Authors: Emma Donoghue
I found myself a cave on a headland, above a village like this one. It’s three months’ hard walk from here, but they fish and spin and make up lies just like your folk. The cave had
been lived in before; there was an old blanket, and a water bag, and a dip in the floor hollowed by many small fires. I had rock to my back and the sea to my face, driftwood to burn and the odd
fish to fry. I had time to wonder now, to unpick the knotted ropes of my thoughts. I could taste freedom like salt on the breeze. There was no one to nurse, no one to feed, no one to listen to but
my own self. I thought no one would ever bother me again and I could live out my life like a gull, like a weed, like a drop of water.
What I found instead was power. I never sought it; it was left out for me to stumble over. Only a matter of weeks had gone by before I began to find presents left outside my cave. The first was
a clutch of eggs; I thought for a moment some extraordinary chicken had flown up to bring me dinner. Next came a thick slice of meat, wrapped in a cloth to keep the birds off. The villagers left
their offerings at first light, before I stirred out of my cave.
I thought such goodness had never been known in the whole world. I thought these were presents freely given to keep a stranger from starving. How was I to know that they were payments in
advance?
It was a small boy who gave me the first hint. He threw seaweed into my cave until I came out with a big stick. He screamed when he saw me and ran until he fell over, then got up and ran
again.
When he came back the next day, he was braver. He asked, What happened to the old one?
The old what?
Witch. Have you got her locked up in her cave or did you boil her in her pot?
This is my cave now, I told him sternly. There’s no one here but me.
So it was a witch they were wanting. I laughed to myself, that first day, as the little boy ran down the headland, but soon enough I learned how to be what they needed.
It was not an arduous job. Mostly they left me alone with my herbs and my thoughts, but every few months one of the villagers would creep up the headland after sunset and call out, Are you
there?
Are you there? the cave would echo back at them.
Will you help me? The voice more strangled now, the echo shaking. I’ve brought something for you . . .
And only then, when they were sweating cold as dew, would I emerge, step by slow step, a black scarf over my head to hide the fact of my youth. Not that they ever looked at me properly: they
seemed to think my eyes would scald them. They stared at the muddy ground while they poured out their stories of sickness, envy, grief and hunger. I never said a word until they were sobbing.
Sometimes what they needed was simple enough. To the sick, I gave potions that could do them no harm and might make them well if they wanted it enough. To the grieving, I gave words of comfort
and a drink to make them sleep. To girls with terrible secrets, I gave herbs to make them whole again.
As for the guilty, spilling their burdens of malice and shame outside my cave, I thought at first that they were asking for forgiveness, but I soon found it made them uncomfortable. Punishment
suited them better. They liked me to curse them. May weeds spring up where you walk! May a tail grow in the middle of your chin!
There was a woman who’d never said a kind word to her husband since she woke up the day after her wedding. I flayed her with my tongue until she burst into tears and ran home to make his
breakfast. There was a man who’d not slept for ten years for thinking of what he had done to his own daughter. I told him to sell every animal he had to make up her dowry. Once there was a
stranger who half smiled as he told me the worst thing he had done in his life, and then something worse than that, and then something even worse. I let him talk all night; I never said a word of
judgement. His eyes flickered on my face as he talked, as if searching for something. The sky lightened and I was still watching him. My eyes moved nearer to the cliff edge, and just as the sun was
coming up the stranger let himself fall into the pointed waves.
I was a little shaken that day. It was the first time I felt the reach of my power. Power that came not from my own thin body or my own taut mind, but was invested in me by a village. Power I
had to learn how to pick up without getting burnt, how to shape it and conceal it and flaunt it and use it, and when to use it, and when to still my breath and do nothing at all. Power these
scaly-fingered fishwives and their wiry husbands could have used themselves, if they’d only known how, but instead they told themselves how helpless they were, and came and laid power at my
feet. As well as eggs, of course, and new-baked bread, and even gold coins if I judged that it would take a terrible price to make them believe in their cure.
And so the years passed, leaving little mark on me except the first grey fingerprints on my bright head. When the occasional petitioner came up the headland I answered their questions with my
eyes closed. I preferred the days when I was alone. I could recognize the cry of each kind of bird; they never changed. All that was different about me was that every year my needs were fewer. My
bones grew hard as iron. I tried out every herb I found, till nothing could surprise my stomach. I got so used to sleeping on stone that it no longer seemed hard to me. I rolled up in half a dozen
blankets and wrapped my arms round my ribs like pet snakes. Nothing touched me in the night except the occasional spider. I was complete.
I should have known. You can’t live on a cliff for that long without risking a fall.
One morning a woman climbed up to my cave before dawn. I could hear her feet scrabbling outside. The sun was high in the sky before I rewarded her patience by standing in the entrance. Her
narrowed eyes distinguished me from the shadows, and she jerked back.
You want something, I told her, a little hoarsely; my voice was out of practice.
She looked behind her for her basket.
I don’t fancy butter, I said.
It was a lucky guess. She flinched. Then what will you have?
The truth, I told her.
Her hands fought like crabs. I have a daughter, she began. A good strong red-haired daughter, but she is a trouble and a trial to me. Before sunrise she’s roaming the hills. I have a
terrible fear she’s lovesick. She gets a strange look in her eyes. When we’re working I catch her singing songs I’ve never heard before, and where could she have got them?
I yawned, to hurry her up.
If you saw her you’d understand, the woman went on in a rush. She’s no fool, nor idle; it’s only this restlessness. She could be the best of daughters, if she’d only
quiet down.
And her sisters?
All gone. This one’s my last, you see, said the woman, her voice subsiding. I’m not getting any younger. I need to know for sure that she’ll stay with me.
I turned my face away. I will consult the oracles, I told her; that always stunned them into silence. Come back at moonrise on the third day and you will have your answer.
