Transcendence(38)

Beh and I fall into a routine through the summer.

I can’t help but think of my tribe as Beh and I work side by side, gathering grains in the fields and plants in the forest. She knows some other plants we can eat aside from the cattails, and we store what we don’t eat in the clay pots Beh has made. She has even fashioned covers for some of the pots to keep the moisture out. As the back of the cave becomes full of such things, my worry about keeping my mate healthy through the winter diminishes.

Beh leaves most of the clay dishes to dry in the sunshine for a day before she sets them near the fire for a long time. Only when she indicates they are ready does she let either of us put anything inside of them. With one particular pot she makes, she spends even more time keeping it close to the fire. She never seems completely happy with it in the morning and lets it set again. Eventually, she takes one of the clay plates and sets it inside the coals and then places the pot on top of it.

I have no idea what she is trying to do, but like I have thought many times before, my mate is strange, and it doesn’t matter to me that she is.

When I look at her, my chest feels larger. Sometimes my heart pounds, and often my penis grows hard and thick, wanting to put a baby in her. In the night, she places her lips on mine and lets my hands touch her face, arms, back, and legs—but never her breasts or the warm spot between her legs. She will run her hands over my chest and arms but never below my waist.

It’s driving me insane with desire.

There is also a mystery around her—a very, very strange mystery. Specifically, it’s around the top half of her body. It’s another piece of clothing wrapped around her back, over her shoulders, and around her breasts. I can feel it when I put my hand on her back, though when I try to feel it in the front, Beh pushes my hand away. I have no idea what the thing is, only that it is pale pink—like the beginning of a sunset on the clouds—and that she only takes it off when she is bathing.

As I relieve myself into the ravine, the morning air is decidedly cooler than it has been in recent days. I wonder how long it will be before the leaves on the trees begin to fall and there is snow on the ground. I should try to hunt another large animal before then. We have a decent amount of dried meat and fish in Beh’s clay containers, but winters can be unpredictable. Having more would be better. It would also provide a larger piece of leather for carrying the last of the grains in the field or arrowroot plants back to the cave.

Beh’s pots are good for storage inside the cave but too heavy to carry around. Since the antelope is for Beh’s winter furs, I did not scrape the fur off to make more supple leather that could be used as a carrying pouch, and Beh’s baskets aren’t much better than they were in the beginning. Beh hasn’t made any clothing for herself out of the fur though she does wrap it around herself when she is cold.

Maybe I will go out onto the steppes and look for a nearby herd of antelope or horses. It will take a long time to dig another pit trap, but it will still be helpful. Beh can gather more of the field grains while I dig.

I return to the cave with this thought in my head, and find Beh hovering over the pot she has been warming in the fire for many days. She has filled it with water and placed it close to the fire. She sticks her finger in the water every few minutes, and I wonder if the water is getting hot in the clay pot. Eventually she seems satisfied and adds some of the arrowroot and wild onions to it, as well as a little of the pheasant meat from the bird I caught and roasted yesterday.

A sudden, long forgotten memory comes into my head. It is the image of my mother hovering over pots of tightly woven leaves. She would place rocks in the fire until they were hot and then place them in the woven basket to heat the water inside. Beh’s way seems to take less time.

I watch in silence, and when Beh is done, the stew she has made is pretty tasty. It is undoubtedly the best thing I have eaten in a very, very long time. As I tip up a clay bowl and pour the contents into my mouth, I groan with appreciation and then pull Beh into my lap to hug her to my chest.

She giggles and wraps her arms around my neck. When she tilts her head up, I capture her lips with mine. I’m too happy to wait for her to instigate the action like I usually do. Beh hums against my lips, and I hold her tightly to my chest.

When we part, Beh narrows her eyes a little as she looks up at me. It is a look I have seen on her face before, usually right before she tries to do something I have never seen her try before. It is a look of resolve and determination.

“Beh,” she says as she points to her chest. Then she places her hand on my shoulder. “Ehd.”