A broad smile crossed his face. He forgot about everything else and started to run. “Come, Ram,” he shouted, pointing to the top of the cliffs. “It is our good friend Graybeard. He is making his magic.”
Halfway up the cliff, Tao stopped at his little cave. There he tied his spear over his shoulder with a leather thong. He picked up the bag of chestnuts and tucked it under his belt. Then he started to climb as Ram followed. They went up a narrow, winding ledge, picking their way over jumbles of loose rock and stones.
Soon the path became steeper. Tao reached out, grasping the stunted pine shrubs that grew from the crevices along the rock wall. He stepped on jutting rocks and his fingers felt for cracks and crannies to pull himself up.
Ram was a good climber, but at some places his paws slipped and scraped on the uneven surface. Once Tao helped him around an overhang, and twice he had to pull him up by the scruff of the neck. Frequently they stopped to rest and, little by little, they made their way up the steep limestone wall.
As they came closer, Tao saw Graybeard’s wrinkled face looking down over the edge of the cliff. He wondered how the old man had made such a difficult climb.
Breathing hard, Tao pushed Ram over the top, then pulled himself up the rest of the way. Graybeard reached down with a bony hand and helped the boy to his feet. He was smiling broadly. “You saw the light from far off and you knew it was the shining stone?”
“Yes,” said Tao, glancing into the old man’s blue eyes. “Your magic is good. But it is a hard climb even for a boy.”
“That is why I chose this place,” said Graybeard. “But there is an easier way. I will show you later.” He led Tao over to a clump of bushes. There the old man removed a covering of pine branches to reveal a small opening leading underground.
“It is well hidden,” said the old man. “No one will find us here.”
They followed a narrow tunnel down to a cavern where shafts of sunlight filtered through from above. Tao saw the unmarked walls and the high, arched roof. On the floor were sticks of charcoal together with chunks of dried clay. A surge of excitement raced through him and he felt a new wave of joy. To become an image maker was the thing he had always dreamed of. To be taught by the master was more than he had ever hoped for. “My hands and my eyes are ready to begin,” he said.
“Ah, my friend, do not be in such a hurry.” The old man bent over, stifling a cough. Then he continued. “You will be a better pupil after we have eaten.”
Tao forced a smile. Food meant nothing to him now. But he did not wish to press the old man. He took the bag of chestnuts from his belt and handed it to Graybeard. “Kala gave me these,” he said. “I have been saving them for you.”
Graybeard opened the skin sack and peered in. He took out one of the shiny red nuts and held it up in his thin fingers, smiling. “Chestnuts are not plentiful,” he said. “It will be good to taste them again.”
They sat on the floor of the cave and ate part of a roasted antelope leg that Graybeard had brought with him. They roasted the chestnuts and cracked them open between two stones and picked out the sweet meat. Ram gnawed at the leg bone which still had some meat on it, then curled up in a corner and went to sleep.
Bright sunlight came through the opening and reflected off the ash-gray walls of the cavern. Graybeard got to his feet. He lifted his thin arms over his head and stretched. Then he looked down at the boy. “Now it is time to begin,” he said.
He took a slate stone from his deerskin pouch. “When we were together before, I showed you how to rough out your image, how to draw a bison. Now you must try something harder.” He handed Tao the stone.
Tao took it and studied the carved engraving. It was the figure of a reindeer with branching antlers and long, thin legs. He knew it would not be easy. He picked up one of the chalks and stepped to the wall. It was clean and unmarked and he ran the palm of his hand over the surface, feeling the smoothness of it. Then he lifted his other hand and made the first bold strokes, starting with the shoulder and back.
The old man stopped him immediately, shaking his head briskly. “That is wrong. I have told you, always make your first sketch in charcoal. Black is better. And start with an outline of the body and the head.”
Tao groaned inwardly. In his excitement he had already forgotten the first lesson the old man had taught him. He picked up a stick of charcoal and began again.
