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

But I couldn't be exact about that either, till the miller suggested the Year of
the Great Fever, and there was much counting backwards on fingers and thumbs and
at
28
PIGS DON'T FLY
29
last the entry was found, in the old priest's fumbling, scratchy hand.
"Here we are.... Strange name to call anyone," said the present priest. Only the
clerk, he and I could read, and I bent forward to follow his finger. There it
was, between the death of one John Tyler and the marriage of Wat Wood and Megan
Baker. The cramped letters danced in front of my eyes, but at last I spelled it
out.
No date, but the previous entry was June, the latter July.
"Baptism of dorter to the Traveling woman: one Somerdai."
"Somerdai ..." I tried it out on my tongue. "Summer-day." And Mama had called
herself one of the Travelers. All right, she had given me an outlandish name,
but at least I now existed officially. And, according to the records, I was
seventeen years old, and knew something more of Mama's origins. All at once I
felt a hundred times better, and was able to invite them all back for the
funeral meats almost as graciously as she would have done.
It did not take them long to demolish everything. I closed the shutters, made up
the fire and lighted the candles around Mama; they threw our shadows like
grotesques on the whitewashed walls and made it look as though Mama sighed,
smiled and twitched in a natural sleep.
The mayor accepted the dregs of the wine jug, drained them and brushed the
crumbs from his front. Clearing his throat, he addressed us all.
"I now declare this special meeting open. ..." , What meeting?
"Having determined to settle this little matter as soon as may be, I think it is
now time to for us to agree on our previously discussed course of action."
My! They had certainly been busy amongst themselves, either on the way here or
in the churchyard.. . . But what "little matter"?
"Firstly, Summerhill, or whatever your name isЧI
30 Mary Brown
should like to thank you on behalf of us all for the refreshments." Everyone
murmured their approval. "We have already agreed to attend to the burial of
theЧthe lady, your mother, and to defray all costs." He cleared his throat
again. "Now we come to the distribution of' the assets...."
"My hens," said the butcher.
"My goat," said the tailor.
"My bees," said the clerk.
"The clothes chestЧ"
"The hangingsЧ"
And suddenly they were all shouting against each other, pointing at our
belongings, even gesturing towards the padded quilt on which Mama lay and
touching the gown she wore.
I was horrified, but as they quietened down it became obvious that everything I
had thought we owned, Mama and I, belonged in some way or other to her clients.
They were just loans. If I had ever thought about it at all, which I hadn't, I
should have guessed that the finely carved bed, the elaborate hangings, some of
the fine clothes, could not have been gifts, like the flour, meat and pulses.