by Jean M. Auel
“Sometimes, we yell a lot, or tease each other. We take pride in hospitality and like to be friendly, but the Mamutoi do not show their deepest feelings too much. It can cause trouble, and we try to avoid disputes and discourage fighting. The Council of Sisters even frowns on the raids the young men like to make on other people, like the Sungaea, and are trying to ban them. The Sisters say it just invites raids in return, and people have been killed. They say it’s better to trade than raid. The Council of Brothers is more lenient. Most of them did a bit of raiding in their youth, and say it’s just a way to use young muscles and make a little excitement for themselves.”
Ayla was no longer listening. Rather than clarifying anything, Nezzie’s explanation only made her more confused. Was Jondalar angry because she had responded to another man’s signal? Was that a reason to get angry? No man of the Clan would indulge in such an emotional response. Broud was the only man who had ever shown the least interest in her, and then only because he knew she hated it. But many people wondered why he was bothering with such an ugly woman and he would have welcomed interest by another man. When she thought about it, she realized that Jondalar had been bothered by Ranec’s interest from the beginning.
Mamut came in from the entrance foyer walking with discernible difficulty.
“Nezzie, I promised to fill Mamut’s medicine bowl with help for arthritis,” Ayla said.
She got up to help him, but he waved her away. “You go ahead. I’ll be there. It will just take me a little longer.”
She rushed through the Lion Hearth and the Fox Hearth, relieved to find it empty, and added fuel to the fire at the Mammoth Hearth. As she sorted through her medications, she recalled the many times she had applied poultices and plasters, and made painkilling drinks to ease Creb’s aching joints. It was one aspect of her medicine she knew very well.
She waited until Mamut was resting comfortably, sipping a warm tea after she had drawn off and soaked away most of his ancient aches, before she asked any questions. It was soothing for her as well as the old shaman to apply her knowledge, skill, and intelligence in the practice of her craft, and it relieved some of the stress she had been feeling. Yet when she picked up a cup of tea and sat opposite Mamut, she didn’t quite know where to begin.
“Mamut, did you stay long with Clan?” she finally asked.
“Yes, it takes awhile for a bad break to heal, and by then, I wanted to know more, so I stayed until they left for the Clan Gathering.”
“You learn Clan ways?”
“Some of them.”
“You know about signal?”
“Yes, Ayla, I know about the signal a man gives a woman.” He paused, seeming to consider, then continued, “I will tell you something I have never told anyone else. There was a young woman who helped to take care of me while my arm was mending, and after I was included in a hunting ceremony and hunted with them, she was given to me. I know what the signal is, and what it means. I used the signal, though at first I was not comfortable about it. She was a flathead woman, and not very appealing to me, particularly since I’d heard so many stories about them while I was growing up. But I was young and healthy, and I was expected to behave like a man of the Clan.
“The longer I stayed, the more appealing she became—you have no idea how appealing it can be to have someone waiting on your every need or desire. It wasn’t until later that I discovered she had a mate. She was a second woman, her first mate had died so one of the other hunters took her in, a little reluctantly since she came from a different clan and had no children. When I left, I did not want to leave her behind, but I felt she would be happier with a clan than with me and my people. And I wasn’t sure how I would be welcomed if I returned with a flathead woman. I have often wondered what happened to her.”
Ayla closed her eyes as memories flooded over her. It seemed uncanny to be learning bits and pieces about her clan from this man whom she had met such a short time ago. She fitted his story together with her own knowledge of the history of Brun’s clan.
“She not ever have children, always second woman, but always someone take in. She die in earthquake, before they find me.”
He nodded. He, too, was glad to have an important bit of his past filled in.
“Mamut, Nezzie say Jondalar angry because I share Ranec’s bed. Is true?”
“I think that’s true.”
“But Ranec give me signal! How can Jondalar be angry if Ranec give me signal?”
“Where did Ranec learn the Clan signal?” Mamut asked, surprised.
