The Last Neanderthal

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2017 by Line Painter Productions, Inc.

  Cover design by Gregg Kulick

  Cover photographs: cave © Totajla / Getty Images; landscape © kristianbell / Getty Images

  Author photograph by David Kerr

  Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  ISBN 978-0-316-31445-9

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Family Tree

  Glossary

  Prologue

  Part I 1.

  2.

  3.

  Dr Pepper

  4.

  5.

  Pink Lines

  Part II 6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  Archie Comics

  10.

  11.

  Ketchup

  12.

  13.

  14.

  Elastic Band

  Part III 15.

  16.

  17.

  Pressed Particleboard

  18.

  19.

  20.

  Conference Call

  21.

  22.

  23.

  Birth

  Part IV 24.

  25.

  26.

  Survival

  27.

  Instinct

  28.

  29.

  Human

  “The Lovers”

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Claire Cameron

  Newsletters

  Our deeds still travel with us from afar,

  and what we have been makes us what we are.

  —George Eliot, Middlemarch

  Glossary

  Aroo: A tonal word; the precise meaning changed with pitch and context. Most often used as a sharp warning but could also be a call for help or a term of endearment.

  Bearden: An expression of fear, as in the quiver you feel when you suddenly find yourself too close to where a bear sleeps.

  Boh: The blowing sound made by a bison. They were the staple food of this particular family and therefore at the front of their minds much of the time.

  Chewfat: Most often used in reference to a strong body. One interpretation might be “I would like to sink my teeth into that meat.” It was a phrase of active encouragement, not a direct compliment.

  Crowthroat: Someone who talks too much. Derived from the despised crow, the worst offender when it came to mindless chatter and making a racket.

  Cu-cu-cling: A phrase meaning “My head is a bison” that was often chanted in singsong. It expressed the feeling of a deep hunger that occupied the mind and body.

  Deadwood: A body on the other side of the dirt; used as an equivalent to our idea of death, though it expressed a change of state rather than a permanent end.

  Pitch: A tarlike substance distilled from a pine or birch tree. When directed at a person, the word could be roughly interpreted as “Keep your head attached to your meat,” as in “stay alive.” It had a double meaning, as it also conveyed the importance of, and the skill involved in, keeping one thing attached to another.

  Stone tooth: A handmade stone tool.

  Sunbite: A disease with a high mortality rate that started with flulike symptoms, followed by red spots all over the body that turned to blisters; believed to come from the sun burning the body from the inside out.

  Warm: It meant “family,” but the word had a connotation of physical warmth and safety of the kind that brought peace of mind.

  Wintersleep: Literally translated as the sleep that occurred during the height of the winter storm season. While not technically hibernation, it was the process of becoming languid, slow, and inactive during winter to keep the energy needs of the body low.

  Prologue

  They didn’t think as much about what was different.

  There was good reason for this, as they lived in small family groups. Every day was spent among people who were similar to them. The bodies that sat around the fire shared the same kind of cowlick at the backs of their heads, or the same laugh, or teeth that were equally crooked. Every time a head turned to look, a body could find one part of itself in another.

  It’s because of their similarities to us that I can speak for them when I say that much of what you’ve heard isn’t true.

  They were kind and clever. They had hands with opposable thumbs and a light dusting of hair on the backs. They had hearts that throbbed in their chests when they saw certain people, and this happened more than you might expect. Their brains were larger than ours by about 10 percent. Many of us have inherited up to 4 percent of their DNA, and now that both genomes have been sequenced, we know that theirs differed from ours by only about 0.12 percent. To be fair, these slight variations are significant. They had a sensitive patch of skin on the gums above the front teeth; by curling up the top lip, they could feel the heat of a body from a mile away. Their ears could pinpoint where a drop of water had fallen in a pond long after the ripples were gone. Their eyes could see the unique pattern of bark on each tree and this allowed them to tell one from the next, just as we can with human faces.

  If they knew I was telling you this, though, it would embarrass them. They did not like to focus on inward thoughts, as this lay the body open to outward dangers. They would hold up a hand, lower their eyes, a slight pink to the cheek. If they were still alive today, they would want to make clear one pressing point: They were much like you.

  But they aren’t alive. They are extinct. The knowledge that something is extinct often leads to worry. You are probably already feeling guilty because you assume that I’m about to place the responsibility for their end on modern humans. We compare ourselves to them through one stark reality: We survived and they did not. The space between those two things, life and death, is where our trouble starts. We focus on that one difference and it dominates our thoughts. Blame comes next.

  But the last thing they would want you to worry about is their passing. They didn’t dwell much on difference, and it was the resemblances between seasons, bodies, and species that stood out to their eyes. They were so few in number. The world in which they lived was vast and empty
. As a matter of survival, they tried to focus on what was the same.

