by Jean M. Auel
"Mother, I can do it. I know I can do it," Lanidar pleaded.
Chapter 26
"I need to think about it," Mardena said. "My son is not like other boys. He can't do the same things they do."
Ayla looked at the woman. "I'm not sure I understand."
"Certainly you can see that his arm limits him," the woman said.
"Somewhat, but many people learn to overcome those kinds of limitations," Ayla said.
"How much can he overcome? You must know he'll never be a hunter, and he can't make things with his hands. That doesn't leave much," Mardena said.
"Why can't he be a hunter or learn to make things?" Ayla said. "He's intelligent. He can see well. He has one perfectly good arm and some use of the other. He can walk, he can even run. I've seen far worse problems overcome. He just needs someone to teach him."
"Who would teach him?" Mardena said. "Even the man of his hearth didn't want to."
Ayla thought she was beginning to understand. "I would be happy to teach him, and I think Jondalar would be willing to help. Lanidar's left arm is strong. He might have to learn to compensate for the right arm, balance mostly, for accuracy, but I'm sure he could learn to throw a spear, especially with a spear-thrower."
"Why should you bother? We don't live at your Cave. You don't even know him," the woman said.
Ayla didn't think the woman would believe that she would do it because she liked the boy, though she had just met him. "I think we all have an obligation to teach children whatever we can," she said, "and I have just become Zelandonii. I need to make a contribution to my new people to show that I am worthy. Besides, if he helps me with the horses, I would owe him a debt, and I would want to give him something of like value in return. That is what I was taught when I was a girl."
"Even if you try to teach him, what if he can't learn to hunt? I hate to get his hopes up," the boy's mother said.
"He needs to learn some skills, Mardena. What will he do when he grows up, and you become too old to protect him? You don't want him to be a burden on the Zelandonii. Neither do I, no matter where he lives."
"He knows how to gather food with the women," Mardena said.
"Yes, and that is a worthwhile contribution, but he should learn some other skills. At least he should try," Ayla said.
"I suppose you're right, but what can he do? I'm not sure he could really hunt," Lanidar's mother said.
"You saw him throw a spear, didn't you? Even if he doesn't become an excellent hunter – though I think he could – if he learns to hunt, it could lead to other things."
"Like what?"
Ayla tried to think of something in a hurry. "He's a good whistler, Mardena. I've heard him," she said. "A person who knows how to whistle can often learn to imitate the sounds that animals make. If he can, then he could learn to be a Caller, and entice them to where the hunters are waiting. You don't need arms for that, but he would need to be where animals are so he could hear them, and learn how they sound."
"It's true, he is a good whistler," Mardena said, considering something she hadn't thought of. "Do you really think he could do something with that?"
Lanidar had been listening to the discussion with keen interest. "She whistles, mother. She can whistle like birds," he interjected. "And she whistles to call her horses, but she can imitate a horse, and she sounds just like one when she does."
"Is that true? Can you make the sound of a horse?" the mother asked.
"Why don't you and Lanidar come and visit the camp of the Ninth Cave tomorrow morning, Mardena," Ayla said. She was sure the woman was going to ask her to demonstrate, and she didn't really want to make a loud horse neigh with so many people around. They would all turn and stare at her.
"Can I bring my mother?" Mardena asked. "I'm sure she'll want to come."
"Of course. Why don't you all come and share a meal with us."
"All right. We'll come tomorrow morning," Mardena said.
Ayla watched the boy and his mother walk away together. Before she turned to join the women and Wolf, she saw Lanidar look back at her with an absolutely grateful smile.
"Here's your bird," Folara said as she approached, holding out the willow grouse with the small spear still sticking out of it. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Well, since I just invited some people to share a meal tomorrow morning, I think I will end up cooking it for them," Ayla said.
"Whom did you invite?" Marthona asked.
"That woman I was talking to," Ayla said.
"Mardena?" Folara said with surprise.
"And her son, and her mother."
"No one invites them, except to community feasts, of course," Folara said.
"Why not?" Ayla asked.
"Now that I think about it, I'm not really sure," Folara said. "Mardena keeps to herself. I think she blames herself, or thinks people blame her, for the boy's arm."
"Some people do," Marthona said, "and the boy may have trouble finding a mate. Mothers will be afraid that he'll bring crippling spirits with him to a mating."
"And she always drags her boy around wherever she goes," Folara said. "I think she's afraid the other boys will pick on him if she lets him go anywhere alone. They probably would. I don't think he has any friends. She doesn't give him any opportunities."
"I wondered about that," Ayla said. "She seemed very protective of him. Too much, I think. She thinks his crippled arm limits his abilities, but I think his biggest limitation is not his arm, it's his mother. She's afraid to let him try, but he has to grow up sometime."
"Why did you pick him to throw a spear, Ayla? It seemed like you knew him," Marthona asked.
"Someone told him there were horses where we're camped – the Upper Meadow, he called it – and he came to see them. I happened to be there when he came. I think he was trying to get away from the crowd, or his mother, but whoever told him didn't say anything about us camping there. I know Jondalar and Joharran have been passing the word for people to stay away from the horses. Maybe the 'someone' who told Lanidar about them thought he would get in trouble if he came looking for them. But I don't mind if people want to look, I just don't want anybody thinking about hunting them. They're too used to people. They wouldn't know to run away," Ayla explained.
