Jean M. Auel - 1 - The Clan Of The Cave Bear

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The Clan of the Cave Bear
Jean M. Auel
1
The naked child ran out of the hide-covered lean-to toward the rocky beach at the bend in
the small river. It didn't occur to her to look back. Nothing in her experience ever gave
her reason to doubt the shelter and those within it would be there when she returned.
She splashed into the river and felt rocks and sand shift under her feet as the shore
fell off sharply. She dived into the cold water and came up sputtering, then reached out
with sure strokes for the steep opposite bank. She had learned to swim before she learned
to walk and, at five, was at ease in the water. Swimming was often the only way a river
could be crossed.
The girl played for a while, swimming back and forth, then let the current float
her downstream. Where the river widened and bubbled over rocks, she stood up and
waded to shore, then walked back to the beach and began sorting pebbles. She had just
put a stone on top of a pile of especially pretty ones when the earth began to tremble.
The child looked with surprise as the stone rolled down of its own accord, and
stared in wonder at the small pyramid of pebbles shaking and leveling themselves. Only
then did she become aware she was shaking too, but she was still more confused than
apprehensive. She glanced around, trying to understand why her universe had altered in
some inexplicable way. The earth was not supposed to move.
The small river, which moments before had flowed smoothly, was roiling with
choppy waves that splashed over its banks as the rocking streambed moved at cross
purposes to the current, dredging mud up from the bottom. Brush close by the upstream
banks quivered, animated by unseen movement at the roots, and downstream, boulders
bobbed in unaccustomed agitation. Beyond them, stately conifers of the forest into which
the stream flowed lurched grotesquely. A giant pine near the bank, its roots exposed and
their hold weakened by the spring runoff, leaned toward the opposite shore. With a crack,
it gave way and crashed to the ground, bridging the turbid watercourse, and lay shaking
on the unsteady earth.
The girl started at the sound of the falling tree. Her stomach churned and
tightened into a knot as fear brushed the edge of her mind. She tried to stand but fell
back, unbalanced by the sickening swaying. She tried again, managed to pull herself up,
and stood unsteadily, afraid to take a step.
As she started toward the hide-covered shelter set back from the stream, she felt a
low rumble rise to a terrifying roar. A sour stench of wetness and rot issued from a crack
opening in the ground, like the reek of morning breath from a yawning earth. She stared
uncomprehendingly at dirt and rocks and small trees falling into the widening gap as the
cooled shell of the molten planet cracked in the convulsion.
The lean-to, perched on the far edge of the abyss, tilted, as half the solid ground
beneath it pulled away. The slender ridgepole teetered undecidedly, then collapsed and
disappeared into the deep hole, taking its hide cover and all it contained with it. The girl
trembled in wide-eyed horror as the foul-breathed gaping maw swallowed everything that
had given meaning and security to the five short years of her life.
"Mother! Motherrr!" she cried as comprehension overwhelmed her. She didn't
know if the scream ringing in her ears was her own in the thunderous roar of rending
rock. She clambered toward the deep crack, but the earth rose up and threw her down.
She clawed at the ground, trying to find a secure hold on the heaving, shifting land.
Then the gap closed, the roar ceased, and the shaking earth stilled, but not the
child. Lying face down on the soft damp soil churned loose by the paroxysm that
convulsed the land, she shook with fear. She had reason to fear.
The child was alone in a wilderness of grassy steppes and scattered forests.
Glaciers spanned the continent on the north, pushing their cold before them. Untold
numbers of grazing animals, and the carnivores that preyed on them, roamed the vast
prairies, but people were few. She had nowhere to go and she had no one who would
come and look for her. She was alone.
The ground quivered again, settling itself, and the girl heard a rumbling from the
depths, as though the earth were digesting a meal gulped in a single bite. She jumped up
in panic, terrified that it would split again. She looked at the place where the lean-to had
been. Raw earth and uprooted shrubs were all that remained. Bursting into tears, she ran
back to the stream and crumpled into a sobbing heap near the muddy water.
But the damp banks of the stream offered no refuge from the restless planet.
Another aftershock, this time more severe, shuddered the ground. She gasped with
surprise at the splash of cold water on her naked body. Panic returned; she sprang to her
feet. She had to get away from this terrifying place of shaking, devouring earth, but
where could she go?
