Did I ever tell you about Margarita Alvarez? The poor Spanish girl who rode a horse across the vast Mongolian desert, traversed unfamiliar landscapes, and spent lazy summer afternoons sitting on sheep pens, the girl who listened to Mongolian folktales from her grandfather and sipped warm airag under a blanket on cold winter nights in Konkan! Both Dadu and I became characters in Margarita's fairy tale. She offered me the position of a foreman at their Niswang Ranch. But that was just a title! I wasn't a foreman; I was an old man's only son and Margarita's companion through countless adventures!

I loved that girl dearly. However, you know, there's a 'but'. I can never tie myself down to anyone. During the service, I cultivated barley in a two-acre field west of the ranch. The plan was to harvest the barley, sell it, and pay off the ranch's four-million-tugrik debt. Most of the barley was stolen from the field just two days before the harvest. I knew who did it, but there was no evidence. Without informing anyone, I left for Ulaanbaatar and earned five hundred dollars in two weeks. I'll share more about this another time. When I returned, Margarita was waiting in front of the ranch, holding my hands and crying. That day, she turned my world upside down.

As I entered the ranch again, Grandfather hugged me tightly and left me red-faced. Seeing my condition, the house manager ushered me into the kitchen. Margarita quickly reheated leftovers from the morning. As I ate, I fielded a barrage of questions from both of them. That's when I learned about the events that had transpired. In the afternoon, Margarita had scoured the barley fields and the surroundings in search of me. To her dismay, she found nothing—neither me nor my bike. Although Margarita didn't admit it, Grandpa mentioned that the Spanish girl had returned to the ranch and scolded Ked, assuming I had abandoned the ranch without notifying anyone. I couldn't help but chuckle at the girl's passionate outburst! She may be a little misguided, but if I were to disappear, wouldn't I take my belongings with me? Dadu wasn't entirely sure either, but he knew I'd come back. Margarita, however, didn't believe him. She spent hours sitting in my room in Chilekotha, even though she denied it. The two of them managed to finish harvesting the remaining barley in the field just the day before. The grain was stored near the field and the task of transporting it to the ranch was set to begin that day. Initially, Grandfather had planned to sell the barley as is, but given the significant shock we'd all just experienced, we decided to crush it and then sell it. This would entail extra costs, but the beds would be more comfortable. "Khatni?" I said to Dadu, "If you ask me to cut a path through the mountain in front and make a road, I'd do it. Don't worry about it." I reached into my pocket as I spoke and pulled out the money. At that time, I had about one and a half million tugrik in my pocket. Although they'd heard about my work, they had no idea about the amount of money I'd earned. Maybe a million tugrik in a week? Grandfather laughed, and Margarita clapped her hands.

"Senor, with this money, you could go to Russia and live like a king for a few months!"

"That so?" I grinned. "If I ever get a chance to test it, I'll let you know how many days one and a half million tugrik can sustain me in Russia. Now, Grandfather, put it in your pocket," I said, slipping the money into the old man's coat pocket.

"What's this?"

"Tugrik. It's the ranch's money, not mine."

A brief silence followed, during which they exchanged amused glances.

"You're a peculiar man, Tan," Grandfather finally said. Margarita smiled.

"Eating!" I exclaimed. "Margo, where did Grandfather learn that?"

Laughter burst forth from me, and Margarita immediately joined in, while Grandfather looked at us with affectionate eyes.

"Senor," Margarita stopped laughing and said, "You're truly an odd person. If you're chasing your biggest dream in life and get stuck due to some unforeseen circumstance, despite having the solution at hand, you're willing to let it slip away?"

"I know what I'm losing and what I'm gaining, senorita," I waved my hand. "But think about how much work is left. Hurry up, we need to get to the barley field. Of course, before that, I'll head to Batsaikhan's ranch to retrieve my Esperanza. But before all that, I'm going to sleep for two hours! I can't even remember the last time I slept, I swear!"

