Цитаты из книги Шляпа, полная неба

Once we were blobs in the sea, and then fishes, and then lizards and rats and then monkeys, and hundreds of things in between. This hand was once a fin, this hand once had claws! In my human mouth I have the pointy teeth of a wolf and the chisel teeth of a rabbit and the grinding teeth of a cow! Our blood is as salty as the sea we used to live in! When we’re frightened the hair on our skins stands up, just like it did when we had fur. We are history! Everything we’ve ever been on the way to becoming us, we still are.

‘She’ll get some respect when people see her moving stuff through the air. Respect is meat and drink to a witch. Without respect, you ain’t got a thing. She doesn’t get much respect, our Miss Level.’ That was true. People didn’t respect Miss Level. They liked her, in an unthinking sort of way, and that was it. Mistress Weatherwax was right, and Tiffany wished she wasn’t. ‘Why did you and Miss Tick send me to her, then?’ she said. ‘Because she likes people,’ said the witch, striding ahead. ‘She cares about ‘em. Even the stupid, mean, dribbling ones, the mothers with the runny babies and no sense, the feckless and the silly and the fools who treat her like some kind of a servant. Now that’s what I call magic—seein’ all that, dealin’ with all that, and still goin’ on. It’s sittin’ up all night with some poor old man who’s leavin’ the world, taking away such pain as you can, comfortin’ their terror, seein’ ‘em safely on their way… and then cleanin’ ‘em up, layin’ ‘em out, making ‘em neat for the funeral, and helpin’ the weeping widow strip the bed and wash the sheets—which is, let me tell you, no errand for the faint-hearted—and stayin’ up the next night to watch over the coffin before the funeral, and then going home and sitting down for five minutes before some shouting angry man comes bangin’ on your door ‘cos his wife’s havin’ difficulty givin’ birth to their first child and the midwife’s at her wits’ end and then getting up and fetching your bag and going out again… We all do that, in our own way, and she does it better’n me, if I was to put my hand on my heart. That is the root and heart and soul and centre of witchcraft, that is. The soul and centre!’ Mistress Weatherwax smacked her fist into her hand, hammering out her words. ‘The… soul… and… centre!’

‘Here we are,’ said Miss Level, bustling over with three cups and saucers and the sugar bowl. ‘One for you, one for you, and one for—Oh…’ The sugar bowl dropped from an invisible hand and spilled its sugar onto the table. Miss Level stared at it in horror while, in the other hand that wasn’t there, a cup and saucer wobbled without visible means of support. ‘Shut your eyes, Miss Level!’ And there was something in the voice, some edge or strange tone that made Tiffany shut her eyes too. ‘Right! Now, you know the cup’s there, you can feel your arm,’ said Mistress Weatherwax, standing up. ‘Trust it! Your eyes are not in possession of all the facts! Now put the cup down gently… thaaat’s right. You can open your eyes now, but what I wants you to do, right, as a favour to me, is put the hands that you can see flat down on the table. Right. Good. Now, without takin’ those hands away, just go over to the dresser and fetch me that blue biscuit tin, will you? I’m always partial to a biscuit with my tea.Thank you very much.’ ‘But… but I can’t do that now—’ ‘Get past “I can’t”, Miss Level,’ Mistress Weatherwax snapped. ‘Don’t think about it, just do it! My tea’s getting cold!’ So this is witchcraft too, Tiffany thought. It’s like Granny Aching talking to animals. It’s in the voice! Sharp and soft by turns, and you use little words of command and encouragement and you keep talking, making the words fill the creature’s world, so that the sheepdogs obey you and the nervous sheep are calmed…

In truth, most witches could get through their whole life without having to do serious, undeniable magic (making shambles and curse-nets and dreamcatchers didn’t really count, being rather more like arts-and-crafts, and most of the rest of it was practical medicine, common sense and the ability to look stern in a pointy hat). But being a witch and wearing the big black hat was like being a policeman. People saw the uniform, not you. When the mad axeman was running down the street you weren’t allowed to back away muttering, ‘Could you find someone else? Actually, I mostly just do, you know, stray dogs and road safety…’ You were there, you had the hat, you did the job. That was a basic rule of witchery: It’s up to you.

‘We do what can be done. Mistress Weatherwax said you’ve got to learn that witchcraft is mostly about doing quite ordinary things.’‘And you have do what she says?’ said Tiffany. ‘I listen to her advice,’ said Miss Level, coldly. ‘Mistress Weatherwax is the head witch, then, is she?’ ‘Oh no!’ said Miss Level, looking shocked. ‘Witches are all equal. We don’t have things like head witches. That’s quite against the spirit of witchcraft.’ ‘Oh, I see,’ said Tiffany. ‘Besides,’ Miss Level added, ‘Mistress Weatherwax would never allow that sort of thing.’

