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I

bind

my

hair

with

a

white

ribbon

,

so

that

when

I

leap

across

the

court

the

ribbon

will

stream

out

in

a

flash

,

yet

curl

round

my

neck

,

perfectly

in

its

place

.

Not

a

hair

shall

be

untidy

.

'

'

That

is

my

face

,

'

said

Rhoda

,

'

in

the

looking-glass

behind

Susan

's

shoulder

--

that

face

is

my

face

.

But

I

will

duck

behind

her

to

hide

it

,

for

I

am

not

here

.

I

have

no

face

.

Other

people

have

faces

;

Susan

and

Jinny

have

faces

;

they

are

here

.

Their

world

is

the

real

world

.

The

things

they

lift

are

heavy

.

They

say

Yes

,

they

say

No

;

whereas

I

shift

and

change

and

am

seen

through

in

a

second

.

If

they

meet

a

housemaid

she

looks

at

them

without

laughing

.

But

she

laughs

at

me

.

They

know

what

to

say

if

spoken

to

.

They

laugh

really

;

they

get

angry

really

;

while

I

have

to

look

first

and

do

what

other

people

do

when

they

have

done

it

.

'S

ee

now

with

what

extraordinary

certainty

Jinny

pulls

on

her

stockings

,

simply

to

play

tennis

.

That

I

admire

.

But

I

like

Susan

's

way

better

,

for

she

is

more

resolute

,

and

less

ambitious

of

distinction

than

Jinny

.

Both

despise

me

for

copying

what

they

do

;

but

Susan

sometimes

teaches

me

,

for

instance

,

how

to

tie

a

bow

,

while

Jinny

has

her

own

knowledge

but

keeps

it

to

herself

.

They

have

friends

to

sit

by

.

They

have

things

to

say

privately

in

corners

.

But

I

attach

myself

only

to

names

and

faces

;

and

hoard

them

like

amulets

against

disaster

.

I

choose

out

across

the

hall

some

unknown

face

and

can

hardly

drink

my

tea

when

she

whose

name

I

do

not

know

sits

opposite

.

I

choke

.

I

am

rocked

from

side

to

side

by

the

violence

of

my

emotion

.

Отключить рекламу

I

imagine

these

nameless

,

these

immaculate

people

,

watching

me

from

behind

bushes

.

I

leap

high

to

excite

their

admiration

.

At

night

,

in

bed

,

I

excite

their

complete

wonder

.

I

often

die

pierced

with

arrows

to

win

their

tears

.

If

they

should

say

,

or

I

should

see

from

a

label

on

their

boxes

,

that

they

were

in

Scarborough

last

holidays

,

the

whole

town

runs

gold

,

the

whole

pavement

is

illuminated

.

Therefore

I

hate

looking-glasses

which

show

me

my

real

face

.

Alone

,

I

often

fall

down

into

nothingness

.

I

must

push

my

foot

stealthily

lest

I

should

fall

off

the

edge

of

the

world

into

nothingness

.

I

have

to

bang

my

head

against

some

hard

door

to

call

myself

back

to

the

body

.

'

'

We

are

late

,

'

said

Susan

.

We

must

wait

our

turn

to

play

.

We

will

pitch

here

in

the

long

grass

and

pretend

to

watch

Jinny

and

Clara

,

Betty

and

Mavis

.

But

we

will

not

watch

them

.

I

hate

watching

other

people

play

games

.

I

will

make

images

of

all

the

things

I

hate

most

and

bury

them

in

the

ground

.

This

shiny

pebble

is

Madame

Carlo

,

and

I

will

bury

her

deep

because

of

her

fawning

and

ingratiating

manners

,

because

of

the

sixpence

she

gave

me

for

keeping

my

knuckles

flat

when

I

played

my

scales

.

I

buried

her

sixpence

.

I

would

bury

the

whole

school

:

the

gymnasium

;

the

classroom

;

the

dining-room

that

always

smells

of

meat

;

and

the

chapel

.

I

would

bury

the

red-brown

tiles

and

the

oily

portraits

of

old

men

--

benefactors

,

founders

of

schools

.

