Gender Readings. Top Ten: Учебно-методическое пособие

ÌÈÍÈÑÒÅÐÑÒÂÎ ÎÁÐÀÇÎÂÀÍÈß ÐÎÑÑÈÉÑÊÎÉ ÔÅÄÅÐÀÖÈÈ ÂÎËÃÎÃÐÀÄÑÊÈÉ ÃÎÑÓÄÀÐÑÒÂÅÍÍÛÉ ÓÍÈÂÅÐÑÈÒÅÒ ÂÎËÆÑÊÈÉ ÃÓÌÀÍÈÒÀÐÍÛÉ ÈÍÑÒÈÒÓÒ (ôèëèàë) ÂîëÃÓ

Ò.Ã. Ðåíö, È.À. Êóçíåöîâà, Ò.Â. Ïèñêîâà

GENDER READINGS Top Ten

Âîëãîãðàä 2003 –1–

ÁÁÊ 81.2Àíãë—923 Ð39 Ðåêîìåíäîâàíî ê ïå÷àòè â êà÷åñòâå ó÷åáíî-ìåòîäè÷åñêîãî ïîñîáèÿ ó÷åíûì ñîâåòîì èñòîðèêî-ôèëîëîãè÷åñêîãî ôàêóëüòåòà ÂÃÈ (ôèëèàëà) ÂîëÃÓ (ïðîòîêîë ¹ 10 îò 15.05.03)

Ðåöåíçåíòû: êàíä. ïåä. íàóê, äîö. Å.À. Ãðèøèíà (ÂÈÝèÌ ÂØÊ); êàíä. ôèëîë. íàóê, äîö. Å.È. Ëèñòóíîâà (ÂÃÈ ÂîëÃÓ)

Ð39

Ðåíö Ò.Ã., Êóçíåöîâà È.À., Ïèñêîâà Ò.Â. Gender Readings. Top Ten. — Âîëãîãðàä: Èçä-âî ÂîëÃÓ, 2003. — 92 ñ. ISBN 5-85534-828-8 Ïîñîáèå âêëþ÷àåò äåñÿòü ðàññêàçîâ àíãëîÿçû÷íûõ àâòîðîâ, ðàñïîëîæåííûå ïî ñòåïåíè ñëîæíîñòè è óñëîâíî ðàçäåëåííûå íà äâå ÷àñòè. Ïîñëå êàæäîãî ðàññêàçà ïðèâîäÿòñÿ ðàçíîîáðàçíûå óïðàæíåíèÿ, êîòîðûå ïîìîãàþò ðàçâèòü ó ñòóäåíòîâ ðå÷åâûå óìåíèÿ è íàâûêè àóäèðîâàíèÿ, ÷òåíèÿ è ïèñüìà.  ïîñîáèè ïîêàçûâàþòñÿ ñõîäñòâà è ðàçëè÷èÿ â ñòèëÿõ ïèñàòåëåé æåíñêîãî è ìóæñêîãî ïîëà, ãðàììàòè÷åñêèå è ëåêñè÷åñêèå îñîáåííîñòè ðå÷è ìóæ÷èí è æåíùèí, ÷òî ñïîñîáñòâóåò êîììóíèêàòèâíîé ãðàììîòíîñòè èçó÷àþùèõ àíãëèéñêèé ÿçûê. Ïðåäíàçíà÷åíî äëÿ ñòóäåíòîâ ñðåäíèõ è âûñøèõ ó÷åáíûõ çàâåäåíèé, ñïåöèàëèçèðóþùèìñÿ â îáëàñòè àíãëèéñêîãî ÿçûêà.

ISBN 5-85534-828-8

© Ò.Ã. Ðåíö, È.À. Êóçíåöîâà, Ò.Â. Ïèñêîâà, 2003 © Èçäàòåëüñòâî Âîëãîãðàäñêîãî ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà, 2003 © Âîëæñêèé ãóìàíèòàðíûé èíñòèòóò (ôèëèàë) ÂîëÃÓ, 2003 –2–

Contents Foreword ........................................................................................ 4 1. Kate Chopin. The Story of an Hour…… .................................. 6 2. Katherine Mansfield. The Singing Lesson ........................ 13 3. Dorothy Parker. The Last Tea…… ......................................... 23 4. Muriel Spark. A Member of the Family…… ......................... 31 5. Laurie Colwin. Mr Parker…… .............................................. 47 6. Graham Greene. The Invisible Japanese Gentlemen… ........ 56 7. W. Somerset Maugham. Home…… ......................................... 63 8. Bertrand Russel. How to Grow Old…… ................................. 71 9. O’ Henry. While the Auto Waits…… ....................................... 76 10. James Joyce. Eveline…… ....................................................... 84

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FOREWORD Alas! A woman that attempts the pen such an intruder on the rights of men!

The aim of stories selected for reading and entitled “Gender Readings” is to bring together a spectrum of approaches and positions within their common focus writing by and about Men. Some scholars are accustomed to assume that there are two literatures: one for men, another — for women. Thus referring the first to serious as it most often deals with war and the latter to popular as it deals with feelings. And the absence of women-authors may provoke us to think that the masculine viewpoint is considered normal and the feminine — divergent. It is supposed that female students are expected to internalize male values. After reading this book the students are expected to internalize both male and female values. Each story is written from the individual standpoint of its author and speaks for itself, but each raises problems that are of common concern to the collection as a whole — problems ranging from the nature of male and female literary tradition to assessing the decisive innovations made by men and women writers. Above all, what does writing as a woman and a man mean? What are the specifications of the language of each gender? These are the questions to be answered after reading each of these stories. For questions like these there are no easy answers. We wouldn’t like to impose a feministic viewpoint on the female oriented studenthood of our department, but we’d like to prove there’s one literature percepted by both sexes: We would say “Long live women!” But we cannot say “Short live men!” Both need freedom As proclaimed Kate Chopin! So, ladies first¾ –4–

Notes for a teacher All the texts selected are followed by a biographical note on the author, reading notes on points where help may be found useful, and by a set of exercises. The notes explain difficulties, especially of phrase or structure that cannot be solved by reference to a dictionary. The exercises are designed to lead the student, as he works through them, to refer constantly to the text and in this way to get the fullest benefit from his (her) reading of it. Students working in their own without a teacher may, it is hoped, find the book particularly suited to their needs. In the classroom, the teacher should find the subjects for oral and written composition a stimulus to discussion and debate.

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1

KATE CHÎÐIN

THE STORY OF AN HOUR

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death. It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences, veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband’s friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard’s name leading the list of “killed”. He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message. She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her. Comment. The opening action is presented quickly and economically. We are not given Mrs. Mallard’s first name. And we might wonder if there is any significance in the name “Mallard”. Do we hear something odd in the descri ption of Mrs. Mallard’s ailment as a “heart trouble”? More important than these details is the announcement of her husband’s death. Mrs. Mallard is contrasted with other women who sit paralyzed by such news — women who refuse, initially at least, to accept the significance of such an announcement. Is there a difference between accepting the significance of a husband’s death and accepting the simple fact of his death? We notice, finally, that Mrs. Mallard weeps with “sudden wild abandonment”.

There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. –6–

There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled above the other in the west facing her window. She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams. Comment. The setting for the middle section of the story is Mrs. Mallard’s room. Is the open window through which she looks of any significance? Do the details that follow — trees, birds, rain, patches of blue sky, peddler, and song — have anything in common? We notice also that Mrs. Mallard is compared to a child who sobs in its dreams and may wonder about the implications of this comparison.

She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will — as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. Comment. These paragraphs slightly alter the tone and pace of the story. We are not told what Mrs. Mallard is waiting for. Whatever it is, however, she feels it; she senses it coming as she looks out window. And we see her resisting it — powerlessly. Do we perhaps also hear sexual overtones in the descri ption of what is “approaching to possess” her? Or do we wish to assign religious or psychological significance to this imminent possession and her ambivalent feelings about it? We notice, in addition, that Mrs. Mallard is described as not conscious of what is happened to her. Chopin says that there is “a suspension of intelligent thought”. She seems to feel rather than think.

When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted li ps. She said it over and over under her breath: “Free, free, free!” The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her –7–

pulse beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. Comment. In the first sentence the word “abandoned” echoes the earlier descri ption of Mrs. Mallard’s “wild abandonment”. But she now seems in control of herself. Her repetition of “free” signals her excitement and perhaps convinces her of its truth. Her emotional excitement is rendered in physical imagery: her pulse beats fast, and her blood courses through her body — both signs of reawakened feeling.

She did not stop to ask if it were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome. There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending her in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination. And yet she had loved him — sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! Comment. We pause over the words “monstrous joy”. Clearly Mrs. Mallard is overjoyed. And from one perspective her joy, however honestly felt, is monstrous. She is happy — exultantly happy — that her husband is dead. But the author makes clear that — Mrs. Mallard does not think: about what she is feeling.

The first paragraph underscores Mrs. Mallard’s control and clearsightedness. Her sense of confidence, antici pated earlier, becomes explicit and strong. We wonder if her husband treated her cruelly, but the text answers that he has been kind, which makes Mrs. Mallard’s open-armed welcome of the coming years indeed monstrous. In the next paragraph Chopin does not exactly condemn Mr. Mallard but does suggest that Mrs. Mallard had to bend her will to his. Kind or –8–

not, he controlled her; loving wife or not, she resented it. Chopin here seems to move beyond the case of a particularly unhappy wife to the larger issue of the bonds of marriage, using language that strongly condemns the husband’s dominance. We hear it in such words and phrases as “powerful will bending hers”, “blind persistence”, “impose”, and “crime”. This language is balanced by a lyrical evocation of Mrs. Mallard living in the years to come for herself rather than for her husband. The moment is described as “that brief moment of illumination”. This descri ption builds on the earlier descri ption otherwise as keen and bright. Mrs. Mallard is possessed by a new sense of herself and a new self-confidence as she envisions her future life. This is the turning point of her life, a moment of recognition, insight, and enlightenment, that makes her previous life with her husband pale into insignificance. The next paragraphs could end the story: “Free! Body and soul free?” she kept whispering. Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her li ps to the keyhole, imploring for admission. “Louise, open the door! I beg, open the door — you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.” “Go away. I am not making myself ill.” No; she was drinking in à very elixir of life through that open window. Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long. She arose at length and opened the door to her sister’s importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister’s waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. Comment. The discrepancy between what Josephine thinks is Mrs. Mallard’s reason for keeping herself locked in her room and our knowledge of the real reason is ironic. There is irony, also, in Mrs. Mallard’s praying for a long life, as only the day before she had shuddered at the thought of a long life with Brently Mallard. The language of these paragraphs is charged with feeling — somewhat overcharged perhaps — but it is in keeping with extending and intensifying Mrs. Mallard’s emotion. She drinks in the “elixir of life”, has a “feverish triumph in her eyes”, and comforts herself like a “goddess of Victory”. These paragraphs could end the story, but they don’t. Instead Chopin has a surprise. –9–

Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his gri p-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine’s piercing cry; at Richard’s quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. But Richards was too late. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease — of joy that kills. Comment. The surprise, of course, is too much for Mrs. Mallard. Does she die of shock, of despair, of joy that kills? We are left with the impression that Josephine, Richards, and the doctor do not understand that Mrs. Mallard dies not out of shock at seeing her husband alive, not out of joy, but out of something like despair. Why does the narrator suggest that none of them realizes the truth? Some interesting questions are left unresolved by this ending. Is Mrs. Mallard being punished for harboring a desire to be free of her husband? Or, is Mrs. Mallard a symbol of repressed womanhood yearning to be free of male bondage? Does the story transcend the sexual identity of its protagonist? Could we imagine a man in Mrs. Mallard’s position?

Our emphasis in this interrupted reading of “The Story of an Hour” has been to illustrate the active process of thinking while you read. We have focused largely on issues of response and interpretation. But we should also consider a few additional questions about the story’s values. THE AUTHOR Kate Chopin was born in 1851. She was an interpreter of New Orleans culture. Her real name is Katherine O’Hathery. She married to Oscar Chopin who pronounced his name as Show-pen but it was she who showed pen. To her pen belong more than 100 stories. Storywriting was one of the few ways in which XIX century women could support themselves. Her greatest work was “Awakening” published in 1899 which fell into obscurity for half a century because of sexual frankness, sexual and artistic awakening of a young mother. “The Story of an Hour” is one of the most interesting stories. The comments do not so much interpret the story as illustrate the act of reading; they represent the kinds of observations, inferences, and

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judgments we make as we move toward an understanding of the story — toward some ways of seeing and thinking about it. When we move through a text we look forward and backward at the same time: we antici pate what is to come based on our memory of what has gone before. And even though we may read stories line by line, sentence by sentence, page by page, this linearity belies what happens mentally as we read. Our mental action is cyclical rather than linear. We project ahead and we glance back; we remember and we predict. By doing so, we are able to follow and understand a story in the first place, and to see more in it on subsequent readings. A. Answer these questions: 1. What personal and social values influence your reading of the story? 2. What values animate Mrs. Mallard’s behaviour and feelings? 3. What values underlie her husband’s treatment of her? 4. To what extent do their values reflect or depart from society’s values at the time the story was written? 5. To what extent do their values reflect or depart from today’s cultural values? 6. And how are any or all of these values measured against your own? B. Define the contextual meaning of these lexical units relying on an English-English dictionary: to be affected with, to forestall, abandonment, roomy, tumultuously, exalted, admission. C. Points to consider: While reading the story think about the following: a) the relations between the spouses; b) the way in which nature partici pates in the story. D. Choose the correct answer: 1. Veiled hints: a) direct, transparent; b) hidden, opaque. 2. To haunt one’s body: a) to follow; b) to influence. – 11 –

3. Yonder: a) over there; b) over here. 4. To impose a private will on smb.: a) to enslave; b) to leave all or property to smb. 5. To screen smb from smb.: a) to shelter, to protest; b) to show. E. Give all the collocations with these verbs you know: to fold, to look, to make, to implore, to take. F. Suggestions for writing: 1. What would have happened if a man were in Mrs Mallard’s shoes? 2. “The Story of Two Hours”: What would change in the contents of the story?

