The Thirteenth Tale-第67章
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nothing。
at lunchtime he ate half a sandwich; discovered he had no appetite and left the other half on an upturned flowerpot by the garden tap。 telling himself he was a fool; he put a biscuit next to it。 he turned the tap on。 it took quite an effort even for him。 he let the water fall; noisily; into a tin watering can; emptied it into the nearest bed and refilled it。 the thunder of splashing water resounded around the vegetable garden。 he took care not to look up and around。
then he took himself a little way off; knelt on the grass; his back to the tap; and started brushing off some old pots。 it was an important job; it had to be done; you could spread disease if you didn’t clean your pots properly between planting。
behind him; the squeak of the tap。
he didn’t turn instantly。 he finished the pot he was doing; brush; brush; brush。
then he was quick。 on his feet; over to the tap; faster than a fox。
but there was no need for such haste。
the child; frightened; tried to flee but stumbled。 picking itself up; it limped on a few more steps; then stumbled again。 john caught it up; lifted it—the weight of a cat; no more—turned it to face him; and the hat fell off。
little chap was a bag of bones。 starving。 eyes gone crusty; hair black with dirt; and smelly。 two hot red spots for cheeks。 he put a hand to the child’s forehead and it was burning up。 back in the potting shed he saw its feet。 no shoes; scabby and swollen; pus oozing through the dirt。 a thorn or something; deep inside。 the child trembled。 fever; pain; starvation; fear。 if he found an animal in that state; john thought; he’d get his gun and put it out of its misery。
he locked it in the shed and went to fetch the missus。 she came。 she peered; right up close; got a whiff and stepped back。
‘no; no; i don’t know whose he is。 perhaps if we cleaned him up a bit?“
‘dunk him in the water butt; you mean?“
‘water butt indeed! i’ll go and fill the tub in the kitchen。“
they peeled the stinking rags away from the child。 “they’re for the bonfire;” the missus said; and tossed them out into the yard。 the dirt went all the way down to the skin; the child was encrusted。 the first tub of water turned instantly black。 in order to empty and refill the tub; they lifted the child out; and it stood; wavering; on its better foot。 naked and dripping; streaked with rivulets of gray…brown water; all ribs and elbows。
they looked at the child; at each other; at the child again。
‘john; i may be poor of sight; but tell me; are you not seeing what i’m not seeing?“
‘aye。“
‘little chap indeed! it’s a little maid。“
they boiled kettle after kettle; scrubbed at skin and hair with soap; brushed hardened dirt out from under the nails。 once she was clean they sterilized tweezers; pulled the thorn from the foot—she flinched but didn’t cry out—and they dressed and bandaged the wound。 they gently rubbed warmed castor oil into the crust around the eyes。 they put calamine lotion onto the flea bites; petroleum jelly onto the chapped; split lips。 they bed tangles out of long; matted hair。 they pressed cool flannels against her forehead and her burning cheeks。 at last they wrapped her in a clean towel and sat her at the kitchen table; where the missus spooned soup into her mouth and john peeled her an apple。
gulping down the soup; grabbing at the apple slices; she couldn’t get it down fast enough。 the missus cut a slice of bread and spread it with butter。 the child ate it ravenously。
they watched her。 the eyes; cleared of their crust; were slivers of emerald green。 the hair was drying to a bright red…gold。 the cheekbones jutted wide and sharp in the hungry face。
‘are you thinking what i’m thinking?“ said john。
‘aye。“
‘will we tell him?“
‘no。“
‘but she does belong here。“
‘aye。“
they thought for a moment or two。
‘what about a doctor?“
the pink spots in the child’s face were not so bright。 the missus put a hand to the forehead。 still hot; but better。
‘we’ll see how she goes tonight。 get the doctor in the morning。“
‘if needs be。“
‘aye。 if needs be。“
‘and so it was settled;“ miss winter said。 ”i stayed。“
‘what was your name?“
‘the missus tried to call me mary; but it didn’t stick。 john called me shadow; because i stuck to him like a shadow。 he taught me to read; you know; with seed catalogs in the shed; but i soon discovered the library。 emmeline didn’t call me anything。 she didn’t need to; for i was always there。 you only need names for the absent。“
