The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [262]
Creb grunted.
“You should go out, too, Creb,” she added. “The sun would be good for you.”
“Yes, yes, I will, Ayla. Later.”
For a moment, she thought she ought to coax him out of the cave with the offer of a walk beside the stream as they used to do, but he already seemed turned inward. She left him sitting where he was, picked up Durc, and hurried out. Creb didn’t look up until he was sure she was gone. He reached for his staff, then decided it was too much effort to get up, and put it down again.
Ayla worried about him as she started out with Durc on her hip and her collecting basket strapped to her back. She sensed his mental power was diminishing. He was more absentminded than ever, and he repeated questions she had already answered. He hardly stirred himself to go out of the cave, even when the weather was warm and sunny. And when he sat for long hours in what he called meditation, he often fell asleep sitting up.
Ayla’s strides lengthened once she was out of sight of the cave. The freedom of movement and the beautiful summer day eased her concern into a more remote part of her mind. She let Durc walk when they came to a clearing and stopped to collect some plants. He watched her, then grabbed a handful of grass and purple-flowered alfalfa and pulled it out by the roots. He brought it to her clutched in his little fist.
“You’re a big help, Durc,” she motioned, taking it from him and putting it into the basket beside her.
“Durc get more,” he gestured, running off.
She sat back on her heels watching her son tugging at a larger handful. It gave suddenly, and he sat down hard. He screwed up his face to cry, more in surprise than in pain, but Ayla ran to him, picked him up, and tossed him into the air, catching him again in her arms. Durc giggled with delight. She put him down and pretended she was going to chase him.
“I’m going to get you,” Ayla motioned.
Durc ran away on his baby legs, laughing. She let him get ahead of her, then chased after him on hands and knees, grabbing him and pulling him over on top of her, both of them laughing at the game. She tickled him just to hear him laugh again.
Ayla never laughed with her son unless they were alone, and Durc learned early that no one else either appreciated or approved of his smiles and giggles. Though Durc made the gesture for mother to all the women in the clan, in his baby heart, he knew Ayla was special. He always felt happier with her than with anyone else, and he loved it when she took him with her alone, without the other women. And he loved the other game only he and his mother played.
“Ba-ba-na-nee-nee,” Durc sounded.
“Ba-ba-na-nee-nee,” Ayla mimicked the nonsense syllables.
“No-na-nee-ga-goo-la,” Durc voiced another set of sounds.
Ayla copied him again, then tickled him. She loved to hear him laugh. It always brought laughter to her own lips. Then she made a set of sounds, sounds she liked to hear him make more than any others. She didn’t know why, except it stirred in her a feeling of such tenderness it came close to bringing tears.
“Ma-ma-ma-ma,” she said.
“Ma-ma-ma-ma,” Durc repeated. Ayla wrapped her arms around her son and held him close. “Ma-ma,” Durc said again.
He wriggled to get free. The only time he liked to cuddle for long was when he went to sleep snuggled beside her. She wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye. Watering eyes were one peculiarity he did not share with her. Durc’s large brown eyes, deep set below heavy brow ridges, were Clan.
“Ma-ma,” Durc said. He often called her by the syllables when they were alone, especially after he was reminded. “You hunt now?” he gestured.
The last few times she had taken Durc with her, she spent some time showing him how to hold a sling. She was going to make one for him, but Zoug beat her to it. The old man didn’t go out anymore, but his pleasure in trying to train the boy also pleased Ayla. Though Durc was young, Ayla could see he would have her aptitude with the weapon, and he was as proud of his miniature sling as he