There was no place for seeds to sprout on the rocky beach and it was clear of
brush, but the upstream banks were choked with shrubs just sending forth new leaves.
Some deep instinct told her to stay near water, but the tangled brambles looked
impenetrable. Through wet eyes that blurred her vision, she looked the other way at the
forest of tall conifers.
Thin beams of sunlight filtered through the overlapping branches of dense
evergreens crowding close to the stream. The shaded forest was nearly devoid of
undergrowth, but many of the trees were no longer upright. A few had fallen to the
ground; more leaned at awkward angles, supported by neighbors still firmly anchored.
Beyond the jumble of trees, the boreal forest was dark and no more inviting than the
brush upstream. She didn't know which way to go, and glanced first one way, then the
other with indecision.
A tremble beneath her feet while she was looking downstream set her in motion.
Casting one last yearning look at the vacant landscape, childishly hopeful that somehow
the lean-to would still be there, she ran into the woods.
Urged on by occasional grumbling as the earth settled, the child followed the
flowing water, stopping only to drink in her hurry to get far away. Conifers that had
succumbed to the quaking earth lay prostrate on the ground and she skirted craters left by
the circular tangle of shallow roots -- moist soil and rocks still clinging to their exposed
undersides.
She saw less evidence of disturbance toward evening, fewer uprooted trees and
dislodged boulders, and the water cleared. She stopped when she could no longer see her
way and sank down on the forest floor, exhausted. Exercise had kept her warm while she
was moving, but she shivered in the chill night air, burrowed into the thick carpet of
fallen needles and curled up in a tight little ball, throwing handfuls over herself for a
cover.
But as tired as she was, sleep did not come easily to the frightened little girl.
While busy making her way around obstacles near the stream, she was able to push her
fear to the back of her mind. Now, it overwhelmed her. She lay perfectly still, eyes wide
open, watching the darkness thicken and congeal around her. She was afraid to move,
almost afraid to breathe.
She had never been alone at night before, and there had always been a fire to hold
the black unknown at bay. Finally, she could hold back no longer. With a convulsive sob,
she cried out her anguish. Her small body shook with sobs and hiccups, and with the
release she eased into sleep. A small nocturnal animal nosed her in gentle curiosity, but
she wasn't aware of it.
She woke up screaming!
The planet was still restless, and distant rumbling from deep within brought back
her terror in a horrifying nightmare. She jerked up, wanted to run, but her eyes could see
no more wide-open than they could behind closed lids. She couldn't remember where she
was at first. Her heart pounded; why couldn't she see? Where were the loving arms that
had always been there to comfort her when she woke in the night? Slowly the conscious
realization of her plight seeped back into her mind and, shivering with fear and cold, she
huddled down and burrowed into the needle-carpeted ground again. The first faint streaks
of dawn found her asleep.
Daylight came slowly to the depths of the forest. When the child awoke it was
well into the morning, but in the thick shade it was difficult to tell. She had wandered
away from the stream as daylight faded the previous evening, and an edge of panic
threatened as she looked around her at nothing but trees.
Thirst made her aware of the sound of gurgling water. She followed the sound and
felt relieved when she saw the small river again. She was no less lost near the stream than
she was in the forest, but it made her feel better to have something to follow, and she
could quench her thirst as long as she stayed near it. She had been glad enough for the
flowing water the day before, but it did little for her hunger.
She knew greens and roots could be eaten, but she didn't know what was edible.
The first leaf she tasted was bitter and stung her mouth. She spit it out and rinsed her
mouth to remove the taste, but it made her hesitant to try another. She drank more water
for the temporary feeling of fullness and started downstream again. The deep woods
frightened her now and she stayed close to the stream where the sun was bright. When
night fell, she dug a place out of the needled ground and curled up in it again.
Her second night alone was no better than her first. Cold terror lay in the pit of her
stomach along with her hunger. She had never been so terrified, she had never been so
hungry, she had never been so alone. Her sense of loss was so painful, she began to block
out the memory of the earthquake and her life before it, and thoughts of the future
brought her so close to panic, she fought to push those fears from her mind as well. She
didn't want to think about what might happen to her, who would take care of her.
