by Jean M. Auel
It was another Mamutoi custom, Ayla realized, but it seemed that with dressing him so richly and putting all his jewelry on him, there was already more Mamutoi than Clan to this burial. The three women were watching her expectantly. She looked back at Tulie, then Nezzie. Yes, maybe Nezzie was right. Something should be used to carry him, some kind of bedding or cover. Then she looked at Crozie.
Suddenly, though she hadn’t thought of it for some time, she remembered something: Durc’s cloak. The cloak she had used to carry her son close to her breast when he was an infant, and to support him on her hip when he was a toddler. It was the one thing she had taken with her from the Clan that had no necessary purpose. Yet, how many nights when she was alone had Durc’s carrying cloak given her a sense of connection with the only place of security she had known, and to those she had loved. How many nights had she slept with that cloak? Cried into it? Rocked it? It was the one thing she owned that had belonged to her son, and she wasn’t sure if she could give it up, but did she really need it? Was she going to carry it around with her for the rest of her life?
Ayla noticed Crozie looking at her again, and remembered the white cape, the one that Crozie had made for her son. She had carried it around with her for many years, because it meant so much to her. But she had given it up for a good purpose, to Racer, to protect him. Wasn’t it more important for Rydag to be wrapped in something that had come from the Clan, when he was sent on his way to walk in the spirit world, than for her to carry Durc’s cloak around? Crozie had finally let the memory of her son go. Maybe it was time for her to let Durc go, too, and just be grateful that he was more than a memory.
“I have something to wrap him in,” Ayla said. She rushed to her sleeping place and from the bottom of a pile, she pulled out a folded hide and shook it out. She held the soft, supple, old leather of her son’s cloak to her cheek once more, and closed her eyes, remembering. Then she walked back and gave it to Rydag’s mother.
“Here’s a wrapping,” she told Nezzie, “a Clan wrapping. It once belonged to my son. Now it will help Rydag in the spirit world. And thank you, Crozie,” she added.
“Why are you thanking me?”
“For everything you’ve done for me, and for showing me that all mothers must let go sometime.”
“Hmmmf!” the old woman said, trying to look stern, but her eyes glistened with feeling. Nezzie took the cloak from Ayla and covered Rydag.
By then it was dark. Ayla had planned to do a simple ceremony inside the tent, but Nezzie asked her to wait until morning and conduct the ceremony outside, to show everyone at the Meeting Rydag’s humanity. It would also give the hunters a little more time to return. No one wanted Talut and Ranec to miss Rydag’s funeral, but they could not wait too long.
Late the next morning they carried the body outside and laid it out on the cloak. Many people from the Meeting had gathered around, and more were coming. Word had spread that Ayla was going to give Rydag a flathead burial, and everyone was curious. She had the small bowl of red ochre paste and the amulet, and had begun calling the Spirits to attend, as Creb had always done, when another commotion arose. Much to Nezzie’s relief, the hunters returned, and with all of the mammoth meat. They had taken turns dragging back the two travois, and were already planning variations of it to make a sledge that people could drag more easily.
The ceremony was postponed until the mammoth meat was stored, and Talut and Ranec were told what had happened, but no one objected when it was resumed quickly. The death of the mixed Clan child at the Summer Meeting of the Mamutoi had created a real dilemma. He had been called an abomination, an animal, but animals were not buried; their meat was stored. Only people were buried, and they did not like to leave the dead unburied for long. Though the Mamutoi weren’t quite willing to grant Rydag human status, they knew he wasn’t really an animal, either. No one revered the spirit of flatheads as they did deer, or bison, or mammoths, and no one was ready to store Rydag’s body beside the mammoth carcasses. He was an abomination precisely because they saw his humanity, but degraded it and would not recognize it. They were glad to let Ayla and the Lion Camp dispose of Rydag’s body in a way that seemed to resolve the problem.
Ayla stood up on a mound to begin the ceremony again, trying to remember the signs Creb had made for this part. She didn’t know exactly what all the signs meant, they were taught only to mog-urs, but she did know the general purpose and content, and explained as she went along for the benefit of the Lion Camp, and the rest of the Mamutoi who were watching.
