by Jean M. Auel
Broud’s constant nagging made an impression on the rest of the hunters, too. Most were all but convinced Ayla had somehow blinded them with a smokescreen of deception and only Broud had seen her with clear eyes. When Brun was not around, the young man cast aspersions on the leader, hinting that he was too old to lead them effectively any longer. Brun’s loss of face was a devastating blow to his confidence; he could sense the men’s respect slipping away, and he could not bear to face a Gathering of the clans under such circumstances.
Ayla stayed in the cave, leaving only for water. Bundled in furs, she was warm enough even without a fire. The food Uba brought and the forgotten store of deer meat, dry as leather and tough to chew but highly concentrated nourishment, seasoned by hunger, made gathering or hunting unnecessary. It gave her time for the rest she needed. No longer drained by the demands of nurturing a not-quite-right fetus, her healthy young body, toughened by the years of strenuous physical exercise, was recuperating. She didn’t need to sleep as much, but in some ways that was worse. Her troubled thoughts weighed on her constantly. At least when she was sleeping, she was free of anxiety.
Ayla was sitting near the mouth of the cave holding her sleeping son in her arms. White, watery fluid dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, and dripping from the other breast stimulated by his nursing, gave evidence that her milk had started to flow. The afternoon sun, hidden occasionally by fast-moving clouds, warmed the spot near the entrance with its dappled light. She was looking at her son, watching his regular breathing interrupted by twitching eye movements and little jerky spasms that started him making sucking motions with his mouth before relaxing again. She looked at him more closely, turning his head to see his profile.
Uba said you don’t look so bad, Ayla thought; I don’t think you do either. Just a little different. That’s what Uba said, too. You just look different, but not as different as me. Ayla suddenly remembered the reflection of herself she had seen in the still pool. Not as different as me!
Ayla examined her son again, trying to remember the reflection of herself. My forehead bulges out like that, she thought, reaching up to touch her face. And that bone under his mouth, I’ve got one, too. But he’s got brow ridges, and I haven’t. Clan people have brow ridges. If I’m different, why shouldn’t my baby be different? He should look like me, shouldn’t he? He does, a little, but he looks a little like Clan babies, too. He looks like both. I wasn’t born to the Clan, but my baby was, only he looks like me and them, like both mixed together.
I don’t think you’re deformed at all, my son. If you were born to me and born to the Clan, you should look like both. If the spirits were mixed together, shouldn’t you look mixed together, too? That’s the way you look, the way you should look. But whose totem started you? No matter whose it was, it must have had help. None of the men have a stronger totem than I have, except Creb. Did the Cave Bear start you, my baby? I live at Creb’s hearth. No, it couldn’t be. Creb says Ursus never allows his spirit to be swallowed by a woman, Ursus always chooses. Well, if it wasn’t Creb, who else have I been close to?
Ayla got a sudden image of Broud hovering close to her. No! She shook her head, rejecting the thought. Not Broud. He didn’t start my baby. She shuddered with revulsion thinking of the future leader and the way he had forced her to submit to his desires. I hate him! I hated it every time he came close to me. I’m so glad he doesn’t bother me anymore. I hope he never, never wants to relieve his needs with me again. How does Oga stand it? How does any woman stand it? Why do men have needs like that? Why should a man want to put his organ in the place babies come from? That place should be just for babies, not for men’s organs to make all sticky. Men’s organs don’t have anything to do with babies, she thought indignantly.
The incongruity of the meaningless act stayed in her mind, then a strange thought insinuated itself. Or do they? Could a man’s organ have something to do with babies? Only women can have babies, but they have both girl and boy babies, she mused. I wonder, when a man puts his organ in the place babies come from, could he be getting it started? What if it’s not the spirit of a man’s totem, what if it’s a man’s organ that starts a baby? Wouldn’t that mean the baby belongs to him, too? Maybe that’s why men have that need, because they want to start a baby. Maybe that’s why women like it, too. I’ve never seen a woman swallow a spirit, but I’ve seen men put their organs in women often. No one ever thought I’d have a baby, my totem is too strong, but I did anyway, and it started just about the time Broud was relieving his needs with me.
