Him pulled the hide tight on either side of her blade to help her make a smooth cut. He watched Girl’s hands, strong and blood-soaked, as she worked and felt a stab in his chest. He sniffed and marveled at the way the muscles along her back rippled. She had peeled down her cloak, and the bare flesh was the smoothest hide he had ever seen.
When Girl was born, she had been a curled creature, tiny and pink. She’d smelled nothing like she did now and he’d had little interest, though he was able to steal her food on occasion. Once, when she was a few years old, she had held a piece of dried tree sap, a favorite treat, in her chubby fist. Him had pointed for her to look at the fire. When her head turned, he plucked the sap from her hand and laughed. He walked away assuming she could do nothing. He was licking the sap, gazing at the trees, when a small foot darted out of the brush and tripped him. The next thing he knew, he was facedown. He spat dirt from his mouth and looked at his hand. The sap was gone. Most children would have stayed to taunt, but Girl’s mind must have been on securing the sap. He didn’t even see her escape.
Girl had grown up big and strong. Her limbs were quick and her thoughts seemed to run ahead of her body. Those around her wanted to help protect her, the sign of a leader. With her instincts, Girl would clearly be one of the best hunters. The instinct of a hunter was like having red hair or a big nose—it was built into a body or it wasn’t. It was also a skill that could be improved through careful watching, listening, and learning. Girl could combine the stories of Big Mother with what was observed. She was rare in that she could account for all the things that changed as well as those things that stayed the same.
Him’s mouth was salivating in anticipation of the meat he was about to eat. And that feeling, the powerful craving of hunger and the drive to eat, mixed with the sight of Girl working. He sniffed and found his senses overwhelmed by the carcass and the sound of the river and the steam in the cold air that rose up from the beast. The meat. Soon he would eat. As he watched Girl’s muscles ripple under her skin, her arms slicing and her legs bracing, all the reverence and respect for skill and strength mixed with the swill of his spit. His cravings and the powerful urge of a body to fill itself came together. She became all that he could see.
Him’s eyes filled up with Girl, but then came a loud crack. A white light flashed in front of his eyes and his head snapped back. He lost his footing and fell on the ice. When he opened his eyes and pushed himself up to sit, he saw Girl watching him with concern, surprise on her face. She turned to look behind her.
Big Mother stood there on the ice. She had caught Him staring at Girl. Maybe she had felt his mind, because she had thrown the rock to warn him off. She had a second rock in her old hand, ready to go. Him lowered his eyes quickly. He rubbed the spot on his forehead to show it was sore and also to say that a second rock wasn’t needed. Big Mother might be old, but she was still a great shot. Girl’s job was to live outside their family by winning another place at the fish run. Him wasn’t to touch her.
Another sound. This time it was Runt. The small boy shuffled up as close to the carcass as he dared. Eyes down, he stopped a body length from the hoof of the bison and looked at it intently, as if that hoof could give him permission to join in. Him turned his back to the boy.
Girl could see by the shake of his fingers that Runt still considered himself new. He hadn’t been with them through a full cycle of the seasons yet and was unsure of his place. After a kill, he didn’t know if or when he would be allowed to feed. His breath smelled sick with nerves. He kept the heat of his stare down on the ice. Girl clicked her tongue. She held the meat under his lowered eyes so that he would see it. At first he didn’t respond. He seemed to stare in disbelief at her hand, as if the thick fingers with ridged nails dipped in bright blood were only in his imagination.
After a moment, Runt came to his senses. He clamped his hands around the meat and stuck his front teeth into it. He ripped and pulled with a snarl until a manageable bite came loose. Girl wasn’t sure he even heard her delighted laugh, a ripple lost across the ice. His attention was completely consumed by the meat as it slipped in a slick into his mouth. His tongue found the juice. It was one of the best cuts, from near the fatty heart, and he had never been worthy of it before. He closed his eyes and chewed in the warmth.