  If you happened on one in the woods—say, a female named Girl with a shock of red hair—it would not be by accident. She would have sensed you coming long before, felt curious about another upright primate, and allowed you to approach. She would make a noise in the brush to let you know she was there. Maybe she would drop her spear to show that she didn’t mean you harm. She would spread the fingers of her left hand and raise that palm to greet you.

  The polite thing to do would be to raise your right hand the same way. Walk slowly toward her.

  Her body is streaked with dirt and only partially covered with a loose cloak of bison fur. She is often too hot and doesn’t like the feel of tight animal hides on her skin. Her breath comes in plumes from her nose, expelling heat from her broad body into the cold air. Look at her densely packed muscles. They hold a kind of strength more on par with a bear’s. As you get closer, notice the earthy smell of bison meat and sour stomach. There is nothing wrong with her; that’s just from how she lives.

  Take a deep breath because you will feel intimidated. And you should. This is your instinct taking hold. You’ve never seen such a magnificent creature before, but your ancestors did. They knew from experience that she could close up your throat with one squeeze. They passed this sensible fear on to you.

  Don’t run, though. You feel scared because on an instinctual level you acknowledge that you are weaker. Remember that she isn’t worried about you. She knows she is stronger and she can afford to stare. The thing to focus on is that you are the most spectacular thing she has ever seen. Because the Neanderthal population was always small, she has seen only a handful of other upright bodies in her lifetime, and never anyone like you. What she feels is a sense of wonder.

  Hold up your palm. Spread your fingers out like hers in a greeting. Walk up to her, slowly.

  When you are close enough, press the skin of your palm against hers. Feel her heat. The same blood runs under the surface of your skin. Take a breath for courage, raise your chin, and look into her eyes. Be careful, because your knees will weaken. Tears will come to your eyes and you will be filled with an overwhelming urge to sob. This is because you are human.

  When you look into her eyes, you will feel an immediate connection. All the difference drops away. You each know with certainty that you can feel the mind of the other. You share a single thought: I am not alone.

  Part I

  1.

  It was the warmth that Girl would remember. The night, the specific one she often thought about later, the one that turned out to be among the last they had together, had been filled with warmth. Spring was in the night air, though the ground was still hard with frost. Cold nipped at exposed skin.

  When they slept, they were the body of the family. That is how they thought of themselves together, as one body that lived and breathed. The forms curled into one another in a tangle; the curve of a belly rested up against the small of a back, a leg draped over a hip, and a cold set of toes found heat in the crook of an arm.

  As the sun had turned its face away, they were all exhausted from the work that came with spring. For once, there had been no nighttime shadow stories, talk, or laughs—though when they had all settled, Him, the oldest brother, issued a tremendous fart. He could have split a log with the force. Runt replied with a messy blow of his lips to the back of his hand. Bent laughed, just once, and Girl let a smile curl her lips but was too tired for more. Big Mother said, “Hum.”

  And then it was quiet in the hut; heavy breathing, slow.

  Deep in the middle of the pile of bodies lay Girl and Wildcat. Girl usually slept soundly, but that night she woke too early and pulled her cramped arm out from under the large cat. Earlier Big Mother had shooed him away to the edge of the nest. The sneaky cat had waited and, once he heard a whistle of air running evenly through Big Mother’s large nose, crawled back in. Wildcat was gray with pointed black tips on his ears. He was thick-boned and robust and had a dense mat of fur. A set of black rings ran the length of his tail. He had made a single chirp, a sound he had trained Girl to know, and moved in to cuddle up to her. He rubbed his head and ears against hers. She made a faint chirp in reply. They were good friends and Wildcat was the softest thing she knew.

  Girl scratched at a flea that was attempting an escape from her armpit. She ran her sleepy fingers across the skin to try to flick it off. A shift and a slight grunt and she couldn’t reach. A moment later a thick finger pressed on her back. It skimmed across the shoulder blade and pushed. It was her brother Him, she knew from the feel of the rough skin on the tip of his finger. A pinch and a pop and the bug body crushed between his teeth. Girl didn’t say thank you. There was no need. It was built into all the times that she would pick a flea or louse for Him. Words could be empty. It was the return of a gesture that held meaning.

  And then it was quiet. Girl sighed and fell back and became part of the tangle of bodies again. The protective layer of bone and muscle blurred. The edges of their shapes melted into the warmth. Thick lashes hit cheeks, breaths came slower, and the weight of long limbs fell away. When one had a dream, the others saw the same pictures in their heads, whether they were remembered in the morning or not. It wasn’t just their bodies that connected in sleep; it was also their minds.

