The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [200]
The dwelling was at the far end of the living sites, set apart from its neighbors, and farthest away from most Cave activities. The living structure itself was not large, but the family claimed a substantial amount of the surrounding area by spreading out in an untidy array, though it was difficult to distinguish between personal belongings and trash. Some distance away from the dwelling was the space Laramar appropriated to make his fermented brew, which might change in flavor depending upon his ingredients, but could always be counted on.
“Where is Bologan, Lanoga?” Zelandoni asked.
“Inside. He won’t move,” Lanoga said.
“Where’s your mother?” the donier asked.
“I don’t know.”
When they moved aside the entrance drape, an unbelievably foul smell assaulted them. Except for one small lamp, the only light was the shadowed daylight reflecting off the stone above the roofless dwelling from the great overhanging shelf above the abri, and it was dark inside.
“Do you have any more lamps, Lanoga?” Zelandoni asked.
“Yes, but no oil,” the girl said.
“We can tie back the drape for now. He’s right here, just inside the entrance, blocking the way,” Zelandoni said.
Ayla found the tieback attached to the drape and wrapped it around the post. When she looked inside, she was appalled at the filth. There were no paving stones and the dirt floor was muddy in places where liquid of some kind had found its way down. From the stench, she thought some of it was probably urine. It appeared that every piece of their household furnishings was strewn across the floor, tattered mats and baskets, pads with the stuffing half gone, piles of leather and woven material that might have been clothing.
Bones with most of the meat chewed off were scattered here and there. Flies buzzed around rotting food that was left out, she couldn’t guess how many days before, on plates made of wooden slabs that were so rough, there were splinters in them. In the light she saw a rat’s nest beside the entrance, containing several squirming, red, hairless newborn, their eyes still closed.
Just beyond the entrance, a skinny youth was sprawled on the ground. She had met him briefly before, but now she looked more closely. He could count perhaps twelve years, Ayla thought, and his belt indicated he was coming of age, but he was more boy than man. It was fairly obvious what had happened. Bologan was bruised and battered, and his head was covered with dried blood.
“He’s been in a fight,” Zelandoni said. “Someone dragged him home and left him here.”
Ayla bent down to check his condition. She touched the pulse in his neck and noticed more blood, then put her cheek near his mouth. She not only felt his breath, she smelled it. “He’s still breathing,” she told Zelandoni, “but he’s badly hurt, the pulsing is weak His head is injured and he has lost a lot of blood, but I don’t know if the bone is cracked. Someone must have hit him or he fell on something hard. That may be why he’s not waking up, but he smells of barma, too.”
“And I don’t know if he should be moved, but I can’t treat him here,” Zelandoni said.
The girl walked toward the entrance, carrying on her hip a thin, lethargic baby of about six months, who looked as though she hadn’t been washed since she was born. A toddler with snot running down his nose was hanging on her leg. Ayla thought she saw another child behind her, but wasn’t sure. She seems to be more mother than her mother, Ayla thought.
“Bologan all right?” Lanoga said, a worried look on her face.
“He’s alive, but he is injured. You did right to come and get me,” the donier said. Zelandoni shook her head with exasperation and a feeling of anger toward Tremeda and Laramar. “I’ll have to take care of him at my place,” she said.
Normally, only the most serious maladies were attended to in the donier’s dwelling; in a Cave as large as the Ninth, there wasn’t room enough for all the people who were sick