The Thirteenth Tale- 第48部分

eventually　he　went　to　the　shed；　where　he　sharpened　the　pruning　shears　with　his　old　smooth　rhythm。　then　we　lifted　down　the　long　ladders　and　carried　them　out…of…doors。　“like　this；”　he　said；　reaching　to　show　me　the　safety　catch　on　the　ladder。　he　extended　the　ladder　against　the　solid　garden　wall。　i　practiced　the　safety　catch　a　few　times；　then　went　up　a　few　feet　and　down　again。　“it　won’t　feel　so　secure　when　it’s　resting　against　yew；”　he　told　me。　“it’s　safe　enough；　if　you　get　it　right。　you　have　to　get　a　feel　for　it。”

and　then　we　went　to　the　topiary　garden。　he　led　me　to　a　medium…size　yew　shape　that　had　grown　shaggy。　i　went　to　rest　the　ladder　against　it；　but　“no；　no；”　he　cried。　“too　impatient。”　three　times　he　walked　slowly　around　the　tree。　then　he　sat　down　on　the　ground　and　lit　a　cigarette。　i　sat　down　and　he　lit　one　for　me；　too。　“never　cut　into　the　sun；”　he　told　me。　and　“don’t　cut　into　your　own　shadow。”　he　drew　a　few　times　on　his　cigarette。　“be　wary　of　clouds。　don’t　let　them　skew　your　line　when　they　blow　about。　find　something　permanent　in　your　line　of　vision。　a　roof　or　a　fence。　that’s　your　anchor。　and　never　be　in　a　hurry。　three　times　as　long　in　the　looking　as　in　the　cutting。”　he　never　lifted　his　eye　from　the　tree　all　the　time　he　spoke；　and　neither　did　i。　“you　have　to　have　a　feeling　for　the　back　of　the　tree　while　you’re　trimming　the　front；　and　the　other　way　around。　and　don’t　just　cut　with　the　shears。　use　your　whole　arm。　all　the　way　up　to　your　shoulder。”

we　finished　the　cigarettes　and　stubbed　out　the　ends　under　the　toes　of　our　boots。

‘and　how　you　see　it　now；　from　a　distance；　keep　that　in　your　head　when　you’re　seeing　it　close　up。“

i　was　ready。

three　times　he　let　me　rest　the　ladder　against　the　tree　before　he　was　satisfied　it　was　safe。　and　then　i　took　the　shears　and　went　up。

i　worked　for　three　hours。　at　first　i　was　conscious　of　the　height；　kept　looking　down；　had　to　force　myself　to　go　one　more　step　up　the　ladder。　and　each　time　i　moved　the　ladder；　it　took　me　several　goes　to　get　it　safe。　but　gradually　the　task　took　me　over。　i　hardly　knew　how　high　i　was；　so　absorbed　was　my　mind　in　the　shape　i　was　making。　john　stood　by；　mostly　silent。　once　in　a　while　he　made　a　ment—watch　your　shadow！　or　think　of　the　back！—but　mostly　he　just　watched　and　smoked。　it　was　only　when　i　came　down　from　the　ladder　for　the　last　time；　slipped　the　safety　catch　and　telescoped　it；　that　i　realized　how　sore　my　hands　were　from　the　weight　of　the　shears。　but　i　didn’t　care。

i　stood　well　back　to　study　my　work。　i　walked　three　times　around　the　tree。　my　heart　leaped。　it　was　good。

john　nodded。　“not　bad；”　he　pronounced。　“you’ll　do。”

i　went　to　get　the　ladder　from　the　shed　to　trim　the　big　bowler　hat；　and　the　ladder　was　gone。　the　boy　i　didn’t　like　was　in　the　kitchen　garden　with　the　rake。　i　went　up　to　him；　scowling。　“where’s　the　ladder？”　it　was　the　first　time　i　had　spoken　to　him。

he　ignored　my　brusqueness　and　answered　me　politely。　“mr。　digence　took　it。　he’s　around　the　front；　fixing　the　roof。”

