by Jean M. Auel
“Lanoga, put the baby in this water,” she said. It was not a conversational request, but a statement, almost a command.
Lanoga moved slowly toward the stone basin, started to lift the naked baby from her hip, but seemed a little reluctant to let go of her sister. Ayla picked Lorala up from the back, holding her under the arms so that she faced Lanoga, let her feet dangle, and slowly lowered her into a sitting position in the middle of the water in the stone depression.
The lukewarm water was a new sensation to the child and coaxed her to explore her surroundings. She reached into the water, then pulled her hand out and looked at it. She tested it again, this time accidentally splashing it a little, which caused her to look again, then she pulled her hand out and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
Well, she didn’t cry, Ayla thought. It’s a good start.
“Put your hand in this basket, Lanoga, and feel how slippery the water is because of the soaproot.” The girl did as she was told. “Now, hold some in your hand and let’s rub it on Lorala.”
As both pairs of hands rubbed the slippery liquid with bits of root on the baby, she sat still, but with a little frown on her face. It was a new but not totally unpleasant sensation. “Now we need to wash her hair,” Ayla said, thinking this might be more difficult. “We’ll start by rubbing some soaproot on the back of her head. You can wash her ears and neck, too.”
She watched the girl and noticed that she handled the baby with calm assurance and seemed to be getting more comfortable with the process of bathing her. Ayla stopped for a moment with a sudden realization. I wasn’t much older than Lanoga when I had Durc! Perhaps I could count a year or two more, that’s all. Of course, I had Iza to teach me how to take care of him, but I learned.
“Next, lay her on her back, support her with one hand, don’t let her face get in the water, and wash the top of her hair with your other hand,” Ayla told her. She helped Lanoga ease the baby back. Lorala resisted somewhat, but the girl’s hands were sure now, and the child didn’t object to the warmish water once she was in it, secure in her sister’s arms. Ayla helped wash her hair, and then with her hands still soapy, she washed the baby’s legs and bottom. They had been soaking in the water, which in itself was getting a bit slick.
“Now wash her face, very carefully, just using your hands and the water. Don’t let anything get in her eyes. It won’t hurt, but it may make her uncomfortable,” Ayla said.
When they were through, they sat the baby up again. The woman pulled a very soft, pliable yellowish hide out of her pack, laid it out, lifted the baby out of the water, and wrapped her in it. She gave the baby to Lanoga. “Here she is, all clean and fresh.” She noticed the girl rubbing the soft suede-leather of the drying blanket. “It is nice and soft, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Lanoga said, looking up at the woman.
“That was given to me as a gift by some people I met on our Journey. They were called Sharamudoi, and they were known for making the skins of chamois soft like that. Chamois are animals that live in the mountains near their home. They are something like mountain goats, but they are smaller than ibex. Do you know if there are chamois around here, Lanoga?”
“Yes,” the girl said. Ayla waited, smiling encouragingly. She had discovered that Lanoga responded to questions or direct commands, but didn’t seem to know how to engage in conversation. She didn’t know how to talk to people. Ayla kept smiling, waiting. Lanoga frowned, then finally said, “Some hunters brought one.”
She can talk! She volunteered a statement, Ayla thought, feeling pleased. She just needed some encouragement. “You can keep that hide, if you want,” she said.
Lanoga’s face showed a range of expressions the woman didn’t expect. First her eyes lit up, then showed doubt, and then fear. Then she frowned and shook her head. “No. Can’t.”
“Do you want the hide?”
The girl looked down. “Yes.”
“Then why can’t you keep it?”
“Can’t keep it,” the girl said, then hesitated. “Won’t let me. Someone will take it.”
Ayla began to understand. “All right, let’s do it this way. You keep it for me. Then you will have it when you want to use it.”
“Someone will take it,” Lanoga repeated.
“Tell me if someone takes it, then I will go and take it back,” Ayla said.
Lanoga started to smile, then frowned and shook her head again. “Someone will get mad.”