I slept for about four hours when I had planned for two. At noon, Margarita practically dragged me out of bed. After lunch, she gave me a ride back to Armonia on her Appaloosa horse. My head was throbbing, my hand muscles ached, and my eyes burned, but my mind was at peace! For a few seconds, all I could see was Margarita. I kept looking back at her on countless pretexts, each moment unnaturally prolonged. In her image, Mongolia's vast grasslands, golden mountains, and brilliant blue skies were imbued with the enchantment of a simple Mongolian shepherd. But I couldn't find her face, her pursed lips, her silly nose, or her captivating eyes. It felt like I was running out of breath, my mind growing restless. Whenever I thought I saw her, my heart raced like a teenager's, excitement building in my chest. An unfamiliar flower of happiness bloomed, and my eyes became wide awake without my realizing it. It was an incredible sensation. Yet, Margarita Alvarez remained untouched by all these emotions. She chattered on and on during our ride, and I didn't even know what she was saying because my mind was somewhere else.

She dropped me off on a hill not far from Batsaikhan's ranch. I looked back three times and saw Margarita. She would leave the reins on the other side of the hill, spread herself out on the grass, and wait for my return. I collected my bicycle from the enigmatic Mr. Batsaikhan and left the ranch. On my way back, I had to express my gratitude to him for his personal assistance. However, the man from Goa was hesitant to discuss the barley, carefully maintaining a boundary between his two distinct selves.

Upon returning to Berlikshet, I went back to sleep with my eyes closed. We transformed the barley plants into flour, and Margarita and I took care of that task. Grandfather handled the transportation. Our small cart could only carry four bales at a time. Once the flour was ready, Grandpa would set off to the ranch and return. Over the next three days, we used yaks for the laborious process of dough preparation, lifting, and transportation. In the yak version of threshing paddy with a shona cow, I was the herdsman myself, much to my grandfather's satisfaction. He had quite a lot on his plate. But one day, around noon, one of our three round barley fields was completed. We had managed to harvest a third of the one-and-a-half-acre land. Grandfather then returned to Anak Ranch on his own, coming back with a smile on his face. The following day, a large motorcar wagon arrived to unload our barley bales, while another pickup truck loaded straw bales. That afternoon, leaving Margarita behind, Grandpa took me to Batsaikhan's ranch with four million tugrik in my pocket. Margarita had been instructed not to cross the yard boundary. She pouted but agreed.

Batsaikhan regarded the old man with a frown, clearly not pleased to see him. Dadu paid no mind; he had nothing to lose today. Stepping into an old friend's ranch, he had no qualms about claiming anything as his own. He fetched water from the kitchen and settled into a chair he had pulled out. In high spirits, he inquired about his friend's son's skills. Though there was no response from the other end, that didn't deter Dadu. I'd never seen him so animated.

"So, uncle, why have you come?" Batsaikhan, a straightforward man, got straight to the point.

That's when I had to step in. A sentence I had spoken myself echoed loudly in my ears. The sole witness to my own pledge was my promise to Margarita—to throw four million tugrik in Batsaikhan's face on the first day of the fourth moon. Unconsciously, my eyes turned upward. Was today the first day of the fourth moon? Probably not. But what did it matter? Who said that everything in life always had to align perfectly? Similarly, I couldn't actually throw the money in Batsaikhan's face. Regardless of what I say, I always try to treat every individual with respect.

"Batsai bhai," I said, taking wads of notes from my pocket and offering them forward. "Grandfather promised to repay your father's loan within three months. I trust you have no objections?"

"How much is here?"

"What you see is all there is."

"Before you hand it over, count it. Parents pass away and the son is left. Proper accounts should be maintained. Gune ne bacha, gune ne," Dadu cheerfully advised.

However, the money wasn't counted. He simply gestured with it in a way that anyone with common sense would understand he wanted us to leave. Dadu didn't tolerate such disrespect.

"What on earth! Where's your father's dignity? Won't you keep anything? What will people say? Altan's younger son, Batsaikhan, insulting an elderly man like me!"

"Ignorance?" Batsai replied with a smile. "How much respect do you really have, uncle? What did you do to my innocent father? Do you think you can deceive me like you did him?"

"What do you mean?"

