C H A P T E R 2
百度搜索 The stolen Child 天涯 或 The stolen Child 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.
I am gone.This is not a fairy tale, but the true history of my double life, left behind where it all began, in case I may be found again.
My own story begins when I was a boy of seven, free of my current desires. Nearly thirty years ago, on an August afternoon, I ran away from home and never made it back. Certain trivial and fotten matters set me off, but I remember preparing for a long journey, stuffing my pockets with biscuits left over from lunch, and creeping out of the house so softly that my mht not know I had ever left.
From the back door of the farmhouse to the creeping edge of the forest, our yard was bathed in light, as if a borderland to cross carefully, in fear of be-ing exposed. Upon reag the wilderness, I felt safe and hidden in the dark, dark wood, and as I walked on, stillness led in the spaces among the trees. The birds had stopped singing, and the is were at rest. Tired of the blaz-i, a tree groaned as if shifting in its rooted position. The green roof of leaves above sighed at every rare and passing breeze. As the sun dipped below the treeline, I came across an imposing chestnut with a hollow at its base big enough for me to crawl io hide and wait, to listen for the seekers. And when they came close enough to be, I would not move. The grown-ups kept shouting "Hen-ry" in the fading afternoon, in the half-light of dusk, in the cool and starry night. I refused to answer. Beams from the flashlights bounced crazily among the trees, and the search party crashed through the undergrowth, stumbling over stumps and fallen logs, passing me by. Soon their calls receded into the distance, faded to echoes, to whispers, to silence. I was determined not to be found.
I burrowed deeper into my den, pressing my face against the inner ribs of the tree, inhaling its sweet rot and dankness, the grain of the wh against my skin. A low rustle sounded faraway and gathered to a hum. As it drew near, the murmur intensified and quied. Twigs snapped and leaves crackled as it galloped toward the hollow tree and stopped short of my hiding place. A panting breath, a whisper, and footfall. I curled up tight as something scrambled partway into the hole and bumped into my feet. Cold fingers ed around my bare ankle and pulled.
They ripped me from the hole and pinned me to the ground. I shouted once before a small hand clamped shut my mouth and then another pair of hands ied a gag. In the darkheir features remained obscure, but their size and shape were the same as my own. They quickly stripped me of my clothes and bound me like a mummy in a gossamer web. Little children, ex-ceptionally strong boys and girls, had kidnapped me.
They held me aloft and ran. Rag through<u>..</u> the forest at breakneck speed on my back, I was held up by several pairs of hands and bony shoulders. The stars above broke through the opy, streaming by like a meteor shower, and the world spun away swiftly from me in darkness. The athletic creatures moved about with ease, despite their burden, navigating the invisible terrain and obsta-cles of trees without a hitch or stumble. Gliding like an owl through the night forest, I was exhilarated and afraid. As they carried me, they spoke to one an-other in a gibberish that sounded like the bark of a squirrel or the rough cough of a deer. A hoarse voice whispered something that sounded like "e away" or "Henry Day." Most fell silent, although now and then one would start huffing like a wolf. The group, as if on signal, slowed to a ter along what I later dis-ed to be well-established deer trails that served the denizens of the woods.
Mosquitos lit upon the exposed skin on my face, hands, a, biti will and drinking their fill of my blood. I began to itd desperately wao scratch. Above the no<samp></samp>ise of the crickets, cicadas, and peeping frogs, water babbled and gurgled nearby. The little devils ted in unison until the pany came to a sudden halt. I could hear the river run. And thus bound, I was thrown into the water.
Drowning is a terrible way to go. It wasnt the flight through the air that alarmed me, or the actual impact with the river, but the sound of my body knifing through the surface. The wreng juxtaposition of warm air and cool water shocked me most. The gag did not e out of my mouth; my hands were not loosed. Submerged, I could no longer see, and I tried for a moment to hold my breath, but thehe painful pressure in my chest and sinuses as my lungs quickly filled. My life did not flash before my eyes—I was only seven—and I did not call out for my mother or father or to God. My last thoughts were not of dying, but of being dead. The waters enpassed me, even to my soul, the depths closed round about, and weeds were ed about my head.
Many years later, wheory of my version and purification evolved into legend, it was said that when they resuscitated me, out shot a stream of water a-swim with tadpoles and tiny fishes. My first memory is of awakening in a makeshift bed, dried snot caked in my nose and mouth, under a bla of reeds. Seated above on rocks and stumps and surrounding me were the faeries, as they called themselves, quietly talking together as if I were not even there. I ted them, and, including me, we were an even dozen. One by ohey noticed me awake and alive. I kept still, as much out of fear as embarrassment, for my body was naked uhe covers. The whole se felt like a waking dream or as if I had died and had been bain.
They poi me and spoke with excitement. At first, their language sounded out of tune, full of strangled sonants and static. But with careful tration, I could hear a modulated English. The faeries approached cautiously so as not to startle me, the way one might approach a fallen fledgling or a fawn separated from its doe.
"We thought you might not make it."
"Are you hungry?"
"Are you thirsty? Would you like some water?"
