Black Flame (4 page)

Kelsang shook his head with displeasure. Irritated, Master muttered something and boxed his left ear. The resentment and humiliation Kelsang felt were worse than the pain. He had never been hit like this before. Even when he was small and had done something wrong, the punishment had usually only been a warning.

He had no idea what was going on, but Master had tied him up so tightly that not even a panther could have escaped. Master then led him to the back of the jeep as the two strangers instructed, and locked him in. Then he stumbled to the yurt, unwilling to look back at Kelsang, bumping into his wife in his rush to get inside. Kelsang heard a dull thud as he fell to the ground.

Kelsang lay in the trunk grumbling because of the heavy metal chains pressing into his ribs. He had never been tied up like this. In the past, Master had only tied him up when strangers came, and he always removed the chains as soon as they left. He had had so many new experiences today. It was all so different from the blue skies, pastures and sheep that he was used to.

Kelsang stood up and looked out the back of the jeep. Now that their summer camp had completely disappeared, panic swept across his fragile heart like a cloud's shadow sweeping across the grasslands. He kept trying to tell himself that this was just one of Master's jokes, but that couldn't explain everything. He had never felt this frightened before.

The jeep spluttered up a gentle slope, and the meadows that gave Kelsang comfort were reduced to a stingy strip that bumped in and out of view from the window. The last thing that could console him had all but disappeared, and anger at being abandoned or kidnapped rose in his chest like a ball of fire. The jeep jolted over a small stone, and the tiny vibration set him off like a bomb.

The two men were shell-shocked by Kelsang's outburst. The man driving lost control of the steering wheel, and the jeep veered into a pothole, lurching rapidly to one side. Loose bottles and cans rolled and clanked into each other, the din heightening Kelsang's anxiety. Each bark was like a clap of thunder echoing in the jeep, and as he barked, Kelsang thrashed around hysterically, biting at whatever he could. In the open grasslands, his bark didn't have the power to shake people's souls, but in the confined space of the jeep, it was like setting off a fire-truck siren in a sealed room.

The jeep drove on for another thirty yards before coming to a stop. It was impossible to drive with a monster barking furiously in the back. Even with the utmost concentration, accidents were alarmingly common on these roads. The two men got out of the car, the color drained from their faces, and peered at the howling dog through the back window.

The fur on the back of Kelsang's neck was standing on end, and his eyes were burning. He looked like a lion whose food had been snatched away from him. He pounded blindly on the window like a well-oiled machine. Each strike sounded like the jeep's wheels hitting rock. The two men stared at Kelsang's infernal expression and his sharp white teeth magnified in the window. They didn't know what to do.

Kelsang's howling was no less chilling from outside the jeep. As soon as his perturbed whining found an outlet in the form of a half-open window, the sound gushed out like water breaking through a flood barrier. Every bark made the two men tremble as if ice water were being poured over their heads.

Kelsang crashed against the walls of his prison again and again, the confined space making him wild with fear. He was used to lying out in the open air or running wherever he pleased, even when winter temperatures on the plateau fell to minus forty degrees. But that life was a long way behind him now.

The jeep rocked back and forth with Kelsang's stubborn mechanical pounding. If he hadn't felt so helpless and been crashing all over the place rather than against one specific spot, the back door would have long since broken to pieces.

A smear of dark red appeared on the window where Kelsang had just hit his head, but the splashes of blood that followed didn't slow him down. The jeep continued to rock violently from side to side. The two men still didn't know what to do. The howling was starting to sear itself onto their brains. If they hadn't been so scared of being ripped to shreds, they would have set the crazed dog free by now. If he really was a dog, that is.

“I'll go mad if he keeps on.” The tall skinny man's companion opened one of the jeep's doors, grabbed hold of a wrench and approached the trunk as if about to open it.

“Don't be stupid. You can't do that! This is no ordinary dog. You open that door and you'll be picking your own arm off the floor after he's ripped it clean off you!”

