"Brown,.Mary.-.Unicorn's.Ring.2.-.1994.-.Pigs.Don't.Fly" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Mary)

two mugs; I could put milk into a flagon and what wine we had left into a jug
and they could pass those round. Seating was a problem; the stools and Mama's
chair would accomodate three, and perhaps two could perch on the table or the
chest. The rest would have to stand.
The water was now finger-hot, and I turned to the most important task of all.
Crossing to Mama's clothes chest I pulled out her best robe, the red one edged
with coney fur, and her newest shift, the silk one with gold
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Mary Brown
ribbons at neck and sleeve, and the fine linen sheet that would be her shroud.
The heat from the fire, which had me sweating like a pig, had relaxed her
muscles, so it was an easy enough task to wash her, change the death-soiled
sheets, pad all orifices and dress her in her best, That done, I combed and
plaited her hair and arranged it in coils around her head, but was distressed to
see that the grey streaks would show once I had the candles burning round the
bed. She would never forgive me for that, I thought, then remembered my inks. A
little smoothed across with my ringers and no one would notice....
I crumbled dried rosemary and lavender between the folds of her dress for
sweetness, then went outside and burned the soiled sheets and the dress she had
been wearing when she died. Outside it was quite cool, the sun saying nearer
four than three, and the smoke from the bonfire rising thin and straight: a
slight frost tonight, I thought. On the way back in I gathered some late daisies
and a few flowers of the yellow Mary's-gold, and placed them in Mama's folded
hands, then set the best beeswax candles in the few holders we had around the
bed, ready to light once it grew dark.
I looked at her once more, to see all was as she would have wished and to my
amazement saw that Death had given her back her youth. Gone were the frown
lines, the pinched mouth, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She looked as
though she were sleeping, her face calm and smooth, and tne candle I held
flickered as though she were smiling. She was so beautiful I wanted to cry
againЧ
"Enough! Late ... Tidy up. Wash and change ..."
I heeojed the voice, so like hersЧbut it couldn't be, could it?Чand a half-hour
later or so I had swept out and tidied, washed myself in the rest of the water,
including my hair and my filthy clothes, hanging out the latter to dry over the
hedge by the chicken run, and had changed into my other shift and my winter
dress. Mama would be proud of my industriousness, I thought. But there was no
time for further tears, for I could near the
PIGS DON'T FLY
23
tramp of feet down the lane. My mother's clients come to pay their last
respects.
Suddenly the room, comfortably roomy for Mama and me, had shrunk to a hulk and
shuffle of too many bodies, with scarce space to move. The only part they
avoided was the bed.
They had all come: mayor, miller, clerk, butcher, tailor, forester, carpenter,
thatcher, basket-maker, apothecary; all at one time my mother's regular
customers. The new priest was the only odd one out. In spite of their common
interest I noticea how they avoided looking at one another. At last, after much
coughing, scratching and picking of noses, the mayor stepped forward and