"So of course, you let Lanidar touch the horses, and he got all excited, just like everyone does," Folara said, grinning.
Ayla smiled back. "Well, maybe not everyone, but I think if people have a chance to get to know them, they'll know they are special and won't be tempted to hunt them."
"You are probably right," Marthona said,
"The horses seemed to take to him, and he learned my whistle for them right away, so I asked Lanidar if he would check on the horses when I'm not around. I didn't think that his mother might object," Ayla said.
"Not many mothers would object to letting a son who will soon be able to count twelve years learn more about horses, or any animal," Marthona said.
"That many years? I would have thought he was a nine- or maybe a ten-year. He talked about Jondalar's spear-throwing demonstration, but he said he didn't want to go because he couldn't throw a spear. He seemed to think it was beyond him, but there is nothing wrong with his left arm, and I had my spear-thrower with me, so I showed him how to use it. After talking to Mardena, I know where he got the idea, but at his years he should be learning some skills besides picking berries with his mother." Ayla looked at both women. "There are so many people here, you can't know all of them. How do you know Lanidar and his mother?"
"Any time a baby is born with something wrong with him like that, everybody hears about it," Marthona said, "and they talk about it. Not necessarily in a bad way. They just wonder why it happened, and hope nothing like that ever happens to any of their children. So, of course, everyone knew when the man of his hearth left. Most people think it was because he was embarrassed to call Lanidar the son of his hearth, but I think at least part of it was Mardena. She didn't want anybody to see the baby, n
ot even her mate. She tried to hide him, and kept his arm covered, and got very protective of him."
"That's his problem, she still is. When I told her that I asked him to check on the horses when I'm not there, Mardena didn't want to let him. I wasn't asking for something he couldn't do. I just want someone to make sure they are all right, and to come and get me if there is a problem," Ayla said. "That's why she's coming over tomorrow, so I can try to persuade her that the horses won't hurt him. And I've promised to teach him to hunt, or at least to throw a spear. I'm not sure how it all happened, but somehow the more she objected to him even trying to learn, the more determined I became to teach him."
Both women were smiling and nodding with understanding.
"Will you tell Proleva that we are having visitors in the morning?" Ayla said. "And that I'll cook this grouse?"
"Don't forget your hare," Marthona said. "Salova told me you got one this morning. Do you want help with your cooking?"
"Only if you think more people may decide to join us," Ayla said. "I think I'll dig a ground oven, put some hot rocks in it, and cook the grouse and the hare at the same time, overnight. Maybe add some herbs and vegetables, too."
"A morning feast coming out of a ground oven – food is always so tender when it's cooked that way," Folara said. "I can hardly wait."
"Folara, I think we'd better plan to help," Marthona said. "If Ayla is going to cook, I think everyone will be curious and want a taste. Oh, I nearly forgot. I was told to tell you, Ayla, there will be a gathering tomorrow in the afternoon of all the women who are to be mated, and their mothers, in the zelandonia lodge."
"I have no mother to bring," Ayla said, frowning. She didn't want to be the only one there without a mother, if one was expected.
"Generally it is not the place of the man's mother to go, but since the woman you were born to can't be here, if you want, I would be willing to go in her place," Jondalar's mother said.
"Would you really?" Ayla said, feeling overwhelmed by the offer. "I would be very grateful."
A meeting of the women who will be mating soon, Ayla thought. Soon I will be Jondalar's mate. How I wish Iza could be here. She's the mother who should be with me, not the woman I was born to. Since they are both walking in the next world, I am grateful that Marthona is willing to come, but Iza would have been so pleased. She was afraid I would never find a mate, and I might not have if I had stayed with the Clan. She was right to tell me to leave and find my own people, find my own mate, but I miss her, and Creb, and Durc. I need to stop thinking about them.
"If you are going back to camp, will you take the grouse with you?" Ayla asked. "Right now I'm going to look for something else to cook with the morning meal."
Behind and toward the right of the main Summer Meeting camp, the limestone hills formed the general shape of a large scooped-out shallow bowl curving around on the sides, but open in front. The base of the curved slopes converged to a small, relatively level field, which had been evened out with stones and packed earth over them any years the location had been used for meetings. The grass-covered hillsides within the partial bowl depression rose up in a gradual, irregular slope with dips and hills, less steep areas that had been made more level to provide places for family groups or even some entire Caves to sit together with a good view of the open space below. The sloped area was sufficiently large to hold the entire Summer Meeting camp of more than two thousand people.
In a wooded copse near the rugged crest of the slope, a spring rose that filled a small pool, then spilled down the middle of the bowl-shaped slope, through the flattened area at the bottom, and eventually into the larger stream of the camp. The spring-fed creek was so small that people stepped over it easily, but the clear, cold pool at the top provided a constant source of clean drinking water.