Tiffany couldn’t quite work out how Miss Level got paid. Certainly the basket she carried filled up more than it emptied. They’d walk past a cottage and a woman would come scurrying out with a fresh-baked loaf or a jar of pickles, even though Miss Level hadn’t stopped there. But they’d spend an hour somewhere else, stitching up the leg of a farmer who’d been careless with an axe, and get a cup of tea and a stale biscuit. It didn’t seem fair. ‘Oh, it evens out,’ said Miss Level, as they walked on through the woods.‘You do what you can. People give what they can, when they can. Old Slapwick there, with the leg, he’s as mean as a cat, but there’ll be a big cut of beef on my doorstep before the week’s end, you can bet on it. His wife will see to it. And pretty soon people will be killing their pigs for the winter, and I’ll get more brawn, ham, bacon and sausages turning up than a family could eat in a year.’ ‘You do? What do you do with all that food?’ ‘Store it,’ said Miss Level. ‘But you—’ ‘I store it in other people. It’s amazing what you can store in other people.’ Miss Level laughed at Tiffany’s expression. ‘I mean, I take what I don’t need round to those who don’t have a pig, or who’re going through a bad patch, or who don’t have anyone to remember them.’ ‘But that means they’ll owe you a favour!’ ‘Right! And so it just keeps on going round. It all works out.’ ‘I bet some people are too mean to pay—’ ‘Not pay,’ said Miss Level, severely. ‘A witch never expects payment and never asks for it and just hopes she never needs to. But, sadly, you are right.’ ‘And then what happens?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You stop helping them, do you?’ ‘Oh, no,’ said Miss Level, genuinely shocked. ‘You can’t not help people just because they’re stupid or forgetful or unpleasant. Everyone’s poor round here. If I don’t help them, who will?’

‘I’m your wife, Rob, askin’ ye not to go!’ ‘Aye, aye. I’ll stay,’ said Rob. Jeannie looked up to him. Tears shone in the moonlight. ‘Ye mean it?’ ‘I never braked my word yet,’ said Rob. ‘Except to polis’men and other o’ that kidney, ye ken, and they dinnae count.’ ‘Ye’ll stay? Ye’ll abide by my word?’ said Jeannie, sniffing. Rob sighed. ‘Aye. I will.’ Jeannie was quiet for a while, and then said, in the sharp cold voice of a kelda: ‘Rob Anybody Feegle, I’m tellin’ ye now to go and save the big wee hag.’ ‘Whut?’ said Rob Anybody, amazed. ‘Jus’ noo ye said I was tae stay—’ ‘That was as your wife, Rob. Now I’m telling you as your kelda.’ Jeannie stood up, chin out and looking determined. ‘If ye dinnae heed the word o’ yer kelda, Rob Anybody Feegle, ye can be banished fra’ the clan. Ye ken that. So you’ll listen t’ me guid. Tak’ what men you need afore it’s too late, and go to the mountains, and see that the big wee girl comes tae nae harm. And come back safe yoursel’. That is an order! Nay, ‘tis more’n an order. ‘Tis a geas I’m laying on ye! That cannae be brake!’

‘Aye, well, a drink’s a drink whomsoever ye call her,’ said Jeannie, soothingly. She waved the cup under Rob’s nose. He sighed, and looked away. Jeannie stood up quickly. ‘Wullie! Big Yan! Come quick!’ she yelled. ‘He willnae tak’ a drink! I think he’s deid!’ ‘Ach, this is no’ the time for strong licker,’ said Rob Anybody. ‘My heart is heavy, wumman.’ ‘Quickly now!’ Jeannie shouted down the hole… ‘He’s deid and still talkin’!’ ‘She’s the hag o’ these hills,’ said Rob, ignoring her. ‘Just like her granny. She tells the hills what they are, every day. She has them in her bones. She holds ‘em in her heart. Wi’out her, I dinnae like tae think o’ the future.’ The other Feegles had come scurrying out of the hole and were looking uncertainly at Jeannie. ‘Is somethin’ wrong?’ said Daft Wullie. ‘Aye!’ snapped the kelda. ‘Rob willnae tak’ a drink o’ Special Sheep Liniment!’ Wullie’s little face screwed up in instant grief. ‘Ach, the Big Man’s deid!’ he sobbed. ‘Oh waily waily waily—’ ‘Will ye hush yer gob, ye big mudlin!’ shouted Rob Anybody, standing up. ‘I am no’ deid! I’m trying to have a moment o’ existential dreed here, right? Crivens, it’s a puir lookout if a man cannae feel the chilly winds o’ Fate lashing aroound his nethers wi’out folks telling him he’s deid, eh?’ ‘Ach, and I see ye’ve been talking to the toad again, Rob,’ said Big Yan.

It turned out that when Miss Level had asked Tiffany if she was scared of heights, it had been the wrong question. Tiffany was not afraid of heights at all. She could walk past tall trees without batting an eyelid. Looking up at huge towering mountains didn’t bother her a bit. What she was afraid of, although she hadn’t realized it up until this point, was depths. She was afraidof dropping such a long way out of the sky that she’d have time to run out of breath screaming before hitting the rocks so hard that she’d turn to a sort of jelly and all her bones would break into dust. She was, in fact, afraid of the ground. Miss Level should have thought before asking the question.