The Thirteenth Tale-第45章

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　only　one　that　stood　out　from　the　rest。　i　sat　on　the　edge　of　my　bed；　looking　at　the　image；　remembering　the　moment　well。　the　thinning　of　the　mist　and　the　warming　of　the　sun　had　bined　at　just　the　right　time　to　allow　a　ray　of　light　to　fall　onto　a　boy　who　posed　stiffly　for　the　camera；　chin　up；　back　straight；　eyes　betraying　the　anxious　knowledge　that　at　any　minute　his　hard　yellow　hat　was　going　to　slip　sideways　on　his　head。

why　had　she　been　so　taken　by　that　photograph？　i　scanned　the　background；　but　the　house；　half　demolished　already；　was　only　a　dismal　smear　of　gray　over　the　child’s　right　shoulder。　closer　to　him；　all　that　was　visible　was　the　grille　of　the　safety　barrier　and　the　corner　of　the　keep　out　sign。

was　it　the　boy　himself　who　interested　her？

i　puzzled　over　the　picture　for　half　an　hour；　but　by　the　time　i　came　to　put　it　away；　i　was　no　nearer　an　explanation。　because　it　perplexed　me；　i　slipped　it　inside　the　cover　of　my　book　along　with　the　picture　of　an　absence　in　a　mirror　frame。

apart　from　the　photograph　of　the　boy　and　the　game　of　jane　eyre　and　the　furnace；　not　much　else　pierced　the　cloak　the　story　had　cast　over　me。

the　cat；　i　remember。　he　took　note　of　my　unusual　hours；　came　scratching　at　my　door　for　a　bit　of　fuss　at　random　hours　of　the　day　and　night。　finished　up　bits　of　egg　or　fish　from　my　plate。　he　liked　to　sit　on　my　piles　of　paper；　watching　me　write。　for　hours　i　could　sit　scratching　at　my　pages；　wandering　in　the　dark　labyrinth　of　miss　winter’s　story；　but　no　matter　how　far　i　forgot　myself；　i　never　quite　lost　my　sense　of　being　watched　over；　and　when　i　got　particularly　lost；　it　was　the　gaze　of　the　cat　that　seemed　to　reach　into　my　muddle　and　light　my　way　back　to　my　room；　my　notes；　my　pencils　and　my　pencil　sharpener。　he　even　slept　with　me　on　my　bed　some　nights；　and　i　took　to　leaving　my　curtains　open　so　that　if　he　woke　he　could　sit　on　my　windowsill　seeing　things　move　in　the　dark　that　were　invisible　to　the　human　eye。

and　that　is　all。　apart　from　these　things　there　was　nothing　else。　only　the　eternal　twilight　and　the　story。





COLLAPSE

。
isabelle　had　gone。　hester　had　gone。　charlie　had　gone。　now　miss　winter　told　me　of　further　losses。

up　in　the　attic　i　leaned　with　my　back　against　the　creaking　wall。　i　pressed　back　to　make　it　give；　then　released　it。　over　and　over。　i　was　tempting　fate。　what　would　happen；　i　wondered；　if　the　wall　came　down？　would　the　roof　cave　in？　would　the　weight　of　it　falling　cause　the　floorboards　to　collapse？　would　roof　tiles　and　beams　and　stone　e　crashing　through　ceilings　onto　the　beds　and　boxes　as　if　there　were　an　earthquake？　and　then　what？　would　it　stop　there？　how　far　would　it　go？　i　rocked　and　rocked；　taunting　the　wall；　daring　it　to　fall；　but　it　didn’t。　even　under　duress；　it　is　astonishing　just　how　long　a　dead　wall　will　stay　standing。

then；　in　the　middle　of　the　night；　i　woke　up；　ears　ajangle。　the　noise　of　it　was　finished　already；　but　i　could　still　feel　it　resounding　in　my　eardrums　and　in　my　chest。　i　leaped　out　of　bed　and　ran　to　the　stairs；　emmeline　at　my　heels。

