The Thirteenth Tale-第46章

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rposeful；　even　step；　tail　raised　like　a　tour　guide’s　umbrella　signaling　this　way；　follow　me。　in　the　walled　garden　he　jumped　up　onto　the　wall　that　bordered　the　fountain　pool　and　padded　halfway　around　its　perimeter；　ignoring　the　moon’s　reflection　that　shone　in　the　water　like　a　bright　coin　at　the　bottom　of　the　pool。　and　when　he　came　level　with　the　arched　entrance　to　the　winter　garden；　he　jumped　down　and　walked　toward　it。

under　the　arch　he　paused。　he　looked　left　and　right；　intent。　saw　something。　and　slunk　off；　out　of　sight；　toward　it。

curious；　i　tiptoed　forward　to　stand　where　he　had；　and　look　around。

a　winter　garden　is　colorful　when　you　see　it　at　the　right　time　of　day；　at　the　right　time　of　year。　largely　it　depends　on　daylight　to　bring　it　to　life。　the　midnight　visitor　has　to　look　harder　to　see　its　attractions。　it　was　too　dark　to　see　the　low；　wide　spread　of　hellebore　leaves　against　the　dark　soil；　too　early　in　the　season　for　the　brightness　of　snowdrops；　too　cold　for　the　daphne　to　release　its　fragrance。　there　was　witch　hazel；　though；　soon　its　branches　would　be　decorated　with　trembling　yellow　and　orange　tassels；　but　for　now　it　was　the　branches　themselves　that　were　the　main　attraction。　fine　and　leafless；　they　were　delicately　knotted；　twisting　randomly　and　with　elegant　restraint。

at　its　foot；　hunched　over　the　ground；　was　the　rounded　silhouette　of　a　human　figure。

i　froze。

the　figure　heaved　and　shifted　laboriously；　releasing　gasping　puffs　of　breath　and　effortful　grunts。

in　a　long；　slow　second　my　mind　raced　to　explain　the　presence　of　another　human　being　in　miss　winter’s　garden　at　night。　some　things　i　knew　instantly　without　needing　even　to　think　about　them。　for　a　start；　it　was　not　maurice　kneeling　on　the　ground　there。　though　he　was　the　least　unlikely　person　to　find　in　the　garden；　it　never　occurred　to　me　to　wonder　whether　it　might　be　him。　this　was　not　his　wiry　frame；　these　not　his　measured　movements。　equally　it　was　not　judith。　neat；　calm；　judith　with　her　clean　nails；　perfect　hair　and　polished　shoes　scrabbling　about　in　the　garden　in　the　middle　of　the　night？　impossible。　i　did　not　need　to　consider　these　two；　and　so　i　didn’t。

instead；　in　that　second；　my　mind　reeled　to　and　fro　a　hundred　times　between　two　thoughts。

it　was　miss　winter。

it　couldn’t　be　miss　winter。

it　was　miss　winter　because…　because　it　was。　i　could　tell。　i　could　sense　it。　it　was　her　and　i　knew　it。

it　couldn’t　be　her。　miss　winter　was　frail　and　ill。　miss　winter　was　always　in　her　wheelchair。　miss　winter　was　too　unwell　to　bend　to　pluck　out　a　weed；　let　alone　crouch　on　the　cold　ground　disturbing　the　soil　in　this　frantic　fashion。

it　wasn’t　miss　winter。

but　somehow；　impossibly；　despite　everything；　it　was。

that　first　second　was　long　and　confusing。　the　second；　when　it　finally　came；　was　sudden。

the　figure　froze…　swiveled…　rose…　and　i　knew。

miss　winter’s　eyes。　brilliant；　supernatural　green。

but　not　miss　winter’s　face。

a　patchwork　of　scarred　and　mottled　flesh；　crisscrossed　by　crevices　deeper　than　age　could　make。　two　uneven　dumplings　of　cheeks。　lopsided　lips；　one　half　a　perfect　bow　that　told　of　former　beauty；　the　other　a　twisted　graft　of　white　flesh。

