1 I was now five, arid still I showed no real sign of intelligence. I showed no apparent interest in things except for my toes — more especially those on my left foot. I used to lie on my back all the time in the kitchen or, on bright warm days, out in the garden, surrounded by a family that loved me and hoped for me and that made me part of it. I was lonely, imprisoned in a world of my own, unable to communicate with others, cut off, separated from them as though a glass wall stood between my existence and theirs. I longed to run about and play with the rest, but I was unable to break loose from my imprisonment.
2 Then suddenly, it happened! In a moment everything was changed, my future life took a definite shape, my mother's faith in me rewarded, and her secret fear changed into open triumph.
3 It happened so quickly, so simply after all the years of waiting and uncertainty, that I can see and feel the whole scene as if it had happened last week. It was the afternoon of a cold, grey December day. It was snowing. The streets outside were all covered with snow.
4 Inside, all the family were gathered round the big kitchen fire that lit up the little room with a warm glow and made giant shadows dance on the walls and ceiling.
5 In a corner Mona, my sister, and Paddy, my brother, were sitting together. They were writing down little sums onto an old slate, using a piece of yellow chalk. I was close to them, propped up by a few pillows against the wall, watching.
6 It was the chalk that attracted me so much. It was a long, slender stick of vivid yellow. I had never seen anything like it before, and I was fascinated by it as much as if it had been a stick of gold.
7 Suddenly, I wanted desperately to do what my sister was doing. Then— without thinking or knowing exactly what I was doing, I reached out and took the stick of chalk out of my sister's hand —with my left foot.
8 I do not know why I used my left foot to do this. It is a puzzle to many people as well as to myself, for, although I had shown a curious interest in my toes at an early age, I had never attempted before this to use either of my feet in any way. They could have been as useless to me as were my hands. That day, however, my left foot reached out and very impolitely took the chalk out of my sister's hand.
9 I held it tightly between my toes, and, acting on an impulse, made a wild sort of scribble with it on the slate. Next moment I stopped, a bit dazed, surprised, looking down at the stick of yellow chalk stuck between my toes, not knowing what to do with it next, hardly knowing how it got there. Then I looked up and became aware that everyone had stopped talking, and was staring at me silently. Nobody stirred.
10 My mother came in. She stopped midway between the table and the fire, feeling the tension flowing through the room. She followed their stare and saw me in the corner. Her eyes looked from my face down to my foot, with the chalk gripped between my toes.
11 Then she crossed over to me and knelt down beside me, as she had done so many times before.
12 "I'll show you what to do with it, Chris," she said, very slowly and in a queer, choked way.
13 Taking another piece of chalk from Mona, she hesitated, then very deliberately drew, on the floor in front of me, the single letter "A. "
14 "Copy that," she said, looking steadily at me. "Copy it, Christy."
15 I couldn't.
16 I looked around at the faces that were turned towards me, tense, excited faces that were at that moment frozen, immobile, eager, waiting for a miracle.
17 The stillness was profound. I could hear the sound of the water tap dripping, the loud ticking of the clock, and the soft hiss and crackle of the logs on the open fire.
18 I tried again. I put out my foot and made a wild stab with the chalk which produced a very crooked line and nothing more. Mother held the slate steady for me.
19 "Try again, Chris," she whispered in my ear. "Again."
20 I did. I stiffened my body and put my left foot out again, for the third time. I drew one side of the letter. I drew half the other side. Then the stick of chalk broke and I was left with a stump. I wanted to throw it away and give up. Then I felt my mother's hand on my shoulder. I tried once more. Out went my foot. I shook, I sweated and tried my best. My hands were so tightly clenched that my fingernails bit into the flesh. I set my teeth so hard that I nearly pierced my lower lip. But — I drew it — the letter "A." There it was on the slate before me. Shaky, with awkward sides and a very uneven center line. But it was the letter "A." I looked up. I saw my mother's face for a moment, tears on her cheeks. Then my father stooped and put me onto his shoulder.
21 I had done it! It had started — the thing that was to give my mind its chance of expressing itself. True, I couldn't speak with my lips. But now I would speak through something more lasting than spoken words — written words.
22 That one letter, scrawled on the slate with a broken bit of yellow chalk gripped between my toes, was my road to a new world, my key to mental freedom.
2014年9月12日星期五
Lesson Fifteen The Letter "A" (Ⅰ) by Christy Brown
1 I was born in the Rotunda Hospital, on June 5th, 1932. Mine was a difficult birth, I am told. Both mother and son almost died. A whole army of relations queued up outside the hospital until the small hours of the morning, waiting for news and praying anxiously that it would be good.
2 It was Mother who first saw that there was something wrong with me. I was about four months old at the time. She noticed that my head fell backwards whenever she tried to feed me. She attempted to correct this by placing her hand on the back of my neck to keep it steady. But when she took it away, back it would drop again. That was the first warning sign. Then she became aware of other defects as I got older. She saw that my hands were clenched nearly all of the time; my jaws would either lock together tightly, or they would suddenly become limp and fall loose. At six months I could not sit up without having a mountain of pillows around me. At twelve months it was the same.
3 Very worried by this, Mother told my father her fears, and they decided to seek medical advice without any further delay. I was a little over a year old when they began to take me to hospitals and clinics, convinced that there was something definitely wrong with me.
4 Almost every doctor who saw and examined me said that I was a very interesting but also a hopeless case. Many told Mother very gently that I was mentally defective and would remain so. That was a hard blow to a young mother who had already reared five healthy children. The doctors were sure of themselves and assured her that nothing could be done for me.
5 She refused to accept this truth, the inevitable truth — as it then seemed— that I was beyond cure, beyond saving, even beyond hope. She had nothing in the world to go by, not a scrap of evidence to support her conviction that, though my body was crippled, my mind was not.
6 Finding that the doctors could not help in any way besides telling her to forget I was a human creature and to regard me as just something to be fed and washed and then put away again, Mother decided there and then to take matters into her own hands. I was her child, and therefore part of the family. No matter how dull and incapable I might grow up to be, she was determined to treat me the same as the others.
7 That was a big decision as far as my future life was concerned. But it wasn't easy for her because now the relatives and friends told her that I should be taken kindly, sympathetically, but not seriously."For your own sake," they told her, "don't look to this boy as you would to the others; it would only break your heart in the end."Luckily for me, Mother and Father held out against the lot of them. But Mother wasn't content just to say that I was not an idiot: she set out to prove it, not because of any rigid sense of duty, but out of love. That is why she was so successful.