we　arrived　on　the　galleried　landing　at　the　same　time　that　john；　who　slept　in　the　kitchen；　arrived　at　the　foot　of　the　stairs；　and　we　all　stared。　in　the　middle　of　the　hallway　the　missus　was　standing　in　her　nightdress；　staring　upward。　at　her　feet　was　a　huge　block　of　stone；　and　above　her　head；　a　jagged　hole　in　the　ceiling。　the　air　was　thick　with　gray　dust。　it　rose　and　fell　in　the　air；　undecided　where　to　settle。　fragments　of　plaster；　mortar；　wood　were　still　falling　from　the　floor　above；　with　a　sound　like　mice　scattering；　and　from　time　to　time　i　felt　emmeline　jump　as　planks　and　bricks　fell　in　the　floors　above。

the　stone　steps　were　cold；　then　splinters　of　wood　and　shards　of　plaster　and　mortar　dug　into　my　feet。　in　the　center　of　all　the　detritus　of　our　broken　house；　with　the　swirls　of　dust　slowly　settling　around　her；　the　missus　stood　like　a　ghost。　dust…gray　hair；　dust…gray　face　and　hands；　dust…gray　the　folds　of　her　long　nightdress。　she　stood　perfectly　still　and　looked　up。　i　came　close　to　her　and　joined　my　stare　to　hers。　we　gazed　through　the　hole　in　the　ceiling；　and　beyond　that　another　hole　in　another　ceiling　and　then　yet　another　hole　in　another　ceiling。　we　saw　the　peony　wallpaper　in　the　bedroom　above；　the　ivy　trellis　pattern　in　the　room　above　that；　and　the　pale　gray　walls　of　the　little　attic　room。　above　all　of　that；　high　above　our　heads；　we　saw　the　hole　in　the　roof　itself　and　the　sky。　there　were　no　stars。

i　took　her　hand。　“e　on；”　i　said。　“it’s　no　use　looking　up　there。”

i　led　her　away；　and　she　followed　me　like　a　little　child。　“i’ll　put　her　to　bed；”　i　told　john。

ghost…white；　he　nodded。　“yes；”　he　said；　in　a　voice　thick　with　dust。　he　could　hardly　bear　to　look　at　her。　he　made　a　slow　gesture　toward　the　destroyed　ceiling。　it　was　the　slow　motion　of　a　drowning　man　dragged　under　by　the　current。　“and　i’ll　sort　this　out。”

but　an　hour　later；　when　the　missus　was　clean；　and　in　a　fresh　nightdress；　tucked　up　in　bed　and　asleep；　he　was　still　there。　exactly　as　i　had　left　him。　staring　at　the　spot　where　she　had　been。

the　next　morning；　when　the　missus　did　not　appear　in　the　kitchen；　it　was　i　who　went　to　wake　her。　she　could　not　be　woken。　her　soul　had　departed　through　the　hole　in　the　roof；　and　she　was　gone。

‘we’ve　lost　her；“　i　told　john　in　the　kitchen。　”she’s　dead。“

his　face　didn’t　change。　he　continued　to　stare　across　the　kitchen　table　as　though　he　hadn’t　heard　me。　“yes；”　he　said　eventually；　in　a　voice　that　did　not　expect　to　be　heard。　“yes。”

it　felt　as　if　everything　had　e　to　an　end。　i　had　only　one　wish：　to　sit　like　john；　immobile；　staring　into　space　and　doing　nothing。　yet　time　did　not　stop。　i　could　still　feel　my　heartbeat　measuring　out　the　seconds。　i　could　feel　hunger　growing　in　my　stomach　and　thirst　in　my　throat。　i　was　so　sad　i　thought　i　would　die；　yet　instead　i　was　scandalously　and　absurdly　alive—

so　alive　i　swear　i　could　feel　my　hair　and　my　fingernails　growing。

for　all　the　unbearable　weight　on　my　heart　i　could　not；　like　john；　give　myself　up　to　the　misery。　hester　was　gone；　charlie　was　gone；　the　missus　was　gone；　john；　in　his　own　way；　was　gone；　though　i　hoped　he　would　find　his　way　back。　in　the　meantime　the　girl　in　the　mist　was　going　to　have　to　e　out　of　the　shadows。　it　was　time　to　stop　playing　and　grow　up。

