She stayed and ate the food that was left in the pouch and rested. Her body had been refilled with water. She had enough strength to gather roots from the softening earth that was warmed by the trees. She killed a few spring squirrels and roasted them. She rested more and felt some life come to her muscles.
Knowing that Runt was alive was like a pull on her skin. Soon she felt strong enough to try to find him again. The snow was melting in places during the day and froze hard at night. If she woke early in the morning, she could walk across the surface of the spring crust.
But she couldn’t leave without taking something with her. She went back beside the burrow and chipped the small frozen body out of the snow. She lit a fire, melted water, and boiled the bones to clean them. After a long while, she let the bones cool and ran her fingers over the small parts of the skeleton, their smooth surfaces and delicate dips. One bone she spent more time with than the others. It was from the forearm of her baby. It was curved in a way that made the thumb jut out the wrong way, like Bent’s arm. She slid her finger along this curve.
Girl buried the bones near a tree so that the baby would grow into the trunk, but she kept the small arm bone. She tied it into the softest hide, then looped the pouch to her belt. Until the day she died, she would wear that bone to remember.
She found Runt’s tracks quickly after that.
29.
Runt’s footprints were strong in the softer snow lower down the mountain. Girl knew them as if they were her own. She could picture every move that he’d made exactly. He stayed atop the hard crust. He wore an odd, thinned hide to protect his feet, but the print and the way his weight shifted were still familiar and clear. He, or someone he was with, had hung the meat for her. He had looked around and checked in the hut. He had been searching for something at the camp. As he was one who looked with his eyes, she wasn’t surprised that her burrow had gone undetected. But when the snow was hard enough to walk along the top in the morning, he had tried to find her.
And there were other footprints. They were narrow, not large. They were slightly bigger than Runt’s, but very similar to his. They were the prints she had followed from the perch by the meeting place.
Girl followed both sets of prints down the slope. It looked like the two had been walking in a relaxed manner. There were no drag marks to show that the larger body was forcing Runt. They walked close at times and in step, as if the larger body might be holding Runt’s hand. If he hadn’t detected danger, she felt more at ease. She had started this way when tracking him before winter sank in but had stopped and turned back before getting this far. She followed them from the river and down to the drier parts of the mountain, where the snow had nearly melted except for spots where a large boulder gave shade. She kept going downhill toward the plains. After a long stretch of walking and a rest for the night, she began again. Now the grasses bristled under her feet and the trees became more spread out. She lingered under the cover of one of them and then moved to the trunk of the next. When she was between them, her head felt bare in the glare of the sun.
Soon Girl caught the smell of a distant fire. She would have sniffed it much earlier if it weren’t for the direction of the wind, which was at her back. She climbed one of those trees, its branches so broad and wide from all the sun it had to itself and still devoid of leaves from the winter, and looked out. She melted into the branches, making her body into the same shape so that she couldn’t be seen. In the distance, she saw a herd. Or that’s what she thought it was at first—a herd of bison, their rounded backs catching the sun. But after staring for a while, she became convinced that they weren’t moving. And the fur was wrong to her eye—oddly shaped, pointed at the tip, and light in color.
Red deer? She didn’t know. She gave them a good squint and tried to think. It was only later that she would learn they were a new kind of hut because just then something distracted her. She saw a body moving.
It was far in the distance, a long way away, but it was heading in her direction. It was an upright body with tight hides over its skin. Behind it was another body dressed much the same way, but smaller. It had a round head and dark hair. And she couldn’t be certain, but it walked with a skipping gait that looked just like Runt’s.
Girl watched the bodies approach. As they came closer, she climbed down from the tree and waited beside it. She was well aware of the risk. Anytime one kind of beast met another kind, there was danger. But she also wanted to see Runt and knew that he would signal if he approached with a hostile beast.
She walked a few steps forward and said a quiet “Aroo” to alert the bodies that she was aware of them. The larger body startled, as though it hadn’t been sure of Girl’s position. At that moment, Girl dropped her spear, to show that she didn’t mean harm. She stood her ground, feet planted firmly. She lifted her hand and spread the fingers, turned her palm.
She looked at an upright body that stood on two feet in front of her. It looked like Runt in some ways, the same patch of hair like moss, the same charcoal skin, the same shine to the eyes. It had his elegance to its walking gait, a slow arch to each step, and the foot touched the ground in silence. However, it was taller than Runt, with rounded muscles and with breasts. It wore the Sea around its neck, but there were many seas all lined up in a row like a second set of teeth. It was like the family, but not of the family.
Still, the body was the closest thing to family that she had seen in months. The differences dropped back and she saw all that was the same. Her breath caught, tears came to her eyes, and the inside of her chest swelled with a sense of wonder.
The woman didn’t feel like she was in mortal danger. As the girl in front of her approached, she spoke in a sharp tone to the boy she was with. Despite his protests, she instructed him to hide in a tree. He scampered up the thin trunk as told but lingered at the bottom branch so that he had a clear view. With the boy in the tree, the woman hesitated. Her weapon was still in hand, a thin spear. She shifted nervous fingers on the shaft. She didn’t want to appear to be a threat, nor did she want to be without a way to defend herself. She took a last few steps and stood still.
