The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [454]
She could hardly speak; she knew how it felt to stand beside the wrong man. But there was no hope for Joplaya, not even dreams that someday the man she loved would flout custom for her. He didn’t even know she loved him, and she couldn’t speak of it. He was a cousin, a close-cousin, more sibling than cousin, an unmatable man—and he loved another. Ayla felt Joplaya’s pain as her own as she sobbed beside the man they both loved.
“I was thinking of the time I stood beside Ranec like that,” she finally said.
Jondalar remembered only too well. He felt a constriction in his chest, a pain in his throat, and he held her fiercely. “Hey, woman, you’re going to have me crying soon.”
He glanced at Jerika, who sat with stiff dignity while tears rolled down her face. “Why do women always cry at these things?” he said.
Jerika looked at Jondalar with an unfathomable expression, then at Ayla sobbing quietly in his arms. “It’s time she mated, time she put away impossible dreams. We can’t all have the perfect man,” she whispered softly, then turned back to the ceremony.
“…Does the First Cave of the Lanzadonii accept this mating?” Dalanar asked, looking up.
“We accept,” they all replied in unison.
“Echozar, Joplaya, you have promised to mate. May Doni, the Great Earth Mother, bless your mating,” the leader concluded, touching the wooden carving to the top of Echozar’s head and Joplaya’s stomach. He put the donii back in front of the hearth, pushing the peglike legs into the ground so it would stand unsupported.
The couple turned to face the assembled Cave, then began to walk slowly around the central hearth. In the solemn silence, the ineffable air of melancholy surrounding the compellingly beautiful woman added a quality that made her seem even more exquisitely lovely.
The man beside her was a fraction shorter. His large beaky nose protruded beyond a heavy chinless jaw that jutted forward. His overhanging brow ridges, joined at the center, were accented by thick, unruly eyebrows that crossed his forehead in a single hairy line. His arms were heavily muscled, and his huge barrel chest and long body were supported by short, hairy, bowed legs. Those were the features that marked him as Clan. But he could not be called flathead. Unlike them, he lacked the low sloping forehead that swept back into a large long head—the squashed-flat look that prompted the name. Instead, Echozar’s forehead rose as straight and high above his bony brow ridges as that of any other member of the Cave.
But Echozar was incredibly ugly. The antithesis of the woman beside him. Only his eyes belied the comparison, but they overwhelmed. His large, liquid, brown eyes were so fall of tender adoration for the woman he loved, they even overwhelmed the unspeakable sadness that hung in the atmosphere through which Joplaya moved.
But not even that evidence of Echozar’s love could overcome the pain Ayla felt for Joplaya. She buried her head in Jondalar’s chest because it hurt too much to look, though she fought to overcome the desolation of her empathy.
When the couple completed the third circuit, the silence was broken as people got up to offer good wishes. Ayla held back, trying to compose herself. Finally, urged by Jondalar, they went to extend their wishes of happiness.
“Joplaya, I’m so glad you’ll be celebrating your Matrimonial with us,” Jondalar said, giving her a hug. She clung to him. He was surprised at the intensity of her embrace. He had the disconcerting feeling she was saying goodbye, as though she would never see him again.
“I don’t have to wish you happiness, Echozar,” Ayla said. “I will wish instead that you are always as happy as you are now.”
“With Joplaya, how can it be any other way?” he said. Spontaneously, she hugged him. He wasn’t ugly to her, he had a comfortable, familiar look. It took him a moment to respond; beautiful women didn’t hug him often, and he felt a warm affection for the golden-haired woman.
Then she turned to Joplaya. As she looked into eyes as