Giving up the Ghost: A memoir. Hilary Mantel
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Название: Giving up the Ghost: A memoir
Автор: Hilary Mantel
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары
isbn: 9780007354917
isbn:
Giving Up the Ghost
A Memoir
Hilary Mantel
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by Fourth Estate in 2005
Copyright © Hilary Mantel 2005
Hilary Mantel asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007142729
Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2010 ISBN: 9780007354894 Version 2016-02-02
For my family
Small holes, secret graves, children scattered around the iron fence. Not even a scratched stone.
The wind rises, clouds cover the moon, a dog’s bark and those owls, Alone and no end.
My children who won’t hear. The night full of cries they will never make.
‘Sharecropper’s Grave’
Judy Jordan
Contents
Part Two: Now Geoffrey Don’t Torment Her
Excerpt from Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel
It is a Saturday, late July, 2000; we are in Reepham, Norfolk, at Owl Cottage. There’s something we have to do today, but we are trying to postpone it. We need to go across the road to see Mr Ewing; we need to ask for a valuation, and see what they think of our chances of selling. Ewing’s are the local firm, and it was they who sold us the house, seven years ago. As the morning wears on we move around each other silently, avoiding conversation. The decision’s made. There’s no more to discuss.
About eleven o’clock, I see a flickering on the staircase. The air is still; then it moves. I raise my head. The air is still again. I know it is my stepfather’s ghost coming down. Or, to put it in a way acceptable to most people, I ‘know’ it is my stepfather’s ghost.
I am not perturbed. I am used to ‘seeing’ things that aren’t there. Or—to put it in a way more acceptable to me—I am used to seeing things that ‘aren’t there’. It was in this house that I last saw my stepfather Jack, in the early months of 1995: alive, in his garments of human flesh. Many times since then I have acknowledged him on the stairs.
It may be, of course, that the flicker against the banister was nothing more than the warning of a migraine attack. It’s at the left-hand side of my body that visions manifest; it’s my left-eye that is peeled.I don’t know whether, at such vulnerable times, I see more than is there; or if things are there, that normally I don’t see.
Over the years the premonitionary symptoms of migraine headaches have become more than the dangerous puzzle that they were earlier in my life, and more than a warning to take the drugs that might ward off a full-blown attack. They have become a psychic adornment or flourish, an art form, a secret talent I have never managed to make money from. Sometimes they take the form of the visual disturbances that are common to many sufferers. Small objects will vanish from my field of vision, and there will be floating lacunae in the world, each shaped rather like a doughnut with a dazzle of light where the hole should be. Sometimes there are flashes of gold against the wall: darting chevrons, like the wings of small quick angels. Scant sleep and lack of food increase the chances of these sightings; starving СКАЧАТЬ