The Thirteenth Tale-第18章

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exertion　when　he　was　digging。　no　one　could　dig　like　him。　he　had　a　special　way　of　gardening；　with　the　phases　of　the　moon：　planting　when　the　moon　was　waxing；　measuring　time　by　its　cycles。　in　the　evening；　he　pored　over　tables　of　figures；　calculating　the　best　time　for　everything。　his　great…grandfather　gardened　like　that；　and　his　grandfather　and　his　father。　they　maintained　the　knowledge。

john…the…dig’s　family　had　always　been　gardeners　at　angelfield。　in　the　old　days；　when　the　house　had　a　head　gardener　and　seven　hands；　his　great…grandfather　had　rooted　out　a　box　hedge　under　a　window　and；　so　as　not　to　be　wasteful；　he’d　taken　hundreds　of　cuttings　a　few　inches　long。　he　grew　them　on　in　a　nursery　bed；　and　when　they　reached　ten　inches；　he　planted　them　in　the　garden。　he　clipped　some　into　low；　sharp…edged　hedges；　let　others　grow　shaggy；　and　when　they　were　broad　enough；　took　his　shears　to　them　and　made　spheres。　some；　he　could　see；　wanted　to　be　pyramids；　cones；　top　hats。　to　shape　his　green　material；　this　man　with　the　large；　rough　hands　learned　the　patient；　meticulous　delicacy　of　a　lacemaker。　he　created　no　animals；　no　human　figures。　not　for　him　the　peacocks；　lions；　life…size　men　on　bicycles　that　you　saw　in　other　gardens。　the　shapes　that　pleased　him　were　either　strictly　geometric　or　bafflingly；　bulgingly　abstract。

by　the　time　of　his　last　years；　the　topiary　garden　was　the　only　thing　that　mattered。　he　was　always　eager　to　be　finished　with　his　other　work　of　the　day；　all　he　wanted　was　to　be　in　“his”　garden；　running　his　hands　over　the　surfaces　of　the　shapes　he　had　made；　as　he　imagined　the　time；　fifty；　a　hundred　years　hence；　when　his　garden　would　have　grown　to　maturity。

at　his　death；　his　shears　passed　into　the　hands　of　his　son　and；　decades　later；　his　grandson。　then；　when　this　grandson　died；　it　was　john…the…dig；　who　had　finished　his　apprenticeship　at　a　large　garden　some　thirty　miles　away；　who　came　home　to　take　on　the　job　that　had　to　be　his。　although　he　was　only　the　undergardener；　the　topiary　had　been　his　responsibility　from　the　very　beginning。　how　could　it　be　otherwise？　he　picked　up　the　shears；　their　wooden　handles　worn　to　shape　by　his　father’s　hand；　and　felt　his　fingers　fit　the　grooves。　he　was　home。

in　the　years　after　george　angelfield　lost　his　wife；　when　the　number　of　staff　diminished　so　dramatically；　john…the…dig　stayed　on。　gardeners　left　and　were　not　replaced。　when　he　was　still　a　young　man　he　became；　by　default；　head　gardener；　though　he　was　also　the　only　gardener。　the　workload　was　enormous；　his　employer　took　no　interest；　he　worked　without　thanks。　there　were　other　jobs；　other　gardens。　he　would　have　been　offered　any　job　he　had　applied　for—you　only　had　to　see　him　to　trust　him。　but　he　never　left　angelfield。　how　could　he？　working　in　the　topiary　garden；　putting　his　shears　into　their　leather　sheath　when　the　light　began　to　fade；　he　didn’t　need　to　reflect　that　the　trees　he　was　pruning　were　the　very　same　trees　that　his　great…grandfather　had　planted；　that　the　routines　and　motions　of　his　work　were　the　same　ones　that　three　generations　of　his　family　had　done　before　him。　all　this　was　too　deeply　known　to　require　thought。　he　could　take　it　for　granted。　like　his　trees；　he　was　rooted　to　angelfield。

what　were　his　feelings　that　day；　when　he　went　into　his　garden　and　found　it　ravaged？　great　gashes　in　the　sides　of　the　yews；　exposing　the　brown　wood　of　their　hearts。　the　mop…heads　decapitated；　their　spherical　tops　lying　at　their　feet。　the　perfect　balance　of　the　pyramids　now　lopsided；　the　cones　hacked　about；　the　top　hats　chopped　into　and　left　in　tatters。　he　stared　at　the　long　branches；　still　green；　still　fresh；　that　were　strewn　on　the　lawn。　their　slow　shriveling；　their　curling　desiccation；　their　dying　was　yet　to　e。

stunned；　with　a　trembling　that　seemed　to　pass　from　his　heart　to　his　legs　and　into　the　ground　beneath　his　feet；　he　tried　to　understand　what　had　happened。　was　it　some　bolt　from　the　sky　that　had　picked　out　his　garden　for　destruction？　but　what　freak　storm　is　it　that　strikes　in　silence？

no。　someone　had　done　this。

turning　a　corner　he　found　the　proof：　abandoned　on　the　dewy　grass；　blades　agape；　the　large　shears　and　next　to　them　the　saw。

when　he　didn’t　e　in　for　lunch；　the　missus；　worried；　went　to　find　him。　reaching　the　topiary　garden　she　raised　a　hand　to　her　mouth　in　horror；　then；　gripping　her　apron；　walked　on　with　a　new　urgency。

when　she　found　him；　she　raised　him　from　the　ground。　he　leaned　heavily　on　her　as　she　led　him　with　tender　care　to　the　kitchen　and　sat　him　in　a　chair。　she　made　tea；　sweet　and　hot；　and　he　stared；　unseeing；　into　space。　without　a　word；　holding　the　cup　to　his　lips；　she　tilted　sips　of　the　scalding　liquid　into　his　mouth。　at　last　his　eyes　sought　hers；　and　when　she　saw　the　loss　in　them；　she　felt　her　own　tears　spring　up。