8 Four years rolled by and I was now five, and still as helpless as a newly born baby. While my father was out at bricklaying, earning the bread and butter for us, Mother was slowly, patiently pulling down the wall, brick by brick, that seemed to stand between me and the other children, slowly, patiently penetrating beyond the thick curtain that hung over my mind, separating it from theirs. It was hard, heartbreaking work, for often all she got from me in return was a vague smile and perhaps a faint gurgle. I could not speak or even mumble, nor could I sit up on my own without support, let alone walk. But I wasn't inert or motionless. I seemed to be all movement, wild, stiff, snakelike movement that never left me, except in sleep. My fingers twisted and twitched continually, my arms moved backwards and would often shoot out suddenly this way and that, and my head fell sideways. I was a queer crooked little fellow.
9 Mother tells me how one day she had been sitting with me for hours, showing me pictures and telling me the names of the different animals and flowers that were in them, trying without success to get me to repeat them. This had gone on for hours while she talked and laughed with me. Then at the end of it she leaned over me and said gently into my ear:
10 "Did you like it, Chris? Did you like the bears and the monkeys and all the lovely flowers? Nod your head for yes, like a good boy."
11 But I could make no sign that I had understood her. Her face was bent over mine hopefully. Suddenly, my queer hand reached up and grasped one of the dark curls that fell about her neck. Gently she loosened the clenched fingers, though some dark hairs were still clutched between them. Then she turned away from my curious stare and left the room, crying. The door closed behind her. It all seemed hopeless. It looked as though my relatives were right that I was an idiot and beyond help.
12 They now spoke of putting me in a home for idiots.
13 "Never!" said my mother almost fiercely, when this was suggested to her. "I know my boy is not an idiot; it is his body that is crippled, not his mind. I'm sure of that."
2 It was Mother who first saw that there was something wrong with me. I was about four months old at the time. She noticed that my head fell backwards whenever she tried to feed me. She attempted to correct this by placing her hand on the back of my neck to keep it steady. But when she took it away, back it would drop again. That was the first warning sign. Then she became aware of other defects as I got older. She saw that my hands were clenched nearly all of the time; my jaws would either lock together tightly, or they would suddenly become limp and fall loose. At six months I could not sit up without having a mountain of pillows around me. At twelve months it was the same.
3 Very worried by this, Mother told my father her fears, and they decided to seek medical advice without any further delay. I was a little over a year old when they began to take me to hospitals and clinics, convinced that there was something definitely wrong with me.
4 Almost every doctor who saw and examined me said that I was a very interesting but also a hopeless case. Many told Mother very gently that I was mentally defective and would remain so. That was a hard blow to a young mother who had already reared five healthy children. The doctors were sure of themselves and assured her that nothing could be done for me.
5 She refused to accept this truth, the inevitable truth — as it then seemed— that I was beyond cure, beyond saving, even beyond hope. She had nothing in the world to go by, not a scrap of evidence to support her conviction that, though my body was crippled, my mind was not.
6 Finding that the doctors could not help in any way besides telling her to forget I was a human creature and to regard me as just something to be fed and washed and then put away again, Mother decided there and then to take matters into her own hands. I was her child, and therefore part of the family. No matter how dull and incapable I might grow up to be, she was determined to treat me the same as the others.
7 That was a big decision as far as my future life was concerned. But it wasn't easy for her because now the relatives and friends told her that I should be taken kindly, sympathetically, but not seriously."For your own sake," they told her, "don't look to this boy as you would to the others; it would only break your heart in the end."Luckily for me, Mother and Father held out against the lot of them. But Mother wasn't content just to say that I was not an idiot: she set out to prove it, not because of any rigid sense of duty, but out of love. That is why she was so successful.
8 Four years rolled by and I was now five, and still as helpless as a newly born baby. While my father was out at bricklaying, earning the bread and butter for us, Mother was slowly, patiently pulling down the wall, brick by brick, that seemed to stand between me and the other children, slowly, patiently penetrating beyond the thick curtain that hung over my mind, separating it from theirs. It was hard, heartbreaking work, for often all she got from me in return was a vague smile and perhaps a faint gurgle. I could not speak or even mumble, nor could I sit up on my own without support, let alone walk. But I wasn't inert or motionless. I seemed to be all movement, wild, stiff, snakelike movement that never left me, except in sleep. My fingers twisted and twitched continually, my arms moved backwards and would often shoot out suddenly this way and that, and my head fell sideways. I was a queer crooked little fellow.
9 Mother tells me how one day she had been sitting with me for hours, showing me pictures and telling me the names of the different animals and flowers that were in them, trying without success to get me to repeat them. This had gone on for hours while she talked and laughed with me. Then at the end of it she leaned over me and said gently into my ear:
10 "Did you like it, Chris? Did you like the bears and the monkeys and all the lovely flowers? Nod your head for yes, like a good boy."
11 But I could make no sign that I had understood her. Her face was bent over mine hopefully. Suddenly, my queer hand reached up and grasped one of the dark curls that fell about her neck. Gently she loosened the clenched fingers, though some dark hairs were still clutched between them. Then she turned away from my curious stare and left the room, crying. The door closed behind her. It all seemed hopeless. It looked as though my relatives were right that I was an idiot and beyond help.
12 They now spoke of putting me in a home for idiots.
13 "Never!" said my mother almost fiercely, when this was suggested to her. "I know my boy is not an idiot; it is his body that is crippled, not his mind. I'm sure of that."
Lesson Fourteen The Outside Chance by Jan Carew
1 It's a funny thing about money. If you haven't got it, you think it's the most important thing in the world. That's what I used to think, too. I don't any more, though, and I learned the hard way.
2 When I was at school, we had this English master. He was always quoting to us from famous writers. I wasn't very interested, and I don't remember much about it now. But it's funny how things come back to you. He used to say:
3 "When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers."
4 Sounds a bit silly, doesn't it.? Well, I didn't understand it then, either, but I can tell you what it means now. It means if you want something really badly, you'll probably get it. But you'll probably get it in a way you don't expect.
5 I mean, you might have to pay a price you didn't bargain for.
6 It started one rainy day, when I was coming home from work.
7 I'm a motor mechanic, and I like working in the garage. But, I was restless. I'd always had this dream of owning my own business. Nothing big — just something I could build up. I don't mind hard work, you see, if I'm working for myself. That's why I'd left my mum and dad in the North, and come to London. I thought I'd make more money that way.
8 We'd had arguments about it. My dad and I. He didn't see why I should want to leave home when I had enough money to live on.
9 Enough! Enough for what? I used to ask him. To live as he had in a council house all his life, with nothing to look forward to but a gold watch and a pension?
10 Oh, I was fond of him, you see, and it annoyed me to see him so content. He had nothing to show for all those years of work in that noisy factory.
11 Anyway, all this was on my mind, as I walked home that night. The rain didn't help, either. I remember thinking, if only I could get a thousand pounds — just that, just a thousand.