She lived only for the moment, getting past the next obstacle, crossing the next
tributary, scrambling over the next log. Following the stream became an end in itself, not
because it would take her anywhere, but because it was the only thing that gave her any
direction, any purpose, any course of action. It was better than doing nothing.
After a time, the emptiness in her stomach became a numb ache that deadened her
mind. She cried now and then as she plodded on, her tears painting white streaks down
her grubby face. Her small naked body was caked with dirt, and hair that had once been
nearly white, and as fine and soft as silk, was plastered to her head in a tangle of pine
needles, twigs, and mud.
Traveling became more difficult when the evergreen forest changed to more open
vegetation and the needle-covered forest floor gave way to obstructing brush, herbs, and
grasses, the characteristic ground cover beneath small-leafed deciduous trees. When it
rained, she huddled in the lee of a fallen log. Or large boulder or overhanging outcrop, or
simply slogged through the mud letting the rain wash over her. At night, she piled dry
brittle leaves left over from the previous season's growth into mounds and crawled into
them to sleep.
The plentiful supply of drinking water kept dehydration from making its
dangerous contribution to hypothermia, the lowering of body temperature that brought
death from exposure, but she was getting weak. She was beyond hunger; there was only a
constant dull pain and an occasional feeling of light-headedness. She tried not to think
about it, or about anything except the stream, just following the stream.
Sunlight penetrating her nest of leaves woke her. She got up from the snug pocket
warmed by her body heat and went to the river for a morning drink, damp leaves still
clinging to her. The blue sky and sunshine were welcome after the rain of the day before.
Shortly after she started out, the bank on her side of the river gradually began to rise. By
the time she decided to stop for another drink, a steep slope separated her from the water.
She started down carefully but lost her footing and tumbled all the way to the bottom.
She lay in a scraped and bruised heap in the mud near the water, too tired, too
weak, too miserable to move. Large tears welled up and streamed down her face, and
plaintive wails rent the air. No one heard. Her cries became whimpers begging someone
to come and help her. No one came. Her shoulders heaved with sobs as she cried her
desperation. She didn't want to get up, she didn't want to go on, but what else could she
do? Just stay there crying in the mud?
After she stopped crying, she lay near the water's edge. When she noticed a root
beneath her jabbing uncomfortably in her side and the taste of dirt in her mouth, she sat
up. Then, wearily, she stood up and went to the stream for a drink. She started walking
again, doggedly pushing aside branches, crawling over moss-covered logs, splashing in
and out of the edge of the river.
The stream, already high from earlier spring floods, had swelled to more than
double from tributaries. The child heard a roar in the distance long before she saw the
waterfall cascading down the high bank at the confluence of a large stream with the small
river, a river about to double again. Beyond the waterfall, the swift currents of the
combined watercourse bubbled over rocks as it flowed into the grassy plains of the
steppes.
The thundering cataract rushed over the lip of the high bank in a broad sheet of
white water. It splashed into a foaming pool worn out of the rock at the base, creating a
constant spray of mist and whirlpools of countercurrents where the rivers met. At some
time in the distant past, the river had carved deeper into the hard stone cliff behind the
waterfall. The ledge over which the water poured jutted out beyond the wall behind the
falling stream, forming a passageway between.
The girl edged in close and looked carefully into the damp tunnel, then started
behind the moving curtain of water. She clutched at the wet rock to steady herself as the
continuous falling, falling, falling of the flowing stream made her dizzy. The roar was
deafening, rebounding from the stone wall in back of the tumultuous flow. She looked up
fearfully, anxiously aware that the stream was above the dripping rocks over her head,
and crept forward slowly.
She was nearly to the other side when the passageway ended, gradually narrowing
until it was a steep wall again. The undercut in the cliff did not go all the way; she had to
turn around and go back. When she reached her starting place, she looked at the torrent
surging over the edge and shook her head. There was no other way.
The water was cold as she waded into the river, and the currents strong. She swam
out to the middle and let the flow of the water carry her around the falls, then angled back
to the bank of the widened river beyond. The swimming tired her, but she was cleaner
than she had been for some time, except for her matted and tangled hair. She started out
again feeling refreshed, but not for long.