The old master watched for a while, then reached out and stopped the boy’s hand again. “No,” he said sharply. “You draw with short, choppy strokes. Let your hand go free. Let it glide over the wall. There is plenty of room, reach out as far as you can.”
As he followed Graybeard’s instructions Tao found he was drawing easier, faster. He smiled with a quick feeling of satisfaction. Just a few words from the master made a big difference.
Graybeard nodded. “You are learning, my friend. It takes time, but you are learning.”
Tao drew the outline of two more reindeer before the old man stopped him again. “Now I will show you something else,” said Graybeard. He took another graven stone from his leather pouch and handed it to Tao. On it was the sketch of a rhino. Then he brushed his long fingers across the wall. “Look, here,” he said. “When you draw the rhino, use this bulge as the high part of the back. The hollow place below it then becomes the dark area where the head meets the shoulder.”
Tao did as he was told, outlining a large rhino. When he had finished, he stepped back, his dark eyes wide with wonder. “Look,” he said, “it begins to live.”
Graybeard picked up the charcoal. “Now, if you wish to show many animals together, you outline the first one, then draw a row of heads and legs, one after another.” Graybeard sketched a bison on the wall, then drew a series of heads and legs close behind it.
Again Tao was surprised. With a few quick strokes the old master had created an entire herd of bison. He could almost see the flashing eyes and hear the pounding hooves. “It is magic,” he said. “Now I will try.”
The old man shook his head. He walked about the little cavern, stretching his arms over his head. “That is enough for now. Tomorrow I must go to the camp of the Lake People. When I return, I will show you how to paint and mix colors. For that we will need some fish oil, some animal fat and blood and some eggs and honey.”
The following morning Graybeard took Tao west, along the top of the cliffs, until they came to a narrow path leading down to the bottom. “It is not so steep,” said the old man, “and much easier to climb.”
They walked across the valley until they came to the river. When they were ready to part, the boy said, “Thank you, Graybeard. I will work hard to make the bison live on the cave wall. Then someday maybe I will be nearly as good as you are.”
The old man smiled, tugging at his beard. “Maybe better,” he said.
“No one can be better. But I will try.”
The old man walked away, coughing heavily. Tao called after him. “You will be back soon?”
“Do not be impatient,” said Graybeard. Tao caught the flicker of a smile. “You have enough to do while I am gone.”
In the days that followed, Tao practiced his drawings. In between he collected materials for the next lesson. He searched along the dry streambeds for saucer-shaped stones that could be used to mix paints. He scooped wet clay out of the brook and wrapped it in fresh green leaves to keep it moist and soft.
Down at the Slough he caught two big fat carp and brought them back to his cave, where he baked them over an open fire and squeezed out the oil. Kala gave him a large seashell, three duck eggs and a jackal skull full of honey. When everything was ready he stored them in the Hidden Cave at the top of the cliff to wait for Graybeard’s return.
They still needed some animal fat and blood, and one day, near the edge of the swamp, Ram picked up the scent of a boar. He tracked it into the spruce forest, where he brought it to bay in the middle of a berry thicket. It fought viciously, twisting and lashing out with its tusks. Tao threw hi
s spear with all his strength. The boar squealed and thrashed about, then lay still.
After he skinned the animal, Tao scraped out much of the fat and collected some of the blood in a hollow bone. He cut off the head and the best parts of the meat and tied it together in the skin and brought it back to the Hidden Cave. There he stored the blood and fat away, to be used for the mixing of the paints. The meat and the rest of the animal he brought back to Kala and the clan people.
Soon the odor of roast pig drifted through the little camp as the women speared the legs and ribs on spits and turned them over the open fires. The people were pleased, for it was not often that they were treated to such tasty fare.
Even Volt was more friendly. He gave Tao the tusks from the boar’s skull to wear around his neck as an amulet and as a token of his hunting skill.
