The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [389]
She knew how jealous Jondalar had been about her and Ranec when they lived with the Mamutoi, even though she didn’t know what was causing the barely controlled violence of his reaction. Ranec had told her to come with him, and she was raised by the Clan. She hadn’t learned yet that among the Others, she had the right to say no.
When they finally resolved the problem and she left with Jondalar back to his home, she had decided in her own mind that she would never give him cause to be jealous of her again. She never chose anyone else, even though she knew it would have been acceptable, and to her knowledge, he never did either. He certainly never did openly, as the other men did. When she was confronted with the fact that he not only had chosen someone else, but that he had been choosing that particular woman, in secret, for a long time, she felt utterly betrayed.
But Jondalar had not meant to betray her. He wanted to keep her from finding out so she wouldn’t be hurt. He knew she never chose anyone else, and at a certain level, he even knew why. Though he would have struggled to control it, he knew how jealous he would have been if she had chosen someone else. He did not want her to experience the intensity of pain that he would have felt. When she found them together, he was beside himself. He simply didn’t know what to do; he had never learned.
Jondalar was born to grow into a six-foot, six-inch tall, well-formed, incredibly handsome man, with an unconscious charisma enhanced by a vividly intense shade of blue eyes. His natural intelligence, innate manual dexterity, and intrinsic mechanical skill were discovered early, and he was encouraged to apply it in many areas until he discovered his love for knapping flint and making tools. But his powerful feelings were also stronger than most, far too intense, and his mother and those who cared about him struggled to teach him to keep them under control. Even as a child he wanted too much, cared too much, felt too much; he could be overcome with compassion, yearn with desire, rage with hate, or burn with love. He was given too much, too many Gifts, and few understood what a burden that could be.
When he was a young man, Jondalar had been taught how to please a woman, but that was a normal practice of his culture. It was something all young men were taught. The fact that he’d learned it so well was partly because he had been taught so well, and partly the result of his own natural inclination. He discovered young that he loved pleasing women, but he never had to learn how to interest a woman.
Unlike most men, he never had to find ways to make a woman notice him; he couldn’t help but be noticed; he sought ways to get away, occasionally. He never had to think about how to meet a woman; women went out of their way to meet him; some threw themselves at him. He never had to entice a woman to spend her time with him; women couldn’t get enough of him. And he never had to learn how to handle loss, or a woman’s anger, or his own blundering mistakes. No one imagined that a man with his obvious Gifts wouldn’t know how.
Jondalar’s reaction when something didn’t go right was to withdraw, try to keep his feelings under control, and hope that somehow it would sort itself out. He hoped that he would be forgiven, or his mistakes overlooked, and usually that was what happened. He didn’t know what to do when Ayla saw him with Marona, and Ayla wasn’t any more adept at handling those kinds of situations.
From the time she was first found by the Clan as a five-year, she had struggled to fit in, to make herself acceptable so they would not turn her out. The Clan didn’t cry emotional tears and hers disturbed them, so she learned to hold them back. The Clan didn’t display anger or pain or other strong emotions—it was