12 I stopped and bought a newspaper outside the Tube. I thought it would take my mind off things on the way home. I could read about other people's troubles for a change. See what films were on.
13 I don't know when I first realised there was something wrong with the paper. It looked ordinary enough. But there was something about it that didn't seem quite right. As if there was a gap in the news. As if it was a jump ahead. So, in the end, I looked at the front page, and instead of Tuesday 22nd November, it said Wednesday 23rd November.
14 "My God," I thought, "it's tomorrow's paper!"
15 I didn't believe it to start with. But it did explain why all the news was different. There couldn't be any other explanation. Somehow, I had bought tomorrow's paper — today!
16 And that was the moment I realised it. The moment I realised that all my prayers could be answered. My hands were shaking so much that I could hardly turn the pages. But they were there. The results of tomorrow's races!
17 I looked at the winners, and chose from them carefully. I picked only the outsiders that had won at prices like 30-1.
18 There was even one at 50-1! A horse I would never have thought of betting on.
19 Next morning, I went to the bank, and drew out just about all I had— ￡ 150. I laid my bets during my lunch hour. I went to several shops. I didn't want anyone to become suspicious.
20 It's a funny thing, but I just knew the horses would win. And — God forgive me — I never stopped to think why I had been given this chance to see into the future.
21 They did win — every one of them. All I had to do was to go round and collect my money, and I couldn't wait to get home and count it. ￡ 4,000 ! !
22 Well, nothing could stop me now! I'd give in my notice at work the next day, and look for a place of my own. Wait till I told Mum and Dad! They'd hardly be able to believe it.
23 I switched on the television, but I couldn't concentrate on it. I kept thinking what I'd do with the money. I hardly heard a word of the programme.
24 Then the news came on.
25 The announcer mentioned Selby. That was where my parents lived. I began to listen.
26 There had been an explosion up there, that afternoon, followed by a fire in a factory. Twenty-two people had been killed, and many more were in hospital. I don't remember the rest — something about a government enquiry.
27 I stopped listening, but I couldn't move out of the chair. I think I must've known then that my dad was dead — even before the telegram came.
28 The newspaper had fallen on the floor. I picked it up, not realising what I was doing. Then, I saw it — in the "Stop Press."FACTORY DISASTER IN SELBY. MANY FEARED DEAD. I hadn't seen it before. I'd been too busy picking winners. I could've saved my dad's life, but I'd been too busy picking bloody winners. I don't often cry, but the words swam in front of me then.
29 There isn't much more to tell. I got my own business, and I'm doing well. As for my Mum, she was paid insurance by the firm that owned the factory, so she's better off than she ever was. The only thing is, she doesn't care if she's alive or dead now my Dad's gone.
30 When the gods wish to punish us, they make a damn good job of it.
2 When I was at school, we had this English master. He was always quoting to us from famous writers. I wasn't very interested, and I don't remember much about it now. But it's funny how things come back to you. He used to say:
3 "When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers."
4 Sounds a bit silly, doesn't it.? Well, I didn't understand it then, either, but I can tell you what it means now. It means if you want something really badly, you'll probably get it. But you'll probably get it in a way you don't expect.
5 I mean, you might have to pay a price you didn't bargain for.
6 It started one rainy day, when I was coming home from work.
7 I'm a motor mechanic, and I like working in the garage. But, I was restless. I'd always had this dream of owning my own business. Nothing big — just something I could build up. I don't mind hard work, you see, if I'm working for myself. That's why I'd left my mum and dad in the North, and come to London. I thought I'd make more money that way.
8 We'd had arguments about it. My dad and I. He didn't see why I should want to leave home when I had enough money to live on.
9 Enough! Enough for what? I used to ask him. To live as he had in a council house all his life, with nothing to look forward to but a gold watch and a pension?
10 Oh, I was fond of him, you see, and it annoyed me to see him so content. He had nothing to show for all those years of work in that noisy factory.
11 Anyway, all this was on my mind, as I walked home that night. The rain didn't help, either. I remember thinking, if only I could get a thousand pounds — just that, just a thousand.
12 I stopped and bought a newspaper outside the Tube. I thought it would take my mind off things on the way home. I could read about other people's troubles for a change. See what films were on.
13 I don't know when I first realised there was something wrong with the paper. It looked ordinary enough. But there was something about it that didn't seem quite right. As if there was a gap in the news. As if it was a jump ahead. So, in the end, I looked at the front page, and instead of Tuesday 22nd November, it said Wednesday 23rd November.
14 "My God," I thought, "it's tomorrow's paper!"
15 I didn't believe it to start with. But it did explain why all the news was different. There couldn't be any other explanation. Somehow, I had bought tomorrow's paper — today!
16 And that was the moment I realised it. The moment I realised that all my prayers could be answered. My hands were shaking so much that I could hardly turn the pages. But they were there. The results of tomorrow's races!
17 I looked at the winners, and chose from them carefully. I picked only the outsiders that had won at prices like 30-1.
18 There was even one at 50-1! A horse I would never have thought of betting on.
19 Next morning, I went to the bank, and drew out just about all I had— ￡ 150. I laid my bets during my lunch hour. I went to several shops. I didn't want anyone to become suspicious.
20 It's a funny thing, but I just knew the horses would win. And — God forgive me — I never stopped to think why I had been given this chance to see into the future.
21 They did win — every one of them. All I had to do was to go round and collect my money, and I couldn't wait to get home and count it. ￡ 4,000 ! !
22 Well, nothing could stop me now! I'd give in my notice at work the next day, and look for a place of my own. Wait till I told Mum and Dad! They'd hardly be able to believe it.
23 I switched on the television, but I couldn't concentrate on it. I kept thinking what I'd do with the money. I hardly heard a word of the programme.
24 Then the news came on.
25 The announcer mentioned Selby. That was where my parents lived. I began to listen.
26 There had been an explosion up there, that afternoon, followed by a fire in a factory. Twenty-two people had been killed, and many more were in hospital. I don't remember the rest — something about a government enquiry.
27 I stopped listening, but I couldn't move out of the chair. I think I must've known then that my dad was dead — even before the telegram came.
28 The newspaper had fallen on the floor. I picked it up, not realising what I was doing. Then, I saw it — in the "Stop Press."FACTORY DISASTER IN SELBY. MANY FEARED DEAD. I hadn't seen it before. I'd been too busy picking winners. I could've saved my dad's life, but I'd been too busy picking bloody winners. I don't often cry, but the words swam in front of me then.
29 There isn't much more to tell. I got my own business, and I'm doing well. As for my Mum, she was paid insurance by the firm that owned the factory, so she's better off than she ever was. The only thing is, she doesn't care if she's alive or dead now my Dad's gone.
