The Thirteenth Tale- 第71部分

the　baby。　i　must　tell　emmeline　about　the　baby。　she　will　be　happy　that　i　have　saved　him。　it　will　make　things　all　right。

i　turn　to　her　and　open　my　mouth　to　speak。　her　face—

her　poor　beautiful　face　is　black　and　red；　all　smoke　and　blood　and　fire。

her　eyes；　her　green　gaze；　ravaged；　unseeing；　unknowing。

i　look　at　her　face　and　cannot　find　my　beloved　in　it。

‘emmeline？“　i　whisper。　”emmeline？“

she　does　not　reply。

i　feel　my　heart　die。　what　have　i　done？　have　i…　？　is　it　possible　that…　？

i　cannot　bear　to　know。

i　cannot　bear　not　to　know。

‘adeline？“　my　voice　is　a　broken　thing。

but　she—this　person；　this　someone；　this　one　or　the　other；　this　might　or　might　not　be；　this　darling；　this　monster；　this　i　don’t　know　who　she　is—

does　not　reply。

people　are　ing。　running　up　the　drive；　voices　calling　urgently　in　the　night。

i　rise　to　a　crouch　and　scuttle　away。　keeping　low。　hiding。　they　reach　the　girl　on　the　grass；　and　when　i　am　sure　they　have　found　her　i　leave　them　to　it。　in　the　church　i　put　the　satchel　over　my　shoulder；　clutching　the　baby　in　his　papoose　to　my　side；　and　set　off。

it　is　quiet　in　the　woods。　the　rain；　slowed　by　the　canopy　of　leaves；　falls　softly　on　the　undergrowth。　the　child　whimpers；　then　sleeps。　my　feet　carry　me　to　a　small　house　on　the　other　edge　of　the　woods。　i　know　the　house。　i　have　seen　it　often　during　my　haunting　years。　a　woman　lives　there；　alone。　spying　her　through　the　window　knitting　or　baking；　i　have　always　thought　she　looks　nice；　and　when　i　read　about　kindly　grandmothers　and　fairy　godmothers　in　my　books；　i　supply　them　with　her　face。

i　take　the　baby　to　her。　i　glance　in　at　the　window；　as　i　have　before；　see　her　in　her　usual　place　by　the　fire；　knitting。　thoughtful　and　quiet。　she　is　undoing　her　knitting。　just　sitting　there　pulling　the　stitches　out；　with　the　needles　on　the　table　beside　her。　there　is　a　dry　place　in　the　porch　for　the　baby。　i　settle　him　there　and　wait　behind　a　tree。

she　opens　the　door。　takes　him　up。　i　know　when　i　see　her　expression　that　he　will　be　safe　with　her。　she　looks　up　and　around。　in　my　direction。　as　if　she’s　seen　something。　have　i　rustled　the　leaves；　betrayed　my　presence？　it　crosses　my　mind　to　step　forward。　surely　she　would　befriend　me？　i　hesitate；　and　the　wind　changes　direction。　i　smell　the　fire　at　the　same　moment　she　does。　she　turns　away；　looks　to　the　sky；　gasps　at　the　smoke　that　rises　over　the　spot　where　angelfield　house　stands。　and　then　puzzlement　shows　in　her　face。　she　holds　the　baby　close　to　her　nose　and　sniffs。　the　smell　of　fire　is　on　him；　transferred　from　my　clothes。　one　more　glance　at　the　smoke　and　she　steps　firmly　back　into　her　house　and　closes　the　door。

i　am　alone。

no　name。

no　home。

no　family。

i　am　nothing。

i　have　nowhere　to　go。

i　have　no　one　who　belongs　to　me。

i　stare　at　my　burned　palm　but　cannot　feel　the　pain。

what　kind　of　a　thing　am　i？　am　i　even　alive？

i　could　go　anywhere；　but　i　walk　back　to　angelfield。　it　is　the　only　place　i　know。

emerging　from　the　trees；　i　approach　the　scene。　a　fire　engine。　villagers　with　their　buckets；　standing　back；　dazed　and　with　smoke…blackened　faces；　watching　the　professionals　do　battle　with　the　flames。　women；　mesmerized　by　smoke　rising　into　the　black　sky。　an　ambulance。　dr。　maudsley　kneeling　over　a　figure　on　the　grass。

