The Mammoth Hunters by Jean M. Auel
Ayla looked down at the white tunic in her hands, and her mind whirled. Why doesn’t Jondalar want to sleep with me any more? Why did he stop touching me, stop sharing Pleasures with me, even when he was sleeping with me? Everything changed after I became Mamutoi. Didn’t he want me to be adopted? If he didn’t, why didn’t he say so? Maybe he did want it; he said he did. I thought he loved me. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he doesn’t love me any more. He never did ask me to join. What will I do if Jondalar leaves without me? The knot in her stomach felt as hard as a rock. Ranec cares for me, and he wants me to care about him. He is nice, and funny, he always makes me laugh … and he loves me. But I don’t love him. I wish I could love him … maybe I should try.
“Yes, Ranec, I’ll think about it,” she said softly, but her throat tightened and ached as she spoke.
Jondalar watched Ranec leave the Mammoth Hearth. The tall man had become a watcher, though he felt embarrassed about it. It wasn’t appropriate behavior, either in this society or his own, for adults to stare or concern themselves unduly with the ordinary activities of another person, and Jondalar had always been especially sensitive to social conventions. It bothered him to appear so callow, but he couldn’t help it. He tried to hide it, but he watched Ayla and the Mammoth Hearth constantly.
The carver’s jaunty step and delighted smile as he returned to the Fox Hearth filled the tall visitor with dread. He knew it had to be something Ayla had said or done that caused the Mamutoi man such elation, and with his morbid imagination, he feared the worst.
Jondalar knew Ranec had become a constant visitor since he left the Mammoth Hearth, and he berated himself for creating the opportunity. He wished he could take back his words and the whole silly argument, but he was convinced it was too late to make amends. He felt helpless but, in a way, it was a relief to have some distance between them.
Though he didn’t admit it to himself, his actions were motivated by more than a simple desire to allow her to choose the man she wanted. He had been hurt so deeply part of him wanted to strike back; if she could reject him, he could reject her. But he also had a need to give himself a choice, to see if it was possible to get over his love for her. He sincerely wondered if it wouldn’t be better for her to stay here, where she was accepted and loved, than to return with him to his people, and he feared what his own reaction would be if his people rejected her. Would he be willing to share an outcast life with her? Would he be willing to move away, leave his people again, especially after making such a long Journey to return? Or would he reject her, too?
If she chose someone else to love, then he’d be forced to leave her behind, and he would not be faced with such a decision. But the thought of her loving someone else filled him with such stomach-wrenching, breath-suffocating, throat-clenching, unbearable pain, he didn’t know if he could survive—or if he wanted to. The more he fought with himself not to show his love, the more possessive and jealous he became, and the more he hated himself for it.
The turmoil of trying to sort out his powerful mixed emotions was taking its toll. He couldn’t eat or sleep, and he was looking gaunt and wasted. His clothes were beginning to hang on his tall frame. He couldn’t concentrate, not even on a beautiful new piece of flint. Sometimes he wondered if he was losing his senses, or possessed by some baneful night spirit. He was so torn with love for Ayla, grief that he was losing her, and fear of what might happen if he didn’t let her go, that he couldn’t bear to stay too close to her. He was afraid he would lose control of himself, and do something he would regret. But he couldn’t stop watching her.
The Lion Camp was forgiving of the minor indiscretion of their visitor. They were aware of his feelings for Ayla in spite of his attempts to hide it. Everyone in the Camp talked about the painful predicament the three young people were in. The solution to their problem seemed so simple to those looking from the outside. Ayla and Jondalar obviously cared for each other, so why didn’t they just tell each other how they felt, and then invite Ranec to share their union? But Nezzie sensed it was not so simple. The wise, motherly woman felt that Jondalar’s love for Ayla was too strong to be held off by the lack of a few words. Something much deeper was coming between them. And she, more than anyone, understood the depth of Ranec’s love for the young woman. She did not believe that this was a situation that could be resolved with a shared union. Ayla would have to make a choice.
