The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [93]
“Wolafon set out to find the old Zelandoni. He traveled upriver for many days, looking into all the caves he happened to see along the way. He was almost ready to give up, but he saw a small cave high up in a cliff and decided that would be the last cave he would investigate. He found an old woman sitting in front of it, who seemed to be sleeping. He approached quietly, not wanting to disturb her, but he was curious and looked at her carefully,” Galliadal continued.
“Her clothes were nondescript, the same kind of thing most people wore, though rather shapeless and shabby. But she wore many necklaces made of a variety of materials: beads and shells; several pierced animal teeth and claws; animals carved out of ivory, bone, antler, and wood; some of stone and amber; and disk-shaped medallions with animals carved on them. There were so many objects on the necklaces, Wolafon couldn’t even see them all, but even more impressive were her facial tatoos. They were so intricate and embellished, he could hardly see her skin under all the squares, swirls, curlicues, and flourishes. She was without doubt a Zelandoni of great stature and Wolafon was a little fearful of her. He didn’t know if he should bother her with his little request.”
The woman on the platform had seated herself and although she hadn’t changed clothes, the way she wrapped them around herself gave the impression of an old woman in the shapeless clothing Galliadal had described.
“Wolafon decided to leave, but as he turned to go, he heard a voice, ‘What do you want from me, boy?’ she said.” Galliadal’s voice took on the sound of an older woman, not thin and quavery, but powerful and mature.
“Wolafon gulped, then turned around. He introduced himself properly, then said, ‘My mother told me you might be able to help me.’
“ ‘What is your problem?’
“ ‘I met a woman, who came from the south. I wanted to share cattails with her, but she said she couldn’t eat cattails, she could only eat meat. I love her and I would hunt for her but I am not a very good hunter. Can you help me to become a good hunter?’
“ ‘Are you sure she wants you to hunt for her?’ the old Zelandoni asked. ‘If she doesn’t want your cattails, it may be that she won’t want your meat, either. Did you ask her?’
“ ‘When I offered her the cattails, she said she couldn’t eat them, not that she didn’t want to, and when I told her I would hunt for her, she didn’t say no,’ Wolafon said.” The voice Galliadal used for the young man sounded hopeful, and the expression of the young man on the platform mimicked the tone.
“ ‘You know that all it takes to become a good hunter is practice, lots of practice,’ the old Zelandoni told him.
“ ‘Yes, I know. I should have practiced more.’ ” The young man on the platform looked down, as though contrite.
“ ‘But you didn’t practice, did you? Now, because a young woman interests you, you want to suddenly become a hunter, is that right?’ ” Galliadal’s tone as the old Zelandoni became a reprimand.
“ ‘I suppose so.’ ” The young man looked even more ashamed. “ ‘But I adore her.’ ”
“ ‘You must always earn whatever you get. If you don’t want to make the effort to practice, you must pay for the skill some other way. You give your effort to practice, or you give something else. What are you willing to give?’ the old woman asked.
“ ‘I’ll give anything!’ ” The audience gasped, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.
“ ‘You could still take the time to practice and learn how to hunt,’ the old Zelandoni said.
“ ‘But she won’t want to wait until I learn how to hunt well. I adore her. I just want to bring her meat so she will love me. I wish I was born knowing how to hunt.’ ”
Suddenly the audience and the ones on the raised platform detected a commotion in their midst.
11
Wolf was slipping through the crowd, occasionally brushing against someone’s leg but gone before they could catch more than