The Clan of the Cave Bear ec-1

by Jean M. Auel

  Girls of the Clan were expected to be well-versed in the skills of adult women by the time they were seven or eight. Many came of age then and were mated soon after. In the nearly two years since they found her-alone, near starvation, unable to find food for herself-she had learned not only how to find food, but how to prepare and preserve it. She was capable of many other important skills as well, and if not as proficient at them as the older, more experienced women, she was at least as adept as some of the younger ones.

  She could skin and dress a hide and make wraps, cloaks, and pouches used in various ways. She could cut thongs of even widths in one long spiral from a single hide. Her cords made of long animal hair, sinew, or fibrous bark and roots were strong and heavy or thin and fine depending on their use. Her baskets, mats, and nets woven from tough grasses, roots, and barks were exceptional. She could make a rough hand-axe from a nodule of flint or flake off a sharp-edged piece to use as a knife or scraper so well even Droog was impressed. She could gouge bowls out of sections of logs and smooth them to a fine finish. She could make fire by twirling a sharpened stick between her palms against another piece of wood until a smoldering hot coal developed that fired dry tinder; easier to do if two people alternated the tedious, difficult chore of keeping the sharpened stick moving under a constant firm pressure. But more surprising, she was picking up Iza’s medical lore with what seemed to be a natural instinct. Iza was right, Creb thought, she’s learning even without the memories.

  Ayla was slicing pieces of yam to put into a skin pot that was boiling over a cooking fire. After cutting away the parts that had spoiled, there wasn’t much left of each one. The back of the cave, where they were stored, was cool and dry, but vegetables started to soften and rot so late in the winter. Her daydreaming about the coming season had begun a few days before when she had noticed a trickle of water in the ice-locked stream, one of the first signs that it would soon be breaking free. She could hardly wait for spring with its first greens, new buds, and the sweet maple sap that rose and oozed out of notches cut into the bark. It was collected and boiled long in large skin pots until it became a thick, viscous syrup or crystallized into sugar, and stored in birchbark containers. Birch had a sweet sap, too, but not as sweet as maple.

  She was not alone in being restless and bored with the long winter, and the inside of the cave. Earlier that day the wind had shifted to the south for a few hours, bringing warmer air from the sea. The melting water ran down the long icicles hanging from the apex of the cave’s triangular mouth. They froze again when the temperature dropped, lengthening and thickening the glistening, pointed shafts that had been growing all winter, when the wind veered and brought the chilling blasts from the east again. But the breath of warm air turned the thoughts of everyone to the end of winter.

  The women were talking and working, moving their hands rapidly in quick conversational gestures while preparing the food. Toward the end of winter, when food supplies ran low, they combined resources and cooked communally, though still eating separately, except for special occasions. There were always more feasts in winter-it helped to break up the monotony of their confinement-though as the season drew to a close, their feasts were often meager fare. But they had enough food. Fresh meat from small game or an aging deer that the hunters managed to bring in between blizzards was welcomed, though not essential. They still had an adequate supply of dried food on hand. The women were still caught up in the storytelling mood and Aba was telling a woman’s story.

  “…but the child was deformed. His mother took him out as she was told by the leader, but she could not bear to leave him to die. She climbed high up in a tree with him and tied him to the topmost branches that even cats could not reach. He cried when she left him, and by night he was so hungry he howled like a wolf. No one could sleep. He cried day and night, and the leader was angry with the mother, but as long as he cried and howled, his mother knew he was still alive.

  “On the naming day, the mother climbed the tree again early in the morning. Her son was not only still alive, but his deformity was gone! He was normal and healthy. The leader hadn’t wanted her son in his clan, but since the baby was still alive, he had to be named and accepted. The boy became a leader himself when he grew up and was always grateful to his mother for putting him where nothing could harm him. Even after he mated, he always brought her part of every hunt. He never cuffed her, never scolded her, always treated her with honor and respect,” Aba finished.