"The foreign boy has grown fond of you. Keep it that way. I don't really need to say anything else. But I don't know what I'll do if you push me."

Batsaikhan had a defiant look on his face. He then turned to me and advised me not to be upset.

The old man pushed open the door and led me towards the entrance. He mumbled as he walked ahead of me, not looking at me. However, that day was filled with bright sunlight and a magical breeze. So, I walked beside my grandfather's horse as Armonia followed the boy down the rugged path to the ranch. Grandpa remained silent, not saying a word.

"Listen, old man," I exclaimed with exuberance in my voice, "Yo te amo! Do you know what it means? I love you. Don't tell me you don't know! B. Chamad yawned. Whom I love depends on what you know? That's what he did to me. I don't usually listen to people, old man. What did you think? I would start imagining terrible, terrible evil beings after listening to Batsaikhan? It's been a lifelong pursuit of mine not to do that. Grandpa, if you don't smile now, I'll really be upset, truly. And when I get upset, I'm really, really upset."

The old man turned his face away, chuckling. Turning back, he wore a serious expression. "Come here, Tan! Let's see if all your new teeth have grown in!"

"Do I seem like a child to you?" I retorted. "Two teeth have already fallen out. We're on equal footing."

"What are you saying?" The old man laughed in his Jadrel's voice.

"Listen to what else I have to say. Margarita and I will head to the ranch tomorrow. You can just sit back and relax under the trees in the yard."

"Then?"

"I'll buy two cows."

"Do you know how to bargain?"

"I don't. But what of it? You can tell me."

"Ore Gadharam! Should I tell you the price of a cow from thirty miles away?"

"Oops," I muttered, scratching my head. I had initially planned to have one last grazing session in the Mongolian desert with Margarita. I needed an excuse. Well, we went and checked it out. If you want to come, join us the next day for the bargaining!"

"You went and checked it out alone! What would I eat without a margarita?"

"Hey, old man," I muttered in Bengali for the first part. "Hey, you... Can't you eat without her for one meal?"

"Hmm!" The old man pretended to ponder deeply. "All of a sudden, you're so eager to go to Anak Ranch! And you have to take Margarita with you!"

"What's the big deal?" I glanced at the northern hill range and quickly added, "Well, if you want to go, then let's go."

The old man smiled. From then on, during the whole journey, the trail, the wilderness, how familiar it all felt, how familiar. He kept chatting, and I listened.

As soon as I entered the ranch's boundary, I heard a distant sound. We exchanged glances and picked up the pace. And then I witnessed an incredible scene in the courtyard! Margarita was sitting beneath the cedar tree! Her hair was neatly combed and piled up like a small bun on top of her head. It looked like she might be wearing lipstick, with pink tights on and only black jeans. She had her eyes closed, engrossed in thought, producing a beautiful melody with the skillful coordination of her lips and fingers. And what was she playing? A harmonica! The sound stopped when she sensed our presence. She rushed towards us and began speaking in Spanish.

"You! May Allegro! The happiest girl in the world all alone! Oh, grandfather, how I love you, if only I could express it! Our debt has finally been paid off! Oh, Senor Tan, you're like an angel to us! Where did you come from, why did you come, and how did you bring life back to our ranch—I don't know all the details, but what I do know is that you're one of the finest people in the world. I... we love you, love you so much! Te amo, Senor, te amo mucho... Come on, Senor, let's dance together now! Come, come! Hey, Dadu, come join us, won't you?" Suddenly, the spirited girl created a circle with the three of us holding each other's hands.

"Sardana, Senor! Grandpa can do it! I used to dance the sardana so much with my grandfather!" She swung her feet to the rhythm of the famous Catalan dance, her eyes shining with excitement. Usually, during the sardana, lively Spaniards would stand in a circle, grabbing the hands of the two people next to them, and kick one of their legs up in a specific rhythm. More and more people would join in one by one, and the circle would keep growing. Though we didn't have that luxury, we were not short of joy. The old man began to whistle, and Margarita sang in her... um, distinct voice.

"I'll smile, I'll dance, I will live, la la la!