“I am Calling the Spirits now,” she said. “The Spirit of the Great Cave Bear, the Cave Lion, the Mammoth, all the others, and the Ancient Spirits, too, of Wind and Mist and Rain.” Then she reached down for the small bowl. “Now I’m going to name him and make him part of the Clan,” she said, and dipping her finger in the red paste, Ayla drew a line from his forehead to his nose. Then she stood up and said with signs and words, “The boy’s name is Rydag.”
There was a quality about her, the tone of her voice, the intensity of her expression as she tried to remember exactly the correct signs and movements, even her strange, speech mannerism, that held people fascinated. The story of her standing on the ice Calling the mammoths was spreading fast. No one doubted that this daughter of the Mammoth Hearth had every right to conduct this ceremony, or any ceremony, whether she had a Mamut tattoo or not.
“Now he is named in the Clan way,” Ayla explained, “but he also needs a totem to help him find the world of the spirits. I do not know his totem, so I will share my totem, the Spirit of the Cave Lion, with him. It is a very powerful, protective totem, but he is worthy.”
Next, she exposed Rydag’s small, thin, right leg, and with the red ochre paste, drew four parallel lines on his thigh. Then she stood and announced in words and signs, “Spirit of Cave Lion, the boy, Rydag, is delivered into your protection.” Then she slipped the amulet, tied to a cord, around his neck. “Rydag is now named and accepted by the Clan,” she said, and fervently hoped it was true.
Ayla had chosen a place, somewhat away from the settlement, and Lion Camp had requested and received permission from Wolf Camp to bury him there. Nezzie wrapped the small stiff body in Durc’s cloak, then Talut picked up the boy and carried him to the place of burial. He was not ashamed of the tears that fell as he laid Rydag in the shallow grave.
The people of the Lion Clan stood around the dip in the ground that had been deepened only slightly, and watched as several things were put into the grave with him. Nezzie brought food and placed it beside him. Latie added his favorite little whistle. Tronie brought a string of bones, and deer vertebrae that he had used when he tended the babies and young children of Lion Camp during the past winter. It was what he loved doing most, because it was something useful he could do. Then, unexpectedly, Rugie ran to the grave and dropped in her favorite doll.
At Ayla’s signal, everyone from Lion Camp picked up a stone and carefully laid it on the cloak-wrapped figure; the beginning of his grave cairn. It was then that Ayla began the burial ceremony. She didn’t try to explain, the purpose seemed clear enough. Using the same signs that Creb had used at Iza’s funeral, and that she, in turn, had used to honor Creb when she found him in the rubble-strewn cave, Ayla’s movements gave meaning to a burial rite that was far more ancient than any there could know, and more beautiful than anyone had imagined.
She was not using the simplified sign language that she had taught to the Lion Camp. This was the full, complex, rich Clan language in which movements and postures of the entire body had shades and nuances of meaning. Though many of the signs were esoteric—even Ayla didn’t know the full meaning—many ordinary signs were also included, some of which the Lion Camp did know. They were able to understand the essence, know that it was a ritual for sending someone to a world beyond. To the rest of the Mamutoi, Ayla’s movement had the appearance of a subtle, yet expressive dance, full of hand movements, and arm movements, stances and gestures. She evoked in them with
her silent grace, the love and the loss, the sorrow and the mythic hope of death.
Jondalar was overwhelmed. His tears flowed as freely as any member of the Lion Camp’s. As he watched her beautiful silent dance, he was reminded of a time in her valley—it seemed so long ago now—when she once had tried to tell him something with the same kind of graceful movements. Even then, though he didn’t understand it was a language, he had sensed some deeper meaning in her expressive gestures. Now that he knew more, he was surprised at how much he didn’t know, yet how beautiful he thought it was when Ayla moved that way.
He remembered the posture she used when they first met, sitting cross-legged on the ground and bowing her head, waiting for him to tap her shoulder. Even after she could speak, she would use it sometimes. It always embarrassed him, particularly after he knew it was a Clan gesture, but she had told him it was her way of trying to say something that she didn’t have the words for. He smiled to himself. It was hard to believe she couldn’t talk when he first met her. Now, she was fluent in two languages: Zelandonii and Mamutoi, three, if he counted Clan. She had even picked up a little Sungaea in the short time she spent with them.
