按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
had just one job now。 to keep the girls safe。
turning it over in her head； she thought she understood why it was。 twins； always together； always two。 if it was normal in their world to be two； what would other people； who came not in twos but ones； seem like to them？ we must seem like halves； the missus mused。 and she remembered a word； a strange word it had seemed at the time； that meant people who had lost parts of themselves。 amputees。 that’s what we are to them。 amputees。
normal？ no。 the girls were not and would never be normal。 but； she reassured herself； things being as they were； the twins being twins； perhaps their strangeness was only natural。
of course all amputees hanker after the state of twinness。 ordinary people； untwins； seek their soul mate； take lovers； marry。 tormented by their inpleteness they strive to be part of a pair。 the missus was no different from anyone else in this respect。 and she had her other half： john…the…dig。
they were not a couple in the traditional sense。 they were not married； they were not even lovers。 a dozen or fifteen years older than he； she was not old enough to be his mother； quite； but was older than he would have expected for a wife。 at the time they met； she was of an age when she no longer expected to marry anyone。 while he； a man in his prime； expected to marry； but somehow never did。 besides； once he was working with the missus； drinking tea with her every morning and sitting at the kitchen table to eat her food every evening； he fell out of the habit of seeking the pany of young women。 with a bit more imagination they might have been able to leap the bounds of their own expectations； they might have recognized their feelings for what they were： love of the deepest and most respectful kind。 in another day； another culture； he might have asked her to be his wife and she might have said yes。 at the very least； one can imagine that some friday night after their fish and mash； after their fruit pie and custard； he might have taken her hand—or she his—and they might have led each other in bashful silence to one or other of their beds。 but the thought never entered their heads。 so they became friends； the way old married couples often do； and enjoyed the tender loyalty that awaits the lucky on the other side of passion； without ever living the passion itself。
his name was john…the…dig； john digence to those who didn’t know him。 never a great one for writing； once the school years were past （and they were soon past； for there were not many of them）； he took to leaving off the last letters of his surname to save time。 the first three letters seemed more than adequate： did they not say who he was； what he did； more succinctly； more accurately； even； than his full name？ and so he used to sign himself john dig； and to the children he became john…the…dig。
he was a colorful man。 blue eyes like pieces of blue glass with the sun behind。 white hair that grew straight up on top of his head； like plants reaching for the sun。 and cheeks that went bright pink with exertion when he was digging。 no one could dig like him。 he had a special way of gardening； with the phases of the moon： planting when the moon was waxing； measuring time by its cycles。 in the evening； he pored over tables of figures； calculating the best time for everything。 his great…grandfather gardened like that； and his grandfather and his father。 they maintained the knowledge。
john…the…dig’s family had always been gardeners at angelfield。 in the old days； when the house had a head gardener and seven hands； his great…grandfather had rooted out a box hedge under a window and； so as not to be wasteful； he’d taken hundreds of cuttings a few inches long。 he grew them on in a nursery bed； and when they reached ten inches； he planted them in the garden。 he clipped some into low； sharp…edged hedges； let others grow shaggy； and when they were broad enough； took his shears to them and made spheres。 some； he could see； wanted to be pyramids； cones； top hats。 to shape his green material； this man with the large； rough hands learned the patient； meticulous delicacy of a lacemaker。 he created no animals； no human figures。 not for him the peacocks； lions； life…size men on bicycles that you saw in other gardens。 the shapes that pleased him were either strictly geometric or bafflingly； bulgingly abstract。
by the time of his last years； the topiary garden was the only thing that mattered。 he was always eager to be finished with his other work of the day； all he wanted was to be in “his” garden； running his hands over the surfaces of the shapes he had made； as he imagined the time； fifty； a hundred years hence； when his garden would have grown to maturity。
at his death； his shears passed into the hands of his son and； decades later； his grandson。 then； when this grandson died； it was john…the…dig； who had finished his apprenticeship at a large garden some thirty miles away； who came home to take on the job that had to be his。 although he was only the undergardener； the topiary had been his responsibility from the very beginning。 how could it be otherwise？ he picked up the shears； their wooden handles worn to shape by his father’s hand； and felt his fingers fit the grooves。 he was home。
in the years after george angelfield lost his wife； when the number of staff diminished so dramatically； john…the…dig stayed on。 gardeners left and were not replaced。 when he was still a young man he became； by default； head gardener； though he was also the only gardener。 the workload was enormous； his employer took no interest； he worked without thanks。 there were other jobs； other gardens。 he would have been offered any job he had applied for—you only had to see him to trust him。 but he never left angelfield。 how could he？ working in the topiary garden； putting his shears into their leather sheath when the light began to fade； he didn’t need to reflect that the trees he was pruning were the very same trees that his great…grandfather had planted； that the routines and motions of his work were the same ones that three generations of his family had done before him。 all this was too deeply known to require thought。 he could take