Her words jogged a final piece into place, and suddenly a picture came together of what her life must have been. He saw her in a new way. This woman, he thought, this gentle, caring, loving woman, has survived more than anyone would believe. No, she could not run away, not from anything, not even from you. Whenever you let yourself go, Jondalar, and lost control, people backed off. But at your worst, she stood her ground.
"Ayla, you beautiful, wild, wonderful woman, look what a hunter you are!" He smiled. "Look what we've done! Two of them. How are we going to get them both back?"
As the full significance of their achievement filled her, she smiled, with satisfaction, triumph, and joy. It made Jondalar aware that he had not seen that smile often enough. She was beautiful, but when she smiled like that, she glowed, as though a fire was lit from within. A laugh rose up in him unexpectedly – uninhibited and infectious. She joined him; she couldn't help it. It was their shout of victory, of success.
"Look what a hunter you are, Jondalar," she said.
"It's the spear throwers – they made the difference. We walked into this herd, and before they knew what happened… two of them! Think what that can mean!"
She knew what it would mean to her. With the new weapon she would always be able to hunt for herself. Summer. Winter. No pit traps to dig. She could travel and hunt. The spear thrower had all the advantages of her sling, and so many more.
"I know what it means. You said you would show me a better way to hunt, an easier way. You did, more than I imagined. I don't know how to tell you… I am so…"
There was only one way she knew to express her gratitude, the way she had learned in the Clan. She sat at his feet and bowed her head. Perhaps he would not tap her shoulder to give her permission to tell him, in the proper way, but she had to try.
"What are you doing?" he said, reaching down to urge her up. "Don't sit there like that, Ayla."
"When a woman of the Clan wants to tell a man something important, this is how she asks for his attention," she said, looking up. "It is important for me to tell you how much this means, how grateful I am for the weapon. And for teaching me your words, for everything."
"Please, Ayla, get up," he said, lifting her to her feet. "I didn't give this weapon to you, you gave it to me. If I hadn't seen you use your sling, I would not have thought of it. I am grateful to you, for more than this weapon."
He was holding her arms, feeling her body close to his. She was looking into his eyes, unable and unwilling to turn her eyes aside. He bent closer and put his mouth on hers.
Her eyes opened wide in surprise. It was so unexpected. Not only his action, but her reaction, the jolt that flushed through her, when she felt his mouth on hers. She did not know how to respond.
And, finally, he understood. He wouldn't push her beyond that gentle kiss – not yet.
"What is that mouth on mouth?"
"It's a kiss, Ayla. It's your first kiss, isn't it? I keep forgetting, but it's very hard to look at you and… Ayla, sometimes I am a very stupid man."
"Why do you say that? You are not stupid."
"I am stupid. I can't believe how stupid I have been." He let go of her. "But right now, I think we'd better find a way to get those bison back to the cave, because if I stay here standing next to you like this, I'll never be able to do it right for you. The way it should be done for your first time.
"The way what should be done?" she said, not really wanting him to move away.
"First Rites, Ayla. If you will allow me."
28
"I don't think Whinney could have hauled them both back here if we hadn't left the heads behind," Ayla said. "It was a good idea." She and Jondalar dragged the carcass of the bull off the travois and onto the ledge. "There is so much meat! It will take a long time to cut it up. We should start right away."
"They'll keep for a while, Ayla." His smile and his eyes filled her with warmth. "I think your First Rites are more important. I'll help you take the harness off Whinney – then I'm going for a swim. I'm sweaty, and bloody."
"Jondalar…" Ayla hesitated. She was feeling excited, and yet shy. "It is a ceremony, this First Rites?"
"Yes, it is a ceremony."
"Iza taught me to prepare myself for ceremonies. Is there a… preparation for this ceremony?"
"Usually older women help young women prepare. I don't know what they say or do. I think you should do whatever is appropriate for you."
"Then I will find the soaproot and purify myself, the way Iza taught me. I will wait until you are through with your swim. I should be alone when I prepare." She flushed and looked down.
She seems so young, and shy, he thought. Just like most young women at First Rites. He felt the familiar surge of tenderness and excitement. Even her preparations were right. He lifted her chin and kissed her again, then firmly moved himself away. "I'd like a little soaproot myself."
"I'll get some for you," she said.
He was grinning as he walked along the stream behind Ayla, and after she dug the soaproot and went back up to the cave, he flung himself into the water with a tremendous splash, feeling better about himself than he had for a long time. He pounded the soapy foam from the roots, rubbed it on his body, then took off the leather thong and worked it into his hair. Sand usually worked well enough, but soaproot was better.
He dove into the water and sworn upstream, almost as far as the falls. When he returned to the beach, he put his breechclout on and hurried up to the cave. A roast was on, smelling delicious. He was so relaxed and happy, he couldn't believe it.
"I'm glad you're back. It will take some time to purify myself properly, and I didn't want it to get too late." She picked up a bowl of steaming liquid with horsetail ferns in it, for her hair, and a newly cured skin for a fresh wrap.
"Take as long as you need," he said, kissing her lightly.
She started down, then stopped and turned around. "I like that mouth on mouth, Jondalar. That kiss," she said.
"I hope you like the rest," he said after she left.
He walked around the cave, seeing everything with new eyes. He checked the haunch of roasting bison and turned the spit, noticed she had wrapped some roots in leaves and put them near coals, and then found the hot tea she had ready for him. She must have dug the roots while I was swimming, he thought.
He saw his sleeping furs on the other side of the fireplace, frowned, and then, with great delight, picked them up and brought them back to the empty place beside Ayla's. After straightening them, he went back for the bundle that held his tools, then remembered the donii he had begun to carve. He sat on the mat that had kept his sleeping furs oft the ground and opened the deerskin-wrapped package.
He examined the piece of mammoth-tusk ivory he had started to shape into a female figure and decided to finish it. Maybe he wasn't the best of carvers, but it didn't seem right to have one of the Mother's most important ceremonies without a donii. He picked out a few carving burins and took the ivory outside.
He sat at the edge, carving, shaping, sculpting, but he realized the ivory was not turning out to be ample and motherly. It was taking on the shape of a young woman. The hair that he had intended to resemble the style of the ancient donii he had given away – a ridged form covering the face as well as the back – was suggestive of braids, tight braids all over the head, except for the face. The face was blank. No face was ever carved on a donii, who could bear to look upon the face of the Mother? Who could know it? She was all women, and none.
He stopped carving and looked upstream and then down, hoping he might see her, though she said she wanted to be alone. Could he bring her Pleasure? he wondered. He had never doubted himself when he was called upon for First Rites at Summer Meetings, but those young women understood the customs and knew what to expect. They had older women to explain it to them.