In fact, what happened was this. Emboldened by his weapon, the man walked around to the back of the jeep. But as soon as he saw Kelsang's face, twisted in anger, bashing against the toughened glass, he flinched and withdrew. Throwing down the wrench, he crumpled to the ground. Up at this altitude, people's reactions are slower than usual, and they often feel queasy. Keeping such a violent monster locked up was enough to make anyone crack. If the dog kept crashing against the jeep, he could smash through the window.

Finally, the tall skinny man came up with a plan, even though it would only give them temporary relief. The two men grabbed their camera bags and fled in the direction of a deep blue lake in the distance. Or rather they walked, because at this altitude strenuous movement was impossible. The monster left behind, locked inside the jeep, seemed to disappear. It turned out to be a good plan.

Down by the lake, they took photos of some rather ordinary birds in the water. But after an hour had passed, they had no choice but to go back. As they approached the jeep, it was eerily peaceful, almost as though it had been robbed.

“Maybe he had a heart attack,” the tall skinny man's friend said, struggling with his camera bag, which he would have just slung over his shoulder at lower climes. His tone couldn't cover up the relief he felt.

“He's probably just resting.” The tall skinny man sounded disappointed, even though he didn't mean to.

Steeling themselves, the two men peered through the window, which was now spotted with black bloodstains. The dog was neither dead nor resting, but crouched in a corner of the trunk as if ready to pounce. The red fireballs of his eyes were burning as brightly as ever. But he had finally stopped barking.

The jeep started to move again. Kelsang had experienced life's first defeat, and the pain in his shoulder spread like a fog through his entire body. Even though shepherd dogs on the grasslands are born with hearts as big as boulders and lungs to match, he was still gasping for breath, and he was getting more and more desperate for water. His throat was so dry, he could no longer growl in the way that made greedy wolves tremble. After being tossed and turned, his stomach felt like an enormous cavity, as hunger followed thirst. He longed for skimmed yak's milk, a drink he usually disdained, and his belly twitched uncontrollably at the thought of the creamy delicacy. But such fantasies only added to the pain of his predicament.

Endless jolting. Maybe the jeep was driving on a never-ending gravel beach. Kelsang stretched, stiffened his convulsing spine and threw up the remains of the meal he had eaten the day before. The
tsampa
barley flour had mixed with the ewe's milk in his stomach into a thick porridge. He felt much better afterward, and once the dizziness passed, his resilient body gained a new lease on life.

When night fell, the two men stopped at a simple guesthouse. They brought him a half-filled bucket of fresh water and a piece of roasted sheep's leg, just opening the jeep door wide enough to squeeze the bucket through while the tall skinny man held tightly to his chains. But the flames of Kelsang's anger had not been dampened by the monotonous journey. In fact, they now burned even brighter.

The water distracted him, otherwise he would have charged at the first person who dared let him out of the jeep and ripped them into tiny pieces. This thought was like a dormant volcano as the water doused his anger, delaying its eruption.

He leaned over the bucket and drank for a long time, until he was certain he had quenched his thirst. But as soon as the cold water reached his empty stomach, he felt hungry and had to put aside thoughts of venting his anger to concentrate on chewing the piece of mutton.

When he was finished, the tall skinny man approached carrying a forked stick and carefully opened the back door. Kelsang rushed at him, but the man was well prepared. He hooked the stick under the dog's leather collar so that no matter how hard he tried, Kelsang couldn't get at him.

In the meantime, the tall skinny man's friend undid one end of the chains and passed them to his companion. With the help of the stick, the tall skinny man led Kelsang to a wooden post in the middle of the courtyard and tied him up. Even though he was extremely careful not to let go of the stick wedged beneath the mastiff's jaw, Kelsang ran at him the moment he turned, nearly biting through his clothes.

The other guests had noticed the melancholy dog when the two men were feeding him, and the elaborate way they treated him only drew more attention. It wasn't every day that you could catch a glimpse of such a fine dog. As soon as Kelsang settled, they gathered around murmuring about how much he must weigh and the thickness of his limbs. Even though they knew nothing about Tibetan mastiffs, they could tell from his large frame that he was a rare specimen.

