by Jean M. Auel
“I know it is not necessary. I know you are a Woman Who Heals, but it is important to me that you know how I feel. People say thank you to each other for help. It’s courtesy, a custom.”
They ascended the path single file. She didn’t answer him, but his comment made her think of Creb trying to explain that it was discourteous to look past the boundary stones into another man’s hearth. She had had more difficulty learning the customs than the language of the Clan. Jondalar was saying it was a custom to express gratitude to each other among his people, a courtesy, but that confused her more.
Why would he want to express gratitude when he had just shamed her? If a man of the Clan had offered her such contempt, she would cease to exist for him. His customs were going to be hard to learn, too, she realized, but that did not make her feel less humiliated.
He tried to get through the barrier that had sprung up between them and stopped her before she went into the cave. “Ayla, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in some way.”
“Offended? I don’t understand that word.”
“I think I have made you angry, made you feel bad.”
“Not angry, but yes, you have made me feel bad.”
The admission startled him. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sorry. That is courtesy, right? Custom? Jondalar, what good are words like sorry? It doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
He pulled his hand through his hair. She was right. Whatever he had done—and he thought he knew what it was—being sorry didn’t help. It also didn’t help that he had been evading the issue, not facing it directly for fear he would open himself to further embarrassment.
She went into the cave, took off her picking basket, and stirred up the fire to begin an evening meal. He followed her, put his basket next to hers, and pulled up a mat to the fireplace to sit and watch her.
She used some of the tools he had given her after he cut up the deer, and liked them, but for some tasks she preferred to use the handheld knife she was accustomed to. He thought she wielded the crude knife, shaped on flake of flint that was much heavier than his blades, with as much skill as anyone he knew used with the smaller, finer, hafted knives. His flint-knapper mind was judging, evaluating, comparing the merits of each type. It’s not so much that one is easier to use than the other, he was thinking. Any sharp knife will cut, but think how much more raw flint it must take to make tools for everyone. Just hauling the stone could be a problem.
It made Ayla nervous to have him sitting there watching her so closely. Finally she got up to get some chamomile for tea, hoping it would divert his attention, and to calm herself. It only made him realize he had been putting off facing the problem again. He gathered up his fortitude and decided on a direct approach.
“You’re right, Ayla. Saying I’m sorry doesn’t mean much, but I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what I did that offended you. Please tell me, why do you feel bad?”
He must be saying words that were untrue again, she thought. How could he not know? Yet he seemed troubled. She looked down, wishing he hadn’t asked. It was bad enough having to suffer such humiliation, without having to talk about it. But he had asked.
“I feel bad because … because I’m not acceptable.” She said it to the hands in her lap holding her tea.
“What do you mean you are not acceptable? I don’t understand.”
Why was he asking her these questions? Was he trying to make her feel worse? Ayla glanced up at him. He was leaning forward, and she read sincerity and anxiety in his posture and eyes.
“No man of the Clan would ever relieve his need himself if there was an acceptable woman around.” She blushed with the recitation of her failing and looked down at her hands. “You were full with need, but you ran away from me. Should I not feel bad if I am not acceptable to you?”
“Are you saying you’re offended because I didn’t …” He sat back and looked up. “Oh, Doni! How could you be so stupid, Jondalar?” he asked the cave at large.
She looked up at him, startled.
“I thought you didn’t want me to annoy you, Ayla. I was trying to respect your wishes. I wanted you so much, I couldn’t stand it, but every time I touched you, you stiffened up. How could you think any man would not find you acceptable?”
A surge of understanding welled up inside her that dissolved the taut aching heart. He wanted her! He thought she didn’t want him! It was customs again, different customs. “Jondalar, you only had to make the signal. Why did it matter what I wanted?”
“Of course it matters what you want. Don’t you …” Suddenly he flushed. “Don’t you want me?” There was hesitation in his eyes, and fear of rejection. She knew the feeling. It surprised her to see it in a man, but it melted any residual doubt she might have harbored and drew forth a warmth and tenderness.
“I want you, Jondalar, I wanted you when I first saw you. When you were so hurt I wasn’t sure you would live, I would look at you and feel … Inside would come this feeling. But you never gave me the signal.…” She looked down again. She had said more than she intended. Women of the Clan were more subtle in their inviting gestures.
“And all this time I’ve been thinking … What is this signal you keep talking about?”
“In the Clan, when a man wants a woman, he makes the signal.”
“Show me.”
She made the gesture and blushed. It was not a signal usually made by a woman.
“That’s all? I just do that? Then what do you do?” He was a little stunned when she got up, kneeled, and presented.
“Are you saying a man does this, and a woman does that, and that’s it? They’re ready?”
“A man doesn’t make the signal if he’s not ready. Weren’t you ready today?”
It was his turn to blush. He had forgotten how ready he was, what he had done to keep from forcing himself on her. He would have given anything then to have known this signal.
“What if a woman doesn’t want him? Or she’s not ready?”
“If a man makes the signal, a woman must assume the position.” She thought of Broud, and her face clouded with remembered pain and degradation.
