The Last Neanderthal Read online

  “That was Simon,” I said.

  “Hey, I don’t snore!” came a muffled cry from inside the tent.

  “Caitlin is at the site?” I started up the trail. “You should have got me right away.”

  “Caitlin said you should rest,” he said.

  “Meet me up there.” It came out as a bark. The thought of anyone at the site without me made my skin crawl. A primatologist! Caitlin’s job was to be a representative of the museum first and a project manager second. She was at the site sporadically and had spent a total of only a few weeks there. She seemed much more interested in schedules and logistics than in the actual dig. Though I didn’t know Caitlin all that well, she didn’t have the background to appreciate my interpretation of our find. The person who controlled the site could influence how it was seen by experts and, eventually, interpreted by the public.

  “Bring extra chocolate,” I called back as I hiked, already panting.

  “You should know—” Andy hollered.

  I stopped and turned.

  “She has a reporter with her.”

  “Grab a bungee!”

  “From National Geographic, I think…”

  “Maybe bring a pair of your pants,” I yelled back.

  Before I turned up the path, I saw Simon stick his head out of the tent and give Andy a bewildered look. Then I heard him mutter to Andy, “She wants your pants?”

  My stomach dropped as I rounded the last bend of the trail and saw the plastic cover that hung over the opening of the cave had been pushed to the side. They had gone in, which was bad enough, but they also had not put the plastic back in place. This left room for all kinds of impurities to get into the excavation area, and I took it as a sign of things to come. Without the most careful protocol to prevent contamination, the evidence could be deemed inconclusive. My find would be seen as tainted in some way or used as proof against what I knew, not as confirmation of the answers I was sure I had found.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled.

  I could see Caitlin and a man standing inside the cave. I wanted to push in and clear them out, but I didn’t dare. There wasn’t room for my belly. If I knocked them to the side, they could break an artifact. Caitlin’s gray ponytail wiggled as if she was startled. I hoped she was.

  Caitlin backed out first, looking slightly skittish and blinking in the morning light.

  “I need to have control of the site,” I said to her, my hands clenched into fists. “Of both the physical space and how we tell the story.”

  “You made that clear.” Caitlin held up her hands as if in surrender. She obviously didn’t want to have the conversation just then. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Help by mishandling the site?”

  She glanced back apologetically at the man who emerged from the cave behind her. “I know you are scheduled to leave tomorrow, Rose. I hope to have our funding in place so you can leave knowing all is well.” She nodded to the man beside her. “Fred is a good friend, a trusted one. I’ve brought him to vouch for us.”

  “To leak the news?”

  “The museum values Fred’s opinion on the site’s newsworthiness.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “We’ve worked this way together in the past. The gibbons in Zanzibar? Fred’s coverage in his magazine is how I got enough support to find more funding.”

  “You are putting the show before the science.”

  “If only this were just about the science, Rose. We both know it’s also about optics. The pinch in funding happened to us first in primate conservation, but now the same thing is happening in archaeology.”

  “These aren’t gibbons,” I spat.

  She flinched and gave the journalist a tight smile. “Excuse us, Fred?”

  When he stepped away, Caitlin pulled on my arm. “I ask that we keep this professional.”

  “I am professional.”

  “You appear to be slightly out of control. You’re shaking.”

  It was the first moment I noticed that my hands were vibrating. I was so mad, it felt like I had a motor inside me. “With all due respect, Caitlin, I’d prefer not to be told what my body is doing. I happen to be in it.”

  “Pregnancy stirs up instincts, Rose.”

  “If you were talking about gibbons, I’d be interested.”

  I heard throat clearing and glanced over. Andy stood at the top of the path. He looked worried, or maybe shocked, I couldn’t tell which. He held a bungee cord and a pair of pants in his hand and for a moment I couldn’t think why. I became very aware that there was a man, a journalist, in our midst. I doubted that a raging pregnant lady swearing at an older woman with gray hair would come off well in the press.

