“Put the new female before the fire,” said Spear.
Tree gestured that Brenda should stand before the group, in the open space, before the fire. She did so, erect and beautiful, a lovely, bare-breasted slave, in the necklace which proclaimed her as being a woman of the Men.
“What is her name?” asked Spear.
“She calls herself Brenda,” said Tree.
“That is not a name,” said Spear.
“True,” admitted Tree. It was surely not a word of meaning for the men. Thus, for them at least, it was not a name.
“Give her a name,” said Spear.
Tree rose to his feet and went to stand before Hamilton. She looked up into his eyes.
He then crouched down and, picking up a stick, drew a picture in the dirt.
It was the picture of an animal, as seen from above, a symbolic representation but clearly recognizable. Brenda looked down and saw the ovoid shell, the head and tiny tail, the four small legs sticking out at the sides of the shell.
Tree pointed to it. “It is a turtle,” said Hamilton, in English.
“Turtle,” said Tree, in the language of the Men.
“Turtle,” repeated Hamilton, this time in the language of the Men.
Tree pointed to her. “Turtle,” he said.
“No,” she said, “please.”
Tree again pointed to her. “Turtle,” he said.
Then he forced her to her knees, and gestured that she should kiss the sign he had drawn in the dirt.
She fell to her knees before it.
Tree grinned at her. The name Turtle, to the men, was not a demeaning name. In fact, to them, it was a rather attractive name. They regarded small turtles as pretty little beasts. Tree made a motion with his mouth. Hamilton understood. Turtles, too, were delicious. And then Tree, grinning, put his hands together, and flipped them over, and wiggled them. Hamilton looked down, reddening. The turtle, too, when placed on her back, is almost helpless.
“Turtle,” said Tree, pointing to her. Then be gestured that she should kiss the sign in the dirt.
Hamilton read his eyes, and put her head down, and kissed the sign.
She lifted her head.
“Tree,” said Tree, gesturing to himself. He looked at her. “Turtle,” said Hamilton, in the language of the Men, eyes down, referring to herself, touching her chest with her fingers.
It was thus that Brenda Hamilton was given the name Turtle among the Men.
Then she stood alone in the circle, a primeval female before her masters.
“How does she kick?” asked Spear.
“Splendidly,” said Tree.
“Good,” said Spear. Then he said, “Let the females dance for us. Then we shall retire.”
Tooth began to pound on his small hide drum; Runner began to beat his sticks together, and a melody, to the touch of Arrow Maker’s fingers, began to emerge from the long, narrow, wooden flute.
Flower was first to join Hamilton before the fire, and then Cloud and Antelope, and the younger women, and those not pregnant or nursing. Old Woman did not join them, nor did heavy Nurse. Short Leg, too, stayed kneeling to one side. Flower tore away her deerskin skirt and wrapped it about her left wrist. Hamilton, angrily, did so, too. And the others. Flower thrust her body toward Knife, and then, when he reached for her, leaped back. Hamilton, boldly, did the same with Tree. Antelope swayed before Wolf. Cloud, naked, moved slowly before Runner, who had fed her. And the women, to the drum, the beating of the sticks, the melody of the flute, danced before the men. The primeval female, Turtle, too, danced with them. She danced before all the men, but mostly before one, a lean, tall hunter, squatting, who watched her, with narrow eyes that caressed each swaying inch of her, with eyes that drove her wild with the desire to please him. For a time Hamilton, the primitive female, Turtle, one of the women of the Men, lost herself in the dance and music. She felt the dirt beneath her feet, and the movements of her body, the pounding of her breath and blood, the eyes of the men. To one side loomed the cliffs, containing the shelters, to the other loomed the dark forests, and, between them, in the light of the fire, uninhibited and organic, liberated in their sexuality, in this environment completely free to express the deepest and most profound needs of their female reality, danced the women. Hyena crept away from the fire. He was insane and sterile, and hated beauty. The men clapped and shouted. Never had Hamilton felt so female, so free. For the first time she felt she could move her body precisely as she wanted, and she did so. The agricultural revolution was, in its success, thousands of years in the future. With it would come concentrations of population, the seclusion and restrictions of women, human sacrifice, taxations, religions and laws, the victories of priesthoods and oppressive traditions, and the organization of fear and superstition for the purposes of profit; in thousands of years would come the time of the haters, the Hyenas. The time had not yet come when it would be wrong for women to dance and men to be pleased in their beauty. The seeds of Eve’s apple tree had not yet been planted.
But the agricultural revolution was essential for the development of technology, and the development of technology was essential for the opportunity to touch the stars.
No one knew how high might grow the branches of the apple tree.
No one guessed that men might return to paradise, and, once more, now ready, having once eaten, climb it.
Prometheus was tortured, but the Greek ships, carrying fire in copper bowls, colonized a world.
With a pounding Tooth’s drum was suddenly silent, and Runner stopped striking the sticks, and the flute of Arrow Maker was silent.
Flower dropped to the ground before Knife, eyes hot, breathing heavily, blood pounding, and lifted her body to him.
Hamilton, joyously and brazenly, excited, gasping, wild, her blood surging, her heart pounding, flung her body to the dirt before Tree, and lifted it, supplicating him for his touch. Cloud fell before Runner, and Antelope before Wolf.
Hamilton felt herself lifted easily in Tree’s arms. He was incredibly strong. She felt herself carried with incredible lightness. She put her arms about his neck, and kissed him.
Over her head she saw, bright and beautiful in the black, velvety night, the stars. “Turn their eyes to the stars,” had said Herjellsen. “Turn their eyes to the stars.”
She saw, too as she was carried, behind Tree, among the shadows, hunched and timid, round-shouldered, now creeping forward to the dying fire, to hunt for food, Ugly Girl.
She again kissed Tree.
He carried her to his cave.
19
Hamilton, the woman called Turtle, one of the women of the Men, returned to the shelters, through the snow, carrying bound in rawhide, on her left shoulder, a heavy load of wood, food for the cave fires.
She wore leggings and her feet were wrapped in hide, tied about her ankles and calves. She wore a tunic of deerskin, which fell to her knees, and, over that, a sleeveless, furred jacket, belted, which, too, fell to her knees. Her head was bare. Her hair was bound back with a string of rawhide and shells.
For five months Turtle had been a slave of the Men, and, in particular, of one called Tree. He had amused himself with others, as the whim took him, but there was no doubt that Turtle, dark-haired and lovely, was his favorite. The other males of the Men, too, often used Turtle, as it pleased them to do so, and she found many of them marvelous and strong, and it much pleased her, from time to time, to kick for them, and well. Sometimes, even when she had not wanted to kick, they had, as Tree had before them, given her no choice but to kick, and superbly. She was only a woman, and at their mercy. They would force her body, and then her will, by means of her body, to do what they wished, for they were men, and master. Spear, the leader, in particular, had been incredible. He was second in her opinion only to Tree. When he had left her she had lain on the hides, beaten with the weight and power of his thrusting, exhausted and stunned. She had then well understood how it was that such a man was the leader, and how it was that he could feed five of the vital, prehistoric females. But the heart of the lovely slave, Turtle, always, in its depth, lay only in the capture thongs of one hunter, and one hunter alone, he who had first taken her, he who had brought her slave to the camp of the Men, he who had first forced her, in a high, prison cave, to yield to him, to helplessly love him, Tree, of the Men.