“Anytime, Ayla?” He saw the pain, and wondered. “Even her first?” She nodded. “Is that how it happened for you? Some man just gave you a signal?” She closed her eyes and swallowed, then nodded again.
Jondalar was aghast, and indignant. “Do you mean to say there were no First Rites? No one to watch and make sure a man didn’t hurt you too much? What kind of people are they? Don’t they care about a young woman’s first time? They just leave it to any man to take her when he’s high in his heat? To force her whether she’s ready or not? Whether it hurts or not?” He was up and angrily pacing. “That’s cruel! That’s inhuman! How could anyone allow it? Don’t they have any compassion? Don’t they care at all?”
His outburst was so unexpected that Ayla just sat staring wide-eyed, watching Jondalar work himself up into a fever of righteous wrath. But as his words became more vituperative, she started shaking her head, negating his statements.
“No!” she said, finally giving voice to her dissent. “That’s not true, Jondalar. They do care! Iza found me—she took care of me. They adopted me, made me part of the Clan, even though I was born to the Others. They didn’t have to take me in.
“Creb didn’t understand that Broud hurt me, he never had a mate. He didn’t know about women that way and it was Broud’s right. And when I got pregnant, Iza took care of me. She made herself sick getting medicine for me so I wouldn’t lose my baby. Without her, I would have died when Durc was born. And Brun accepted him, even though everyone thought he was deformed. But he wasn’t. He’s strong and healthy …” Ayla stopped when she saw Jondalar staring at her.
“You have a son? Where is he?”
Ayla hadn’t spoken of her son. Even after so long a time, it was painful to talk about him. She knew any mention would cause questions, though eventually it would have
come up.
“Yes, I have a son. He is still with the Clan. I gave him to Uba when Broud made me leave.”
“Made you leave?” He sat back down. So she had a son. He had been right in suspecting that she had been pregnant. “Why would someone make a mother leave her child? Who is this … Broud?”
How could she explain? She closed her eyes for a moment. “He’s the leader. Brun was the leader when they found me. He allowed Creb to make me Clan, but he was getting old, so he made Broud leader. Broud always hated me, even when I was a little girl.”
“He’s the one who hurt you, isn’t he?”
“Iza told me about the signal when I became a woman, but she said men relieved their needs with women they liked. Broud did it because it made him feel good to know he could make me do something I hated. But I think my totem led him to do it. The spirit of the Cave Lion knew how much I wanted a baby.”
“What does this Broud have to do with your baby? The Great Earth Mother blesses when She chooses. Was your son of his spirit?”
“Creb said spirits made babies. He said a woman swallowed the spirit of a man’s totem. If it was strong enough, it would overcome the spirit of her totem, take its life force, and start a new life growing in her.”
“That’s an odd way of looking at it. It’s the Mother who chooses the man’s spirit to mix with the woman’s spirit when She blesses a woman.”
“I don’t think spirits make babies. Not spirits of totems, or spirits mixed by your Great Mother. I think life starts when a man’s organ is full and he puts it inside a woman. I think that’s why men have such strong needs, and why women want men so much.”
“That can’t be, Ayla. Do you know how many times a man can put his manhood inside a woman? A woman couldn’t have that many children. A man makes a woman, with the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure; he opens her so the spirits can enter. But the Mother’s most sacred Gift of Life is given only to women. They receive the spirits and create life, and become mothers like Her. If a man honors Her, appreciates Her Gifts, and makes a commitment to take care of a woman and her children, Doni may choose his spirit for the children of his hearth.”
“What is the Gift of Pleasure?”
“That’s right! You’ve never known Pleasures, have you?” he said, amazed when he considered the idea. “No wonder you didn’t know when I … You’re a woman who’s been blessed with a child without ever having First Rites. Your Clan must be very unusual. Everyone I met on my Journey knew about the Mother and Her Gifts. The Gift of Pleasure is when a man and a woman feel they want each other, and give themselves to each other.”
“It is when a man is full and must relieve his needs with a woman, isn’t that right?” Ayla said. “It’s when he puts his organ in the place where babies come out. That is the Gift of Pleasure?”
“It’s that, but it’s much more.”
“Perhaps, but everyone told me I’d never have a baby because my totem was too strong. They were all surprised. He wasn’t deformed, either. He just looked a little like me, and a little like them. But it was only after Broud kept giving me the signal that I became pregnant. No one else wanted me—I’m too big and ugly. Even at the Clan Gathering there wasn’t a man who would take me, though I had Iza’s status when they accepted me as her daughter.”
Something about her story began to bother Jondalar, nagged at him, but floated just out of reach.
“You said the medicine woman found you—what was her name? Iza? Where did she find you? Where did you come from?”
“I don’t know. Iza said I was born to the Others, other people like me. Like you, Jondalar. I don’t remember anything before I lived with the Clan—I didn’t even remember my mother’s face. You are the only man I’ve seen who looks like me.”
Jondalar was feeling an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as he listened.
“I learned about a man of the Others from a woman at the Clan Gathering. It made me afraid of them, until I met you. She had a baby, a girl that resembled Durc so much, she could have been mine. Oda wanted to arrange a mating between her daughter and my son. They said her baby was deformed, too, but I think that man of the Others started her baby when he forced her to relieve his needs with him.”
