Read Online Castle Of Bone by Penelope Farmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Penelope Farmer
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Anna ignored him, trailed her hand in the water, turned her eyes towards the sky. She smiled at Hugh when he looked her way, but he tried not to do it often. He liked to cut himself off mentally from everyone around him, usually annoying people thus, but he could not now quite cut himself off from Anna, which at this moment only annoyed him. He avoided her eyes. She was holding hands with herself again, and she wore as usual a dark-coloured dress. But today it did not overshadow her.
Penn rowed so much faster that they lost him soon, round an island in the lake. Hugh rowed on towards the island. The branches of weeping willow brushed his face and shoulders like bead curtaining. He pushed them gently out of his way. He had stopped rowing now, but the impetus of movement already gained took them as far as he wanted, between the other branches and the shores of the island. They slid through still water and came to a halt within a green cave.
Anna appeared to be asleep now. Hugh looked at her, then gingerly, carefully, laid himself back. The position he came to might, indeed should, have been uncomfortable, but was not so at all. He seemed automatically, without experiment, to have found a position into which every part of him neatly fitted, rested comfortably. He lay in contentment, gazing at a green ceiling. His hands and face were green-tinted, Anna’s too, but green differentially. Here and there pure sun fell through the willow fronds. Hugh was so comfortable now that he could forget specific bones, specific physical sensations. He and the shade and the tree and the sun were all one and the same, all melting together. It was a cool, detached, thinking place, Hugh felt – the words “Green thought in a green shade” came from somewhere, he did not know where. He could think green, cool thoughts about castles; about the castle, about the cupboard, green, calm thoughts, compared to his panic that morning. It was as if he had fought in a vast wind then, but now the wind had died. He found himself contented, not at all afraid.
Anna sat up. Hugh felt her first in the rocking of the boat, and when he sat up himself found her gazing over the side of it. The water was very green and thick, her reflection green and remote and strange. She stirred the water with her finger, the image of her face shivered, disappeared, came together, her hand pausing, then disappeared again. The small ebbs of water caught points of light that Hugh would not have known existed in this shade.
Hugh wanted to reach if not Anna herself, the image of Anna. Beyond, infinitely deep, as the water shivered and before it settled he seemed to see another image, of a castle, and he wanted to reach that too. He realized he wanted to think of it, to be reminded of it. He wanted terribly to reach it. But the water stilled, the castle was not there.
“The water’s filthy,” Anna said.
“It’s a beautiful colour,” Hugh said.
“It looks like soup. It ought to smell horrible.”
“But it doesn’t,” Hugh said.
“It doesn’t smell nice, either.”
There was further silence. Hugh had no inclination to break it, but after a few minutes Anna said: “I was thinking about the cupboard; your cupboard.”
“Just for once I wasn’t,” Hugh said.
“What do you think, when you do think?”
“How should I know now?” Hugh did not want to commit himself.
“You must know!”
“Nothing useful, anyway.” But suddenly Hugh did want to tell Anna about the castle, everything. It was as if a space had opened in him, revealed something he did not know was there. The wanting sprang at him from nothing, but the desire fought inability, he could not tell her, could not find the means, words framed themselves only to split upon his tongue. She did not seem to want to be told in any case. Every time he thought he had gathered himself to speak she ran her fingers roughly through the water, or shook her head, or turned abruptly, or said something herself about
Penn rowed so much faster that they lost him soon, round an island in the lake. Hugh rowed on towards the island. The branches of weeping willow brushed his face and shoulders like bead curtaining. He pushed them gently out of his way. He had stopped rowing now, but the impetus of movement already gained took them as far as he wanted, between the other branches and the shores of the island. They slid through still water and came to a halt within a green cave.
Anna appeared to be asleep now. Hugh looked at her, then gingerly, carefully, laid himself back. The position he came to might, indeed should, have been uncomfortable, but was not so at all. He seemed automatically, without experiment, to have found a position into which every part of him neatly fitted, rested comfortably. He lay in contentment, gazing at a green ceiling. His hands and face were green-tinted, Anna’s too, but green differentially. Here and there pure sun fell through the willow fronds. Hugh was so comfortable now that he could forget specific bones, specific physical sensations. He and the shade and the tree and the sun were all one and the same, all melting together. It was a cool, detached, thinking place, Hugh felt – the words “Green thought in a green shade” came from somewhere, he did not know where. He could think green, cool thoughts about castles; about the castle, about the cupboard, green, calm thoughts, compared to his panic that morning. It was as if he had fought in a vast wind then, but now the wind had died. He found himself contented, not at all afraid.
Anna sat up. Hugh felt her first in the rocking of the boat, and when he sat up himself found her gazing over the side of it. The water was very green and thick, her reflection green and remote and strange. She stirred the water with her finger, the image of her face shivered, disappeared, came together, her hand pausing, then disappeared again. The small ebbs of water caught points of light that Hugh would not have known existed in this shade.
Hugh wanted to reach if not Anna herself, the image of Anna. Beyond, infinitely deep, as the water shivered and before it settled he seemed to see another image, of a castle, and he wanted to reach that too. He realized he wanted to think of it, to be reminded of it. He wanted terribly to reach it. But the water stilled, the castle was not there.
“The water’s filthy,” Anna said.
“It’s a beautiful colour,” Hugh said.
“It looks like soup. It ought to smell horrible.”
“But it doesn’t,” Hugh said.
“It doesn’t smell nice, either.”
There was further silence. Hugh had no inclination to break it, but after a few minutes Anna said: “I was thinking about the cupboard; your cupboard.”
“Just for once I wasn’t,” Hugh said.
“What do you think, when you do think?”
“How should I know now?” Hugh did not want to commit himself.
“You must know!”
“Nothing useful, anyway.” But suddenly Hugh did want to tell Anna about the castle, everything. It was as if a space had opened in him, revealed something he did not know was there. The wanting sprang at him from nothing, but the desire fought inability, he could not tell her, could not find the means, words framed themselves only to split upon his tongue. She did not seem to want to be told in any case. Every time he thought he had gathered himself to speak she ran her fingers roughly through the water, or shook her head, or turned abruptly, or said something herself about
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