Similar reasoning is relevant to our painful experience that everything in our bodies begins to fall apart as we grow older. Alas, that sad truth of evolutionary design is cost-efficient. You would be wasting biosynthetic energy, which otherwise could go into making babies, if you kept one part of your body in such great repair that it outlasted all your other parts and your resultant expected life span. The most efficiently constructed body is the one in which all organs wear out at approximately the same time.

The same principle, of course, applies to human-built machines, as illustrated in a story about that genius of cost-efficient automobile manufacture, Henry Ford. One day, Ford sent some of his employees to car junkyards, with instructions to examine the condition of the remaining parts in Model T Fords that had been junked. The employees brought back the apparently disappointing news that almost all components showed signs of wear. The sole exceptions were the kingpins, which remained virtually unworn. To the employees' surprise, Ford, instead of expressing pride in his well-made kingpins, declared that the kingpins were overbuilt, and that in the future they should be made more cheaply. Ford's conclusion may violate our ideal of pride in workmanship, but it made economic sense: he had indeed been wasting money on long-lasting kingpins that outlasted the cars in which they were installed.

The design of our bodies, which evolved through natural selection, fits Henry Ford's kingpin principle with only one exception. Virtually every part of the human body wears out around the same time. The kingpin principle even fits men's reproductive tract, which undergoes no abrupt shutdown but does gradually accumulate a varinty of problems, such as prostate hypertrophy and decreasing sperm count, to different degrees in different men. The kingpin principle also fits the bodies of animals. Animals caught in the wild show few signs of age-related deterioration because a wild animal is likely to die from a predator or accident when its body becomes significantly impaired. In zoos and laboratory cages, however, animals exhibit gradual age-related deterioration in every body part just as we do.

That sad message applies to the female as well as the male reproductive tract of animals. Female rhesus macaques run out of functional eggs around age thirty; fertilization of eggs in aged rabbits becomes less reliable; an increasing fraction of eggs are abnormal in aging hamsters, mice, and rabbits; fertilized embryos are increasingly unvi-able in aged hamsters and rabbits; and aging of the uterus itself leads to increasing embryonic mortality in hamsters, mice, and rabbits. Thus, the female reproductive tract of animals is a microcosm of the whole body in that everything that could go wrong with age may in fact go wrong— at different ages in different individuals.

The glaring exception to the kingpin principle is human female menopause. In all women within a short age span, it shuts down decades before expected death, even before the expected death of many hunter-gatherer women. It shuts down for a physiologically trivial reason-the exhaustion of functional eggs-that would have been easy to eliminate just by a mutation that slightly altered the rate at which eggs die or become unresponsive. Evidently, there was nothing physiologically inevitable about human female menopause, and there was nothing evolutionarily inevitable about it from the perspective of mammals in general. Instead, the human female, but not the human male, has become specifically programmed by natural selection, at some time within the last few million years, to shut down reproduction prematurely. That premature senescence is all the more surprising because it goes against an overwhelming trend: in other respects, we humans have evolved delayed rather than premature senescence.

Theorizing about the evolutionary basis of human female menopause must explain how a woman's apparently counterproductive evolutionary strategy of making fewer babies could actually result in her making more babies. Evidently, as a woman ages, she can do more to increase the number of people bearing her genes by devoting herself to her existing children, her potential grandchildren, and her other relatives than by producing yet another child.

The evolutionary chain of reasoning rests on several cruel facts. One is the human child's long period of parental dependence, longer than in any other animal species. A baby chimpanzee starts gathering its own food as it becomes weaned by its mother. It gathers the food mostly with its own hands. (Chimpanzee use of tools, such as fishing for termites with grass blades or cracking nuts with stones, is of great interest to human scientists but of only limited dietary significance to chimpanzees.) The baby chimpanzee also prepares its food with its own hands. But human hunter-gatherers acquire most of their food with tools, such as digging sticks, nets, spears, and baskets. Much human food is also prepared with tools (husked, pounded, cut up, et cetera) and then cooked in a fire. We do not protect ourselves against dangerous predators with our teeth and strong muscles, as do other prey animals, but, again, with our tools. Even to wield all those tools is completely beyond the manual dexterity of babies, and to make the tools is beyond the abilities of young children. Tool use and tool making are transmitted not just by imitation but by language, which takes over a decade for a child to master.

As a result, a human child in most societies does not become capable of economic independence or adult economic function until his or her teenage years or twenties. Until then, the child remains dependent on his or her parents, especially on the mother, because, as we saw in previous chapters, mothers tend to provide more child care than do fathers. Parents are important not only for gathering food and teaching tool making but also for providing protection and status within the tribe. In traditional societies, the early death of either the mother or the father prejudiced a child's life even if the surviving parent remarried, because of possible conflicts with the stepparent's genetic interests. A young orphan who was not adopted had even worse chances of surviving.

Hence a hunter-gatherer mother who already has several children risks losing some of her genetic investment in them if she does not survive until the youngest is at least a teenager. That one cruel fact underlying human female menopause becomes more ominous in the light of another cruel fact: the birth of each child immediately jeopardizes a mother's previous children because of the mother's risk of death in childbirth. In most other animal species, that risk is insignificant. For example, in one study encompassing 401 pregnant female rhesus macaques, only one died in childbirth. For humans in traditional societies, the risk was much higher and increased with age. Even in affluent, twentieth-century Western societies, the risk of dying in childbirth is seven times higher for a mother over the age of forty than for a twenty-year-old mother. But each now child puts the mother's life at risk not only because of the immediate risk of death in childbirth but also because of the delayed risk of death related to exhaustion by lactation, carrying a young child, and working harder to feed more mouths.

Yet another cruel fact is that infants of older mothers are themselves increasingly unlikely to survive or be healthy because of age-related increases in the risks of abortion, stillbirth, low fetal weight, and genetic defects. For instance, the risk of a fetus carrying the genetic condition known as Down's syndrome increases with the mother's age, from one in two thousand births for a mother under thirty, one in three hundred for a mother between the ages of thirty-five and thirty-nine, and one in fifty for a forty-three-year-old mother, to the grim odds of one in ten for a mother in her late forties.