Ardshupan was the hero of the fairy tales I made up and told Arsylang. Ar- came from Arsylang, dshu- from one of my own names, Dshurukuwaa, and -pan was meant to indicate great courage.

Father sang:

As long as we have you—

toega—toega—toega

We are the richest of all—

toega—toega—toega

As soon as we lose you—

toega—toega—toega

We are the poorest of all—

toega—toega—toega!

Whom did he have in mind? Hardly those stupid sheep who left their children to die in order to save their own meager lives! Maybe he meant the mountains. That was more likely. The mountains protected animals and people from the wind and the cold and gave us so much: grass and herbs, bulbs and roots against the hunger, water and snow against the thirst, desgen and düüleesh against the cold. As I thought about it, I myself suddenly felt like praising the mountains, our Black Mountains. But first I had to finish telling the stupid sheep what was most important: If you nurse your little lamb all you can, you’ll become an Ardshupan; if you do not love your little one, remember that slaughter will come!

Mother, for her part, appealed to the milk, to the white, warm milk. The whole time she repeated the same song:

Flow, flow milk—

toega—toega—toega

White, white milk—

toega—toega—toega

Hot, hot milk—

toega—toega—toega

Pour, pour milk—

toega—toega—toega.

Of course we also tried other means. We brushed highly concentrated brine on the animal baby’s bottom and forced the mother’s mouth into the saline wool so that the mother, no matter how much she resisted at first, could not help but lick her wet lips, and discover that she liked it. In fact, once she had licked the brine on her lips, she could no longer stop licking until all the taste of salt seemed to be gone. Then we could see which was stronger, her cravings or her stubbornness. If the former won out, she would come back on her own for another sampling of the tasty treat we had prepared for her. Once that happened, all was well. But often her stubbornness won. Then we resorted to our next trick, which was to push several fingers into the ewe’s vagina, straighten and bend them in there, and then wipe those fingers on the wool of the lamb’s back. How many fingers to use and how far to bend them depended on the ewe’s reaction. Where one ewe was responsive, the next one was like a piece of rock. But these were remedies that only the grown-ups used anyhow. I knew about them and watched when they were applied, but so far I had stuck to my singing. My high, clear voice usually took effect on the animals more quickly than the voices of the grown-ups.