Ayla nodded. “I understand. I will keep it, then, but remember, any time you want to use it, for Lorala or for you, you can come and borrow it. If someone wants to take it, tell them it belongs to me.”
Lanoga took the soft hide off the baby and put her down on a patch of grass. She gave the hide to the woman. “She’ll mess it,” she said.
“That wouldn’t be so bad. We’d just have to wash it. Let’s put her on it. It’s softer than the grass,” Ayla said. She spread it out and laid the baby on it, noticing that it still retained a slight, but pleasant, smoky odor.
After a hide was cleaned and scraped, it was processed, often with the brains of the animal, then worked and stretched while it dried to a beautiful soft, napped finish. The nearly white hide was then tanned over a smoky fire. The wood and other fuel that was burned determined the color of the hide, usually tan with a brownish or yellowish hue, and, to a slight degree, the texture of the finished piece. The tanning wasn’t done primarily for the color, however, it was done to maintain elasticity. While a hide might be soft before tanning, if it got wet and wasn’t worked and stretched again, it would dry stiff and hard. But once the smoke coated the collagen fibers, a change took place that kept the leather soft even through a washing. Smoke tanning was what made animal hides truly usable.
Ayla noticed that Lorala’s eyes were closing. Wolf had finished with his bone and had moved closer while they were washing the baby, too curious to stay away. Ayla had glanced up and seen him. Now she signaled him to come closer, and he ran toward them.
“It’s our turn to bathe,” Ayla said. She looked at the animal. “Wolf, watch Lorala, watch the baby.” Her hand signals told him the same thing. It wasn’t the first time the wolf had been left to guard a sleeping child. Lanoga had a slight frown of concern. “He’ll stay right here and make sure nothing harms her, and he’ll let us know if she wakes up. We will be right over there in that pond behind the stone dam. You will be able to see them. We’re going to wash ourselves the same way we washed Lorala, but our water will be colder,” Ayla added with a smile.
The woman picked up her haversack and the basket of soaking soaproot on their way to the pond. She took off her clothes and stepped in first. She demonstrated how to clean herself and helped Lanoga wash her hair, then took out two more pieces of the hide toweling and a long-toothed comb she had gotten from Marthona. After they dried, she worked the snarls and tangles out of Lanoga’s hair and, with a second comb, did her own.
Then, from the bottom of the carrying pack, she took out a tunic. Though it had been used, it was not worn. It looked new and had a simple decoration of fringes and some beadwork. Lanoga looked at it with longing and then touched it softly. She smiled when Ayla told her to put it on.
“I want you to wear this when we go to see the women,” Ayla said. Lanoga did not object, did not say a word, in fact, and did not hesitate to put it on. “We should go now. It is getting late. They are probably waiting for us.”
They followed the path back up to the stone terrace and started toward the living section and Proleva’s dwelling. Wolf fell back, and as Ayla turned to find him, she noticed he was looking back the way they had come. She followed his gaze and saw a woman and a man some distance behind. The woman weaved and stumbled as she walked. The man stayed beside her, but not very close, though one time he caught her when she almost fell down. When the woman turned toward Laramar’s living space, Ayla realized she was Lanoga and Lorala’s mother, Tremeda.
For a moment, Ayla wondered if she should try to bring
her to the meeting with the women, but she decided against it. The women were likely to be much more sympathetic toward a pretty girl carrying a clean baby than they would be if a woman who had probably drunk too much barma was with them. Ayla started to go on, but her eye was caught by the man. He did not turn in with the woman, but kept on coming.
There was something about his shape and the way he moved that seemed familiar. He saw her and kept looking at her while he approached. As he drew closer, Ayla identified the man and, watching him, suddenly knew what she had recognized. The man was Brukeval, and though he might not like it, what Ayla saw was the sturdy shape and confident, effortless movement of a man of the Clan.
Brukeval smiled at her as though he was genuinely glad to see her, and she smiled back before she turned around and hurried Lanoga and the baby toward Proleva’s dwelling. She glanced back for a moment and noticed that his smile had turned to a look of anger, as though she had done something to displease him, and she wondered what it was.
