The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [130]
And many of the Mating Ceremonial customs were unfamiliar. All the Caves traveled to a prearranged meeting place for a Zelandonii Matrimonial, and several couples were formally united at one time. Jondalar was not accustomed to so many people visiting the home cave of one couple to witness their mating. As Thonolan’s only blood relative, he would have a conspicuous place in the ceremonies, and he was feeling nervous.
“Jondalar, you know most people would be surprised to learn that you are not always as confident as you appear. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Serenio said, moving her body close to his and putting her arms around his neck. “You always are.”
She had done the right thing. Her nearness was a pleasant distraction—she took his mind off himself without being demanding—and her words were reassuring. He pulled her closer, pressed his warm mouth on hers and lingered, allowing himself the respite of a moment’s sensual pleasure before his apprehensions returned.
“You think I look right? This travel clothes, not for special wear,” he asked, suddenly conscious of his Zelandonii garb.
“No one here knows that. They are unique, very special. Just right for the occasion, I think. It would seem too ordinary if you wore something familiar, Jondalar. People are going to be looking for you as well as Thonolan. That’s why they have come. If they can see you from a distance, they may not all feel the need to press in closer, and you know you are comfortable in those clothes. They look good on you, too. They suit you.”
He let her go and looked out through a crack at the throng outside, grateful he didn’t have to face them yet. He walked toward the back until the sloping roof prevented him from going farther, then returned to the front and looked out again.
“Jondalar, let me make some tea for you. It’s a special blend I learned from the Shamud. It will settle your nerves.”
“Do I look nervous?”
“No, but you have a right to. It will only take a moment.” She poured water into a rectangular cooking box and added hot stones. He pulled up a wooden stool—one that was much too low—and sat down. His thoughts were elsewhere, and he stared absently at the geometric patterns carved into the box: a series of slanting parallel lines above another row slanting in the opposite direction, giving a herringbone effect. The sides of the kerfed boxes were made from a single plank in which grooves, or kerfs, were cut not quite all the way through. Using steam to make the wood pliable, the planks were bent sharply at the grooves to make corners, with the last corner pegged together. A groove was also cut near the bottom edge, into which a bottom piece was fitted. The boxes were watertight, particularly after they swelled when filled. Covered with separate removable lids, they were used for many things, from cooking to storage.
The box made him think of his brother and made him wish he could be with him at this moment before his mating. Thonolan had quickly understood the Sharamudoi way of bending and shaping wood. His craft of spearmaking utilized the same principles of heat and steam to straighten a shaft, or to bend one around for a snowshoe. Thinking of a snowshoe reminded Jondalar of the beginning of their Journey, and, with a pang of nostalgia, he wondered if he would ever see his home again. Ever since he had put on his own clothes, he’d been fighting off spasms of homesickness that had a way of sneaking up on him when he least expected it with some vivid recollection or poignant memory. This time it was Serenio’s kerfed cooking box that had brought it on.
He stood up quickly, knocked over the stool, and lunged to right it, just missing Serenio with the cup of hot tea she was bringing him. The near accident brought to mind the unfortunate incident during the Promise Feast. Both Tholie and Shamio seemed to be fine and their burns were almost healed, but he felt a twinge of uneasiness recalling the conversation he’d had with the Shamud afterward.
“Jondalar, drink your tea. I’m sure it will help.