Всего за 5.99 руб. Купить полную версию
CHAPTER II
"They are ducks!" she said. (She called it "docks," Melody; you cannot think how soft her speech was.) "Poor leetle docks, that go flap, flap; not yet zey have learned to swim, no! But here now, see a bird of ze water, a sea-bird what you call." She turned her wrist and sent the flat pebble flying; it skimmed along like a live thing, flipping the little crests of the ripples, going miles, it seemed to Petie and me, till at length we lost sight of it altogether.
"Where did it go?" I asked. "I didn't hear it splash."
"It went to France!" said Mother Marie. "It make a voyage, it goes, goes, at last it arrives. 'Voilà la France! ' it say. 'That I go ashore, to ask of things for Marie, and for petit Jacques , and for Petie too, good Petie, who bring the apples.'"
There were red apples in a basket, and I can see now the bright whiteness of her teeth as she set them into one.
"What will the stone see?" I asked again; for I loved to make my mother tell me of the things she remembered in France, the country she always
loved. She loved to tell, too; and a dreamy look would come into her eyes at such times, as if she did not see us near at hand, but only things far off and dim. We listened, Petie and I, as if for a fairy tale.
"He come, zat leetle non! that lit -tel stone." (Mother Marie could often pronounce our English "th" quite well; it was only when she forgot that she slipped back to the soft "z" which I liked much better.) "He come to the shore! It is not as this shore, no! White is the sand, the rocks black, black. All about are nets, very great, and boats. The men are great and brown; and their beards Holy Cric! their beards are a bush for owls; and striped their shirt, jersey, what you call, and blue trousers. Zey come in from sea, their sails are brown and red; the boats are full wiz fish, that shine like silver; they are the herring, petit Jacques , it is of those that we live a great deal. Down zen come ze women to ze shore and zey they are dressed beautiful, ah! so beautiful! A red petticoat, sometimes a blue, but I love best the red, striped wiz white, and over this the dress turned up, à la blanchisseuse . A handkerchief round their neck, and gold earrings, ah! long ones, to touch their neck; and gold beads, most beautiful! and then the cap! P'tit Jacques , thou hast not seen caps, because here they have not the understanding. But! white, like snow in ze sun; the muslin clear, you understand, and stiff that it cracks, ah! of a beauty! and standing out like wings here, and here you do not listen! you make not attention, bad children that you are! Go! I tell you no more!"
It was true, Melody, my dear, that Petie and I did not care so much about the descriptions of dress as if we had been little girls; my mother was never weary of telling about the caps and earrings; I think she often longed for them, poor little Mother Marie! But now Petie and I clung about her, and begged her to go on, and she never could keep her vexation for two minutes.
"Tell how they go up the street!" said Petie.
"Play we went, too!" cried I. "Play the stone was a boat, Mère Marie." (I said it as one word, Melody; it makes a pretty name, "Mère-Marie," when the pronunciation is good. To hear our people say "M'ree" or "Marry," breaks the heart, as my mother used to say.)
She nodded, pleased enough to play, for she was a child, as I have told you, in many, many ways, though with a woman's heart and understanding, and clapped our hands softly together, as she held them in hers.
"We, then, yes! we three, Mère-Marie, p'tit Jacques , and Petie, we go up from the beach, up the street that goes tic tac, zic zac, here and there, up the hill; very steep in zose parts. We come to one place, it is steps "
"Steps in the street?"
"Steps that make the street, but yes! and on them (white steps, clean! ah! of a cleanness!), in the sun, sit the old women, and spin, and sing, and tell stories. Ah! the fine steps. They, too, have caps, but they are brown in the faces, and striped "
"Striped, Mère-Marie? painted, do you mean?"
"She said the steps had caps!" whispered Petie, incredulous, but too eager for the story to interrupt the teller.
"Painted? wat you mean of foolishness, p'tit Jacques? Ah! I was wrong! not striped; wreenkled, you say? all up togezzer like a brown apple when he is dry up, like zis way!" and Mother Marie drew her pretty face all together in a knot, and looked so comical that we went into fits of laughter.
"So! zey sit, ze old women, and talk, talk, wiz ze heads together; but one sit alone, away from those others, and she sing. Her voice go up, thin, thin, like a little cold wind in ze boat-ropes.