The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [24]
Creb wandered over while Iza was pouring boiling water over the flowers of the hollyhocks, and sat down near the child. He was interested in the stranger, and since the preparations for the evening ceremony were not yet complete, he went to see how she was recovering. They stared at each other, the young girl and the crippled, scarred old man, studying each other with equal intensity. He had never been so close to one of her kind and had never seen a young one of the Others at all. She didn’t even know of the existence of Clan people until she woke up to find herself among them, but more than their racial characteristics, she was curious about the puckered skin of his face. In her limited experience, she had never seen a face so horribly scarred. Impetuously, with the uninhibited reactions of a child, she reached out to touch his face, to see if the scar felt different.
Creb was taken aback as she lightly stroked his face. None of the children of the clan had ever reached out to him like that. No adults reached out to him either. They avoided contact with him, as though they might somehow catch his deformity by touching him. Only Iza, who nursed him through his sieges of arthritis which attacked with greater severity every winter, seemed to have no compunction about it. She was neither repulsed by his misshapen body and ugly scars nor in awe of his power and position. The little girl’s gentle touch struck an inner chord in his lonely old heart. He wanted to communicate with her and thought for a moment about how to begin.
“Creb,” he said, pointing to himself. Iza was watching quietly, waiting for the flowers to steep. She was glad Creb was taking an interest in the girl, and the use of his personal name was not lost on her.
“Creb,” he repeated, tapping his chest.
The child cocked her head, trying to understand. There was something he wanted her to do. Creb said his name a third time. Suddenly she brightened, sat up straight, and smiled.
“Grub?” she responded, rolling the r to mimic his sound.
The old man nodded approval; her pronunciation was close. Then he pointed at her. She frowned slightly, not quite sure what he wanted now. He tapped his chest, repeated his name, then tapped hers. Her wide smile of understanding looked like a grimace to him, and the polysyllabic word that rolled out of her mouth was not only unpronounceable, it was almost incomprehensible. He went through the same motions, leaning close to hear better. She said her name.
“Aay-rr.” He hesitated, shook his head, tried again. “Aay-lla, Ayla?” It was the best approximation he could make. There were not many in the clan who could have come as close. She beamed and nodded her head up and down vigorously. It was not exactly what she had said, but she accepted it, sensing even in her young mind that he could not say the word for her name any better.
“Ayla,” Creb repeated, getting used to the sound.
“Creb?” the girl said, tugging at his arm to get his attention, then pointed at the woman.
“Iza,” Creb said, “Iza.”
“Eeez-sa,” she repeated. She was delighted with the word game. “Iza, Iza,” she reiterated, looking at the woman.
Iza nodded solemnly; name sounds were very important. She leaned forward and tapped the child’s chest the way Creb had, wanting her to say her name-word again. The girl repeated her full name, but Iza just shook her head. She couldn’t begin to make that combination of sounds that the girl made so easily. The child was dismayed, then glancing at Creb, said her name the way he had.
“Eye-ghha?” the woman tried. The girl shook her head and said it again. “Eye-ya?” Iza tried again.
“Aay, Aay, not Eye,” Creb said. “Aaay-llla,” he repeated very slowly so Iza could hear the unfamiliar combination of sounds.
“Aay-lla,” the woman