As he watched her move through the Clan ritual, filled with memories of the valley, and memories of their love, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. But Ranec was standing close to her, as enraptured as he. Every time Jondalar looked at Ayla, he could not avoid seeing the dark-skinned man. The moment he arrived, Ranec had sought her out, and he made a point of letting Jondalar know that she was still Promised to him. And Ayla seemed distant, elusive. He had made some attempts to talk to her, to express his sorrow, but after their first moments of shared grief, she seemed unwilling to accept his efforts to console her. He wondered if he was imagining it. As upset as she was, what else could he expect?
Suddenly, all heads turned at the sound of a steady beat. Marut, the drummer, had gone to the Music Lodge and brought his mammoth skull drum back. Music was usually played at Mamutoi funerals, but the sounds he was making were not the usual Mamutoi rhythms. They were the unfamiliar, strangely fascinating rhythms of the Clan that Ayla had shown him. Then the bearded musician, Manen, began to play the simple flute tones she had whistled. The music matched, in an unexplainable way, the movements of the woman who was dancing a ritual as evanescent as the sound of music itself.
Ayla had almost completed the ritual, but she decided to repeat it, since they were playing Clan sounds. The second time they went through it, the musicians began to improvise. With their expertise and skill, they made the simple Clan sounds into something else, which was neither Clan nor Mamutoi, but a mixture of both. A perfect accompaniment, Ayla thought, for the funeral of a boy who was a mixture of both.
Ayla went through one last repetition with the musicians, and she wasn’t sure when her tears started, but she could see she was not alone. There were many wet eyes, and not only from among the Lion Camp.
As she finished for the third time, a heavy dark cloud that had been approaching from the southeast began to blot out the sun. It was the season for thunderstorms, and some people looked for shelter. Instead of water, a light dust began to fall, very light at first. Then the volcanic ash from the eruption in the faraway mountains fell heavier.
Ayla stood by Rydag’s grave cairn feeling the feathery soft volcanic ash sifting down on her, coating her hair, her shoulders, clinging to her arms, her eyebrows, even her eyelashes, turning her into a monochrome figure in pale beige-gray. The fine light dust covered everything, the stones of the cairn, the grass, even the brown dust of the path. Logs and bush alike took on the same hue. It covered the people standing by the grave as well, and to Ayla, they all began to look the same. Differences were lost in the face of such awesome powers as movements of the earth, and death.
37
“This stuff is terrible!” Tronie complained, shaking out a bed covering at the edge of a gully, and causing more ash to billow up. “We’ve been cleaning it up for days, but it’s in the food, in the water, clothes, beds. It gets into everything, and you can’t get rid of it.”
“What we need is another good rain,” Deegie said, throwing out some dirty water that had been used to wash down the hide covering of the tent. “Or a good snowstorm. That would settle it. This is one year I’m going to look forward to winter.”
“I’m sure you are,” Tronie said, then looked at her sideways and grinned, “but I think it’s because you’ll be joined by then and living with Branag.”
A beatific smile transformed Deegie’s face as she thought of her upcoming nuptials. “I won’t deny that, Tronie,” she said.
“Is it true that the Mammoth Hearth was talking about postponing the Matrimonial because of this ash?” Tronie asked.
“Yes, and the Womanhood Rites, too, but everyone objected. I know Latie doesn’t want to wait, and I don’t either. They finally agreed. They don’t want any more bad feelings: A lot of people thought they were wrong about Rydag’s funeral,” Deegie said.
“But some people agreed with them,” Fralie said, approaching with a basketful of ash. She dumped it into the gully. “No matter what they had decided, someone would have thought they were wrong.”
“I guess you had to live with Rydag to know,” Tronie said.
“I’m not so sure,” Deegie said. “He lived with us a long time, but I never thought of him as quite human until Ayla came.”