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2

KATHERINE MANSFIELD

THE SINGING LESSON

With despair — cold, sharp despair-buried deep in her heart like a wicked knife, Miss Meadows, in cap and gown and carrying a little baton, trod the cold corridors that led to the music hall. Girls of all ages, rosy from the air, and bubbling over with that gleeful excitement that comes from running to school on a fine autumn morning, hurried, ski pped, fluttered by; from the hollow classrooms came a quick drumming of voices; a bell rang; a voice like a bird cried, “Muriel”. And then there came from the staircase a tremendous knockknock-knocking. Someone had dropped her dumbbells. The Science Mistress stopped Miss Meadows. “Good mor-ning,” she cried, in her sweet, affected drawl. “Isn’t it cold? It might be win-ter.” Miss Meadows, hugging the knife, stared in hatred at the Science Mistress. Everything about her was sweet, pale, like honey. You would not have been surprised to see a bee caught in the tangles of that yellow hair. “It is rather sharp,” said Miss Meadows, grimly. The other smiled her sugary smile. “You look fro-zen,” said she. Her blue eyes opened wide; there came a mocking light in them. (Had she noticed anything?) “Oh, not quite as bad as that,” said Miss Meadows, and she gave the Science Mistress, in exchange for her smile, a quick grimace and passed on... Forms Four, Five and Six were assembled in the music hall. The noise was deafening. On the platform, by the piano, stood Mary Beazley, Miss Meadows’ favourite, who played accompaniments. She was turning the music stool. When she saw Miss Meadows she gave a loud, warning “Sh-sh! girls!” and Miss Meadows, her hands thrust in her sleeves, the baton under her arm, strode down the centre aisle, mounted the steps, urned sharply, seized the brass music stand, planted it in front of her, and gave two sharp taps with her baton for silence. “Silence, please! Immediately!” and, looking at nobody, her glance swept over that sea of coloured flannel blouses, with bobbing – 13 –

pink faces and hands, quivering butterfly hair-bows, and music-boots outspread. She knew perfectly well what they were thinking. “Meady is in a wax.” Well, let them think it! Her eyelids quivered; she tossed her head, defying them. What could the thoughts of those creatures matter to someone who stood there bleeding to death, pierced to the heart, to the heart, bó such a letter: “...I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake. Not that I do not love you. I love you as much as it is possible for me to love any woman, but, truth to tell, I have come to the conclusion that I am not a marrying man, and the idea of settling down fills me with nothing but —” and the word “disgust” was scratched out lightly and “regret” written over the top. Basil! Miss Meadows stalked over to the piano. And Mary Beazley, who was waiting for this moment, bent forward; her curls fell over her cheeks while she breathed, “Good morning, Miss Meadows.” and she motioned towards rather than handed to her mistress a beautiful yellow chrysanthemum. This 1ittle ritual of the flower had been gone through for ages and ages, quite a term and a half. It was as much part of the lesson as opening the piano. But this morning, instead of taking it instead of tucking it into her belt while she leant îvår Mary and said “Thank you, Mary. How very nice! Turn to thirty-two,” what was Mary’s horror when Miss Meadows totally ignored the chrysanthemum, made no reply to her greeting, but said in a voice of ice, “Page fourteen, please, and mark the accents well.” Staggering moment! Mary blushed until the tears stood in her eyes, but Miss Meadows had gone back to the music stand; her voice rang through the music hall. “Page fourteen. We will begin with page fourteen. ‘A Lament.’ Now, girls, you ought to know it by this time. We shall take it all together; not in parts, all together. And without expression. Sing it through quite simply, beating time with the left hand.” She raised the baton; she tapped the music stand twice. Down came Mary on the opening chord; down came all those left hands, beating the air, and in chimed those young, mournful voices: Fast! Ah, too fast fade the roses of pleasure; Soon Autumn yields unto Wi-i-nter drear. Fleetly! Ah, fleetly mu-u-sic’s gay measure Passes away from the listening ear. – 14 –

Good heavens, what could be more tragic than that lament! Every note was a sigh, a sob, a groan of awful mournfulness. Miss Meadows lifted her arms in the wide gown and began conducting with both hands “...I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake,” she beat. And the voices cried: Fleetly! Ah, fleetly. What could hàvå possessed him to write such a letter? What could have led up to it? It came out of nothing. His last letter had been all about a fumed oak bookcase he had bought for “our” books, and a “natty little hallstand” he had seen, “a very neat affair with a carved owl on a bracket, holding three hat-brushes in its claws”. How she had drilled at that! So like a man to think one needed three hat-brushes! From the listening ear, sang the voices. “Once again,” said Miss Meadows. “But this time in parts. Still without expression.” Fast! Ah, too fast. With the gloom of the contraltos added, one could scarcely help shuddering. Fade the roses of pleasure. Last time he had come to see her, Basil had worn a rose in his buttonhole. How handsome he had looked in that bright blue suit, with that dark red rose! And he knew it, too. He couldn’t help knowing it. First he stroked his hair, then his moustache; his teeth gleamed when he smiled. “The headmaster’s wife keeps on asking me to dinner. It’s a perfect nuisance. I never get an evening to myself in that place.” “But can’t you refuse?” “Oh, well, it doesn’t do for a man in my position to be unpopular.” Music’s gay measure, wailed the voices. The willow trees, outside the high, narrow windows, waved in the wind. They had lost half their leaves. The tiny ones that clung wriggled like fishes caught on a line. “¾I am not a marrying man¾” The voices were silent; the piano waited. “Quite good,” said Miss Meadows, but still in such a strange, stony tone that the younger girls began to feel positively frightened. “But now that we know it, we shall take it with expression. As much expression as you can put into it. Think of the words, girls. Use your imaginations. Fast! Ah, too fast,” cried Miss Meadows. “That ought to break out — a loud, strong forte — a lament. And then in the second line, Winter drear, make that drear sound as if a cold wind were blowing through it. Dre-ear!” said she so awfully that Mary Beazley, on the music stool, wriggled her spine. “The third line should be one – 15 –

crescendo. Fleetly! Ah, fleetly music’s gay measure. Breaking on the first word of the last line, Ðàsses. And then on the word, away, you must begin to die... to fade until the listening ear is nothing more than a faint whisper... You can slow down as much as you like almost on the last line. Now, please.” Again the two light taps, she lifted her arms again, fast! Ah, too fast. “¾And the idea of settling down fills me with nothing but disgust —” Disgust was what he had written, that was as good as to say their engagement was definitely broken off. Broken off! Their engagement! People had been surprised enough that she had got engaged. The Science Mistress would not believe it at first. But nobody had been as surprised as she. She was thirty. Basil was twenty-five. It had been a miracle, simply a miracle, to hear him say, as they walked home from church that very dark night, “You know, somehow or other, I’ve got fond of you.” And he had taken hold of the end of her ostrich feather boa. Passes away from the listening ear. “Repeat! Repeat!” said Miss Meadows. “More expression, girls! Once more!” Fast! Ah, too fast. The older girls were crimson; some of the younger ones began to cry. Big spots of rain blew against the windows, and one could hear the willows whispering, “¾not that I do not love you...” “But, my darling, if you love me,” thought Miss Meadows, “I don’t mind how much it is. Love me as little as you like.” But she knew he didn’t love her. Not to have cared enough to scratch out that “disgust”, so that she couldn’t read it! Soon Autumn yields unto Winter drear. She would have to leave the school, too. She could never face the Science Mistress or the girls after it got known. She would have to disappear somewhere. Passes away. The voices began to die, to fade, to whisper to vanish... Suddenly the door opened. A little girl in blue walked fussily up the aisle, hanging her head, biting her li ps, and twisting the silver bangle on her red little wrist. She came up the steps and stood before Miss Meadows. “Well, Monica, what is it?” “Oh, if you please, Miss Meadows,” said the little girl, gasping, “Miss Wyatt wants to see you in the mistresses’ room.” “Very well,” said Miss Meadows. And she called to the girls, I shall put you on your honour to talk quietly while I am away.” But – 16 –

they were too subdued to do anything else. Most of them were blowing their noses. The corridors were silent and cold; they echoed to Miss Meadows’ steps. The head mistress sat at her desk. For a moment she did not look up. She was as usual disentangling her eyeglasses, which had got caught in her lace tie. “Sit down, Miss Meadows,” she said very kindly. And then she picked a pink envelope from the blotting-pad. “I sent for you just now because this telegram has come for you.” “A telegram for me, Miss Wyatt?” Basil! He had committed suicide, decided Miss Meadows. Her hand flew out, but Miss Wyatt held the telegram back moment. “I hope it’s not bad news,” she said, no more than kindly. And Miss Meadows tore it open. “Pay no attention to letter must have been mad bought hatstand today Basil,” she read. She couldn’t take her eyes off the telegram. “I do hope it’s nothing very serious,” said Miss Wyatt, leaning forward. “Oh, no, thank you, Miss Wyatt,” blushed Miss Meadows. “It’s nothing bad at all. It’s” — and she gave an apologetic little laugh — “it’s from my fiancè saying that... saying that —” There was a pause. “I see,” said Miss Wyatt. And another pause. Then — “You’ve fifteen minutes more of your class, Miss Meadows, haven’t you?” “Yes, Miss Wyatt.” She got up. She half ran towards the door. “Oh, just one minute, Miss Meadows,” said Miss Wyatt. “I must say I don’t approve of my teachers having telegrams sent to them in school hours, unless in case of very bad news as death,” explained Miss Wyatt, “or a very serious accident or something to that effect. Good news, Miss Meadows, will always keep, you know.” On the wings of hope, of love, of joy, Miss Meadows sped back to the music hall, up the aisle, up the steps, over to the piano. “Page thirty-two, Mary,” she said, “page thirty-two,” picking up the yellow chrysanthemum, she held it to her to hide her smile. Then she turned to the girls, rapped with baton: “Page thirty-two, girls. Page thirty-two.” We come here today with flowers o’erladen, With baskets of fruit and ribbons to boot, To-oo congratulate...

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“Stop! Stop!” cried Miss Meadows. “This is awful. This is dreadful.” And she beamed at her girls. “What’s the matter with you all? Think, girls, think of what you’re singing. Use your imaginations. With flowers o’erladen. Baskets of fruit and ribbons to boot. And congratulate,” Miss Meadows broke off. “Don’t look so doleful, girls. It ought to sound warm, joyful, eager. Congratulate. Once more. Quickly. All together. Now then!” And this time Miss Meadows’ voice sounded over all the other voices — full, deep, glowing with expression. THE AUTHOR Katherine Mansfield (1888—1923) was born in New Zealand. She came to England to finish her education and married J. Middleton Ìurry, a well-known writer on literary topics. She died in France after a long illness. Although her life was short, she soon became well known, both in Britain and on the Continent of Europe, for her short stories. Her special qualities are, in the words of one critic, “her tender humanity, her clarity, her wit, and her courageous gaiety”. “The Singing Lesson” comes from a collection of short stories which takes its title from the first story in the collection, “The Garden Party”. Readers who like “The Singing Lesson” would certainly enjoy “The Garden Party”, which is perhaps her best-known story. READING NOTES “The Singing Lesson” is a psychological study. The way in which a music teacher shows her emotion, through the songs that she teaches her class is cleverly worked out. cap and gown: the academic costume which teachers wear in some secondary schools. trod: walked along (present tense, tread). a marrying man: the kind of man who wants to get married. settling down: leading a quiet, regular life. stalked: walked in a stiff manner which showed that she was angry. ages and ages: another example of schoolgirls’ slang, in this case an exaggeration, as the rest of the sentence shows. term: the school year in Britain is divided into three sessions called “terms”, with a holiday after each. – 18 –

totally ignored: took no notice at all of. accents: marks in the music showing how it should be played. staggering: astonishing (because such strong emotion makes one’s legs feel weak). Lament: a sad song. beating time: moving one’s hand to mark the rhythm of the music. The beat is the time given by the conductor, who beats time by the movements of his baton or his hand. drear: poetic form of “dreary”. fleetly: a poetic word meaning “quickly”. What could have possessed him: What madness had seized him. It came out of nothing: There was no reason for it. natty: a colloquial word for “smart”. gloom: sadness, mournful sound. the headmaster’s wife: Basil is evidently a schoolmaster. It doesn’t do: It isn’t wise, It isn’t a good thing. wailed: sang sadly. ones: i. e. leaves. boa: a scarf made of feathers, which ladies used to wear round their neck. spots of rain, willows whispering: The weather and the trees seem to be sad, in harmony with Miss Meadows’ present mood. cared: loved her. face meet Face as a verb generally suggests meeting something unpleasant. fussily: the meaning of this word depends on the context in which it is used. Here it suggests that the little girl was behaving in a self-conscious way, feeling important as she interrupted the big girls’ lesson. the mistresses’ room: the teachers’ room. her lace lie: i. e. piece of lace worn round her neck. very kindly: the headmistress spoke kindly because she had a telegram for Miss Meadows. Many people send telegrams only to announce urgent news of illness or death. no more than fondly: the headmistress was perhaps a little annoyed at Miss Meadows’ eagerness to take the telegram from her. sped: went quickly (from “speed”). A literary word. over: across the platform.

– 19 –

page thirty-two: the song the girls had expected to sing was on this page. The reasons why Miss Meadows had chosen the lament at first and now turns to this song are obvious. O’erladen [o:´leidn ] is a poetic form of “overladen”. to boot: as well, in addition. An old-fashioned expression. doleful: mournful, sad. now then: a good example of an idiomatic colloquial phrase. The two words separately have opposite meanings. Used together, they form a lively way of saying “Are you ready?” or “Let’s begin”. A. Answer these questions: 1. Why didn’t Miss Meadows like the Science Mistress? 2. “Had she noticed anything?” What might the Science Mistress have noticed? 3. How did Miss Meadows behave when Mary Beazley offered her the chrysanthemum? 4. How did Mary expect her to behave? 5. What was the effect of her behaviour on the girls? 6. What kind of man do you think Basil was? Give reasons for your answer. 7. Why did the headmistress stop speaking kindly to Miss Meadows? 8. How did Miss Meadows show her change of feelings after she had read the telegram? B. Find expressions in the story with the same meaning as those below: 1) with pink cheeks (from the fresh air outside); 2) looked fixedly and with dislike; 5) she looked from side to side of the class; 4) getting married and setting up house; 5) (She) walked stiffly; 6) What strange motive had he for writing? 7) as if he had said; 8) they were no longer engaged; 9) (I) behaved as if I were mad; 10) Good news is never urgent.

– 20 –

C. Use the most suitable of these expressions in a proper position in each of the sentences below, instead of the words in italics: awfully, definitely, fussily, grimly, lightly, more and more strongly, perfectly well, positively, quietly, sharply. 1. Miss Meadows turned with a sudden movement. 2. She knew exactly what they were thinking. 3. I feel more certain as time goes on that our marriage would be a mistake. 4. The young girls began to feel really frightened. 5. A little girl in blue walked up the aisle in an awkward manner. 6. “It is rather sharp,” said Miss Meadows in a severe voice. 7. The word “disgust” was scratched out, but not heavily enough. 8. “Dre-ear!” said she in a frightening voice. 9. The engagement was broken off without any doubt. 10. I shall put you on your honour to talk while I am away without making a lot of noise. D. Complete these sentences with suitable prepositions or adverbs: 1. Their voices bubbled ... excitement. 2. Girls of all ages hurried ... 3. The idea ... settling down fills må ... disgust. 4. The word “disgust” was scratched ... 5. Instead ... taking ... the flower, she ignored it. 6. It came out ... nothing. 7. What could have led ... to it? 8. You can slow ... as much as you like on the last line. 9. ... came Mary’s hands on the opening chord. 10. Her hand flew ... to take the telegram. E. Imagine that the fussy little girl in blue had listened to the following conversation and that she is telling someone else what she heard. Begin with “Miss Wyatt asked ¾” and use asked, said and answered where they are needed: Please sit down, Miss Meadows. I sent for you because a telegram has come for you. You have a telegram for me, Miss Wyatt? Yes, I have. I hope it’s not bad news. I do hope it’s nothing very serious. – 21 –

It isn’t anything serious. It’s nothing bad at all. It’s from my fiancè. I don’t approve of my teachers having telegrams sent to them in school hours, unless there is bad news. Good news will keep. F. Subjects for composition and discussion: 1. “Miss Meadows and Basil would probably be unhappy if they married.” Say whether you think the story suggests this. Give reasons for your opinion. 2. Which of the writer’s qualities of “tender humanity, clarity, wit and courageous gaiety” are shown in this story? 3. The effect of the story depends a good deal on contrasts. Mention what contrasts you have noticed in it.

– 22 –

3

DOROTHY PARKER

THE LAST TEA

The young man in the chocolate-brown suit sat down at the table, where the girl with the artificial camellia had been sitting for forty minutes. “Guess I must be late,” he said. “Sorry you been waiting.” “Oh, goodness!” she said. “I just got here myself, just about a second ago. I simply went ahead and ordered because I was dying for a cup of tea. I was late, myself. I haven’t been here more than a minute.” “That’s good,” he said. “Hey, hey, easy on the sugar — one lump is fair enough. And take away those cakes. Terrible! Do I feel terrible!” “Ah,” she said, “you do? Ah. Whadda matter?” “Oh, I’m ruined,” he said. “I’m in terrible shape.” “Ah, the poor boy,” she said, “Was it feelin’ mizzable? Ah, and it came way up here to meet me! You shouldn’t have done that — I’d have understood. Ah, just think of it coming all the way up here when it’s so sick!” “Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “I might as well be here as any place else. Any place is like any other place, the way I feel today. Oh, I’m all shot.” “Why, that’s just awful,” she said. “Why, you poor sick thing. Goodness, I hope it isn’t influenza. They say there’s a lot of it around.” “Influenza!” he said. “I wish that was all I had. Oh, I’m poisoned. I’m through. I’m off the stuff for life. Know what time I got to bed? Twenty minutes past five, a. m., this morning. What a night! What an evening!” “I thought,” she said, “that you were going to stay in the office and work late. You said you’d be working every night this week.” “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But it gave me the jumps. Thinking about going down there and sitting at that desk. I went up to May’s — she was throwing a party. Say, there was somebody there said they knew you.” “Honestly?” she said. “Man or woman?”

