4.
The family walked in a line to the bison crossing. Girl went first. She broke trail and snapped branches that had fallen across their path during the winter storms. In her mind were images of meat and memories of how the different parts tasted on her tongue. She would eat the first bite raw and later roast more on a stick. She would dry slabs from the round quarters. Though she ate greens on occasion when food was scarce, she didn’t feel they were of much use to anyone. Her body preferred meat. She walked and let each step push out words in a forceful chant: “Cu-cu-cling, cu-cu-cling, cu-cu-cling.” My head is a bison.
Girl’s sidekicks, Wildcat and Runt, joined her. Wildcat stayed in the brush, but Runt scampered along directly behind her. The day before, she had taken a rare trek down to the thicker stands of trees where the small herd of bison grazed. The family couldn’t hunt the bison in the forest, as the landscape didn’t lend them any advantage. But Girl had wanted to know what they could expect of that particular herd when they hunted them at the crossing. She had taken Runt along because he needed to learn what to do when the melt came. If he were to survive, the boy had to build a clear picture of the land in his head. The context for every small judgment that would come after.
When they reached the trees, Girl’s brow furrowed deeper than usual. The bison rooted through the melting snow for the first sprouts. They had long horse-like legs and shaggy beards under their chins and moved in the slow, measured way of beasts who don’t expect a green shoot to sprout anytime soon. The more she looked, the more she felt the land had tilted over the winter. There were so few bison. Usually they lived in herds of ten to fifteen, maybe more, but this was just a small clutch of five beasts looking lost. It was too few to sustain the herd unless they joined with another. Two calves teetered on limbs that looked like long fingers instead of strong legs. They nosed through the dirty snow trying to find the stubs of grasses that had had little chance to grow the season before.
Girl had sniffed and pointed for Runt to look. The tremor in the bellies of the beasts sent a sour stench through the branches of the trees. It billowed in a cloud above their backs.
“Ye?” She’d touched his nose.
Runt twitched his round nostrils.
“Bearden.” She nodded. Fear.
On the way back to the camp, Runt had dragged his feet. Girl sensed the boy’s fatigue and assumed that even a walk of that distance was too much for him. As younger children in the family had made the walk many times before, her doubts about Runt increased. But Big Mother had decided the boy was one of them and Girl couldn’t go against that. So Girl had lifted up his light body and put him on her shoulders to make better time. With her large hand on his leg, Runt seemed to feel more secure. The happiness rose up like a bubble in the boy’s throat and burst. He had chattered. Rather than call the boy a crowthroat, she had tried to listen. She was amused by the sounds. Fast and scaly, the words slithered past her ears and into the wind. But she also worried. The points of Runt’s small bottom had stuck into her shoulders and she knew it should be rounder and wider before the fish run. As she walked with the others now, she thought of the shrunken herd of bison and the mouths of the family. They badly needed strength.
Girl’s other sidekick, Wildcat, also walked with them to the crossing, but under the cover of the brush and off to the side. He gave a chirp to let Girl know he was there. She turned and saw the tip of his tail disappear behind a tree. At the end of the line, Him heard the chirp too. Girl saw his nose wrinkle reflexively. He didn’t like cats and there was no doubt that he would love to skin that particular one. From the brush, Wildcat returned Him’s look with equally narrowed and wary eyes. Him kicked his foot out, but the cat darted away just in time. Girl held back a laugh, as she could imagine the cat’s pride at having yet again successfully avoided Him’s foot.
Big Mother came next in line after Runt; her swaying gait and rolling hips set the slow pace. Her horns jutted from side to side as she walked. Bent was close behind her and ready to help the old woman. Girl heard a crash and turned back to see Big Mother stumble and fall. But even as Girl stepped forward, Bent was already there with a hand out to pull the older woman up. Big Mother was too proud to give warning of a fall. When she did go down, getting her upright again was an increasingly difficult task.
From the ground, Big Mother glanced at them as if she wondered, Did they wish her bones would stay deep in the dirt? Bent tried to assure her with soft coos and pats. Of all of them, Girl knew, he was the most anxious about her weakening body. With Big Mother at the head of the family, his place as her son was anchored. Without her, his position would be weakened, and Girl knew he had trouble imagining what might come next. Bent helped the old woman up and looked at Girl. Their eyes met and Bent tentatively pulled his lips back to show his teeth—a gesture of affection.
“Aroo?” he said in a high, softer pitch.
Girl nodded and pulled her lips back too. Despite his physical shortcomings, or maybe because of them, he was the kindest of them all. She turned from her brother and continued walking at a Big Mother pace toward the crossing.
All the beasts who lived on the land let the family pass in peace, and for good reason: they knew what happened at this time of year. If the family made a kill, many of the animals would also get a good feeding. The family would leave part of the carcass for the cave bear, something they always did. It was clear from a large pile of shit that the bear was awake. She was probably making her way up to the river in the hope that the family would be successful. The large red doe and her young one had been through much earlier, probably to leave ample space between themselves and the bear. Their scent sat lightly on the melting snow and had a milky trace. The hyenas and badgers would come later, likely at dusk, to check for scraps. The birds would clean the carcass. The worms would wriggle through and churn blood into dirt. They would spread that dirt and the rains would come and wash the tiniest parts down to the river. The small silver river fish would gum on green algae that grew on the decomposing bones. The hunt connected them all.