No! It’s not true! That would mean my baby is Broud’s baby, too, Ayla thought with horror. Creb is right. He’s always right. I swallowed a spirit that fought with my totem and defeated him, maybe more than one, maybe all of them. She clutched her baby fiercely as though trying to keep him to herself. You’re my baby, not Broud’s! It wasn’t even the spirit of Broud’s totem. The infant was startled by the sudden movement and began to cry. She rocked him gently until he quieted.
Maybe my totem knew how much I wanted to have a baby and let himself be defeated. But why would my totem let me have a baby when he knew it would have to die? A baby that is part me and part Clan is always going to look different; they’ll always say my babies are deformed. Even if I had a mate, my babies wouldn’t look right. I’ll never be able to keep one; they’ll all have to die. What difference does it make, I’m going to die anyway. We’re both going to die, my son.
Ayla held her baby close, rocking him and crooning while tears streamed down her face unnoticed. What am I going to do, my baby? What am I going to do? If I go back on your naming day, Brun will curse me. Iza said not to come back, but where can I go? I’m not strong enough to hunt yet, and even if I were, what would I do with you? I couldn’t take you with me; I couldn’t hunt with a baby. You might cry and warn the animals away, but I couldn’t leave you alone. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hunt, I can find food. But we need other things, too—wraps and furs and cloaks and foot coverings.
And where will I find a cave to live in? I can’t stay here, there’s too much snow in winter and it’s too close; they’d find me sooner or later. I could go away, but I might not find a cave, and the men would track me and bring me back. Even if I did get away and found a cave and stored enough food to last through next winter, and even managed to hunt a little, we’d still be alone. You need more people than just me. Who would you play with? Who would teach you to hunt? And what if something happened to me? Who would take care of you then? You’d be all alone, just as I was before Iza found me.
I don’t want you to be alone; I don’t want to be alone, either. I want to go home, Ayla sobbed, burying her head in her infant’s swaddling. I want to see Uba again, and Creb. I want my mother. But I can’t go home. Brun’s mad at me. I made him lose face and he’s going to curse me. I didn’t know it would make him lose face, I just didn’t want you to die. Brun’s not so bad; he let me hunt. What if I didn’t try to force him to accept you? What if I just begged him to let you live? If I went back now, he wouldn’t lose face; there’s still time, there are two fingers left before your naming day. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so angry.
What if he is? What if he says no? What if they take you away from me? I wouldn’t want to live if they took you away now. If you have to die, I want to die too. If I go back and Brun says you have to die, I’ll beg him to curse me. I’ll die too. I won’t let you go back to the world of the spirits alone, my baby; I promise if you have to go, I’ll go with you. I’m going right now and beg Brun to let me keep you. What else can I do?
Ayla began throwing things into her collecting basket. She wrapped the baby in the carrying cloak and both of them in her fur wrap and pushed aside the branches that hid the small cave. As she was crawling out, her eyes fell on something glittering in the sun. A sparkling gray rock lay at her feet. She picked it up. It wasn’t just one rock, but three small nodules of iron pyrite stuck together. She turned it over in her hand and watched the fool’s gold gli
tter. As often as she had gone in and out of the small cave over the years, she had never seen the unusual stone before.
Ayla clutched it in her hand and closed her eyes. Can this be a sign? A sign from my totem?
“Great Cave Lion,” she motioned. “Did I make the right decision? Are you telling me I should go back now? O Cave Lion, let this be a sign. Let this be a sign that you have found me worthy, that it was all another test. Let this be a sign that my baby will live.”
Her fingers shook as she untied the knots of the small leather bag she wore around her neck. She added the oddly shaped glittering stone to the red-stained oval of mammoth tusk, the fossil cast of a gastropod, and the lump of red ochre. Her heart pounding with fear, and one desperate hope, Ayla started down to the cave of the clan.
