Heroes and Villains by Angela Carter Page B

you villain,’ said Mrs Green, hitting him a great blow with the back of the hand that did not hold the frying pan and rabbits. ‘Haven’t you got no respect for anything?’
    The boy fell on his food with grunts of pleasure, elbowing away a ravenous mastiff attracted by the smell of meat. Jewel rubbed the mark on his face where his foster-mother hit him.
    ‘It’s not true, what they say about such girls,’ he remarked.
    ‘I hate you,’ said Marianne.
    ‘Very likely,’ he said. ‘That’s only natural.’
    He knelt down beside the Doctor’s son and slipped his hand under the collar. The boy shook himself but went on eating. Jewel stroked and clapped the boy with his free hand and they murmured to one another at the back of their throats as if in brutish communication.
    ‘The collar’s rubbed his flesh all raw,’ said Jewel. ‘No wonder he howls.’
    ‘You come inside and have a wash, dear,’ said Mrs Green to Marianne. ‘After all, it’s not as bad as all that, is it? He’s going to marry you tomorrow.’
    Distressed as she was, Marianne could understand why Jewel began again to laugh. She gave him a backward glance as Mrs Green led her into the house but he did not look up. He had stopped laughing, had taken out a knife and seemed to be cutting open the collar the boy wore, unless he were slitting his throat. Marianne was in too much confusion to be quite sure which eventuality was most likely.
    ‘That kid pulled through,’ said Mrs Green. ‘Isn’t it a wonder. His fever just went, just went away like that and he’s in a lovely, natural sleep. And the others are brighter, as well. Oh, what a blessing. Usually something like that goes through all the little ones, goes right through them all and most die.’
    ‘Nobody will blame me for it, then, if the child has got better,’ said Marianne.
    ‘So you see how their minds work, do you, dear? They always look round for something to blame when things go badly, that’s them, like kids. Like little kids. I feel so sorry for them, dear, so terribly sorry.’
    They made their way gingerly through the heaped ordure in the hall and climbed up to her room. Written on the wall by Donally’s door was a new slogan: ONENESS WITH DESTINY GIVES STYLE AND DISTINCTION. This time in black. Marianne did not understand it but she spat at it as she passed by.

4
    As its inflictor predicted, her pain went away quite soon but her vindictiveness increased for she was more cruelly wounded in her pride than in her body and, besides, she felt herself quite trapped and entirely without hope. She remained in an agony of despair, cocooned in blankets upon the mattress in Mrs Green’s room, refusing food and speech. The sunlight faded from the discoloured wall. At last Mrs Green arrived with the lamp and undressed for bed. The wick dipped and flickered; Mrs Green appeared to flicker.
    ‘Last time you’ll be sleeping with me,’ said Mrs Green, intermittently visible as she was. ‘Tomorrow you’ll have to sleep with Jewel, won’t you. That’s the way of the world.’
    At that, Marianne sprang up, her cold eyes sparking.
    ‘All this is a bad dream,’ she said. ‘It can’t happen, it didn’t happen and it won’t happen.’
    ‘Young men will always take advantage, dear,’ said Mrs Green. ‘And we all have to take what we can get.’
    She sighed. But all the same, she was as smug and comfortable as if wolves and tigers did not roam forests where no trees had grown previously and Marianne must learn to reconcile herself to everything from rape to mortality, just as her father had also told her she would have to do. Mrs Green’s photograph flashed in the lamplight, picture of a woman who could have been Marianne’s mother; Mrs Green might also feel a certain pleasure that her wild foster-son should marry so far above his class, pleasure and revenge, perhaps. Clearly she thought Marianne had learned a lesson and would not try to run away again for, after she had fed the