There was no scent of the young leopard, which struck Girl as odd. When the leopard had arrived ahead of the winter storms, he had made himself known. He was looking for his own land. She was especially tuned in to signs of danger from him. She wondered where he was.
All beasts had their own characteristics and the family didn’t see themselves as an exception. Like the bears, the family had the soft feet of predators that allowed them to sneak up on prey. Like the cave lions, they had eyes that faced front to judge the distance from a target. Like the birds, they could make sounds in their throats to call to one another and warn of danger. Like the foxes, they collected and stashed food for the winter.
The differences between their bodies and those of the beasts around them were not shortcomings but sources of inspiration. If a bear could rip skin with her claws, they would look for something to slash with. Long ago, one of the family had started to chip pieces of rock into talons. Over time, the techniques for shaping rock were refined. By rounding the back of a stone, the family made a hand ax comfortable enough to hold in their palms. With it, they too could claw into a hide. A wolf used a tooth to pierce a vein and drain its prey of blood; the family could attach a stone point in the shape of a fang to a sharpened stick. A bird could use his call to attract a mate; the family members could try to link gravelly sounds from their throats to turn them into something slightly sweeter.
All beasts were made of meat and blood. Their daily life often involved some kind of gore. When they sliced open any of the animals around them, the insides of the bodies looked much the same as their own. The blood of a red deer tasted surprisingly similar to one’s own blood. A chip of the bone of a wolverine was hard to distinguish from a chip of a brother’s bone. For all these similarities, there was a sharp divide that separated the beasts. There were only two kinds of meat: The meat that gets to eat. And the meat that gets eaten.
5.
Th
e family hid and waited for the first bison in the small herd to cross the river. This was at a wide part where the water pooled before the river narrowed and the land steepened. Here the rocky cliffs flattened out to make a way for all beasts to pass through. The small bison herds often used this crossing to move from their winter grounds in the trees to the open grazing meadows higher up. They would enter the river on the far side of the bank, break through the thinning ice, and swim across the cold waters as fast as they could, trying not to get swept away. Once the bison gained the other side, the only path funneled them into a narrow pinch. They had to pass through this channel of rock single file to get up the bank.
Girl tucked her spear into the groove in her armpit. To hunt was to wait. The family had worked the hunting grounds for as far as their shadow stories went back, but the site wasn’t theirs alone. All beasts on the land either hunted here or crossed the river here. It was a good place to drink and play, but it was also a dangerous place. Where there was food and fresh water, there was danger.
Then: Snap. A sound. Where? Girl curled her top lip up to feel the breeze on the sensitive patch on her gums. She felt a small ripple, a heated current in the air. What? She twitched her head to the right to listen. The tremor from the snap was like a sharp prick to the back of her neck.
This was the land where she was born and she knew it like she knew her own body. It was the only place she had lived. Because she came from Big Mother, her mind held the memories of all the hunts the old woman had been on too, and her mother before as well. And Girl also had the stories that came to her in dreams from the other members of the family. Every bump, dip, and curve of the land lay in the grooves of her mind, but they weren’t only there. Her body held the memories too. There was a dent in her shin, like a dip in a path, from when she had fallen. There was the scar on her finger, a ridge that held the same curve as the cliff, from a sharp rock. When the hair on her arms stood up, it was like part of the grassy meadow where the bison grazed. Her body took shape from the land.
The small muzzle of a bison calf pushed out from the bare branches. The brush was still stunted and brown from the cold. Only a few small buds had managed to poke out. Girl saw a head, a small body, and gangly, weak legs. This would be an easy catch.
Girl heard the soft click of Big Mother’s tongue. The old woman was off to the side for safety, but she paid close attention. She would never admit that she could no longer hunt. Instead, she had pointed to Runt and folded her hands over her eyes to say that someone had to watch him, then tucked herself into the roots of the tree. She watched closely and signaled with the tongue. Two clicks for the bigger cow and one for the smaller calf. There had been only one click, so Girl knew it was decided. Taking the calf meant that the young beast would not grow to breeding age and multiply. It was a short-term decision to gain meat, but it also meant that in the long term the herd would probably die out. The bodies of such a small bison herd could no longer replace themselves.
Girl took in a slow breath to fill her body. She looked to Him and lifted her top lip. She felt the surge of his pulse on her soft skin; this was the beat of his body anticipating the danger of a hunt. He sniffed and gave her a look. Did he know her secret? Could he smell her heat? She pulled her eyes away.
The mother bison came out from the brush. She picked her way carefully down the path toward the water. It was cold and the breath came from her muzzle in plumes. Ice clung to the edges of the mud. Few animals had crossed so far this year. The cow had to move out a little way to reach a place where the ice broke into the shallows under her hooves. The ice had held on later than it had in other years. Everything on the land had to shift around it.