30 When the gods wish to punish us, they make a damn good job of it.
Lesson Thirteen Freedom in Dying by Gerald Corey
1 The process of dying involves fewer and fewer choices available to us. Even in dying, however, we still have choices concerning how we handle what is happening to us. The following account deals with the dying of Jim Morelock, a student and close friend of mine.
2 Jim is 25 years old. He is full of life — witty, bright, honest, and actively questioning. He had just graduated from college as a human services major and seemed to have a bright future when his illness was discovered.
3 About a year and a half ago, Jim developed a lump on his forehead and underwent surgery to have it removed. At that time, his doctors believed that it was not a cancer. Later, more tumors appeared, and more surgery followed. Several months ago, Jim found out that the tumors had spread throughout his body and that even with treatment, he would have a short life. Since that time he has steadily grown weaker and has been able to do less and less; yet he has shown remarkable courage in the way he has faced this loss and his dying.
4 Some time ago Jim came to California, and took part in the weekend seminar that I had with the reviewers of this book. On this chapter, he commented that although we may not have a choice concerning the losses we suffer in dying, we do retain the ability to choose our attitude toward our death.
5 Jim has taught me a lot during these past few months about this enduring capacity for choice, even in extreme circumstances. Jim has made many critical choices since being told of his illness. He chose to continue taking a course at the university, because he liked the contact with the people there. He worked hard at a boat dock to support himself. He decided to undergo treatment, even though he knew that it most likely would not result in his cure, because he hoped that it would reduce his pain. It did not, and Jim has suffered much agony during the past few months. He decided not to undergo chemical treatment because he didn't want to prolong his life if he couldn't really live fully. He made a choice to accept God in his life, which gave him a full sense of peace. Before he became bedridden, he decided to go to Hawaii and enjoy his time in luxury.
6 Jim has always disliked hospitals — so he chose to remain at home, in more personal surroundings. As long as he was able, he read widely and continued to write in his diary about his thoughts and feelings on living and dying. With his friends, he played his guitar and sang songs that he had written. He maintained an active interest in life and in the things around him, without denying the fact that he was dying.
7 More than anyone I have known or heard about, Jim has taken care of unfinished business. He made it a point to gather his family and tell them his wishes, he made contact with all his friends and said everything he wanted to say to them. He dearly stated his desire for cremation; he wants to burn those tumors and then have his ashes scattered over the sea — a wish that reflects his love of freedom and movement.
8 Jim has very little freedom and movement now, for he can do little except lie in his bed and wait for his death to come. To this day he is choosing to die with dignity, and although his body is getting weaker and weaker, his spirit is still very much alive. He retains his mental sharpness, his ability to say a lot in a very few words, and his sense of humor. He has allowed himself to grieve over his losses. As he puts it, "I'd sure like to hang around to enjoy all those people that love me!"Realizing that this isn't possible, Jim is saying good-bye to all those who are close to him.
9 Throughout this suffering, Jim's mother has been truly great. When she told me how remarkable Jim has been in complaining so rarely despite his constant pain, I reminded her that I'd never heard her complain during her months of caring for him. I have been continually amazed by her strength and courage, and I have admired her willingness to honor Jim's wishes and accept his beliefs, even though at times they have differed from her own. She has shown how much she loves him without depriving him of his free spirit and independence. Her acceptance of Jim's dying and her willingness to hide nothing from him have given him the opportunity to express openly whatever he feels. Jim has been able to grieve and mourn because she has not objected to this.
10 This experience has taught me much about dying and about living. Through Jim, I have learned that I don't have to do very much for a person who is dying except to be with him or her by being myself. So often I have felt a sense of helplessness, of not knowing what to say or how much to say, of not knowing what to ask or not to ask, of feeling unable to speak. Jim's oncoming death seems such a loss, and it's very difficult for me to accept it. Gradually, however, I have learned not to be so concerned about what to say or not to say. In fact, in my last visit I said very little, but I feel that we made significant contact with each other. I've also learned to share with him the sadness I feel, but there is simply no easy way to say good-bye to a friend.
11 Jim is showing me that his style of dying will be no different from his style of living. By his example and by his words, Jim has taught me how to evaluate my own life.
2 Jim is 25 years old. He is full of life — witty, bright, honest, and actively questioning. He had just graduated from college as a human services major and seemed to have a bright future when his illness was discovered.
3 About a year and a half ago, Jim developed a lump on his forehead and underwent surgery to have it removed. At that time, his doctors believed that it was not a cancer. Later, more tumors appeared, and more surgery followed. Several months ago, Jim found out that the tumors had spread throughout his body and that even with treatment, he would have a short life. Since that time he has steadily grown weaker and has been able to do less and less; yet he has shown remarkable courage in the way he has faced this loss and his dying.
4 Some time ago Jim came to California, and took part in the weekend seminar that I had with the reviewers of this book. On this chapter, he commented that although we may not have a choice concerning the losses we suffer in dying, we do retain the ability to choose our attitude toward our death.
5 Jim has taught me a lot during these past few months about this enduring capacity for choice, even in extreme circumstances. Jim has made many critical choices since being told of his illness. He chose to continue taking a course at the university, because he liked the contact with the people there. He worked hard at a boat dock to support himself. He decided to undergo treatment, even though he knew that it most likely would not result in his cure, because he hoped that it would reduce his pain. It did not, and Jim has suffered much agony during the past few months. He decided not to undergo chemical treatment because he didn't want to prolong his life if he couldn't really live fully. He made a choice to accept God in his life, which gave him a full sense of peace. Before he became bedridden, he decided to go to Hawaii and enjoy his time in luxury.
6 Jim has always disliked hospitals — so he chose to remain at home, in more personal surroundings. As long as he was able, he read widely and continued to write in his diary about his thoughts and feelings on living and dying. With his friends, he played his guitar and sang songs that he had written. He maintained an active interest in life and in the things around him, without denying the fact that he was dying.
7 More than anyone I have known or heard about, Jim has taken care of unfinished business. He made it a point to gather his family and tell them his wishes, he made contact with all his friends and said everything he wanted to say to them. He dearly stated his desire for cremation; he wants to burn those tumors and then have his ashes scattered over the sea — a wish that reflects his love of freedom and movement.
8 Jim has very little freedom and movement now, for he can do little except lie in his bed and wait for his death to come. To this day he is choosing to die with dignity, and although his body is getting weaker and weaker, his spirit is still very much alive. He retains his mental sharpness, his ability to say a lot in a very few words, and his sense of humor. He has allowed himself to grieve over his losses. As he puts it, "I'd sure like to hang around to enjoy all those people that love me!"Realizing that this isn't possible, Jim is saying good-bye to all those who are close to him.
