Part 9 (1/2)
Ayla removed her own tunic, then her amulet bag from around her neck and put it on a shelf, and let the women slip the other tunic over her head. Even though she was taller than any of the four women, it hung down to her knees and the long sleeves fell below her fingertips.
”This is too big,” Ayla said. She didn't see Lorava, but she thought she heard a m.u.f.fled sound behind her.
”No, it's not,” Wylopa said, smiling broadly. ”You just need a belt, and you're supposed to roll up the sleeves. Like I did, see? Portula, bring that belt, so I can show her.”
The plump woman brought a belt, but she wasn't smiling anymore, unlike Marona and her cousin, who smiled excessively. Marona took the belt and wrapped it around Ayla. ”You tie it low, like this, around your hips, and let it blouse out, and then the fringe hangs down. See?”
Ayla still felt there was far too much material. ”No, I don't think this one fits right. It really is too big. And look at these leggings,” she said, taking the pair that was beside the tunic and holding them in front of herself. ”The waist comes up much too high.” She pulled the tunic off over her head.
”You're right,” Marona said. ”Try on another one.” They picked out another outfit, slightly smaller and very intricately decorated with ivory beads and sh.e.l.ls.
”This is very beautiful,” Ayla said, looking down at the front of the tunic. ”Almost too beautiful...”
Lorava snorted strangely, and Ayla turned to look at her, but she was facing away.
”But it's really very heavy, and still too big,” Ayla continued, taking off the second tunic.
”I suppose you might think it's too big if you're not used to Zelandonii clothes,” Marona said, frowning, then she brightened with a self-satisfied smile. ”But perhaps you are right. Wait here. I think I know something that would be just perfect, and it was just made.” She left the sleeping room and went into another part of the dwelling. After a while, she returned with another outfit.
This one was much smaller and lighter in weight. Ayla tried it on. The tight leggings came halfway down her calf but fit correctly at the waist, where the front overlapped and tied with a st.u.r.dy flexible thong. The top was a sleeveless tunk, with a deep V cut down the front, laced together with thin leather thongs. It was a little small, and Ayla could not lace it together rightly, but with the thongs loosened, it wasn't bad. Unlike the others, it was a simple, undecorated outfit, made of a soft leather that felt nice against her skin.
”This is very comfortable,” Ayla said.
”And I have just the thing to set it off,” Marona said, showing her a belt woven out of various colored fibers into an intricate pattern.
”This is beautifully made and very interesting,” Ayla said as Marona tied it low around her waist. She felt satisfied with the outfit. ”This one will do,” she said. ”I thank you for your gift.” She put on her amulet and folded her other clothes.
Lorava choked and coughed. ”I need some water,” she said, and dashed from the room.
”Now, you must let me fix your hair,” Wylopa said, still smiling broadly.
”I promise to do your face after I do Portula's,” Marona said.
”And you said you'd fix my hair, Wylopa,” Portula said.
”You promised to do me, too,” Lorava said from the entrance to the room.
”If you are over your coughing spell,” Marona said, giving the young woman a hard look.
While Wylopa combed and fussed with her hair, Ayla watched with interest as Marona decorated the faces of the two other women. She used solidified fats mixed with finely powdered red and yellow ochres to add color to mouths, cheeks, and forehead, and mixed with black charcoal to emphasize the eyes. Then she used more intense shades of the same colors to add carefully drawn designs of dots, curved lines, and various other shapes to their faces in a way that reminded Ayla of the tattoos she had seen on some people.
”Let me do your face now, Ayla,” Marona said. ”I think Wylopa is done with your hair.”
”Oh, yes!” Wylopa said. ”I'm finished. Let Marona do your face.”
While the face decorations of the women were interesting, Ayla felt uncomfortable with the idea. In Marthona's dwelling, there was a subtle use of color and design that was very pleasing, but Ayla wasn't sure she liked the way the women looked. It seemed too much, somehow.
”No...I don't think so,” Ayla said.
”But you have to!” Lorava said, looking dismayed.
”Everyone does it,” Marona said. ”You would be the only one without it.”
”Yes! Go on. Let Marona do it. It's what all the women do,” Wylopa said.
”You really should,” Lorava urged. ”Everyone always wants Marona to paint her face. You're lucky she's willing.”
They were pressing her so hard, it made Ayla want to resist. Marthona had not said anything to her about having to get her face painted. She wanted to take the time to find her way and not be pushed into customs she was not familiar with.
”No, not this time. Perhaps later,” Ayla said.