She saw me coming and then turned away, Brukeval thought. She couldn’t even wait to exchange a greeting. I thought she would be different.
20
“She’s coming now,” Proleva said. She had stepped out of her dwelling to look for Ayla and was glad to see her. She was afraid the women she had invited were getting bored and would soon be making excuses to leave, curious as they were. She had told them only that Ayla wanted to talk to them. The fact that the mate of the leader had asked them into her home was an added incentive. Proleva held the drape open and beckoned Ayla and the children in; Ayla signaled Wolf to go home, then urged Lanoga with the baby to go first.
There were nine women inside, making the dwelling feel rather small and cramped. Six of them held infants, all newborn or slightly older; three were in the late stages of pregnancy. In addition, two toddlers played on the floor. They all knew each other, more or less, some only in passing, though two were sisters, but conversation flowed easily. They compared babies and discussed the intimacies of birth, nursing, and learning to live with a new and often demanding individual in their households. They stopped talking and looked up at the new arrivals, showing various expressions of surprise.
“You all know who Ayla is, so I won’t go through a long formal presentation,” Proleva said. “You can introduce yourselves later.”
“Who’s the girl?” a woman said. She was older than most of the others, and one of the toddlers got up and walked to her at the sound of her voice.
“And the baby?” someone else asked.
Proleva looked at Ayla, who had felt rather overwhelmed by all the mothers when she first walked in, and it was obvious they were not shy, but their questions gave her a way to begin.
“This is Lanoga, Tremeda’s oldest daughter. The baby is her youngest, Lorala,” Ayla said, sure some of them should have known the children.
“Tremeda!” the older woman said. “Those are Tremeda’s children?”
“Yes, they are. Don’t you recognize them? They belong to the Ninth Cave,” Ayla said. There was a murmur among the women as they spoke to each other under their breaths. Ayla caught comments both about her unusual accent and the children.
“Lanoga is her second child, Stelona,” Proleva said. “You must remember when she was born, you helped. Lanoga, why don’t you bring Lorala and sit down here, next to me.” The women watched as the girl lifted the baby from her hip and walked toward the leader’s mate, then sat down with Lorala on her lap. She would not look at the other women, but watched only Ayla, who smiled at her.
“Lanoga came to get Zelandoni because Bologan was hurt. He had been in a fight and had a head injury,” Ayla began. “It was only then that we discovered a more serious problem. This baby can count only a few moons, and her mother’s milk has dried up. Lanoga has been taking care of her, but she only knew how to feed her mashed-up cooked roots. I think you all know that no baby can live or grow if all she has to eat is cooked roots.” Ayla noticed that the women hugged their infants to them more closely. It was a reaction almost anyone could interpret, and now they were beginning to get an idea of what Ayla was leading up to.
“I come from a place far from the land of the Zelandonii, but no matter where or with whom we are raised, there is one thing all people know: a baby needs milk. Among the people I grew up with, when a woman lost her milk, the other women helped to feed her baby.” They all knew Ayla was talking about the ones that they called flatheads, considered to be animals by most Zelandonii. “Even those with older children, who didn’t have much extra, would offer her breast to the baby now and then. Once, when a young woman lost her milk, another woman, who had more than enough for her own baby, treated the other baby almost as her own, and fed them as though they were two born together,” Ayla said.
“What about a woman’s own baby? What if she doesn’t have enough milk left for her?” one of the pregnant women asked. She was quite young, and it was likely her first.
Ayla smiled at her, then looked at the other women and included them. “Isn’t it wonderful how a mother’s milk will increase with her need? The more she nurses, the more milk she makes.”
“That’s entirely correct, especially in the beginning,” said a voice from the entrance that Ayla recognized. She turned and smiled at the tall, rotund woman coming in. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, Proleva. Laramar came to see Bologan and began questioning him. I didn’t approve of his methods and went to get Joharran, but between them, they did finally get some answers out of that young man about what happened.”