There

are

some

trees

I

like

;

the

cherry

tree

with

lumps

of

clear

gum

on

the

bark

;

and

one

view

from

the

attic

towards

some

far

hills

.

Save

for

these

,

I

would

bury

it

all

as

I

bury

these

ugly

stones

that

are

always

scattered

about

this

briny

coast

,

with

its

piers

and

its

trippers

.

At

home

,

the

waves

are

mile

long

.

On

winter

nights

we

hear

them

booming

.

Last

Christmas

a

man

was

drowned

sitting

alone

in

his

cart

.

'

'

When

Miss

Lambert

passes

,

'

said

Rhoda

,

'

talking

to

the

clergyman

,

the

others

laugh

and

imitate

her

hunch

behind

her

back

;

yet

everything

changes

and

becomes

luminous

.

Jinny

leaps

higher

too

when

Miss

Lambert

passes

.

Suppose

she

saw

that

daisy

,

it

would

change

.

Wherever

she

goes

,

things

are

changed

under

her

eyes

;

and

yet

when

she

has

gone

is

not

the

thing

the

same

again

?

Miss

Lambert

is

taking

the

clergyman

through

the

wicket-gate

to

her

private

garden

;

and

when

she

comes

to

the

pond

,

she

sees

a

frog

on

a

leaf

,

and

that

will

change

.

All

is

solemn

,

all

is

pale

where

she

stands

,

like

a

statue

in

a

grove

.

She

lets

her

tasselled

silken

cloak

slip

down

,

and

only

her

purple

ring

still

glows

,

her

vinous

,

her

amethystine

ring

.

There

is

this

mystery

about

people

when

they

leave

us

.

When

they

leave

us

I

can

companion

them

to

the

pond

and

make

them

stately

.

When

Miss

Lambert

passes

,

she

makes

the

daisy

change

;

and

everything

runs

like

streaks

of

fire

when

she

carves

the

beef

.

Month

by

month

things

are

losing

their

hardness

;

even

my

body

now

lets

the

light

through

;

my

spine

is

soft

like

wax

near

the

flame

of

the

candle

.

I

dream

;

I

dream

.

'

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'

I

have

won

the

game

,

'

said

Jinny

.

'N

ow

it

is

your

turn

.

I

must

throw

myself

on

the

ground

and

pant

.

I

am

out

of

breath

with

running

,

with

triumph

.

Everything

in

my

body

seems

thinned

out

with

running

and

triumph

.

My

blood

must

be

bright

red

,

whipped

up

,

slapping

against

my

ribs

.

My

soles

tingle

,

as

if

wire

rings

opened

and

shut

in

my

feet

.

I

see

every

blade

of

grass

very

clear

.

But

the

pulse

drums

so

in

my

forehead

,

behind

my

eyes

,

that

everything

dances

--

the

net

,

the

grass

;

your

faces

leap

like

butterflies

;

the

trees

seem

to

jump

up

and

down

.

There

is

nothing

staid

,

nothing

settled

,

in

this

universe

.

All

is

rippling

,

all

is

dancing

;

all

is

quickness

and

triumph

.

Only

,

when

I

have

lain

alone

on

the

hard

ground

,

watching

you

play

your

game

,

I

begin

to

feel

the

wish

to

be

singled

out

;

to

be

summoned

,

to

be

called

away

by

one

person

who

comes

to

find

me

,

who

is

attracted

towards

me

,

who

can

not

keep

himself

from

me

,

but

comes

to

where

I

sit

on

my

gilt

chair

,

with

my

frock

billowing

round

me

like

a

flower

.

And

withdrawing

into

an

alcove

,

sitting

alone

on

a

balcony

we

talk

together

.

'N

ow

the

tide

sinks

.

Now

the

trees

come

to

earth

;

the

brisk

waves

that

slap

my

ribs

rock

more

gently

,

and

my

heart

rides

at

anchor

,

like

a

sailing-boat

whose

sails

slide

slowly

down

on

to

the

white

deck

.

The

game

is

over

.

We

must

go

to

tea

now

.

'

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