The Thirteenth Tale- 第47部分

i　shrugged　my　shoulders。　“just　tired。　that’s　all。”

she　pursed　her　lips　and　regarded　me　sternly；　but　i　said　nothing　more；　and　she　took　up　her　story。

for　six　months　things　went　on。　we　sequestered　ourselves　in　a　handful　of　rooms：　the　kitchen；　where　john　still　slept　at　night；　the　drawing　room　and　the　library。　we　girls　used　the　back　stairs　to　get　from　the　kitchen　to　the　one　bedroom　that　seemed　secure。　the　mattresses　we　slept　on　were　those　we　had　dragged　from　the　old　room；　the　beds　themselves　being　too　heavy　to　move。　the　house　had　felt　too　big　anyway；　since　the　household　had　been　so　diminished　in　number。　we　survivors　felt　more　at　ease　in　the　security；　the　manageability　of　our　smaller　acmodation。　all　the　same；　we　could　never　quite　forget　the　rest　of　the　house；　slowly　festering　behind　closed　doors；　like　a　moribund　limb。

emmeline　spent　much　of　her　time　inventing　card　games。　“play　with　me。　oh；　go　on；　do　play；”　she　would　pester。　eventually　i　gave　in　and　played。　obscure　games　with　ever…shifting　rules；　games　only　she　understood；　and　which　she　always　won；　which　gave　her　constant　delight。　she　took　baths。　she　never　lost　her　love　of　soap　and　hot　water；　spent　hours　luxuriating　in　the　water　i’d　heated　for　the　laundry　and　washing　up。　i　didn’t　begrudge　her。　it　was　better　if　at　least　one　of　us　could　be　happy。

before　we　closed　up　the　rooms；　emmeline　had　gone　through　cupboards　belonging　to　isabelle　and　taken　dresses　and　scent　bottles　and　shoes；　which　she　hoarded　in　our　campsite　of　a　bedroom。　it　was　like　trying　to　sleep　in　a　dressing…up　box。　emmeline　wore　the　dresses。　some　were　out　of　date　by　ten　years；　others—belonging　to　isabelle’s　mother；　i　presume—were　thirty　and　forty　years　old。　emmeline　entertained　us　in　the　evenings　by　making　dramatic　entrances　into　the　kitchen　in　the　more　extravagant　outfits。　the　dresses　made　her　look　older　than　fifteen；　they　made　her　look　womanly。　i　remembered　hester’s　conversation　with　the　doctor　in　the　garden—there　is　no　reason　why　emmeline　should　not　marry　one　day—and　i　remembered　what　the　missus　had　told　me　about　isabelle　and　the　picnics—she　was　the　kind　of　girl　men　can’t　look　at　without　wanting　to　touch—and　i　felt　a　sudden　anxiety。　but　then　she　flopped　down　on　a　kitchen　chair；　took　a　pack　of　cards　from　a　silk　purse　and　said；　all　child；　“play　cards　with　me；　go　on。”　i　was　half　reassured；　but　still；　i　made　sure　she　did　not　leave　the　house　in　her　finery。

john　was　listless。　he　did　rouse　himself　to　do　the　unthinkable；　though：　he　got　a　boy　to　help　in　the　garden。　“it’ll　be　all　right；”　he　said。　“it’s　only　old　proctor’s　boy；　ambrose。　he’s　a　quiet　lad。　it　won’t　be　for　long。　only　till　i　get　the　house　fixed　up。”

that；　i　knew；　would　take　forever。

the　boy　came。　he　was　taller　than　john　and　broader　across　the　shoulders。　they　stood　hands　in　pockets；　the　two　of　them；　and　discussed　the　day’s　work；　and　then　the　boy　started。　he　had　a　measured；　patient　way　of　digging；　the　smooth；　constant　chime　of　spade　on　soil　got　on　my　nerves。　“why　do　we　have　to　have　him？”　i　wanted　to　know。　“he’s　an　outsider　just　like　the　others。”

but　for　some　reason；　the　boy　wasn’t　an　outsider　to　john。　perhaps　because　he　came　from　john’s　world；　the　world　of　men；　the　world　i　didn’t　know。

