The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [307]
“I don’t think anything you did was wrong. Things tend to happen the way She wants,” Ayla said. “Right now, what I want is to go down to The River and take a long swim, and then have a good washing. Do you know if Zelandoni left behind any of that Losadunai cleansing foam? The one I showed her how to make from fat and ashes? She likes to use it for purifying, especially to clean the hands of grave-diggers.”
“I don’t know about Zelandoni, but I have some,” Marthona said. “I like to use it on weavings, sometimes. I have even used it on some of my platters, the ones I use for meat and to collect clean fat. Can you use it for bathing, too?”
“The Losadunai did sometimes. It can be harsh and make your skin red. Usually I prefer to use soaproot, or some other plant, but right now, I just want to be clean,” Ayla said.
“If only there was a well of Doni’s healing hot waters nearby,” Ayla said to herself as she headed toward The River with Wolf at her side, “it would be perfect, but The River will do for now.” The wolf looked up at her at the sound of her voice. He had stayed close to her, not wanting to let her out of his sight since her return.
The hot sun felt good as she walked down the path toward the swimming place. She lathered all over, and washed her hair, then ducked under to rinse well and went for a long swim. She climbed up and rested on a flat rock to let the sun dry her while she combed her hair. The sun feels so good, she thought, spreading out her drying buckskin and lying on top of it. When was the first time I lay down on this rock? It was my first day here, when Jondalar and I went swimming.
She thought of Jondalar, in her mind’s eye seeing him lying naked beside her. His yellow hair and darker beard … no, it’s summer. He’d be clean shaven. His broad, high forehead beginning to show the lines caused by his habit of knotting it in concentration or concern. His vivid blue eyes looking at her with love and desire—Jonayla has his eyes. His straight fine nose and strong jaw with a full, sensuous mouth.
Her thoughts lingered on his mouth, almost feeling it. His broad shoulders, muscular arms, large, sensitive hands. Hands that could feel a piece of flint and know how it would fracture, or could caress her body with such perception that he would know how she would react. His long, strong legs, the scar on his groin from his encounter with her lion, Baby, and nearby, his manhood.
She was feeling her desire for him build just thinking about him. She wanted to see him, to be near him. She hadn’t even told him she had been expecting a baby; now she didn’t have a baby to tell him about anymore. She felt a wave of grief. I wanted the baby, but the Mother wanted it more, she thought, frowning. She knew I wanted another baby, but I don’t think the Mother would have wanted a baby that I didn’t want.
For the first time since her ordeal, she began to think about the Mother’s Song, and with a chill of recognition, remembered the verse, the new verse, the one that brought the new Gift, the Gift of Knowledge, the knowledge that men were necessary for new life to start.
Her last Gift, the Knowledge that man has his part.
His need must be spent before new life can start.
It honors the Mother when the couple is paired,
Because woman conceives when Pleasures are shared.
Earth’s Children were blessed. The Mother could rest.
I’ve known it for a long time. Now She has told me it is true. Why did She give me this Gift? So I could share it, so I could tell the others? That’s why She wanted my baby! She told me first, told me Her last great Gift, but I had to be worthy. The cost was high, but maybe it had to be. Perhaps the Mother had to take something of great value so I would know