The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [201]
“You don’t deserve to speak, woman, but Mog-ur has invoked protection in your case. If I want you to speak, the spirits will allow it. You are right, you have been very disobedient, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“This woman is grateful. This woman knows the customs of the Clan; she should have disposed of the infant as the medicine woman told her, but she ran away. She was going to return on her son’s naming day so the leader would have to accept him into the clan.”
“You returned too soon,” Brun gestured triumphantly. “It is not the naming day yet. I can command the medicine woman to take him from you now.” The tension that had knotted Brun’s back since Ayla left relaxed as he made the motions and the full realization hit him. Only if the child lived seven days would tradition force him to accept the baby. The full time had not elapsed, he did not have to take him, he had not lost face, he was in command again.
Ayla’s arms clutched involuntarily at the baby held to her breast with the cloak, then she continued: “This woman knows it is not yet the naming day. This woman realized it was wrong for her to try to make the leader accept her son. It is not a woman’s place to decide if her child should live or die. Only the leader can make that decision. That is why this woman returned.”
Brun looked at Ayla’s earnest face. At least she came to her senses in time, he thought. “If you know the customs of the Clan, why did you return with a child that is deformed? Iza said you were unable to perform your duty as a mother; are you ready to give him up now? Do you want the medicine woman to do it for you?”
Ayla hesitated, hovering over her son. “This woman will give him up if the leader commands it.” She made the signs slowly, painfully, forcing herself, feeling as though a knife were twisting in her heart. “But this woman promised her son she would not let him go alone to the world of the spirits. If the leader decides the baby may not live, she asks him to curse her.” She slipped out of the formal language and pleaded, “I beg you, Brun, I beg you to let my son live. If he has to die, I don’t want to live.”
Ayla’s fervent plea surprised the leader. Some women, he knew, wanted to keep their babies in spite of malformations and disfigurements, but most were relieved to dispose of them as quickly and quietly as possible. A deformed child stigmatized the mother. It advertised a certain inadequacy, an inability to produce a perfect baby. It made her less than desirable. Even if the deformity was small enough not to pose a major handicap, there were considerations of status and future mates. A mother’s later years could be difficult if her children or her children’s mates could not take care of her. Though she would never starve, her life could be miserable. Ayla’s request was unprecedented. Mother love was strong, but strong enough to follow her child to the next world?
“You want to die with a deformed baby? Why?” Brun asked.
“My son is not deformed,” Ayla motioned with the barest trace of defiance. “He’s just different. I’m different, I don’t look like people of the Clan. My son is, too. Any baby I ever have will look like him, if my totem is ever defeated again. I’ll never have a baby that will be allowed to live. I don’t want to live either, if all my babies have to die.”
Brun looked at Mog-ur. “If a woman swallows the spirit of a man’s totem, shouldn’t the baby look like him?”
“Yes, it should. But don’t forget, she has a male totem, too. Perhaps that’s why it fought so hard. The Cave Lion may have wanted to be part of the new life. There could be something to what she says. I would have to meditate on it.”
“But the child is still deformed?”
“It often happens when a woman’s totem refuses to give in completely. It makes her pregnancy difficult and deforms the baby,” Mog-ur replied. “I’m more surprised the child