i　helped　myself　to　one　of　the　cigarettes　john　had　left　in　the　shed；　and　smoked　it；　sending　mean　looks　to　the　boy；　who　eyed　it　enviously。　then　i　sharpened　the　pruning　shears。　then；　liking　the　sharpening；　i　sharpened　the　garden　knife；　taking　my　time；　doing　it　well。　all　the　time；　behind　the　rhythm　of　the　stone　against　the　blade；　was　the　rhythm　of　the　boy’s　rake　over　the　soil。　then　i　looked　at　the　sun　and　thought　it　was　getting　late　to　be　starting　on　the　large　bowler　hat。　then　i　went　to　find　john。

the　ladder　was　lying　on　the　ground。　its　two　sections　made　a　crazy　clock…hands　angle；　the　metal　channel　that　was　supposed　to　hold　them　at　a　constant　six　o’clock　had　been　wrenched　from　the　wood；　and　great　splinters　protruded　from　the　gash　in　the　side　rail。　beside　the　ladder　lay　john。　he　did　not　move　when　i　touched　his　shoulder；　but　he　was　warm　as　the　sun　that　touched　his　splayed　limbs　and　his　bloodied　hair。　he　was　staring　straight　up　into　the　clear　blue　sky；　but　the　blue　of　his　eyes　was　strangely　overcast。

the　sensible　girl　deserted　me。　all　of　a　sudden　i　was　only　myself；　just　a　stupid　child；　almost　nothing　at　all。

‘what　shall　i　do？“　i　whispered。

‘what　shall　i　do？“　my　voice　frightened　me。

stretched　out　on　the　ground；　with　john’s　hand　clutched　in　mine　and　shards　of　gravel　digging　into　my　temple；　i　watched　time　pass。　the　shadow　of　the　library　bay　spread　across　the　gravel　and　reached　the　farthest　rungs　of　the　ladder。　rung　after　rung　it　crept　up　the　ladder　toward　us。　it　reached　the　safety　catch。

the　safety　catch。　why　had　john　not　checked　the　safety　catch？　surely　he　would　have　checked　it？　of　course　he　would。　but　if　he　did　check　it；　then　how…　why…　？

it　didn’t　bear　thinking　about。

rung；　after　rung；　after　rung；　the　shadow　of　the　bay　crept　nearer　and　nearer。　it　reached　john’s　worsted　trousers；　then　his　green　shirt；　then　his　hair—how　thin　his　hair　had　grown！　why　had　i　not　taken　better　care　of　him？

it　didn’t　bear　thinking　about。　yet　how　not　to　think？　while　i　was　noticing　the　whiteness　of　john’s　hair；　i　noticed；　too；　the　deep　grooves　cut　into　the　earth　by　the　feet　of　the　ladder　as　it　lurched　away　from　under　him。　no　other　signs。　gravel　is　not　sand　or　snow　or　even　newly　dug　earth。　it　does　not　hold　a　footprint。　no　trace　to　show　how　someone　might　have　e；　how　they　might　have　loitered　at　the　base　of　the　ladder；　how；　when　they　had　finished　what　they　came　for；　they　calmly　walked　away。　for　all　the　gravel　could　tell　me；　it　might　have　been　a　ghost。

everything　was　cold。　the　gravel；　john’s　hand；　my　heart。

i　stood　up　and　left　john　without　looking　back。　i　went　around　the　house　to　the　kitchen　garden。　the　boy　was　still　there；　he　was　putting　the　rake　and　the　broom　away。　he　stopped　when　he　saw　me　approach；　stared　at　me。　and　then；　when　i　stopped—don’t　faint！　don’t　faint！　i　told　myself—he　came　running　forward　to　catch　me。　i　watched　him　as　though　from　a　long；　long　way　away。　and　i　didn’t　faint。　not　quite。　instead；　when　he　came　close；　i　felt　a　voice　rise　up　inside　myself；　words　that　i　didn’t　choose　to　say；　but　which　forced　their　way　out　of　my　strangled　throat。　“why　doesn’t　anybody　help　me？”

