The Thirteenth Tale-第72章

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　to　name　what　i　thought　was　a　new　element　in　it。　i　realized　that　i　missed　miss　winter。　so；　hopeful　of　human　pany；　i　made　my　way　to　the　kitchen。　maurice　was　glad　to　play　cards　with　me；　even　though　i　knew　only　children’s　games。　then；　when　judith’s　nails　were　drying；　i　made　the　cocoa　and　tea　with　no　milk；　and　later　let　judith　file　and　polish　my　own　nails。

in　this　way；　we　three　and　the　cat　sat　out　the　days；　locked　in　with　our　dead；　and　with　the　old　year　seeming　to　linger　on　past　its　time。

on　the　fifth　day　i　allowed　myself　to　be　overe　by　a　vast　sorrow。

i　had　done　the　washing　up；　and　maurice　had　dried　while　judith　played　solitaire　at　the　table。　we　were　all　glad　of　a　change。　and　when　the　washing　up　was　done；　i　took　myself　away　from　their　pany　to　the　drawing　room。　the　window　looked　out　onto　the　part　of　the　garden　that　was　in　the　lee　of　the　house。　here　the　snow　did　not　drift　so　high。　i　opened　a　window；　climbed　out　into　the　whiteness　and　walked　across　the　snow。　all　the　grief　i　had　kept　at　bay　for　years　by　means　of　books　and　bookcases　approached　me　now。　on　a　bench　sheltered　by　a　tall　hedge　of　yew　i　abandoned　myself　to　a　sorrow　that　was　wide　and　deep　as　the　snow　itself；　and　as　untainted。　i　cried　for　miss　winter；　for　her　ghost；　for　adeline　and　emmeline。　for　my　sister；　my　mother　and　my　father。　mostly；　and　most　terribly；　i　cried　for　myself。　my　grief　was　that　of　the　infant；　newly　severed　from　her　other　half；　of　the　child　bent　over　an　old　tin；　making　sudden；　shocking　sense　of　a　few　pieces　of　paper；　and　of　a　grown　woman；　sitting　crying　on　a　bench　in　the　hallucinatory　light　and　silence　of　the　snow。

when　i　came　to　myself　dr。　clifton　was　there。　he　put　an　arm　around　me。　“i　know；”　he　said。　“i　know。”

he　didn’t　know；　of　course。　not　really。　and　yet　that　was　what　he　said；　and　i　was　soothed　to　hear　it。　for　i　knew　what　he　meant。　we　all　have　our　sorrows；　and　although　the　exact　delineaments；　weight　and　dimensions　of　grief　are　different　for　everyone；　the　color　of　grief　is　mon　to　us　all。　“i　know；”　he　said；　because　he　was　human；　and　therefore；　in　a　way；　he　did。

he　led　me　inside；　to　warmth。

‘oh　dear；“　said　judith。　”shall　i　bring　cocoa？“

‘with　a　touch　of　brandy　in　it；　i　think；“　he　said。

maurice　pulled　out　a　chair　for　me　and　began　to　stoke　the　fire。

i　sipped　the　cocoa　slowly。　there　was　milk—the　doctor　had　brought　it　when　he　came　with　the　farmer　on　the　tractor。

judith　tucked　a　shawl　around　me；　then　started　peeling　potatoes　for　dinner。　she　and　maurice　and　the　doctor　made　the　occasional　ment—what　we　could　have　for　supper；　whether　the　snow　was　lighter　now；　how　long　it　would　be　before　the　telephone　line　was　restored—and　in　making　them；　took　it　upon　themselves　to　start　the　laborious　process　of　cranking　up　life　again　after　death　had　stopped　us　all　in　its　tracks。

little　by　little　the　ments　melded　together　and　became　a　conversation。

i　listened　to　their　voices　and；　after　a　time；　joined　in。





HAPPY　BIRTHDAY

（／小｜说｜网）
i　went　home。

to　the　bookshop。

‘miss　winter　is　dead；“　i　told　my　father。

‘and　you？　how　are　you？“　he　asked。

‘alive。“

he　smiled。

‘tell　me　about　mum；“　i　said　to　him。　”why　is　she　the　way　she　is？“

he　told　me。　“she　was　very　ill　when　you　were　born。　she　never　saw　you　before　you　were　taken　away。　she　never　saw　your　sister。　she　nearly　died。　by　the　time　she　came　around；　your　operation　had　already　taken　place　and　your　sister…”