– 23 –

“Dame,” he said. “Name’s Carol McCall. Say, why haven’t I been told about her before? That’s what I call a girl. What a looker she is!” “Oh, really?” she said. “That’s funny. I never heard of anyone that thought that. I’ve heard people say she was sort of nice-looking, if she wouldn’t make up so much. But I never heard of anyone that thought she was pretty.” “Pretty is right,” he said. “What a couple of eyes she’s got on her!” “Really?” she said. “I never noticed them particularly. But I haven’t seen her for a long time — sometimes people change, or something.” “She says she used to go to school with you,” he said. “Well, we went to the same school,” she said. “I simply happened to go to public school because it happened to be right near us, and Mother hated to have me crossing streets. But she was three or four classes ahead of me. She’s ages older than I am.” “She’s three or four classes ahead of them all,” he said. “Dance! Can she step! ‘Burn your clothes, baby,’ I kept telling her. I must have been fried pretty.” “I was out dancing myself, last night,” she said. “Wally Dillon and I. He’s just been pestering me to go out with him. He’s the most wonderful dancer. Goodness! I didn’t get home until I don’t know what time. I must look just simply a wreck. Don’t I?” “You look all right,” he said. “Wally’s crazy,” she said. “The things he says! For some crazy reason or other, he’s got it into his head that I’ve got beautiful eyes, and, well, he just kept talking about them till I didn’t know where to look, I was so embarrassed. I got so red, I thought everybody in the place would be looking at me. I got just as red as a brick. Beautiful eyes! Isn’t he crazy?” “He’s all right,” he said. “Say, this little McCall girl, she’s had all kinds of offers to go into moving pictures. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and go?’ I told her. But she says she doesn’t feel like it.” “There was a man up at the lake, two summers ago,” she said. “He was a director or something with one of the big moving-picture people — oh, he had all kinds of influence! — and he used to keep insisting and insisting that I ought to be in the movies. Said I ought to be doing sort of Garbo parts. I used to just laugh at him. Imagine!” “She’s had about a million offers,” he said. “I told her to go ahead and go. She keeps getting these offers all the time.” – 24 –

“Oh, really?” she said. “Oh, listen, I knew I had something to ask you. Did you call me up last night, by any chance?” “Me?” he said. “No, I didn’t call you.” “While I was out. Mother said this man’s voice kept calling up,” she said. “I thought maybe it might be you, by some chance. I wonder who could have been. Oh — I guess I know who it was. Yes, that’s who it was!” “No, I didn’t call you,” he said. “I couldn’t have seen a telephone, last night. What a head I had on me, this morning! I called Carol up, around ten, and she said she was feeling great. Can that girl hold her liquor!” “It’s a funny thing about me,” she said. “It just makes me feel sort of sick to see a girl drink. It’s just something in me, I guess. I don’t mind a man so much, but it makes me feel perfectly terrible to see a girl get intoxicated. It’s just the way I am, I suppose.” “Does she carry it!” he said. “And then feels great the next day. There’s a girl! Hey, what are you doing there? I don’t want any more tea, thanks. I’m not one of these tea boys. And these tea-rooms give me the jumps. Look at all those old dames, will you? Enough to give you the jumps.” “Of course, if you’ll rather be some place, drinking, with I don’t know what kinds of people,” she said. “I’m sure I don’t see how I can help that. Goodness, there are enough people that are glad enough to take me to tea — I don’t know how many people keep calling me up and pestering me to take me to tea. Plenty of people!” “All right, all right, I’m here, aren’t I?” he said. “Keep your hair on.” “I could name them all day,” she said. “All right,” he said. “What’s there to crab about?” “Goodness, it isn’t any of my business what you do,” she said. “But I hate to see you wasting your time with people that aren’t nearly good enough for you. That’s all.” “No need worrying over me,” he said. “I’ll be all right. Listen. You don’t have to worry.” “It’s just I don’t like to see you wasting your time,” she said, staying up all night and then feeling terribly the next day. “Ah, I was forgetting he was so sick. Ah, I was mean, wasn’t I, scolding him when he was so mizzable. Poor boy. How’s he feel now?”

– 25 –

“Oh, I’m all right,” he said. “I feel fine. You want anything else? How about getting a check? I got to make a telephone call before six.” “Oh, really?” she said. “Calling up Carol?” “She said she might be in around now,” he said. “Seeing her tonight?” she said. “She’s going to let me know when I call up,” he said. “She’s probably got about a million dates. Why?” “I was just wondering,” she said. “Goodness, I’ve got to fly! I’m having dinner with Wally, and he’s so crazy. He’s probably there now. He’s called me up about a hundred times today.” “Wait till I pay the check,” he said, “and I’ll put you on a bus.” “Oh, don’t bother,” she said. “It’s right at the conner. I’ve got to fly. I suppose you want to stand and call up your friend from here?” “It’s an idea,” he said. “Sure you’ll be all right?” “Oh, sure,” she said. Busily she gathered her gloves and purse, and left her chair. He rose, not quite fully, as she stopped beside him. “When’ll I see you again?” she said. “I’ll call you up,” he said. “I’m all tied up, down at the office and everything. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you a ring.” “Honestly, I have more dates!” she said. “It’s terrible. I don’t know when I’ll have a minute. But you call up, will you?” “I’ll do that,” he said. “Take care of yourself.” “You take care of yourself,” she said. “Hope you’ll feel all right.” “Oh, I’m fine,” he said. “Just beginning to come back to life.” “Be sure and let me know how you feel,” she said. “Will you? Sure, now? Well, good-bye. Oh, have a good time tonight! Thanks,” he said. “Hope you have a good time, too.” “Oh, I will,” she said. “I expect to. I’ve got to rush! Oh, I nearly forgot! Thanks ever so much for the tea. It was lovely.” “Be yourself, will you?” he said. “It was,” she said. “Well. Now don’t forget to call me up, will you? Sure? Well, good-bye.” “So long,” he said. She walked on down the little lane between the blue-painted tables.

– 26 –

THE AUTHOR Dorothy Parker was born in 1893 and was a poet, satirist and drama critic as well as a short story writer. The Collected Short Stones, from which The Last Tea is taken, was published in 1939. She died in 1967. In The Last Tea a young man and a girl meet for a cup of tea in a tea-room. They have been friends for some time, but now something has happened to change things between them. READING NOTES I simply went ahead and ordered: I ordered without waiting for you. I was dying for a cup of tea: I was longing for a cup of tea. easy on the sugar: don’t use so much sugar. Whadda matter?: What is the matter? I’ò in terrible shape: I’m not feeling at all well. Was it feeling mizzable?: Were you feeling miserable? it: you I’m all shot: I’m feeling terrible. Ãò through: I’m finished. I’m off the stuff: I’ve given up drinking alcohol. it gave me the jumps: it made me feel nervous. she was throwing a party: she was giving a party. dame: slang for woman. a looker: a good-looking girl. public school: state-school, not privately run (in America). Can she step!: how she can dance! I must have been fried pretty: I must have been very drunk. influence: the power to get jobs for people. Garbo: Greta Garbo, famous Swedish-born film actress in the 1930s. Keep your hair on: calm down, don’t get so excited. crab about: shout about, be annoyed about. I was mean: I was unkind. A. Points to consider: While reading the story, think about the following: a) the behaviour of the young people to each other; b) the way in which the girl tries to get the young man’s interest; c) the use of slang. – 27 –

B. Choose the correct ending complete the sentences: 1. The girl ordered tea while she waited because a) she’d waited long enough; b) she enjoyed tea before a meal; ñ) she hated coffee; d) she was very thirsty. 2. The young man went to bed at: a) 05.25; b) 20.05; ñ) 05.20; d) 04.40. 3. The young man was attracted to Carol McCall because of a) her beautiful voice; b) the way she walked; ñ) her good looks; d) her good education. 4. The girl had gone out with Wally Dillon because a) they went to the same public school; b) she wanted to teach him to dance; ñ) he had kept on asking her to go out with him; d) she thought he had beautiful eyes. C. Reading comprehension. Choose the correct answer in the following: 1. “I’m in terrible shape” means: a) “My body is too thin”. b) “My legs aren’t long enough”. ñ) “I don’t feet well”. d) “I could feel a lot worse”. 2. “But it gave me the jumps” refers to a) the horrible weather they’d had; b) the long time the girl had waited for a cup of tea; ñ) the young man sitting in his office; d) the young man’s feelings about Carol. 3. “...If she wouldn’t make up so much,” refers to Carol’s a) telling lies; b) painting her face; ñ) being too friendly with people; d) hair style.

– 28 –

4. “I must look just simply a wreck” describes: a) the girl’s eyes; b) her tired appearance; ñ) how she looks at her boyfriend; d) the state of her clothes. D. Exercises Fill in the correct preposition from the list below: in, for, of, about, on, to, through, by, at, in, with. 1. Go easy ... the sugar, he said. 2. He was sitting ... his desk all evening. 3. I’ll meet you ... the bus stop, she said. 4. I have ordered some cream ... your coffee. 5. Do you like milk ... your tea? 6. I’ll put you ... the bus, he told her. 7. He told the girl all ... the party the night before. 8. He always went to work ... train. Change the following sentences into exclamations, using What...! 1. She wore lovely clothes. What lovely ...! 2. He was a handsome young man. 3. There were a lot of old ladies in the tea-room. 4. She had beautiful blue eyes. 5. The girl had had a nice cup of tea. Change the following sentences by using used to or usually + verb. 1. He is in the habit of swimming before breakfast. 2. They were in the habit of drinking a lot. 3. She has been in the habit of telephoning in the afternoon. 4. We were in the habit of meeting at the tea-room on Saturdays. 5. I am not in the habit of speaking to strangers. E. After reading the whole story, answer these questions: 1. How long had the girl been waiting at the table for the young man to arrive? 2. What was the young man’s occupation? 3. Who did he say had thrown a party the night before? 4. What did the girl say she had been doing the night before? 5. What was it the girl said made her sick? 6. Who was the young man going to call up after the girl left him? 7. What was the girl going to do that evening? 8. What colour were the tables in the tea-room? – 29 –

F. Subjects for discussion: The girl 1. How does the girl react when the young man arrives late? 2. In what way does she try to hide her real feelings when he tells her how wonderful Carol is? 3. Why does she keep on talking about Wally? Do you think she is really interested in him? Why does she tell the young man about all the people who want to take her out to tea? 4. What are the girl’s views on liquor? The boy 1. Describe the boy — his appearance, his character, his main interests. 2. What is his attitude to the girl? Is he fond of her or not? How can you tell? 3. What is his attitude to girls in general? 4. What are the main differences between the young man and the girl? 5. Why is the story called “The Last Tea”? General discussion: This story tells us quite a lot about the way young people mix with each other in America; the “dating” system, parties, dancing. What are your own views on dating? G. Written work: Write an entry for the girl’s diary describing her feelings in the tea-room and what had happened there. OR

Write a letter from the young man to his best friend telling him about meeting Carol and about meeting the other girl in the tea-room next day.

– 30 –

4

MURIEL SPARK

A MEMBER OF THE FAMILY

You must, said Richard suddenly, one day in November, “come and meet my mother.” Trudy, who had been waiting a long time for this invitation, after all was amazed. “I should like you,” said Richard, “to meet my mother. She’s looking forward to it.” “Oh, does she know about me?” “Rather,” Richard said. “Oh!” “No need to be nervous,” Richard said. “She’s awfully sweet.” “Oh, I’m sure she is. Yes, of course, I’d love —” “Come to tea on Sunday,” he said. They had met the previous June in a lake town in Southern Austria. Trudy had gone with a young woman who had a bed-sittingroom in Kensington just below Trudy’s room. This young woman could speak German, whereas Trudy couldn’t. Bleilach was one of the cheaper lake towns; in fact, cheaper was a way of putting it: it was cheap. “Gwen, I didn’t realize it ever rained here,” Trudy said on their third day. “It’s all rather like Wales,” she said, standing by the closed double windows of their room regarding the downpour and imagining the mountains which indeed were there, but invisible. “You said that yesterday,” Gwen said, “and it was quite fine yesterday. Yesterday you said it was like Wales.” “Well, it rained a bit yesterday.” “But the sun was shining when you said it was like Wales.” “Well, so it is.” “On a much larger scale, I should say,” Gwen said. “I didn’t realize it would be so wet.” Then Trudy could almost hear Gwen counting twenty. “You have to take your chance,” Gwen said. “This is an unfortunate summer.” The pelting of the rain increased as if in confirmation. Trudy thought, I’d better shut up. But suicidally: “Wouldn’t it be better if we moved to a slightly more expensive place?” she said. – 31 –

“The rain falls on the expensive places too. It falls on the just and the unjust alike.” Gwen was thirty-five, a schoolteacher. She wore her hair and her clothes and her bit of li pstick in such away that, standing by the window looking out at the rain, it occurred to Trudy like a revelation that Gwen had given up all thoughts of marriage. “On the just and the unjust alike,” said Gwen, turning her maddening imperturbable eyes upon Trudy, as if to say, you are the unjust and I’m the just. Next day was fine. They swam in the lake. They sat drinking apple juice under the red and yellow awnings on the terrace of their guesthouse and gazed at the innocent smiling mountain. They paraded — Gwen in her navy-blue shorts and Trudy in her puffy sun-suit — along the lake-side where marched also the lean brown camping youths from all over the globe, the fat print-frocked mothers and double-chinned fathers from Germany followed by their blonde sedate young, and the English women with their perms. “There aren’t any men about,” Trudy said. “There are hundreds of men,” Gwen said, in a voice, which meant, whatever do you mean? “I really must try out my phrase-book,” Trudy said, for she had the feeling that if she were independent of Gwen as interpreter she might, as she expressed it to herself, have more of a chance. “You might have more of a chance of meeting someone interesting that way,” Gwen said, for their close confinement by the rain had seemed to make her psychic, and she was continually putting Trudy’s thoughts into words. “Oh, I’m not here for that. I only wanted a rest, as I told you. I’m not —” “Goodness, Richard!” Gwen was actually speaking English to a man who was not apparently accompanied by a wife or aunt or sister. He kissed Gwen on the cheek. She laughed and so did he. “Well, well,” he said. He was not much taller than Gwen. He had dark crinkly hair and a small moustache of a light brown. He wore bathing trunks and his large chest was impressively bronze. “What brings you here?” he said to Gwen, looking meanwhile at Trudy. He was staying at a hotel on the other side of the lake. Each day for the rest of the fortnight he rowed over to meet them at ten in the morning, sometimes spending the whole day with them. Trudy was – 32 –

charmed, she could hardly believe in Gwen’s friendly indifference to him, notwithstanding he was a teacher at the same grammar school as Gwen, who therefore, saw him every day. Every time he met them he kissed Gwen on the cheek. “You seem to be on very good terms with him,” Trudy said. “Oh. Richard’s an old friend. I’ve known him for years.” The second week, Gwen went off on various expeditions of her own and left them together. “This is quite a connoisseur’s place,” Richard informed Trudy, and he pointed out why, and in what choice way, it was so, and Trudy, charmed, saw in the peeling pastel stucco of the little town, the unnecessary floral balconies, the bulbous Slovene spires, something special after all. She felt she saw, through his eyes, a precious rightness in the women with their grey skirts and well-filled blouses who trod beside their husbands and their clean children. “Are they all Austrians?” Trudy asked. “No, some of them are German and French. But this place attracts the same type.” Richard’s eyes rested with appreciation on the young noisy campers whose tents were pitched in the lake-side field. The campers were long-limbed and animal, brightly and briefly dressed. They romped like galvanized goats, yet looked surprisingly virtuous. “What are they saying to each other?” She enquired of Richard when a group of them passed by, shouting some words and laughing at each other through glistening red li ps and very white teeth. “They are talking about their fast M.G. racing cars.” “Oh, have they got racing cars?” “No, the racing cars they are talking about don’t exist. Sometimes they talk about their film contracts which don’t exist. That’s why they laugh.” “Not much of a sense of humour, have they?” “They are of mixed nationalities, so they have to limit their humour to jokes which everyone can understand, and so they talk about racing cars which aren’t there.” Trudy giggled a little, to show willing. Richard told her he was thirty-five, which she thought feasible. She volunteered that she was not quite twenty-two. Whereupon Richard looked at her and looked away, and looked again and took her hand. For, as he told Gwen afterwards, this remarkable statement was almost an invitation to a love affair. – 33 –

Their love affair began that afternoon, in a boat on the lake, when, barefoot, they had a game of placing sole to sole, heel to heel. Trudy squealed, and leaned back hard, pressing her feet against Richard’s. She squealed at Gwen when they met in their room later on. “I’m having a heavenly time with Richard. I do so much like an older man.” Gwen sat on her bed and gave Trudy a look of wonder. Then she said, “He’s not much older than you.” “I’ve knocked a bit off my age,” Trudy said. “Do you mind not letting on?” “How much have you knocked off?” “Seven years.” “Very courageous,” Gwen said. “What do you mean?” “That you are brave.” “Don’t you think you’re being a bit nasty?” “No. It takes courage to start again and again. That’s all I mean. Some women would find it boring.” “Oh, I’m not an experienced girl at all,” Trudy said. “Whatever made you think I was experienced?” “It’s true,” Gwen said, “you show no signs of having profited by experience. Have you ever found it a successful tactic to remain twenty-two?” “I believe you’re jealous,” Trudy said. “One expects this sort of thing from most older women, but somehow I didn’t expect it from you.” “One is always learning,” Gwen said. Trudy fingered her curls. “Yes, I have got a lot to learn from life,” she said, looking out of the window. “God,” said Gwen, “you haven’t begun to believe that you’re still twenty-two, have you?” “Not quite twenty-two is how I put it to Richard,” Trudy said, “and yes, I do feel it. That’s my point. I don’t feel a day older.” The last day of their holidays Richard took Trudy rowing on the lake, which reflected a grey low sky. “It looks like Windemere today, doesn’t it?” he said. Trudy had not seen Windermere, but she said, yes it did, and gazed at him with shining twenty-two-year-old eyes.

