The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [214]
Ayla was feeling conscious of his closeness, and his nakedness. “Don-da-lah need … garment,” she said, using his word for her wrap, although she meant one for a man. “Need cover …” She pointed to his genitals; he had not told her that word, either. Then for some unexplainable reason, she blushed.
It was not modesty. She had seen many men unclothed, and women, too—it was not a matter for concern. She thought he would need protection, not from the elements, but from malicious spirits. Though women were not included in their rituals, she knew that men of the Clan did not like to leave their genitals exposed if they were going out. She didn’t know why that thought made her feel flustered, or why her face felt hot, or why it seemed to bring on those pulling, tightening, pulsing sensations.
Jondalar looked down at himself. He had superstitions about his genitals, too, but they did not involve covering them for protection from evil spirits. If malicious enemies had induced a zelandoni to call down harm, or if a woman had just cause and cast a curse on him, it would take a great deal more than an article of clothing to protect him.
But he had learned that while a stranger might make a social blunder and be forgiven, it was wise when traveling to pay attention to subtle hints so that he would offend as seldom as possible. He had seen where she pointed—and her blush. He took it to mean she thought he should not go out with his genitals exposed. And in any case, sitting with bare skin on bare rock could get uncomfortable, and he wouldn’t be able to move much.
Then he thought about himself standing there on one leg, hanging on to a post, so eager to get out of the cave that he hadn’t even noticed he was completely naked. The humor in the situation suddenly struck him, and he burst out with a hearty laugh.
Jondalar had no way of knowing the effect of his laughter on Ayla. To him, it was as natural as breathing. Ayla had grown up with people who did not laugh, and who viewed her laughter with such suspicion that she had learned to curtail it so she would fit in more easily. It was part of the price she paid for survival. Only after her son was born did she discover the joy of laughter again. It was one of the qualities he had acquired from her half of his heritage. She knew encouraging him would be disapproved, but when they were alone, she couldn’t resist playful tickling when he responded with giggles of delight.
To her, laughter was charged with more meaning than just a simple spontaneous response. It represented the unique bond she had with her son, the part of herself she could see in him, and was an expression of her own identity. The laughter inspired by the cave lion cub which she loved had strengthened that expression, and she would not give it up. It would not only have meant giving up memory sensations of her son, but giving up her own developing sense of self.
But she hadn’t considered that someone else might laugh. Except for her own and Durc’s, she could not recall hearing laughter before. The special quality of Jondalar’s laugh—the hearty, jubilant freedom of it—invited response. There was unrestrained delight in his voice as he laughed at himself, and, from the moment she heard it, she loved it. Unlike the Clan adult-male reproof, Jondalar’s laughter bestowed approval by its very sound. It was not only all right to laugh, it was invited. It was impossible to resist.
And Ayla did not resist. Her first shocked surprise turned to a smile, and then to laughter on her own. She didn’t know what was so funny; she laughed because Jondalar did.
“Don-da-lah,” Ayla said when the moment passed. “What is word … ha-ha-ha-ha?”
“Laugh? Laughter?”
“What is … right word?”
“They’re both right. When we do it, you say, ‘We laugh.’ When you talk about it, you say ‘the laughter,’ ” he explained.
Ayla thought for a while. There was more in what he said than the way to use that word; there was more to speaking