‘my　sister　had　died。“

‘yes。　there　was　no　knowing　how　it　would　go　with　you。　i　went　from　her　bedside　to　yours…　i　thought　i　was　going　to　lose　all　three　of　you。　i　prayed　to　every　god　i　had　ever　heard　of　to　save　you。　and　my　prayers　were　answered。　in　part。　you　survived。　your　mother　never　really　came　back。“

there　was　one　other　thing　i　needed　to　know。

‘why　didn’t　you　tell　me？　about　being　a　twin？“

the　face　he　turned　to　me　was　devastated。　he　swallowed；　and　when　he　spoke　his　voice　was　hoarse。　“the　story　of　your　birth　is　a　sad　one　your　mother　thought　it　too　heavy　for　a　child　to　bear。　at　least　that’s　what　your　mother　said。　i　would　have　borne　it　for　you；　margaret；　if　i　could。　i　would　have　done　anything　to　spare　you。”

we　sat　in　silence。　i　thought　of　all　the　other　questions　i　might　have　asked；　but　now　that　the　moment　had　e　i　didn’t　need　to。

i　reached　for　my　father’s　hand　at　the　same　moment　as　he　reached　for　mine。

i　attended　three　funerals　in　as　many　days。

miss　winter’s　mourners　were　many。　the　nation　grieved　for　its　favorite　storyteller；　and　thousands　of　readers　turned　out　to　pay　their　respects。　i　came　away　as　soon　as　i　could；　having　said　my　good…byes　already。

the　second　was　a　quiet　affair。　there　were　only　judith；　maurice；　the　doctor　and　me　to　mourn　the　woman　referred　to　throughout　the　service　as　emmeline。　afterward　we　said　brief　farewells　and　parted。

the　third　was　lonelier　still。　in　a　crematorium　in　banbury　i　was　the　only　person　in　attendance　when　a　bland…faced　clergyman　oversaw　the　passing　into　god’s　hands　of　a　set　of　bones；　identity　unknown。　into　god’s　hands；　except　that　it　was　me　who　collected　the　urn　later；　“on　behalf　of　the　angelfield　family。”

there　were　snowdrops　in　angelfield。　at　least　the　first　signs　of　them；　boring　their　way　through　the　frozen　ground　and　showing　their　points；　green　and　fresh；　above　the　snow。

as　i　stood　up　i　heard　a　sound。　it　was　aurelius；　arriving　at　the　lych…gate。　snow　had　settled　on　his　shoulders　and　he　was　carrying　flowers。

‘aurelius！“　how　could　he　have　grown　so　sad？　so　pale？　”you’ve　changed；“　i　said。

‘i　have　worn　myself　out　on　a　wild…goose　chase。“　his　eyes；　always　mild；　had　lightened　to　the　same　washed…out　blue　as　the　january　sky；　you　could　see　straight　through　their　transparency　to　his　disappointed　heart。　”all　my　life　i　have　wanted　to　find　my　family。　i　wanted　to　know　who　i　was。　and　lately　i　have　felt　hopeful。　i　thought　there　might　be　some　chance　of　restoration。　now　i　fear　i　was　mistaken。“

we　walked　along　the　grass　path　between　the　graves　and　cleared　the　snow　from　the　bench　and　sat　down　before　more　could　fall。　aurelius　delved　into　his　pocket　and　unwrapped　two　pieces　of　cake。　absently　he　handed　one　to　me　and　dug　his　teeth　into　the　other。