– 34 –

“Sometimes this place,” he said, “is very like Yorkshire, but only when the weather’s bad. Or, over on the mountain side, Wales.” “Exactly what I told Gwen,” Trudy said. “I said Wales, I said, it’s like Wales.” “Well, of course, there’s quite a difference, really. It —” “But Gwen simply squashed the idea. You see, she’s an older woman, and being a schoolmistress — it’s so much different when a man’s a teacher — being a woman teacher, she feels she can treat me like a kid. I suppose I must expect it.” “Oh well —” “How long have you known Gwen?” “Several years,” he said. “Gwen’s all right, darling. A great friend of my mother, is Gwen. Quite a member of the family.” Trudy wanted to move her lodgings in London but she was prevented from doing so by a desire to be near Gwen, who saw Richard daily at school, and who knew his mother so well. And therefore Gwen’s experience of Richard filled in the gaps in his life which were unknown to Trudy and which intrigued her. She would fling herself into Gwen’s room. “Gwen, what d’you think? There he was waiting outside the office and he drove me home, and he’s calling for me at seven, and next weekend...” Gwen frequently replied, “You are out of breath. Have you got heart trouble?” — for Gwen’s room was only on the first floor. And Trudy was furious with Gwen on these occasions for seeming not to understand that the breathlessness was all part of her only being twenty-two, and excited by the boyfriend. “I think Richard’s so exciting,” Trudy said. “It’s difficult to believe I’ve only known him a month.” “Has he invited you home to meet his mother?” Gwen enquired. “No — not yet. Oh, do you think he will?” “Yes, I think so. One day I’m sure he will.” “Oh, do you mean it?” Trudy flung her arms girlishly round Gwen’s impassive neck. “When is your father coming up?” Gwen said. “Not for ages, if at all. He can’t leave Leicester just now, and he hates London.” “You must get him to come and ask Richard what his intentions are. A young girl like you needs protection.” – 35 –

“Gwen, don’t be silly.” Often Trudy would question Gwen about Richard and his mother. “Are they well off? Is she a well-bred woman? What’s the house like? How long have you known Richard? Why hasn’t he married before? The mother, is she —” “Lucy is a marvel in her way,” Gwen said. “Oh, do you call her Lucy? You must know her awfully well.” “I’m quite,” said Gwen, “a member of the family in my way.” “Richard has often told me that. Do you go there every Sunday?” “Most Sundays,” Gwen said. “It is often very amusing, and one sometimes sees a fresh face.” “Why,” Trudy said, as the summer passed and she had already been away for several weekends with Richard, “doesn’t he ask me to meet his mother? If my mother were alive and living in London I know I would have asked him home to meet her.” Trudy threw out hints to Richard. “How I wish you could meet my father. You simply must come up to Leicester in the Christmas holidays and stay with him. He’s rather tied up in Leicester and never leaves it. He’s an insurance manager. The successful kind.” “I can’t very well leave Mother at Christmas,” Richard said, “but I’d love to meet your father some other time.” His tan had worn off, and Trudy thought him more distinguished and at the same time more unattainable than ever. “I think it only right,” Trudy said in her young young way, “that one should introduce the man one loves to one’s parents” — for it was agreed between them that they were in love. But still, by the end of October, Richard had not asked her to meet his mother. “Does it matter all that much?” Gwen said. “Well, it would be a definite step forward,” Trudy said. “We can’t go on being just friends like this. I’d like to know where I stand with him. After all, we’re in love and we’re both free. Do you know, I’m beginning to think he hasn’t any serious intentions after all. But if he asked me to meet his mother it would be a sort of sign, wouldn’t it?” “It certainly would,” Gwen said. “I don’t even feel I can ring him up at home until I’ve met his mother. I’d feel shy of talking to her on the phone. I must meet her. It’s becoming a sort of obsession.”

– 36 –

“It certainly is,” Gwen said. “Why don’t you just say to him, “I’d like to meet your mother”?” “Well, Gwen, there are some things a girl can’t say.” “No, but a woman can.” “Are you going on about my age again? I tell you, Gwen, I feel twenty-two. I think twenty-two. I am twenty-two so far as Richard’s concerned. I don’t think really you can help me much. After all, you haven’t been successful with men yourself, have you?” “No,” Gwen said, “I haven’t. I’ve always been on the old side.” “That’s just my point. It doesn’t get you anywhere to feel old and think old. If you want to be successful with men you have to hang on to your youth.” “It wouldn’t be worth it at the price,” Gwen said, “to judge by the state you’re in.” Trudy started to cry and ran to her room, presently returning to ask Gwen questions about Richard’s mother. She could rarely keep away from Gwen when she was not out with Richard. “What’s his mother really like? Do you think I’d get on with her?” “If you wish I’ll take you to see his mother on Sunday.” “No, no,” Trudy said. “It’s got to come from him if it has any meaning. The invitation must come from Richard.” Trudy had almost lost her confidence, and in fact had come to wonder if Richard was getting tired of her, since he had less and less time to spare for her, when unexpectedly and yet so inevitably, in November, he said, “You must come and meet my mother.” “Oh!” Trudy said. “I should like you to meet my mother. She’s looking forward to it.” “Oh, does she know about me?” “Rather.” “Oh!” “It’s happened. Everything’s all right,” Trudy said breathlessly. “He has asked you home to meet his mother,” Gwen said without looking up from the exercise book she was correcting. “It’s important to me, Gwen.” “Yes, yes,” Gwen said. “I’m going on Sunday afternoon,” Trudy said. “Will you be there?” “Not till supper time,” Gwen said. “Don’t worry.” “He said, ‘I want you to meet Mother. I’ve told her all about you.’ ” “All about you?” – 37 –

“That’s what he said, and it means so much to me, Gwen. So much.” Gwen said, “It’s a beginning.” “Oh, it’s the beginning of everything. I’m sure of that.” Richard picked her up in his Singer at four on Sunday. He seemed preoccupied. He did not, as usual, open the car door for her, but slid into the driver’s seat and waited for her to get in beside him. She fancied he was perhaps nervous about her meeting his mother for the first time. The house on Campion Hill was delightful. They must be very comfortable, Trudy thought. Mrs Seeton was a tall, stooping woman, well dressed and preserved, with thick steel-grey hair and large light eyes. “I hope you’ll call me Lucy,” she said. “Do you smoke?” “I don’t,” said Trudy. “Helps the nerves,” said Mrs Seeton, “when one is getting on in life. You don’t need to smoke yet awhile.” “No,” Trudy said. “What a lovely room, Mrs Seeton.” “Lucy,” said Mrs Seeton. “Lucy,” Trudy said, very shyly, and looked at Richard for support. But he was drinking the last of his tea and looking out of the window as if to see whether the sky had cleared. “Richard has to go out for supper,” Mrs Seeton said, waving her cigarette holder very prettily. “Don’t forget to watch the time, Richard. But Trudy will stay to supper with me, I hope. Trudy and I have a lot to talk about, I’m sure.” She looked at Trudy and very faintly, with no more than a butterfly-flick, winked. Trudy accepted the invitation with a conspiratorial nod and a slight squirm in her chair. She looked at Richard to see if he would say where he was going for supper, but he was gazing up at the top pane of the window, his fingers tapping on the arm of the shining Old Windsor chair on which he sat. Richard left at half past six, very much more cheerful in his going than he had been in his coming. “Richard gets restless on a Sunday,” said his mother. “Yes, so I’ve noticed,” Trudy said, so that there should be no mistake about who had been occupying his recent Sundays. “I dare say now you want to hear all about Richard,” said his mother in a secretive whisper, although no one was in earshot. Mrs

– 38 –

Seeton giggled through her nose and raised her shoulders all the way up her long neck till they almost touched her ear-rings. Trudy vaguely copied her gesture. “Oh yes,” she said, “Lucy. You must call me Lucy, now, you know. I want you and me to be friends. I want you to feel like a member of the family. Would you like to see the house?” She led the way upstairs and displayed her affluent bedroom, one wall of which was entirely covered by mirror, so that, for every photograph on her dressing-table of Richard and Richard’s late father, there were virtually two photographs in the room. “This is Richard on his pony, Lob. He adored Lob. We all adored Lob. Of course, we were in the country then. This is Richard with Nana. And this is Richard’s father at the outbreak of war. What did you do in the war, dear?” “I was at school,” Trudy said, quite truthfully. “Oh, then you’re a teacher, too?” “No, I’m a secretary. I didn’t leave school till after the war.” Mrs Seeton said, looking at Trudy from two angles, “Good gracious me, how deceiving. I thought you were about Richard’s age, like Gwen. Gwen is such a dear. This is Richard as a graduate. Why he went into schoolmastering I don’t know. Still, he’s a very good master. Gwen always says so, quite definitely. Don’t you adore Gwen?” “Gwen is a good bit older than me,” Trudy said, being still upset on the subject of age. “She ought to be here any moment. She usually comes for supper. Now I’ll show you the other rooms and Richard’s room.” When they came to Richard’s room his mother stood on the threshold and, with her finger to her li ps for no apparent reason, swung the door open. Compared with the rest of the house this was a bleak, untidy, almost schoolboy’s room. Richard’s green pyjama trousers lay on the floor where he had stepped out of them. This was a sight familiar to Trudy from her several weekend excursions with Richard, of late months, to hotels up the Thames valley. “So untidy,” said Richard’s mother, shaking her head woefully. “So untidy. One day, Trudy, dear, we must have a real chat.” Gwen arrived presently, and made herself plainly at home by going straight into the kitchen to prepare a salad. Mrs Seeton carved slices of cold meat while Trudy stood and watched them both, listen-

– 39 –

ing to a conversation between them which indicated a long intimacy. Richard’s mother seemed anxious to please Gwen. “Expecting Grace tonight?” Gwen said. “No, darling, I thought perhaps not tonight. Was I right?” “Oh, of course, yes. Expecting Joanna?” “Well, as it’s Trudy’s first visit, I thought perhaps not —” “Would you,” Gwen said to Trudy, “lay the table, my dear. Here are the knives and forks.” Trudy bore these knives and forks into the dining-room with a sense of having been got rid of with a view to being talked about. At supper, Mrs Seeton said, “It seems a bit odd, there only being the three of us. We usually have such jolly Sunday suppers. Next week, Trudy, you must come and meet the whole crowd — mustn’t she, Gwen?” “Oh yes,” Gwen said, “Trudy must do that.” Towards half past ten Richard’s mother said, “I doubt if Richard will be back in time to run you home. Naughty boy, I daren’t think what he gets up to.” On the way to the bus stop Gwen said, “Are you happy now that you’ve met Lucy?” “Yes, I think so. But I think Richard might have stayed. It would have been nice. I dare say he wanted me to get to know his mother by myself. But in fact I felt the need of his support.” “Didn’t you have a talk with Lucy?” “Well yes, but not much really. Richard probably didn’t realize you were coming to supper. Richard probably thought his mother and I could have a heart-to-heart —” “I usually go to Lucy’s on Sunday,” Gwen said. “Why?” “Well, she’s a friend of mine. I know her ways. She amuses me.” During the week Trudy saw Richard only once, for a quick drink. “Exams,” he said. “I’m rather busy, darling.” “Exams in November? I thought they started in December.” “Preparation for exams,” he said. “Preliminaries. Lots of work.” He took her home, kissed her on the cheek and drove off. She looked after the car, and for a moment hated his moustache. But she pulled herself together and, recalling her youthfulness, decided she was too young really to judge the fine shades and moods of a man like Richard. – 40 –

He picked her up at four o’clock on Sunday. “Mother’s looking forward to seeing you,” he said. “She hopes you will stay for supper.” “You won’t have to go out, will you, Richard?” “Not tonight, no.” But he did have to go out to keep an appointment of which his mother reminded him immediately after tea. He had smiled at his mother and said, “Thanks.” Trudy saw the photograph album, then she heard how Mrs Seeton had met Richard’s father in Switzerland, and what Mrs Seeton had been wearing at the time. At half past six the supper party arrived. These were three women, including Gwen. The one called Grace was quite pretty, with a bewildered air. The one called Iris was well over forty and rather loud in her manner. “Where’s Richard tonight, the old cad?” said Iris. “How do I know?” said his mother. “Who am I to ask?” “Well, at least he’s a hard worker during the week. A brilliant teacher,” said doe-eyed Grace. “Middling as a schoolmaster,” Gwen said. “Oh, Gwen! Look how long he’s held down the job,” his mother said. “I should think,” Grace said, “he’s wonderful with the boys.” “Those Shakespearean productions at the end of the summer term are really magnificent,” Iris bawled. “I’ll hand him that, the old devil.” “Magnificent,” said his mother. “You must admit, Gwen —” “Very middling performances,” Gwen said. “I suppose you are right, but, after all, they are only schoolboys. You can’t do much with untrained actors, Gwen,” said Mrs Seeton very sadly. “I adore Richard,” Iris said, “when he’s in his busy, occupied mood. He’s so —” “Oh yes,” Grace said, “Richard is wonderful when he’s got a lot on his mind.” “I know,” said his mother. “There was one time when Richard had just started teaching — I must tell you this story — he...” Before they left Mrs Seeton said to Trudy, “You will come with Gwen next week, won’t you? I want you to regard yourself as one of

– 41 –

us. There are two other friends of Richard’s I do want you to meet. Old friends.” On the way to the bus Trudy said to Gwen, “Don’t you find it dull going to Mrs Seeton’s every Sunday?” “Well, yes, my dear young thing, and no. From time to time one sees a fresh face, and then it’s quite amusing.” “Doesn’t Richard ever stay at home on Sunday evening?” “No, I can’t say he does. In fact, he’s very often away for the whole weekend. As you know.” “Who are these women?” Trudy said, stopping in the street. “Oh, just old friends of Richard’s.” “Do they see him often?” “Not now. They’ve become members of the family.” THE AUTHOR Muriel Spark was born in 1918 and educated in Edinburgh. Her works include critical biographies of nineteenth-century writers, poetry and novels. Among her novels are The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1961), The Girls of Slender Means (1963) and The Mandelbaum Gate (1965). “A Member of the Family” is about Trudy and Richard, who meet on holiday, but turn out to have rather different ideas about marriage. READING NOTES rather: of course, certainly. bed-sitting-room: one room used for sleeping, living and eating in. Kensington: part of West London where many older houses have been converted into bedsitter flats for single people. on a much larger scale: much bigger. counting twenty: count up to twenty to stop herself losing her temper. puffy: with a lot of material in it. close confinement: having been kept indoors together. a connoisseur’s place: a place for people with good taste in art, architecture, etc. briefly dressed: with few clothes on. galvanized: suddenly active, as if forced, e. g. by an electric shock. – 42 –

M.G. racing car: very fast British sports car, made by the British Motor Corporation. show willing: try to please. volunteer: offer (information) without being asked. knock off: take off. let on: tell. experienced: knowing about love. Windermere: lake in the Lake District of north-western England. she would fling herself: she used to rush. he’s calling for me: he’s coming to fetch me. intentions: purpose with regard to Trudy (as far as marriage is concerned). well-bred: of a good family. a marvel: a wonderful person. young young: ironical, pretending to be very young. where I stand with him: what my position is. on the old side: rather old. Singer: make of sports car. comfortable: quite rich. Old Windsor chair: all wood chair with curved support for back and arms. run someone home: drive someone home by car. heart to heart (talk): talk as between very good friends. I’ll hand him that: I must say that about him. A. Answer these questions: 1. How old did Richard say he was? 2. Where were Trudy and Richard when their love affair began? 3. How many years had Trudy knocked off her age? 4. While Richard and Trudy were rowing on the lake, what did Richard say the lake looked like? 5. What was Gwen’s occupation? 6. Where was Gwen’s room? 7. What made Trudy think that Richard was getting tired of her? 8. Who took Trudy to the bus stop after she had left Richard’s home? 9. Where had Richard’s mother and father first met? 10. Name one of the other visitors Trudy met at Richard’s home. 11. Who were these women visitors, according to Richard’s mother? – 43 –