9 Throughout this suffering, Jim's mother has been truly great. When she told me how remarkable Jim has been in complaining so rarely despite his constant pain, I reminded her that I'd never heard her complain during her months of caring for him. I have been continually amazed by her strength and courage, and I have admired her willingness to honor Jim's wishes and accept his beliefs, even though at times they have differed from her own. She has shown how much she loves him without depriving him of his free spirit and independence. Her acceptance of Jim's dying and her willingness to hide nothing from him have given him the opportunity to express openly whatever he feels. Jim has been able to grieve and mourn because she has not objected to this.
10 This experience has taught me much about dying and about living. Through Jim, I have learned that I don't have to do very much for a person who is dying except to be with him or her by being myself. So often I have felt a sense of helplessness, of not knowing what to say or how much to say, of not knowing what to ask or not to ask, of feeling unable to speak. Jim's oncoming death seems such a loss, and it's very difficult for me to accept it. Gradually, however, I have learned not to be so concerned about what to say or not to say. In fact, in my last visit I said very little, but I feel that we made significant contact with each other. I've also learned to share with him the sadness I feel, but there is simply no easy way to say good-bye to a friend.
11 Jim is showing me that his style of dying will be no different from his style of living. By his example and by his words, Jim has taught me how to evaluate my own life.
Lesson Twelve I Got My B.A. by Sheer Luck by Walter Pauk
1 NOW IT CAN BE TOLD: I got my B.A. by sheer luck. Here is my story.
2 Professor Kolb was especially difficult that year. Exactly 63.6 percent of the class failed Egyptian History. And if it were not for sheer luck, I'd have raised the percentage to 65.4.
3 I remember most vividly the frightening pace of the lectures. No one could take notes as fast as "Old Kolb" talked. I usually missed more than half of each lecture. Without complete notes, it was impossible to study. I was lucky to have gotten even the 38 in one exam. I knew that my only chance for survival was to get fuller notes.
4 That night after the exam grades came out, I thought over my disgraceful grade. Suddenly I hit upon an idea: Why not leave every other line on my note paper blank? Then I could recall the lecture afterward and fill in the missing parts.
5 The next day I tried this plan and it worked! What luck! At first it was difficult to recall the lecture, but as days passed, it became sort of a game. Often in my room I would imitate the professor and try to give the lecture as best as I could without looking at my notes.
6 One evening while reciting the day's lecture to myself, I made an important discovery. In trying to make my presentation as smooth as possible, I used the transitional words "Now that we have discussed the major reason for the success of Pharaoh Hophra, let us look at the minor reasons." At that moment I stopped still, for at no time did the professor ever cut up the lecture into topics and subtopics; however, the topics and subtopics were there, waiting to be discovered.With this secret in mind, I found that I could take better notes during the lecture, and after class I could very easily supply the missing parts.
7 An incident finally convinced me of my intellectual inferiority when I found that the other students just "flipped the pages" of the textbook. But poor me, I had to work on each chapter for hours. I was lucky when, looking in the library for a book on Egyptian religion, I ran across a whole shelf filled with books on Egypt. I spent the rest of the day until 10∶00 p.m. (closing time) reading. I finally picked out three books which were easy enough for me to understand, and I took these back to my room. By first reading these books, I found I could understand better the assigned chapter in the textbook. So with luck I solved the textbook problem.
8 There I was, as the final examination approached, with a notebook about two inches thick, filled with lecture notes. Now, was I to memorize all these notes? And the textbook? Realizing that I couldn't memorize everything in my notes, I decided to review each lecture with one thought in mind: "What is the really important idea here?" As I found the answer, I'd jot the central point on separate sheets which I called "Summary Sheets." When I finished, I had reduced inches of lecture notes to just twelve pages of "main issues."I then did the same with my textbook .
9 I learned these main issues by first reading them over, thinking about them, then without looking at my notes, by trying to recite them in my own words. I went through my summary sheets in the same way, issue by issue.
10 Having mastered these main issues, I composed ten questions —questions that I'd ask if I were the professor. I pretended that I was in the examination room, and I spent the next four hours answering my ten questions. I then corrected my answers by referring to the lecture and the textbook notes, and much to my delight, I had discussed all the facts and ideas accurately. For the first time I felt that I had achieved something. I went to bed at 10∶00 for a good night's sleep, having refused to go to a movie with the rest of the boys.
11 On the way to the examination room the next morning, I knew without question that my luck had run out when I met Jack, who sat next to me. He had not taken a single note all semester; he had not even "flipped" the textbook pages. When I asked why he wasn't nervous, he answered, "This is the semester for Examination Set #4."
12 "What's Examination Set # 4?"
13 Everybody on campus except me, I guess, knew that "Old Kolb" had five sets of examinations (ten questions in every set),which he used in turn over a five-year period. Though "Old Kolb"collected the question sheets from each student, he underestimated their organizing ability. The plan worked like this: Some students were given the task to memorize question # 1, another group to memorize # 2, and so forth. When the students left the examination room, they jotted down these questions quickly from memory. In this way they finally collected all five sets of the examination.
14 I knew my luck had run out. As the examination sheets were passed out, I heard moans of various kinds: "Oh, No ! No !" and hysterical laughter. I thought that perhaps the professor had by mistake given out Exam # 5 instead of the expected # 4.
15 By the time the sheets reached me, I, too, gasped, "Oh! It can't be." They were the same ten questions that I had made up only yesterday! How could that be? One chance in a million, I'm sure. I wrote and wrote and wrote.
16 "Old Kolb" gave me a 100 plus. He wrote a note saying,"Thank goodness for one good scholar in all my years of teaching."But he didn't know what luck I had, and I never told him.
17 Now that twenty years have passed, I think that it is safe to reveal that here is one fellow who got his B.A. by sheer luck.
2 Professor Kolb was especially difficult that year. Exactly 63.6 percent of the class failed Egyptian History. And if it were not for sheer luck, I'd have raised the percentage to 65.4.
3 I remember most vividly the frightening pace of the lectures. No one could take notes as fast as "Old Kolb" talked. I usually missed more than half of each lecture. Without complete notes, it was impossible to study. I was lucky to have gotten even the 38 in one exam. I knew that my only chance for survival was to get fuller notes.
4 That night after the exam grades came out, I thought over my disgraceful grade. Suddenly I hit upon an idea: Why not leave every other line on my note paper blank? Then I could recall the lecture afterward and fill in the missing parts.
5 The next day I tried this plan and it worked! What luck! At first it was difficult to recall the lecture, but as days passed, it became sort of a game. Often in my room I would imitate the professor and try to give the lecture as best as I could without looking at my notes.