Ayla walked uphill toward the trees, along a path beside the shallow creek that painted a sheen of water over a bed of cobbled stones. She stopped to get a drink at the spring, then turned around. Her eyes were drawn by the glimmering creek trickling downhill. She observed it run into the stream, which flowed through the large crowded camp and on to The River and the valley beyond. It was a landscape contoured by the deep relief of high hills, limestone cliffs, and river-cut valleys.
Her attention was caught by the sound that funneled up the rounded incline from the camp. It was a sound unlike anything she had ever heard: the combined voices of a large camp full of people, talking, channeled into one sound. The merging of the babble of voices was like a muted roar punctuated by occasional outcries, calls, and whoops. It was not the same, but it reminded her of a large hive of bees or a bawling herd of aurochs in the distance, and she was rather glad to be alone for the moment.
Well, not entirely alone. She watched Wolf poking his nose into every little crack and cranny, and smiled. Ayla was glad he was with her. Although she was unaccustomed to so many people, especially all at one time and in one place, she didn't really want to be alone. She'd had her fill of that in the valley she found after she left the Clan, and she wasn't sure she could have stood it if she hadn't had Whinney and, later, Baby for company. Even with them it had been lonely, but she knew how to obtain food and make the things she needed, and she had learned the joy of utter freedom – and its consequences. For the first time, she could do whatever she wanted, even adopt a baby horse or lion. Living alone, dependent entirely on herself, had taught her that one person could live, for a while, in reasonable comfort if she was young, and healthy, and strong. It was only when she became seriously ill that she realized how completely vulnerable she was.
It was then that Ayla fully understood that she would not be alive if the Clan had not allowed an injured and weak little girl, orphaned by an earthquake, to live with them, though she had been born to the ones they knew as the Others. Later, when she and Jondalar lived with the Mamutoi, she came to realize that living with a group, any group, even one that believed the wishes and desires of individuals were important, limited individual freedom, because the needs of the community were equally important. Survival depended upon a cooperative unit, a Clan or a Camp or a Cave, a group who would work together and help each other. There was always a struggle between the individual and the group, and finding a workable balance was a constant challenge, but not without benefits.
The cooperation of the group provided more than essentials for individuals. It also granted leisure time to devote to more enjoyable tasks, which among the Others allowed an aesthetic sense to bloom. The art they created wasn't so much art for itself as it was an inherent part of living, part of their daily existence. Nearly every member of a Zelandonii Cave enjoyed pride of workmanship and, in varying degrees, appreciated the results of one another's skills. From the time they were young, each child was allowed to experiment to find the area in which they excelled, and practical crafts were not considered more important than artistic talents.
Ayla remembered that Shevonar, the man who died during the bison hunt, had been a spear-maker. He was not the only person of the Ninth Cave who could make a spear, but specialization of a craft developed greater skill, which gave status to the individual who made it, often economic status. Among the Zelandonii, and most other people she had met or lived with, food was shared, though the hunter or gatherer who supplied it gained standing for giving it. A man or woman could survive without ever foraging for food, but without some specialized craft or particular talent that gave a person prestige, no one could live well…
Though it was still a difficult concept for her, Ayla had been learning how goods and services were bartered by the Zelandonii. Nearly everything that was made or done had value, even though its practical worth was not always obvious. The value was generally agreed upon by consensus or individual bargaining. The result was that truly fine workmanship was rewarded over and above the ordinary, partly because people preferred it, which created demand, and partly because it often took longer to make or do something well. Both talent and workmanship were highly valued, and
most members of a Cave had a well-developed aesthetic sense within their own canon.
A well-made spear that was beautifully decorated had more value than an equally well-made spear that was only functional, but that had infinitely more value than a poorly made spear. A basket that was clumsily woven might serve as well as a basket that was carefully made with subtle textures and patterns or colored in various tones, but it was not nearly as desirable. The barely serviceable one might be used for roots just dug from the ground, but once the roots were cleaned or dried, a more beautiful basket might be preferred to store them. Expedient tools and objects that served an immediate need were often made and then discarded, while one that was beautiful and well made was usually kept.
It wasn't only handicrafts that were valued. Entertainment was considered essential. Long, cold winters often kept people confined to their dwellings within the shelter for long periods of time, and they needed ways to alleviate the pressures of close quarters. Dancing and singing were enjoyed both as individual efforts and as community participation, and those who could play a flute well were as highly valued as those who made spears or baskets. Ayla had already learned that Story-Tellers were especially esteemed. Even the Clan had storytellers, Ayla recalled. They had particularly enjoyed the retelling of stories they knew.
The Others also liked hearing the stories retold, but they liked novelty, too. Riddles and word games were enthusiastically played by young and old alike. Visitors were welcomed, if only because they usually brought new stories. They were urged to tell about their lives and adventures, whether or not they had dramatic narration skills, because it added a measure of interest and gave people something to discuss for long hours as they sat around winter fires. Although almost anyone could weave an interesting tale, those who showed a real talent for it were urged, coaxed, and cajoled to pay visits to neighboring Caves, which was the impetus that gave rise to the traveling Story-Tellers. Some of them spent their lives, or at least several years, traveling from Cave to Cave, carrying news, bringing messages, and telling stories. No one was more welcomed.