They snuggled down inside the bone house, and it was surprisingly comfortable. “You did well, Ned,” Flo told him.
“We had to have shelter,” he replied, glancing at Bry. But he was pleased. He was also thoughtful. She hoped he was considering the further prospects for building in bone, and not for getting close to dangling women.
The next day they did more work on the house, chinking the remaining gaps with smaller bones and anchoring the hides more tightly. They foraged for roots and berries, and did well enough, considering.
And Bry, warmed in the shelter, improved. The signs were subtle, but Flo could tell that he had turned onto a better path. He would recover. Her gladness was tempered only by her awareness of the way Wona looked at Ned.
Actually, the “Venus” figurines could have been models not of the ideal feminine state, but of the most exaggerated image of fertility. Thus those aspects of a woman associated with reproduction were stressed—breasts, buttocks, thighs, belly, vulva—and those who approached such proportions may have achieved status. The fertility of the land is vital to the success of a human community, and most cultures did their best to encourage it, whether by practical, magical, or symbolic means. But the male taste infernales could have remained much as it is today: variable, but remarkably consistent overall. An enormously pregnant woman is not a good sex goddess. So there may have been a distinction between fertility and lust. Most of the Venuses date from about 30,000 years ago for carved vulvas to 22,000 years ago for almost full figures, when the glaciers were advancing. Later figures became more normally endowed, as the climate ameliorated. There is one “Venus” that is just the head of a young woman with an exquisitely sweet face and a hair net. Some have string skirts, definitely an indication of sexuality.
The bone houses were crafted in Siberia and Europe, and later became sophisticated, the bones symmetrically interlocked. But they were braced by wood where it was feasible. The all-bone structure described here would have been an emergency measure. The pictures of such dwellings are quite striking.
Chapter 8
ROCK ART
Today the Sahara is the world’s most formidable desert, but it wasn’t always so. The region eased up enough to let Homo erectus out one to two million years ago, and to let modern mankind out about 100,000 years ago. It dried up again about 70,000 years ago in the east, but was halfway habitable in the west 40,000 years ago. Possibly 12,000 years ago the climate ameliorated again, and mankind followed the plants and animals in. Some of the earliest paintings found anywhere in the world are in Africa, on exposed rock slabs. But the Sahara region had to wait until it was habitable by mankind before it received its share of art. Then, however, it may have seen a good deal more.
The setting is Tassili n’Ajjer, in present day Algeria, dead center of the Sahara, 10,000 years ago.
NED STOOD FACING THE WALL, troubled. He had followed the path to this strange place of the standing stones to paint a picture of an elephant, but he needed inspiration, and it wasn’t coming.
They were getting pressed. They had had a large hunting and foraging area, but other bands were moving in, and these bands were larger and stronger than their own. It was necessary to give way, but that meant that they had a more restricted region. Sam and Dirk were out hunting buffalo, but had to watch for the lions, complicating it. Flo and Wona were out foraging for sorghum and millet seeds, but these were less plentiful than before, because the group had been over this section too recently. Lin was taking care of the children, and Bry was helping her. Actually she was taking care of him, too, as he recovered from his injury and illness, but for the sake of his blunted pride they did not say that.
That left Ned and Jes. Ned did not like man’s work, and Jes did not like woman’s work. Ned was slight of build and tended to think too much, while Jes was as tall and lank as a man and dressed so that her breasts did not show. He had once thought he would fill out as Sam had and be a man, and she had once thought she would find the face of a woman, but both hopes had been disappointed. So they were cursed in their opposite ways, and much alike in person.
No formal statement had been made, but times were getting tough, and it was clear that the band needed to find a better way to get through this difficult time. Ned needed to join the hunts himself, or enable the others to hunt more productively. Jes needed to forage or weave or care for children, or find a way to get these things done more expediently. Or they both could go in search of mates, being now of age. As far as that went, little Lin was just about of age, and far prettier than any other in the band. Except for that hand.
So Ned was here to invoke the spirits’ aid for more ambitious hunting. The band had never been able to hunt elephants; they were simply too big and strong. But if they could find a way, they would have as much meat and bone as they ever needed. Tradition said that a suitable painting could capture the spirit of any creature and make it subject to the will of the painter. So if Ned could paint the elephant he had observed, and tie down its soul, they would succeed, and the lean times would be over.
But he couldn’t just sketch it on the wall. He had to paint its spirit too, or the effort would be for nothing. So he was spending some time in the mountains, wrestling with his thoughts, and Jes was serving as liaison between him and the rest of the band. Because in the past Ned had figured out things that had been significantly beneficial to the band, and enabled it to prosper while other bands suffered. The elder members respected his mind, so they were giving him the chance to use it again. If he could by some magic find a way to help the band despite its problems, find the way to catch the animal’s soul from afar—
Magic. He had never really believed in it, but perhaps this time the spirits of the band would commune with him. He stared at the blank wall, trying to see through it, to fathom whether there was any spirit in it he could talk to.
