The Boy of the Painted Cave (2 page)

This time he turned quickly, ready to defend himself. Then he saw it, peering at him through the shadows, a young wolf, its slitted eyes low and threatening.

Tao hunched down and raised his spear. If it was only one wolf it would be an easy target. He started to throw. Then he noticed the animal swaying back and forth on unsteady legs. Weak and half starved, its ribs showed through the scraggly patches of gray hair. Its yellow eyes looked up at Tao with a vacant stare. It was only half grown and Tao was sure it must have been deserted by the pack.

Slowly the boy lowered his spear. He could not bring himself to kill this helpless animal. Besides, such a scrawny beast would be a poor prize to take back to the clan.

Tao put out his hand, speaking softly to the frightened animal. “Come,” he said, “I mean you no harm. You are hungry and I have food.” He held up one of the dead field mice. But the young wolf backed away, a faint snarl curled on its lips, saliva dripping from its mouth. Tao slit the mouse open with his flint knife and dangled it in front of the wolf. Again the animal cringed and shied away, its thin legs trembling.

“Here,” said Tao, “eat. You are hungry. Do not be afraid.” With careful aim he tossed the mouse on the ground in front of the wolf.

The little animal came closer, slowly, one step at a time, its yellow eyes watching the boy intently. It nuzzled the dead mouse, pushing it around, licking at the oozing fluids. Yet it still refused to eat. Tao shook his head, puzzled.

It was growing dark now and he had to get back to the clan people with the rest of the field mice. He felt badly about leaving the little wolf, but he could not take him with him. He left the gutted mouse lying near the wolf's muzzle.

As he started to back away, the little animal looked up at him with pleading eyes. Tao shook his head sadly but there was little more he could do.

He made his way between the huge boulders that littered the foot of the cliffs. Born with a bad right foot, a foot that bent down and turned in slightly, Tao walked with a limp. However, by curling his foot around the shaft of his spear, he had learned to travel with greater ease and, when in a hurry, he could vault over the hills faster than a running man. Now, because of the darkness, he went slowly, picking his way through the weaving shadows.

He continued on through the oakwood forest until the fires of the little camp came into view. Here, in the clearing, a small group of skin huts was set up under the shelter of a massive rock overhang jutting out from the limestone cliffs. High above, Tao could see the great fire of the Endless Flame burning brightly, lighting up the entrance to Big Cave.

A white haze of smoke filled the clearing and flickering campfires lit up the darkness. Tao smelled the odor of cooking meat. Fat dropped from the spits, sizzling on the hot coals as the women grunted to each other and roasted the few ground squirrels and moles the hunters had brought back. Children sat on their haunches in front of the huts. They had been many months with little food, and their sunken eyes looked up at Tao. He knew his handful of field mice would not go far to ease their hunger.

He glanced quickly at Volt's bearskin hut in the center of the camp, hoping the big leader would not see him. Then he went directly to the edge of the clearing where two bison skin robes were lashed securely to a frame of cross poles, forming a ragged hut. He knelt down in front of it and called softly, “Kala.”

The flap opened and an old woman peered out. Her square face was lined with wrinkles. Strings of gray hair hung down over her eyes, and she held a child in her arms. She smiled broadly, her big teeth yellow from chewing deer hide and spruce gum. “You are late,” she said. “But you are safe.”

Tao nodded and held out two of the mice. “We traveled far,” he said. “But we did not get much.”

The woman took the mice in her brawny hand and held them up by the tails. “I still have some dried grubs,” she said, “and some roots. With these I can make a meal for the little one.”

The little one was a girl child, an orphan from the winter famine. If it had not been for Kala, the elders would have taken her up among the boulders and left her for the hyenas. By caring for her, she had saved the child's life, much as she had done for Tao.

“Now you have another,” said Tao, smiling, touching the old woman's shoulder.

The woman thought for a moment. “Three so far,” she said. “You were the first.”

