Ivory and Bone(14)

“The three of you helped bring in this food; you will take your fair portion. I will not risk angering the Spirit of the mammoth that died so that we could all eat.” This comes out as a proclamation rather than a comment. My mother’s tone has the definitive note she usually reserves for my brothers and me.

I drop my head and try to appear too caught up in my task of wrapping meat to notice what is being said. But then the door flips open and shut, light from outside splashing momentarily across the kitchen floor. Before I look up I know it’s you—I already recognize the unique cadence of your steps.

You stand with your sister, just inside the doorway. Seeri’s hair is tied up in a braid that wraps around her head, a style my mother and most of the women of my clan wear almost every day. I notice that your hair, as it was yesterday, is loose, falling over your shoulders and down your back. You are both dressed in the clothes you wore on the hunt.

“We know you do not need our help to successfully bring down game.” These words come from Seeri. “Thank you for the privilege of accompanying you yesterday. We all learned so much.” Her eyes are fixed on Pek, and for the first time, her clear intentions toward him ruffle my nerves. Suddenly, I can’t stomach the sight of the tender expression on her face. My eyes move to yours. You stare at the ground, falsely occupied in making a mental inventory of my mother’s kitchen supplies. I guess it’s what I should expect of you. You wouldn’t accept my gift last night. Why should you even look me in the eye to say a proper good-bye?

“We can all learn from a hunt with Pek, that’s certain,” my father says. “He’s one of the best with a spear that I have ever seen.”

I’m stunned. I wouldn’t expect my father to make such a blatant play to impress the three of you. Then again, I’m not intimately involved in managing and governing the clan, as he is. My parents are both elders of this clan, and there have been frequent meetings of the council lately. They would have a far better understanding of our situation—of the need to move south and the ways cooperation with your clan could reduce the risks involved with such a move. The ways a betrothal could encourage such a friendship.

I would rather our clan face extinction than reduce myself to playing for your affections, but my father, I see now, is feeling the pressure.

“There used to be a girl in this clan called Shava,” my father says. “She was so impressed by Pek’s hunting that she wanted to marry him. She cooked every kill he brought in for the entire clan. She tried to make herself the ideal partner for him, I suppose.”

Father’s eyes cloud over and I can see in his smile that he is thinking back on Shava and perhaps wondering why we were ever so careless as to let her slip away.

“Pek wasn’t interested in that girl, though, no matter how many mats she piled high with grilled bison or mammoth,” I interject. The eyes of every person in the room snap to my face. It’s quite bold to interrupt your own father as he relates a tale, especially if your father is Arem the High Elder, but I feel I need to put a stop to this one. “Apparently, being a great cook for a great hunter doesn’t necessarily win his heart. Her cooking wasn’t enough to buy his affection,” I say, turning to look directly into your face.

You swallow. “Where is she now? I notice there are no young women in this clan.”

Pek jumps in to answer. “We met up with another clan about two years ago—it turned out to be the clan of her mother’s family. Her mother had left them years before to marry into our clan, but her husband had died, and when we crossed paths with them again, she was reunited with her family. Shava and her mother returned to the west with her mother’s native people, to their territory beyond the northwest hills.”

This simple story by my brother touches some nerve in you. Your head whips around in his direction. “What clan? A clan to the northwest? What clan is that?”

“Mya.” The voice of your brother interrupts you sharply. I notice a very small shake of his head, a message to you. “Do not pester our hosts with such questions.”

There are secrets here, I realize. Clearly, there is something your brother does not wish to discuss. But whatever secrets your brother wishes to keep, they do not interest me. “Excuse me. I’ll carry the first load to your boat,” I say, filling up my arms with packages of meat. I move toward the door, careful to keep my eyes on the floor as I pass by you.

To my surprise, you follow me out into the cold morning light.

“Kol.” I stop, acutely aware that this is the first time you’ve ever addressed me by name. I’m not sure how I feel about the sound of it. Your voice is halting, less confident than usual. “If cooking isn’t the best way to attract the interest of a hunter, what would you say is better?”

I turn to study you. This is a trick question, I’m sure, but I can’t imagine what the trick is meant to accomplish. It doesn’t matter. Last night you were quite direct with me. I won’t hesitate to be just as direct. “Perhaps something more personal,” I say, “like accepting small gifts that are offered without assuming they are meant to buy you. Even if you could gather all that you wanted at home.”

Your lips part and your focus slides from my face; for a moment, you stare into the air, trying to piece together how I came to know the words you used last night. The softness of confusion fades and your features sharpen as you arrive at the only plausible explanation—that I heard you through the walls. As your eyes return to mine they narrow and draw together until a crease appears between your eyebrows.