21
Uba came running into the cave gesticulating wildly. “Mother! Mother! Ayla’s back!”
Iza’s face drained. “No! It can’t be. Is the baby with her? Uba, did you go to see her? Did you tell her?”
“Yes, mother, I saw her. I told her how mad Brun was, I told her not to come back,” the girl motioned.
Iza hurried to the entrance and saw Ayla walking slowly toward Brun. She crumpled to the ground at his feet, leaning forward over her infant protectively.
“She’s early, she must have misjudged the time,” Brun motioned to the magician hurriedly shuffling out of the cave.
“She didn’t misjudge, Brun. She knows it’s early, she came back on purpose,” Mog-ur signaled.
The leader eyed the old man, wondering how he could be so positive. Then he glanced down at the young woman and back at Mog-ur a little apprehensively.
“Are you sure the charms you made to protect us will work? She should still be isolated, her female curse cannot be over yet, it’s always much longer after giving birth.”
“The charms are strong, Brun, made from the bones of Ursus. You are protected. You may ‘see’ her,” the magician replied.
Brun turned back and stared at the young woman huddled over her infant, quaking with fear. I should curse her right now, he thought angrily. But it’s not the child’s naming day. If Mog-ur is right, why did she come back early? And with the baby? He must still be alive or she wouldn’t have him with her. Her disobedience is unforgivable, but why did she come back early? His curiosity was too much for him; he tapped her on the shoulder.
“This unworthy woman has been disobedient,” Ayla began with the silent, formal motions, not looking directly at him, and not sure he would respond. She knew she shouldn’t be trying to talk to a man, she should be in isolation, but he had tapped her shoulder. “This woman would speak to the leader, if it were allowed.”
“You don’t deserve to speak, woman, but Mog-ur has invoked protection in your case. If I want you to speak, the spirits will allow it. You are right, you have been very disobedient, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“This woman is grateful. This woman knows the customs of the Clan; she should have disposed of the infant as the medicine woman told her, but she ran away. She was going to return on her son’s naming day so the leader would have to accept him into the clan.”
“You returned too soon,” Brun gestured triumphantly. “It is not the naming day yet. I can command the medicine woman to take him from you now.” The tension that had knotted Brun’s back since Ayla left relaxed as he made the motions and the full realization hit him. Only if the child lived seven days would tradition force him to accept the baby. The full time had not elapsed, he did not have to take him, he had not lost face, he was in command again.
Ayla’s arms clutched involuntarily at the baby held to her breast with the cloak, then she continued: “This woman knows it is not yet the naming day. This woman realized it was wrong for her to try to make the leader accept her son. It is not a woman’s place to decide if her child should live or die. Only the leader can make that decision. That is why this woman returned.”
Brun looked at Ayla’s earnest face. At least she came to her senses in time, he thought. “If you know the customs of the Clan, why did you return with a child that is deformed? Iza said you were unable to perform your duty as a mother; are you ready to give him up now? Do you want the medicine woman to do it for you?”
Ayla hesitated, hovering over her son. “This woman will give him up if the leader commands it.” She made the signs slowly, painfully, forcing herself, feeling as though a knife were twisting in her heart. “But this woman promised her son she would not let him go alone to the world of the spirits. If the leader decides the baby may not live, she asks him to curse her.” She slipped out of the formal language and pleaded, “I beg you, Brun, I beg you to let my son live. If he has to die, I don’t want to live.”
Ayla’s fervent plea surprised the leader. Some women, he knew, wanted to keep their babies in spite of malformations and disfigurements, but most were relieved to dispose of them as quickly and quietly as possible. A deformed child stigmatized the mother. It advertised a certain inadequacy, an inability to produce a perfect baby. It made her less than desirable. Even if the deformity was small enough not to pose a major handicap, there were considerations of status and future mates. A mother’s later years could be difficult if her children or her children’s mates could not take care of her. Though she would never starve, her life could be miserable. Ayla’s request was unprecedented. Mother love was strong, but strong enough to follow her child to the next world?
