narrow, so we have to squeeze by his bulky figure. “See you vewy soon, Wichie,” he says in that high-pitched warble. “See you vewy soon.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fairy tales are about money, marriage and men. They are maps and manuals that are passed down from mothers and grandmothers to help them to survive.
MARINA WARNER
That was the happiest time of my life. I sat on that pretty white horse, feeling his presence behind me, the breath of him on my neck, and I felt a trickle inside me, like everything that had happened to me in the past was dissolving. I hadn’t the slightest idea where he was taking me. I couldn’t care less. I trusted him. I knew that if I was wrong, and that if he might harm me in any way, then I was no judge of character. I believe that I saw all the way through him to his every intention toward me, and I was content with what I saw.
We soon turned out of the bluebell woods and across a narrow road onto a bridle path giving way into a field. The field was lined with trees gone wild, drunk with the mayflower. There was a glistening stream where the horse stopped to drink, and after that the horse moved on at a slow pace for what seemed like hours before we even spoke a single word to each other. Yet the sun barely moved in the sky. I felt dreamy, lazy, sleepy, and yet safe on the back of the horse, with his strong, suntanned arm around me to balance me and my knees on the panniers.
“What’s in these baskets?” I asked in a kind of slumber.
“Blossoms,” he said.
“Why do you want those?”
“We eat it.”
I gave a little laugh at his joke. Then I closed my eyes and gave in to the gentle swaying gait of the horse.
After a while, and just to remind myself that I could still speak, I murmured to him, “How long before we get there?”
“We pass through with the twilight,” he said. “Then we’re there.”
I think of that often now, but never even questioned it at the time, so content was I. We’d been going for a while and I remembered that he knew my name but I didn’t know his. “Come on, tell me.”
“Ah, names,” he said. “Now, where I come from there are people who say that once you can name a thing, you own it.”
“What a silly idea.”
“Is it silly? If you can name a thing you can put it in a box and close the lid on it. This box or that box. If you can’t name it, it runs free. Isn’t that true?”
“How did you know my name is Tara?”
“Well, that was very strange. I saw you sitting by that golden rock in the bluebell woods and the name just popped into my head from nowhere. A little voice said Tara and a child of the sky. What do you think of that?”
I tried to think of his name, to see if anything would pop into my head. I emptied my mind and waited for a whisper. I believed it would be given to me. But nothing came.
“And don’t waste your time trying to do the same trick,” he said, and laughed. “Because I’m guarding it.”
“So why won’t you just tell me your name?”
He became serious. “I can give you a name. I could make up any name, and you wouldn’t know the difference. But where I’m from, see, we all have a secret name. It’s known only to the clan, sort of thing.”
“Clan?”
“Clan. Tribe. That’s just a way of speaking. But anyway, this name, by keeping it a secret to the tribe, has power. And if you have it, they say—though I’m not sure I agree with them—well, it gives you power over that person.”
“This is mad. I’m riding away on a horse with a man who won’t even tell me his damn name.”
“Oh, I am going to tell you. I am, for sure. But first I want you to hang on, because we’re going to canter a bit now; otherwise we’ll miss the crossing at twilight.”
I assumed he meant that we would be crossing a river, maybe the River Soar or the Trent into Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire. I had no idea where we were, but if we were crossing either other than by bridge then it was going to be an exciting
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fairy tales are about money, marriage and men. They are maps and manuals that are passed down from mothers and grandmothers to help them to survive.
MARINA WARNER
That was the happiest time of my life. I sat on that pretty white horse, feeling his presence behind me, the breath of him on my neck, and I felt a trickle inside me, like everything that had happened to me in the past was dissolving. I hadn’t the slightest idea where he was taking me. I couldn’t care less. I trusted him. I knew that if I was wrong, and that if he might harm me in any way, then I was no judge of character. I believe that I saw all the way through him to his every intention toward me, and I was content with what I saw.
We soon turned out of the bluebell woods and across a narrow road onto a bridle path giving way into a field. The field was lined with trees gone wild, drunk with the mayflower. There was a glistening stream where the horse stopped to drink, and after that the horse moved on at a slow pace for what seemed like hours before we even spoke a single word to each other. Yet the sun barely moved in the sky. I felt dreamy, lazy, sleepy, and yet safe on the back of the horse, with his strong, suntanned arm around me to balance me and my knees on the panniers.
“What’s in these baskets?” I asked in a kind of slumber.
“Blossoms,” he said.
“Why do you want those?”
“We eat it.”
I gave a little laugh at his joke. Then I closed my eyes and gave in to the gentle swaying gait of the horse.
After a while, and just to remind myself that I could still speak, I murmured to him, “How long before we get there?”
“We pass through with the twilight,” he said. “Then we’re there.”
I think of that often now, but never even questioned it at the time, so content was I. We’d been going for a while and I remembered that he knew my name but I didn’t know his. “Come on, tell me.”
“Ah, names,” he said. “Now, where I come from there are people who say that once you can name a thing, you own it.”
“What a silly idea.”
“Is it silly? If you can name a thing you can put it in a box and close the lid on it. This box or that box. If you can’t name it, it runs free. Isn’t that true?”
“How did you know my name is Tara?”
“Well, that was very strange. I saw you sitting by that golden rock in the bluebell woods and the name just popped into my head from nowhere. A little voice said Tara and a child of the sky. What do you think of that?”
I tried to think of his name, to see if anything would pop into my head. I emptied my mind and waited for a whisper. I believed it would be given to me. But nothing came.
“And don’t waste your time trying to do the same trick,” he said, and laughed. “Because I’m guarding it.”
“So why won’t you just tell me your name?”
He became serious. “I can give you a name. I could make up any name, and you wouldn’t know the difference. But where I’m from, see, we all have a secret name. It’s known only to the clan, sort of thing.”
“Clan?”
“Clan. Tribe. That’s just a way of speaking. But anyway, this name, by keeping it a secret to the tribe, has power. And if you have it, they say—though I’m not sure I agree with them—well, it gives you power over that person.”
“This is mad. I’m riding away on a horse with a man who won’t even tell me his damn name.”
“Oh, I am going to tell you. I am, for sure. But first I want you to hang on, because we’re going to canter a bit now; otherwise we’ll miss the crossing at twilight.”
I assumed he meant that we would be crossing a river, maybe the River Soar or the Trent into Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire. I had no idea where we were, but if we were crossing either other than by bridge then it was going to be an exciting
Similar Books