And because Runt’s eyes were closed and Girl got such pleasure from watching him eat, neither of them saw Him coming. One moment Runt was approaching ecstasy, sucking down the taste of blood, the next he had been knocked onto his bottom. Runt’s eyes popped open in surprise. Girl shrank back. Him stood too close to the boy. His broad brow was lowered and he snatched the meat from Runt’s hand. The boy cowered, hand over eyes, memories of his past mistreatment still fresh, head turned so he wouldn’t see the next blow coming.
Him didn’t hit the boy again. Runt wasn’t worth more effort. As there was an abundance of meat, Him gave the boy part of a rib that he cracked off with his ax. It was still a good piece and Runt was careful to dip his head and give a grunt of gratitude. He scampered off to eat near the safety of a boulder.
Girl was about to scowl at Him but stopped short when she saw that Big Mother approached, slowly. They all stopped their petty squabbles and lowered their heads when she lumbered up.
“Hum,” she said, sniffing.
Now it was Girl’s turn to cower. She looked down quickly as the old woman came up to her. It was the custom that the older woman said how they would hunt and how the meat was shared. Before the winter storms, long and hard that year by any measure, it would have been that way. But by that spring, Big Mother had withered. It seemed as if Girl’s body had burst with round muscles and breasts to fill the empty space. It was clear from how Big Mother was approaching that she had taken offense. Her eyes were narrowed and she peered down her broad nose at Girl.
Girl had to be careful to show that she still knew her place. If she challenged the authority of the older woman, it could mean a fight. This was the last thing Girl wanted, to fight the woman who loved her and had raised her. But though Big Mother was calm in her later years, her temper could still spark. There was a reason she had reigned over the family for so long. She was able to set sentiment aside to hold her position if need be. So Girl was very careful to make herself as small and unthreatening as possible. She put her arm across her chest to push her breasts down. But now that Girl had the heat, she knew that Big Mother’s mistrust of her might worsen.
Perhaps in Big Mother’s eyes, Girl had acted like the hunt was her own. From her vantage point in the tree roots, she might not have been able to see what happened in the narrows. Did she think Girl had instructed Bent to go after the mother bison?
“Ne, boh.” Girl blew out of her nose like a bison and wagged her head from side to side to show a humble kind of sorrow. Killing the bison, drinking the calf’s blood, and making the first cuts were honors of the one who was in charge of the hunt. Impulsively, she had leaped in and filled the void.
Big Mother came to stand near the hoof and glowered at Girl. Runt moved over to take Girl’s hand, but she quickly waved him away. This was not the business of a boy. Girl took in the body of her mother and felt a tremble in her gut. She wondered if the mountain was shaking or the ice was breaking, but it was only the movement of her actions coming up on her. When the body first moved, it took some time for everything else to catch up. She felt her lip tremble and she knew what came next. She slowly walked to the old woman’s feet and knelt down with her head lowered. Placing the head and neck right in striking distance of another body’s hands meant You can do anything to my body that you wish.
Girl stared at the ice and at the feet of her mother. The old woman wore bison pads lashed to the bottom of her soles to protect them against the sharp ice. Her skin was so thin that it almost shone as it folded loosely around her foot bones. Her toenails were as thick as bark. Calluses on her toes and heels were closer to the texture of rock than skin. Girl had known the feet to be kind, but they had also delivere
d many kicks. She felt Big Mother’s hand on top of her head. She flinched and held her breath. The hand pressed against her matted hair.
“Hum,” said Big Mother as she took a sniff.
The hand pushed hard on Girl’s head. It waited there, the pressure sending the message that a decision was in the balance. After a pause, the woman sat. She clicked her tongue once at Girl. She wanted to be fed.
Girl leaped into action. She took a slice of the fattiest part from near the heart. She put a piece of the softest white-marbled fat into the woman’s mouth first. Next, Girl chewed a piece of meat, careful to preserve the juice. Then, kneeling beside the old woman, she helped Big Mother eat. Forgiveness was felt first in the stomach.
The balance in their family might have tilted, but Girl was young. She didn’t quite know it, but she wanted something impossible. It was a new feeling, as fresh as the warm meat that they chewed. Despite Big Mother’s obvious weakness, Girl, as many of her kind often did, wanted things to say the same. While she fed the old woman, she allowed a shard of hope to pierce her heart. She wanted to show the others that she was not yet in charge. She would stay young. That way, maybe—despite the coming of her heat—she would be allowed to stay in the family.