The calf caught up to his mother, small hooves slipping. The cow took a good look around, slipped into the frigid waters, and looked back for the small one. The calf entered just upstream from his mother. He struggled to move forward in the current once his hooves left the muddy bottom of the river. The river was still strong enough to try to sweep his body down and swallow it up. A chunk of ice thumped against his hindquarters and threatened to push him under, but the mother’s muzzle caught him. She guided him through the swiftest parts and they made it to the other side.
Now the calf’s spindly legs struggled to gain the bank. The cow lumbered out and shook. The first flies swarmed in the warming sun and angled for a way into her matted fur. As she climbed up through the mud, it clung to her hocks. The bones of her ribs hung over a knobbed spine, the imprint of the hard winter clear on her body. The calf pushed into his place close behind his mother, a nose to her tail. From his skittish eyes, it was clear that he would have crawled back inside her belly if given the chance.
Ahead, the path up the bank pinched. It forced them to walk single file through the high-walled, rocky channel, a trap with only one way out: the other end. It was the shape of this land that fed the family. Some meat gets to eat.
Crouched on the high ledge, looking down, Girl held her breath and kept her body as still as the rock. She felt Him’s pulse quicken, and her heartbeat kept pace as the mother led the way through the channel. Girl waited until the larger bison had passed by and took a deep lungful of air.
Girl leaped down into the narrow channel in front of the calf with a roar. The rock walls were head-high. The sound resonated in every direction and the calf must have felt as if he were already in Girl’s throat. Her body burst with action. She waved her arms above her head, churning the air in a frantic flap, keeping her mouth open, teeth bared. She looked twice her size.
The calf’s eyes widened; a bleat of terror ran along his quivering black tongue. The cow knew the grave danger but couldn’t turn around in the narrows. She wouldn’t be so foolish as to back into Girl, exposing her weak hind end to a spear. It was from that direction that both wolves and the family were able to attack. Instead, the mother lunged forward to run out of the channel. Once out, she could pivot and come charging back with her horns pointing at Girl. In the time between the mother’s exit and her reentry lay Girl’s chance. She had to drive the calf to where Him waited by the river before the cow made it back. Bent would do his best to distract the bison mother and slow her progress, but Girl knew that there was no room for error.
Once the calf was injured, they could all climb a looking tree and wait for the mother’s rage to lessen and the calf to die. Or, if fury made the mother blind, maybe they could move in on her too. They tried to make the most of an opportunity while staying clear of the beast that could so easily kill them. In that way, their approach to hunting the bison was close to that of the wolves. The only difference lay in the choice of geography. The family couldn’t run like the wolves. They needed the advantage of the narrow crossing.
The calf bleated twice and then reared. He started to back away from Girl, closer to the entry where Him sat in wait. Girl shrieked and spat, the amplified sound filling the land. The calf was small enough to turn in the narrows. If he did, she could spear him from behind. But instead of turning or continuing to back up, the calf froze on the spot. Girl shrieked again and the small thing huffed. His eyes rolled, his head lowered, and she caught the sour stench of an empty stomach. He was stupid with hunger. He charged at Girl.
Him saw what was happening and ran into the narrows toward the hind end of the calf. He was coming fast, but not fast enough. He wouldn’t make it before the animal’s head butted Girl. And that was clearly the calf’s plan. His thin legs churned through the cold mud. His head was down. Even a calf had enough strength to break her ribs and legs.
Girl watched the calf come toward her. She knew the mother was turning and would soon be somewhere near her back. This smaller beast was still chest level, a mat of thick fur on a flat forelock and plumes of hot breath, only a stride or two away. The rock channel on either side was too high for her to jump out. At that moment, everything around Girl slowed down. It was as if the air turned into a thick sludge and made it difficult for things to move. She had time to be aware that her bod
y felt as if it were divided in two. Half of her started to climb up the sheer wall to get out of the way. Maybe, if she were lucky enough to find handholds and if she moved quickly, she would live and hunt again. Her other half stayed in place to take a risk and spear the calf from the front, then scramble over it and gain the end of the channel and safety. Though aware of having only one body, she felt both things happen at once. She almost expected to see another version of herself run the other way.
“Aroo.” A sound came to Girl’s ears. Her two bodies snapped back together. It was a shout from Big Mother, a signal of danger. Girl turned her head to glance behind. That was when she saw the mother bison. The large beast was now charging back through the narrow rock channel toward her.
Girl could taste the desperate fury that came from both beasts. Their rage would feed their blood and give them more strength. One butt from front or back would easily crush her body. The gore of a horn in her chest would make her bleed out.
The large animal put more fear into her, but she remembered the winter ice had taken a bite out of the rock. Focusing on this difference sent her instincts astray. Girl started to run toward the mother. There was a slight slope that she hoped she could reach in time to climb. But the cow came too fast. The mother moved quickly to block Girl’s path.
Girl’s thoughts went faster than her feet. She knew the two halves of her mind had joined in a certain way. She should turn back in the direction of the calf. Killing him was no longer in her mind, but if her only choice was to run, she should head toward the point of greater weakness. Girl stopped. Cold, thick mud made it hard to find footing, but she dug in and turned.
The Last Neanderthal Page 4
