"Kim Wilkins - The Autumn Castle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilkins Kim)

"My family knew faeries. In 1570 the first child of that union was born."

The faery's eyebrows arched upward, and I marveled that such a revolting being could look and move so
much like a normal human. "Really?"

"So you see, Immanuel," Papa said, "there's nothing to be afraid of."

The faery reached out to me, and I spat on his hand. "Don't you touch me, you foul creature."

My father gave me a hard smack on the side of the head and apologized to the faery.

"I should leave," the faery said. "I don't want to distress the child further."

He walked off, and I tried not to think about the obscene bones and joints that moved under that skin.

"What was all the fuss?" said my father.

"I could smell his bones."

"The faeries are our friends."

"I feel sick. I hate the faeries, they make me sick."

"Their bones gleam like silver. I'm sure they don't smell bad."

Gleam like silver! I wanted to open up the faery and see such a bone. Carve away the layers of flesh and
muscle and discover the grand secret inside. It made me quiet, and Papa thought that his reprimand had
touched me. He fetched my boat and brought me inside.

Despite the sunny days that followed, I spent all my time in the corner of my room with my drawing pad.
I drew dozens upon dozens of pictures. Pictures of the faery, whose eyes were dead crosses, with flaps
of his skin peeled back to reveal shining bones. Pictures of the bones with tiny sparks drawn around to
indicate the gleam of precious metal. Pictures of the bones emerging, as if spontaneously, from the faery's
mutilated body. Pictures of body parts, half-stripped to reveal the surprise within, like the silver coin in a
plum pudding. Drawing the pictures provided me with an addictive sensation of relief. Such an ache
would well up inside me just thinking about the faery and the odd smell of his bones that the only way to
feel relaxed and peaceful again was to imagine him divested of those bones.

When my mother found these pictures, I was pulled by the ear to appear before my father and my
grandfather and answer for my sins. She waved the sheaf of drawings in front of them, and their mouths
became little circles of shock.

One by one, in the white sterility of the room, their faces loomed in front of me. ,

"Immanuel, no," Papa said, "you are not to think such things about the faeries."

Opa, who was a terrifyingly large man with a white beard and gleaming eyes, grabbed my upper arms in
his strong hands and shook me. "You rotten little scoundrel! You evil boy! Why do you think we have so
much money? Why do you think you live in a giant farmhouse with every toy you could ever want? It's
because of the faeries."