  The family lay in a pile on top of two thick, stretched bison hides. Under those hides was a bed of fresh pine boughs, crisscrossed to lift the nest away from the cold dirt floor. Girl and Runt had just changed the boughs that day, so the air was heavy with the scent of pine. Over the bodies were hides that had been cured and chewed until they felt soft against the skin. A layer of furs was spread on top to keep the family cozy. This nest lay inside a hut that was tucked into the side of a granite cliff, a carefully chosen position, as it was perched on a ledge with steep rock above and a sharp slope below. They had to slink along a narrow trail to get to the hut. While not convenient, it limited the routes that a predator could use to approach.

  When going to sleep, the family imagined that they were crawling into the belly of a bison. The hut was roughly the same shape as the bison they ate. It had a low, tight back end to hold the heat in close. The front was stronger and made with more support, horned and watching. A long tree limb formed the spine of the structure. It was propped up at one end with a forked branch and wrapped in place with twine made from strips of the inner bark of a cedar tree. Once these main supports were up, long sticks were laid across the center pole, like ribs. Thicker branches were secured with stones at the front and back to form legs for stability. A first skin, cured with brain oil, was pulled tight enough over the frame to quiver. Dead pine boughs were then placed on the skeleton, like a thick slab of fat. The outermost layer was rough hides made of the densest fur from the backs of two old male bison, thrown over and tied on with cured tendons.

  With body heat, it was snug inside the hut. The strength of the animals remained in their parts and gave the family a special kind of protection. In a land full of peril, protection of any kind was precious. What comforted the body was also solace for the mind.

  When Girl was inside the hut, she had a habit of murmuring a word: “Warm.” She craved the feeling of being connected to so many beating hearts, to ears that listened, and to all those pairs of eyes that would watch to ensure that something wasn’t sneaking up behind another body. It was how her blood spread heat to the bodies she loved. It was how she stayed alive.

  And much later, when the family was all gone and Girl was alone, the warmth was what she would remember about that night. She would let her longing out in a lonely moan: “Warm.”

  2.

  When Girl peeked her head out of the hut that morning, she could smell the struggle of spring. It was the first day of the hunt and the land had come alive. The sun worked hard to peel the winter ice away from the earth. As it did, it uncovered a deep hunger in the land. The same kind of craving lived in the bellies of all the beasts who roamed the valley
of the mountain. Girl watched as the trees below swayed with worry. They could feel the vibrations from the growling bellies through the soil around their roots. Cold air clung to the pine needles and each sprouting cone at the end of each branch quivered in anticipation. The ground shifted in discomfort as the ice let it go. Spring brought life for some, but it brought death for others.

  Down the slope at the hearth, Big Mother stirred the coals to rouse the morning fire. The old woman wore her bison horns, which were secured in a soft hide and tied onto her head. The two horns protruded straight out at the spot where her short forehead met a thick hairline. With only a glance, any beast could tell that Big Mother was in charge. She was old by then, which meant that there were more than thirty springs she could remember. She had lost count of them all, but her milky eyes could still pick out shape, light, and movement. Her nose could still catch the scent of a fresh green shoot from a hundred strides away.

  As the head of the family, Big Mother would decide on the particular beast they would try to kill that day. Though her hunting days were over, she would still make the trip to the bison crossing with the rest of the family. Girl wouldn’t risk leaving Big Mother, or any of the other weaker-bodied ones, alone at that time in the spring. A young leopard had recently come slinking around near their hearth. He was new to their land and unsettled. In earlier times the family could have driven him away easily, but that spring their numbers were especially low. They didn’t dare allow the leopard a chance. Only some meat got to eat.

  As Him, Girl’s brother, walked over to the fire, Big Mother started to laugh. It took Girl a moment to see why. Him often had an erection and, given the loose arrangement of his cloak, she could see that this morning was no different. Big Mother laughed with joy, as an erect penis signaled good health. It was happiness.

  Many things had dropped away from Big Mother’s body by then, but not her smile. Her laugh came out as a sharp cackle and showed her missing teeth, all gone except for a few mid-teeth in her upper left jaw and two molars on the right. When she laughed, she put a hand to her cheek, and Girl knew the old woman wished those teeth would also fall to the dirt. The pain made her body feel like dry meat. A clutch of wiry gray hairs lifted from her chin, and large breasts lay proud and flat over her belly. The thick skin on her face showed the trail of a tear. Big Mother believed that the measure of a life could be reduced to such small things, a count of the wrinkles to see how many laughs versus how many frowns a body had produced. Because of this, Girl knew that the old woman made sure to laugh often.