  “What baby could live through his first days without being fed?” Oga asked, looking at Brac, her own healthy son who had just fallen asleep. “And how could her son become a leader if his mother was not mated to a leader or to a man who would someday become a leader?”

  Oga was proud of her new son, and Broud even more proud that his mate had given birth to a son so soon after their mating. Even Brun relaxed his stoic dignity around the baby, his eyes softening as he held the infant who assured the continuity of the leadership of the clan.

  “Who would be the next leader if you did not have Brac, Oga?” Ovra asked. “What if you had no sons, only daughters? Maybe the mother was mated to the secondin-command and something happened to the leader.” She was a little envious of the younger woman. Ovra didn’t have a child yet, though she had become a woman and had been mated to Goov before Oga and Broud were mated.

  “Well, anyway, how could a baby that was born deformed suddenly become normal and healthy?” Oga countered.

  “I suspect the story was made up by a woman who had a deformed son and wished he were normal,” Iza said.

  “But it’s an ancient legend, Iza. It has been told for generations. Maybe long ago things happened that are no longer possible. How do we know for sure?” Aba said, defending her tale.

  “Some things may have been different long ago, Aba, but I think Oga is right. A baby that is born deformed isn’t suddenly going to become normal, and it’s not likely he could live until his naming day without nursing. But it is an old story. Who knows, there may be some truth in it,” Iza conceded.

  When the food was ready, Iza carried it back to Creb’s hearth as Ayla picked up the husky toddler and followed behind. Iza was thinner, not as strong as she once was, and it was Ayla who carried Uba most of the time. There was a special attachment between the two. Uba followed the girl everywhere and Ayla never seemed to tire of the youngster.

  After they ate, Uba went to her mother to nurse, but soon started fussing. Iza began to cough, making the baby more restless. Finally, Iza pushed the fussing, whining baby toward Ayla.

  “Take this child. See if Oga or Aga will nurse her,” Iza motioned with irritation, breaking into a hacking cough.

  “Are you all right, Iza?” Ayla motioned with a worried look.

  “I’m just an old woman, too old to have such a young baby. My milk is drying up, that’s all. Uba’s hungry; last time Aga fed her, but I think she has already nursed Ona and may not have much milk left. Oga says she has more than enough milk, bring this baby to her tonight.” Iza noticed Creb eyeing her closely and looked the other way as Ayla carried the baby to Oga.

  She was very careful of the way she walked, keeping her head down with the proper attitude as she neared Broud’s hearth. She knew the least infraction would bring down the young man’s wrath. She was sure he looked for reasons to scold or hit her, and she did not want him to tell her to take Uba away because of something she did. Oga was happy to nurse Iza’s daughter, but with Broud watching, there was no conversation. When Uba had her fill, Ayla carried her back, then sat rocking back and forth, crooning softly under her breath, which always seemed to soothe the baby, until she fell asleep. Ayla had long since forgotten the language she spoke when she first came, but she still crooned when she held the baby.

  “I’m just an old woman who gets irritable, Ayla,” Iza said as the girl laid Uba down. “I was too old when I gave birth, my milk is drying up already, and Uba shouldn’t have to be weaned yet. She’s not even through her walking y
ear, but it can’t be helped. Tomorrow I’ll show you how to make special food for babies. I don’t want to give Uba to another woman if I can help it.”

  “Give Uba to another woman! How can you give Uba to someone else, she belongs with us!”

  “Ayla, I don’t want to give her up either, but she must get enough to eat and she’s not getting it from me. We can’t just keep bringing her to one woman or another to nurse when my milk isn’t enough. Oga’s baby is young yet, that’s why she has so much milk. But as Brac grows older, her milk will adjust to his needs. Like Aga, she won’t have much extra unless she has another baby always nursing,” Iza explained.

  “I wish I could nurse her!”