“I don’t think she’s as anxious for the Matrimonial as you, Deegie,” Tronie said. “I wonder if something is wrong with her. Is she sick?”
“I don’t think so,” Deegie said. “Why?”
“She’s not acting right. She’s preparing to be joined, but she doesn’t seem to be looking forward to it. She’s getting a lot of gifts, and everything, but she doesn’t seem happy. She should be like you. Every time someone says ‘join,’ you smile, and get a dreamy look on your face.”
“Not everyone looks forward to their joining the same way,” Fralie said.
“She did feel very close to Rydag,” Deegie commented. “And she is grieving, as much as Nezzie. If he had been Mamutoi, the Matrimonial probably would be delayed.”
“I feel bad about Rydag, too, and I miss him—he was so good with Hartal,” Tronie said. “We all feel bad, though he was in so much pain I was relieved. I think something else is bothering Ayla.”
She did not add that she had wondered about Ayla joining with Ranec from the beginning. There was no reason to make an issue of it, but in spite of Ranec’s feeling for her, Deegie still thought Ayla felt more for Jondalar, though she seemed to be ignoring him lately. She saw the tall Zelandonii man come out of the tent, and walk toward the center of the Meeting area. He seemed preoccupied.
Jondalar nodded in response to people who acknowledged him as he passed, but his thoughts were turned inward. Was he imagining it? Or was Ayla really avoiding him? After all the time that he had spent trying to stay out of her way, he still couldn’t quite believe, now that he wanted to talk to her alone, that she was avoiding him. In spite of her Promise to Ranec, some part of him always believed that all he had to do was to stop avoiding her and she would be available to him again. It wasn’t that she had seemed so eager, exactly, but that she seemed open to him. Now, she seemed closed. He had decided the only way to find out was to face her directly, but he was having trouble finding her at a time and place where they could talk.
He saw Latie coming toward him. He smiled and stopped to watch her. She walked with an independent stride now, smiled confidently at people who nodded greetings. There is a difference, he thought. It always amazed him to see the change that First Rites brought. Latie was no longer a child, or a giggling, nervous girl. Though she was still young, she moved with the assurance of a woman.
“Hello, Jondalar,” she said, smiling.
“Hello, Latie. You’re looking happy.” A lovely young woman, he thought to himself as he smiled. His eyes conveyed his feeling. She responded with an indrawn breath
and widened eyes, and then a look that answered his unconscious invitation.
“I am. I was getting so tired of staying in one place all the time. This is the first chance I’ve had to walk around by myself … or with anyone I want.” She swayed a little closer as she looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m looking for Ayla. Have you seen her?”
Latie sighed, then smiled in a friendly way.
“Yes, she was watching Tricie’s baby for a while. Mamut is looking for her, too.”
“Don’t blame them all, Ayla,” Mamut said. They were sitting outside in the warm sunshine, in the shade of a big alder bush. “There were several who disagreed. I was one.”
“I don’t blame you, Mamut. I don’t know if I blame anyone, but why can’t they see? What makes people hate them so much?”
“Maybe because they can see how much we are alike, so they look for differences.” He paused, then continued, “You should go to the Mammoth Hearth before tomorrow, Ayla. You can’t be joined until you do. You’re the last one, you know.”
“Yes, I suppose I should,” Ayla said.
“Your reluctance is giving Vincavec hope. He asked me again today if I thought you were considering his offer. He said, if you didn’t want to break your Promise, he was going to talk to Ranec about accepting him as a co-mate. His offer could increase your Bride Price substantially, and give very high status to all of you. How would you feel about it, Ayla? Would you be willing to accept Vincavec as a co-mate with Ranec?”
“Vincavec said something about that on the hunt. I’d have to talk to Ranec and see how he feels about it,” Ayla said.
Mamut thought she showed remarkably little enthusiasm, either way. This was a bad time for a joining, with her grief still so strong but with all the offers and attention, it was hard to counsel waiting. He noticed that she was suddenly distracted, and turned to see what she was watching. Jondalar was coming toward them. She seemed nervous and took a step as though she was in a hurry to go, but she couldn’t just break off her conversation with Mamut so abruptly.