Okay, maybe a little.
A Cave With a View
“And this is the great room. As you can
see, it offers plenty of living space, what with the fire pit in the middle and
the ample seating area.”
John did a 360 in the middle of the room
and took it all in. It was the twelfth cave he’d viewed that week, and quite
frankly, he was getting tired. The agent his wife had insisted on choosing was
a forceful woman who leaned toward leopard print and seemed determined to shove
every dwelling they viewed down their throats, thus ridding herself of what she
said were their “impossible desires, considering today’s housing market” and
pocketing her tidy sum, which appeared would be at least half a mastodon.
“Yes. Yes, this is a fantastic room. But
the view…” He gestured through the opening, his frustration building. The last
cave she suggested faced due east, and the rising sun would surely wake the
baby, whose early dawn cries might alarm the nearby animals, thereby severely
limiting their breakfast options. This one faced a neighboring cave, and the
inhabitants appeared messy. The front yard was littered with discarded stone
tools and half a rotted short-faced bear carcass. Every now and then, he caught
a whiff of their cooking. Neolithic. He hated foreign food.
“There’s nothing wrong with that view, Mr.
Rockwell. It would do you a world of good to have neighbors. Just think of the
hunting buddies. And they have kids! I assure you, they’re longterm renters so
there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Renters?”
“Oh, don’t be a snob. Did you check out the
interior design? The last couple did a fantastic job on the paintings, don’t
you think? Just look at that graceful buffalo herd. You can almost smell the
barbecue.”
John did like the cave paintings. They were
a bit rustic for his taste, but a vast improvement on the series of hand prints
where they lived now. His wife, Lydia, considered herself an aspiring artist,
but she’d been stuck in what she called her “hand print period” for over five
years, and he yearned for something new. Perhaps with the walls already
decorated, he could break her habit. Besides, he was tired of having to explain
his wife’s blood red palms to everyone.
“Well… I don’t know. The bathroom is a bit
close to the cave opening. I mean, look at that.” He waved toward the stand of
brush not 50 feet from them, where a man he supposed was from the rental was
squatting, his face scrunched and red. “And you know I’m not keen on a
community toilet.”
“Oh, that.” The agent waved it off. “You
must understand, Mr. Rockwell, the population is exploding. Why, just yesterday
during our department meeting, my boss was telling us that they fully expect
the world population to hit 8,500 people by the end of the year! Do you know
how many caves we need to house all those people? And don’t even get me started
on private bathrooms. If you want a private bathroom, an extended fire pit,
quality cave paintings, and that vaulted ceiling Lydia’s dreaming about, you’re
talking at least an increase in price of about….” here, she reached up and
scratched her lice, “a half dozen antelope.”
“What?”
“Yes, that’s right. Although there is
something on the other side of the ridge within your range that has a private
bath and vaulted ceilings. And it does have a southern exposure, but. …”
John’s unibrow shot up. “Well, why aren’t
you showing me that?”
She shuffled her feet and hesitated. “It’s
a bit of a fixer-upper, and it’s been empty awhile. The last inhabitants met,
shall we say, an early demise.”
“Neighboring tribe?”
“Saber tooth.”
John cringed and felt the hair on his back
stand up. “Saber tooth!”
“Yes, but that was at least seven or eight
moons ago, and there haven’t been any sightings since then.”
“Still, I’d have a hard time convincing
Lydia. Her mother lost her left foot to a saber tooth and we’ve been dragging
her around ever since. It’s been a real inconvenience.”
“As I can well imagine.” She paused. “You’d
like to see it, wouldn’t you?”
“Would you think I was crazy?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Now that I think of it, it
could be just the place for your little family. There’s a sandpit out back and
some great vines for swinging. And the walls are done in a lovely wild horse
motif. Fire pit is large but could use a few more rocks. Let me just grab my
club and we’ll walk over. We’ll be there and back before sundown.”
“Do you mind if I quick whittle a spear or
something? Maybe we’ll be able to squeeze in a little dinner after.”
“Sounds good to me. I spotted a sloth out
back a few days ago. I’m sure he’s still there.”
“Great. My baby loves sloth. The toes are a
special treat, as he is teething.”
The agent grabbed her trendy bog lemming
skin satchel bag and swung it over her shoulder. “Then let’s get going. If this
location works for you, perhaps we can get in an offer and have you settled in
before the holidays. Lydia tells me her whole family is coming this year!”
“She did, did she? Would the cave happen to
come with a tar pit?”
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