8.
They missed Bent all the more when they started on the long job of butchering the carcass and carrying the meat the short distance to the cave near their spring hut. Girl worried that they would be vulnerable to meat-eaters on the trips back and forth. Him wanted to build a shelter and camp near the carcass, but Big Mother said no, as the ice could melt under them at this time of year. She decided that they would move the meat to the cave and showed this by marching off toward it. Girl tried to hold back a loud moan, her grief and exhaustion mingled in a black ball in her chest. At least in the cave, she could rest. They could carve and consume the meat in a big feast within the safety of the rock walls.
At the camp, Girl put some of the meat they wouldn’t eat immediately in short-term storage. They had dug pits down below the freezing line in the ground. Runt and Bent had lined them with rocks at the base. Girl now placed the extra meat inside the pits, then added more rocks on top and poured water from a leather sack over the meat. This would quickly freeze and hold the meat as long as the weather stayed cold. When they wanted to eat, they would pour hot water over it to thaw it. When they cached meat in a tree, Girl carefully wrapped large leaves around the trunk so that the red squirrels couldn’t climb up, but the creatures would still spend their days trying. That was one reason for Big Mother’s great aim. She could knock a squirrel on the head with a rock from ten bison strides away.
Bent would have been the one who watched over them, spear ready, lips poised to shout, while Him butchered and Girl carried the hunks to the cave. Bent would have walked with Big Mother and Runt back to the camp and checked the surroundings while they worked in the cave. As it was, they had to keep glancing up from their work of cutting thin strips of meat for the drying racks, boiling the brain to make fat, and stripping the tendons to soak for lashing. It slowed them down.
Later, they would eat and tell stories with their shadows by the fire. They didn’t yet miss Bent because of what he had said or how he had acted, but they missed the jobs that he did to help keep them safe and fed. Grieving took on a practical place in their minds. A body amounted to the work it did over the course of its life. Getting over a death was a matter of figuring out how to do all the jobs without the one who died. And processing a large bison with so few people was difficult.
The weather was on their side. It was just above freezing at midday. Him cut up the carcass and submerged the cut pieces in an icy pool of water at the edge of the river so that roundworms and buzzing flies didn’t move in. Him took the forelegs off first and then removed the back legs. He dunked these and passed them to Girl. She heaved them onto her shoulder and started the short trip to the cave. Next, Him severed the hip joints and worked on detaching the pelvis. As he did, he kept turning his head to scan the land.
Aside from the worms and the flies, the next biggest danger—the thing that would stop them from eating or harm them before they could—was the other meat-eaters. All through the valley, the beasts would know of their success. News traveled on the trees. Even the lightest breeze could carry the scents of a successful hunt for long distances.
Back when the family was larger, defending a kill wasn’t such a problem. Even if all of them were tired or sore from the hunt, a few bodies with spears in hand were enough to deter possible attackers. Most of the carnivores were old and wise enough to know better than to disrupt a family. All the beasts who lived around the mountain were well versed in the complicated math of who got to eat. A meal had to yield more energy than it took to secure it. When the family had more bodies with spears, it was easy for all the beasts to make the calculation in a single glance.
But now the family’s numbers were few. The loss of Bent tilted them into a precarious situation. Some of the family, like Runt and Big Mother, were weak, though they were loath to admit it. Girl had this in mind as she approached the cave carrying a large shoulder of the mother bison across her back. She could hear the crackle of the fire and see the smoke coming from the cave, but she let the meat thump down on the ground to take a rest. Better to do this before Big Mother and Runt could see her. She didn’t want them to worry about how tired she felt.
Girl squatted on a boulder, letting the air huff out of her mouth. The heat of her body rose from her skin. Watching her heat release into the air, she imagined that she had a fire burning inside her chest. When it burned hot, the smoke would rise and her muscles would crackle with strength. Sometimes the fire burned low, and that’s how she felt now. She didn’t have more wood to toss on the flame.
