Legenda Maris by Tanith Lee

recalcitrant, seldom-varying expression. But she had on a different apron.
    “Oh,” she said, “It’s you.”
    She’d expected me. She didn’t exactly
show it, she hadn’t guessed what my excuse would be. But she’d known, just as I
had, that I would come back.
    “Look, I’m sorry to bother you,” I said,
“I forgot to ask you for the receipt.”
    “What receipt?”
    “When you paid for the garment, they
gave you a receipt. That one.”
    “I threw it away,” she said.
    “Oh. Oh well, never mind.”
    “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
    “No, it’s all right. Really.” I pulled
air down into me like the drag of a cigarette, or a reefer. “How’s Daniel
today?”
    She looked at me, her face unchanging.
    “He’s all right.”
    “I hoped I hadn’t—well—upset him. By
being there,” I said.
    “He doesn’t notice,” she said. “He didn’t
notice you.”
    There was a tiny flash of spite when she
said that. It really was there. Because of it, I knew she had fathomed me, perhaps
from the beginning. Now was therefore the moment to retreat in good order.
    “I was wondering,” I said, “What you
told me, that you find it difficult to make the time to get to the town centre.”
    “I do,” she said.
    “I have to go shopping there today. If
there’s anything you need I could get you.”
    “Oh no,” she said swiftly. “There’s local
shops on The Rise.”
    “I don’t mind,” I said.
    “I can manage.”
    “I’d really like to. It’s no bother. For
one thing,” I added, “the local shops are all daylight robbers round here, aren’t
they?”
    She faltered. Part of her wanted to slam
the door in my face. The other part was nudging her: Go on, let this stupid girl
fetch and carry for you, if she wants to.
    “If you want to, there are a few things.
I’ll make you a list.”
    “Yes, do.”
    “You’d better come in,” she said, just
like last time.
    I followed her, and she left me to close
the door, a sign of submission indeed. As we went into the back room, the
adrenalin stopped coming, and I knew he wasn’t there. There was something else,
though. The lights were on, and the curtains were drawn across the windows. She
saw me looking, but she said nothing. She began to write on a piece of paper.
    I wandered to the red chair, and rested
my hands on the back of it.
    “Daniel’s upstairs,” I said.
    “That’s right.”
    “But he’s—he’s well?”
    “He’s all right. I don’t get him up
until dinner time. He just has to sit anyway, when he’s up.”
    “It must be difficult for you, lifting
him.”
    “I manage. I have to.”
    “But—”
    “It’s no use going on about home-helps
again,” she said. “It’s none of their business.”
    She meant mine, of course. I swallowed,
and said, “Was it an accident?” I’m rarely so blunt, and when I am, it somehow
comes out rougher from disuse. She reacted obscurely, staring at me across the
table.
    “No, it wasn’t. He’s always been that
way. He’s got no strength in his lower limbs, he doesn’t talk, and he doesn’t
understand much. His father was at sea, and he went off and left me before
Daniel was born. He didn’t marry me, either. So now you know everything, don’t
you?”
    I took my hand off the chair.
    “But somebody should—”
    “No they shouldn’t.”
    “Couldn’t he be helped—?” I blurted.
    “Oh, no,” she said. “So if that’s what
you’re after, you can get out now.”
    I was beginning to be terrified of her.
I couldn’t work it out if Daniel was officially beyond aid, and that’s where
her hatred sprang from, or if she had never attempted to have him aided, if she
liked or needed or had just reasonlessly decided (God’s will, My Cross) to let
him rot alive. I didn’t ask.
    “I think you’ve got a lot to cope with,”
I said. “I can give you a hand, if you want it. I’d like to.”
    She nodded.
    “Here’s the list.”
    It was a long list, and after my boast,
I’d have to