Anita

by Keith Roberts

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

Most people think witches are old and ugly - but ANITA isn't. ANITA doesn't cackle and hiss as she works dark curses, either. Oh, she casts witch's spells and incantations, but not the usual kind. ANITA's main interest is boys, just like any other girl her age. And she doesn't really need things like love potions - not with her face and figure. But ANITA is a witch, and she's young and a little reckless. Which means she sometimes makes mistakes (usually with boys), and when she does... all Hell might break loose....

Release date: August 29, 2013

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 216

Sample

Anita protested feebly. “But I’m sure I’m not ready yet, Gran. I just don’t feel ready. Can’t it wait till next summer?”

The old lady snorted. She was already stirring the big spell-pot, sniffing from time to time at the far from aromatic steam that arose. She said, “Never ’eard nothink like it.” She added a pinch of black powder to the brew and shook in a few frog’s legs from a polythene bag. The fumes intensified. She said, “ ’Ere y’are then, sit yer down. I ent got orl night. Bring that there chair uvver.” The contents of the pot had begun to solidify; she withdrew a horrible-looking blob on the end of a stick. She said, “Undo the top o’ yer dress then. Look smart.”

Anita wailed, “Oh, no!” She clapped a hand to her throat. Granny Thompson’s eyes gimleted at her. She said, “Git it orf. Clean on yisdey, that were. Think I got nothink ter do but wosh for y’ all day? Wan’ it all done for yer, you young ’uns do. Oh Satan spare us, the gel’s all thumbs. Come ’ere, let me.” She undid the little fastening at the neck and opened the dress across Anita’s shoulders. She said testily, “Well ’old it then, else it’ll all a-flop back.” She picked up the stick again and advanced. Anita said faintly, “Can’t I have gas?”

Granny Thompson said, “Oh, ’old still. The fuss you young ’uns mek uvver a little thing.” She dabbed the stick on her granddaughter’s forehead and throat. Anita yelped. The brew was still decidedly hot. Grandma said, “Fillet of a fenny snake, in the cauldron boil an’ bake; eye of noot, an’ toe o’ frog, wool of bat an’ tongue o’ dog; adder’s fork, an’ blindwumm’s sting … I kent remember ner more. Kent see the book neither, om a-lorst me glasses agin. Anyways ‘E wunt bother. Long as yer Made Up, that’s the thing. Disgustin’, I calls it. Gel o’ yore age, an’ not even confirmed.” She hobbled back to the cauldron elaborating her criticism of the Great Enemy.

“Time was when the Old Man ’ud come regular, jist fer a chat like. But not ner more. Oh, no.” She prodded the fire beneath the pot and added a couple of handfuls of powder. The first made the flames leap up magenta, the second sent them bright blue. Anita sat with her eyes closed, rigid in a web of polychrome shadow. “ ’Oo does ’E send now then?” asked Granny vindictively. “All these jumped up kids, that’s all. Area managers they ’as the cheek ter call thereselves. Never ’eard nothink like it. Enough ter send yer ’Oly. Course I know what ’E’s at. Tearin’ about doin’ all these tomb robbings an’ such.” She wagged a great black ladle in the general direction of her granddaughter. “Now I dunt mind a bit of old-fashioned sacrilege now an’ agin. ’Oo dunt? But it’s all fer show reely. Flashy. Like these noo-fangled business notions. It’s good solid work that counts, the year ’round. But that jist dunt git done. Just a few old ’uns like me keepin’ things a-gooin’. An’ precious little thanks we git fer it neither. I dunt serpose you’ll be a sight better. Yer tired now, an’ you ent even started.” She topped up the cauldron with fluid from a big stone jar and its contents promptly went green and started to bubble again. She lifted the ladle and stumped back to her granddaughter. Anita tensed herself, expecting a scalding, but for some reason the liquid felt ice-cold. Granny said rapidly, “Liver o’ blasphemin’ Joo, gall o’ goat an’ slips of yoo sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse, nose o’ Turk an’ Tartar’s lips—”

Anita said, “Oo, it’s running!”

“Will yer keep still? Finger o’ birth-strangled babe, ditch-deliver’d by a drab—”

“But I’ve got all clean things on!”

“They wunt ’urt, I tell yer.”

“But Gran, it’s all going down!”