“Not Clan signal. Signal of the Others. When Jondalar find my valley, and teach me First Rites and Gift of Pleasure from Great Earth Mother Doni, I ask what his signal is? He put mouth on mine, make kiss. Put hand on me, make … feel Pleasure. He say that is how I will know when he want me; he tell me his signal. Ranec give me signal last night. Then he say, ‘I want you. Come to my bed.’ Ranec give me signal. He make command.”
Mamut looked up at the ceiling, and said, “O Mother!” Then he looked back at her. “Ayla, you don’t understand. Ranec certainly did give you a signal that he wanted you, but it wasn’t a command.”
Ayla looked at him with intense puzzlement. “I not understand.”
“No one can command you, Ayla. Your body belongs to you, it’s your choice. You decide what you want to do and who you want to do it with. You can go to any man’s bed you choose, so long as he is willing—and I don’t see much problem there—but you don’t have to share Pleasures with any man you don’t want to, ever.”
She stopped to think about his words. “What if Ranec commands again? He said, wants me again, many times.”
“I don’t doubt that he wants, but he cannot command you. No one can command you, Ayla. Not against your will.”
“Not even man I mate? Not ever?”
“I don’t think you’d remain mated for very long under those circumstances, but no, not even your mate can command you. Your mate does not own you. Only you can decide.”
“Mamut, when Ranec gave me signal, I not have to go?”
“That’s right.” He looked at her frown. “Are you sorry you went to his bed?”
“Sorry?” She shook her head. “No. Not sorry. Ranec is … good. Is not rough … like Broud. Ranec … care for me … make good Pleasures. No. Not sorry about Ranec. Sorry about Jondalar. Sorry Jondalar angry. Ranec make good Pleasures, but Ranec is … not Jondalar.”
20
Ayla turned her head to the side as she leaned into the screaming wind, trying to shield her face from the raw blast of gale-driven snow. Each careful step forward was violently opposed by a force made visible only by the swirling mass of frozen white grit hurled against her. As the angry blizzard raged, she faced the lash of stinging pellets and squinted her eyes open, then turned away and took another few steps. Buffeted by the fierce storm, she looked again. The smooth rounded shape ahead beckoned, and she was relieved finally to touch the solid ivory arch.
“Ayla, you shouldn’t have gone out in that blizzard!” Deegie said. “You can lose your way a few steps beyond the entrance.”
But it has been blowing like that for many, many days, and Whinney and Racer go out. I want to know where they go.”
“Did you find out?”
“Yes. They like to feed at place around bend. Wind does not blow so hard, and snow does not cover dry grass too high. Blows drift on other side. I have some grain, but have not grass left. Horses know where is grass, even when blizzard blows. I will give water here, when they come back,” Ayla said, stamping her feet, and shaking the snow off the parka she had just pulled off. She hung it up on a peg near the entrance to the Mammoth Hearth, on her way in.
“Can you believe it? She went outside. In this weather!” Deegie announced to the several people who were congregated at the fourth hearth.
“But why?” Tornec asked.
“Horses need to eat, and I …” Ayla started to reply.
“I thought you were gone a long time,�
� Ranec said. “When I asked Mamut, he said he had last seen you go into the horse hearth, but when I looked you weren’t there.”
“Everyone started looking for you, Ayla,” Tronie said.
“Then Jondalar noticed your parka was gone, and the horses, too. He thought you might have gone out with them,” Deegie said, “so we decided we’d better look for you outside. When I looked out to see how the weather was, I saw you coming.”
“Ayla, you should let someone know if you are going out when the weather is bad,” Mamut chided, gently.
“Don’t you know you make people worry when you go out in a blizzard like this?” Jondalar said, his tone more angry.
Ayla tried to answer, but everyone was talking at once. She looked at all the faces watching her, and flushed. “I am sorry. I did not mean to make worry. I live alone long time, have no people to worry. I go out and come in when I want. I am not used to people, to have someone worry,” she said, looking at Jondalar, then at the others. Mamut saw Ayla’s brow knit in a frown as the blond man turned away.