‘he’s　a　good　lad；“　john　said　time　and　time　again　in　answer　to　my　questions。　”he’s　a　hard　worker。　he　doesn’t　ask　too　many　questions；　and　he　doesn’t　talk　too　much。“

‘he　might　not　have　a　tongue；　but　he’s　got　eyes　in　his　head。“

john　shrugged　and　looked　away；　uneasy。

‘i　won’t　always　be　here；“　he　said　eventually。　”things　can’t　go　on　forever　like　this。“　he　sketched　a　vague　gesture　that　took　in　the　house；　its　inhabitants；　the　life　we　led　in　it。　”one　day　things　will　have　to　change。“

“change？”

‘you’re　growing　up。　it　won’t　be　the　same；　will　it？　it’s　one　thing；　being　children；　but　when　you’re　grown　up…“

but　i　was　already　gone。　i　didn’t　want　to　know　what　it　was　he　had　to　say。

emmeline　was　in　the　bedroom；　picking　sequins　off　an　evening　scarf　for　her　treasure　box。　i　sat　down　beside　her。　she　was　too　absorbed　in　her　task　to　look　up　when　i　came　in。　her　plump；　tapered　fingers　picked　relentlessly　at　a　sequin　until　it　came　away；　then　dropped　it　into　the　box。　it　was　slow　work；　but　then　emmeline　had　all　the　time　in　the　world。　her　calm　face　never　changed　as　she　bent　over　the　scarf。　lips　together。　her　gaze　at　once　intent　and　dreamy。　every　so　often　her　eyelids　descended；　closing　off　the　green　irises；　then；　as　soon　as　they　had　touched　the　lower　lid；　rising　again　to　reveal　the　green　unchanged。

did　i　really　look　like　that？　i　wondered。　oh；　i　knew　what　a　good　match　my　eyes　were　to　hers　in　the　mirror。　and　i　knew　we　had　the　same　sideways　kink　underneath　the　weight　of　red　hair　at　the　back　of　our　necks。　and　i　knew　the　impact　we　could　make　on　the　villagers　on　those　rare　occasions　when　we　walked　arm　in　arm　down　the　street　in　matching　dresses。　but　still；　i　didn’t　look　like　emmeline；　did　i？　my　face　could　not　do　that　placid　concentration。　it　would　be　screwed　up　in　frustration。　i　would　be　biting　my　lip；　pushing　my　hair　angrily　back　over　my　shoulder　and　out　of　the　way；　huffing　with　impatience。　i　would　not　be　tranquil　like　emmeline。　i　would　bite　the　sequins　off　with　my　teeth。

you　won’t　leave　me；　will　you？　i　wanted　to　say。　because　i　won’t　leave　you。　we’ll　stay　here　forever。　together。　whatever　john…the…dig　says。

‘why　don’t　we　play？“

she　continued　her　silent　work　as　though　she　hadn’t　heard　me。

‘let’s　play　getting　married。　you　can　be　the　bride。　go　on。　you　can　wear…　this。“　i　pulled　a　yellow　piece　of　gauzy　stuff　from　the　pile　of　finery　in　the　corner。　”it’s　like　a　veil；　look。“　she　didn’t　look　up；　not　even　when　i　tossed　it　over　her　head。　she　just　brushed　it　out　of　her　eyes　and　carried　on　picking　at　her　sequin。