‘i’ll　put　the　kettle　on；　then；“　i　said。　”make　a　cup　of　tea。“

my　voice　was　not　my　own。　some　other　girl；　some　sensible；　capable；　ordinary　girl　had　found　her　way　into　my　skin　and　taken　me　over。　she　seemed　to　know　just　what　to　do。　i　was　only　partly　surprised。　hadn’t　i　spent　half　my　life　watching　people　live　their　lives？　watching　hester；　watching　the　missus；　watching　the　villagers？

i　settled　quietly　inside　myself　while　the　capable　girl　boiled　the　kettle；　measured　out　the　tea　leaves；　stirred　and　poured。　she　put　two　sugars　in　john’s　tea；　three　in　mine。　when　it　was　made；　i　drank　it；　and　as　the　hot；　sweet　tea　reached　my　stomach；　at　last　i　stopped　trembling。

　。。



THE　SILVER　GARDEN

？小说、网
before　i　was　quite　awake　i　had　the　sense　that　something　was　different。　and　a　moment　later；　before　i　even　opened　my　eyes；　i　knew　what　it　was。　there　was　light。

gone　were　the　shadows　that　had　lurked　in　my　room　since　the　beginning　of　the　month；　gone；　too；　the　gloomy　corners　and　the　air　of　mournfulness。　the　window　was　a　pale　rectangle；　and　from　it　there　entered　a　shimmering　paleness　that　illuminated　every　aspect　of　my　room。　it　was　so　long　since　i　had　seen　it　that　i　felt　a　surge　of　joy；　as　though　it　weren’t　just　a　night　that　had　ended　but　winter。　it　was　as　if　spring　had　e。

the　cat　was　on　the　window　ledge；　gazing　intently　into　the　garden。　hearing　me　stir；　he　immediately　jumped　down　and　pawed　at　the　door　to　go　out。　i　pulled　my　clothes　and　coat　on；　and　we　crept　downstairs　together；　to　the　kitchen　and　the　garden。

i　realized　my　mistake　the　moment　i　stepped　outdoors。　it　was　not　day。　it　was　not　the　sun；　but　moonlight　that　shimmered　in　the　garden；　edging　the　leaves　with　silver　and　touching　the　outlines　of　the　statuary　figures。　i　stopped　still　and　stared　at　the　moon。　it　was　a　perfect　circle；　hanging　palely　in　a　clear　sky。　mesmerized；　i　could　have　stood　there　till　daybreak；　but　the　cat；　impatient；　pressed　my　ankles　for　attention；　and　i　bent　to　stroke　him。　no　sooner　had　i　touched　him　than　he　moved　away；　only　to　pause　a　few　yards　off　and　look　over　his　shoulder。

i　turned　up　the　collar　of　my　coat；　shoved　my　cold　hands　in　my　pockets　and　followed。

he　led　me　first　down　the　grassy　path　between　the　long　borders。　on　our　left　the　yew　hedge　gleamed　brightly；　on　the　right　the　hedge　was　dark　in　the　moon　shadow。　we　turned　into　the　rose　garden　where　the　pruned　bushes　appeared　as　piles　of　dead　twigs；　but　the　elaborate　borders　of　box　that　surrounded　them　in　sinuous　elizabethan　patterns　twisted　in　and　out　of　the　moonlight；　showing　here　silver；　there　black。　a　dozen　times　i　would　have　lingered—a　single　ivy　leaf　turned　at　an　angle　to　catch　the　moonlight　perfectly；　a　sudden　view　of　the　great　oak　tree；　etched　with　inhuman　clarity　against　the　pale　sky—but　i　could　not　stop。　all　the　time；　the　cat　stalked　on　ahead　of　me　with　a　purposeful；　even　step；　tail　raised　like　a　tour　guide’s　umbrella　signaling　this　way；　follow　me。　in　the