  Caitlin felt the shift. “Perhaps you would like to meet Fred Long?” She gestured to the man. I pressed a ridiculous smile on my face, which probably only confirmed to him that I was a maniac.

  “He’s from National Geographic,” said Caitlin.

  “Hello.”

  “Dr. Gale, it’s an honor to be here.”

  He looked vaguely familiar. I was usually excellent with names and faces, but I couldn’t place him. “Have we met?”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to remember.” Fred gave me a warm smile. “At the archaeological society conference in San Diego last year.”

  “Nice to meet you again, then,” I said, extending my hand. I was pregnant and crazy, but at least I still had a firm handshake.

  As I reached, I let go of my trousers. I tried to catch them, but my belly got in the way. They fell around my ankles. My face crumpled up. I couldn’t keep it in. For the second time that day, I broke my no-crying rule.

  Part III

  15.

  The male leopard rose up on his hind legs to swipe at Girl with his front paws. He tried to knock her back, pin her down, and hold her still with his powerful shoulders so that he could sink his teeth in. The female tried to do the same, swiping and then digging her claws into the back of Girl’s cloak; the sharp points bit into her skin. The land turned into a blur of fear and mud and struggle. Girl heard a snarl and a tear, and one side of her cloak ripped from the armhole to the neck. It started to slip from her body. Without the cloak, her vulnerable skin would be exposed to sharp claws that would rake her open to bone. Girl let out a terrible moan. The leopards heard the sound of distress as a sign of progress. They both closed in.

  Something awoke in Girl. It wasn’t an idea—it happened too fast to be described that way—it was more like when the sun suddenly breaks through the clouds. A body that can see the sun knows the way. Girl ducked down and to the side and out of her torn cloak. Both leopards felt her body fall. They pounced on the fur cloak. Saliva filled the mouth of the male; strings of spit flew to the sides. He had Girl’s neck while the female pushed sharp teeth into the shoulder. Once they got hold, they both bit down with force to search for flesh and make the kill. They dug in their claws to cut deep and to hold tight. And under them, the fur flopped and fell in a flat way. The male didn’t hit flesh, muscle, or bone. Instead, dirt pushed up into his nostrils.

  The female sensed the male’s failure to make the kill and wanted to show her strength. She pinned the fur in with a paw and stabbed her fangs in. They sank down with great force. She hit hide and then punched through to find blood. The male leopard let out a howl. He jumped back with his paw pulled into his body. It was his foot she had bitten. The leopards soon realized that the fur was now empty. They weren’t familiar with a kind of prey that had the ability to shed its hide. This was the first time one of the family had done such a thing.

  Their confusion gave Girl time to swing her spear hard enough to knock the male back. The wounded cat scurried off a few steps. Girl came after him, driving him back toward a thick stand of trees. He retreated farther, but then flinched with a yowl. A dull thud. Sensing danger, he twisted around to look. What?

  A shout from behind: “Aroo!”

  Girl saw the male’s concentration slip and s
he took that moment to bring her spear down. She clubbed his head hard with a crack. But as she did, the female came for Girl. Another shout and a crack, a squeal, a whimper, and the female fell back. Limp on the dirt, she was in a daze, her tongue out and bleeding from her head. Girl didn’t know what had hit her, but she didn’t wait to find out. She jumped up, lunged, and with her good arm plunged her spear deep into the side of the female. Stab after stab, she gored both cats.

  Girl watched for long enough to know that the leopards would never get up again. She fell down on her knees, still stunned from the fight. She rolled onto her back, breath heaving, trying to get her lungs to take in air. The scent of dead cat filled her nose. All she could think was that she hated the smell of cat meat. And she had a flash of a thought that maybe that’s why she and Wildcat were such great friends: she never had the urge to eat him. It was a waste to kill a beast and not eat the meat, but cats were stringy and lacked fat. And she knew that she would think of Wildcat if she licked the bones of these leopards, even though he had no particular affiliation with them. Her nose wrinkled. Eating cat meat was a sign of weakness.