B. Complete the sentences in the following: 1. Trudy thought Southern Austria was like Wales because a) it rained so much; b) the sun shone so much; c) it didn’t rain much; d) because the sun hardly ever shone. 2. Gwen acted as if a) she wanted to find a husband; b) she had stopped thinking about marriage; c) she was very interested in Richard; d) she was trying to stop Trudy from becoming interested in Richard. 3. Trudy wanted to try out her phrase-book alone because a) she wanted to try out her German; b) Gwen told her to do so; c) she didn’t want Gwen to hear her mistakes; d) it might help her to meet a young man. 4. Gwen was speaking English to a man who was a) accompanied by an aunt; b) not accompanied by his wife; c) accompanied by his brother; d) accompanied by a sister. C. Choose the words from the list below which fit into the following sentences: confinement, crinkly, revelation, suicidal, virtuous, imperturbable, appreciation, awning, indifference, invisible. 1. It would be quite ... to climb to the top of that mountain. 2. Trudy could not understand Gwen’s ... to Richard. 3. Gwen never seemed to worry about anything; she was quite ... 4. It was a ... to Trudy when Richard showed her the town of Bleilach. 5. They sat under the ... in the sun. D. Rewrite the following sentences using the pattern given: They sat and drank apple-juice = They sat drinking apple-juice 1. Gwen and Trudy walked along the lakeside and looked at the other visitors. 2. It’s just like Wales, said Trudy and turned to Gwen. 3. Richard kissed Trudy and looked into her eyes. – 44 –

4. Trudy looked out of the window and fingered her curls. 5. The campers romped about and shouted to each other. Had better + verb Trudy thought, I’d better shut up. Practise using the phrase I’d/you’d/he’d, etc. better + verb by completing the following sentences, using the prompts below. She, knock a bit off her age. You, get up and get dressed. They, learn some German. We, stay indoors. I, move to a more expensive place. 1. It’s already 11 o’clock, so ... 2. It’s pouring with rain, so ... 3. This hotel is awful, so ... 4. They can’t understand a word the Austrians are saying, so ... 5. Richard likes younger women, so ... Do you mind + -ing “I’ve knocked a bit off my age”, Trudy said. “Do you mind not letting on.” Complete the following sentences using the phrase “Do you mind” + -ing form and the most suitable phrase from the list below. Come with Gwen. Go by bus. Open the window. Invite me to your home. Help me to lay the table. 1. It’s very hot in here ... 2. I’d love to meet your mother ... 3. I have such a lot to do ... 4. Richard can’t run you home tonight ... 5. I’d like you to come here to supper next Sunday, too ¾ E. Discussion: 1. Give your first impressions of the story. What did you feel about the characters? What was the point of the title? 2. Where do Trudy and Richard first meet? Describe the place, Bleilach. 3. Describe Trudy. In what way does she change her personality when she meets Richard? Why does she lie to Richard about her age? 4. What part does Gwen play in the story? 5. Why does Trudy want Richard to ask her to meet his mother? 6. When he finally takes her to meet his mother, what does it mean for Richard? – 45 –

7. What kind of woman is Richard’s mother? How does she regard Richard? 8. What do you think of Richard’s behaviour? Does anyone see Richard as he really is? 9. What would you have done at the end of the story if you had been Trudy? F. Written work: 1.This story contains anumber of detailed descri ptions of people. Read them carefully, then find two photographs from a newspaper or magazine and give adescri ption in detail of the people in them. Describe their height, build, clothes, hair, features and so on. 2. Write a postcard to a friend abroad describing briefly the town where you live. Notice the descri ption of Bleilach in this story.

– 46 –

5

LAURIE COLWIN

MR PARKER

Mrs Parker died suddenly in October. She and Mr Parker 1ived in a Victorian house next to ours, and Mr Parker was my piano teacher. He commuted to Wall Street, where he was a securities analyst, but he had studied at Juilliard and gave lessons on the side — for the pleasure of it, not for money. His only students were me and the church organist, who was learning technique în a double-keyboard harpsichord Mr Parker had built one spring. Mrs Parker was known for her pastry; she and my mother were friends, after a fashion. Every two months or so they spent a day together in the kitchen baking butter cookies and cream puffs, or rolling out strudel leaves. She was thin and wispy, and turned out her pastry with abstract expertness. As a girl, she had had bright-red hair, which was now the colour of old leaves. There was something smoky and autumnal about her: she wore rust-coloured sweaters and heathercoloured skirts, and kept dried weeds in ornamental jars and pressed flowers in frames. If you borrowed a book from her, there were petal marks on the back pages. She was tall, but she stooped as if she had spent a lifetime looking for something she had dropped. The word “tragic” was mentioned in connection with her death. She and Mr Parker were in the middle of their middle age, and neither of them had ever been seriously ill. It was heart failure, and unexpected. My parents went to see Mr Parker as soon as they got the news, since they took their responsibilities as neighbours seriously, and two days later they took me to pay a formal condolence call. It was Indian summer, and the house felt closed in. They had used the fireplace during a recent cold spell, and the living-room smelled faintly of ash. The only people from the community were some neighbours, the minister and his wife, and the rabbi and his wife and son. The Parkers were Episcopalian, but Mr Parker played the organ in the synagogue on Saturday mornings and on High Holy Days. There was a large urn of tea, and the last of Mrs Parker’s strudel. On the sofa were Mrs Parker’s sisters, and a man who looked like Mr Parker ten years younger leaned against the piano, which was closed. The conversation was hushed and stilted. On the way out the rabbi’s son tried – 47 –

to tri p me, and I kicked him in return.We were adolescent enemies of a loving sort, and since we didn’t know what else to do, we expressed our love in slaps and pinches and other mild attempts at grievous bodily harm. I loved the Parkers’ house. It was the last Victorian house on the block, and was shaped like a wedding cake. The living-room was round, and all the walls curved. The third floor was a tower, on top of which sat a weathervane. Every five years the house was painted chocolate brown, which faded gradually to the colour of weak tea. The front-hall window was a stained-glass picture of a fat Victorian baby holding a bunch of roses. The baby’s face was puffy and neuter, and its eyes were that of an old man caught in a stale of surprise. Its white dress was milky when the light shone through. On Wednesday afternoons, Mr Parker came home on an early train, and I had my lesson. Mr Parker’s teaching method never varied. He never scolded or corrected. The first fifteen minutes were devoted to a warm-up in which I could play anything I liked. Then Mr Parker played the lesson of the week. His playing was terrifically precise, but his eyes became dreamy and unfocused. Then I played the same lesson, and after that we worked on the difficult passages, but basically he wanted me to hear my mistakes. When we began a new piece, we played it part by part, taking turns, over and over. After that, we sat in me solarium and discussed the next week’s lesson. Mr Parker usually played a record and talked in detail about the composer, his life and times, and the form. With the exception of Mozart and Schubert, he liked Baroque music almost exclusively. The lesson of the week was always Bach, which Mr Parker felt taught elegance and precision. Mrs Parker used to leave us a tray of cookies and lemonade, cold in the summer and hot in the winter, with cinnamon sticks. When the cookies were gone, the lesson was over and I left, passing the Victorian child in the hallway. In the days after the funeral, my mother took several casseroles over to Mr Parker and invited him to dinner a number of times. For several weeks he revolved between us, the minister, and the rabbi. Since neither of my parents cared much about music, except to hear my playing praised, the conversation at dinner was limited to the stock market and the blessings of country life.

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In a few weeks, I got a note from Mr Parker enclosed in a thankyou note to my parents. It said that piano lessons would begin the following Wednesday. I went to the Parkers’ after school. Everything was the same. I warmed up for fifteen minutes. Mr Parker played, and I repeated it. In the solarium were the usual cookies and lemonade. “Are they good, these cookies?” Mr Parker asked. I said they were. “I made them yesterday,” he said. “I’ve got to be my own baker now”. Mr Parker’s hair had once been blond, but was greying into the colour of straw, Both he and Mrs Parker seemed to have faded out of some bright time they once had lived in. He was very thin, as if the friction of living had burned every unnecessary particle off him, but he was calm and cheery in the way you expect plump people to be. On teaching days, he always wore a blue cardigan, buttoned, and a stri ped tie.Both smelled faintly of tobacco.At the end of the lesson, he gave me a robin’s egg he had found. The light was flickering through the bunch of roses in the window as I left. When I got home, I found my mother in the kitchen, waiting and angry. “Where were you?” she said. “At my piano lesson.” “What piano lesson?” “You know what piano lesson. At Mr Parker’s.” “You didn’t tell me you were going to a piano lesson,” she said. “I always have a lesson on Wednesday.” “I don’t want you having lessons there now that Mrs Parker’s gone,” She slung a roast into a pan. I stomped off to my room and wrapped the robin’s egg in a sweat sock. My throat felt shrivelled and hot. At dinner, my mother said to my father, “I don’t want Jane taking piano lessons from Mr Parker now that Mrs Parker’s gone.” “Why don’t you want me to have lessons?” I said, close to shouting. “There’s no reason.” “She can study with Mrs Murchison”. Mrs Murchison had been my first teacher. She was a fat, myopic woman who smelled of bacon grease and whose repertoire was confined to “Little Classics for Chil-

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dren”. Her students were mostly under ten and she kept an asthmatic chow who was often sick on the rug. “I won’t go to Mrs Murchison!” I shouted. “I’ve outgrown her.” “Let’s be sensible about this,” said my father. “Calm down, Janie.” I stuck my fork into a potato to keep from crying and muttered melodramatically that I would hang myself before I’d go back to Mrs Murchison. The lessons continued. At night I practised quietly, and from time to time my mother would look up and say, “That’s nice, dear.” Mr Parker had given me a Three-Part Invention, and I worked on it as if it were granite. It was the most complicated piece of music I had ever played, and I learned it with a sense of loss; since I didn’t know when the axe would fall, I thought it might be the last piece of music I would ever learn from Mr Parker. The lessons went on and nothing was said, but when I came home after them my mother and I faced each other with division and coldness. Mr Parker bought a kitten called Mildred to keep him company in the house. When we had our cookies and lemonade, Mildred got a saucer of milk. At night, I was grilled by my mother as we washed the dishes. I found her sudden interest in the events of my day unnerving. She was systematic, beginning with my morning classes, ending in the afternoon. In the light of her intense focus, everything seemed wrong. Then she said, with arch sweetness, “And how is Mr Parker, dear?” “Fine.” “And how are the lessons going?” “Fine.” “And how is the house now that Mrs Parker’s gone?” “It’s the same. Mr Parker bought a kitten.” As I said it, I knew it was betrayàl. “What kind of kitten?” “A sort of pink one.” “What’s it name?” “It doesn’t have one,” I said. One night she said, “Does Mr Parker drink?” “He drinks lemonade.” “I only asked because it must be so hard for him,” she said in an offended voice. “He must be very sad.” “He doesn’t seem all that sad to me.” It was the wrong thing to say. “I see,” she said, folding the dish-towel with elaborate care. “You – 50 –

know how I feel about this, Jane. I don’t want you alone in the house with him.” “He’s my piano teacher,” I was suddenly in tears, so I ran out of the kitchen and up to my room. She followed me up, and sat on the edge of my bed while I sat al the desk, secretly crying on to the blotter. “I only want what’s best for you,” she said. “If you want what’s best for me, why don’t you want me to have piano lessons?” “I do want you to have piano lessons, but you’re growing up and it doesn’t look right for you to be in a house alone with a widowed man.” “I think you’re crazy.” “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say. You’rå not a little girl any more, Jane. There are privileges of childhood, and privileges of adulthood, and you’re in the middle. It’s difficult, I know.” “You don’t know. You’re just trying to stop me from taking piano lessons.” She stood up. “I’m trying to protect you,” she said. “What if Mr Parker touched you? What would you do then?” She made the word “touch” sound sinister. “You’re just being mean,” I said, and by this time I was cróing openly. It would have fixed things to throw my arms around her, but that meant losing, and this was war. “We’ll discuss it some other time,” she said, close to tears herself. I worked on the Invention until my hands shook. When I came home, if the house was empty, I practised in a panic, and finally, it was almost right. On Wednesday, I went to Mr Parker’s and stood at the doorway, expecting something drastic and changed, but it was all the same. There were cookies and lemonade in the solarium. Mildred took à nàð on my coat. My fifteen-minute warm-up was terrible; I made mistakes in the simplest parts, in things I knew by heart. Then Mr Parker played the lesson of the week and I tried to memorize his phrasing exactly. Before my turn came, Mr Parker put the metronome on the floor and we watched Mildred trying to catch the arm. I played it, and I knew it was right — I was playing music, not struggling with a lesson.

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When I finished, Mr Parker grabbed me by the shoulders. “That’s perfect! Really perfect!” he said. “A real breakthrough. These are the times that make teachers glad they teach.” We had lemonade and cookies and listened to some Palestrina motets. When I left, it was overcast, and the light was murky and green. I walked home slowly, divided by dread and joy in equal parts. I had performed like an adult, and had been congratulated by an adult, but something had been closed off, I sat under a tree and cried like a baby. He had touched me after all. THE AUTHOR Laurie Colwin lives in New York. Her novels include Shine on Bright and Dangerous Object (1976) and Happy All Time (1979). This story is taken from Dangerous French Mistress and Other Stories. Young people can sometimes find grown-ups’ ideas rather difficult to accept or understand. In “Mr Parker”, the author shows how a young girl can be put in a situation in which she has conflicting loyalties. READING NOTES securities analyst: person who investigates bonds, stocks and shares. Juilliard: famous college of music in New York City. cream puff: light flaky pastry filled with jam and cream. strudel: type of German or Austrian cake made with thin leaves of pastry and filled with apple. wispy: a little untidy, with bits of hair sticking out where they shouldn’t. petal marks: marks where flowers had been pressed. condolence call: visit to tell Mr Parker how sorry they were about his wife’s death. Indian summer: period of calm, dry weather in late autumn. grievous bodily harm: phrase used in law to mean hurting someone very badly. the stock market: (the state of) the financial market. the friction of living: the damaging effects of everyday life. stomp: walk stiffly. sweat sock: thick sock used in running, gymnastics, etc. “Little Classics for Children”: collection of simple piano music. – 52 –

melodramatically: with too much feeling. Invention: piece of music composed by J.S. Bach. grill: ask a lot of detailed questions. phrasing: way of expressing different passages in the music. motet: unaccompanied piece of music for many voices. A. Points to consider: While reading the story, think about the following: a) where do Jane’s loyalties really lie — with Mr Parker, or with her mother and father? b) what kind of man is Mr Parker? Are Jane’s mother’s suspicions totally unfounded? B. True or false? 1. Mrs Parker’s pastry was thin and wispy. 2. Mrs Parker grew weeds in ornamental jars. 3. Mrs Parker had suffered for many years from heart failure. 4. The Parkers belonged to the local Methodist church. 5. Jane and the rabbit’s son were very good friends of a sort. 6. The Parkers’ house was painted every five years. 7. Mr Parker was always telling his pupils off. 8. Mr Parker disliked Baroque music. C. Reading comprehension: Read the text carefully and find: 2 sentences that describe the Parkers’ house. 2 sentences that describe Mr Parker’s taste in music. 2 sentences that tell us about Mrs Parker’s appearance. 2 sentences that tell us about Jane’s piano lessons. Choose the correct answer in the following: 1. Which of the following words means nearly the same as “tragic”? a) triumphant; b) ñîmical; ñ) drastic; d) dreadfu;l e) passionate. 2. Which of the words below would you associate with the sentence “the living room smelled faintly of ash”? a) the seaside; – 53 –

b) a hayfield; ñ) a forest; d) tobacco leaf; e) perfume. 3. Which of the phrases below best explains the sentence “The conversation was hushed and stilted”? a) difficult to understand; b) in loud tones; ñ) noisy and excited; d) quiet and formal; e) with long periods of silence. D. After reading the whole story, answer these questions: 1. Where did Mr Parker commute to every day? 2. What was Mrs Parker known for? 3. What was the colour of her hair when she was a child? 4. What was the cause of Mrs Parker’s death? 5. What did Mr Parker usually do on Saturday mornings? 6. What did the Parkers’ house look like? 7. How often was the house painted? 8. What colour was it painted? 9. What music did Mr Parker like best? 10. Why did Jane’s mother want her to stop having piano lessons with Mr Parker? 11. What did Mr Parker buy to keep him company after his wife died? 12. What did Mr Parker drink? 13. How did Jane perform on the piano, at the end of the story? E. Subjects for discussion: 1. What do you know about Mr Parker? His work? His pleasures? His appearance? 2. What can you find out about Mrs Parker? 3. Jane is a very observant girl. Give some examples of her powers of observation. Show how she manages, in very few words, to sum up people, places and situations. How do we understand at the end of the story that Jane is still really a child?