After a time the wall of rock seemed to waver, and it was indeed as if it became like clear water. He searched for the spirit in it, for every thing of nature had its spirit, but didn’t see it. Unless—there was something inside. A man, standing with a bow and one arrow. A hunter. Watching for his opportunity. Were there game animals in range? Ned stared into the stone, seeking some answer. Could that be his own spirit, ready for the hunt?
Suppose he painted his own image? Would that provide him with spiritual strength for the hunt? So that instead of pinning the spirit of the animal so that mortal folk could hunt it, he invoked the aid of his spiritual self, enabling him to pursue the spirits of the animals out in the field? The notion was amazing, but maybe true.
What special powers might his own spirit bequeath him? Could it show him the path to good hunting? If it could enable him to hunt well, as he had not been able to before, what else might it help him do? There was so much to comprehend that he knew he should not act hastily. He must first understand, then paint, for greatest effect.
There was a sound behind him. That would be Jes, arriving along the path from their camp. Rather than lose his insight into the stone, he remained as he was. His sister would understand.
She came to stand beside him, facing the rock. He smelled a faint perfume of crushed flowers. That was surprising, for Jes did not adorn herself with anything feminine. “I’m looking into the rock,” he explained.
“What do you see?”
Ned jumped. That wasn’t Jes’s voice! It was Wona’s.
The spell of the stone was broken. He looked at the woman. “Why did you come here?”
“Flo found a good haul of roots to bring back to cook. Jes has more muscle than I do, so we switched jobs. She will take care of the roots, and I will take care of you. I am better equipped for that.”
“Take care of me?” he asked blankly. He had never really liked or trusted this woman, who had been a drag on the band ever since she joined. Oh, he was quite intrigued by occasional glimpses of her body he caught by accident; that was the one thing she had in full measure. She was a truly lovely woman. Once he had s
een—but that was nothing he should dwell on. She was after all his brother’s wife. The fact was that she was a liability to the band. She took care of no one except herself.
“You have been a stripling. It is time you become a man.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Precisely.” She stepped into him, put her arms around him, drew him close, and kissed him on the mouth.
Ned was stunned for a moment. Then he lurched back, pushing her away. “We have no business like that!”
“Not before this,” she said, turning his objection into an agreement. She put her hands to her simple hide robe and pulled it open, showing her full breasts.
Ned was mesmerized by them. Women often enough wore no more than skirts, but Wona normally kept herself covered, especially in the sun. Thus her body had not only the appeal of its kind, but that of novelty. She was older than he was, but that simply meant that she was in the full flower of her sexual appeal, while he was, as she put it, a stripling.
She let him look as long as he chose. Her gentle breathing made her breasts rise and fall rhythmically, and they jiggled just enough to call attention to themselves. Her eyes remained fixed on his face, and he didn’t dare lift his gaze to meet them.
Finally he forced himself to turn away. “I must return to my business,” he said.
“And what business is that?” she inquired.
Suddenly it seemed foolish. “Looking at the rock. To—to find its spirit.”
“Of course. We need the help of the spirits.”
He turned back to her, and was caught by the sight of her breasts again. “You don’t find it foolish?”
“Ned,” she said seriously, “I find nothing about you foolish. You are the smartest man I have encountered. You have helped your band many times by figuring out better ways to survive. You will do it again. I have nothing but admiration for you.”
He flushed with pleasure, though he distrusted this. “I don’t know what better way I can figure out this time. Our territory is too small; other bands are crowding us, and in time they will displace us entirely. I can’t make there be more animals to hunt or more wild grains to harvest. Even if I could, the other bands would just move in and take them from us.”
She removed her robe the rest of the way and stood naked. Her body was the stuff of dreams. “Perhaps not. But if anyone can find a way, you are the one. I believe in you.”
“I have found nothing,” he said, rejecting something other than her profession of belief. It was in his mind that she was teasing him, trying to make him react, and make a fool of himself. She was probably bored, and this was her entertainment. There had been times before when she had touched him or rubbed against him, by accident he thought, but sending forbidden thrills of desire through him. Once when he had had to lift her down from an upper ledge—it had been days before he stopped thinking about that. She was his brother’s wife, he reminded himself again; he had no business thinking of her at all.
“Then let me help you search.” She stepped into him again, enclosing him with her base arms and body.
He froze. “Why are you teasing me?” he demanded. “Why don’t you go away?”
Her reply was unconscionably direct. “I have had your brother’s child. Now I want yours.”
“But you can’t—I can’t—”
“No one else will know. But your child will be smart, like you. Give me a smart boy, Ned.”
“But you are Sam’s wife!”
“And I will remain so. No one will know. Give me your child.”
“I will not!” But he didn’t move. She was holding him, and he couldn’t break away. It was not a matter of physical strength.
“Shall we see about that?” she asked mischievously. She put her hands to his clothing and began undoing it.
She was serious. He tried to back away from her, but found his back against the rock face he had been staring into; he could retreat no farther. She soon got him naked, and of course his eager member showed.
