The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [278]
“Take as long as you need,” he said, kissing her lightly.
She started down, then stopped and turned around. “I like that mouth on mouth, Jondalar. That kiss,” she said.
“I hope you like the rest,” he said after she left.
He walked around the cave, seeing everything with new eyes. He checked the haunch of roasting bison and turned the spit, noticed she had wrapped some roots in leaves and put them near coals, and then found the hot tea she had ready for him. She must have dug the roots while I was swimming, he thought.
He saw his sleeping furs on the other side of the fireplace, frowned, and then, with great delight, picked them up and brought them back to the empty place beside Ayla’s. After straightening them, he went back for the bundle that held his tools, then remembered the donii he had begun to carve. He sat on the mat that had kept his sleeping furs off the ground and opened the deerskin-wrapped package.
He examined the piece of mammoth-tusk ivory he had started to shape into a female figure and decided to finish it.
Maybe he wasn’t the best of carvers, but it didn’t seem right to have one of the Mother’s most important ceremonies without a donii. He picked out a few carving burins and took the ivory outside.
He sat at the edge, carving, shaping, sculpting, but he realized the ivory was not turning out to be ample and motherly. It was taking on the shape of a young woman. The hair that he had intended to resemble the style of the ancient donii he had given away—a ridged form covering the face as well as the back—was suggestive of braids, tight braids all over the head, except for the face. The face was blank. No face was ever carved on a donii, who could bear to look upon the face of the Mother? Who could know it? She was all women, and none.
He stopped carving and looked upstream and then down, hoping he might see her, though she said she wanted to be alone. Could he bring her Pleasure? he wondered. He had never doubted himself when he was called upon for First Rites at Summer Meetings, but those young women understood the customs and knew what to expect. They had older women to explain it to them.
Should I try to explain? No, you don’t know what to say, Jondalar. Just show her. She will let you know if she doesn’t like anything. That’s one of her most appealing qualities, her honesty. No coy little ways. It’s refreshing.
What would it be like to show the Mother’s Gift of Pleasure to a woman with no pretenses? Who would neither hold back nor feign enjoyment?
Why should she be any different from any other woman at First Rites? Because she’s not like any other woman at First Rites. She has been opened, with great pain. What if you can’t overcome that terrible beginning? What if she can’t enjoy the Pleasures, what if you can’t make her feel them? I wish there was some way to make her forget. If I could draw her to me, overcome her resistance and capture her spirit.
Capture her spirit?
He looked at the figure in his hand, and suddenly his mind was racing. Why did they grave the image of an animal on a weapon, or on the Sacred Walls? To approach the mother-spirit of it, to overcome her resistance and capture the essence.
Don’t be ridiculous, Jondalar. You can’t capture Ayla’s spirit that way. It wouldn’t be right, no one puts a face on a donii. Humans were never pictured—a likeness might capture a spirit’s essence. But to whom would it be captive?
No one should hold another person’s spirit captive. Give the donii to her! She’d have her spirit back then, wouldn’t she? If you kept it just for a while, then gave it to her … afterward.
If you put her face on it, would it turn her into a donii? You almost think she is one, with her healing, and her magic way with animals. If she’s a donii, she might decide to capture your spirit. Would that be so bad?
You want a piece to stay with you, Jondalar. The piece of the spirit that