I asked Grandma. She explained: They were referring to the money that in the old days the prince and his officials, and that in the new era the dargas and the teachers, received from the state. To me, that didn’t seem bad at all. Money, the colorful square pieces of paper, represented something valuable. I had noticed how carefully Father handled the pieces, and with how much respect Mother looked at them—I could even sense her desire at least once to hold them in her own hands. But Father did not let her have any, he never let them out of his hands.

I had also heard that you could exchange money for anything. In our family, we were short of money. We only had it in the spring, after Father took away the flocks of sheep and herds of yaks. People said they ended up at the Russian border and got slaughtered by the Russians. Maybe that is why people insulted animals by saying, “Up the Red Russian ass!” The pieces of paper one got for a boisterous flock of sheep or herd of yaks did not even fill a hand, and one by one turned into flour, rice, salt, tea bricks, candles, lead, gun powder, primer, and other stuff. And when no paper money was left but more stuff was needed, Father sold another sheep or yak cow. The Kazakhs would buy them. The Kazakhs had money. They cut down the larch forests, built rafts to take away the logs, and exchanged them in the aimag for pieces of paper. No Tuvan ever touched a larch with an axe or a saw unless it had fallen already. But the Kazakhs sawed or cut them down wherever they found them.

What if I had a salary? What if I owned many colorful pieces of paper? I would be so happy. I would give them all to the grown-ups, and especially to Mother so that she, too, could hold them in her hands and exchange them for something she would like to have. I would also give some to Father so that he would never again need to deliver flocks or herds for slaughter to the Russians, nor offer any more sheep or yaks to the Kazakhs in exchange for one or two, or more perhaps, of the colorful pieces of paper.

The bickering in the ail was getting worse. It was worst among the children when we tethered or untethered the lambs and kids.

Brother, Sister, and I stopped helping the children of our relatives when they, as usual, could not even manage their single höne. It upset them, and they teased us. Torlaa, the devil, knew how to reply to an angry word with an even angrier one. The sparring got fie cer by the day.

Aunt Buja had sharp ears. Even before, she often meddled when we played, but now she was even keener to butt in when we wrangled.