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4. What do you think of Jane’s mother? Is she perhaps overprotecting her daughter? What would you have done if you had been Jane’s mother? General Discussion: 1. There are privileges of childhood and privileges of adulthood. What does Jane’s mother mean by this statement, do you think? Can you give some examples from everyday life and the privileges of childhood and the privileges of adulthood? 2. Split up into pairs and talk about your musical tastes — classical or pop. Do you play a musical instrument? Did you take music lessons? Did you practise every day? F. Exercises Put the suitable relative pronoun who, whose, which, that in the gaps below: Mr Parker was a man ... was very fond of music. He had a harpsichord ... he had built himself and a piano on ... Jane had lessons. Mrs Parker, his wife, was a pleasant woman ... pastry was well known in the neighbourhood. The Parkers’ house ... was the last Victorian house on the block, was shaped like a wedding cake. The living-room ... walls were curved, was round. One of the things ¾ Jane always remembered was a stained-glass window a Victorian baby ¾ eyes were like an old man’s. Answer the following questions using the prompts given in brackets with the construction want someone to do something: 1. Why did Jane’s mother take casseroles to Mr Parker? (he, eat properly) 2. Why did Mr Parker send Jane a note? (she, begin piano lessons) 3. Why did the girl’s parents mention Mrs Murchison? (she, study with Mrs Murchison) 4. Why did the girl’s mother grill her about the events of the day? (she, talk about Mr Parker) 5. Why did Jane work on the Invention till her hands shook? (Mr Parker, be pleased with her) G. Written work: Read the descri ption of the Parkers’ house again carefully.Write a paragraph about a house that you have visited recently. – 55 –

6

GRAHAM GREENE

THE INVISIBLE JAPANESE GENTLEMEN

There were eight Japanese gentlemen having a fish dinner at Bentley’s. They spoke to each other rarely in their incomprehensible tongue, but always with a courteous smile and often with a small bow. All but one of them wore glasses. Sometimes the pretty girl who sat in the window beyond gave them a passing glance, but her own problem seemed too serious for her to pay real attention to anyone in the world except herself and her companion. She had thin blonde hair and her face was pretty and petite in a Regency way, oval like a miniature, though she had a harsh way of speaking — perhaps the accent of the school, Roedean or Cheltenham Ladies’ College, which she had not long ago left. She wore a man’s signet-ring on her engagement finger, and as I sat down at my table, with the Japanese gentlemen between us, she said, “So you see we could marry next week.” “Yes?” Her companion appeared a little distraught. He refilled their glasses with Chablis and said, “Of course, but Mother...” I missed some of the conversation then, because the eldest Japanese gentleman leant across the table, with a smile and a little bow, and uttered a whole paragraph like the mutter from an aviary, while everyone bent towards him and smiled and listened, and I couldn’t help attending to him myself. The girl’s fiancè resembled her physically. I could see them as two miniatures hanging side by side on white wood panels. He should have been a young officer in Nelson’s navy in the days when a certain weakness and sensitivity were no bar to promotion. She said, “They are giving me an advance of five hundred pounds, and they’ve sold the paperback rights already”. The hard commercial declaration as a shock to me; it was a shock too that she was one of my own profession. She couldn’t be more than twenty. She deserved better of life. He said, “But my uncle¾” “You know you don’t get on with him. This way we shall be quite independent.” “You will be independent,” he said grudgingly. – 56 –

“The wine-trade wouldn’t really suit you, would it? I spoke to my publisher about you and there is a very good chance¾ if you began with some reading...” “But I don’t know a thing about books.” “I would help you at the start.” “My mother says that writing is a good crutch...” “Five hundred pounds and half the paperback rights is a pretty solid crutch”, she said. “This Chablis is good, isn’t it?” “I daresay.” I began to change my opinion of him — he had not the Nelson touch. He was doomed to defeat. She came alongside and raked him fore and aft. “Do you know what Mr Dwight said?” “Who’s Dwight?” “Darling, you don’t listen, do you? My publisher. He said he hadn’t read a first novel in the last ten years which showed such powers of observation.” That’s wonderful,” he said sadly, “wonderful.” “Only he wants me to change the tide.” “Yes.” “He does not like The Ever-Rolling Stream. He wants to call it The Chelsea Set. “What did you say?” “I agreed. I do think that with a first novel one should try to keep one’s publisher happy. Especially when, really, he’s going to pay for our marriage, isn’t he?” “I see what you mean.” Absent-mindedly he stirred his Chablis with a fork — perhaps before the engagement he had always bought champagne. The Japanese gentlemen had finished their fish and with very little English but with elaborate courtesy they were ordering from the middle-aged waitress a fresh fruit salad. The girl looked at them, and then she looked at me, but I think she saw only the future. I wanted very much to warn her against any future based on a first novel called The Chelsea Set. I was on the side of his mother. It was a humiliating thought, but I was probably about her mother’s age. I wanted to say to her, are you certain your publisher is telling you the truth? Publishers are human. They may sometimes exaggerate the virtues of the young and the pretty. Will The Chelsea Set be read – 57 –

in five years? Are you prepared for the years of effort, “the long defeat of doing nothing well”? As the years pass writing will not become any easier, the daily effort will grow harder to endure, those “powers of observation” will become enfeebled, you will be judged, when you reach your forties, by performance and not by promise. “My next novel is going to be about St Tropez.” “I didn’t know you’d ever been there.” “I haven’t. A fresh eye’s terribly important. I thought we might settle down there for six months.” “There wouldn’t be much left of the advance by that time.” “The advance is only an advance. I get fifteen per cent after five thousand copies and twenty per cent after ten. And of course another advance will be due, darling — when the next book’s finished. A bigger one if The Chelsea Set sells well.” “Suppose it doesn’t.” “Mr Dwight says it will. He ought to know.” “My uncle would start me at twelve hundred.” “But darling, how could you come then to St. Tropez?” “Perhaps we’d do better to marry when you come back.” She said harshly, “I mightn’t come back if The Chelsea Set sells enough.” “Oh.” She looked at me and the party of Japanese gentlemen. She finished her wine. She said, “Is this a quarrel?” “No.” “I’ve got the title for the next book — The Àãurå Blue.” “I thought azure was blue.” She looked at him with disappointment. “You don’t really want to be married to a novelist, do you?” “You aren’t one yet.” “I was born one — Mr Dwight says. My powers of observation...” “Yes. You told me that, but, dear, couldn’t you observe a bit nearer home? Here in London.” “I’ve done that in The Chelsea Set. I don’t want to repeat myself.” The bill had been lying beside them for some time now. He took out his wallet to pay, but she snatched the paper out of his reach. She said, “This is my celebration.” “What of?”

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“The Chelsea Set, of course. Darling, you’re awfully decorative, but sometimes — well, you simply don’t connect.” “I’d rather... if you don’t mind...” “No, darling, this is on me. And Mr Dwight, of course.” He submitted just as two of the Japanese gentlemen gave tongue simultaneously, then stopped abruptly and bowed to each other, as though they were blocked in a doorway. I had thought the two young people matching miniatures, but what a contrast in fact there was. The same type of prettiness could contain weakness and strength. Her Regency counterpart, I suppose would have borne a dozen children without the aid of anaesthetics, while he would have fallen an easy victim to the first dark eyes in Naples. Would there one day be a dozen books on her shelf? They have to he born without an anaesthetic too. I found myself hoping that The Chelsea Set would prove to be a disaster and that eventually she would take up photographic modelling while he established himself solidly in the wine-trade in St James’s. I didn’t like to think of her as the Mrs Humphrey Ward of her generation — not that I would live so long. Old age saves us from the realization of a great many fears. I wondered to which publishing firm Dwight belonged. I could imagine the blurb he would have already written about her abrasive powers of observation. There would be a photo, if he was wise, on the back of the jacket, for reviewers, as well as publishers, are human, and she didn’t look like Mrs Humphrey Ward. I could hear them talking while they found their coats at the back of the restaurant. He said, “I wonder what all those Japanese are doing here?” “Japanese?” she said. “What Japanese, darling? Sometimes you are so evasive I think you don’t want to marry me at all.” THE AUTHOR Graham Greene was born in Hertfordshire in 1904. He was educated at Berkhamsted and Oxford. A novelist, dramatist and short story writer. He has written more than thirty novels, including The Power and The Glory (1940), The Heart of the Matter (1948), The Comedians (1966) and The Honorary Consul (1973).

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READING NOTES Roedean: famous public school for girls in England. Cheltenham Ladies’ College: as above. engagement finger: third finger of left hand, on which engagement ring is worn. Chablis: French white Burgundy wine. Nelson: (1758—1805) great English naval commander. paperback rights: the right to produce the book with a soft cover. crutch: help on the side, not as one’s main source of income. the Nelson touch: brave way of dealing with a situation. alongside: next to (about ashi p). rake fore and aft: (about ashi p) fire with guns at another shi p from one end to the other. Greene is still thinking about Nelson and saying that this young man, unlike Nelson, is allowing himself to be beaten in battle by the young lady, who is like an attacking shi p. Chelsea: part of London well known for artists and fashion. set: group of people. connect: think of things as being connected with one another. this is on me: I’m paying for this. give tongue: start speaking. photographic modelling: being photographed for advertisements. St James’s: area of London around St James’s Park, centre of the wine trade. Mrs. Humphrey Ward: (1851—1920) conventional woman novelist. A. Points to consider: While reading the story, think about the following: a) the use of adjectives, unusual figures of speech, words or phrases revealing characters or expressing emotion. b) how a polite conflict is developed between two people who are normally very close to each other. B. True or false? 1. All but one of the Japanese gentlemen were without glasses. 2. The girl in the story was wearing a diamond engagement ring. 3. The girl wanted to get married very soon. 4. The young man showed a lot of interest in becoming a writer. 5. The girl’s publisher was named Dwight. – 60 –

C. Choose the correct answer in the following: 1. Instead of the word “courteous” in the phrase “a courteous smile”, the author could have used a) obedient; b) casual; c) considerate; d) reluctant. 2. The “mutter from an aviary”, makes you think of a) the sound of flying geese; b) bees in an orchard; ñ) the wind blowing through the trees; d) the sound from a bird house. 3. The girl’s companion appeared a little distraught, because he didn’t like a) sitting so close to the Japanese gentlemen; b) the Chablis they were drinking; ñ) other people looting at him; d) the idea of getting married next week. 4. Why was it humiliating for the author? a) He couldn’t tell the girl what he wanted; b) He didn’t like to think that he was as old as the girl’s mother; ñ) Íå didn’t like the young man’s mother; d) He didn’t want to be on the side of the young man. D. Exercises Rewrite the following sentences from the story in your own words: 1. “You will be independent”, he said grudgingly. 2. I began to change my opinion of him — he had not the Nelson touch. 3. He submitted just as two of the Japanese gentlemen gave tongue simultaneously. 4. “Darling, you’re awfully decorative, but sometimes — well, you simply don’t connect.” E. Tag questions can be used when you want someone to agree with you. Put the correct tag questions in the following sentences: 1. Her publisher was very good, ... ? 2. He wanted her to change the title, ... ? 3. He isn’t going to marry her, ... ? 4. There are a lot of Japanese gentlemen here, ... ? 5. You could hear them talking, ... ? – 61 –

F. Rewrite the following sentences in indirect speech, changing the verb form in each case: 1. “Will The Chelsea Set be read in five years?” he asked. 2. “Are you prepared for the years of effort?” he asked her. 3. “Writing will not become any easier,” he told her. 4. “You will be judged by performance, not by promise,” he told her. G. After reading the whole story, answer these questions: 1. How many of the Japanese gentlemen wore glasses? 2. Where in the restaurant did the girl sit? 3. In what way did the girl’s fiancé resemble her? 4. How much was the advance on the girl’s first book? 5. How much did the girl’s fiancé know about books? 6. Who was Mr. Dwight? 7. What did the girl agree to in order to keep her publisher happy? 8. What did the Japanese gentlemen order from the middleaged waitress? 9. What was the girl’s next novel to be about? 10. When did her fiancé think they should get married? 11. What was to be the title of the girl’s next book? 12. Why did she insist on paying for their meal at the restaurant? 13. How did her companion react to this idea? 14. What made the girl think that he didn’t want to marry her? H. Subjects for discussion: 1. What did you think of the story? The characters? The comments by the author? What was the point of the story, do you think? 2.Give adescri ption of the girl in the restaurant. 3. Describe her fiancé. 4. What kind of relationshi p do they have? Do you think they would be happy with each other in the future? Why/why not? 5. The author plays quite an important part in the story. Comment on his powers of observation and give examples. Could the Japanese gentlemen have been left out of the story? Why/why not? 6. What did you think of the title of the story? I. Written work: Imagine you are a detective following one of the Japanese gentlemen.Write ashort descri ption of the physical layout of the restaurant, which you are to include in your report. Include as much detail as you can derive from the story and make up some details of your own if you wish. – 62 –

7

W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM

HOME

The farm lay in a small valley among the Somersetshire hills, an old-fashioned stone house surrounded by barns and pens and outhouses. Over the doorway the date when it was built had been carved in the elegant figures of the period, 1673, and the house, grey and weather-beaten, looked as much a part of the landscape as the trees that surrounded it. An avenue of splendid elms led from the road to the neat garden. The people who lived here were unexcitable, strong and modest as the house; their only boast was that ever since it was built they had been born and died in it: from father to son in one unbroken line. For three hundred years they had farmed the surrounding land. George Meadows was now a man of fifty, and his wife was a year or two younger. They were both fine, honest people in the prime of life; and their children, two sons and three girls were handsome and strong. I have never seen a more united household. They were merry, industrious and kindly. Their life had a completeness that gave it a beauty as definite as that of a symphony of Beethoven’s or a picture by Titian. They were happy and they deserved their happiness. But the master of the house was not George Meadows (not by a long chalk, they said in the village); it was his mother. She was twice the man her son was, they said. She was a woman of seventy, tall, upright and dignified with grey hair, and though her face was much wrinkled, her eyes were bright and shrewd. Her word was law in the house and on the farm; but she had humor, and if her rule was despotic it was also kindly. People laughed at her jokes and repeated them. She was a good business woman. She combined in a rare degree good will with a sense of the ridiculous. She was a character. One day Mrs. George stopped me on my way home. She was really exited. (Her mother-in-law was the only “Mrs. Meadows” we knew; George’s wife was only known as “Mrs. George”). “Who ever do you think is coming here today?” she asked me. “Uncle George Meadows. You know, he was in China.” “Why, I thought he was dead.” “We all thought he was dead.”