6 One evening while reciting the day's lecture to myself, I made an important discovery. In trying to make my presentation as smooth as possible, I used the transitional words "Now that we have discussed the major reason for the success of Pharaoh Hophra, let us look at the minor reasons." At that moment I stopped still, for at no time did the professor ever cut up the lecture into topics and subtopics; however, the topics and subtopics were there, waiting to be discovered.With this secret in mind, I found that I could take better notes during the lecture, and after class I could very easily supply the missing parts.
7 An incident finally convinced me of my intellectual inferiority when I found that the other students just "flipped the pages" of the textbook. But poor me, I had to work on each chapter for hours. I was lucky when, looking in the library for a book on Egyptian religion, I ran across a whole shelf filled with books on Egypt. I spent the rest of the day until 10∶00 p.m. (closing time) reading. I finally picked out three books which were easy enough for me to understand, and I took these back to my room. By first reading these books, I found I could understand better the assigned chapter in the textbook. So with luck I solved the textbook problem.
8 There I was, as the final examination approached, with a notebook about two inches thick, filled with lecture notes. Now, was I to memorize all these notes? And the textbook? Realizing that I couldn't memorize everything in my notes, I decided to review each lecture with one thought in mind: "What is the really important idea here?" As I found the answer, I'd jot the central point on separate sheets which I called "Summary Sheets." When I finished, I had reduced inches of lecture notes to just twelve pages of "main issues."I then did the same with my textbook .
9 I learned these main issues by first reading them over, thinking about them, then without looking at my notes, by trying to recite them in my own words. I went through my summary sheets in the same way, issue by issue.
10 Having mastered these main issues, I composed ten questions —questions that I'd ask if I were the professor. I pretended that I was in the examination room, and I spent the next four hours answering my ten questions. I then corrected my answers by referring to the lecture and the textbook notes, and much to my delight, I had discussed all the facts and ideas accurately. For the first time I felt that I had achieved something. I went to bed at 10∶00 for a good night's sleep, having refused to go to a movie with the rest of the boys.
11 On the way to the examination room the next morning, I knew without question that my luck had run out when I met Jack, who sat next to me. He had not taken a single note all semester; he had not even "flipped" the textbook pages. When I asked why he wasn't nervous, he answered, "This is the semester for Examination Set #4."
12 "What's Examination Set # 4?"
13 Everybody on campus except me, I guess, knew that "Old Kolb" had five sets of examinations (ten questions in every set),which he used in turn over a five-year period. Though "Old Kolb"collected the question sheets from each student, he underestimated their organizing ability. The plan worked like this: Some students were given the task to memorize question # 1, another group to memorize # 2, and so forth. When the students left the examination room, they jotted down these questions quickly from memory. In this way they finally collected all five sets of the examination.
14 I knew my luck had run out. As the examination sheets were passed out, I heard moans of various kinds: "Oh, No ! No !" and hysterical laughter. I thought that perhaps the professor had by mistake given out Exam # 5 instead of the expected # 4.
15 By the time the sheets reached me, I, too, gasped, "Oh! It can't be." They were the same ten questions that I had made up only yesterday! How could that be? One chance in a million, I'm sure. I wrote and wrote and wrote.
16 "Old Kolb" gave me a 100 plus. He wrote a note saying,"Thank goodness for one good scholar in all my years of teaching."But he didn't know what luck I had, and I never told him.
17 Now that twenty years have passed, I think that it is safe to reveal that here is one fellow who got his B.A. by sheer luck.
Lesson Eleven The Emotional Bank Account by Stephen R. Covey
1 The Emotional Bank Account is like a financial bank account in one way: you can make "deposits" — actions that build trust — or you can make "withdrawals" that decrease it. It represents the quality of the relationship you have with other people. If you have a high balance, then communication is open and free.
2 Let me share ideas for "deposits" you can make in your family:
Cultivate kindness.
3 Many years ago I spent an evening out with two of my sons. In the middle of the movie, Sean, then four, fell asleep. His older brother Stephen, six, stayed awake, and we watched the rest of the movie together. When it was over, I carried Sean to the car. It was cold, so I took off my coat and gently put it over him.
4 When we arrived home, I carried Sean in, then lay down next to Stephen to talk. Suddenly he asked, "Daddy, if I were cold, would you put your coat around me, too?"
5 Of all the events of our night out together, the most important was a little act of kindness — a showing of love to his brother.
6 In relationships, the little things are the big things. They go a long way toward building trust and unconditional love. Just think about the impact in your family of using words of courtesy such as thank you and please. Or unexpected acts of service, such as taking children shopping for something that's important to them. Or finding little ways to express love, such as leaving a note in a lunch box or briefcase.
Earn an “A”：apologize.
7 Perhaps nothing tests our capacity to initiate change as much as saying "I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends. That was wrong of me."
8 "Sweetheart, I apologize for cutting you off. I was so rude. Please forgive me."
9 Sometimes apologizing is incredibly hard, but the effort says,"Our relationship is very important to me." And that kind of communication builds the Emotional Bank Account.
Learn loyalty.
10 Next to apologizing, one of the most important deposits a person can make is to be loyal to family members when they are not present.
11 In other words, talk about others as if they were there. That doesn't mean you're unaware of their weaknesses. It means, rather, that you focus on the positive — and that if you do talk about weaknesses, you do it in such a way that you wouldn't be ashamed to have the person overhear it.
12 A friend had an 18-year-old son whose habits annoyed his brothers and sisters. When the boy wasn't there, the family often talked about him. At one point, this friend decided to follow the principle of being loyal to those not present. When such conversations developed, he gently interrupted and said something good that he had observed his son doing. Soon the conversation would shift to more interesting subjects.
13 Our friend said he soon felt that the others began to connect with this principle of family loyalty. They realized that he'd also defend them if they were not present. And in some unexplainable manner— perhaps because he started seeing his son differently —this change improved his Emotional Bank Account.
Make — and keep — promises.
14 Over the years people have asked if I had one simple idea that would help others cope with problems, seize opportunities and make their lives successful. I give a four-word answer: "make and keep promises."
15 My daughter, Cynthia, recalls something that happened when she was 12 years old: "Dad promised to take me with him on a business trip to San Francisco. We talked about the trip for months. After his meetings, we planned to take a cab to Chinatown and have our favorite food and see a movie. I was dying with expectation.
16 "The day finally arrived. The hours dragged by as I waited for Dad to finish work. At about 6∶ 30, he arrived with an influential business acquaintance who wanted to take us to dinner. My disappointment was bigger than life.
17 "I will never forget Dad saying to him, ‘I'd love to see you, but this is a special time with my girl. We've got it planned to the minute. ' We did everything. That was just about the happiest time of my life. I don't think any young girl ever loved her father as much as I loved mine that night."
