Ширли Мерфи - The Grass Tower
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- Название:The Grass Tower
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“Spider Spidel?” He grimaced.
“She was more horrible than you ever knew, than anyone ever knew.” She looked at him bleakly. “One time I—I won’t tell you what her thoughts were like, but I ran out of the room and was sick from it.” She was silent for a moment, watching him. “I’m glad you just—that you’re so matter-of-fact about it.”
She sat for a long time watching him cut two-by-fours and nail up framing, the smell of the cut wood bitter and rich on the chill air. Then they walked home in the late summer twilight with the smell of wood following them on Reid’s hands and clothes. They went the long way, down around the crests of two hills where they could see the dunes and the sea laid out below them, through a narrow valley where they rode sometimes, past the marshes all coppery in the evening light, then skirting the upper part of the village to its other side and her house—Aunt Bett’s house. They did not talk much, Reid asked some more questions about the seance until she said she couldn’t bear to talk about it. Then he was quiet and smiled at her, and in the village he bought her a candy bar. When he left her at Aunt Bett’s front porch, he put his arm around her. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said, giving her a deep solemn look. “It isn’t spirits, that’s all rubbish. It’s just some kind of hypnotic thing, a mass hypnotism. And don’t forget, Bethany, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” He patted her shoulder and was gone.
She went in feeling peaceful.
But the peace did not last, Aunt Bett was waiting; she had heard and was tight-lipped, the little twitch plain on one side of her mouth. Colin had been sent to bed like a child, his bed blocking the living room and his face turned to the wall. Aunt Bett took Bethany into the kitchen and set her dinner before her, warm from the oven. She was silent and grim, turning to rinse some plates at the sink. When the tirade that Bethany expected did not come, she grew more and more uneasy, picking at her food, until finally she could stand it no longer. “Aunt Bett, if you have something to say, I guess I wish you’d just say it.”
Her aunt turned from the sink and looked down at her. “Finish your dinner.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, and when Bethany had eaten all she could manage, Aunt Bett sat down opposite her. Bethany could not read the expression in her eyes.
“I have had the story from others, Bethany, now suppose you tell me. I want to know exactly what you did and what you saw.”
“I don’t know exactly, Aunt Bett. I don’t know what happened, really.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
She told as honestly as she could, except leaving out the feeling of power that had accompanied it. But that very feel of power was what Aunt Bett seemed to sense, that was where she concentrated her venom—on the heady sense of power that had risen in Bethany’s breast. Afterward in bed, Bethany wondered how she knew, but when she went back over Aunt Bett’s words she could see that she did not necessarily have to know, she was only voicing the greatest fear that she could imagine, her fear for Bethany’s soul.
And then in the night her dreams were terrifying; and when she woke she was not sure that the place where she had found herself had been a dream at all. She had been standing in a room with stone walls that broke jagged at the top to let in the sky; above her, dark clouds blew, edged in one place with light from the hidden sun, and beneath her feet, cropped grass grew very green. The stones of the room seemed extremely old, set without mortar and roughly cut, with patches of lichen growing on them. Across from her in the opposite wall was a closed door made of rough wood. She knew, as if she had been there many times, that outside the door lay a clipped, grassy field, stretching away toward other stone walls, remains of ancient buildings; between the walls would be huge symmetrical trees with wide spreading branches and leaves like fine lace. She stepped to the door and pushed it open.
It was as she had imagined. The grass seemed an incredibly bright green, almost iridescent, perhaps because the blue gray sky hung low and dark behind it. There was no person or animal in sight. Beyond the ruins lay a shimmering sea without surf.
A figure moved swiftly beyond the ruins. Bethany watched, and soon it appeared again, a woman she knew well. Yet she didn’t know her at all, she had never seen her before. The landscape seemed to quiver as heated air does above a summer pavement. And it was hot, very hot, a humid summer evening. The woman stooped to pluck something from the grass then turned away, the elaborate swirl of her silver hair catching the orange light of the low sun; she started away toward a low wooden building that stood beyond the ruins. Bethany followed her.
The small, thatched building faced the water. It seemed to be a shop, for a bell tinkled as the woman disappeared inside and there was a small display window set beside the door; in it flashed a brilliant red square of cloth, intricately worked into a picture of a bird in a tree.
As Bethany stepped past the window and reached for the door—she was moving with a kind of slow compulsion, as if she had no decision in the matter—she caught a glimpse of herself reflected against the red cloth. She stopped, turned back, and stared. It was not only the cloth that flashed red from the glass, it was her dress. She drew back and looked down at herself. She was wearing a red cotton dress with piping round the hem. But she had no such dress! She put her hand to the glass, displaced and shaken, and stared in confusion at her reflection. Her red hair and black eyes stared back at her, and though she could find nothing wrong, an unaccountable terror gripped her; she reached wildly for the door and plunged through it; she must speak to the woman, she must speak to someone.
She stood in the dimness with her back to the door, conscious only of her own confusion, of the wrongness of everything. And yet beneath this feeling there was a sense that if she would just let go, just relax, it would come right and she would feel safe here. The heat of the room made her dizzy; at the back of the shop a door stood open to the sea; perhaps the woman had gone through there. But when she stood in the doorway, the pale strip of beach was empty except for five riders on small dark ponies; they shouted in a strange language as they galloped toward her, and halted in front of her, jerking the ponies so they reared up, fighting the bits; the boys laughed and she, though angered by their cruelty, felt an eagerness for a moment that she could not explain … and she was awake.
She lay prickling with heat and fear, not knowing for a long time where she was, then surprised it had been a dream. Then she became aware that it was still very hot, and that she was not in her own bed even now. The silvered square of mirror was not before her; on the opposite wall a smaller, oval mirror glimmered palely in the darkness. The bed in which she lay was wider and softer than her own. She sat up. There was a little light from the glass door to her left. This was not a dream, it could not be. A night bird was calling, a strange, lilting cry, and the air was hot and smelled of flowers. Frantically she pawed in the dark until she found a lamp and switched it on. The room flared into myriad rich colors and patterns, red print wallpaper, a deep oriental rug, red blankets over her. The frame on the oval mirror was deeply carved gold, and the curtained glass doors had been left ajar to let in the breeze; she stared around her with increasing interest. A short red robe had been thrown across a chair, half covering a pile of books—and then a dizziness came over her, and a dark confusion swept her so she put her head down on her knees.
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