The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [222]
Ayla thought for a moment, then began. “I want to say so much to you, but I must learn to say it in your language. Your way is the only way left to me now. How can I tell you who my people are? I’m not a woman of the Clan anymore. How can I explain that I am dead? I have no people. To the Clan, I walk the next world, like the man you traveled with. Your sibling, I think, your brother.
“I would like to tell you I made the signs over his grave to help him find his way, so the grief in your heart will be eased. I would like to tell you I grieved for him, too, though I did not know him.
“I don’t know the people I was born to. I must have had a mother, and a family, who looked like me … and you. But I only know them as the Others. Iza is the only mother I remember. She taught me the healing magic and she made me a medicine woman, but she is dead now. And so is Creb.
“Jondalar, I ache to tell you about Iza, and Creb, and Durc …” She had to stop and take a deep breath. “My son is gone from me too, but he lives. That much I have. And now the Cave Lion has brought you. I was afraid men of the Others would be like Broud, but you are more like Creb, gentle and patient. I want to think you will be my mate. When you first came, I thought that was why you were brought here. I think I wanted to believe that because I was so lonely for company, and you are the first man of the Others I have seen … that I can remember. It would not have mattered who you were, then. I wanted you for a mate, just to have a mate.
“Now, it is not the same. Every day you are here, my feeling for you grows stronger. I know that Others are not too far, and there must be other men who could be a mate. But I don’t want any other, and I am afraid you will not want to stay here with me once you are well. I’m afraid I will lose you, too. I wish I could tell you, I am so … so … grateful you are here, sometimes I cannot bear it.” She stopped, not able to go on, but feeling in some way that she wasn’t finished.
Her thoughts had not been entirely incomprehensible to the man watching her. Her movements—not just of her hands, but her features, her eyes, her whole body—were so expressive that he was deeply moved. She reminded him of a silent dancer, except for the rough sounds that, strangely, fit together with the graceful movements. He perceived only with his emotions, and he could not quite believe that what he felt was what she had communicated—but when she stopped, he knew she had communicated. He knew, too, that her language of motions and gestures was not, as he had supposed, a simple extension of the gestures he sometimes used for added emphasis to his words. Rather, it seemed, the sounds she made were used for emphasis to her motions.
When she stopped, she stood a few moments, pensively, then gracefully dropped to the ground at his feet and bowed her head. He waited, and when she didn’t move, he began to feel uncomfortable. She seemed to be waiting for him, and it made him feel she was paying homage. Such deference to the Great Earth Mother was fine, but She was known to be jealous and did not take kindly to one of Her children receiving veneration that was Her due.
Finally, he reached down and touched her arm. “Get up, Ayla. What are you doing?”
A touch on the arm was not exactly a tap on the shoulder, but it was as close as she thought he would come to giving her the Clan signal to speak. She looked up at the seated man.
“Clan woman sit, want talk. Ayla want talk Jondalar.”
“You don’t have to sit on the ground to talk to me.” He reached forward and tried to lift her up. “If you want to talk, just talk.”
She insisted on remaining where she was. “Is Clan way.” Her eyes pleaded for him to understand. “Ayla want say …” Tears of frustration began to well. She started over. “Ayla no talk good. Ayla want to say, Jondalar give Ayla talk, want say …”
“Are you trying to say thank you?”
“What mean, thank you?”
He paused. “You saved my life, Ayla. You have taken care