The woman stared at the magnificent beast that was Girl. Nothing had prepared her for what she saw. She had heard stories of this kind of creature but had never seen one herself. Though the boy had described, in his halting way, the body in detail, it was a stunning sight. If Girl had been at her full size, in her hunting gear with muscles gleaming, the woman would have been terrified.
As it was, the woman still knew in one glance that she was the weaker one. Her knees started to shake. Though Girl must have been close to dead over the winter, her body was thick and looked full of power. This was a body with denser muscle mass, with great speed and strength, powerful senses, and a sharp intelligence. Her eyes were tucked in deep beneath her brow and were hard to read. She had a shock of red hair, and horns grew out from her sloping forehead.
The woman could have let her senses become swamped by the strange sight and lunged with her spear, as others of her kind in this position might have. But this woman was different. She couldn’t stop staring. And she had taken care to listen to the boy. He had told her stories about the kindness, food, and safety this creature had provided for more than a year. The proof lay in the young boy’s life. And he had told the woman how to greet this girl.
The woman let her weapon drop to the ground. Her curiosity won out over her fear. She decided to trust the boy’s word about this creature. She walked toward Girl in slow steps, taking deep breaths to hold her fear tight to her chest. She raised her right hand and turned her palm out. As the boy had advised, she spread her fingers.
Slowly, she walked closer until she was standing directly in front of Girl. She could smell the sour odor of a starving belly and the oily residue from eating a strange kind of meat on her skin. The woman looked into Girl’s eyes. As she did, tears welled up in her own. She pressed the skin of her hand against Girl’s larger hand. The same blood flowed under the
ir skin. Their hearts beat at the same time. They shared a single thought: We are not alone.
Human
I strap Jacob into a carrier on my chest. He’s only six weeks old and I’m surprised to feel his weight; it’s as if he gained a pound overnight. It’s a warm autumn day and the sun is high in the sky, but I bring an extra jacket that fits over us both just in case. As I hike out from the parking lot, every step is familiar. I go up past the canvas tents and wind around to the site. When we arrive, I stand by the picnic table as I do each day and greet everyone. Jacob is the center of attention. Before long, Caitlin comes over to say hello and nods in a way that I know means she has a few things to go over. Anais, having perfected her bouncy walk the week before, takes Jacob so that Caitlin and I can talk.
Caitlin hands me a glossy photo. It is the draft layout for a museum brochure. My breath catches in my throat when I see a close-up of the skeletons, the modern human looking into my Neanderthal’s eyes. Across the top, THE LOVERS is written in large letters. I’ve always thought of their moment as private, something I shouldn’t intrude on. This shows them up close and in such intimate detail that I find I can barely look. I’m about to open my mouth, unsure what I’m going to say, but Caitlin cuts me off.
“Guy wants you to write an introduction,” she tells me.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“The Lovers?”
“He wants to use that title to refer to them.”
“We don’t know that they are.”
“Depends on what kind of love, I suppose,” she says. “But he wants you to write the first précis. It will become the basis for how we communicate to the media and the public. Your interpretation will be the one we lead with.” She lowers the brochure and looks at me. “He intends it as a great honor.”
Caitlin leaves me with a wry smile, one I might have taken as pursed lips before. She walks back to the table where she was cataloging artifacts. I feel her awkward kindness lingering in me. We are so different, but I have grown fond of her. And I owe her almost too much. What will I write? It feels impossible to introduce my Neanderthal to the world. How can a few sentences correct the misinterpretation of an entire species for more than a century? I am slightly weak-kneed about it. My mind is blank. Feeding Jacob is taking a toll on my physical energy, and maybe on my cognitive ability too.
I hear the crack of a can opening.
“Andy?”
“Rose?”
I walk to the picnic table and give him a hug.
“Where’s my partner in crime?”
Anais brings Jacob over and we settle into the next part of our daily routine. I care for Jacob in the morning. After lunch, I bring him to the site and talk to everyone until he is ready for his nap with Andy. We came to this arrangement after Andy pointed out that he and Jacob are on similar schedules.
“Simon back yet?” Andy asks while lowering himself carefully down into the hammock that Simon strung for him in the tent. It is specially positioned to stretch out the muscles in Andy’s back.
“No, but he comes for a long weekend tomorrow.”
Andy gets comfortable and I carefully lay Jacob on his belly. I arrange a blanket over the top of them both to fend off the cooler October air.
“Not too heavy?”
“He’s, what, eight pounds now?”
“Nine.”
“It’s all that muscle. Gets that from me.” Andy winks. “Hold my can?”
He wiggles into the hammock and they both settle down. I put another blanket over them and hand Andy the can, which he manages to sip from a horizontal position. Jacob coos against the warm belly. He puts a fist into his mouth. I watch as both their eyes quickly close and feel a rush of affection. My baby has a modern adaptation: the hiss of carbonation sends him to sleep.