As though the idea held some compelling power, ever since Ranec had asked Ayla to think about sharing his hearth, and brought up the painfully obvious fact that she now slept alone, she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. She had clung to the belief that Jondalar would forget their harsh words and return, especially since it seemed that every time she glanced toward the cooking hearth, she caught a glimpse, between the support posts and objects hanging from the ceiling in the intervening hearths, of him as he turned away. It made her think he was still interested enough to be looking in her direction. But each night that she spent alone diminished her hope.
“Think about it …” Ranec’s words repeated themselves in Ayla’s mind, as she crushed dried burdock and sweet fern leaves for a tea for Mamuts arthritis, thinking about the dark, smiling man and wondering if she could learn to love him. But the thought of her life without Jondalar made her stomach ache with a strange emptiness. She added fresh wintergreen and hot water to the bowl of crushed leaves, and brought it to the old man.
She smiled when he thanked her, but she seemed preoccupied, and sad. She had been abstracted all day. Mamut knew she had been upset since Jondalar moved away, and he wished he could help. He had seen Ranec talking to her earlier and he considered trying to talk to her about it, but he believed nothing happened in Ayla’s life without purpose. He was convinced the Mother had created her present difficulties for a reason, and he hesitated to interfere. Whatever trials she and the two young men were undergoing were necessary. He watched her going out to the horse annex, and was aware when she returned sometime later.
Ayla banked the fire, walked back to her bed platform, undressed and prepared for sleep. It was an ordeal facing the night knowing Jondalar would not be sleeping beside her. She busied herself with little tasks to delay settling herself into her furs, knowing she would lie awake half the night. Finally, she picked up the wolf puppy and sat on the edge of the bed, cuddling, stroking, and talking to the warm, loving little animal, until he went to sleep in her arms. Then she put him in his basket, petting him until he settled down again. To make up for Jondalar’s absence, Ayla lavished love on the wolf.
Mamut realized he was awake and opened his eyes. He could barely make out vague shapes in the darkness. The lodge was quiet, the night quiet that was filled only with the slight rustlings, heavy breathing, and low rumbles of sleep. He slowly turned his head toward the faint red glow of the embers in the firepit, trying to discover what had brought him out of his deep sleep to full wakefulness. He heard a strained breath nearby, and a stifled sob, and pushed his covers aside.
“Ayla? Ayla, are you in pain?” Mamut said softly. She felt a warm hand on her arm.
“No,” she said, her voice husky with strain. Her face was turned toward the wall.
“You are crying.”
“I’m sorry I woke you. I should have been more quiet.”
“You were quiet. It wasn’t your noise that woke me, it was your need. The Mother called me to you. You are in pain. You are hurting inside, isn’t that so?”
Ayla took a deep, painful breath, straining to repress the cry that wanted expression. “Yes,” she said. She turned to face him, and he saw tears glistening in the muted light.
“Then cry, Ayla. You should not hold it in. You have reason to be in pain, and you have a right to cry,” Mamut said.
“Oh, Mamut,” she cried in a great heaving sob, then still restraining the sound, but with the relief of his permission, quietly wept her heartbreak and anguish.
“Do not hold back, Ayla. It is good for you to cry,” he said, si
When she finally stopped, she found a piece of soft leather to wipe her face and nose, then sat up beside the old man. “I feel better, now,” she said.
“It is always best to cry when you feel the need, but it is not over, Ayla.”
Ayla bowed her head. “I know.” Then she turned to him and said, “But why?”
“Someday you will know why. I believe your life is directed by powerful forces. You were picked for a special fate. It is not an easy burden you carry; look what you have already been through in your young life. But your life will not be all pain, you will have great joys. You are loved, Ayla. You draw love to you. That is given to you to help you bear the burden. You will always have love … perhaps too much …”
“I thought Jondalar loved me …”
“Don’t be too certain he doesn’t, but many other people love you, including this old man,” Mamut said, smiling. Ayla smiled, too. “Even a wolf and horses love you. Haven’t there been many who have loved you?”