Granny said, “Oh … ’ere.” She put a towel into her victim’s hands. “No, dunt wipe it all orf, it ent took yit! Weer were I? Finger o’ ditch-strangled babe, om done that. Summat or other orf a tiger, any’ow. I reckon that’s all on ’em. No, dunt git up. I ent finished.” She took a cocoa tin from the shelf, removed the lid and dipped her finger inside. The contents were certainly not cocoa. She began to draw cabalistic signs on her granddaughter. Anita screwed up her eyes and nose as if she were being tortured. The old lady said grimly, “Whin I were done, I were done like this all uvver. ’Ave summat ter goo on about yer would, if yer were done proper.” She stood back to view her handiwork. She said, “ ’Spect that’ll ’ave to answer.” Anita opened large, reproachful eyes. Granny Thompson said, “That stops till yer gits undone ternight. Yer can wash it orf then; it’s fresh sheets.”

Anita buttoned her dress gingerly. She said sullenly, “It feels all sticky and beastly. I’m not keeping it on a minute longer than I—”

Her grandmother turned in the act of lifting down the cauldron, and glittered at her again. She said, “Wot were that I thort I ’eard?”

Anita gulped and said, “Nothing, Gran.”

“Orlright then. See to it it waddn’t. Well then gel, goo on!”

Anita said, “G-go where, Gran?”

The old lady propelled her toward the door of the cottage. She said, “Out, o’ course. Goo on out an’ do summat. Yer Made Up now. Yer can do anythink. Change summat. Turn summat inter summat else wuss. Try some shapeshiftin’. Yer know y’ent much good at that. Satan, I can turn meself inter more than wot you can an’ I’m got me sciatica. Yer a witch now, yer can do anythink. Goo on out an’ try. Dunt come back ’ere until y’ave. Time you started earnin’ yer livin’, my gel. I ’ad to afore I were yore age.” She opened the old wooden door and shoved Anita outside. She pointed up at the turquoise sky. “Look, it’s just a-right. Night’s a-comin’. Couldn’t be better. An’ mind; I want ter feel some magic gooin’ on afore mornin’, or you’ll get it, my gel. Dunt think yer too big … an’ mind where yer walk. You get them there shoes in a state again, you’ll clean ’em. Tired o’ runnin’ about arter yer.” The cottage door closed with an emphatic bang.

Anita stood and pouted for a moment, then she took off the offending shoes and flung them at the door, taking care they fell short. She walked off barefoot through the little copse that surrounded her home, scrinching her toes in the leaf-mold under the trees. She emerged in the meadow beyond, where the cool grass stroked her ankles.

She hardly knew where to begin. She had never visited the outside world; she had never worked a really malicious spell, and apart from her granny she had not seen another human being for years. She did not greatly feel like growing up but somehow before morning she had to be bad, and justify her witch-hood into the bargain. She felt very small and afraid. When she had gone a few more yards she sensed an owl in the distance and called him up but he was too busy to bother. He sent back a cryptic message, Big mouse, and went off the air. Anita crouched by the brook and washed herself disobediently clean. Then she stood up, took a deep breath and stopped the current. The little stream was deep here and moved fast between tall reed beds. The water foamed most satisfactorily, gleaming in the August dusk. Anita soon tired though. The trick made her giddy and in any case it was nothing new. She had been able to do it when she was six. She persuaded a grass snake to slither a little way with her but he soon turned back, unwilling to get too far from his beloved water. Anita did not really mind. He was not very nice to be with, his thoughts were too long and wriggly. A little farther on she opened a gate for herself from about twenty-five yards, but the effort made her feel quite ill. She had to sit down to recover. She was sure she would never become a really good witch.

The sky was deep blue now, with the first stars showing. The evening was warm and very still. Anita lay back and opened her mind to everything. The countryside was alive with rustlings and squeakings, pouncings and little sharp hunting-thoughts as the night creatures went about their affairs. Anita heard these things with her ears as well as her sixth, seventh and eighth senses. Her ears swiveled slightly from time to time. They were wide and pointed, and until recently had had delicate hairtufts on their tips; but in these days you can do wonderful things with skin creams.

Above her, very high in the night, she heard the clatter of a dragonfly, the scrape and clang as something bundled into the jointed cage of his legs. She warned the dragonfly he was out too late but the insect, who was not very coherent, sent back something vague about killing and sped on. Nearer at hand a weasel scuttered along the hedge bottom, quick and dangerous as a brown flame. He paused to glare at Anita and she shuddered at what he was thinking. She levitated a stone and tried to drop it on him but as usual she was not quick enough. The malevolence faded into the distance, leaving behind one last horrible thought. If only I were bigger … Anita shivered, then pricked her ears again.

It took a few moments for her to recognize the callsign, for it was very distant. When she did she answered joyfully. It was a bat, the nocturne who lived in the church over the hill. She waited until he came zigging across the moon to her, then got up and walked on with the little animal circling above her head. She talked to him as she went. He always intrigued her. His mischievous little mind was full of strange thoughts about glow-worms and bells, and spires so old God had forgotten them. They crossed several fields together, then Anita saw lights in the distance. They were white, yellow and red and they moved very rapidly. She wondered what they could be. She had never been as far from home as this in her life. She moved on toward them, tensed up and ready to bolt but very curious as well. It was only when she got quite close she realized she had come to the road.