and　so　i　turned　my　attention　to　her　treasure　box。　hester’s　keys　were　still　in　there；　still　shiny；　though　emmeline　had；　so　far　as　one　could　tell；　forgotten　their　previous　keeper。　there　were　bits　and　pieces　of　isabelle’s　jewelry；　the　colored　wrappers　from　the　sweets　hester　had　given　her　one　day；　an　alarming　shard　of　glass　from　a　broken　green　bottle；　a　length　of　ribbon　with　a　gold　edge　that　used　to　be　mine；　given　to　me　by　the　missus　more　years　ago　than　i　could　remember。　underneath　all　the　other　junk　there　would　still　be　the　threads　of　silver　she　had　worked　out　of　the　curtains　the　day　hester　arrived。　and　half…hidden　beneath　the　jumble　of　rubies；　glass　and　junk；　there　was　something　that　didn’t　seem　to　belong。　something　leather。　i　put　my　head　on　one　side　to　get　a　better　view。　ah！　that　was　why　she　wanted　it！　gold　lettering。　i　a　r。　what　was　i　a　r？　or　who　was　i　a　r？　tilting　my　head　the　other　way　i　caught　sight　of　something　else。　a　tiny　lock。　and　a　tiny　key。　no　wonder　it　was　in　emmeline’s　treasure　box。　gold　letters　and　a　key。　i　should　think　it　was　her　prize　possession。　and　suddenly　it　struck　me。　i　a　r！　diary！

i　reached　out　a　hand。

quick　as　a　flash—her　looks　could　be　deceiving—emmeline’s　hand　came　down　like　a　vise　on　my　wrist　and　stopped　me　from　touching。　still　she　didn’t　look　at　me。　she　moved　my　hand　away　with　a　firm　movement　and　brought　the　lid　down　on　her　box。

there　were　white　pressure　marks　on　my　wrist　where　she　had　held　me。

‘i’m　going　to　go　away；“　i　said　experimentally。　my　voice　didn’t　sound　terribly　convincing。　”i　am。　and　i’m　going　to　leave　you　here。　i’m　going　to　grow　up　and　live　on　my　own。“

then；　full　of　dignified　self…pity；　i　stood　up　and　walked　out　of　the　room。

it　wasn’t　until　the　end　of　the　afternoon　that　she　came　to　find　me　on　the　window　seat　in　the　library。　i　had　drawn　the　curtain　to　hide　me；　but　she　came　straight　to　the　place　and　peered　around。　i　heard　her　approaching　steps；　felt　the　curtain　move　when　she　lifted　it。　forehead　pressed　against　the　glass；　i　was　watching　the　drops　of　rain　against　the　window…pane。　the　wind　was　making　them　shiver；　they　were　constantly　threatening　to　set　off　on　one　of　their　zigzag　courses　where　they　swallow　up　every　droplet　in　their　path　and　leave　a　brief　silvery　trail　behind。　she　came　to　me　and　rested　her　head　against　my　shoulder。　i　shrugged　her　off　angrily。　would　not　turn　and　speak　to　her。　she　took　my　hand　and　slipped　something　onto　my　finger。

i　waited　for　her　to　go　before　i　looked。　a　ring。　she　had　given　me　a　ring。

i　twisted　the　stone　inward；　to　the　palm　side　of　my　finger；　and　brought　it　close　to　the　window。　the　light　brought　the　stone　to　life。　green；　like　the　color　of　my　eyes。　green；　like　the　color　of　emmeline’s　eyes。　she　had　given　me　a　ring。　i　closed　my　fingers　into　my　palm　and　made　a　tight　fist　with　the　stone　at　its　heart。

john　collected　buckets　of　rainwater　and　emptied　them；　he　peeled　vegetables　for　the　pot；　he　went　to　the　farm　and　returned　with　milk　and　butter。　but　after　every　task；　his　slowly　gathered　energy　seemed　exhausted；　and　every　time　i　wondered　whether　he　would　have　the　strength　to　heave　his　lean　frame　up　from　the　table　to　get　on　with　the　next　thing。

‘shall　we　go　to　the　topiary　garden？“　i　asked　him。　”you　might　show　me　what　to　do　there。“

he　didn’t　reply。　he　hardly　heard　me；　i　think。　for　a　few　days　i　left　it；　then　i　asked　again。　and　again。　and　again。

eventually　he　went　to　the　shed；　where　he　sharpened　th