Kelsang, of course, didn't know that two years before his master had taken the entire family to the horse races, where Mother Mastiff met a pure black male from another part of the grasslands. Kelsang was the offspring of two of the finest mastiffs on the entire plateau.

The games started after the evening meal. All Kelsang wanted to do after eating was to lie down and relax. If he had been on the grasslands, his patrolling responsibilities would be done for the day, and he would be settling into a pile of sheep's fleeces. But he had already begun to sense that whatever was about to happen concerned him.

Two small bonfires were lit, using shards of wool, dried cow dung and the blue jet flames of a blowtorch, illuminating every corner of the courtyard. A dozen or so people began to crowd around — Kelsang had never seen so many. Their long shadows projected onto the guesthouse walls looked like giants emerging from deep underground.

Kelsang was nervous and ran around his wooden post twice, making raspy growling sounds from the depths of his throat. His fur was standing on end, and he looked unusually large in the firelight. It was still a glossy blue despite the thick covering of dust. He was like a floating ghost.

Everyone's eyes were fixed on him. It was obvious that something was about to happen, but he didn't know what. His gaze swept across the curious faces surrounding him. His eyes were like two bright rubies that shone from his black fur. The hair around his face stood as erect as an angry lion's mane.

He waited.

The crowd was fascinated by the huge mastiff, and gasps of admiration drifted into the night air. Someone was already trying to haggle over a price for him with the tall skinny man.

Kelsang barked, trying to break free from his chains. Two huge German shepherds were led into the yard, accompanying him with their howls. They were eager to get into the ring, but their collars were too tight, pulling the skin around their jaws and making the whites of their eyes sparkle.

Kelsang started to calm down, realizing that there was no point in pulling on his firmly fixed chains. Instead he turned his attention to the German shepherds. He had rarely encountered other dogs on the grasslands — the closest he had ever come were wolves. He began to compare them to the wolves he had met. Their ears were bigger, but their heads were not as wide. Their tails seemed to be more nimble, and their fur was a darker black.

“Two years ago I took a purebred German shepherd to the wilds and left her tied up to breed with wolves. She gave birth to these two — real wolfhounds. They could beat this mastiff any day.” The army chef chose his words carefully.

Since Tibetan mastiffs were known as the kings of the canine world, no one raised any objection to the idea of having one dog fight two wolfhounds. The faces around Kelsang twinkled expectantly, but Master's was nowhere to be found.

Maybe they weren't wolves at all. They didn't smell of the wilds like the other wolves he'd met. No, their smell was even more familiar. It was the smell of the human world — of mutton and milk — left behind by owners after they stroked your fur. A wolf would never allow itself to smell of these things. So he could conclude that they weren't wolves. But he didn't have time to continue investigating. Their chains had been released, and the fat chef was encouraging them to go for him like pigs to the trough.

Kelsang calmly dodged the first dog's attack. His sharp teeth crunched together in midair as it flew past, his chains pulling tight and preventing him from getting close. He was just about to dodge the second dog, who was launching itself in the same fashion, when his chains pulled tight again, and he had to endure the full force of its attack. But Kelsang's fur was too thick for the dog's teeth to penetrate. The wolfhound was unable to slow its momentum and fell to the ground.

It was that simple. These dogs were much clumsier than the wolves on the grasslands. They didn't realize that this kind of powerful but clumsy attack left them vulnerable to their opponent's sharp teeth, and Kelsang wasn't about to give them a chance to correct their mistake. He jumped on the fallen hound's chest. It naively tried to bite his paw, but Kelsang had already ripped into its neck and was stalking away.

The speed at which all this took place clearly surprised the other hound, who was preparing to attack from behind. Crossbreeding usually results in smarter animals, with quicker judgment, but not with these dogs.

Gasps of fear — or perhaps admiration — rippled through the crowd. It only took seconds for the fat chef to realize how mismatched the fight was, and he began to shout in the hope that the other dog might turn back. But it was now crazy with anger at having lost its companion, barking like a puppy that has been struck by its master. It made straight for Kelsang.