The bat became suddenly alarmed and turned away. Anita called him but he would not answer. When his sonar had vanished in the distance she felt very lonely again and almost turned back herself, but the curiosity was still there. She crept to the gate by the road and stood looking over it for a long time, dodging back into the shadow of the hedge as each car glared at her with the bright eyes of its headlights. Then she became bold. After all, she was not an ordinary country girl; she was a witch. She tossed her head, climbed the gate and stepped down onto the road. It was like a soft black river. The macadam still held the heat of the day and felt warm and comfortable to her feet. She began to walk along it, turning to stare at each car as it swooped toward her …

She got back to the cottage in the still, chill-dark time just before dawn. The dew was lying heavily on the grass and Anita swished slowly along feeling that she was made of electricity from head to toes. She picked up her shoes from the step and carried them inside with her. Granny Thompson was still up, dozing by the fireplace. When Anita closed the door she woke with a jerk. She said sharply, “Where yer bin, gel? Where yer bin?”

Anita smiled dreamily and sat down with some care. She was thinking about that big Aston Martin. The warmth and coziness of it and the smell of leather and tobacco and petrol and summer dust. She was still trying to decide whether she had really liked its young driver or not. She said, “I’ve been out, Gran. I’ve been doing some magic.”

The old lady rose in wrath. She said, “Thet you ’ev not, my gel. Thet you ’ev not done at all. Not one bit did I feel, noweere about. Look at yer. Orter be ashamed, y’ad straight. Ter see all the trouble I took mekkin’ y’up. Yer washed all the magic orf, ter start with. Arter what I tole yer, an’ all. That’s the ’ole trouble wi’ you young ’uns. Allus was. You ent got no gratitude an’ you ent got no thort … ’ere am I, doin’ me best for yer, an’ all yer kin do is traipse about ’arf the night while I sits ’ere wonderin’ if yer’ve fell into summat an’ bin drownded, or what’s ’appened to yer …”

Anita drew herself up. She said, “It’s all right, Gran. I told you, I did some magic.”

“Weer?” asked the old woman fiercely. “An’ wot? I dunt know as I b’leeves yer. Ter rights I should ’ave felt it goo orf. Did yer change summat?”

Anita looked far away, and smiled again. She said, “Yes, Gran, I did change something. I turned a perfectly lovely motorcar into a side road …”

Anita could always tell when there were humans by the lake because everything went quiet. The breeze still shifted the leaves, the rushes whispered as their tall heads bobbed at the water, but the little tingling voices that spoke to her were silent. She watched the young folk who came to the spot for many weeks but they never saw her. The boy was rather fine. He was a Romany from the camp on the other side of Foxhanger wood and he wore beautiful shirts of lilac and russet. Anita did not know the girl. She was fair and tall and she moved as gracefully as grass bowed by the wind.

One evening the girl was there on her own. Anita, peeping through the leaves, saw her sitting by the edge of the lake dabbling at the water with a stick. Anita sensed sad-feelings and crept toward her. She came so silently that the girl heard nothing. When she turned around Anita was squatting beside her. The girl jumped and put her hand to her throat. She said, “Gosh, you did frighten me. Where on earth did you come from?”

Anita said, “Sorry.” She spoke a little awkwardly because she saw so few human beings. She pointed at some distant woods. She said, “I came from over there. You’re always here, aren’t you? I’ve seen you.”

The girl blushed a little. Anita, studying her candidly, wondered why. The girl said, “How do you know I come here?”

Anita shrugged. “You stop things. That’s how I can tell.”

“What things?”

“Just things.”

The girl started to get up. She said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I disturbed you. I only came because it was quiet.”

Anita put her hand on her arm. She said, “You needn’t go; I don’t mind you being here. You are sad, aren’t you?”

The girl smiled. She said, “I suppose I am. Where do you live?”

Anita pointed again. “Over there.”

“Where’s there? What’s the name of the place?”

Anita frowned. “I don’t know. It’s just where I live.”

“Is it Foxhanger?”

“No.”

The girl said curiously, “You don’t know much, do you?”

Anita pouted. She said, “Of course I do. I know about lots of things.”

“What?”

Anita considered. “Well, I can make clothes and plant things so they grow. And I know there’s a church over there that no one goes to any more and I can show you where the bee-orchids grow and … and I know about red motors with boys in them.” She finished with a rush.