  When she’d caught her breath, Girl stood up and checked for blood. Her arm was the most damaged. She would need to clean it, but not yet. She didn’t smell or feel anything of a threat, but what had struck the female leopard? She saw a rock the size of her fist close to the body. It had hit the female’s skull hard enough to crack the bone just above the eye. The rock had been perfectly aimed and it had given Girl the chance to kill both beasts.

  Girl walked carefully in the direction that the rock must have come from. It took ten more steps to find Him. His body lay facedown. A large foot and calf stuck out from the brush. She put a hand down to feel the muscle. There was little heat in his body. He was already of the dirt. She glanced up to see that the leopards must have only just started eating. She had interrupted them right after their kill. Girl took a breath and felt the loss of Him settle into her. She couldn’t let her mind go back in time or forward to grief. She needed it to stay with her.

  Where were the others? Girl sniffed something in the air, trying not to be distracted by the scent of Him’s own blood. She caught a movement in the air up ahead. She pushed the dense brush aside with an arm and crept forward. What?

  “Aroo.” It came in a gentle tone.

  Girl moved toward the stand of trees. The branches swayed and there was a bulge in the tree—it was Big Mother and Runt. They clutched each other in one of the branches higher up. Though a leopard could have come up a tree after them, they were high enough to make it hesitate. Claws that were busied with climbing were not available to fight.

  The old woman wobbled back down the length of the trunk, hands reaching down and thin arms lowering her shaking body. There was no satisfaction for Big Mother in her perfect throw. Her face told only the story of loss. Runt lowered himself next, quiet and pale. When they got to the bottom, Girl took them both into her arms and they sank down to the ground. The three of them stayed like that, at the edge of the clearing by the base of the looking tree. They were silent.

  It was Runt who broke the huddle. When no words of comfort came from Girl or Big Mother, he found his lungs were filling up with air. He couldn’t be quiet any longer. Only the sound of Big Mother’s whistling nose cut the stillness. She was sniffing like it might be a way to express her thoughts. He tried to do the same, a big inhale. He didn’t smell anything in particular. The scent of the pine tree, the hind-end breath of Big Mother, Girl’s sweat stuck to her matted hair, the earthy mix of blood and flesh. He knew that there was an injury, but the smells told him little else, so Runt kept his ear to Girl’s chest and felt it rise and fall. It wasn’t enough. He needed to get rid of the bad feelings in his chest and make a sound for the sorrow. His own voice surprised him, thin and shaking. “Bearden.”

  As Girl shifted to tighten her arm around Runt for comfort, Big Mother gasped. That was the first moment she let on about her own injury. Her face was draining of blood. Girl’s mind had been turned too far inward to notice the smell, but now she kicked into action. She lay Big Mother down and lifted her cloak, which the old woman had pulled up to cover the wound. There were two long gashes in her side. A sharp claw had cut through to expose her rib. From the sliced skin came a stem of gut. Severed intestines bloomed out from the wound.

  Girl quickly checked Runt’s skin. There was one puncture in his leg, a claw from a leopard who had tried to stop him from climbing. It was clear that the leopards had gone after the weaker ones before Him interfered. They must have surrounded Him, or clawed him down when he tried to escape up the tree. Together the leopards overpowered the young man. Runt’s wound would need care, but his life would continue. She turned her attention to Big Mother. She was bleeding. The climb down from the tree had probably opened the wound and increased the bleeding under her cloak. They would have to get her into the cave for protection. Other predators would come sniffing. Girl leaned in to pick up Big Mother in her arms, but one tug and the woman shook her large head. “Ne.” She didn’t want to be moved.

  Runt dribbled some water from his leather sack onto Big Mother’s lips. Girl put a hand on the old head and they looked into each other’s eyes, something they rarely did. Direct eye contact could be perceived as hostile. Two bodies who knew each other well might do it to look for the direction of a gaze or to check for health, strength, or sanity. Since all these were flowing out the large wound in Big Mother’s side, the look was Girl’s way of offering comfort.