‘is　that　what　you　have　for　me？“　he　asked；　looking　at　the　casket。　”is　that　the　rest　of　my　story？“

i　handed　him　the　casket。

‘isn’t　it　light？　light　as　air。　and　yet…“　his　hand　veered　to　his　heart；　he　sought　a　gesture　to　show　how　heavy　his　heart　was；　not　finding　it；　he　put　down　the　casket　and　took　another　bite　of　cake。

when　he　had　finished　the　last　morsel　he　spoke。　“if　she　was　my　mother；　why　was　i　not　with　her？　why　did　i　not　die　with　her；　in　this　place？　why　would　she　take　me　away　to　mrs。　love’s　house　and　then　e　back　here　to　a　house　on　fire？　why？　it　doesn’t　make　sense。”

i　followed　him　as　he　stepped　off　the　central　path　and　made　his　way　into　the　maze　of　narrow　borders　between　the　graves。　he　stopped　at　a　grave　i　had　looked　at　before　and　laid　down　his　flowers。　the　stone　was　a　simple　one。

．co



JOAN　MARY　LOVE　NEVER　FORGOTTEN

　大＿
poor　aurelius。　he　was　so　very　weary。　he　hardly　seemed　to　notice　as　i　slipped　my　arm　through　his。　but　then　he　turned　to　face　me　fully。　“perhaps　it’s　better　not　to　have　a　story　at　all；　rather　than　have　one　that　keeps　changing。　i　have　spent　my　whole　life　chasing　after　my　story　and　never　quite　catching　it。　running　after　my　story　when　i　had　mrs。　love　all　along。　she　loved　me；　you　know。”

‘i　never　doubted　it。“　she　had　been　a　good　mother　to　him。　better　than　either　of　the　twins　could　have　been。　”perhaps　it’s　better　not　to　know；“　i　suggested。

he　looked　from　the　gravestone　to　the　white　sky。　“do　you　think　so？”

‘no。“

‘then　why　suggest　it？“

i　slid　my　arm　from　his　and　tucked　my　cold　hands　under　the　arms　of　my　coat。　“it’s　what　my　mother　would　say。　she　thinks　a　weightless　story　is　better　than　one　that’s　too　heavy。”

‘so。　my　story　is　a　heavy　one。“

i　said　nothing；　and　when　the　silence　grew　long；　i　told　him　not　his　story　but　my　own。

‘i　had　a　sister；“　i　began。　”a　twin。“

he　turned　to　face　me。　his　shoulders　were　solid　and　wide　against　the　sky　and　he　listened　gravely　to　the　story　i　poured　out　to　him。

‘we　were　joined。　here—“　and　i　brushed　my　hand　down　my　left　side。　”she　couldn’t　live　without　me。　she　needed　my　heart　to　beat　for　her。　but　i　couldn’t　live　with　her。　she　was　draining　my　strength。　they　separated　us；　and　she　died。“

my　other　hand　joined　the　first　over　my　scar；　and　i　pressed　hard。

‘my　mother　never　told　me。　she　thought　it　was　better　for　me　not　to　know。“

‘a　weightless　story。“

‘yes。“

‘but　you　do　know。“

i　pressed　harder。　“i　found　out　by　accident。”

‘i　am　sorry；“　he　said。

i　felt　my　hands　taken　by　his；　and　he　enclosed　both　of　them　into　one　great　fist。　then；　with　his　other　arm；　he　drew　me　to　him。　through　layers　of　coats　i　felt　the　softness　of　his　belly；　and　a　rush　of　noise　came　to　my　ear。　it　is　the　beating　of　his　heart；　i　thought。　a　human　heart。　by　my　side。　so　this　is　what　it’s　like。　i　listened。

then　we　drew　apart。

‘and　is　it　better　to　know？“　he　asked　me。

‘i　can’t　tell　you。　but　once　you　know；　it’s　impossible　to　go　back。“

‘and　you　know　my　story。“

‘yes。“

‘my　true　story。“

‘yes。“