18 I'm convinced that you would be hard pressed to come up with a deposit that has more impact in the family than making and keeping promises.
Don't forget to forgive.
19 For many, the ultimate deposit to the Emotional Bank Account comes in forgiving.
20 When you forgive, you open the channels for trust and unconditional love. You cleanse your heart. You also remove a major obstacle that keeps others from changing — because when you don't forgive, you put yourself between people and their conscience. Instead of spending their energy on work with their own conscience, they spend it defending and justifying their behavior to you.
21 In everything you do for your family, keep in mind the miracle of the Chinese bamboo. After the seed is planted, new, taller shoots appear until the bamboo reaches full height. But the most dramatic growth is underground, where the roots grow very strong. With this support, the bamboo can reach a height of 120 feet!
22 The Emotional Bank Account can be like that. As you begin to make deposits, you may see positive results immediately. More often it will take weeks, months, even years. But results will come, and you will be astonished at the change.
2 Let me share ideas for "deposits" you can make in your family:
Cultivate kindness.
3 Many years ago I spent an evening out with two of my sons. In the middle of the movie, Sean, then four, fell asleep. His older brother Stephen, six, stayed awake, and we watched the rest of the movie together. When it was over, I carried Sean to the car. It was cold, so I took off my coat and gently put it over him.
4 When we arrived home, I carried Sean in, then lay down next to Stephen to talk. Suddenly he asked, "Daddy, if I were cold, would you put your coat around me, too?"
5 Of all the events of our night out together, the most important was a little act of kindness — a showing of love to his brother.
6 In relationships, the little things are the big things. They go a long way toward building trust and unconditional love. Just think about the impact in your family of using words of courtesy such as thank you and please. Or unexpected acts of service, such as taking children shopping for something that's important to them. Or finding little ways to express love, such as leaving a note in a lunch box or briefcase.
Earn an “A”：apologize.
7 Perhaps nothing tests our capacity to initiate change as much as saying "I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends. That was wrong of me."
8 "Sweetheart, I apologize for cutting you off. I was so rude. Please forgive me."
9 Sometimes apologizing is incredibly hard, but the effort says,"Our relationship is very important to me." And that kind of communication builds the Emotional Bank Account.
Learn loyalty.
10 Next to apologizing, one of the most important deposits a person can make is to be loyal to family members when they are not present.
11 In other words, talk about others as if they were there. That doesn't mean you're unaware of their weaknesses. It means, rather, that you focus on the positive — and that if you do talk about weaknesses, you do it in such a way that you wouldn't be ashamed to have the person overhear it.
12 A friend had an 18-year-old son whose habits annoyed his brothers and sisters. When the boy wasn't there, the family often talked about him. At one point, this friend decided to follow the principle of being loyal to those not present. When such conversations developed, he gently interrupted and said something good that he had observed his son doing. Soon the conversation would shift to more interesting subjects.
13 Our friend said he soon felt that the others began to connect with this principle of family loyalty. They realized that he'd also defend them if they were not present. And in some unexplainable manner— perhaps because he started seeing his son differently —this change improved his Emotional Bank Account.
Make — and keep — promises.
14 Over the years people have asked if I had one simple idea that would help others cope with problems, seize opportunities and make their lives successful. I give a four-word answer: "make and keep promises."
15 My daughter, Cynthia, recalls something that happened when she was 12 years old: "Dad promised to take me with him on a business trip to San Francisco. We talked about the trip for months. After his meetings, we planned to take a cab to Chinatown and have our favorite food and see a movie. I was dying with expectation.
16 "The day finally arrived. The hours dragged by as I waited for Dad to finish work. At about 6∶ 30, he arrived with an influential business acquaintance who wanted to take us to dinner. My disappointment was bigger than life.
17 "I will never forget Dad saying to him, ‘I'd love to see you, but this is a special time with my girl. We've got it planned to the minute. ' We did everything. That was just about the happiest time of my life. I don't think any young girl ever loved her father as much as I loved mine that night."
18 I'm convinced that you would be hard pressed to come up with a deposit that has more impact in the family than making and keeping promises.
Don't forget to forgive.
19 For many, the ultimate deposit to the Emotional Bank Account comes in forgiving.
20 When you forgive, you open the channels for trust and unconditional love. You cleanse your heart. You also remove a major obstacle that keeps others from changing — because when you don't forgive, you put yourself between people and their conscience. Instead of spending their energy on work with their own conscience, they spend it defending and justifying their behavior to you.
21 In everything you do for your family, keep in mind the miracle of the Chinese bamboo. After the seed is planted, new, taller shoots appear until the bamboo reaches full height. But the most dramatic growth is underground, where the roots grow very strong. With this support, the bamboo can reach a height of 120 feet!
22 The Emotional Bank Account can be like that. As you begin to make deposits, you may see positive results immediately. More often it will take weeks, months, even years. But results will come, and you will be astonished at the change.
Lesson Ten Thank You, Ma'am by Langston Hughes
1 She was a large woman with a large purse that had everything in it but hammer and nails. She carried the purse slung across her shoulder. It was about eleven o'clock at night, dark. She was walking alone when a boy ran up behind her and tried to snatch her purse. The purse strap came off, but he pulled so hard that he lost his balance. He fell on his back on the sidewalk, and his legs flew up. The large woman turned around, picked him up by his T-shirt and shook him hard.
2 After that, the woman said, "Pick up my purse, boy. Give it to me." She held him tightly. "Now aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
3 Held up by his T-shirt, the boy said, "Yes'm."
4 The woman said, "What did you do it for?"
5 The boy said, "It was a joke."
6 She said, "You lie!"
7 "Lady, I'm sorry," whispered the boy.
8 "Umn-hum! Your face needs washing. Don't you wash your face at home?"
9 "No'm," said the boy.
10 "Then it will get washed this evening," said the large woman, starting up the street, dragging the frightened boy behind her. He was thin and looked as if he was fourteen or fifteen. He had on tennis shoes and blue jeans.
11 "You should be my boy. I would teach you what is right. All I can do for you right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?"
12 "No'm. I just want you to let me go."
13 "When I get through with you, sir, you are going to remember Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones."
14 Sweat bathed the boy's face and he began to struggle. Mrs. Jones continued to drag him up the street. When she got to her door, she dragged the boy inside, down a hall and into a room at the back of the house. She turned on the light and left the door open. The boy could hear people laughing and talking in the house.
15 She said, "What is your name?"
16 "Roger," answered the boy.
17 "Roger, you go to that wash basin and wash your face," said the woman. She let him go — at last. Roger looked at the door. He looked at the woman. He looked at the door — and then he went to the wash basin.
18 "Let the water run until it gets warm," she said. "Here's a clean towel."
19 "Are you taking me to jail?" asked the boy, bending over the wash basin.