no　one　sees　me。

on　the　edge　of　all　the　activity　i　stand；　invisible。　perhaps　i　really　am　nothing。　perhaps　no　one　can　see　me　at　all。　perhaps　i　died　in　the　fire　and　haven’t　realized　it　yet。　perhaps　i　am　finally　what　i　have　always　been：　a　ghost。

then　one　of　the　women　looks　in　my　direction。

‘look；“　she　cries；　pointing。　”she’s　here！“　and　people　turn。　stare。　one　of　the　women　runs　to　alert　the　men。　they　turn　from　the　fire　and　look；　too。　”thank　god！“　someone　says。

i　open　my　mouth　to　say…　i　don’t　know　what。　but　i　say　nothing。　just　stand　there；　making　shapes　with　my　mouth；　no　voice；　and　no　words。

‘don’t　try　to　speak。“　dr。　maudsley　is　by　my　side　now。

i　stare　at　the　girl　on　the　lawn。　“she’ll　survive；”　says　the　doctor。

i　look　at　the　house。

the　flames。　my　books。　i　don’t　think　i　can　bear　it。　i　remember　the　page　of　jane　eyre；　the　ball　of　words　i　saved　from　the　pyre。　i　have　left　it　behind　with　the　baby。

i　begin　to　weep。

‘she’s　in　shock；“　says　the　doctor　to　one　of　the　women。　”keep　her　warm　and　stay　with　her；　while　we　put　the　sister　in　the　ambulance。“

a　woman　es　to　me；　clucking　her　concern。　she　takes　off　her　coat　and　wraps　it　around　me；　tenderly；　as　though　dressing　a　baby；　and　she　murmurs；　“don’t　worry；　you’ll　be　all　right；　your　sister’s　all　right；　oh；　my　poor　dear。”

they　lift　the　girl　from　the　grass　and　place　her　on　the　bed　in　the　ambulance。　then　they　help　me　in。　sit　me　down　opposite。　and　they　drive　us　to　the　hospital。

she　stares　into　space。　eyes　open；　empty。　after　the　first　moment　i　don’t　look。　the　ambulance　man　bends　over　her；　assures　himself　that　she　is　breathing；　then　turns　to　me。

‘what　about　that　hand；　eh？“

i　am　clutching　my　right　hand　in　my　left；　unconscious　of　the　pain　in　my　mind；　but　my　body　giving　the　secret　away。

he　takes　my　hand；　and　i　let　him　unfold　my　fingers。　a　mark　is　burned　deep　into　my　palm。　the　key。

‘that’ll　heal　up；“　he　tells　me。　”don’t　worry。　now；　are　you　adeline　or　are　you　emmeline？“

he　gestures　to　the　other　one。　“is　this　emmeline？”

i　can’t　answer；　can’t　feel　myself；　can’t　move。

‘not　to　worry；“　he　said。　”all　in　good　time。“

he　gives　up　on　making　me　understand　him。　mutters　for　his　own　benefit；　“still；　we’ve　got　to　call　you　something。　adeline；　emmeline；　emmeline；　adeline。　fifty…fifty；　isn’t　it？　it’ll　all　e　out　in　the　wash。”

the　hospital。　opening　the　ambulance　doors。　all　noise　and　bustle。　voices　speaking　fast。　the　stretcher；　lifted　onto　a　trolley　and　wheeled　away　at　speed。　a　wheelchair。　hands　on　my　shoulders。　“sit　down；　dear。”　the　chair　moving。　a　voice　behind　my　back。　“don’t　worry；　child。　we’ll　take　care　of　you　and　your　sister。　you’re　safe　now；　adeline。”