I have only an hour or so to focus before they wake up. Simon will be back, but Jacob’s afternoon feedings are frequent and I struggle to get anything done. I cinch the bungee cord on my trousers a notch tighter and push through the plastic tarp to the excavation site. In the warm glow of the lamp, I feel like I’m in a second home. Kneepads on, I pull the brush out of its case.
The day before, I found a protrusion at the same depth and in the same quadrant as my Neanderthal’s pelvis, as though it had been dropped, placed, or attached to her in some way before decay. All night I thought about it, wondering what it could be. Now I start to brush. Soon I can see the outline and I adjust my headlamp. It is only about eighty millimeters in length and gently curved. I can’t think what it is: An ornament? A piece of horn? If it is a tool, it is unlike any that I’ve seen.
I blow at the dust as I quietly get to work. Any dirt I lift out goes into a tray for sifting. What will I write? I glance up at the two skeletons. I let my mind go as I brush.
My scientific training won’t let me make the leap to think of them as the Lovers, but something about the name sticks with me. We can imagine ourselves as superior to Neanderthals and envision killing them off, but how did we come to have sex with them? That’s the more interesting question. I understand that it’s one that Guy is trying to provoke. The proof that it happened is in our DNA. And because all this is running through my mind, it takes me a moment longer than usual to understand what I’ve found.
It’s a piece of bone. I lean over and blow gently at the dust. I grab my magnifying glass for a closer look. It has a crook along its length, like a deformity. Soon I realize from the distinct shape that it is a small radius bone, the forearm of a baby who was probably around the same age as Jacob is now. The ends are well preserved. From the width and the squat shape, I think it might be Neanderthal, though I can’t tell for sure.
I look up at the Neanderthal skull from where I’m sitting by her pelvis. She is my constant companion, but she looks to someone else. She lies in the dirt, gazing into the eyes of…who? A son, a partner, or maybe even a foe—a modern human is all I can say for sure—who once lay down or was laid down beside her. Her arm bones are stretched out as though she is reaching toward him, wanting to hold or be held. His arms are extended in the same way. The position makes me certain that they knew each other. That they, or the people who buried them, didn’t feel they were different from each other.
What have we lost? I glance toward the plastic door to make sure that no one is coming. All I hear from the tents outside is the soft saw of Andy’s snore. I lean in to put my hands on the pads that I set down to protect the earth around her. I get close to her skull, tilting my head to look into her eye sockets.
For a moment, I feel nothing. I wait, and slowly, I start to warm. These rock walls are what kept her safe. The heat of the day radiates up from them; it might have been the warmth of her body. She had the same skin as mine. The same blood ran through her veins. Our hearts both beat. All our differences drop away. I know that if I had ever been fortunate enough to meet her, I would look into her eyes and know her. And maybe she could know me. We are so much the same.
Acknowledgments
A heartfelt thank you to Asya Muchnick, Reagan Arthur, Zea Moscone, Ashley Marudas, and Karen Landry at Little, Brown; to Kristin Cochrane, Kiara Kent, Amy Black, and Sharon Klein at Penguin Random House Canada; and to my literary agent, Denise Bukowski.
Thank you to John Shea, professor of anthropology at Stony Brook University in New York, and to Hilary Duke of Stony Brook University, both of whom provided invaluable guidance on the science that underpins much of this novel. Thank you also to Adrian Haimovich of Yale University, who tackled my many questions about DNA. This novel benefited greatly from Yuval Noah Harari’s thoughtful feedback. Ian Tattersall’s books gave me a line through the science, and I appreciate his willingness to answer my questions.
Barbara Gowdy’s novel The White Bone gave me the courage to write this book.
Last but not least, thank you to my early readers and true believers: Elizabeth Boyden, Michael Bourne, Jim Bull, Dave, Ben, and Max Cameron, Ian Cameron, Susannah Cameron, Wendy C
ameron, Seanna Doherty, Laurie Grassi, Danielle Gideon, Leigh Anne Graham, Amy Fisher, Keith Lawton, Sarah Murphy, Lindsay Oughtred, Angelique Palozzi, Emily Sewell, Laura Tisdel, Melissa van der Wagt, and Sarah Wright.
About the Author
Claire Cameron’s novel The Bear became a number one bestseller in Canada and was long-listed for the 2014 Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction. Cameron’s writing has appeared in the New York Times, the Globe and Mail, the Los Angeles Review of Books, and Salon. She is a staff writer at The Millions. She lives in Toronto with her husband and two sons.
claire-cameron.com
@clairecameron
clairecameronauthor
clairecamer0n
Also by Claire Cameron
The Bear
The Line Painter
Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
To receive special offers, bonus content, and news about our latest ebooks and apps, sign up for our newsletters.
Sign Up
Or visit us at hachettebookgroup.com/newsletters
The Last Neanderthal Page 25