“You’re right. Iza loved me. She was my mother. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t born to her. When she died, she said she loved me best … Creb loved me … even though I disappointed him … hurt him.” Ayla stopped for a moment, then continued. “Uba loved me … and Durc.” She stopped again. “Do you think I’ll ever see my son again, Mamut?”
The shaman paused before answering. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“Three … no, four years. He was born in early spring. He was three years when I left. He is close to Rydag in years …” Suddenly Ayla looked at the old shaman and spoke with earnest excitement. “Mamut, Rydag is a mixed child, just like my son. If Rydag can live here, why can’t Durc? You went to the peninsula and came back, why couldn’t I go and get Durc and bring him back here? It’s not so very far.”
Mamut frowned, considering his reply. “I can’t answer that, Ayla. Only you can, but you must think about it very carefully before you decide what is best, not only for yourself but for your son. You are Mamutoi. You have learned to speak our language, and you have learned many of our customs, but you have much to learn yet of our ways.”
Ayla wasn’t listening to the shaman’s carefully chosen words. Her mind was already racing ahead. “If Nezzie could take in a child who can’t even speak, why not one who could speak? Durc could, if he had a language to learn. Durc could be a friend to Rydag. Durc could help him, run and get things for him. Durc is a good runner.”
Mamut let her continue her enthusiastic recitation of Durc’s virtues until she stopped of her own accord, then he asked her, “When would you plan to go for him, Ayla?”
“As soon as I can. This spring … No, it’s too hard to travel in spring, too much flooding. I’ll have to wait until summer.” Ayla paused. “Maybe not. This is the summer of the Clan Gathering. If I don’t get there before they leave, I’ll have to wait until they return. But, by then, Ura will be with them.…”
“The girl who was Promised to your son?” Mamut asked.
“Yes. In a few years they will mate. Clan children grow up sooner than the Others … than I did. Iza didn’t think I’d ever become a woman. I was so slow compared with Clan girls.… Ura could be a woman, though, and ready to have a mate, and her own hearth.” Ayla frowned. “She was a baby when I saw her, and Durc … The last time I saw Durc, he was a little boy. Soon he’ll be a man, providing for his mate, a mate who could have children. I don’t even have a mate. My son’s mate could have a child before I do.”
“Do you know how old you are, Ayla?”
“Not exactly, but I always count my years in late winter, about now. I don’t know why.” She frowned again. “I guess it’s time for me to add another year. That means I must be …” She closed her eyes to concentrate on the counting words. “I am eighteen years now, Mamut. I am getting old!”
“You were eleven when your son was born?” he asked, surprised. Ayla nodded. “I have known of some girls who became women at nine or ten, but that’s very young. Latie is not yet a woman, and she is in her twelfth year.”
“She will be soon. I can tell,” Ayla said.
“I think you are right. But you are not so old, Ayla. Deegie is seventeen years, and she won’t be joined until this summer at the Summer Meeting.”
“That’s right, and I promised I would be part of her Matrimonial. I can’t go to a Summer Meeting and a Clan Gathering both.” Mamut saw her pale. “I can’t go to a Clan Gathering, anyway. I’m not even sure if I could go back to the clan. I am cursed. I am dead. Even Durc might think I’m a spirit and be afraid of me. Oh, Mamut. What should I do?”
“You must think about it all very carefully before you decide what is best,” he replied. She looked upset, and he decided to change the subject. “But you have time. It is not yet spring. The Spring Festival will be here before we know it, though. Have you thought about the root and the ceremony you spoke of? Are you willing to include that ceremony in the Spring Festival?”
Ayla felt a chill. The idea frightened her, but Mamut would be there to help. He would know what to do, and he did seem so interested in wanting to learn about it.
“All right, Mamut. Yes, I will do it.”
