Luck | Page 2

jumped. A blur
that might have been a deer, or a man in deerskin, plunged into the
woods. Was it the spirit? Then why had it run away from him? The
mammoth didn't seem to care. It turned away from Thumb, curled its
trunk around a willow branch, stripped it from the tree and stuffed it
into its mouth. Thumb studied the mammoth as it ate, knowing that he
would have to report everything he saw to Owl, the storyteller, and
Blue, who spoke for the people. Besides, someday he might paint it on
the wall of the cleft, if such was his luck.
It had to be the hairiest animal he had ever seen. The coarse fur was the
color of bloodstone. It had thinned along the slope of the backbone but
was matted and thick at the flanks. When the mammoth brushed against
a low hanging branch, a swarm of flies buzzed out of its mangy coat.
Thumb decided that it must be a full-grown animal because of the size
of its tusks. The tip of the left one was broken off. The top of its skull
was a round bump, like half of an onion.

Suddenly Thumb went very still. He knew why the mammoth had
appeared to him, of all people. It was a sign. A turn of luck.
"Is that it, great one?" he said. "Is that why you called me?"
The mammoth dipped its trunk into the river, sucked up water and then
squirted it into its mouth. Thumb could see the tongue, gray in the
middle, pink on the sides. Then he turned and ran hard for home. For
the first time since the thin moon rose, he thought he might see his
lover again.

The people made their main summer camp near the top of a low cliff
overlooking the river. A rock outcrop sheltered the ledge where they
chipped their knives and cooked their meals and laid their mats. When
rain came, they ducked into a long lean-to covered with bison hides.
The main hearth was at the center of the ledge. In the summer camp,
the smoke of their fires could become sky and not sting the eyes and
settle in the chest as it did in the winter lodge.
Five and five and five and three of the people gathered close around the
hearth that night. Ash and Quick and Spear and Robin and Moon and
Bone were away, trading chert with the horse people and waiting with
them for the arrival of the reindeer herd. It was the Moon of the Falling
Leaves. Thumb's breath made clouds in the cool air.
"Are you warm yet?" he said.
"My heart is," said Onion. He had his arm around her waist and they
snuggled beneath a bearskin blanket. She was thin as grass. He could
feel her ribs beneath his moist hands. Even when she was pregnant, she
was never as big as the other women. Now her breasts were like those
of a girl. Thumb had not known Onion when she was young. She had
come to them from the horse people five and three summers ago, a
round and beautiful woman. Since then she had given birth to three
babies, all dead, and had gotten thinner and thinner. Thumb kissed her
pale face. The last had almost killed her. But she was still beautiful. He

could wait until she was stronger before they would lie together as
lovers. That would be soon, he hoped. Her breath tickled his neck.
Bead finished whispering to Owl. The storyteller got up painfully,
carrying his years like a skin filled with stones. He hobbled around to
the back of the hearth and turned so that the flames were between him
and the people. Firelight caught in the creases on his face. Just before
he spoke, he straightened and squared his shoulders. Then his voice
boomed as it had for all the summers Thumb could remember.
"This is a story of Thumb," he said, "who is the son of my sister and
who walks both in the light of the sun and the darkness of the two
caves. He gave his story to me so that I could give it to you. It has
become a story of the people. I will tell it to you now, even though it
doesn't have an ending."
The people yipped and grunted with unease. A story without an ending
was bad luck.
Actually, Thumb had told his story mostly to Bead, Owl's lover, and
Blue, who spoke for the people. Owl had listened for a while but then
had dozed off, as he often did late in the day.
"We know," said Owl, "that Thumb loves Onion and Onion loves
Thumb. They have slept nose to nose,