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

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enjoyed the walk there, the walk back and would have also enjoyed gazing about
me when I got there, but for the behavior of the villagers. When I was very
young I did not understand why the men pretended I didn't exist, the women
hissed and spat and made unkind remarks and the children threw stones and
refuse. Now I was older I both understood and was better able to cope. When I
complained, Mama always said she couldn't comprehend why the women weren't more
grateful: after all, she took the heat from their men once a week. Like everyone
else, she said, she provided a service. But that didn't stop the children
calling after me: "Bastard daughter of a whore!" or worse.
"Here, daughter!" I turned back to where Mama stood on the threshold. She would
never come outside. In summer it was "too hot", in winter "too cold". In autumn
it was wasps and other insects, in spring the flowers made her sneeze, and
through all the seasons it was a question of preserving her complexion. "I
wouldn't want to be all brown and gypsyish; part of my attraction to my clients
is my pale, creamy skin. You had better watch yours, too, gin: you're becoming
as dark as your father. What's acceptable on a man won't do on a woman."
Now she handed me some coin. "Watch for the change: I don't want any
counterfeit. And if I'm asleep when you return, don't wake me. I shall try and
sleep off this indisposition."
"If you're really feeling ill I could fetch the apothecaryЧ"
"Don't be stupid: I am never ill! Now, get along with you before you make me
feel worseЧand for goodness sake straighten your skirt and tie the strings on
your shift: no prospective husband would look at you twice like that! Do you
want to disgrace me?"
I kissed her cheek and curtseyed, as I had been taught, and walked away sedately
till I was out of sight, then hung the crock over my shoulder by its strap,
hitched up my skirts and scuffed my feet among the crunchy, crackly heaps of
leaves along the lane, taking great delight in
16
Mary Brown
disordering the wind-arranged heaps and humming a catchy little tune the mayor
had taught me for my pipe.
It seemed I was not the only one fetching winter stores. Above my head squirrels
were squabbling over the last acorns. I could hear hedgepigs scuffling in a
ditch searching for grubs, too impatient for their winter fat to wait till dusk,
and thrushes and blackbirds were testing the hips and haws in the hedges and
finishing off the last brambles, while tits and siskins were cheeping softly in
search of insects. A rat, obviously with a late litter, ran across in front of
me, a huge cockchafer in her mouth.
The sun shone directly in my eyes and shimmered off the ivy and hawthorn to
either side, making their leaves all silver. I passed through a cloud of midges,
dancing their up-and-down day danceЧa fine day tomorrowЧ and on a patch of
badger turd a meadow-brown butterfly basked, its long tongue delicately probing
the stinking heap. My only annoyance was the flies, wanting the sweat on my
face, and the wasps, seeking something sweet, so I pulled a handful of dried cow
parsley and waved that freely round my head.
I purchased the salt without much notice being taken, for a peddler had found
his way to the village, and the women and children were crowding round his
wares. So engrossed were they that the miller passing by with his cart had time