The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [221]
They were facing each other, leaning against opposite boles of a birch clump whose stalks had grown into several sturdy trunks of a tree with a common base. Though he used a staff and still had a pronounced limp, Jondalar was grateful to be standing in the green meadow of the valley. From his first tentative steps, he had pushed himself each day. His initial trip down the steep path had been an ordeal—and a triumph. Climbing back up turned out to be easier than going down.
He still didn’t know how she had gotten him up to the cave in the beginning, without help. But if others had helped her, where were they? It was a question he had long wanted to ask, but first she would not have understood him, and then it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out just to satisfy his curiosity. He had been waiting for the right moment, and this seemed to be it,
“Who are your people, Ayla? Where are they?”
The smile left her face; he was almost sorry he asked. After a long silence, he began to think she had not understood him.
“No people. Ayla of no people,” she answered finally, pushing herself away from the tree and moving out of its shade. Jondalar grabbed his staff and hobbled after her.
“But you had to have some people. You were born to a mother. Who took care of you? Who taught you healing? Where are your people now, Ayla? Why are you alone?”
Ayla walked ahead slowly, staring at the ground. She was not trying to avoid replying—she had to answer him. No woman of the Clan could refuse to answer a direct question asked by a man. In fact, all members of the Clan, male and female, responded to direct questions. It was simply that women didn’t ask men searching personal questions, and men seldom posed them to each other. Women were the ones usually asked. Jondalar’s questions brought up many memories, but she did not know the answer to some and did not know how to answer others.
“If you don’t want to tell me …”
“No.” She looked at him and shook her head. “Ayla say.” Her eyes were troubled. “Not know words.”
Jondalar wondered again if he should have brought it up, but he was curious and she seemed willing. They stopped again at the large jagged chunk of rock that had knocked out part of the wall before coming to rest in the field. Jondalar sat on an edge where the stone had been cleaved to form a seat at a convenient height with a sloping back rest.
“What do your people call themselves?” he asked.
Ayla thought for a moment. “The people. Man … woman … baby.” She shook her head again, not knowing how to explain. “The Clan.” She made the gesture for the concept at the same time.
“Like family? A family is a man, woman, and her children, living at the same hearth.… Usually.”
She nodded. “Family … more.”
“A small group? Several families living together is a Cave,” he said, “even if they don’t live in one.”
“Yes,” she said, “clan small. And more. Clan mean all people.”
He hadn’t quite heard her say the word the first time, and he did not perceive the hand signal she used. The word was heavy, guttural, and there was that tendency that he could only explain as swallowing the insides of the words. He would not have thought it was a word. She had not spoken any words other than the ones she learned from him, and he was interested.
“Glun?” he said, trying to copy her.
It wasn’t quite right, but it was close. “Ayla no say Jondalar words right, Jondalar no say Ayla words right. Jondalar say fine.”
“I didn’t know you knew any words, Ayla. I’ve never heard you speak in your language.”
“Not know many words. Clan not speak words.”
Jondalar didn’t understand. “What do they speak if not words?”
“They speak … hands,” she said, knowing that was not completely accurate.
She noticed she had been making the gestures unintentionally in an effort to express herself. When she saw Jondalar’s puzzled look, she took his hands and moved them with the proper motions while she repeated herself.
“Clan not speak many words. Clan speak … hands.”
His forehead of puzzlement slowly smoothed out as comprehension took its place. “Are