  Big Mother knew that she no longer had health or strength, only sanity, and even that was slipping. She let the air out of her lungs and gave in to the change. She had spent many restless years in the constant quest to get enough meat for herself and her dependents. With her remaining energy, she could think only of the pleasure in a sustained rest. Rather than fighting it, as she had been, she looked forward to a long dirt nap. “Ye, deadwood,” she said with a sniff as she pointed to her nose, as if to say, I can smell the earth.

  Big Mother looked at Girl, at the shock of red hair, the pale skin flecked with mud and blood, and she sniffed again. There was something new. Under more regular circumstances, she would have noticed right away. Girl was pregnant. A mother was often the first to smell it on her daughter’s breath.

  Big Mother slipped the horns from her head and passed them to Girl without a whiff of blame or bitterness. In that moment, her pain was replaced by pride. “Pitch,” she said. The word meant much more than “Keep your head attached to your meat.” It was Girl who would keep their family attached to the land.

  Girl dipped her head as a sign of acceptance. Big Mother’s chest swelled with breath once more. She took in a big sniff of the pregnancy. The girl was fertile. The family might live. The old woman turned her head to Runt and opened her mouth. She knew that the stench of her old breath wafted into his small nose before he heard any words. She let it. They would remember her by that. Smells took the mind to a place like none of the other senses could. Anytime he caught the stink of bison meat in his nose, he would think of the way she had taken him in and kept him alive.

  Big Mother let out one last long, slow breath. “Deadwood.” Both she and Girl knew how much had changed in a short time. Their lives together had slipped away as the ice breaks from the river in the spring. It does not melt off in a slow thaw. Instead, a series of deep cracks destabilizes the structure. When it goes, large chunks get pulled away all at once. And in the span of a day, before disbelieving eyes, the ice is gone. But underneath the river is the same, just as it always was.

  16.

  Girl woke just before the sun, stepped out of the hut, and walked in silence to the hearth. She squatted down by it with open palms, feeling the warmth from the night before. She leaned in and blew on the hottest of the ash-covered embers, and a glowing piece of charred wood in the middle throbbed with heat, a chest-aching red. She steadied her breath and blew once more. A flame jumped up to bite the twigs and bark she pi
led on. The flicker crackled and caught. The warmth licked at her skin and ruddy cheeks. Another day had started.

  Soon the yolk of the sun cracked into the sky and color bled. She watched as it climbed along the line of the cliff and disappeared behind it. In a few days, as the sun rose, it would kiss the top of the cliff. That meant it would be time to go to the fish run. Her mouth watered at the thought of orange flesh. With that feeling, there wasn’t a decision to make, only the urge to go. She would travel to the meeting place. She would gorge on fish. Her belly would be full.

  Girl heated water in a cured sack to open a new cache of bison meat. By pouring hot water into the frozen cache, she could access some of the slabs of meat they had saved after the hunt. There was more than enough food for the short term. Rather than getting distracted by sadness, she worked the saliva around in her mouth. She could double her portions and eat when she was hungry, something she had rarely been able to do before.

  She gently flexed her hand and was relieved to see the muscles work. The leopard had taken a deep bite and some of her flesh was gone, but the ripping hadn’t been as bad as she’d first thought. Before crawling into the hut the night before, Girl had forced herself to stay up and tend to her wounds. She soaked and boiled mustard seeds. She chewed these until they were mashed and then spat out the fine paste. Next she put water in an emptied turtle shell and rinsed her wound. She sliced off the loose flesh with a sharp stone. This she did with a piece of meat between her teeth to muffle her cries of pain. She stanched the blood by holding the smooth side of a folded hide over it. Then she packed the wound with the mustard-seed paste until her arm looked whole again. It stung enough to make her moan. She took a piece of hide that was scraped thin and wrapped this tight, like a second skin, around her forearm. Her fingers were working well. They showed no sign of getting puffy, which was the first sign of dying rot.

  Then, squatting, moving her fingers slowly, chewing by the fire, Girl ate her fill. She would build her legs back up. Soon they would be muscled limbs the size of tree trunks with thick knotted knees. She would be the Big Mother that everyone wanted.