Tao remembered it well. She had raised him as her own, when others had turned their backs because of his bad foot. He stayed with her for twelve summers, learning much from her wisdom and kindness.

“The sun is getting warmer,” said Tao. “Soon the hunting will be good and there will be enough to eat.” He said it even though he feared it might not be true. Perhaps Graybeard would come and paint images in the Secret Cavern. If the spirits were pleased, great herds of horses, deer and bison would fill the plains and forests. The people would eat well and the clan would thrive. There would be many pelts with which to make new robes and boots, ivory and antlers to make needles, spears and knives.

Kala and Tao talked for a few more minutes. Then the woman listened and put her finger to her lips. “Go,” she whispered, “before Volt comes.” She went back into the hut and closed the flap, and for a moment Tao could hear her humming to the little one as she started the meal.

Tao went to the center of the camp near the large fire, to turn over the rest of his field mice. He was almost there when a dark shadow fell across his path. It was Volt, the leader. The big man planted himself in front of the boy. His sheepskin robe was singed and stained with spots of blackberry. He wore a necklace of bear claws. His dark beard was wild and unkempt.

Tao felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he stood firm. In the light of the fire he saw the man's left cheek gashed with livid scars that always turned his face into an ugly scowl.

The man pointed a fat, hairy finger at the boy and grunted. “Where have you been?”

Tao hesitated, at first not knowing what to say. “I stopped by the meadow.”

The big man grurr bled. “You are always late, always behind the others, dreaming, wasting time. You are a poor hunter when the people are hungry.”

Tao saw the other hunters gathering around, attracted by the harsh words. Good, thought Tao, now he would tell them about the wolf dog. Wolf dogs were taboo, but he didn't have to tell them he tried to feed it. Maybe the others would listen. “I heard a noise in the high grass,” said the boy eagerly. “I wondered what it was and I thought—”

Volt shook his head and interrupted gruffly, “Enough!” he shouted. “We do not need wondering, we do not need thinking or dreaming.
We need food.”

The heat of anger flushed in Tao's cheeks. This man was like a mountain. He would listen to nothing. His words were always harsh and sullen. He would tell him no more. He handed Volt the pouchful of field mice.

The big man grunted again, glaring down at the boy. “And where is the rabbit?”

Tao's body stiffened. He had forgotten the rabbit.

Volt stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You ate the rabbit?”

The other hunters crowded around the boy.

“You ate the rabbit?” Volt repeated, his voice taut.

Tao shook his head, unable to speak. Garth, the black-bearded one, who was always with Volt, knocked him to the ground. Tao lay there in the firelight, looking up at the tight ring of spears.

“No,” said Tao, trying to catch his breath. “I would not eat while others are hungry.”

Volt brushed the back of his hand across his scarred cheek. “Then where is the rabbit?”

Tao squirmed, the sharp stones pressing against his shoulders. “I ... I forgot the rabbit. I left it back in the meadow.”

Garth looked down at him, frowning, shaking his head.

The men with the spears moved closer, Garth's shadow falling across Tao's face. He saw the dark anger in their eyes.

Volt pushed them aside. “Wait,” he said, “there is a better way.” He pointed off into the darkness where the tops of the oak trees were black against the purple night. “Go,” he ordered, a sneering grin spreading across his face. “You say the rabbit is in the meadow. Go then, find your rabbit in the meadow and do not come back until you do. Maybe then you will learn to keep your mind on the hunting. ”

Tao got to his feet slowly, brushing himself off. He felt a bitter surge of anger, anger at himself for his own carelessness, anger at these men who would not listen. As he walked out of the camp he saw one of the clan women reach into the fire and pull out a flaming willow torch. She handed it to him and, in the light, Tao saw that it was Kala. He wanted to speak, but she nodded slightly, her deep green eyes warning him to be quiet.

Slowly Tao made his way through the oak forest until he came to the foot of the cliffs bordering the grasslands. He held his torch high, limping across the dried-out streambed and around the scattered boulders.

