The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [135]
“You’re right. I am lucky,” Jetamio said, with a melting smile at her mate.
The young woman looked at Thonolan and heaved a sigh “They’re both so handsome. I don’t think I could have made a choice!”
“And you wouldn’t have either, Cherunio,” the other young woman said. “If you want to mate, you have to settle on one.”
There was an outburst of laughter, but the young woman reveled in the attention it brought her. “I just haven’t found a man I want to settle on.” She dimpled at Jondalar.
Cherunio was the shortest woman there, and Jondalar really hadn’t seen her before. He did then. Though short, she was very much a woman, and she had a quality of vivacious enthusiasm that was inviting. She was almost the complete opposite of Serenio. His eyes showed his interest, and Cherunio nearly quivered with delight now that she had his attention. Suddenly she turned her head, caught by a sound.
“I hear the rhythm—they’re going to do a couple dance,” she said. “Come on, Jondalar.”
“Not know steps,” he said.
“I’ll show you; it’s not hard,” Cherunio said, eagerly tugging in the direction of the music. He yielded to the invitation.
“Wait, we’re coming, too,” Jetamio said.
The other woman was not too pleased that Cherunio had captured Jondalar’s attention so quickly, and he heard Radonio say, “It’s not hard … yet!” followed by peals of laughter. But as the four of them headed toward the dance, he did not hear the conspiratorial whisper.
“Here’s the last water skin of wine, Jondalar,” Thonolan said. “Jetamio says we are supposed to start the dance, but we don’t have to stay. We’re going to slip away as soon as we can.”
“Don’t you want to take it with you? For a private celebration?”
Thonolan grinned at his mate. “Well, it’s not really the last—we have one tucked away. But I don’t think we need it. Just to be alone with Jetamio will be celebration enough.”
“Their language has such a nice sound. Don’t you think so, Jetamio?” Cherunio said. “Can you understand any of it?”
“A little, but I’m going to learn more. And Mamutoi, too. It was Tholie’s idea that we all learn one another’s language.”
“Tholie say best way learn Sharamudoi is talk all time. She right. I sorry, Cherunio. Not polite talk Zelandonii,” Jondalar apologized.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Cherunio said, though she had. She didn’t like being left out of the conversation. But the apology more than appeased her, and being included in the select group with the newly mated couple and the tall, handsome Zelandonii had other compensations. She was well aware of the envious looks of several young women.
Near the back of the field, outside the overhang, a bonfire burned. They stepped into the shadows and passed the wine skin around, and then, as a group was forming, the two young women showed the men the basic movements of the dance. Flutes, drums, and rattles began a lively melody, which was picked up by the mammoth-bone player, and the tonal qualities that resembled those of a xylophone added a unique sound.
Once the dancing started, Jondalar noticed that the basic steps could be elaborated with variations limited only by the imagination and skill of the dancer, and occasionally a person or a pair displayed such exceptional enthusiasm that everyone else stopped to shout encouragement and keep time with their feet. A group gathered around the dancers, swaying and singing, and without a conscious break, the music shifted to a different tempo. It continued like that. The music and dancing never stopped, but people joined in—musicians, dancers, singers—and dropped out at will, creating an endless variation in tone, pace, rhythm, and melody, which would continue as long as there was anyone who wished to continue.
Cherunio was a lively partner, and Jondalar, drinking more wine than usual, had gotten into the mood of the evening. Someone started a response chant by saying