The day was unseasonably warm for late spring, and when the trees and brush
first gave way to the open prairie, the hot sun felt good. But as the fiery ball rose higher,
its burning rays took their toll of the small girl's meager reserves. By afternoon, she was
staggering along a narrow strip of sand between the river and a steep cliff. The sparkling
water reflected the bright sun up at her, while the almost-white sandstone bounced light
and heat down, adding to the intense glare.
Across the river and ahead, small herbaceous flowers of white, yellow, and
purple, blending into the half-grown grass bright green with new life, extended to the
horizon. But the child had no eyes for the fleeting spring beauty of the steppes. Weakness
and hunger were making her delirious. She started hallucinating.
"I said I'd be careful, mother. I only swam a little ways, but where did you go?"
she muttered. "Mother, when are we going to eat? I'm so hungry, and it's hot. Why didn't
you come when I called you? I called and called, but you never came. Where have you
been? Mother? Mother! Don't go away again! Stay here! Mother, wait for me! Don't
leave me!"
She ran in the direction of the mirage as the vision faded, following the base of
the cliff, but the cliff was pulling back from the water's edge, veering away from the
river. She was leaving her source of water. Running blindly, she stubbed her toe on a
rock and fell hard. It jarred her back to reality -- almost. She sat rubbing her toe, trying to
collect her thoughts.
The jagged sandstone wall was pockmarked with dark holes of caves and streaked
with narrow cracks and crevices. Expansion and contraction from extremes of searing
heat and subzero cold had crumbled the soft rock. The child looked into a small hole near
the ground in the wall beside her, but the tiny cave made little impression.
Far more impressive was the herd of aurochs grazing peacefully on the lush new
grass between the cliff and the river. In her blind rush to follow a mirage, she hadn't
noticed the huge reddish brown wild cattle, six feet high at the withers with immense
curving horns. When she did, sudden fear cleared the last cobwebs from her brain. She
backed closer to the rock wall, keeping her eye on a burly bull that had stopped grazing to
watch her, then she turned and started running.
She glanced back over her shoulder and caught her breath at a swift blur of
movement, and stopped in her tracks. An enormous lioness, twice as large as any feline
who would populate savannas far to the south in a much later age, had been stalking the
herd. The girl stifled a scream as the monstrous cat vaulted for a wild cow.
In a flurry of snarling fangs and savage claws, the giant lioness wrestled the
massive aurochs to the ground. With a crunch of powerful jaws, the terrified bawl of the
bovine was cut short as the huge carnivore tore out its throat. Spurting blood stained the
muzzle of the four-legged hunter and sprayed her tawny fur with crimson. The aurochs's
legs jerked spasmodically even as the lioness ripped open its stomach and tore out a
chunk of warm, red meat.
Stark terror charged through the girl. She fled in wild panic, carefully watched by
another of the great cats. The child had stumbled into the territory of cave lions.
Normally the large felines would have disdained so small a creature as a five-year-old
human as prey, preferring a robust aurochs, oversize bison, or giant deer to satisfy the
needs of a pride of hungry cave lions. But the fleeing child was approaching much too
near to the cave that housed a pair of mewling newborn cubs.
Left to guard the young while the lioness hunted, the shaggy-maned lion roared in
warning. The girl jerked her head up and gasped at the gigantic cat crouched on a ledge,
ready to spring. She screamed, slid to a stop, falling and scraping her leg in the loose
gravel near the wall, and scrambled to turn around. Spurred on by even greater fear, she
ran back the way she had come.
The cave lion leaped with languid ease, confident of his ability to catch the small
interloper who dared to broach the sanctity of the cave nursery. He was in no hurry -- she
moved slowly compared with his fluid speed -- and he was in the mood for a game of cat
and mouse.
In her panic, it was only instinct that led her to the small hole near the ground in
the face of the cliff. Her side aching, and gasping for breath, she squeezed through an
opening barely big enough for her. It was a tiny, shallow cave, not much more than a
crack. She twisted around in the cramped space until she was kneeling with her back to
the wall, trying to melt into the solid rock behind her.
The cave lion roared his frustration when he reached the hole and found his chase
thwarted. The child trembled at the sound and stared in hypnotized horror as the cat
snaked his paw, sharp curved claws outstretched, into the small hole. Unable to get away,
she watched the claw come at her and shrieked in pain as it sunk into her left thigh,
raking it with four deep parallel gashes.