  “Ayla, you may be almost as tall as one, but you’re not a woman yet. And you’re not showing any signs of becoming one soon. Only women can be mothers and only mothers can make milk. We’ll start giving Uba regular food and see how she does, but I wanted you to know what to expect. Food for babies must be prepared a special way. Everything must be soft for her; her milk teeth can’t chew very well. Grains must be ground very fine before they are cooked, dried meat has to be crushed to a meal and cooked with a little water into a paste, fresh meat must be scraped away from the tough fibers, vegetables mashed. Are there any acorns left?”

  “There was a pile of them last time I looked, but the mice and squirrels steal them and many are rotten,” Ayla said.

  “Find what you can. We’ll leach out the bitterness and grind them up to add to the meat. Yams will be good for her, too. Do you know where those small clamshells are? They should be small enough for her mouth; she’ll have to learn to eat from them. I’m glad winter is almost over, spring will bring more variety-for all of us.”

  Iza saw the worried concentration on the girl’s earnest face. More than once, especially this past winter, she had been grateful for Ayla’s willing help. She wondered if Ayla had been given to her while she was pregnant so she could be a second mother to the baby she had so late in life. It was more than just old age that drained Iza. Though she brushed off references to her failing health, and never mentioned the pain in her chest or the blood she sometimes spit up after a particularly bad coughing spell, she knew Creb was aware that she was far more sick than she let on. He’s aging, too, Iza thought. This winter has been hard on him, too. He sits too much in that little cave of his with only a torch to keep him warm.

  The old magician’s shaggy mane was shot with silver. His arthritis, coupled with his lame leg, made walking an agonizing trial. His teeth, worn down from years of using them to hold things, in place of his missing hand, had begun to ache. But Creb had long ago learned to live with suffering and pain. His mind was as powerful and perceptive as ever, and he worried about Iza. He watched the woman and the girl discussing how to make baby food, noticing how Iza’s robust body had shrunk. Her face was gaunt, and her eyes were sunk into deep hollows that emphasized her overhanging brow ridges. Her arms were thin, her hair was turning gray, but it was her persistent cough that bothered him most. I’ll be glad when this winter is over, he thought. She needs some warmth and sun.

  The winter finally released its frozen grip on the land, and the warming days of spring brought torrents of rain. Ice floes from farther up the mountain careened down the flooding stream long after the snow and ice were gone at the elevation of the cave. The runoff from the melted accumulation turned the saturated soil that fronted the cave into a soggy, slippery sink of oozing mud. Only the stones that paved the entrance kept the cave reasonably dry as the groundwater seeped inside.

  But the sucking quagmire couldn’t keep the clan in the cave. After their long winter confinement, they spilled out to greet the first warm rays of sun and softer sea breezes. Before the snows were entirely melted, they were squishing barefoot through the cold ooze or slogging in soaked boots that not even the extra layer of rubbed-in fat could keep dry. Iza was busier treating colds in the warming days of spring than she had been in the freezing winter.

  As the season waxed and the sun soaked up the moisture, the pace of the clan’s life increased. The slow quiet winter spent telling stories, gossiping, making implements and weapons, and in other sedentary activities to pass the time, gave way to the busy active bustle of spring. Women went foraging to collect the first green shoots and buds, and men exercised and practiced to prepare for the first major hunt of the new season.

  Uba thrived on her new diet, only nursing out of habit or for the warmth and security. Iza coughed less, though she was weak and had little energy to range too far afield, and Creb began to take his shambling walks along the stream with Ayla again. She loved the springtime better than any other season.

  Since Iza had to stay close to the cave most of the time, Ayla fell into the habit of roaming the hillsides looking for plants to replenish Iza’s pharmacopoeia. Iza was concerned about her going off alone, but the other women were busy foraging for food, and medicinal plants didn’t always grow in the same places as food plants. Iza went with Ayla occasionally, mostly to show her new plants and to identify familiar ones at an earlier stage so she would know where to look for them later. Though Ayla carried Uba, Iza’s few trips were tiring for her. Reluctantly, she allowed the girl to go alone more and more.