I'll smile, I'll sing, I will live, la la la!

Sometimes it rains, All sorrow to erase!

Sometimes just one drop can, Bring back all the happiness!

Why cry, what is the reason? If you get pain, forget it!

Why do you regret, what is the reason?

If life is like that, then live like that!"

That song is so peculiar. How the words linger in my memory! I'll never forget the ethereal scene before my blurry eyes in the dim light of that Mongolian evening. Even now, after all these years, my chest tightens when I think about that evening. Margarita was bounding around like a grasshopper; I had never seen her face so radiant. On my left, the old man's aged yellow hand gripped mine tightly, conveying gratitude without words, hugging in silence. My right wrist was held in a firm fist, embodying the greatest joy of my life.

We all cooked dinner together that evening. Everyone pitched in, and we enjoyed a hearty meal. It was all wonderful until the very last moment when a sudden realization struck me: how far I had come from my carefree farming life. In my mind, Margarita and Dadu seemed to exist in a different time, in a different world, like ethereal versions of themselves. It felt as if they couldn't hear me when I spoke, as if they couldn't see me when I cried—as if I were thousands of miles away from them, inhabiting some unseen realm, yearning to embrace the distant Astepriest. But there was no way! It was as if they would vanish if I raised my hand, and I'd be left in darkness, surrounded by emptiness, screaming into nothingness, only to have my own echo return to me. It's an odd sensation. Above all, the feeling of being nowhere near the present when the mind is focused on the near future. Perhaps I was acting strangely during that moment. I was jolted back to reality by repeated taps on my shoulder. I smiled and glanced at Margarita.

"Gracias, Senorita, Gracias Muches!"

"Why? Why?" she asked, puzzled.

"For everything."

"Everything?"

"I don't know."

"Grandfather, look, our Senor Tan is feeling homesick again. Senor, why do you regret, what is the reason? If life is like that, then live like that! ..." The girl began singing in tune. The harmonica joined in, and we all sang along, filling our hearts with joy.

For the next two days, I truly took a break from ranch duties. I didn't tell my grandpa or Margarita where I was headed. In reality, I went to Drunk Wind Valley, a spot I'd dubbed as Margarita's favorite. There, I ignored the roaring wind and spoke to myself, making decisions about the rest of my journey through Mongolia. I'd choose a day, and however excited I felt, I'd head south, along the edge of the Gobi Desert. What would unfold there would lead me to Russia. But before that day arrived, there was still much work to be done.

So, the following day, I accompanied my grandfather to Anak Ranch. After having been nameless for so long, Anak seemed like a grand concept in my imagination. But I ended up disappointed! What I had imagined and what I saw were worlds apart. Even Altentsetseg Firminbaishin's estate was larger than this. The only difference was that they had paved roads, enabling them to connect with nearby cities. Their business primarily relied on external sources rather than their own products. For instance, Grandfather would give three percent of his sheep's wool to Mr. Anakbutter. What a name! I felt a tinge of jealousy. It dawned on me: Will I always be envious, Seki? I needed to be the humblest person on earth, as silent as the mountains and as generous as the sky. Otherwise, what face would I return home with? So, I didn't let jealousy consume me. While sipping Mr. Anakbutter's strong coffee, I would chime in during my grandpa's storytelling whenever I could. Then I went to see the cows. I recognized one of the cows from a video game—it was called Halin-Gol! These peculiar cows with their dull eyes and cheese-colored coats produced buckets of milk! That's exactly what we wanted! Dadu and I claimed a couple as our own. The cow was so gentle, she welcomed me with a soft pat on her belly. I named her right away—Baho! It means gentle in Spanish.

I didn't intend to cover thirty miles in one day with the cows. However, I couldn't bear the thought of Margarita being alone at night. I sent my grandfather on his way with his beer, despite his protests. I set up my tent along with the trusty Armonia and the cow couple on a ridge midway. It had been a while since I pitched the tent on my own. As Dadu disappeared into the horizon, I couldn't hold back my tears. I gazed at the sky, counting countless stars, and spent half an hour fixated on a particular star, wondering what he was doing on his birthday. Gradually, my emotions surged, my heartbeat quickened. The old me, the one not yet lost, resurfaced.