Once or twice he was sure he heard something moving in the grass, but when he turned around all he saw was the dancing shadows of the stunted willow trees.

He was tired now and hunger gnawed at him. But first he had to find the rabbit. He followed the cliff until he came to the meadow, then looked around for the patch of sand. In the eery light of his torch, the darkness closed in and everything looked the same—the rocks, the bushes, the clumps of grass.

Finally he found the sand patch and the scuffed-out drawings he had made that afternoon. He poked his spear around in the torchlight and his heart sank. The rabbit was gone. In its place were the pugmarks of a large hyena.

Now he knew he could not go back to camp, not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, not until he had found another rabbit.

T
ao propped his torch against a stone, then gathered armfuls of brushwood and kindling and piled them up near the sandy embankment. He set them afire and threw on more sticks and logs until the yellow tongues of flame licked high into the darkness.

Except for a few grubs and a handful of dried berries, he had not eaten since early morning, and he felt a dull emptiness in his stomach. Holding his torch high, he searched about under a group of oak trees, looking for acorns. But it was late in the season and the ground had already been picked over by marmots and pigs.

Just then the gliding shadow of a flying squirrel swooped down from an old dead willow at the top of the embankment. Tao looked up and saw a hole in the scarred white trunk and he knew where he might find a meal. Broken limbs jutted out from the old tree, and it was an easy climb.

Tao reached into the hole, his fingers groping through the warm nest of leaves and fluff. He brought out handfuls of acorns. Back on the ground, he sat on his heels and cracked them open with a handy stone and picked out the bits of meat with his fingertips. The acorns were dry and tasteless, but they helped to take the edge off his hunger. Next he gathered bunches of dried meadowgrass and spread them out on the sand to make a bed. With the embankment at his back and the warm fire in front, he felt safe from the hyenas and prowling leopards.

The night air was cool and still. He lay back on his bed of straw, feeling the prickling stems against his back and smelling the sweet odor of the new grass. Except for the short coughing roar of a cave lion far out in the valley and the hiss and sputter of the fire, the night was quiet.

For a long while he lay awake thinking about his quarrel with Volt and the others over the missing rabbit. The punishment did not bother him, for he had been out alone in the bush many times before and he was not afraid.

At times like this he often thought of his mother, whom he had never seen, and he wondered what she was like. He closed his eyes and saw a picture of a young girl, with hair the color of honey and a round, smiling face. He reached out as if to touch her, then withdrew his hand. It was only a vision. He wished he could draw her as he imagined her to be, but this would be taboo. Most of all, it was against the laws of the clan to make an image of a person. It would offend the evil spirits.

Tao shook his head as he huddled down in the loose straw. Why are all these things bad? he wondered. Why is it wrong to draw in the sand, to make a picture on a stone, to be born with a lame foot? Is there nothing good, nothing right? Is this why Volt is always angry? Everything he sees is bad. Kala said she has never seen an evil spirit. If they are real, where do they stay, where do they hide? In the forest, behind the mountains and boulders?

Just then Tao heard a movement in the tall grass. He jumped up quickly and pulled a flaming torch from the fire. As he looked into the darkness he saw only the moving shadows of the stunted willows. Then, just outside of the glare of his torch, he made out a pair of gleaming eyes. Tao froze and gripped his spear tighter. It could be a prowling cave lion or a leopard. If it was bold enough to come within the light of the fire, he would have little chance.

He watched cautiously, waiting for the beast to show itself. Slowly he lifted his spear, ready to throw as the yellow eyes came closer. Then he stopped. Fear left him as he made out the thin gray shape of the little wolf.

The animal cringed and crept up through the grass. Little by little it came into the light of the fire, whining softly. Tao leaned down, clicking his tongue. The animal seemed to be begging for help.

He had heard about wolf dogs before, that sometimes during bad seasons when they are hungry and half starved they hang about the camps looking for a bone or a scrap of meat, or to lick at the hearth rocks where the fat drips. This one was young and thin as a shadow. If it didn't find something to eat soon it would die.