“The man forced her?”
“And killed her first daughter, too. Oda was with two other women, and many of the Others came, but they didn’t give the signal. When one of them grabbed her, Oda’s first baby fell and hit her head on a rock.”
Suddenly Jondalar remembered the gang of young men from a Cave far to the west. He wanted to reject the conclusions he was beginning to draw. Yet, if one gang of young men would do it, why not another? “Ayla, you keep saying you are not like the Clan. How are they different?”
“They’re shorter—that’s why I was so surprised when you stood up. I’ve always been taller than everyone, including the men. That’s why they didn’t want me, I am too tall, and too ugly.”
“What else?” He didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to know.
“Their eyes are brown. Iza thought something was wrong with my eyes because they were the color of the sky. Durc has their eyes, and the … I don’t know how to say it, the big brows, but his forehead is like mine. Their heads are flatter …”
“Flatheads!” His lips pulled back in disgust. “Good Mother, Ayla! You’ve been living with those animals! You let one of their males …” He shuddered. “You gave birth to … an abomination of mixed spirits, half human and half animal!” As though he had touched something filthy, Jondalar backed away and jumped up. It was a reaction born of irrational prejudice, of harsh, unthinking assumptions, never questioned by most people he knew.
Ayla didn’t comprehend at first, and she looked at him with a puzzled frown. But his expression was filled with loathing, just as hers was when she thought of hyenas. Then his words took on meaning.
Animals! He was calling the people she loved animals! Stinking hyenas! Gentle loving Creb, who was nonetheless the most awesome and powerful holy man of the Clan—Creb was an animal? Iza, who had nursed her and mothered her, who taught her medicine—Iza was a stinking hyena? And Durc! Her son!
“What do you mean, animals?” Ayla cried, on her feet and facing him. She had never raised her voice in anger before and she surprised herself at the volume—and the venom. “Creb and Iza, animals? My son, half human? People of the Clan are not some kind of awful stinking hyenas.
“Would animals pick up a little girl who was hurt? Would they accept her as one of them? Would they take care of her? Raise her? Where do you think I learned to find food? Or cook it? Where do you think I learned healing? If it were not for those animals, I would not be alive today, and neither would you, Jondalar!
“You say the Clan are animals, and the Others are human? Well, remember this: The Clan saved a child of the Others, and the Others killed one of theirs. If I could make a choice between human and animal, I’d take the stinking hyenas!”
She stormed out of the cave and down the path, then whistled for Whinney.
24
Jondalar was dumbfounded. He followed her out and watched her from the ledge. She mounted the horse with a practiced leap and galloped down the valley. Ayla had always been so complaisant, had never showed anger. The contrast made her outburst all the more astounding.
He had always thought of himself as fair and open-minded about flatheads. He thought they should be left alone, not bothered or baited, and he would not have intentionally killed one. But his sensibilities had been grossly offended by the idea of a man using a flathead female for Pleasures. That one of their males should have used a human female the same way had exposed a deeply buried nerve. The woman would be defiled.
And he had been so eager for her. He thought of the vulgar stories told by sniggering boys and young men and felt a shrinking in his loins, as though he were already contaminated and his member would shrivel up and rot off. By some grace of the Great Earth Mother, he had been spared.
>
But worse, she had birthed an abomination, a whelp of malignant spirits who couldn’t even be discussed in decent company. The very existence of such issue was hotly denied by some, yet talk of them had persisted.
Ayla certainly had not denied it. She openly admitted it, stood there and defended the child … as vehemently as any mother would if her child had been maligned. She was insulted, angry that he had spoken of any of them in derogatory terms. Had she really been raised by a pack of flatheads?
He’d met a few flatheads on his Journey. He’d even questioned in his own mind whether they were animals. He recalled the incident with the young male and the older female. Come to think of it, hadn’t the youngster used a knife made on a heavy flake to cut the fish in half, just like the one Ayla used? And his dam wore a hide wrapped around her, as Ayla did. Ayla even had the same mannerisms, especially in the beginning; that tendency to look down, to efface herself so she wouldn’t be noticed. The furs on her bed, they had the same soft texture as the wolfskin they had given him. And her spear! That heavy primitive spear—wasn’t it like the spears carried by that pack of flatheads he and Thonolan had met coming off the glacier?
It was right there in front of him all the time, if he’d only looked. Why had he made up that story about her being One Who Serves the Mother testing herself to perfect her skills? She was as skilled as any healer, perhaps more. Had Ayla really learned her healing skill from a flathead?
He watched her riding off in the distance. She had been magnificent in her rage. He knew many women who raised their voices at the least provocation. Marona could be a shrill, contentious, foul-tempered shrew, he recalled, thinking about the woman to whom he had been promised. But there was a strength in someone so demanding that had appealed to him. He liked strong women. They were a challenge, and they could hold their own and not be so easily overwhelmed by his own passions on the rare occasions when they were expressed. He’d suspected there was a rock-hard core to Ayla in spite of her composure. Look at her on that horse, he thought. She is a remarkable, beautiful woman.