Jondalar felt himself flush as he walked away from the people who had been worried about Ayla. She was right, she had lived alone and taken care of herself just fine. What right did he have to question her actions, or take her to task for not telling anyone she was going out? But he had been fearful from the moment he discovered she was missing and had probably gone outside into the blizzard. He had seen bad weather—winters where he grew up were exceptionally cold and bleak—but he had never seen weather so severe. This storm had raged without letup for half the season, it seemed.
No one had been more fearful for her safety than Jondalar, but he didn’t want to show his deep concern. He’d been having difficulty talking to her since the night of her adoption. At first, he was so hurt that she had chosen someone else, he had withdrawn, and was ambivalent about his own feelings. He was wildly jealous, yet he doubted his love for her because he had been ashamed that he brought her.
Ayla had not shared Ranec’s furs again, but every night Jondalar was afraid she might. It made him tense and nervous, and he found himself staying away from the Mammoth Hearth until after she was in bed. When he did finally join her on their sleeping platform, he turned his back and resisted touching her, afraid he might lose control, afraid he might break; down and beg her to love him.
But Ayla didn’t know why he was avoiding her. When she tried to talk to him, he answered in monosyllables, or pretended to be asleep; when she put an arm around him, he was stiff and unresponsive. It seemed to her that he didn’t like her any more, especially after he brought separate furs to sleep in, so he wouldn’t feel the searing touch of her body next to his. Even during the day, he stayed away from her. Wymez, Danug, and he had set up a flint-working area in the cooking hearth and Jondalar spent most of his waking hours there—he couldn’t stand working with Wymez at the Fox Hearth, across the passageway from the bed Ayla had shared with Ranec.
After a while, when her friendly advances had been rebuffed too often, she became confused and hesitant and drew back from him. Only then did he finally begin to realize that the growing distance between them was his own doing, but he didn’t know how to resolve it. As experienced and knowledgeable as he was about women, he had no experience with being in love. He found himself reluctant to tell her how he felt about her. He remembered young women following him around, declaring their strong feelings for him, when he didn’t feel strongly about them. It had made him uncomfortable, made him want to get away. He didn’t want Ayla to feel that way about him, so he held back.
Ranec knew they were not sharing Pleasures. He was excruciatingly conscious of Ayla every moment, though he tried not to make it obvious. He knew when she went to bed and when she woke, what she ate and with whom she spoke, and he spent as much time as he could at the Hearth of the Mammoth. Among those who gathered there, Ranec’s wit, sometimes directed at one member or another of the Lion Camp, was often the cause of raucous laughter. He was scrupulously careful, however, never to denigrate Jondalar, whether Ayla was nearby or not. The visitor was aware of Ranec’s way with words, but such cleverness had never been Jondalar’s strong point. Ranec’s compact muscularity and insouciant self-confidence had the effect of making the tall, dramatically handsome man feel like a big oaf.
As the winter progressed, Jondalar and Ayla’s unresolved misunderstanding kept getting worse. Jondalar was becoming afraid that he would lose her entirely to the dark, exotic, and engaging man. He kept trying to convince himself that he should be fair, and let her make the choice, that he didn’t have any right to make demands on her. But he stayed away because he didn’t want to present her with a choice which would give her the opportunity to reject him.
* * *
The Mamutoi did not seem disturbed by the harsh weather. They had plenty of food stored, and busied themselves with their usual winter diversions, snug and secure inside their semisubterranean longhouse. The older members of the Camp tended to gather around the cooking hearth, sipping hot tea, telling stories, reminiscing, gossiping, and playing games of chance with pieces of carved ivory or bone, when they were not busy on some project. The younger people congregated around the Mammoth Hearth, laughing and joking, singing songs and practicing musical instruments, though there was a great deal of intermixing among everyone, and the children were welcome everywhere. This was the time of leisure; the time to make and mend tools and weapons, utensils and jewelry; the time to weave baskets and mats, to carve ivory, bone, and antler; to make thongs, ropes, cords, and nets; and the time to make and decorate clothing.