Before dawn, I embarked on my journey and covered seventeen miles at a brisk pace. I arrived just in time for breakfast—or perhaps they were awaiting my return. There was no need to search anymore; everyone was focused on tending to the new cows. When Margarita learned that I had named the female cow Baho, she playfully named the male cow Bahombre! I chuckled at her ingenuity, even if it involved Bengali. Once the cow couple started producing milk, my grandfather could sell several liters daily for two hundred consecutive days. I didn't need to save that money, as it would go to others. Margarita could buy herself new blue jeans whenever she pleased, and she could even head to Hatgal for a shopping spree. Such thoughts brought a smile to my face.

Sleep eluded me for the most part. The three of us stayed up late beneath the cedar tree in the yard, conversing. When my grandfather and Margarita were convinced that I was asleep, I sneaked into the stable with my panniers, prepared for my impending journey. For the first time in days, my Esperanza was ready within an hour, with the pannier securely in place. I sat for a while, my hands resting on the cool metal frame of the bike, knees bent, forehead against the top tube, eyes closed. I whispered, "We'll venture out again, partner! We'll explore the horizons, tread unfamiliar paths... seeking thrills. I'm coming, just hold on a bit!"

After returning to Chilekotha and changing my clothes, I sat on the bed in the small room for the last time, gazing at the Mongolian landscape through the open window. An intoxicating breeze rustled with a "sha sha" sound, and tufts of grass danced in the air. The only response was the sound of the wind. The world was bathed in the silent, enigmatic light of the moonlit night. Despite the weight of solitude pressing on my nerves, an unknown exhilaration coursed through my body. Blood pulsed through my arteries, and I felt a divine sensation. I wanted to sit still, yet also yearned to rush forward. I could sit there forever, staring out the window, often interrupted by a rush of excitement. Anyone observing me at that moment would surely be taken aback. After a considerable delay, I slipped on my shoes and walked purposefully downstairs. Standing before the door of Margarita's room, I paused solemnly. After a brief moment of hesitation, I cautiously opened the door and entered. Hanging on the wall was a painting—an exquisite watercolor of a young Mongolian woman astride her mustang, the horse rearing up on its hind legs. The bookshelves were nearly bare, and countless papers lay scattered on Margarita's small desk. She slept on a mattress laid out on the floor—she couldn't stay still even in sleep and often fell off the bed. A pink sheet was spread over the mattress. This was Margarita Alvarez de la Rosa—a pearl akin to a rose. The moon shone down upon her beautiful face like celestial fairies. Winter had passed, yet Margarita slept nestled in my sleeping bag out of habit. One hand was tucked under her cheek, her coppery hair, redolent with the scent of lilac blossoms, brushed against her forehead. The rhythmic sound of her deep breaths filled the air. I didn't dream at all during that moment. There wasn't a trace of sorrow; instead, an otherworldly impulse, driven by the purest emotion on Earth, surged within me. Clad in a lightweight riding jersey, the caress of the breeze on my skin felt like heaven. I withdrew a picture from my pocket and placed it beside her hand, accompanied by a note written in broken Spanish: "You are welcome, senorita." A smile forever etched on my heart—no one else, just the warm girl with whom I spent the most wonderful months of my life. And thus, a simple farewell.

My Dadu was soundly snoring in his closed room on the ground floor. The letter I wrote for him was equally concise. Penned in Bengali and English, it simply said, "I loved you, old man." Margarita would translate it for him, including the Bengali language test I had taught her. That was the last time I saw Old Otgonbayer in my life. He couldn't stay long, knowing my grandfather's sleep was easily disturbed. Returning to the stable, I ruffled Armonia's hair, and I never saw the Appaloosa horse again. The girl probably sensed that something was amiss; she nuzzled me and rubbed her head against mine. Without further delay, I mounted Esperanza, casting a wary glance at the gradually brightening dawn. And so, without any inkling of the excitement awaiting me, I embarked on the most thrilling journey of my life.

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