The Thirteenth Tale- 第67部分

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