Tao was happy to please Volt, and even Garth. He wished he could tell Volt about Ram and how the wolf dog could hunt. But he knew the leader would not listen, so he held his tongue. Yet he wished that someday Ram could show his worth in front of the entire clan. Then maybe Volt would know the wolf dog was not an evil spirit.
TWELVE
With Graybeard gone, Tao felt a new sense of emptiness. He spent much of his time drawing mammoths, bison and rhinos in Graybeard’s little cavern. Each evening he stood on top of the cliff, scanning the valley, waiting for the old man to return. As the days passed and Graybeard did not show up, the boy became impatient. Why does he not come back? he thought. He has always kept his word. Maybe something is wrong. He considered going to find him, but he knew he could not cross the river or go into the lands of the other people.
Each day the boy waited with growing concern. Then, one morning, down in the Slough, Ram growled and Tao looked up to see Graybeard standing in the middle of the glade as if he had come out of the earth. He had his flint-tipped spear in his hand and he carried the shoulder blade of a horse strapped to his back.
Tao hurried toward him, an expression of joy and relief in his eyes. “I am happy to see you, old shaman. It has been a long time.”
Graybeard nodded. “There are many places I must go, and I do not walk as fast as I used to.” The old man coughed and passed a shaky hand across his brow.
Tao winced as he saw the worn face, the pinched cheekbones. He was worried, but he knew the old man would not want him to show concern. “The cave is ready,” Tao said. “But first you must rest and eat.” He took some dried meat and fish from his leather pouch and they sat with their backs against an old red oak and ate their meal. Tao wondered if Graybeard remembered his promise.
When they were finished, they started across the valley. Graybeard stopped many times, poking around the streambeds and gravel banks with the shaft of his spear, searching. Then he found what he was looking for. He picked up a stick and dug out a handful of bright red earth.
“Here,” he said, as he poured it into an empty leather sack. “This will make good red paint. Now we must find yellows and whites.”
“I have yellow clay,” said Tao. The old man did remember.
“Good. We can dig up some limestone powder near the foot of the cliffs. That will mix well for the lighter colors.”
When they had all the red, white and yellow earth they needed, they went up to the top of the cliff, using the easy path that Graybeard had found. They reached the tunnel to the Hidden Cave and removed the cover of branches to let in the sunlight.
In the cave Graybeard sat on the ground and Tao squatted beside him. The old man poured some of the red earth into one of the saucer-shaped rocks that Tao had collected. Then, using a smooth, round stone, he began grinding it into a fine powder. When it was to his liking, he added some of Tao’s fish oil, mixing it into a dark red paint. He poured a small amount of this into three other shallow stone dishes. In the first one he added a lump of yellow clay, in the second he sprinkled limestone powder and in the third he added charcoal dust. Using a small, clean stick for each, he mixed them well, ending with three different colors: a bright orange, a salmon pink and a dark brown.
Tao was amazed. He sat quietly, watching. This too was magic, he thought. Graybeard spread out more saucers and began blending shades of yellows, browns, grays and blacks. Some he mixed with honey, and some with the boiled fat and clotted blood from the boar.
“Next we must make our brushes,” he said. He took a handful of twigs from his pouch and began mashing the ends with a stone until they were soft and ragged. He held one up in the shaft of sunlight beaming through the cave entrance. He turned it around for Tao to see. “These are small,” he said, “for painting eyes and fine lines of hair and fur.”
He made larger brushes by tying feathers and boar bristles around the ends of long sticks with strings of vegetable fiber.
When all the paints and brushes were made, the old man got to his feet. “Now,” he said, “we are ready to paint.”
Tao held out the shoulder blade of the horse, while Graybeard poured spots of the colored paints onto its broad white surface. He handed the boy one of the large brushes and pointed to Tao’s pictures of the rhinos, bison and mammoths.
The boy held his breath. He had never had a brush in his hand before. “Which one will I paint?”
Graybeard smiled. “You are the image maker. Paint the one you like the best.”
