release as the first, but it came out farther — past the clean release of the bow, into the long low note a bow makes after the arrow has gone, and the note held, and held, and eased.

He looked up.

He looked at me.

He said, in the steppe-tongue — not on the bond, in the open-air word — "Wolf-girl. She will love you."

I did not move.

I said, in the steppe-tongue, in the same small low voice, "I will love her."

He breathed out.

He said, in the imperial, "Eat the rest. I have eaten enough."

I said, "You have not."

He said, "I have. I will not be at the chain-side at the second watch of the seventeenth night with a stomach the squad's millet has gone to sleep in."

I said, "Then eat one more cup."

He said, "If you eat one more cup."

I said, "I have eaten three cups of millet at the squad-fire this morning."

He said, "Then eat the fourth here."

We ate the fourth cup.

We ate it at four paces with the bowl between us and Belegt-Khan at my hip and Khaghan-bürkii at the rafter of the small yurt at the lee of the supply-wagon and the bear at the side of the yurt with the malgai off his shoulder, and the lamp at the third quarter held its third quarter and did not go down, and the Vermillion Guard at the flap kept his face into the wind, and the secretary at the black-canvas wagon did not, on any breath of the eating, lift the seal of his wax tablet.

He set the cup down.

He said, in the imperial, "Tell me one more thing. About the orchard. Not the kite. The thing before the kite."

I steadied.

I said, "There is an apple tree in the south-west corner of my father's field that is older than the village. My grandmother said it was older than her grandmother, and her grandmother had said it was older than hers, and the tree has been bearing fruit for the count of seven generations on a single root."

He said, "What kind of apple."

I said, "Small. Yellow at the skin. Red at the stem. Sour at the first bite, sweet at the bone. We crush them at the press in the eleventh month for cider. My father had set me, in the eleventh year of my life, to the work of carrying the apples from the south-west corner to the press in two-handled baskets at the size of a small lamb. I carried the baskets fourteen times in one day."

He said, "Fourteen baskets in a day for a child of eleven is a fool's number."

I said, "I know. My father told me at the end of the day. He took the basket from my hands and set it at the press, and he set his hand at the back of my neck, and he said, Yulan. You have done a fool's work today. A daughter who does a fool's work for her father on a single day will be remembered by her father at the table for a long count of years, and a father will, at that table, set the small soft piece of the meat at the centre of the bowl beside her hand for the rest of her father's life. Do not, child, do this for me again. The remembering is sufficient."

I paced the breath.

I said, "He set the small soft piece of the meat at the centre of the bowl beside my hand for the rest of his life. He set it at the centre of the bowl at the new moon and at the half-moon and at the full moon, and on the morning of the third day of the second moon when I rode out of the orchard gate with the conscription scroll, he had set, on the small platter at the table beside the bowl of millet, the small soft piece of the apple I had carried in the eleventh year. He had been saving it, in the cold-room behind the kitchen, for the morning of the riding-out."

He was very quiet.

He said, in the imperial, "Wolf-girl."

I said, "Toghrul."

He said, "The man at the centre-pole is the second father who will, on the morning he rides out, set the small soft piece of the apple at the platter beside the bowl."

I marked the beat.

I said, "He has been doing it for fifteen nights."

He breathed out.

He said, "Has he."

I said, "The brown-paper squares the sergeant has been writing at his flap are the small soft piece. The lamellar-correction speech is the small soft piece. The bowl of millet the orderly sets at the chain-side at the morning watch is the small soft piece. The thigh-bandage at the soldier's knot is the small soft piece. The slips at the cot at the second watch are the small soft piece. The man at the centre-pole who has not — in fifteen nights — said anything that would put a daughter at the chain-side at the second watch of any night where the secretary could come under the flap is the small soft piece. The man at the centre-pole who has, this morning, on the bond, said the daughter's name three times into the bowl of her chest is the small soft piece. You have been doing it for fifteen nights, Toghrul. You have been doing it the way my father did it for nineteen years."

He did not move.

He said, very quietly, in the steppe-tongue, "I am not your father."

