The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [268]
“It is for the Mother to decide, and no matter what you do, you cannot change that. But if he was chosen, there must be a reason for it.”
Ranec knew Ayla had gone riding with Jondalar. He, too, had gone fishing with some of the others, but he worried the whole day that the tall, handsome man would win her back. In Darnev’s clothes, Jondalar was a striking figure, and the carver, with his well-developed aesthetic sensibility, was quite aware of the visitor’s undeniably compelling quality, particularly for women. He was relieved to see they were still separated, and seemed to be as distant as ever, but when he asked her to come to his bed, she said she was tired. He smiled and told her to get some rest, glad to see that she was, at least, sleeping alone, if she wasn’t going to sleep with him.
Ayla was not so much tired as emotionally spent when she went to bed, and she lay awake for a long time, thinking. She was glad Ranec hadn’t been at the lodge when she and Jondalar returned, and grateful that he wasn’t angry when she refused him—she still kept expecting anger, and punishment for daring to be disobedient. But Ranec was not demanding, and his understanding almost changed her mind.
She tried to sort out what had happened, and even more, her feelings about it. Why did Jondalar take her if he didn’t want her? And why had he been so rough with her? He was almost like Broud. Then why was she so ready for Jondalar? When Broud had forced her, it had been an ordeal. Was it love? Did she feel Pleasures because she loved him? But Ranec made her feel Pleasures, and she didn’t love him, or did she?
Maybe she did, in a way, but that wasn’t it. Jondalar’s impatience made it seem like her experience with Broud, but it was not the same. He was rough, and excited, but he didn’t force her. She knew the difference. Broud had wanted only to hurt her, and make her yield to him. Jondalar wanted her, and she had responded deeply, with every ounce of her being, and felt satisfied and completed. She would not have felt that way if he had hurt her. Would he have forced her if she hadn’t wanted him? No, she thought, he wouldn’t have. She was convinced that if she had objected, if she had pushed him away, he would have stopped. But she hadn’t objected, she had welcomed him, wanted him, and he must have felt it.
He wanted her, but did he love her? Just because he wanted to share Pleasures with her didn’t mean he still loved her. Maybe love could make Pleasures better, but it was possible to have one without the other. Ranec showed her that. Ranec loved her, she had no doubt about him. He wanted to join with her, wanted to settle with her, wanted her children. Jondalar had never asked her to join, never said he wanted her children.
He loved her once, though. Maybe she felt Pleasures because she loved him, even if he didn’t love her any more. But he still wanted her, and he took her. Why was he so cold afterward? Why had he rejected her again? Why had he stopped loving her? Once she thought she knew him. Now, she didn’t understand him at all. She rolled over and curled into a tight ball, and wept quietly again, wept with wanting Jondalar to love her again.
“I’m glad I thought about inviting Jondalar along on the first mammoth hunt,” Talut said to Nezzie as they retired to the Lion Hearth. “He’s been so busy making that spear all night, I think he must really want to go.”
Nezzie looked at him, raising an eyebrow and shaking her head. “Mammoth hunting is the furthest thing from his mind,” she said, then tucked a fur around the sleeping blond head of her youngest daughter, and smiled with gentle affection at the girl-woman form of her eldest, curled up next to her younger sister. “We’re going to have to think about a separate place for Latie next