he　grasped　me　under　my　arms；　i　slumped　against　him；　he　helped　me　gently　down　to　the　grass。　“i’ll　help　you；”　he　said。　“i　will。”

with　the　death　of　john…the…dig　still　fresh　in　my　mind；　the　vision　of　miss　winter’s　face；　bereft；　still　dominating　my　memory；　i　barely　noticed　the　letter　that　was　waiting　for　me　in　my　room。

i　didn’t　open　it　until　i　had　finished　my　transcription；　and　when　i　did；　there　wasn’t　much　to　it。

dear　miss　lea；after　all　the　assistance　your　father　has　given　me　over　the　years；　may　i　say　how　glad　i　am　to　be　able　in　some　small　way　to　return　the　favor　to　his　daughter。

my　initial　researches　in　the　united　kingdom　have　revealed　no　indication　of　the　whereabouts　of　miss　hester　barrow　after　her　period　of　employment　at　angelfield。　i　have　found　a　certain　number　of　documents　relating　to　her　life　before　that　period；　and　i　am　piling　a　report　that　you　should　have　within　a　few　weeks。

my　researches　are　by　no　means　at　an　end。　i　have　not　yet　exhausted　my　investigation　of　the　italian　connection；　and　it　is　more　than　likely　that　some　detail　arising　from　the　early　years　will　throw　up　a　new　line　of　inquiry。

do　not　despair。　if　your　governess　can　be　found；　i　will　find　her。

yours　sincerely；　emmanuel　drakei　put　the　letter　away　in　a　drawer；　then　pulled　on　my　coat　and　gloves。　“e　on；　then；”　i　said　to　shadow。

he　followed　me　downstairs　and　outdoors；　and　we　took　the　path　along　the　side　of　the　house。　here　and　there　a　shrub　grown　against　the　wall　caused　the　path　to　drift；　imperceptibly　it　led　away　from　the　wall；　away　from　the　house；　to　the　mazelike　enticements　of　the　garden。　i　resisted　its　easy　curve　and　continued　straight　on。　keeping　the　house　wall　always　on　my　left　meant　squeezing　behind　an　ever…widening　thicket　of　densely　grown；　mature　shrubs。　their　gnarled　stems　caught　my　ankles；　i　had　to　wrap　my　scarf　around　my　face　to　avoid　being　scratched。　the　cat　acpanied　me　so　far；　then　stopped；　overwhelmed　by　the　thickness　of　the　undergrowth。

i　kept　going。　and　i　found　what　i　was　looking　for。　a　window；　almost　overgrown　with　ivy；　and　with　such　a　denseness　of　evergreen　leaf　between　it　and　the　garden　that　the　glimmer　of　light　escaping　from　it　would　never　be　noticed。

directly　inside　the　window；　miss　winter’s　sister　sat　at　a　table。　opposite　her　was　judith。　she　was　spooning　mouthfuls　of　soup　between　the　invalid’s　raw；　patched　lips。　suddenly；　midway　between　bowl　and　mouth；　judith　paused　and　looked　directly　toward　me。　she　couldn’t　see　me；　there　was　too　much　ivy。　she　must　have　felt　the　touch　of　my　gaze。　after　a　moment’s　pause；　she　turned　back　to　her　task　and　carried　on。　but　not　before　i　had　noticed　something　strange　about　the　spoon。　it　was　a　silver　spoon　with　an　elongated　a　in　the　form　of　a　stylized　angel　ornamenting　the　handle。

i　had　seen　a　spoon　like　that　before。　a。　angel。　angelfield。　emmeline　had　a　spoon　like　that；　and　so　did　aurelius。

keeping　flat　to　the　wall；　and　with　the　branches　tangling　in　my　hair；　i　wriggled　back　out　of　the　shrubbery。　the　cat　watched　me　as　i　brushed　the　bits　of　broken　twig　and　dead　leaves　from　my　sleeves　and