I said, in the steppe-tongue, "You are not my father."

He breathed.

He said, in the imperial, "I am, in two nights' time, the man at the felt at the centre of a yurt at the foot of the Iron Gates pass three nights' ride east. I am, on that night, the man you will lie down at the felt at the centre of the yurt with. I am, on that night, the man who will not be a father and not be a brother and not be a sergeant. I am — if you let me come with you, wolf-girl — that man."

I kept the silence.

I said, in the imperial, in the smallest voice I had said anything in any tent — smaller than the third belly voice at Wei's flap on the night of I have chosen two, smaller than the fourth voice into the wind at the lee of the supply-wagon —

"You may come."

He breathed out.

He said, "Good."

He said, "Sleep against the chain-side. The Vermillion Guard at the flap will count the breath of one body for the length of half a watch. The breath of two bodies at the same count, after a watch of half-night silence broken by one small noise at the count of three, is a thing the Vermillion Guard cannot tell from one. We have learned this in the eleventh night, and the thirteenth, and the fourteenth. Sleep here. The wolf will sleep at the door. The bird at the rafter has eyes for the seam at the south-east. You will be safe at the chain-side for one watch."

I said, in the imperial, "Yes."

I lay down on the felt at the chain-side.

I lay at the careful angle of a soldier asleep on the line of march — on my right side, my right arm under my head and my left hand at the place over my own heart — and I did not, in the lying-down, look at his face.

He did not look at mine.

We slept the half-watch.

We slept on the felt at four paces of each other with the chain between us and the wolf at the flap and the bird at the rafter of a yurt twelve paces east and the bear at the side of the yurt with his eyes closed and Möngke-Dam at her place with the drum at her left knee and the bowl emptied between us and the lamp at the third quarter and the seam at the south-east not laced and the secretary at the black-canvas wagon asleep behind the wax tablet and the orange-peel man asleep behind his cinnabar curtains and the Vermillion Guard at the flap with his face into the wind and the other with the back of his hand at the inner hem.

We slept the way a man and a woman sleep at the felt of a yurt on the night they have, in the meaning of together, slept together. We did not touch. We did not move. We did not, in any breath, cross the four paces.

We slept together.

At the changing of the fourth I sat up.

I rose. I did not gather the bowl. I left the bowl at the chain-side for the orderly's morning watch.

I stood at the four paces in the wool-felt deel under the under-shirt under the lamellar — because the lamellar and the under-shirt had been at the felt under my back at the chain-side and the wool-felt deel was the deel Möngke-Dam had given me at the door of the yurt and I had not, since, taken it off, and the deel would hold under the lamellar to the changing of the fifth, when I would, at the cot, set it aside for the morning of the seventeenth night.

I said, in the steppe-tongue, in the small low voice on the bond, into the bowl —

Two nights.

He said, in the steppe-tongue, on the bond, in the same small low voice — back into mine —

Two nights.

I went under the flap.

Belegt-Khan, at the door of the small yurt twelve paces east, lifted his head and laid it back down on his paws.

I crossed the trampled grass to the lambing-felt at the eastern end of the squad-line.

I did not look back.

I lay down on the cot.

I closed my eyes.

I slept.

The wolf, this hour, let me dream.

I dreamed of an orchard south of the Yellow River in the eleventh month at the press of the seventh-generation tree, and I was carrying a small soft piece of apple in my left hand to the man at the centre-pole at the door of the press-house, and the man at the centre-pole was standing in the door, and he had no chain.

He set the apple at the back of his teeth.

He said, in the steppe-tongue, into the inside of the orchard, in the dream —

Wolf-girl.

I said, in the dream, into his mouth —

Toghrul.

The dream held.

I held it the length of half a watch.

I woke at the dawn-drum of the fifteenth morning with the deel on under the lamellar and the chest of me, under the binding-cloth I had not put back on, no longer flat — and Belegt-Khan at the cot's foot with his head between his paws and his ear flat to the ground in the direction of the prisoner-tent — and the small soft piece of apple, in the dream, still at the back of my own teeth.

I held it.

I did not, on any breath of the waking, swallow.