20 "With that face, I would not take you anywhere. Have you been home to eat yet?"
21 "There's nobody at my house," said the boy.
22 "Then we'll eat," said the woman. "I believe you're hungry. So you tried to snatch my purse."
23 "I want a pair of blue suede shoes," said the boy.
24 "Well, you didn't have to snatch my purse to get some suede shoes," said Mrs. Jones. "You could have asked me."
25 "Ma'am?"
26 With water dripping from his face, the boy looked at her. There was a long pause. After he dried his face, he turned around, wondering what to do next. The door was open. He could make a dash for it down the hall. He could run, run, run, run, run!
27 The woman was sitting on the bed. After a while, she said, "I was young once. And I wanted things I couldn't get." There was another long pause. The boy's mouth opened. Then he frowned.
28 The woman said, "Um-hum! You thought I was going to say but, didn't you? You thought I was going to say, but I did not snatch people's purses. Well, I was not going to say that." Pause. Silence. "I've done things, too, which I wouldn't want to tell you. So you sit down while I find us something to eat."
29 In a corner of the room behind a screen was a small gas stove and a refrigerator. Mrs. Jones got up and went behind the screen. She did not watch the boy to see if he was going to run now, nor did she watch her purse, which she left behind her on the bed. But the boy took care to sit on the far side of the room, away from the purse, where he thought she could easily see him out of the corner of her eye. He did not trust the woman not to trust him. And he did not want to be mistrusted now.
30 "Do you need somebody to go to the store.?" asked the boy. "To get some milk or something.
31 "Don't think I do," said the woman. "Unless you want fresh milk yourself. I'm going to make cocoa out of this canned milk I've got here."
32 "That'll be fine," said the boy.
33 She heated some beans and ham, made the cocoa, and set the table. The woman did not ask about where he lived, or about his family, or anything that would embarrass him. Instead, as they ate, she told him about her work in a hotel beauty shop that stayed open late. She told him what the work was like. Then she cut him a half of her ten-cent cake.
34 "Eat some more," she said.
35 When they had finished eating, she got up and said, "Now here, take this ten dollars and buy some blue suede shoes. And next time, don't snatch my purse, nor anybody else's — because shoes got by bad ways will burn your feet. I've got to go to bed now. But from here on, I hope you'll behave."
36 She led him down the hall to the front door and opened it."Good night! Behave yourself!" she said, looking out into the street as he went down the steps.
37 The boy wanted to say something besides, "Thank you, ma'am," to Mrs. Jones. His lips moved, but he could not even say that as he turned at the foot of the steps and looked up at the large woman. Then she shut the door. And he never saw her again.
2 After that, the woman said, "Pick up my purse, boy. Give it to me." She held him tightly. "Now aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
3 Held up by his T-shirt, the boy said, "Yes'm."
4 The woman said, "What did you do it for?"
5 The boy said, "It was a joke."
6 She said, "You lie!"
7 "Lady, I'm sorry," whispered the boy.
8 "Umn-hum! Your face needs washing. Don't you wash your face at home?"
9 "No'm," said the boy.
10 "Then it will get washed this evening," said the large woman, starting up the street, dragging the frightened boy behind her. He was thin and looked as if he was fourteen or fifteen. He had on tennis shoes and blue jeans.
11 "You should be my boy. I would teach you what is right. All I can do for you right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?"
12 "No'm. I just want you to let me go."
13 "When I get through with you, sir, you are going to remember Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones."
14 Sweat bathed the boy's face and he began to struggle. Mrs. Jones continued to drag him up the street. When she got to her door, she dragged the boy inside, down a hall and into a room at the back of the house. She turned on the light and left the door open. The boy could hear people laughing and talking in the house.
15 She said, "What is your name?"
16 "Roger," answered the boy.
17 "Roger, you go to that wash basin and wash your face," said the woman. She let him go — at last. Roger looked at the door. He looked at the woman. He looked at the door — and then he went to the wash basin.
18 "Let the water run until it gets warm," she said. "Here's a clean towel."
19 "Are you taking me to jail?" asked the boy, bending over the wash basin.
20 "With that face, I would not take you anywhere. Have you been home to eat yet?"
21 "There's nobody at my house," said the boy.
22 "Then we'll eat," said the woman. "I believe you're hungry. So you tried to snatch my purse."
23 "I want a pair of blue suede shoes," said the boy.
24 "Well, you didn't have to snatch my purse to get some suede shoes," said Mrs. Jones. "You could have asked me."
25 "Ma'am?"
26 With water dripping from his face, the boy looked at her. There was a long pause. After he dried his face, he turned around, wondering what to do next. The door was open. He could make a dash for it down the hall. He could run, run, run, run, run!
27 The woman was sitting on the bed. After a while, she said, "I was young once. And I wanted things I couldn't get." There was another long pause. The boy's mouth opened. Then he frowned.
28 The woman said, "Um-hum! You thought I was going to say but, didn't you? You thought I was going to say, but I did not snatch people's purses. Well, I was not going to say that." Pause. Silence. "I've done things, too, which I wouldn't want to tell you. So you sit down while I find us something to eat."
29 In a corner of the room behind a screen was a small gas stove and a refrigerator. Mrs. Jones got up and went behind the screen. She did not watch the boy to see if he was going to run now, nor did she watch her purse, which she left behind her on the bed. But the boy took care to sit on the far side of the room, away from the purse, where he thought she could easily see him out of the corner of her eye. He did not trust the woman not to trust him. And he did not want to be mistrusted now.
30 "Do you need somebody to go to the store.?" asked the boy. "To get some milk or something.
31 "Don't think I do," said the woman. "Unless you want fresh milk yourself. I'm going to make cocoa out of this canned milk I've got here."
32 "That'll be fine," said the boy.
33 She heated some beans and ham, made the cocoa, and set the table. The woman did not ask about where he lived, or about his family, or anything that would embarrass him. Instead, as they ate, she told him about her work in a hotel beauty shop that stayed open late. She told him what the work was like. Then she cut him a half of her ten-cent cake.
34 "Eat some more," she said.
35 When they had finished eating, she got up and said, "Now here, take this ten dollars and buy some blue suede shoes. And next time, don't snatch my purse, nor anybody else's — because shoes got by bad ways will burn your feet. I've got to go to bed now. But from here on, I hope you'll behave."
36 She led him down the hall to the front door and opened it."Good night! Behave yourself!" she said, looking out into the street as he went down the steps.
37 The boy wanted to say something besides, "Thank you, ma'am," to Mrs. Jones. His lips moved, but he could not even say that as he turned at the foot of the steps and looked up at the large woman. Then she shut the door. And he never saw her again.
订阅：
评论 (Atom)