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I had heard the story of Uncle George Meadows a dozen times, and it had amused me because it sounded like an old ballad: it was quite moving to come across it in real life. For Uncle George Meadows and Tom, his younger brother, had both courted Mrs. Meadows when she was Emily Green, fifty years and more ago, and when she married Torn, George had gone away to sea. They heard of him on the China coast. For twenty years now and then he had sent them presents; then there was no more news of him; when Tom Meadows died his widow wrote and told him, but received no answer; and at last they came to the conclusion that he must be dead. But two or three days ago to their astonishment they had received a letter from the matron of the sailors’ home at Portsmouth. It appeared that for the last ten years George Meadows, cri ppled with rheumatism, had lived there, and now, feeling that he had not much longer to live, wanted to see once more the house in which he was born. Albert Meadows, his great-nephew, had gone over to Portsmouth in the Ford to fetch him and he was to arrive that afternoon. “Just fancy,” said Mrs. George, “he’s not been here for more than fifty years. He’s never even seen my George, who’s fifty-one next birthday.” “And what does Mrs. Meadows think of it?” I asked. “Well, you know what she is. She sits there and smiles to herself. All she says, ‘He was a good-looking young fellow when he left, but not so steady as his brother,’ That’s why she chose my George’s father. ‘But he’s probably quietened down by now,’ she says.” Mrs George asked me to look in and see him. With the simplicity of a country woman who had never been further from her home than London, she thought that because we had both been in China we must have something in common. Of course I accepted. I found the whole family assembled when I arrived; they were sitting in the great old kitchen, with its stone floor, Mrs Meadows in her usual chair by the fire, very upright, and I was amused to see that she had put on her best silk dress, while her son and his wife sat at the table with their children. On the other side of the fireplace sat an old man, bunched up in a chair. He was very thin and his skin hung on his bones like an old suit much too large for him; his face was wrinkled and yellow and he had lost nearly all his teeth. I shook hands with him. – 64 –

“Well, I’m glad too see you’ve got here safely, Mr Meadows”, I said. “Captain,” he corrected. “He walked here,” Albert, his great-nephew, told me. “When he got to the gate he made me stop the car and said he wanted to walk.” “And mind you, I’ve not been out of my bed for two years. They carried me down and put me in the car. I thought I’d never walk again, but when I saw those elm trees, I felt I could walk. I walked down that drive fifty-two years ago when I went away and now I’ve walked back again.” “Silly, I call it,” said Mrs Meadows. “It’s done me good I feel better and stronger than I have for ten years. I’ll see you out yet, Emily.” “Don’t you be too sure”, she answered. I suppose no one had called Mrs Meadows by her first name for a generation. It gave me a little shock, as though the old man were taking a liberty with her. She looked at him with a shrewd smile in her eyes and he, talking to her, grinned with his toothless gums. It was strange to look at them, these two old people who had not seen one another for half a century, and to think that all that long time ago he had loved her and she had loved another. I wondered if they remembered what they had felt then and what they had said to one another. I wondered if it seemed to him strange now that for that old woman he had left the home of his fathers, his lawful inheritance, and lived an exile’s life. “Have you ever been married, Captain Meadows?” I asked. “Not me,” he said, in his shaking voice, with a grin. “I know too much about women for that.” “That’s what you say,” answered Mrs Meadows. “If the truth was known I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that you’d had half a dozen black wives in your day,” “They’re not black in China, Emily, óîu ought to know better than that, they’re yellow.” “Perhaps that’s why you’ve got so yellow yourself. When I saw you, I said to myself, why, he’s got jaundice”. “I said I’d never marry anyone but you, Emily, and I never have.” He said this not to cause pity or in bitterness, but as a mere statement of fact, as a man might say, “I said I’d walk twenty miles and I’ve done it.” There was some satisfaction in the speech. “Well, you might have regretted it if you had,” she answered. – 65 –

I talked a little with the old man about China. “There’s no port in China that I don’t know better than you know your coat pocket.Where ashi p can go I’ve been.I could keep you sitting here all day long for six months and not tell you half the things I’ve seen in my day”. “Well, one thing you’ve not done, George, as far as I can see,” said Mrs Meadows, “the mocking but not unkindly smile still in her eyes, and that’s to make a fortune.” “I’m not one to save money. Make it and spend it; that’s my motto. But one thing I can say for myself: if I had the chance of going through life again I’d take it. And there aren’t many people who’ll say that.” “No, indeed,” I said. I looked at him with admiration and respect. He was a toothless, cri ppled, penniless old man, but he had made asuccess of life, for he had enjoyed it. When I left him he asked me to come and see him again next day. If I was interested in China he would tell me all the stories I wanted to hear. Next morning I thought I would go and ask if the old man would like to see me. I strolled down the magnificent avenue of elm trees and when I came to the garden saw Mrs Meadows picking flowers. I bade her good morning and she raised herself. She had a huge armful of white flowers. I glanced at the house and I saw that the blinds were drawn: I was surprised, for Mrs Meadows liked the sunshine. “Time enough to live in the dark when you’re buried,” she always said. “How’s Captain Meadows?” I asked her. “He always was a wild fellow,” she answered. “When Lizzie took him a cup of tea this morning she found he was dead.” “Dead?” “Yes. Died in his sleep. I was just picking these flowers to put in the room. Well, I’m glad he died in that old house. It always means a lot to those Meadows to do that”. They had had a good deal of difficulty in persuading him to go to bed. He had talked to them of all the things that had happened to him in his long life. He was happy to be back in his old home. He was proud that he had walked up the drive without assistance, and he boasted that he would live for another twenty years. But fate had been kind: death had written the full-stop in the right place. Mrs Meadows smelt the white flowers that she held in her arms. “Well, I’m glad he came back,” she said. “After I married Tom Meadows and George went away, the fact is I was never quite sure that I’d married the right one”. – 66 –

THE AUTHOR W. Somerset Maugham (1874—1965) was born in Paris, but his parents were English. They died when he was ten and he was brought up by an uncle, a clergyman who lived in the south of England. He studied medicine in London, and later took up writing as a career. We learn a good deal about his early life from his novel Of Human Bondage. Two other novels by him are Cakes and Ale and The Moon and Sixpence. He wrote many plays and had great talent as a writer of short stories. One of the best of these is “The Letter”, a dramatic incident in the lives of a group of English people in Malaya. READING NOTES One of Maugham’s favourite ways of telling à storó, which he uses here, is to tell it as though he had been concerned in it. The teller of the story has no part in the events, but telling it in this way helps to make it seem real. pens: enclosed spaces for farm animals. unexcitable: calm, not easily excited. their only boast: the only thing they were proud of. the prime of life: the best years of their life. not by a long chalk: by no means, not at all. She was twice the man her son was: She had a much stronger character than her son. in a rare degree: to an unusual extent. She was a character: She had a remarkable personality. who ever: Used here rather than “who” because it is more emphatic. It was quite moving: it aroused one’s sympathy. when she was, when she married. Notice that the simple past is used in these two clauses after when, although the main verbs of the sentence are in the past perfect. They heard of him on the China coast: they heard of him when he was on the China coast. home: In this case a hospital or institution for old sailors with no other home. Ford: Ford car. Just fancy: A colloquial expression used to express surprise; fancy means “imagine”. – 67 –

my George: my husband George. something in common: something that we could talk to each other about, something we were both interested in. bunched up: crouching, very bent. he corrected: he corrected me (because I had not given him his proper title). Mind you: a colloquial expression used to warn listeners that the speaker is going to say something important. I call it: in my opinion. see you out: live longer than you. another: another man. fathers: ancestors. those Meadows: the members of the Meadows family. Mrs Meadows does not consider herself a member of the family except by marriage. death had written the full-stop in the right place: the old man had died at the right time. A. Answer these questions: 1. Why had Uncle George gone away to sea? 2. Why was the farmer’s wife known only as “Mrs George”? 3.“Captain,” he corrected. What does this remark tell you about Uncle George? 4. What was the tone of the conversation between Uncle George and Mrs Meadows? 5. “I’m not one to make money,” said Captain Meadows, and yet he had made a success of his life. How? 6. “I was never sure that I’d married the right one.” Do you think she had or had not? Say why you think so. B. Find expressions in the story with the same meaning as those below: 1) without interpretation; 2) the best years of (their) life; 3) by no means; 4) everyone obeyed her; 5) an old traditional song; 6) (they) had both wanted to marry (her); 7) not showing proper respect; 8) lived far from home; 9) that’s my rule of life; 10) it’s always important to those Meadows. – 68 –

C. Put the verbs in brackets in this passage in their correct form: They (hear) of him on the China coast. For twenty years now and then he (send) them presents; then there (be) no more news of him; when Òîm Meadows (die) his wife (write) and (tell) him, but (receive) no answer; and at last they (come) to the conclusion that he must be dead. But two or three days ago to their astonishment they (receive) a letter from the matron of the sailors’ home at Portsmouth. It (appear) that for the last ten years George Meadows, cri ppled with rheumatism, (live) there, and now, (feel) that he had not much longer to live, (want) to see once more the house in which he (be) born. Albert Meadows, his great-nephew (go) over to Portsmouth in the Ford to fetch him and he (be) to arrive that afternoon. D. Put the -ing form (e. g. “doing”), the simple form (e. g. “do”) or the infinitive (e. g. “to do”) of the verbs in brackets, to make these sentences correct: 1. Uncle George was (arrive) that afternoon. 2. They thought he must (be) dead. 3. He made me (stop) the car. 4. He said he wanted to (walk). 5. You ought (know) better than that. 6. It was strange (look) at those two old people. 7. I could keep you (sit) here all day. 8. I shouldn’t be surprised (hear) you’d half a dozen wives. 9. I wish I had the chance of (go) through life again. 10. I saw Mrs Meadows (pick) flowers in the garden. 11. They had had difficulty in (persuade) him (go) to bed. 12. I asked if the old man would like (see) me. E. Put the correct prepositions in the spaces in this passage. The prepositions needed are: at, by, from, in, of, on, up, with. She asked me to look ¾ and see him. ¾ the simplicity ¾ a country woman who had never been further ¾ her home than London, she thought that because we had both been ¾ China we must have something ¾ common. The whole family were sitting ¾ the kitchen, ¾ its stone floor, Mrs Meadows ¾ her usual chair ¾ the fire, and I was amused to see that she had put ¾ her best silk dress. Her son and his wife sat ¾ the table ¾ their children. ¾ the other side ¾ the fireplace sat an old man, bunched ¾ ¾ a chair. – 69 –

F. Put a suitable adjective in the second sentence of each pair: 1. The Meadows never got excited. They were ¾ . 2. Mrs Meadows looked at Uncle George with a kindly smile. Her smile was not ¾ 3. Uncle George had no teeth. He had a grin on his ¾ mouth. 4. He had spent all his money. He died ¾ 5. Mrs Meadows sat in her usual chair. It would have been ¾ for her to sit in any other chair. G. Subjects for composition and discussion: 1.“Mrs Meadows was twice the man her son was.” Why did people who knew the Meadows family say this? 2. The story is called “Home”. Think of another title and give your reasons for choosing it. 3. “A writer’s duty is to describe life as it is and not as it ought to be.” How far does Maugham do this in his descri ptions of Uncle George and Mrs. Meadows?

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8

BERTRAND RUSSELL

HOW TO GROW OLD

In spite of the title, this article will really be on how not to grow old, which, at my time of life, is a much more important subject. My first advice would be to choose your ancestors carefully. Although both my parents died young, I have done well in this respect as regards my other ancestors. My maternal grandfather, it is true, was cut off in the flower of his youth at the age of sixty-seven, but my other three grandparents all lived to be over eighty. Of remoter ancestors I can only discover one who did not live to a great age, and he died of a disease, which is now rare, namely, having his head cut off. A great-grandmother of mine, who was a friend of Gibbon, lived to the age of ninety-two, and to her last day remained a terror to all her descendants. My maternal grandmother, after having nine children who survived, one who died in infancy, and many miscarriages, as soon as she became a widow devoted herself to women’s higher education. She was one of the founders of Girton College, and worked hard at opening the medical profession to women. She used to tell of how she met in Italy an elderly gentleman who was looking very sad. She asked him why he was so melancholy and he said that he just parted from his two grandchildren. “Good gracious,” she exclaimed, “I have seventy-two grandchildren, and if I were sad each time I parted from one of them, I should have a miserable existence!” “Madre snaturale,” he replied. But speaking as one of the seventy-two, I prefer her reci pe.After the age of eighty she found she had some difficulty in getting to sleep, so she habitually spent the hours from midnight to 3 a. m. in reading popular science. I do not believe that she ever had time to notice that she was growing old. This, I think, is the proper reci pe for remaining young.If you have wide and keen interests and activities in which you can still be effective, you will have no reason to think about the merely statistical fact of the number of years you have already lived, still less of the probable shortness of your future. As regards health, I have nothing useful to say as I have little experience of illness. I eat and drink whatever I like, and sleep when I cannot keep awake. I never do anything whatever on the ground

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that it is good for health, though in actual fact the things I like doing are mostly wholesome. Psychologically there are two dangers to be guarded against in old age. One of these is too great an absorption in the past. One should not live in memories, in regrets for the good old days, or in sadness about friends who are dead. One’s thoughts must be directed to the future, and to things about which there is something to be done. This is not always easy, one’s own past is a gradually increasing weight. It is easy to think to oneself that one’s emotions used to be more vivid than they are, and one’s mind more keen. If this is true it should be forgotten, and if it is forgotten it will probably not be true. The other thing to be avoided is clinging to youth in the hope of finding strength in its vitality. When your children are grown up they want to live their own lives, and if you continue to be as interested in them as you were when they were young, you are likely to become a burden to them, unless they are unusually insensible. I do not mean that one should be without interest in them, but one’s interest should be contemplative and, if possible, philanthropic, but not too emotional. Animals become indifferent to their young as soon as their young can look after themselves, but human beings, owing to the length of infancy, find this less easy. I think that a successful old age is easiest for those who have strong impersonal interests leading to suitable activities. It is in this sphere that long experience is really fruitful, and that the wisdom born of experience can be used without becoming a burden. It is no use telling grown-up children not to make mistakes, both because they will not believe you, and because mistakes are an essential part of education. But if you are one of those who are incapable of impersonal interests, you may find that your life will be empty unless you concern yourself with your children and grandchildren. In that case you must realise that while you can still help them in material ways, as by making them an allowance or knitting them jumpers, you must not expect that they will enjoy your company. Some old people are troubled by the fear of death. In the young there is a justification for this feeling. Young men who have reason to fear that they will be killed in battle may justifiably feel bitter in the thought that they have been cheated of the best things that life has to offer. But in an old man who has known human joys and sorrows, and has done whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat ignoble. The – 72 –

best way to overcome it — so at least seems to me — is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly part of the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a riversmall at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over water falls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become part of the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he cares for will continue. And if, with the loss of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will not be unwelcome. I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no longer do, and content in the thought that what was possible has been done. THE AUTHOR Bertrand Russell (1882—1970) was Lord Russell, but he did not use the title. He was Welsh by birth, and his grandfather was twice Prime Minister of Britain. He was a brilliant mathematician, scientist and philosopher. In 1950 he received the Nobel Prize for literature. All his life he was a pacifist and an active opponent of the atom bomb. Because of his strong opposition to the war of 1914—1918 he was dismissed from a post as lecturer at Cambridge University and was sent to prison. He was a professor of philosophy in Peking, and the headmaster of a progressive school in the south of England. He wrote and lectured a great deal on science, sociology, psychology and the history of philosophy. In all his writings he had the gift of making even difficult subjects dear and interesting. READING NOTES This åssàó gives a good idea of Bertrand Russell’s ability to instruct and entertain his readers at the same time. He is deeply sincere, but he enlivens his remarks by light and humorous illustrations. time of life: age. cut off: i. e. by death. Russell makes a joke of this phrase when he repeats it in its literal meaning. – 73 –

Gibbon: Edward Gibbon (1737—1794) is famous for his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Girton College: the first women’s college in Cambridge. Madre snaturale: what an extraordinary mother. popular science: i. e. books on popular science. wholesome: good for the health. absorption: deep interest. If... true: this is the kind of sentence that Bernard Russell uses in order to make us think carefully. The thought expressed in it is “If you think you are losing your mental powers, stop thinking so and you will not lose them. If you have never thought so, you are in no danger of losing them.” become indifferent to: lose interest in. passionately: this is a human emotion applied to the river. break: interval, pause. A. Answer these questions: 1. “Choose your ancestors carefully.” Why does the writer say this? 2. What is Russell’s reci pe for remaining young? Do you agree with him? 3. What are the two psychological dangers that we must guard against in old age? 4. What should one do to achieve a successful old age? 5. Who may be justifiably afraid of death, and why? 6. How does the writer himself wish to die? B. Choose expressions in the story to put in place of those in italics: 1. My mother’s father died at the age of sixty-seven. 2. My grandmother spent all her time on women’s education. 3. There is a good set of instructions for making bread in this cookery book. 4. Are you interested in books on science for non-scientific readers? 5. You need not worry about the actual figure of your age. 6. Old people sometimes have too deep an interest in the past. 7. Animals stop taking an interest in their young after a time. 8. Old people should try to develop interests outside themselves and their own families. 9. You can still help your children by giving them things that they need. – 74 –

C. Complete these sentences: 1. ... spite ... the title, this article will really be ... how not ... grow old, which, ... my time ¾ 1ife, is as a much more important subject. 2. My grandfather was cut ... ... the flower ¾ youth ... the age ... sixty-seven. 3. Only one ... them did not live ... a great age, and he died ... a disease which is now rare. 4. ... her last day she remained a terror ... all descendants. 5. She worked hard ... opening the medical profession ... women. D. Make each sentence agree with the essay, using one of the phrases in brackets: 1. The article is really on (choosing one’s ancestors, growing old, not growing old). 2. A great-grandmother of mine (entered the medical profession, had her head cut off, died at the age of ninety-two). 3. The way to remain young is to (have seventy-two grandchildren, have wide and keen interests, read popular science instead of sleeping). 4. Old people should (be indifferent to their children, become a burden to their children, let their children lead their own lives). 5. A successful old age is easiest for those who (develop their own interests, knit jumpers for their grandchildren, prevent grownup children from making mistakes). E. Subjects for composition and discussion: 1. “This article will really be on how not to grow old.” 2. Explain the author’s aim in writing the article. 3. What have you learnt from this article about Bertrand Russell’s attitude to other people and to himself?

