The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [375]
Kareja, the leader of the Eleventh Cave, stood up. “Willadan has asked me to ask a question for him, but I think he should ask it himself.”
“If you think so, then certainly he should,” Zelandoni said.
“My mate was a donii-woman one summer after we were mated,” the man began. “She wasn’t having any luck getting a baby started and wanted to make the offering to honor the Mother and encourage Her to start one. It seemed to work. She did have a child after that, and three more since then. But now I wonder, did any of those children come from me?”
This must be handled with great delicacy, Zelandoni thought. “All children born to your mate are your children,” she said.
“But how do I know if they were started by me or some other man?”
“Tell me, Willadan, how old is your first child?”
“He can count twelve years. Almost a man.” There was pride in his voice.
“Were you happy when your mate became pregnant with him, and when he was born?”
“Yes, we wanted children at our hearth.”
“So you love him.”
“Of course I love him.”
“Would you love him more if you knew for sure that he was started by your essence?”
Willadan glanced at the boy. “No, of course not,” he said, frowning.
“If you knew the rest of your children were started with your own essence, would you love them more?”
He paused, thinking about the point he knew she was making. “No. I could not love them more.”
“Then does it make any difference if the essence that started them came from you or someone else?” Zelandoni noticed that his frown deepened. She decided to continue. “I have never been pregnant; I have never conceived a child, though there was a time when I wanted one, more than you will know. I am content now. I know the Mother chose what was best for me. But, it is possible, Willadan, that you were born as I was. Perhaps, for some reason known only to Doni, your essence could not start a child with your mate at that time. But the Great Earth Mother, in Her wisdom, gave you and your mate the children you wanted. If you were not the one who started them, would you be willing to give them back if you found the name of the man who may have started them?”
“No. I have provided for them all their lives,” Willadan said.
“Exactly. You have cared for them, you love them, they are the children of your hearth. That means they are your children, Willadan.”
“Yes, they are the children of my hearth, but you said if I am not the one who started them. Do you think they could have been started by my essence?” Willadan asked, a bit wistfully.
“It may well be that the honor your mate paid to the Mother was accepted as sufficient offering, and that she allowed your essence to start all of them. We don’t know, but if you could not love them more, Willadan, does it make any difference?”
“No, I guess not.”
“They may have been started by your essense, or they may not have,” Zelandoni said, “but they will always be more than the children of your hearth. They are your children.”
“Will we ever know for sure?”
“I don’t know if we will ever know. With a woman, it is obvious. She is either pregnant or not. With a man, his children are always the children of his mate. That’s the way it has always been. Nothing has changed. No man can be certain who started the children of his hearth.”
“Jondalar can,” came a voice from the audience. Everyone stopped and stared at the one who had spoken. It was Jalodan, a young man from the Third Cave. He was sitting with Folara’s friend, Galeya, whom he had mated two years before. He suddenly flushed from all the penetrating attention, including the hard look from Zelandoni. “Well, he can,” he said defensively. “Everyone knows Ayla never chose anyone but him