The girl squirmed to get out of his reach and found a small depression in the dark
wall to her left. She pulled her legs in, scrunched up as tight as she could, and held her
breath. The claw slowly entered the small opening again, nearly blocking the scant light
that penetrated the niche, but this time found nothing. The cave lion roared and roared as
he paced back and forth in front of the hole.
The child remained in the small cramped cave through the day, that night, and
most of the following day. The leg swelled and the festering wound was a constant pain,
and the small space inside the rough-walled cave had little room to turn or stretch out.
She was delirious most of the time from hunger and pain and dreamed terrifying
nightmares of earthquakes, and sharp claws, and lonely aching fear. But it wasn't her
wound or her hunger or even her painful sunburn that finally drove her from her refuge. It
was thirst.
She looked fearfully out of the small opening. Sparse stands of wind-stunted
willow and pine near the river cast long shadows of early evening. The child stared at the
grass-covered stretch of land and the sparkling water beyond for a long time before
gathering up enough courage to move beyond the entrance. She licked cracked lips with a
parched tongue as she scanned the terrain. Only the windswept grass moved. The lion
pride was gone. The lioness, anxious for her young and uneasy about the unfamiliar scent
of the strange creature so near their cave, decided to find a new nursery.
The child crept out of the hole and stood up. Her head throbbed and spots danced
dizzily before her eyes. Waves of pain engulfed her with every step and her wounds
began to ooze a sickly yellow green down her swollen leg.
She wasn't sure if she could reach the water, but her thirst was overpowering. She
fell to her knees and crawled the last few feet, then stretched out flat on her stomach and
gulped greedy mouthfuls of cold water. When her thirst was finally slaked, she tried to
stand again, but she had reached the limit of her endurance. Spots swam before her eyes,
her head whirled, and everything went dark as she slumped to the ground.
A carrion bird circling lazily overhead spied the unmoving form and swooped
lower for a closer look.
2
The band of travelers crossed the river just beyond the waterfall where it widened and
foamed around rocks jutting up through the shallow water. They were twenty in number,
young and old. The clan had totaled twenty-six before the earthquake that destroyed their
cave. Two men led the way, far in front of a knot of women and children flanked by a
couple of older men. Younger men trailed behind.
They followed the broad stream as it began its braided, meandering course across
the flat steppes, and watched the carrion birds circling. Flying scavengers usually meant
that whatever had attracted their attention was still alive. The men in the lead hurried to
investigate. A wounded animal was easy prey for hunters, providing no four-legged
predators had similar ideas.
A woman, midway along in her first pregnancy, walked in front of the rest of the
women. She saw the two men in the lead glance at the ground and move on. It must be a
meat eater, she thought. The clan seldom ate carnivorous animals.
She was just over four and a half feet tall, large boned, stocky, and bow-legged,
but walked upright on strong muscular legs and flat bare feet. Her arms, long in
proportion to her body, were bowed like her legs. She had a large beaky nose, a
prognathous jaw jutting out like a muzzle, and no chin. Her low forehead sloped back
into a long, large head, resting on a short, thick neck. At the back of her head was a
boney knob, an occipital bun, that emphasized its length.
A soft down of short brown hair, tending to curl, covered her legs and shoulders
and ran along the upper spine of her back. It thickened into a head of heavy, long, rather
bushy hair. She was already losing her winter pallor to a summer tan. Big, round,
intelligent, dark brown eyes were deep set below overhanging brow ridges, and they were
filled with curiosity as she quickened her pace to see what the men had passed by.
The woman was old for a first pregnancy, nearly twenty, and the clan thought she
was barren until the life stirring within her started to show. The load she carried had not
been lightened because she was pregnant, however. She had a large basket strapped to her
back, with bundles tied behind, hanging below, and piled on top of it. Several drawstring
bags dangled from a thong, which was wrapped around the pliable hide she wore in such
a way as to produce folds and pouches for carrying things. One bag was particularly
distinctive. It was made from an otter hide, obviously so because it had been cured with
its waterproof fur, feet, tail, and head left intact.