“The mountain-that-walks,” said Tao.
Graybeard nodded. “Then begin.”
Tao hesitated, glancing at the paints on the shoulder blade, uncertain.
“You saw the mammoths,” said Graybeard. “What color were they?”
“Reddish-brown.”
“Good,” said the old man. “Then mix a little black with the red until you have the color you wish.”
Tao dipped his brush into the spot of black, then mixed it with the red. He lifted his hand and touched it to the drawing. It was still too light, so he dipped in another dab of black. Again his brush touched the drawing. He smiled. It was a deep reddish-brown, the color he wanted. He continued to dip and touch.
Graybeard watched as Tao repeated the motion again and again. He reached out and stopped the boy’s hand. “You are not painting on an antler or a seashell,” he said. “You are painting on a wall. Do not dab. Swing the brush with your whole arm.
Graybeard took the brush and began sweeping it across the drawing, following the lines of the mammoth’s body.
Tao saw the old man’s face brighten as he worked, laying on great swaths of color. He felt the excitement as the picture came alive.
“Do not be afraid,” said Graybeard, his eyes glowing. “You can always go over what you do not like.”
He gave the brush back to Tao and the boy tried again. This time he let his arm go free, swinging the brush across the wall. He mixed gray with yellow to fill in the light areas around the chest and stomach. He painted dark shadows on the shoulders and back to add shading. He saw his mammoth begin to breathe as he filled in the eye and the waving trunk.
When the painting was finished, Graybeard cracked open the duck eggs. He separated the yolks and set them aside. He poured the whites into a clean cockleshell, stirred them with a stick and handed the shell to Tao.
The boy was puzzled. “What is this for?”
“Spread it over your painting and you will see.”
With a feather brush Tao washed the egg white over the picture. This time the mammoth came alive with bright new colors. He stared at it in surprise. This had been done by his own hand. He smiled. Never had he felt so happy.
The following morning Graybeard went off on his mission of mercy and magic. He was gone for long periods, but he always returned to the little cavern at the top of the cliff to show the boy more about the painting, how to make light and shadows, where to find the red and yellow earth with which to make colors. Sometimes they sat together, on the edge of the cliffs, talking. Here they looked up at the night sky and Graybeard pointed out the stars, the first one to appear each night, the one that was red and the one that always
leads toward the north. Here too Graybeard showed him how to make fire and told him where to find the special herbs to cure sickness.
The last time the old man went off on his journey, Tao and Ram walked with him across the valley. When they reached the river, Graybeard turned. “Your drawings are better now, they are true and they begin to live. Maybe now you can call yourself a cave painter.”
“I thank you for that,” said Tao. “And for all the things you have taught me. I am happy.”
The old man smiled. “You know the many beautiful things you can make with a brush and a dab of paint. That is all you have to know. That is all that really matters.”
They said good-bye, and as the old man walked away, Tao heard the long, hacking cough. He noticed the weary, shambling gait. His heart ached and deep inside he was afraid for his old friend.
THIRTEEN
One afternoon Tao and Ram were up in the mountains, above the treeline, hunting ptarmigan. They were on their way down when Tao looked below to see Volt and the clan hunters stalking a herd of red deer through the spruce forest. The herd was made up of two does, with fawns, together with a few yearlings. Tao counted them on his fingers. There were nine in all.
The wolf dog was eager to attack, but the boy held him back. They watched quietly from a distance as the hunters formed a large circle surrounding the unwary animals.
If Tao could only get close enough for Ram to run in and pull down one of the deer, it would show how well the wolf dog could hunt. Cautiously he led Ram down to the edge of the spruce wood as the hunters moved silently through the trees, getting ready to throw their spears.
Unaware of the approaching danger, the deer grazed peacefully on moss and lichen. Tao’s heart raced as the hunters crept closer to the unsuspecting deer. If he let the wolf dog go too soon, it would spook the animals and they would get away.
The Boy of the Painted Cave Page 7