Still, he tried to protest. “I must not do this with you. I see your face; I know you for my brother’s wife.”
“Then I will not show you my face,” she said. She turned around and put her back to him. Her posterior view was just as guiltily exciting as her anterior view. “Hold my breasts.”
“I can’t—”
“I think you can.” She reached back and caught his dangling arms. She lifted them up to enclose her, and set his hands on her two breasts. She used her hands to press his hands in to her, so that they made the breasts flatten against her chest. They had a special soft resilience that could be like no other thing. Ned felt as if he were floating; this was unreal. But also wonderful. And awful.
After a while she spoke again. “I think you are ready now. Hold my hips.”
“What?”
She reached up and caught first one hand and then the other, setting them on her soft hips. “Hold tight.”
Of their own volition, his hands tightened on her evocative flesh. The breasts had been phenomenal; so were the hips. All of her was wondrous. His guilt only enhanced the appeal of the touching.
She bent forward, not falling, because his hands held her bottom in place. She reached under and behind herself, and caught him where he had become involuntarily hard, and guided him, and suddenly he was plunging into her hot slick cleft, unable to restrain himself any longer. Part of him was horrified that such a thing could happen with his brother’s wife, but more of him was carried along by the explosive joy of the depth of her. She was, indeed, making him a man.
She held her position until he subsided, then straightened up and leaned her back against him. “You see, you were able to do it, and most admirably. And you did not see my face.”
Then she was gone, how, he was not sure. He was so amazed by the whole experience that he hadn’t seen her go. Had it happened at all? But he was naked and spent, and he could not have imagined so much. And there was the piece of bread she had left him, that Flo had sent for him to eat. She had been here.
He ate the bread, and stared again at the wall, trying to see the spirit picture in it. But all he saw was an image of Wona, slender, with soft breasts and soft hips. Was that her spirit in the wall? Because she had come to him? Or was it just an interference, preventing him from achieving the vision he needed?
He left the wall and walked around the area, staring at the blue sky and the brown rocks, trying to get his thoughts straight. He needed to clear Wona from his mind before he could focus on the proper painting. Why had she come to him? She said because she wanted his child, but she had shown little interest in her daughter by Sam. Maybe it would be different if she had a boy. Maybe she thought she could get a boy from him. A smart boy. That Sam would think was his own. That made sense, perhaps, but Ned didn’t much like the notion. He wanted to have his own child with his own wife, when he found a girl to marry. He didn’t want mischief with his brother, and this was surely that.
The answer was simple: he wouldn’t touch Wona again. She had caught him by surprise, and seduced him, but if she came again he would tell her no. He would try to forget their sole encounter, and pretend it had never happened.
Satisfied, he returned to the wall. He stared into it. This time he saw a herd of giraffes. Should he try to paint them? None had crossed the local territory recently, but maybe they would come if he painted them.
The day was declining. He would wait until morning, and if he still saw the giraffes, he would paint them. He still wasn’t sure whether it was better to paint the animal or himself, but maybe the spirits in the stone would guide him.
He heard someone coming. Was Wona returning? He nerved himself to tell her no. But it turned out to be Jes.
“It’s a relief to see you,” he said gladly.
“I had to switch jobs with Wona,” she explained.
“She told me.” Should he tell her any more?
Jes looked at him. “She’s been at you,” she said.
H
is sister could read him like a fresh trail! “What could I do?”
“Apart from telling her no?”
“I tried.”
“She’s just diverting herself, you know. She doesn’t care about you or Sam or this band.”
“I know. I’ll tell her no next time.”
She dropped the subject. “Have you figured out the picture?” The blank rock was evidence that he hadn’t started it yet.
“I was starting to, when she came. I tried to see what spirits it contained. I saw my own, I think.”
“But your spirit is alive,” she protested. “There would be only dead spirits in the stone.”
“I don’t think so, because we couldn’t hunt an animal that’s already dead. I must capture a live spirit, and pin it to the stone by the painting, so the creature can’t escape us. So there must be Uve spirits here.”
She nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that. But then you shouldn’t have to look in the stone for them; they must be outside it, until you pin one down.”
He nodded in turn. “That does make sense. So when I saw my own spirit, it was like a reflection in water. But later I saw a herd of giraffes.”
“Maybe you should wait for an elephant.”
“Yes. But suppose I let the giraffes go, and an elephant spirit never comes?”
Jes shrugged. “Maybe go for the giraffes, then, though I hate to seem them taken. They’re so graceful.”
“They’re tall and lanky, like you.” He could tease her about her form, because they had always been close. She knew he loved her as she was.
“Yes. But they have nicer faces.”
“Your face is fine,” he told her insincerely.
“Fine for a man, you mean.”
This time he changed the subject. “I wondered whether to paint my own spirit. Do you think it would enable me to hunt well?”
“It might. Or it might pin you, so a lion could get you.”
“That does it. I’ll paint an animal.”
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