That evening at sunset I was sitting in front of my cave, consulting the only oracle I knew, the orange sky, when a man climbed up the headland. He seemed too tired to be afraid. He stood a
little distance from me.
You want something, I said without moving my head.
Yes.
Is that a fresh trout in your hand?
It is.
Toss it over the cliff, I said, just to amuse myself.
He paused a moment before unwrapping it and throwing it towards the setting sun. A gull caught it with an incredulous shriek.
Out with the truth now, I said.
His foot dug into the chalky grass. I have a daughter, he began. A fine tall red-haired daughter, but she is a trial and a trouble to me. Half the evening she walks along the beach by moonlight.
She gathers seashells like a little child. There’s a friend of mine has an eye for her, but whenever he comes courting she’s behind her mother’s skirts in the kitchen. I have a
terrible fear she’ll end up an old maid.
My eyes were wandering.
If you saw her you’d understand, he went on furiously. She’s no fright, nor feared of men; it’s only this restlessness. She’d make my friend a fine wife, if she’d
only settle down, and then he says he’d give me half shares in his big boat.
Why not one of her sisters?
All married. This one’s my last, you see, said the man, his voice beginning to crackle. I’m not getting any younger. I need to know for sure that she’ll do what I say.
I stared at the soundless gulls. I will consult the oracles, I told him. Come back at moonset on the third day and you will have your answer.
The next morning I woke with my head full of scrag-ends of dreams. I doused it in sea water. Today I would need all my wits. Between the mother and the father I had to pick my way carefully. I
knew what happened to meddlers who came between man and wife. I knew there were some in the village below who, after strong liquor, talked of blocking up my cave in the night.
By midday rain had covered the headland. I sat in my cave, trying to persuade my little fire to stay alight. At least bad weather kept me private, shielded me from the village below with all its
wearisome tribulations.
Or so I thought, until she appeared in the mouth of my cave, between curtains of rain, the girl herself, unmistakable, her blood-red hair glued to her wet throat.
It was the first time in all those years that I let another human being step across the threshold. I even lent her a blanket to stop the shivering. To make up for this softness, I unsheathed the
blade of my tongue. If you’re the girl I think you are, I began, staring into the struggling fire, I hear you’re nothing but trouble.
She nodded as if I had remarked on the weather, and continued combing out the red ropes of her hair with a bit of old comb I’d found her.
You’re not child enough for your mother nor woman enough for your father. You don’t work or play or think as they would have you work and play and think.
She smiled at me with teeth like quartz.
What are you good at?
I don’t know yet, said the girl, staring into the fire. Faint steam was rising from her.
What is it you want?
Nothing, she said, half laughing.
There is no creature under the sky that does not want, I told her severely.
Only what I’ve got, then, she said.
That’s lucky.
And time to think about what I want next.
I nodded judiciously.
And time to just think.
There’s plenty of that up here, I remarked.
She stared round the cave. There must be all the time in the world here, she said wonderingly.
My heart was beginning to thud.
And time to not think, I need that too, she added.
I had one more question. What do you love?
She took a deep breath, as if her list was long, then she let it out in a sigh. Everything, she said.
Everything? My voice was a squeaking bat. How can you love everything before you know anything, you idiotic girl?
I don’t know, she said seriously. It seems to leak out of me. It’s like a cup spilling over. She turned to look into my eyes; they narrowed against her. How can you not? she
asked.
What?
You’re wise. You’re the witch. How can you look at everything and know everything without love?
My heart was pulling on my ribs. Go now, I said. The rain’s eased.
She turned her open face to me. But will –
Girls like you always get what they want.
Her full-throated laugh filled the cave for several minutes after she’d gone.
That night I didn’t sleep at all. The blankets were heavy with damp; the wind seemed to whine at the cave mouth. No matter which way I lay, stones poked me awake.
If I took a fever and lay tossing here till I died, I realized, no one would ever know. The villagers would still leave the odd bit of food outside, but it would be eaten clean by the birds.
Only the wind would hear their petitions, and perhaps its answers would be wiser than mine.
Before the sun rose I hauled myself up off the floor. As long as I had my health the power was mine. I threw rosemary on the fire and breathed in its clarifying air. By moonrise I had concocted
my answers. To the mother I said: The oracles tell me that because of your own faults, a terrible curse has been visited upon your daughter. If you ever order her to stay at home with you, she will
turn into a hare and run off up the mountain.
Dumbstruck inside her shawl, the woman whispered, Is there any cure for this curse?
Only time will wear it out, I told her.
I would take no payment. I watched her scurry down the headland. I sat there as the moon tracked its way across the sky and began to fall.
To the father I said: The oracles tell me that because of your own sins, a dreadful fate has fallen upon your daughter. If you ever order her to marry, her husband will turn into a wolf and
devour her on their wedding night.
Flinching from the words, the father said, Is there any way of lifting this fate?
Only time will tell, I told him.
I would take no payment. I watched him stride home. And then all was quiet. I told myself that the job was well done.
Over the next few days I went about my business, but something was wrong. Everything I cooked tasted bitter. My daily tasks seemed long, and yet when I sat by the fire to rest in the evenings,
the time hung heavy on my hands. I could make no sense of what the gulls were saying.
The girl came back one day. I hadn’t realized it was her I was waiting for. I almost wished it was raining again. In sunlight she glowed as if her hair had caught fire. I stood in the
mouth of my cave, and all at once I couldn’t think of anything to say.
She put down her basket and crossed her arms a little nervously. I wish I knew where you get your power, she remarked. This past week my mother and father have let me work, sleep and wander as I
please. They make no complaint or prediction, cast neither my past nor my future in my face.
I allowed a small smile to twist my mouth.