Rather than a slit in the skin of the animal's belly, only the throat had been cut to
provide an opening to remove the innards, flesh, and bones, leaving a pouchlike bag. The
head, attached by a strip of skin at the back, was the cover flap, and a red-dyed cord of
sinew was threaded through holes punched around the neck opening, drawn tight, and
tied to the thong at her waist.
When the woman first saw the creature the men had left behind, she was puzzled
by what appeared to be an animal without fur. But when she drew closer, she gasped and
stepped back a pace, clutching the small leather pouch around her neck in an unconscious
gesture to ward off unknown spirits. She fingered the small objects inside her amulet
through the leather, invoking protection, and leaned forward to look closer, hesitant to
take a step, but not quite able to believe she saw what she thought she was seeing.
Her eyes had not deceived her. It was not an animal that had drawn the voracious
birds. It was a child, a gaunt, strange-looking child!
The woman looked around, wondering what other fearful enigmas might be
nearby, and started to skirt the unconscious child, but she heard a moan. The woman
stopped and, forgetting her fears, knelt beside the child and shook her gently. The
medicine woman reached to untie the cord that held the otter-skin bag closed as soon as
she saw the festering claw marks and swollen leg when the girl rolled over.
The man in the lead glanced back and saw the woman kneeling beside the child.
He walked back to them.
"Iza! Come!" he commanded. "Cave lion tracks and scat ahead."
"It's a child, Brun. Hurt but not dead," she replied.
Brun looked at the thin young girl with the high forehead, small nose, and
strangely flat face. "Not Clan," the leader gestured abruptly and turned to walk away.
"Brun, she's a child. She's hurt. She'll die if we leave her here." Iza's eyes pleaded
as she made the hand signals.
The leader of the small clan stared down at the imploring woman. He was much
bigger than she, over five feet tall, heavily muscled and powerful, with a deep barrel
chest and thick bowed legs. The cast of his features was similar, though more pronounced
-- heavier supraorbital ridges, larger nose. His legs, stomach, chest, and upper back were
covered with a coarse brown hair that was not enough to be called a pelt, but not far from
it. A bushy beard hid his chinless jutting jaw. His wrap was similar, too, but not as full,
cut shorter, and tied differently, with fewer folds and pouches for holding things.
He carried no burdens, only his outer fur wrap, suspended on his back by a wide
band of leather wrapped around his sloping forehead, and his weapons. On his right thigh
was a scar, blackened like a tattoo, shaped roughly like a U with the tops flaring outward,
the mark of his totem, the bison. He needed no mark or ornament to identify his
leadership. His bearing and the deference of the others made his position clear.
He shifted his club, the long foreleg of a horse, from his shoulder to the ground,
supporting the handle with his thigh, and Iza knew he was giving her plea serious
consideration. She waited quietly, hiding her agitation, to give him time to think. He set
his heavy wooden spear down and leaned the shaft against his shoulder with the
sharpened, fire-hardened point up, and adjusted the bola he wore around his neck along
with his amulet so the three stone balls were more evenly balanced. Then he pulled a strip
of pliable deerskin, tapered at the ends with a bulge in the middle to hold stones for
slinging, out of his waist thong, and pulled the soft leather through his hand, thinking.
Brun didn't like making quick decisions about anything unusual that might affect
his clan, especially now when they were homeless, and he resisted the impulse to refuse
at once. I should have known Iza would want to help her, he thought; she's even used her
healing magic on animals sometimes, especially young ones. She'll be upset if I don't let
her help this child. Clan or Others, it makes no difference, all she can see is a child who is
hurt. Well, maybe that's what makes her a good medicine woman.
But medicine woman or not, she is just a woman. What difference will it make if
she's upset? Iza knows better than to show it, and we have enough problems without a
wounded stranger. But her totem will know, all the spirits will. Would it make them more
angry if she's upset? If we find a cave...no, when we find a new cave, Iza will have to
make her drink for the cave ceremony. What if she's so upset she makes a mistake?
Angry spirits could make it go wrong, and they're angry enough already. Nothing must
go wrong with the ceremony for the new cave.
Let her take the child, he thought She'll soon get tired of carrying the extra load,
and the girl is so far gone, not even my sibling's magic may be strong enough to save her.