The women began an excited murmuring among themselves. They were very curious and hoped Zelandoni would say more, but knew it wouldn’t do any good to ask. She would tell them only as much as she wished them to know. Proleva removed a tall watertight basket, half-full of tea, from a stone block off to the side and put a stuffed pad on it; it was Zelandoni’s permanent seat in the leader’s dwelling, put to other uses when she wasn’t there. When the donier sat down, she was handed a cup of the beverage. She took it and smiled at everyone.
If the space had seemed crowded before, it felt absolutely crammed with the addition of the big woman, but no one seemed to mind. To be at a meeting with both the mate of the leader and the First Among Those Who Served The Mother made the women feel important. Ayla got a sense of their feeling, but she hadn’t lived among them long enough to understand the full sense of the occasion for the women. She thought of Proleva and Zelandoni as a relative and a friend of Jondalar. The donier looked at Ayla, encouraging her to continue.
“Proleva told me that among the Zelandonii, all food is shared. I asked her if Zelandonii women would be willing to share their milk. She told me they often do with relatives and close friends, but Tremeda has no kin that anyone knows of, and definitely not a sister or cousin who is nursing,” Ayla said, not even mentioning close friends. She beckoned to Lanoga, who got up and came slowly toward her, carrying the baby.
“Though a ten-year may be able to care for a baby, she can’t nurse her. I have started to show Lanoga how to make other foods that a baby can eat besides mashed roots. She is quite capable, she just needs someone to teach her, but that’s not enough.” Ayla stopped and looked at each one of the women.
“Are you the one who cleaned them up, too?” Stelona, the older woman, asked.
“Yes. We went to The River and bathed, just as you do,” Ayla said, then she added, “I have come to know that Tremeda is not always looked upon with favor, and perhaps with reason, but this baby is not Tremeda. She is just an infant who needs milk, at least some milk.”
“I will tell you frankly,” Stelona said. She had become, in effect, a spokeswoman for the group. “I wouldn’t mind feeding her once in a while, but I do not want to go into that dwelling, and I’m not terribly interested in visiting with Tremeda.”
Proleva turned aside to hide a smile. Ayla did it, she thought. She’s got one commitment, the rest will come through, or at least most of them.
; “You won’t have to go to extra effort. I have already talked to Lanoga. She will carry her sister to you, we can work out a routine. With many to help, it won’t be much drain on any one woman,” Ayla said.
“Well, bring her here,” the woman said. “Let’s see if she still knows how to nurse. How long has it been?”
“Since sometime in spring,” Ayla said. “Lanoga, take the baby to Stelona.”
Lanoga avoided looking directly at the other women as she headed toward the older woman, who had given the baby sleeping in her lap to the pregnant woman beside her. With experienced ease, Stelona presented her breast to the baby. She nuzzled around for a while, seemingly eager, but no longer familiar with the position, but when Lorala opened her mouth, the woman put her nipple in. She mouthed it for a while, then finally began to suckle.
“Well, she took hold,” Stelona said. There was a general sigh of relief and smiles all around.
“Thank you, Stelona,” Ayla said.
“I suppose it’s the least one can do. She does, after all, belong to the Ninth Cave,” Stelona said.
“She didn’t exactly shame them into it,” Proleva said, “but she made them feel that if they didn’t help, they would be worse than flatheads. Now, they can all feel virtuous about doing what is right.”
Joharran got up on an elbow and looked at his mate. “Would you feed Tremeda’s baby?” he asked.
Proleva rolled onto her side and pulled a cover up over her shoulder. “Of course I would,” she said, “if someone asked, but I admit, I might not have thought of working out a routine for everyone to share the task, and I’m ashamed that I didn’t know that Tremeda had gone dry. Ayla said Lanoga was capable, she just needs someone to teach her. Ayla’s right, the girl is capable. She kept that baby going, and she is more mother to the rest of those children than their mother, but a girl who can count only ten years should not have to be mother to that brood. She hasn’t even had her First Rites yet. The best thing would be if someone would adopt that baby. And maybe some of the other young ones, too,” Proleva said.