i thought about it all for a while in silence。 the ghost child。 no mother。 no name。 the child whose very existence was a secret。 it was impossible not to feel passion。 and yet…
‘what about aurelius? you knew what it was like to grow up without a mother! why did he have to be abandoned? the bones they found at angelfield… i know it must have been adeline who killed john…the…dig; but what happened to her afterward? tell me; what happened the night of the fire?“
we were talking in the dark; and i couldn’t see the expression on miss winter’s face; but she seemed to shiver as she glanced at the figure in the bed。
‘pull the sheet over her face; would you? i will tell you about the baby。 i will tell you about the fire。 but first; perhaps you could call judith? she does not know yet。 she will need to call dr。 clifton。 there are things that need to be done。“
when she came; judith’s first care was for the living。 she took one look at miss winter’s pallor and insisted on putting her to bed and seeing to her medication before anything。 together we wheeled her to her rooms; judith helped her into her nightgown; i made a hot…water bottle and folded the bed down。
‘i’ll telephone dr。 clifton now;“ judith said。 ”will you stay with miss winter?“ but it was only a few minutes later that she reappeared in the bedroom doorway and beckoned me into the anteroom。
‘i couldn’t speak to him;“ she told me in a whisper。 ”it’s the telephone。 the snow has brought the line down。“
we were cut off。
i thought of the policeman’s telephone number on the piece of paper in my bag and was relieved。
we arranged that i would stay with miss winter for the first shift; so that judith could go to emmeline’s room and do what needed to be done there。 she would relieve me later; when miss winter’s next medication was due。
it was going to be a long night。
babyin miss winter’s narrow bed; her frame was marked by only the smallest rise and fall in the bedclothes。 warily she stole each breath; as though she expected to be ambushed at any minute。 the light from the lamp sought out her skeleton: it caught her pale cheekbone and illuminated the white arc of her brow; it sank her eye in a deep pool of shadow。
over the back of my chair lay a gold silk shawl。 i draped it over the shade so that it might diffuse the light; warm it; make it fall less brutally upon miss winter’s face。
quietly i sat; quietly i watched; and when she spoke i barely heard her whisper。
‘the truth? let me see…
the words drifted from her lips into the air; they hung there trembling; then found their way and began their journey。
i was not kind to ambrose。 i could have been。 in another world; i might have been。 it wouldn’t have been so very hard: he was tall and strong and his hair was gold in the sun。 i knew he liked me and i was not indifferent。 but i hardened my heart。 i was bound to emmeline。
‘am i not good enough for you?“ he asked me one day。 he came straight out with it; like that。
i pretended not to hear; but he insisted。 “if i’m not good enough; you tell me so to my face!”
‘you can’t read;“ i said; ”and you can’t write!“ he smiled。 took my pencil from the kitchen windowsill and began to scratch letters onto a piece of paper。 he was slow。 the letters were uneven。 but it was clear enough。 ambrose。 he wrote his name and when he had done it; he took the paper and held it out to show me。
i snatched it out of his hand; screwed it into a ball and tossed it to the floor。
he stopped ing into the kitchen for his tea break。 i drank my tea in the missus’s chair; missing my cigarette; while i listened for the sound of his step or the ring of his spade。 when he came to the house with the meat; he passed the bag without a word; eyes averted; face frozen。 he had given up。 later; cleaning the kitchen; i came across the piece of paper with his name on it。 i felt ashamed of myself and put the paper in is game bag hanging behind the kitchen door; so it would be out of sight。
when did i realize emmeline was pregnant? a few months after the boy stopped ing for tea。 i knew it before she knew herself; she was hardly one to notice the changes in her body; or to realize the consciences。 i questioned her about ambrose。 it was hard to make her understand the sense of my questions; and she quite failed to see why i was angry。 “he was so sad” was all she would tell me。 “you were too unkind。” she spoke very gently; full of passion for the boy; velveting her reproach for me。 i could have shaken her。
‘you do realize that you’re going to have a baby now; don’t you?“ mild astonishment passed across her face; then left it t