‘oh　dig！　i　know。　i　know。“

his　hands　grasped　her　shoulders　and　the　shaking　of　his　body　was　the　shaking　of　her　body。

the　twins　did　not　appear　that　afternoon；　and　the　missus　did　not　go　to　find　them。　when　they　turned　up　in　the　evening；　john　was　still　in　his　chair；　white　and　haggard。　he　flinched　at　the　sight　of　them。　curious　and　indifferent；　their　green　eyes　passed　over　his　face　just　as　they　had　passed　over　the　drawing　room　clock。

before　she　put　the　twins　to　bed　the　missus　dressed　the　cuts　on　their　hands　from　the　saw　and　the　shears。　“don’t　touch　the　things　in　john’s　shed；”　she　grumbled。　“they’re　sharp；　they’ll　hurt　you。”

and　then；　still　not　expecting　to　be　heeded；　“why　did　you　do　it？　oh；　why　did　you　do　it？　you　have　broken　his　heart。”

she　felt　the　touch　of　a　child’s　hand　on　hers。　“missus　sad；”　the　girl　said。　it　was　emmeline。

startled；　the　missus　blinked　away　the　fog　of　her　tears　and　stared。

the　child　spoke　again。　“john…the…dig　sad。”

‘yes；“　the　missus　whispered。　”we　are　sad。“

the　girl　smiled。　it　was　a　smile　without　malice。　without　guilt。　it　was　simply　a　smile　of　satisfaction　at　having　noted　something　and　correctly　identified　it。　she　had　seen　tears。　she　had　been　puzzled。　but　now　she　had　found　the　answer　to　the　puzzle。　it　was　sadness。

the　missus　closed　the　door　and　went　downstairs。　this　was　a　breakthrough。　it　was　munication；　and　it　was　the　beginning；　perhaps；　of　something　greater　than　that。　was　it　possible　that　one　day　the　girl　might　understand？

she　opened　the　door　to　the　kitchen　and　went　in　to　rejoin　john　in　his　despair。

that　night　i　had　a　dream。

walking　in　miss　winter’s　garden；　i　met　my　sister。

radiant；　she　unfolded　her　vast　golden　wings；　as　though　to　embrace　me；　and　i　was　filled　with　joy。　but　when　i　approached　i　saw　her　eyes　were　blind　and　she　could　not　see　me。　then　despair　filled　my　heart。

waking；　i　curled　into　a　ball　until　the　stinging　heat　on　my　torso　had　subsided。

merrily　and　the　perambulatormiss　winter’s　house　was　so　isolated；　and　the　life　of　its　inhabitants　so　solitary；　that　i　was　surprised　during　my　first　week　there　to　hear　a　vehicle　arriving　on　the　gravel　at　the　front　of　the　house。　peering　from　the　library　window；　i　saw　the　door　of　a　large　black　car　swing　open　and　caught　a　glimpse　of　a　tall；　dark…haired　man。　he　disappeared　into　the　porch　and　i　heard　the　brief　ring　of　the　bell。

i　saw　him　again　the　next　day。　i　was　in　the　garden；　perhaps　ten　feet　from　the　front　porch；　when　i　heard　the　crackle　of　tires　on　gravel。　i　stood　still；　retreated　inside　myself。　to　anyone　who　took　the　trouble　to　look；　i　was　plainly　visible；　but　when　people　are　expecting　to　see　nothing；　that　is　usually　what　they　see。　the　man　did　not　see　me。

his　face　was　grave。　the　heavy　line　of　his　brow　cast　his　eyes　into　shadow；　while　the　rest　of　his　face　was　distinguished　by　a　numb　stillness。　he　reached　into　his　car　for　his　case；　slammed　the　door　and　went　up　the　steps　to　ring　the　bell。

i　heard　the　door　open。　neither　he　nor　judith　spoke　a　word；　and　he　disappeared　inside　the　house。

later　that　day；　miss　winter　told　me　the　story　of　merrily　and　the　perambulator。

as　the　twins　grew　older；　they　explored　farther　and　farther　afield　and　soon　knew　all　the　farms　and　all　the　gardens　on　the　estate。　they　had　no　sense　of　boundaries；　no　understanding　of　property；　and　so　they　went　where　they　wished
。。



DR。　AND　MRS。　MAUDSLEY

（／小｜说｜网）
on　my　last　day　miss　winter　told　me　about　dr。　and　mrs。　maudsley。

leaving　gates　open　and　wandering　into　other　people’s　houses　was　one　thing；　walking　off　with　a　baby　in　its　pram　was　quite　another。　the　fact　that　the　baby；　when　it　was　found；　was　discovered　to　be　none　the　worse　for　its　temporary　disappearance　was　beside　the　point。　things　had　got　out　of　hand；　action　was　called　for。

the　villagers　didn’t　feel　able　to　approach　charlie　directly　about　it。　they　understood　that　things　were　strange　at　the　house；　and　they　were　half　afraid　to　go　there。　whether　it　was　charlie　or　isabelle　or　the　ghost　that　encouraged　them　to　keep　their　distance　is　hard　to　say。　instead；　they　approached　dr。　maudsley。　this　was　not　the　doctor　whose　failure　to　arrive　promptly　may　or　may　not　have　caused　the　death　in　childbirth　of　isabelle’s　mother；　but　a　new　man　who　had　served　the　village　for　eight　or　nine　years　at　this　time。

dr。　maudsley　was　not　young；　yet　though　he　was　in　his　middle　forties　he　gave　the　impression　of　youth。　he　was　not　tall；　nor　really　very　muscular；　but　he　had