“You want to die with a deformed baby? Why?” Brun asked.
“My son is not deformed,” Ayla motioned with the barest trace of defiance. “He’s just different. I’m different, I don’t look like people of the Clan. My son is, too. Any baby I ever have will look like him, if my totem is ever defeated again. I’ll never have a baby that will be allowed to live. I don’t want to live either, if all my babies have to die.”
Brun looked at Mog-ur. “If a woman swallows the spirit of a man’s totem, shouldn’t the baby look like him?”
“Yes, it should. But don’t forget, she has a male totem, too. Perhaps that’s why it fought so hard. The Cave Lion may have wanted to be part of the new life. There could be something to what she says. I would have to meditate on it.”
“But the child is still deformed?”
“It often happens when a woman’s totem refuses to give in completely. It makes her pregnancy difficult and deforms the baby,” Mog-ur replied. “I’m more surprised the child was male. If a woman’s totem puts up a strong fight, it usually makes the child female. But we haven’t seen him, Brun. Perhaps we should examine him.”
Should he bother? Brun wondered. Why not just curse her now and dispose of the baby? Ayla’s early return and penitent groveling eased Brun’s wounded pride, but he was far from mollified. He had come too close to losing face because of her, and it wasn’t the first problem she had caused him. She had returned, but what would she do next? And then there was the Clan Gathering, as Broud had reminded him so many times.
It was one thing to let Iza pick up a strange child and take her into his clan. But Brun had cause to reflect often lately on the impression it would make on the other clans to arrive at the meeting with a woman born to the Others. He wondered, looking back, how he had made so many decisions that were so unorthodox. Each one, at the time, didn’t seem too unreasonable. Even allowing the woman to hunt was logical then. But, added together, and seeing them from an outsider’s point of view, the effect was an overwhelming breach of custom. Ayla had been disobedient, she deserved to be punished, and cursing her would eliminate all his worries.
But a death curse was a serious threat to the clan, and he had already exposed them once to evil spirits because of her. Her voluntary return had prevented his disgrace—Iza was probably right, she had lost her mind temporarily from the shock and the pain. He did tell Iza he would have considered a request to let the baby live, if he had been asked. Well, she did ask. She came back knowing the full extent of her offense, knowing it and willing t
o face it, begging for the life of her child. He could at least examine the baby. Brun did not like making hasty decisions. He gave Ayla an abrupt signal, motioning toward Creb’s hearth, then strode away.
Ayla ran into Iza’s waiting arms. If nothing else, at least she would see the woman who was the only mother she knew, one last time.
“You’ve all had a chance to examine him,” Brun said. “Under normal circumstances, I would not bother you; it would be a simple decision. But I want to know your opinions; a death curse is a strong possibility, and I don’t like exposing the clan to evil spirits again. If you find the boy is acceptable, I can hardly curse the mother. Without her, another woman would have to take him, he’d have to live with one of you whose mate has a nursing child. If the baby is allowed to live, the punishment for Ayla should be less severe. Tomorrow is the naming day; I need to make the decision soon, and Mog-ur will need some time to prepare for a curse, if that is to be her punishment. It must be done before the sun rises in the morning.”
“It’s not only his head, Brun,” Crug started. Ika was still nursing her youngest and Crug had no desire to have Ayla’s infant added to his hearth, farfetched though the possibility was. “That’s bad enough, but he can’t even hold it up. It has to be supported. What will he be like when he’s a man? How will he hunt? He’ll never be able to provide for himself; he’d only be a burden on the whole clan.”
“Do you think there’s any chance his neck will get stronger?” Droog asked. “If Ayla dies, she will take part of Ona’s spirit with her. Aga would take her son—she feels she owes Ayla that much—though I don’t think she really wants a deformed baby. If she’s willing, I suppose I would be, too, but not if he will burden the whole clan.”
“His neck is so long and scrawny and his head is so big, I don’t think it will ever be strong enough,” Crug commented.