A quiet crack of a snapped stick came from behind Girl’s back. She tilted her head, suspicious and alert. The sound was made by the weight of a soft foot breaking a twig, the sign of a stalking predator. She felt it then; the pulse of a beast was near the tree, but Him was still down by the river. Who was it?
She lifted her nostrils up to the air. The breeze was blowing from the other way and it was hard to catch. She curled her lip to feel the heat. There was lightness to the body; not a bear, not a big cat. Where? Her large eyes caught the tip of a tail in the bush. There. It twitched. She snapped her head around. Rings curled around a tail. Ears with black tips. A laugh of relief bubbled up from her throat. It was Wildcat. She put her hand to her chest to steady her breathing.
Wildcat slunk out from behind the bush to make himself known. He gave her a look, a wrinkled nose, like she smelled of something bad. Maybe she did, but that wasn’t what he was trying to say. It was the gesture he used when asking for meat. He had trained Girl to know this by wrinkling his nose and then showing affection when she did the right thing by feeding him. Most of Wildcat’s days were spent tucked into shadows and brush. He didn’t often show his body during the daytime, but he had an amazing knack for appearing at exactly the right moment when he did. That was no coincidence. He kept Girl’s body under close surveillance. If she killed an animal or found a carcass or even some old nuts, he was there to ask for some.
The cat crept up close. His rough tongue licked her cheek and felt like tree bark. He rubbed his body along her lowered head. He looked at her with squinting, narrowed eyes and offered his nose to touch. She moved her nose gently in and felt the wet tip of his. He had taught her that, to kiss like a cat with a touch of the nose. She smiled.
She reached to the leg and ripped off a piece from the rough edge. The meat still had warmth from the life before. The cat snatched up the meat from the ground, gave her a rub on the leg, and quickly scooted under a bush to eat.
Watching him rip and chew for a moment, Girl caught a glimpse of his long canine teeth. They were sharp and strong and could easily pierce a vein, but he’d never turned them on her. She sometimes wondered if their friendship was a product of their sizes. He had assessed her and knew he couldn�
��t win based on muscle strength. His jaw was not large enough to hinge around her neck. So, being a clever cat, he plucked food from her in different ways.
If something terrible happened and it was her leg lying on the path, would Wildcat eat it? If his jaws could manage to open wider and times were hard, would he take a bite if there was nothing to stop him, like Him’s foot or a well-aimed rock from Big Mother’s hand? Yes, of course. And so that was where their friendship rested: between the lines of hunger and opportunity. It didn’t lessen their bond. Maybe it was what made it so vital.
9.
By the time Girl returned to the river, Him had made good progress on cutting up the carcass. Standing on the ice, he once again put his hands in the shallow waters to take out a hind leg for Girl to carry back. Though he worked fast and hard, his wet hands pulled heat from his body. He wouldn’t usually get so cold in these circumstances; it was a sign of overwork. When Girl walked up, he was pounding his hands against his legs in an attempt to get his blood moving again.
Girl squatted on the bank and called, “Aroo.” She preferred to squat, as it kept her body away from the cold and damp. Her broad legs and thick joints folded smoothly into a position that allowed the bones rather than the muscle to hold the weight of her body. Squatting was a comfortable resting position.
Him squatted to face Girl. She took his hands in hers and felt how cold they were. Even though he limited the time his hands were in the water, the cold had washed away the blood, and his skin was white and creased. They were both tired from the work and their sorrow. Since Him’s hands were the primary tools required to finish cutting and hauling the carcass, they demanded the most care. The need to warm Him meant that all other work stopped.
Bent would have glanced at Him’s hands and taken over the job of cutting the carcass. Him could be on lookout, take a rest, and chew on a piece of meat. That’s what his body needed, to refuel the fire inside and make it burn brighter. As it was, the heat was withdrawing from the ends of his body to focus on the important middle. It was a first sign of danger. If a body started taking heat from the fingers, it would soon start taking heat from the head too. When the blood started to withdraw from the head in favor of warming the chest and the belly, the body would start to tire and freeze. Girl knew that a body could do unpredictable things. She believed that the reasons for acting crazy often came down to temperature.
The Last Neanderthal Page 7
