A Crooked Rib by Judy Corbalis

amiably to my laborious deciphering of Cobwebs to Catch Flies .
    I put down my book. ‘Ellen?’
    ‘Aye?’
    ‘Ellen, you remember the witch? By the canal …’
    ‘Oh, aye. She with they besom?’
    I nodded.
    ‘What have put ye in mind of she?’
    I hesitated. ‘I want … I … there’s a … a boy at my school who … who is cruel to me. He doesn’t like me …’
    ‘Ye should tell they dame. Be her must see to he, not ye.’
    ‘But I can’t tell her. He … he’ll find out. Ellen, do you know that witch?’
    Ellen was offended. ‘I has niver had truck in aye me life wi’ any witch and niver shall!’
    ‘Then, do you know a spell … or magic … to … to send him … that boy … away?’
    She thought for a moment. ‘Be old spell me grandam have used to frighten off they gypsies. Ye might try that one, mebbee.’
    ‘But does it work?’
    ‘Me grandam had niver in all of she life they tinkers near they door.’
    ‘Will you tell it to me?’
    Ellen looked around. ‘Nay here. Be Martha may hear and then be trouble. Tomorrow, mebbee, in they woodshed.’
    ‘But Joseph …’
    ‘Be Joseph’s afternoon off.’
     
    The woodshed was dark and full of scuttling spiders. I hung back from the door.
    ‘Quick, now,’ said Ellen. ‘Inside, afore Martha see us.’
    The small side window was so cobwebbed it emitted only a filtered shaft of dim light. Ellen stood me before it in the centre of the space not occupied by logs. I thought I heard a rat scuffle.
    ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t …’
    She shook her head and took from her pocket a small cloth bag. ‘Stand ye very still now and nay speak a word.’
    From the bag she drew a fistful of dried bay leaves, which she crumpled and sprinkled around me in a circle. Their pungent odour was a relief from the dank sour smell of the shed. Then she took from her pocket another bag, this one full of ashes, and carefully scattered them on top of the bay leaves. ‘Listen careful now. Speak nay a word out loud, but in ye head ye says three times they name of they boy be cruel to ye.’
    For a moment I was confused. I had forgotten my lie of yesterday. She mistook my confusion for fear. ‘Be nowt to be affrighted of. Ye be safe in they circle. Now, close ye eyes while I chants they spell.’
    Passing slowly around the outside of the circle of bay and ashes, she began to recite in a singsong voice:
    They divil take they wicked soul,
    And bring they cruelty down,
    They divil take, thee, wicked one,
    And fling thee from they town.
    Papa, I said silently to myself, Papa, Papa.
    Ellen turned and paced solemnly in the other direction around the circle.
    And all they evil, dreadful things,
    That thee has done to I,
    Comes back to thee a thousand-fold
    And bring thee aye to die.
    ‘No!’ I cried. ‘No, Ellen, not to die. I do not wish Pa— that boy todie. Just … to go away from Lyme.’
    Ellen was cross. ‘Be bad luck to break they spell. Hush ye, now. Be not finished.’
    ‘But not to die, Ellen. Please!’
    ‘A spell be a spell. They words be they words. Be nay for ye or I to change. Think powerful in they head, then, for they going away of they boy, not they dying.’
     
    I watched Papa, fearing to see him develop a tremor, a pallor, some indication of his imminent death, but he continued to be his usual self. Guilt stole my appetite, weighing on me so heavily I could no longer take pleasure in any of my former pastimes. Once, Mama would have quickly noted such a change in me, but she, herself, was unwell. She had a strange whiteness in her complexion, and on several occasions I heard her calling for Martha to bring her a basin, into which she would then be violently sick.
    And then it came to me. I understood what was wrong with Mama. I had interrupted Ellen as she recited her spell, and it had fallen not upon Papa but Mama …
     
    I crept about the house, praying to God to forgive me, promising even to sacrifice Marie if it would restore Mama to health. But Mama kept