The girl laughed. The sound tinkled on the water. She said, “You’re funny.” Anita narrowed her eyes. She was not used to being laughed at. Momentarily she considered doing several nasty things that would make the girl sorry. Then she found the laughter was infectious and began to smile herself. And so a friendship was born. The girl’s name was Ruth Draper.

The next time Anita found her alone she asked about the Romany. Ruth said simply, “We’re in love.” Anita was puzzled. She asked a very basic question and Ruth colored furiously then got up and walked away. Anita had to run after her to explain. She said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. That’s what I do when I like boys. I thought that was what you meant.”

Ruth looked at her very oddly. She said, “You are the strangest girl, Anita. You aren’t like anybody else I’ve ever met.”

Anita stuck out her chest. She said with some pride, “I know. I’m a witch.” Then a shadow crossed her face. She said, “Least, I could be if I tried really hard. Gran says it’s still sort of dormant. I think I could be a good witch. Gran is terribly clever.”

Ruth merely laughed.

Anita told Granny Thompson about her new friend. The old lady snorted. She was trying with the aid of an ancient pair of glasses to fill in her weekly football coupon. She only did the pools for kicks as she could have levitated a thousand smackers from a bank as easily as she floated the coupon to the village postbox. She said, “Ent wuth the bother, these ’oomans. Lets yer down evry time. Satan, I could tell yer some tales. Bad as these ’ere teams ’ere. Look at this ’un. Worrum … summat or other. Lorst me thirty they did last week, an’ I’d got ’em fer a banker. I dunt reckon yer kin esspect nothink else orf these Orstralyerns.”

Anita said, “I don’t care. She’s nice. She’s in love with a Romany.”

Granny Thompson whooped. “Dunt you git yer ’ead full o’ stuff like that else I knows wun what’s a-gooin’ ter knock it out agin, smartish. Yore got enough ter do, my gel, keeping yerself up ter the mark. Call yerself a witch? Soured four churns o’ milk an’ lorst ’art an’ turned it orl back orlright agin. Shent stick up fer yer ner more when that young area chap comes a-pokin’ ’is nose, that I shent. ’Ave the Old Man down on yer neckit you will, afore yer done. Then you’ll know summat.” She dabbed in a line of crosses and said, “ ’Ere, tek this fer a walk. Gettin’ sorft you are, sittin’ ’round ’ere moonin’ about love an’ such. Never ’eard the like.”

But the advice came a little late. Anita already loved Ruth; she had never had a friend before.

She saw her every night now, even when the Romany came. Strangely enough Jem did not mind her company. Anita had a trick of being there and yet not being there, so the lovers could talk and laugh as if they were really alone. Anita learned a lot from them. She already knew about Jem, and snaring rabbits and making clothes pegs and how to light a fire in the wind and the best way to polish brass. These were things she had in common with his folk. Ruth’s life was a mystery to her. She lived in a new development two miles away across the fields. Here there were bungalows and little houses that thrust out in lines across the grass like the arms of a stubby dark-pink octopus. One night Ruth persuaded Anita to walk back with her so she could see her home. When the houses came into sight Anita stopped and refused to go any farther. She said, “They aren’t like mine. They’re just not proper places to live. Where do you grow food?”

Ruth laughed. “We don’t grow anything. We just buy it. Or at least Mummy does. There’s a van that comes around on Tuesdays. We put a lot of things in the refrigerator. They keep for ages like that.” Anita winced. She thought she had never heard anything so sinful.

From Ruth she learned a new vocabulary and a new way of thinking. She found out the cost of putting up a garage, and how Ruth’s father wouldn’t have the walls rendered because it was too expensive although the man next door had complained then written to the council because the bricks were unsightly and the council had said there was nothing they could do because it was a private estate. And what Mr. Daniels across the road had said to Ruth’s father because when there was a drought and the people had come around asking everyone not to use too much water Mr. Daniels had turned his hose on the garden that same night and Ruth’s father had told him off about it and how Mr. Draper had paid him back for what he said because the laundryman always used to leave the Daniels’ laundry in the Drapers’ shed and Mr. Draper had put the bundle out in the rain so it got all wet before anyone knew it was there. And how bad it was when the tube went in the telly because it was only a week outside the guarantee but the shop wouldn’t even meet them halfway. And what happens to fiber-board ceilings when storage tanks burst and what the Drapers had said to the gas people because the central heating cost more than it ought. As she listened Anita’s frown got deeper and deeper. Several times she mentioned what she had learned to her Granny but the old lady’s reply was always the same.

“ ’Oomans. Ent wuth a candle.”

One night Anita asked Jem and Ruth about love again. To her surprise Ruth burst into tears and Jem looked very angry. It seemed he could not go to Ruth’s house because he . . .