Ayla was interested in how the Mamutoi processed their leather and, especially, how they colored it. She was also intrigued with the colored embroidery, quill and beadwork. Decorated and sewn clothing was new and unusual to her.
“You said you would show me how to make leather red after I make skin ready. I think bison skin I am working on is ready,” Ayla said.
“All right, I’ll show you,” Deegie said. “Let’s see how it looks.”
Ayla went to the storage platform near the head of her bed and unfolded a complete hide, and spread it out. It was incredibly soft to the touch, pliable, and nearly white. Deegie examined it critically. She had watched Ayla’s process without comment, but with great interest.
First Ayla had cut off the heavy mane close to the skin with a sharp knife, then she beamed it; draped it over a large smooth mammoth leg bone and scraped it, using the slightly dulled edge of a flint flake. She scraped the inside to remove clinging bits of fat and blood vessels, and the outside, against the lay of the hair, taking off the outer layer of skin, which included the grain of the leather, as well. Deegie would have rolled it up and left it near the fire for a few days, allowing it to begin to decay, to loosen the hair. When she was ready, the hair would come out, leaving behind the outer layer of skin, which would become the grain of the leather. To make the softer buckskin, as Ayla had done, she would have tied it to a frame to scrape off the hair and the grain.
Ayla’s next step incorporated a suggestion from Deegie. After soaking and washing, Ayla had planned to rub fat into the hide to soften it, as she was accustomed to doing. But Deegie showed Ayla how to make a thin gruel of the putrefying brains of the animal to soak the hide in instead. Ayla was both surprised and pleased at the results. She could feel the change in the hide, the softening and elasticity which the brain tissue imparted, even while she was rubbing it in. But it was after thoroughly wringing out the hide that the work began. It had to be pulled and stretched constantly while it was drying, and the quality of the finished leather depended upon how well the hide was worked at this stage.
“You do have a good hand for leather, Ayla. Bison hide is heavy, and this is so soft. It feels wonderful. Have you decided what you want to make out of it?”
“No.” Ayla shook her head. “But I want to make leather red. What do you think? Footwear?”
“It’s heavy enough for it, but soft enough for a tunic. Let’
s go ahead and color it. You can think about what to make with it later,” Deegie said, and as they walked toward the last hearth together, she asked, “What would you do with that hide now? If you were not going to color it?”
“I would put over very smoky fire, so leather will not get stiff again, if it gets wet, from rain, or even from swimming,” Ayla said.
Deegie nodded. “That’s what I would do, too. But what we are going to do to the hide will make the rain slide off.”
They passed by Crozie when they walked through the Crane Hearth, which reminded Ayla of something she had been meaning to ask about. “Deegie, do you know how to make leather white, too? Like tunic Crozie wear? I like red, but after that, I would like to learn white. I think I know someone who would like white.”
“White is hard to do, hard to get leather really snowy white. I think Crozie could show you better than I could. You would need chalk … Wymez might have some. Flint is found in chalk, and usually the pieces he gets from the mine up north have a covering of chalk on the outside,” Deegie said.
The young women walked back to the Mammoth Hearth with some small mortars and pestles, and several lumps of red ochre coloring material in various shades. Deegie set some fat to melting over the fire, then arrayed the colored bits of material around Ayla. There were bits of charcoal for black, manganese for a blue-black, and a bright sulphurous yellow, in addition to ochres of many colors: browns, reds, maroons, yellows. The mortars were the natural bowl shapes of certain bones, such as the frontal bone of a deer, or pecked out of granite or basalt, just as the stone lamps were. Pestles were shaped out of hard ivory or bone, except one, which was an elongated natural stone.
“What shade of red do you want, Ayla? Deep red, blood red, earth red, yellow red; that’s sort of a sun color.”
Ayla didn’t know she would have so many choices. “I don’t know … red red,” she replied.