Jondalar knew of the change in the relationship between Ayla and Ranec immediately, though he didn’t want to accept it. He watched them for several days until he could no longer deny to himself that Ranec all but lived at the Mammoth Hearth, and that his presence was welcomed and enjoyed by Ayla. No matter how he tried to convince himself that it was for the best and that he had done the right thing in moving away, he could not ease the pain of losing her love or overcome the hurt of being excluded. In spite of the fact that he was the one who had withdrawn from her, and voluntarily left her bed and company, he now felt she was rejecting him.
It didn’t take them long, Jondalar thought. He was there the next day, hanging around her, and she could hardly wait for me to leave before she welcomed him. They must have just been waiting for me to go. I should have known.…
What are you blaming her for? You’re the one who left, Jondalar, he said to himself. She didn’t tell you to go. After the first time, she didn’t go back to him. She was right there, ready for you, and you know it.…
So now she’s ready for him. And he’s eager. Can you blame him? Maybe it’s for the best. She’s wanted here, they’re more used to flatheads … Clan. And she’s loved.…
Yes, she’s loved. Isn’t that what you want for her? To be accepted, and to have someone love her.…
But I love her, he thought with a welling up of pain and anguish. O Mother! How can I stand it? She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved that way. I don’t want her to be hurt, I don’t want her to be turned out. Why her? O Doni, why did it have to be her?
Maybe I should leave. That’s it, I’ll just leave, he thought, beyond the ability to think clearly at the moment.
Jondalar strode toward the Lion Hearth, and interrupted Talut and Mamut, who were discussing the coming Spring Festival. “I’m leaving,” he blurted out. “What can I do to trade for some supplies?” He had a manic look of desperation.
A knowing glance passed between the headman and the shaman. “Jondalar, my friend,” Talut said, clapping him on the shoulder, “we’ll be happy to give you any supplies you need, but you can’t leave now. Spring is coming, but look outside, a blizzard is blowing, and late-season blizzards are the worst.”
Jondalar calmed down and realized his sudden impulse to leave was impossible. No one in his right mind would start out on a long Journey now.
Talut felt a relaxation of tension in Jondalar’s muscles, as he kept on talking. “In spring, it will flood, and there are many rivers to cross. Besides, you can’t travel this far from your home, winter with the Mamutoi, and not hunt mammoth with the Mammoth Hunters, Jondalar. Once you return, you will never have the chance again. The fir
“Yes, of course, I’ll think about it,” Jondalar said. Then he looked the big red-haired headman in the eyes. “And thanks, Talut. You’re right. I can’t leave yet.”
Mamut was sitting cross-legged in his favorite place for meditating, the bed platform next to his that was used as storage for the extra reindeer hide bedsheets, furs, and other bedding. He wasn’t so much meditating as thinking. Since the night he had been awakened by her tears, he was much more aware of Ayla’s despair over Jondalar’s leaving. Her wretched unhappiness had left a deep impression on him. Though she managed to hide the extent of her feelings from most people, he was more conscious now of small details of her behavior that he might have missed before. Though she genuinely seemed to enjoy Ranec’s company, and laughed at his jokes, she was subdued, and the care and attention she lavished on Wolf and the horses had a quality of desolate longing.
Mamut paid closer attention to the tall visitor and noticed the same desolation in Jondalar’s behavior. He seemed filled with tormented anxiety, though he, too, tried to hide it. After his desperate impulse to leave in the middle of a storm, the old shaman feared that Jondalar’s good judgment was becoming impaired at the thought of losing Ayla. To the old man who dealt so intimately with the spirit world of Mut and Her fates, that implied a deeper compulsion than simply young love. Perhaps the Mother had plans for him, too; plans that involved Ayla.
Though Mamut was reluctant to step in, he wondered why the Mother had shown him that She was the force behind their mutual feelings. Though he was convinced that ultimately She would arrange circumstances to suit Her, perhaps She wanted him to help in this case.