They crept closer, and I could see them more clearly. They looked like a tribe of lost children. Six boys and five girls, lithe and thin, their skin dusky from the sun and a film of dust and ash. Nearly naked, both males and females wore ill-fitt<bdi></bdi>ing shorts or old-fashioned knickerbockers, and three or four had dohreadbare jerseys. No one wore shoes, and the bottoms of their feet were calloused and hard, as were their palms. Their hair grew long and ragged, in whirls of curls or in knots and tangles. A few of them had a plete set inal baby teeth, while others had gaps where teeth had fallen out. Only one, who looked a few years older than the rest, showed two new adult teeth at the top of his mouth. Their faces were very fine and delicate. When they scrutinized me, faint crows feet gathered at the ers of their dull and va-t eyes. They did not look like any children I knew, but as in wild childrens bodies.
They were faeries, although not the kind from books, paintings, and the movies. Nothing like the Seven Dwarfs, Muns, midgets, Tom Thumbs, brownies, elves, or those nearly naked flying sprites at the beginning of Fanta-sia. Not little redheaded men dressed in green and leading to the rainbows end. Not Santas helpers, nor anything like the ogres, trolls, and other monsters from the Grimm Brothers or Moose. Boys and girls stu time, ageless, feral as a pack of wild dogs.
A girl, brown as a nut, squatted near me and traced patterns in the dust near my head. "My name is Speck." The faery smiled and stared at me. "You o eat someth<q>藏书网</q>ing." She beed her friends closer with a wave of her hand. They set three bowls before me: a salad made from dandelion leaves, watercress, and wild mushrooms; a hill of blackberries plucked from the thorns before dawn; and a colle of assorted roasted beetles. I refused the last but washed down the fruit aables with clear, cold water from a hollowed gourd. In small clusters, they watched ily, whispering to one another and looking at my face from time to time, smiling when they caught my eye.
Three of the faeries approached to take away my empty dishes; another brought me a pair of trousers. She giggled as I struggled beh the reed bla, and then she burst out laughing as I tried to button my fly without revealing my nakedness. I was in no position to shake the proffered hand when the leader introduced himself and his ies.
"I am Igel," he said, and swept back his blonde hair with his fingers. "This is Béka."
Béka was a frog-faced boy a head taller thahers.
"And this is Onions." Dressed in a boys striped shirt and short pants held up by suspenders, she stepped to the front. Shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, she squinted and smiled at me, and I blushed to the breast-bone. Her fiips were green from digging up the wild onions she loved to eat. When I finished dressing, I pulled myself up o elbows to get a bet-ter look at the rest of them.
"Im Henry Day," I croaked, my voice raw with suffering.
"Hello, Aniday." Onions smiled, and everyone laughed at the appella-tion. The faery children began to t "Aniday, Aniday," and a cry sounded in my heart. From that time forward I was called Aniday, and in time I fot my given name, although on occasion it would e back part of the way as Andy Day or Anyway. Thus christened, my old identity began to fade, much as a baby will not remember all that happened before it is born. To lose ones name is the beginning of fetting.
As the cheering faded, Igel introduced each faery, but the jumble of names ged against my ears. They walked away in twos and threes, disap-peared into hidden holes that rihe clearing, then reemerged with ropes and rucksacks. For a moment, I wondered whether they plao tie me up to be baptized yet again, but most of them took st notiy panic. They milled about, anxious to begin, and Igel strode over to my bedside. "Were going on a sger hunt, Aniday. But you o stay here a. Youve been through quite an ordeal."
When I tried to stand up, I met the resistance of his hand upon my chest. He may have looked like a six-year-old, but he had the strength of a grown man.
"Where is my mother?" I asked.
"Béka and Onions will stay with you. Get some rest." He barked once, and in a flash, the pack gathered by his side. Without a sound, and before I could raise a word of protest, they disappeared, fading into the forest like ghostly wolves. Lagging behind, Speck turned her head and called out to me, "Youre one of us now." Then she loped off to joihers.
I lay back down and fought tears by staring into the sky. Clouds passed beh the summer sun, rolling their shadows through the trees and across the faery camp. In the past, I had ventured into these woods alone or with my father, but I had never wandered so deeply into such a quiet, lonesome place. The familiar chestnut, oak, and elm grew taller here, and the forest rimming the clearing appeared thid imperable. Here and there sat well-worn stumps and logs and the remnants of a campfire. A skink suself on the rock that Igel had sat upon. Nearby, a box turtle shuffled through the fallen leaves and hissed into its shell when I sat up to take a closer look.
Standing proved to be a mistake a me woozy and disoriented. I wao be home in bed, he fort of my mother, listening to her sing to my baby sisters,bbr>９9ｌiｂ?</abbr> but instead I felt the cold, cold gaze of Béka. Beside him, Onions hummed to herself, i os-cradle in her busy fingers. She hypnotized me with her designs. Exhausted, I laid my body down, shiver-ie the heat and humidity. The afternoon drifted by heavily, indug sleep. My two panions watched me watg them, but they said nothing. In and out of sciousness, I could not move my tired bohinking ba the events that had led me to this grove and w about the troubles that would face me when I returned home. In the middle of my drowse, I opened my eyes, sensing an unfamiliar stirring. Nearby, Béka and Onions wrestled beh a bla. He was on top of her back, pushing and grunting, and she lay oomach, her face turoward mine. Her green mouth gaped, and when she saw me spying, she flashed me a toothy grin. I closed my eyes and turned away. Fasation and disgust clawed at one another in my fused mind. No sleep returned until the two fell quiet, she humming to herself while the little frog snored tentedly. My stomach seized up like a ched fist, and nausea rolled into me like a fever. Frightened, and lonesome for home, I wao run away and be gone from this strange place.
百度搜索 The stolen Child 天涯 或 The stolen Child 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.