No wood for heating

Day: 136-142

Sunrise:
09:12/09:18

Sunset:
17:15/17:14

Total kilometers:
1141

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
minus 32°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 35°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 44°C

Latitude:
51°21’785”

Longitude:
099°21’046”

Maximum height:
1475 m above sea level

We are having breakfast when we hear loud screams coming through Ayush’s wooden walls into our yurt. The reason for this is a dispute between Ayush and his 28-year-old adopted daughter Tsendmaa. She wants to go to Mörön for ten days to train as a radio presenter. Tsendmaa, who studied civil engineering and also has a degree in Japanese from university, could no longer stand living in the air-polluted capital Ulan Bator and recently moved back to Tsagaan Nuur to live with her adoptive parents. “I never want to live in Ulan Bator again,” she says. Now she lives here and looks after her parents, the cows, the household, carries drinking water from the lake to the log cabin every day and does men’s work such as chopping wood. As Ayush is possessive, he doesn’t want to let her go again, even if only for ten days. “Hopefully it can hold its own against the old semolina,” says Tanja. “I hope so for them too. But it’s also difficult for old people to look after themselves,” I reflect.

To stock up on food for our stay in the wilderness and to give Ayush a business, we buy five kilograms of sugar, five kilograms of flour and a big fat hind leg from a cow that Tsendmaa recently slaughtered from his small store. Whenever we buy something from him, he actually manages to smile. Money seems to be the only thing that makes him happy for a few moments.

Because our supply of wood has now dwindled to a few days and Tsendmaa was able to push through her decision to travel to Mörön for her further training, I have to discuss the vexed issue directly with Ayush. Because of his negative presence, it is not easy for me to point this out to him again. And then there is his hearing loss. To avoid any misunderstandings, I call Saraa on my cell phone. “We still don’t have any firewood. Can you please ask your cousin Ayush when he can get some more wood? It’s extremely cold here now and as the old miser gets angry when I help myself to his wood, we really need to sort this out now. This issue has been dragging on for over a month now,” I explain. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call him and explain the situation again,” she reassures me.

The next morning, Ayush actually pulled a small sledge full of wood in front of my chopping block. At first I am delighted at the sight, but then I realize that he has taken the wood from the Russian truck parked in the yard. It’s the rest of our own supplies that were still on the loading area. But the great thing is that he piled the other half of the remainder onto his own wood supply. Shaking my head, I go into the yurt and report to Tanja. “You don’t believe what happened?” “Nothing bad, I hope?” “No, no, nothing bad. Ayush, the old skinflint, gave us our own wood and just dumped the rest of the truck on his pile.” “Poor old man. When you’re like him, life can’t be any fun,” Tanja replies

The next day I try to contact Saraa again by phone, but without success. “Maybe I should steal some wood from Ayush’s big woodpile at night when everyone is asleep? That would give us a bit of breathing space. Somehow we need fuel now,” I think aloud. “Do you think he’ll notice?” asks Tanja. “Oh no. His woodpile is 2 ½ meters high and at least five meters long. He’ll never notice. But our own supply will last another two days, then we’ll be sitting here in the cold. Tonight I’ll turn my chopping block into kindling. That will keep us warm for a few more hours. But then it’s the end of the line,’ I say.

Days later I reach Saraa. “Sorry, I couldn’t answer the phone. I was ill for days. I ate in a restaurant and then it started,” she apologizes. “But Saraa. You have jaundice. There’s no way you can go out to eat in a restaurant. You know that Mongolian food is always very fatty. Especially in restaurants,” I remind her. “I know Denis. But it was a business lunch. I just didn’t think about it. I won’t repeat it. Have you got wood now?” she changes the subject. “No, not yet. It’ll be cold here tomorrow.” “Sorry, I forgot to call Ayush. I’ll do it in a minute.”

Later, Ayush Jock’s adopted son rumbles into our yurt. “I will fetch your wood the day after tomorrow. But first I have to repair the truck,” we understand his Mongolian. As custom demands, we offer him tea and some cookies. Jock eyes every item of furniture, grabs the thermos flask to check the quality, takes my knife and praises its sharpness, walks on our carpeted floor next to the wall with his dirty shoes, and so on. Even when other visitors enter our home without knocking, drinking tea and eating cookies and running their eyes curiously over our furnishings, Jock is a special case. Whenever he visits us now, which is several times a day, he takes the matchbox from the table and takes out a match to put in his ears or between his teeth. Then he spits the frayed stick onto the floor. If he then storms out of the yurt without saying hello, the floor is dirty. Jock is not a bad person, but he is a real bully. Apparently Ayush had no time to teach his adopted son manners during his upbringing.

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