Brun tucked his sling back in his waist thong, picked up his weapons, and shrugged
noncommittally. It was up to her; Iza could take the girl with them or not as she pleased.
He turned and strode off.
Iza reached into her basket and pulled out a leather cloak. She wrapped it around
the girl, hoisted her up, and secured the unconscious child to her hip with the aid of the
supple hide, surprised at how little she weighed for her height. The girl moaned as she
was lifted and Iza patted her reassuringly, then fell into place behind the two men.
The other women had stopped, holding back from the encounter between Iza and
Brun. When they saw the medicine woman pick something up and take it with her, their
hands flew in rapid motions punctuated by a few guttural sounds, discussing it with
excited curiosity. Except for the otter-skin pouch, they were dressed the same as Iza, and
as heavily burdened. Among them they carried all the clan's worldly possessions, those
that had been salvaged from the rubble after the quake.
Two of the seven women carried babies in a fold of their wraps next to their skin,
convenient for nursing. While they were waiting, one felt a drop of warm wetness,
whipped her naked infant out of the fold, and held it in front of her until it was through
wetting. When they weren't traveling, babies were often wrapped in soft swaddling skins.
To absorb moisture and soft milky stools, any of several materials were packed around
them: fleece from wild sheep gathered from thorny shrubs when the mouflon were
shedding, down from birds' breasts, or fuzz from fibrous plants. But while they traveled,
it was easier and simpler to carry babies naked and, without missing a step, let them mess
on the ground.
When they started out again, a third woman picked up a young boy, supporting
him on her hip with a leather carrying cloak. After a few moments, he squirmed to get
down and run by himself. She let him go, knowing he would be back when he got tired
again. An older girl, not yet a woman but carrying a woman's load, walked behind the
woman who followed Iza, glancing back now and then at a boy, very nearly a man,
trailing the women. He tried to allow enough distance between himself and them so it
would seem he was one of the three hunters bringing up the rear and not one of the
children. He wished he had game to carry, too, and even envied the old man, one of the
two flanking the women, who carried a large hare over his shoulder, felled by a stone
from his sling.
The hunters were not the only source of food for the clan. The women often
contributed the greater share, and their sources were more reliable. Despite their burdens,
they foraged as they traveled, and so efficiently it hardly slowed them down. A patch of
day lilies was quickly stripped of buds and flowers, and tender new roots exposed with a
few strokes of the digging sticks. Cattail roots, pulled loose from beneath the surface of
marshy backwaters, were even easier to gather.
If they hadn't been on the move, the women would have made a point of
remembering the location of the tall stalky plants, to return later in the season to pick the
tender tails at the top for a vegetable. Later still, yellow pollen mixed with starch
pounded from the fibers of old roots would make doughy unleavened biscuits. When the
tops dried, fuzz would be collected; and several of the baskets were made from the tough
leaves and stalks. Now they gathered only what they found, but little was overlooked.
New shoots and tender young leaves of clover, alfalfa, dandelion; thistles stripped
of prickles before they were cut down; a few early berries and fruits. The pointed digging
sticks were in constant use; nothing was safe from them in the women's deft hands. They
were used as a lever to overturn logs for newts and delectable fat grubs; freshwater
molluscs were fished out of streams and pushed closer to shore for easy reach; and a
variety of bulbs, tubers, and roots were dug out of the ground.
It all found its way to the convenient folds of the women's wraps or an empty
corner of their baskets. Large green leaves were wrappers, some of them, such as
burdock, cooked as greens. Dry wood, twigs, and grass, and dung from grazing animals,
were collected too. Though the selection would be more varied later in the summer, food
was plentiful -- if one knew where to look.
Iza looked up when an old man, past thirty, hobbled up to her after they were on
their way again. He carried neither burden nor weapon, only a long staff to help him
walk. His right leg was crippled and smaller than the left, yet he managed to move with
surprising agility.
摘要：

TheClanoftheCaveBearJeanM.Auel1Thenakedchildranoutofthehide-coveredlean-totowardtherockybeachatthebendinthesmallriver.Itdidn'toccurtohertolookback.Nothinginherexperienceevergaveherreasontodoubttheshelterandthosewithinitwouldbetherewhenshereturned.Shesplashedintotheriverandfeltrocksandsandshiftunderh...

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