”Oh, go ahead and do it. Don't spoil everything,” Lorava said.
”No! I don't want to have my face painted,” Ayla said with such firm resolve, they finally stopped pressing her.
She watched them dress each other's hair in intricate plaits and coils, placing decorated combs and pins attractively. Finally, they added facial ornaments. Ayla hadn't really noticed the holes at strategic locations in their faces until they put earrings into their earlobes and pluglike ornaments into their noses, cheeks, and under the lower lips, but she saw that Some of the painted decorations now accentuated the ornaments that had been added.
”Don't you have any piercings?” Lorava asked. ”You'll just have to get some. Too bad we can't do them now.”
Ayla wasn't sure if she wanted to be pierced, except perhaps in the earlobes so she could wear the earrings she had brought with her all the way from the Summer Meeting of the Mammoth Hunters. She watched the women add beads and pendants around their necks and bracelets on their arms.
She noticed that the women glanced from time to time at something behind a dividing panel. Finally, a little bored with all the combing and decorating, she got up and wandered over to see what they were looking at. She heard Lorava gasp when she saw the piece of blackened s.h.i.+ny wood, similar to the reflector in Marthona's dwelling, and looked at herself.
Ayla was not happy with the reflection she saw. Her hair had been dressed into braids and coils, but they seemed to be in odd unattractive placements, not in the pleasing symmetrical order of the other women. She saw Wylopa and Marona looking at each other, then look away. When she tried to catch the eye of one of the women, they avoided her. Something strange was going on, and she didn't think she liked it. She certainly did not like what had been done to her hair.
”I think I'll wear my hair loose,” Ayla said as she began to take out the combs, pins, and bindings. ”Jondalar likes it that way.” When she had removed all the paraphernalia, she picked up the comb and pulled it through her long, thick, dark blond hair, springy with a fresh-washed natural wave.
She adjusted her amulet around her neck-she never liked to be without it, though she often wore it under her clothes-then looked at herself in the reflector. Maybe someday she'd learn to fix her own hair, but for now she liked it much better the way it fell naturally. She glanced at Wylopa and wondered why the woman hadn't seen how peculiar her hair had looked.
Ayla noticed her leather amulet bag in the reflector and tried to see it the way someone else might. It was lumpy with the objects it contained, and the color was much darker from sweat and wear than it had been. The small decorated bag had originally been intended as a sewing kit. Now, only dark quill-shafts remained of what had once been white feathers decorating the rounded bottom edge, but the ivory-beaded design was still intact and added an interesting look with the simple leather tunic. She decided to let it show.
She remembered that it was her friend Deegie who had persuaded her to use it as her amulet when she saw the plain and grimy pouch Ayla had worn before. Now this one was old and worn. She thought she ought to make a new one soon to replace it, but she would not throw this one away. It held too many memories.
She could hear activity outside and was getting very tired of watching the women adding insignificant little finis.h.i.+ng touches to each other's face or hair that had no visible effect that she could discern. Finally there was a scratch on the rawhide panel beside the opening of the living structure.
”Everyone's waiting for Ayla,” a voice called. It sounded like Folara.
”Tell them she'll be out soon,” Marona answered. ”Are you sure you won't let me paint your face a little, Ayla? After all, it is a celebration for you.”
”No, I really don't want to.”
”Well, since they're waiting for you, maybe you should go ahead. We'll be along in a while,” Marona said. ”We still have to change.”
”I think I will,” Ayla said, glad to have an excuse to leave. They had been inside for a long time, it seemed to her. ”Thank you for your gifts,” she remembered to say. ”This is really a very comfortable outfit.” She picked up her worn tunic and short pants and went out.
She saw no one under the overhanging shelter; Folara had gone ahead without waiting for her. Ayla quickly veered toward Marthona's dwelling and left her old clothing inside the entrance. Then she walked rapidly toward the crowd of people she saw outside, beyond the shadow of the high stone shelf that protected the structures nestled beneath it.
As she came out into the light of the late afternoon sun, a few people nearby noticed her and stopped talking to gape. Then a few more noticed her and stared, jostling their neighbors to look, too. Ayla slowed down and then stopped, looking back at the people who were looking at her. Soon all the talking stopped. Suddenly, into the stillness, someone let out a stifled guffaw. Then another person laughed, and another. Soon everyone was laughing.
Why were they laughing? Were they laughing at her? Was something wrong? Her face reddened with embarra.s.sment. Had she committed some terrible blunder? She looked around, wanting to run away but not knowing which way to turn.