miss　winter　slept。

i　saw　the　tender　slackness　of　her　open　mouth；　the　tuft　of　unruly　hair　that　did　not　lay　straight　from　her　temple；　and　in　her　sleep　she　seemed　very；　very　old　and　very；　very　young。　with　every　breath　she　took　the　bedclothes　rose　and　fell　over　her　thin　shoulders；　and　at　each　sinking　the　ribboned　edge　of　the　blanket　brushed　against　her　face。　she　seemed　unaware　of　it；　but　all　the　same；　i　bent　over　her　to　fold　the　covers　back　and　smooth　the　curl　of　pale　hair　back　into　place。

she　did　not　stir。　was　she　really　asleep；　i　wondered；　or　was　this　unconsciousness　already？

i　can’t　say　how　long　i　watched　her　after　that。　there　was　a　clock；　but　the　movements　of　its　hands　were　as　meaningless　as　a　map　of　the　surface　of　the　sea。　wave　after　wave　of　time　lapped　over　me　as　i　sat　with　my　eyes　closed；　not　sleeping；　but　with　the　vigilance　of　a　mother　for　the　breathing　of　her　child。

i　hardly　know　what　to　say　about　the　next　thing。　is　it　possible　that　i　hallucinated　in　my　tiredness？　did　i　fall　asleep　and　dream？　or　did　miss　winter　really　speak　one　last　time？

i　will　give　your　message　to　your　sister。

i　jerked　my　eyes　open；　but　hers　were　closed。　she　seemed　to　be　sleeping　as　deeply　as　before。

i　did　not　see　the　wolf　when　he　came。　i　did　not　hear　him。　there　was　only　this：　a　little　before　dawn　i　became　aware　of　a　hush；　and　i　realized　that　the　only　breathing　to　be　heard　in　the　room　was　my　own。

beginnings

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The　Thirteenth　TaleSNOW

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miss　winter　died　and　the　snow　kept　falling。　when　judith　came　she　stood　with　me　for　a　time　at　the　window；　and　we　watched　the　eerie　illumination　of　the　night　sky。　then；　when　an　alteration　in　the　whiteness　told　us　it　was　morning；　she　sent　me　to　bed。

i　awoke　at　the　end　of　the　afternoon。

the　snow　that　had　already　deadened　the　telephone　now　reached　the　window　ledges　and　drifted　halfway　up　the　doors。　it　separated　us　from　the　rest　of　the　world　as　effectively　as　a　prison　key。　miss　winter　had　escaped；　so　had　the　woman　judith　referred　to　as　emmeline；　and　whom　i　avoided　naming。　the　rest　of　us；　judith；　maurice　and　i；　were　trapped。

the　cat　was　restless。　it　was　the　snow　that　put　him　out；　he　did　not　like　this　change　in　the　appearance　of　his　universe。　he　went　from　one　windowsill　to　another　in　search　of　his　lost　world；　and　meowed　urgently　at　judith；　maurice　and　me；　as　though　its　restoration　was　in　our　hands。　in　parison；　the　loss　of　his　mistresses　was　a　small　matter　that；　if　he　noticed　it　at　all；　left　him　fundamentally　undisturbed。

the　snow　had　blockaded　us　into　a　sideways　extension　of　time；　and　we　each　found　our　own　way　of　enduring　it。　judith；　imperturbable；　made　vegetable　soup；　cleaned　the　kitchen　cupboards　out　and；　when　she　ran　out　of　jobs；　manicured　her　nails　and　did　a　face　pack。　maurice；　chafing　at　the　confinement　and　the　inactivity；　played　endless　games　of　solitaire；　but　when　he　had　to　drink　his　tea　black　for　lack　of　milk；　judith　played　rummy　with　him　to　distract　him　from　the　bitterness。

as　for　me；　i　spent　two　days　writing　up　my　final　notes；　but　when　that　was　done；　i　found　i　could　not　settle　to　reading。　even　sherlock　holmes　could　not　reach　me　in　the　snowlocked　landscape。　alone　in　my　room　i　spent　an　hour　examining　my　melancholy；　trying　to　name　what　i　thought　was　a