emmeline！　miss　winter’s　twin！　alive；　and　living　in　this　house！

my　mind　was　in　turmoil；　blood　was　pounding　in　my　ears；　shock　paralyzed　me。　she　stared　at　me　unblinking；　and　i　realized　she　was　less　startled　than　i　was。　but　still；　she　seemed　to　be　under　the　same　spell　as　me。　we　were　both　cast　into　immobility。

she　was　the　first　to　recover。　in　an　urgent　gesture　she　raised　a　dark；　soil…covered　hand　toward　me　and；　in　a　hoarse　voice；　rasped　a　string　of　senseless　sounds。

bewilderment　slowed　my　responses；　i　could　not　even　stammer　her　name　before　she　turned　and　hurried　away；　leaning　forward；　shoulders　hunched。　from　out　of　the　shadows　emerged　the　cat。　he　stretched　calmly　and；　ignoring　me；　took　himself　off　after　her。　they　disappeared　under　the　arch　and　i　was　alone。　me　and　a　patch　of　churned…up　soil。

foxes　indeed。

once　they　were　gone　i　might　have　been　able　to　persuade　myself　that　i　had　imagined　it。　that　i　had　been　sleepwalking；　and　that　in　my　sleep　i　had　dreamed　that　adeline’s　twin　appeared　to　me　and　hissed　a　secret；　unintelligible　message。　but　i　knew　it　was　real。　and　though　she　was　no　longer　visible；　i　could　hear　her　singing　as　she　departed。　that　infuriating；　tuneless　five…note　fragment。　la　la　la　la　la。

i　stood；　listening；　until　it　faded　pletely　away。

then；　realizing　that　my　feet　and　hands　were　freezing；　i　turned　back　to　the　house。

。。！



PHONETIC　ALPHABET

（／／小｜//说//网）
a　great　many　years　had　passed　since　i　learned　the　phonetic　alphabet。　it　began　with　a　chart　in　a　linguistics　book　in　father’s　shop。　there　was　no　reason　for　my　interest　at　first；　other　than　that　i　had　nothing　to　do　one　weekend　and　was　enamored　of　the　signs　and　symbols　it　contained。　there　were　familiar　letters　and　foreign　ones。　there　were　capital　n’s　that　weren’t　the　same　as　little　n’s　and　capital　k’s　that　weren’t　the　same　as　little　k’s。　other　letters；　n’s　and　d’s　and　s’s　and　z’s；　had　funny　little　tails　and　loops　attached；　and　you　could　cross　h’s　and　i’s　and　u’s　as　if　they　were　t’s。　i　loved　these　wild　and　fanciful　hybrids：　i　filled　pages　of　paper　with　m’s　that　turned　into　j’s；　and　v’s　that　perched　precariously　on　tiny　o’s　like　performing　dogs　on　balls　at　the　circus。　my　father　came　across　my　pages　of　symbols　and　taught　me　the　sounds　that　went　with　each。　in　the　international　phonetic　alphabet；　i　discovered；　you　could　write　words　that　looked　like　math；　words　that　looked　like　secret　code；　words　that　looked　like　lost　languages。

i　needed　a　lost　language。　one　in　which　i　could　municate　with　the　lost。　i　used　to　write　one　special　word　over　and　over　again。　my　sister’s　name。　a　talisman。　i　folded　the　word　into　elaborate　miniature　origami；　kept　my　pleat　of　paper　always　close　to　me。　in　winter　it　lived　in　my　coat　pocket；　in　summer　it　tickled　my　ankle　inside　the　fold　of　my　sock。　at　night；　i　fell　asleep　clutching　it　in　my　hand。　for　all　my　care；　i　did　not　always　keep　track　of　these　bits　of　paper。　i　lost　them；　made　new　ones；　then　came　across　the　old　ones。　when　my　mother　tried　to　prize　one　from　my　fingers；　i　swallowed　it　to　thwart　her；　even　though　she　wouldn’t　have　been　able　to　read　it。　but　when　i　saw　my　father　pick　a　grayed　and　fraying　fold　of　paper　out　of　the　junk　in　the　bottom　of　a　drawer　and　unfold　it；　i　did　nothing　to　stop　him。　when　he　read　the　secret　name；　his　face　seemed　to　break；　and　his　eyes；　when　they　rose　to　me；　were　full　of　sorrow。

