Ponter snorted. “Tell me about it.”
To Mary’s horror, everyone was supposed to participate in flensing the deer. Bal and Yabla, as parents of the—the “groom”; Mary couldn’t help using the term—had brought sharp metal knives, and Bal slit the deer from throat to tail. Mary hadn’t been prepared for the sight of so much blood, and she excused herself, walking a short distance away.
It was cold here, in the Neanderthal world, and it was getting colder. The sun was close to setting.
Mary had her back to the group, but after a few moments, she heard footfalls on the first autumn leaves behind her. She assumed it was Ponter, come to offer some comfort…and an explanation. But Mary’s heart jumped when she heard Daklar’s deep voice.
“You seem uncomfortable with the skinning of the deer,” she said.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Mary replied, turning around. She could see that Yabla and little Mega were now off gathering wood for a fire.
“That is all right. We have an extra pair of hands here anyway.”
At first Mary thought Daklar was making a reference to her own presence, which had clearly surprised Ponter. And then, Mary thought, perhaps Daklar was taking a dig at her. “Ponter invited me,” Mary said, not liking the defensive tone in her voice.
“So I see,” said Daklar.
Mary, knowing she would regret doing so but unable to stop herself, pushed the issue. “I don’t see how you can be here all sweetness and light after what you did to Adikor.”
Daklar was quiet for a time, and Mary was unable to read her expression. “I see,” the Neanderthal woman said at last, “that our Ponter has been telling you things.”
Mary didn’t like the phrasing “our Ponter,” but said nothing in reply. After a moment, Daklar continued: “What precisely did he tell you?”
“That while Ponter was in my world, you had Adikor charged with his murder—Adikor! Whom Ponter loves!”
Daklar lifted her eyebrow. “Did he tell what the principal piece of evidence against Adikor was?”
Mary knew that Daklar was a gatherer, not a hunter, but Mary felt as though she were being maneuvered into a trap. She shook her head through an arc of only a few degrees. “There was no evidence,” said Mary, “because there was no crime.”
“Not that time, no. But before.” Daklar paused, and her tone sounded a little haughty, a little condescending. “I’m sure Ponter hasn’t told you about his damaged jaw.”
But Mary wanted to assert her intimacy with the man. “He told me all about it. I’ve even seen X rays of it.”
“Well, then, you should understand. Adikor had tried once before to kill Ponter, so—”
Suddenly Daklar broke off, and her eyes went wide as she apparently read some sign in Mary’s face. “You did not know it was Adikor, did you? Ponter had not taken you that far into his confidence, had he?”
Mary felt her heart pounding rapidly. She didn’t trust herself to make a reply.
“Well,” said Daklar, “then I do have new information for you. Yes, it was Adikor Huld who punched Ponter in the face. I submitted as evidence images from Ponter’s alibi archive showing the attack.”
Mary and Colm had had their problems—no question—but he had never hit her. Although she knew it was all too common, she couldn’t imagine staying with a physically abusive spouse, but…
But it had been just once, and—
No. No, had Ponter been female, Mary never would have forgiven Adikor for hitting him even once, just as…
She hated to think about it, hated whenever it came to mind.
Just as she had never forgiven her father for having once hit her mother, decades ago.
But Ponter was a man, was physically the equal of Adikor, and—
And yet, nothing—nothing—excused such behavior. To hit someone you were supposed to love!
Mary had no reply for Daklar, and, after sufficient time had elapsed that this was obvious, the Neanderthal woman went on. “So you see, my charge against Adikor was not unfounded. Yes, I regret it now, but…”
She trailed off. To this point, Daklar had shown no unwillingness to give voice to any thought, and so Mary wondered what it was that she was leaving unsaid. And then it hit her. “But you were blinded by the thought of losing Ponter.”
Daklar neither nodded nor shook her head, but Mary knew she had hit upon it. “Well, then,” Mary said. She had no idea what, if anything, Ponter had said to Daklar about his relationship with Mary during the first time he’d come to Mary’s world, and…
…and surely he’d had no opportunity to speak to Daklar of the relationship that had deepened since, but…
But Daklar was a woman. She might weigh over two hundred pounds, and she might be able to bench-press twice that amount, and she might have soft fur on her cheeks.
But she was a woman, a female of genus Homo, and she could doubtless read things as clearly as Mary could. If Daklar hadn’t known about Ponter’s interest in Mary before today, she surely did now. Not just because of the blindingly obvious—that Ponter had brought Mary to fill the role of his dead woman-mate at his daughter’s bonding—but in how Ponter looked at Mary, how he stood close to her. His posture, his body language, surely spoke as eloquently to Daklar as they did to Mary.
“Well, then, indeed,” said Daklar, echoing Mary’s words.
Mary looked back at the wedding party. Ponter was working on the deer corpse with Jasmel and Tryon and Bal, but he kept glancing in this direction. Had he been a Gliksin, perhaps Mary would have been unable to read his expression at such a distance, but Ponter’s features, and his emotions, were writ large across his broad face. He was clearly nervous about the conversation Mary and Daklar were having—and well he should be, thought Mary.
She turned her attention back to the female Neanderthal standing before her, arms crossed in front of her broad, but not particularly busty, chest. Mary had noticed that none of the Neanderthal women she’d met were, well, stacked, the way Louise Benoît was. She supposed that with males and females living mostly separate lives, secondary sexual characteristics wouldn’t be as important.
“He is of my kind,” said Daklar, simply.
And, indeed he was, thought Mary, but …
But.
She refused to meet Daklar’s eyes, and, without another word, Mary Vaughan, woman, Canadian, Homo sapiens, walked back to join the group stripping the reddish brown hide from the carcass of the animal that one of them had killed apparently with nothing more than thrusts from his spear.
Mary had to admit the meal was excellent. The meat was juicy and flavorful, and the vegetables were tasty. It reminded her a bit of a trip she’d made two years ago to New Zealand for a conference; everyone had gone out for a Maori hangi feast.
But soon enough it was over, and, to Mary’s astonishment, Tryon left with his father. Mary leaned close to Ponter. “Why are Tryon and Jasmel separating?” she asked.
Ponter looked surprised. “It is still two days until Two next become One.”
Mary remembered the misgivings she’d had walking down the aisle with Colm, all those years ago. If she’d been given days for second thoughts, she might have backed out; after all, she could have gotten a real Roman Catholic annulment—not one of the fake ones she’d someday have to get—if the marriage hadn’t been consummated.
But…
Two days!
“So…” said Mary, slowly, and then, gaining her courage: “So you won’t want to go back to my world until after that’s over, right?”
“It is a very important time for…” He trailed off, and Mary wondered if he had intended to finish his sentence with “my family,” or with “us”—for his kind. It did, after all, make all the difference in the worlds…
Mary took a deep breath. “Do you want me to go home before then?”