  Ayla found that she enjoyed the solitude of ranging the area by herself. It gave her a sense of freedom to be away from the ever-watchful clan. She often went along with the women when they gathered, too; but whenever she could, she hurried through the tasks that were expected of her so she could have time to search the woods alone. She brought back not only plants she knew, but anything unfamiliar so Iza could tell her about it.

  Brun made no open objections; he understood the need for someone to find the plants for Iza to work her healing magic. Iza’s illness had not escaped his notice either. But Ayla’s eagerness to go off by herself disturbed him. Women of the Clan did not relish being alone. Whenever Iza had gone to look for her special materials, she did it with reservations and a little fear, always returning as quickly as possible if she went alone. Ayla never shirked her duties, always behaved properly, there was nothing she did that Brun could identify as wrong. It was more a feeling, a sense that her attitude, her approach, her thoughts were, not wrong, but different, that kept Brun on edge about her. Whenever the girl went out, she always returned with the folds of her wrap and her collecting basket full, and as long as her forays were so necessary, Brun could not object.

  Occasionally, Ayla brought back more than plants. Her idiosyncrasy, that had so amazed the clan, had become a habit. Though they had become accustomed to it, the clan was still a little surprised when she returned with a wounded or ailing animal to nurse back to health. The rabbit she had found shortly after Uba’s birth was only the first of many to come. She had a way with animals; they seemed to sense she wanted to help them. And once the precedent had been set, Brun felt disinclined to change it. The only time she was refused was when she brought in a wolf cub. The line was drawn at carnivorous animals that were competition for the hunters. More than once an animal that had been tracked, perhaps wounded, and finally within reach, was snatched at the last moment by a quicker carnivore. Brun would not allow the girl to help an animal that might someday steal a kill from his clan.

  Once, when Ayla was down on her knees digging up a root, a rabbit with a slightly crooked hind leg bounded out of the brush and sniffed at her feet. She remained very still, then, making no sudden moves, she slowly extended her hand to pet the animal. Are you my Uba-rabbit? she thought. You’ve grown into a big, healthy man-rabbit. Did that close call teach you to be more wary? You should be wary of people, too, you know. You might end up over a fire, she continued to herself as she stroked the rabbit’s soft fur. Something startled the animal and he sprang away, dashing headlong in one direction, then making an about-face in one bound to charge back the way he had come.

  “You move so fast, I don’t understand how anyone can catch you. How do you turn around like that?” she motioned af
ter the rapidly retreating rabbit and laughed. Suddenly, she realized it was the first time she had laughed aloud in a long time. She seldom laughed when she was around the clan anymore; it always drew disapproving looks. She found many things humorous that day.

  “Ayla, this wild cherry bark is old. It’s just not any good anymore,” Iza gestured early one morning. “When you go out today, why don’t you get some fresh? There’s a grove of cherry trees near that clearing to the west, across the stream. Do you know where I mean? Get the inner bark, it’s best this time of year.”

  “Yes, mother, I know where they are,” she replied.

  It was a beautiful spring morning. The last of the crocus nestled white and purple beside the tall graceful stems of the first bright yellow jonquils. A sparse carpet of new green grass, just beginning to shoot its tiny leaves through the moist soil, painted a thin watercolor wash of verdancy on the rich brown earth of clearings and knolls. Flecks of green dotted the bare branches of bushes and trees with the first buds straining to begin life anew, and pussy willows white-tipped others with their fake fur. A benign sun beamed encouragement to the earth’s new beginnings.

  Once she was out of sight of the clan, Ayla’s carefully controlled walk and demure posture relaxed into a free-swinging gait. She skipped down a gradual slope and ran up the other side, smiling unconsciously with her freedom to move naturally. She scanned the vegetation she passed with an apparent casualness that belied her actively working mind as she categorized and filed away for future references the growing plants.