he　would　have　spoken。　he　opened　his　mouth　to　speak　but；　raising　my　finger　to　my　lips；　i　manded　his　silence。　i　would　not　have　him　speak　her　name。　had　he　not　tried　to　shut　her　away；　in　the　dark？　had　he　not　wanted　to　forget　her？　had　he　not　tried　to　keep　her　from　me？　he　had　no　right　to　her　now。

i　prized　the　paper　from　his　fingers。　without　a　word　i　left　the　room。　on　the　window　seat　on　the　second　floor　i　put　the　morsel　of　paper　in　my　mouth；　tasted　its　dry；　woody　tang；　and　swallowed。　for　ten　years　my　parents　had　buried　her　name　in　silence；　trying　to　forget。　now　i　would　protect　it　in　a　silence　of　my　own。　and　remember。

alongside　my　mispronunciation　of　hello；　good…bye　and　sorry　in　seventeen　languages；　and　my　ability　to　recite　the　greek　alphabet　forward　and　backward　（i　who　have　never　learned　a　word　of　greek　in　my　life）；　the　phonetic　alphabet　was　one　of　those　secret；　random　wells　of　useless　knowledge　left　over　from　my　bookish　childhood。　i　learned　it　only　to　amuse　myself；　its　purpose　in　those　days　was　merely　private；　so　as　the　years　passed　i　made　no　particular　effort　to　practice　it。　that　is　why；　when　i　came　in　from　the　garden　and　put　pencil　to　paper　to　capture　the　sibilants　and　fricatives；　the　plosives　and　trills　of　emmeline’s　urgent　whisper；　i　had　to　make　several　attempts。

after　three　or　four　goes；　i　sat　on　the　bed　and　looked　at　my　line　of　squiggles　and　symbols　and　signs。　was　it　accurate？　doubts　began　to　assail　me。　had　i　remembered　the　sounds　accurately　after　my　five…minute　journey　back　into　the　house？　was　my　recollection　of　the　phonetic　alphabet　itself　adequate？　what　if　my　first　failed　attempts　had　contaminated　my　memory？

i　whispered　what　i　had　written　on　the　paper。　whispered　it　again；　urgently。　waited　for　the　birth　of　some　answering　echo　in　my　memory　to　tell　me　i　had　got　it　right。　nothing　came。　it　was　the　travestied　transcription　of　something　misheard　and　then　only　half…remembered。　it　was　useless。

i　wrote　the　secret　name　instead。　the　spell；　the　charm；　the　talisman。

it　had　never　worked。　she　never　came。　i　was　still　alone。

i　screwed　the　paper　into　a　ball　and　kicked　it　into　a　corner。

　。。　



THE　LADDER

，＿
my　story　isn’t　boring　you；　is　it；　miss　lea？“　i　endured　a　number　of　such　ments　the　following　day　as；　unable　to　suppress　my　yawns；　i　fidgeted　and　rubbed　my　eyes　while　listening　to　miss　winter’s　narration。

‘i’m　sorry。　i’m　just　tired。“

‘tired！“　she　exclaimed。　”you　look　like　death　warmed　up！　a　proper　meal　would　put　you　right。　whatever’s　the　matter　with　you？“

i　shrugged　my　shoulders。　“just　tired。　that’s　all。”

she　pursed　her　lips　and　regarded　me　sternly；　but　i　said　nothing　more；　and　she　took　up　her　story。

for　si