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9

O’HENRY

WHILE THE AUTO WAITS

Promptly at the beginning of twilight, came again to that quiet corner of that quiet, small park the girl in gray. She sat upon a bench and read a book, for there was yet to come a half hour in which print could be read. To repeat: Her dress was gray, and plain but perfect in style and fit. A large-meshed veil imprisoned her hat and a face that shone through it with a calm and unconscious beauty. She had come there at the same hour on the previous day, and on the day before that; and there was one who knew it. The young man who knew it was waiting near by. His patience was rewarded, in turning a page, her book sli pped from her fingers and bounded from the bench a full yard away. The young man seized it with great audacity, returning it to its owner with a look of gallantry and hope. In a pleasant voice, be risked a simple remark upon the weather — that introductory subject responsible for so much of the world’s unhappiness — and stood by for a moment, awaiting his fate. The girl looked at him over leisurely; at his ordinary neat dress and his features that showed no particular expression. “You may sit down, if you like”, she said, in a full, slow contralto. “Really, I would like to have you do so. The light is too bad for reading. I would prefer to talk.” He slid upon the seat by her side with politeness. “Do you know,” he said, speaking the formula with which park chairmen open their meetings, “that you are quite the most beautiful girl I have seen in a long time? I had my eye on you yesterday. Didn’t know somebody was knocked down by those pretty lamps of yours, did you, honeysuckle?” “Whoever you are,” said the girl in icy tones, “you must remember that I am a lady. I will excuse the remark you have just made because the mistake was, doubtless, not an unnatural one — in your circle. I asked you to sit down; if the invitation must make me your honeysuckle, consider it withdrawn”.

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“I earnestly beg your pardon,” pleaded the young man. “It was my fault, you know, — I mean, there are girls in parks, you know — that is, of course, you don’t know, but —” “Abandon the subject, if you please. Of course I know. Now, tell me about these people passing and crowding, each way, along these paths. Where are they going? Why do they hurry so? Are they happy?” The young man could not guess the role he would be expected to play. “It is interesting to watch them,” he replied. “It’s the wonderful drama of life. Some are going tî supper and some to — er — other places. One wonders what their histories are”. “I do not,” said the girl, “I am not so curious. I come here to sit because here, only, can I be near the great, common, beating heart of humanity. My part in life is played where its beats are never felt. Can you guess why I spoke to you, Mr — ?” “Parkenstacker,” said the young man. Then he looked eager and hopeful. “No,” said the girl, holding up a slender finger, and smiling slightly. “You would recognize it immediately. It is impossible to keep one’s name out of print. Or even one’s portrait. This veil and this hat of my maid’s hide my identity. You should have seen the chauffeur stare at it when he thought I did not see. Frankly, there are five or six names that belong in the holy of holies, and mine, by accident of birth, is one of them. I spoke to you, Mr Stackenpot — ” “Parkenstacker,” corrected the young man, modestly. “Mr Parkenstacker, because I wanted to talk, for once, with a natural man — one unspoiled by wealth and supposed social superiority. Oh! you do not know how weary I am of it — money, money, money! And of the men who surround me, dancing like dolls all cut by the same pattern. I am sick of pleasure, of jewels, of travel, of society, of luxuries of all kinds.” “I always had an idea,” uttered the young man, hesitatingly, “that money must be a pretty good thing.” “Enough money for living comfortably is to be desired. But when you have so many millions that — !” She concluded the sentence with a gesture of despair. “It is the monotony of it,” she continued, “that bores. Drives, dinners, theatres, balls, suppers, with the gilding of too much wealth over it all. Sometimes the very tinkle of the ice in my champagne glass nearly drives me mad.” Mr Parkenstacker looked frankly interested. – 77 –

“I have always liked,” he said, “to read and hear about the ways of wealthy and fashionable folks. I suppose I am a bit of a snob. But I like to have my information accurate. Now, I had formed the opinion that champagne is cooled in the bottle and not by placing ice in the glass.” The girl gave a musical laugh of real amusement. “You should know,” she explained, in a patient tone, “that we of the non-useful class depend for our amusement upon change. Just now it is the fashion to put ice in champagne. The idea was originated by a visiting Prince of Tartary while dining at the Waldorf. It will soon give way to some other new idea. Just as at a dinner party this week on Madison Avenue a green glove was laid by the plate of each guest to be put on and used while eating olives.” “I see,” admitted the young man, humbly. “These special amusements of the inner circle do not become known to the common public.” “Sometimes,” continued the girl, acknowledging his confession of error by a slight bow, “I have thought that if I ever should love a man it would be one of lowly station. One who is a worker and not a drone. But, doubtless, the demands of caste and wealth will bå stronger than my wishes. What is it that makes me tell you these things, Mr Packenstarker?” “Parkenstacker,” breathed the young man. “Indeed, you cannot know how much I appreciate your confidences.” The girl regarded him with the calm, impersonal look that befitted the difference in their stations. “What is your line of business, Mr Parkenstacker?” she asked. “A very humble one. But I hope to rise in the world. Were you really in earnest when you said that you could love a man of lowly position?” “Indeed I was. But I said ‘might’. There is a Grand Duke and a Marquis pursuing me. Yes, no position could be too humble were the man what I would wish him to be.” “I work,” declared Mr Parkenstacker, “in a restaurant.” The girl shrank slightly. “Not as a waiter?” she said, almost pleading. “Labour is noble, but, — personal service, you know — valets and — ” “I am not a waiter. I am cashier in” — on the street they faced beyond the opposite side of the park was the brilliant electric sign “RESTAURANT” — “I am cashier in that restaurant you see there.” – 78 –

The girl glanced at a tiny watch set in a bracelet upon her left wrist, and rose, hurriedly. She pushed her book into a glittering bag, for which, however, the book was too large. “Why are you not at work?” she asked. “I am on the night turn,” said the young man; “it is yet an hour before my period begins. May I not hope to see you again?” “I do not know. Perhaps — but the fancy may not seize me again. I must go quickly now. There is a dinner, and a box at the play — and oh! the same old round. Perhaps you noticed an automobile at the upper corner of the park as you came. One with a white body.” “And red wheels?” asked the young man, frowning thoughtfully. “Yes, I always come in that. Pierre waits for me there. He supposes me to be shopping in the department store across the square. Imagine a life wherein we must deceive even our chauffeurs. Goodnight.” “But it is dark now,” said Mr Parkenstacker, “and the park is full of rude men. May I not walk — ?” “If you have the slightest regard for my wishes,” said the girl, firmly, “you will remain at this bench for ten minutes after I have left. I do not mean to accuse you, but you are probably aware that autos generally bear the monogram of their owner. Again, good-night.” Swift and stately she moved away through the dusk. The young man watched her graceful form as she reached the pavement at the park’s edge, and turned up along it toward the corner where stood the automobile. Then he treacherously and unhesitatingly began to slide along the park trees and bushes in a course parallel to her route, keeping her well in sight. When she reached the corner she turned her head to glance at the motor car, and then passed it, continuing on across the street. Sheltered behind a standing cab, the young man followed her movements closely with his eyes. Passing down the sidewalk of the street opposite the park, she entered the restaurant with the blazing sign. The place was one of those glaring establishments, all white paint and glass, where one may dine cheaply. The girl entered the restaurant and went to some place at the back, whence she quickly returned without her hat and veil. The cashier’s desk was well to the front. A red-haired girl on the stool climbed down, glancing pointedly at the clock as she did so. The girl in gray mounted in her place.

– 79 –

The young man pushed his hands into his pockets and walked slowly back along the sidewalk. At the corner his foot struck a small, paper-covered volume lying there. By its picturesque cover he recognised it as the book the girl had been reading. He picked it up carelessly, and saw that its title was New Arabian Nights, the author being of the name of Stevenson. He dropped it again upon the grass, and stood hesitating, for a minute. Then he stepped into the automobile reclined upon the cushions, and said two words to the chauffeur: “Club, Henri.” THE AUTHOR O’Henry was the pen-name of William Sydney Porter (1862— 1910), one of the most famous of American short-story writers. He was the son of a doctor, but led an unsettled life in his early years, working successively as his father’s dispenser, a Texas ranch band and a bank cashier. Whilst in this last employment he was accused of embezzlement of bank funds. He fled to South America to escape arrest, but returned on hearing that his wife was ill. He was arrested and sentenced to five years in prison. On his release he lived in extreme poverty in New York, drinking heavily and writing short stories to support himself. He died of consumption. Although his life was a tragic one, it gave him a profound knowledge of human character, especially of dwellers in big cities who are unfortunate in life. As a story-teller, he is remarkable for his ingenuity in the use of ironical coincidences and for his skilful plots. In 1918 the American Society of Letters honoured his name by founding the O’Henry Memorial Award, which gives an annual prize for the best American short story. READING NOTES O’Henry was particularly clever at writing stories with an unexpected ending to them. “While the Auto Waits’ is a good example of this kind of story. the girl in grey. This is the subject of came (line 1). It is put at the end of the sentence to give it special emphasis. This kind of inversion is rather too melodramatic for modern tastes. It would be more natural nowadays to say “there came”, and O’Henry has used there in a similar construction in the next sentence there was yet to come a half hour. – 80 –

gray is an American spelling of “grey”. risked. The young man was not certain whether the girl would bå willing to answer him or whether she would be offended at being spoken to by a stranger. the formula, with which park chairmen open their meetings. This phrase shows the realism and sophistication of O’Henry chairmen and meeting are used in a punning sense. The title of a person who presides formally at a public meeting is here transferred to the kind of man who sits down beside unaccompanied girls and tries to scrape up an acquaintance with them. in a long lime: a colloquial, American usage. In British English it would be “for a long time”. Didn’t know: you didn’t know. lamps: slang for “eyes”. This, and the word honeysuckle are the kind of language the young man believes suitable for a girl who would be willing to let him make advances to her. One’s name ... one’s portrait: the use of one’s for “my” is intended by the girl to emphasise her high position in life. the holy of holies: the very small and select group of people who are the leaders of society. (Literally, the holiest part of a temple.) sick of: tired of. one of lowly station: a humble person. This is an old-fashioned phrase and suggests that the young lady has been reading romantic fiction. drone: idle person. Literally, a male bee which does not work. were the man: if the man were. glaring: brightly-lit, dazzling. glancing pointedly at the clock: in order to call the attention of the girl in gray to the fact that she was late. New Arabian Nights: this is a collection of short stories by the British writer Robert Louis Stevenson (1850—1894). The princi pal character in them is Prince Florizel of Bohemia who goes in disguise amongst his subjects and is involved in a series of fantastic adventures. No doubt this book gave the girl her idea of posing as a society lady mixing with humble people. A. Answer these questions: 1. What subject did the young man choose for his first remark to the girl in gray? 2. Why did he change his manner of speaking to her? – 81 –

3. What did the girl want him to tell her about? 4. What reason did she give for not telling him who she was? 5. What did she say about her way of life and her attitude to it? 6. What did the young man tell her about his position in life and why did he tell her this? 7. Why did she ask him to stay in the park when she left? 8. How did the other girl make clear to her that she was late on duty? 9. What is the significance in the story of the book that she had been reading? 10. What does the last sentence of the story tell us about the young man? B. Find expressions in the text with the same meaning as those below: 1) very boldly; 2) waiting to see what would happen to him; 3) to avoid newspaper publicity; 4) a person with too much respect for money and position; 5) I like to get my facts right; 6) the highest levels of society¾; 7) an idle person; 8) to get on in life; 9) the same boring series of activities; 10) leaned back in comfort. C. Write this passage in indirect speech. (Begin with She said that¾): “It is impossible to keep one’s name out of print. This veil and this hat of my maid’s hide my identity. You should have seen the chauffeur stare at it when he thought I did not see. There are five or six names that belong to the holy of holies, and mine, by accident of birth, is one of them. I spoke to you because I — wanted to talk for once with a natural man. Oh! You do not know how weary I am of it — money, monåó, money. And of the men who surround me, dancing like dolls all cut by the same pattern. I am sick of pleasure, of jewels, of travel, of society, of luxuries of all kinds.” D. Read through the story again and find examples: a) of the ways in which the girl in grey tries to impress the young man with her high social position; b) of mistakes she makes which show that she is only pretending. – 82 –

E. Use a verb from this list to give the meaning of the expression in italics in each of the following sentences: can, could, may, might, must, should, would. 1. She would be able to read for another half hour. 2. The young man spoke to her and stood for a moment, wondering what she was going to answer. 3. He asked if he had her permission to sit on the seat beside her. 4. “You have my permission if you like,” she answered graciously. 5. You have to remember that I am a lady. 6. The park is the only place where I find it possible to meet ordinary working men and women. 7. Are you able to guess why I spoke to you? 8. You ought to have seen the chauffeur stare at my hat. 9. I always thought that money would surely be a pretty good thing. 10. The young man wanted to accompany her to her car, in case one of those rude men happened to speak to her. F. Subjects for composition and discussion: 1. How does this story illustrate O’Henry’s ability to invent and work out a clever plot? 2. Íàvå you ever been tempted to pretend that you were someone else? Say what happened. 3. These are two tests of a good “surprise” ending: a) you should not be able to see it coming, b) when you think over the story again, you realise that you should have seen it coming, as there were plenty of clues. Does “While the Auto Waits” satisfy these tests? What clues to the ending are given?

– 83 –

10

JAMES JOYCE

EVELINE

She sat at the window watching the evening enter the avenue. Her head was leaned against the window curtains, and in her nostrils was the odour of dusty cotton cloth. She was tired. Few people passed. The man out of the last house passed on his way home; she heard his footsteps clacking along the concrete pavement and afterwards crunching on the path before the new red houses. Once there used to be a field there in which they used to play every evening with other people’s children. Then a man from Belfast bought the field and built houses on it — not like their little brown houses, but bright brick houses with shining roofs. The children of the avenue used to play together in that field — the Devines, the Waters, the Dunns, little Keogh the cri pple, she and her brothers and sisters. Ernest, however, never played: he was too grown up. Her father used often to hunt them in out of the field with his blackthorn stick. Still they seemed to have been rather happy then. Her father was not so bad then; and besides, her mother was alive. That was a long time ago; she and her brothers and sisters were all grown up; her mother was dead. Tizzie Dunn was dead, too, and the Waters had gone back to England. Everything changes. Now she was going to go away like the others, to leave her home. Home! She looked round the room, reviewing all its familiar objects which she had dusted once a week for so many years, wondering where on earth all the dust came from. Perhaps she would never see again those familiar objects from which she had never dreamed of being divided. She had consented to go away, to leave her home. Was that wise? She tried to weigh each side of the question. In her home anyway she had shelter and food, she had those whom she had known all her life about her. Of course she had to work hard, both in the house and at business. What would they say of her at the Stores when they found out that she had run away with a fellow? Say she was a fool, perhaps, and her place would be filled up by advertisement. Miss Gavan would be glad. She had always spoken harshly to her, especially whenever there were people listening. – 84 –

“Miss Hill, don’t you see these ladies are waiting?” “Look lively, Miss Hill, please.” She would not cry many tears at leaving the Stores. But in her new home, in a distant unknown country, it would not be like that. Then she would be married — she, Eveline. People would treat her with respect then. She would not be treated as her mother had been. Even now, though she was over nineteen, she sometimes felt herself in danger of her father’s violence. She knew it was that that had given her the palpitations. When they were growing up he had never struck her, as he used to strike Harry and Ernest, because she was a girl, but lately he had begun to threaten her and say what he would do to her only for her dead mother’s sake. And now she had nobody to protect her. Ernest was dead and Harry, who was in the church decorating business, was nearly always down somewhere in the country. Besides, the invariable quarrel about money on Saturday nights had begun to weary her unspeakably. She always gave her entire wages — seven shillings — and Harry always sent up what he could, but the trouble was to get any money from her father. He said she used to waste the money, that she had no head, that he wasn’t going to give her his hard-earned money to throw about the streets, and much more, for he was usually fairly bad on Saturday night. In the end he would give her the money and ask her had she any intention of buying Sunday’s dinner. Then she had to rush out as quickly as she could and do her marketing, holding her black leather purse tightly in her hand as she elbowed her way through the crowds and returning home late under her load of provisions. She had hard work to keep the house together and see that the two young children who had been left to her charge went to school regularly and got their meals regularly. It was hard work — a hard life — but now that she was about to leave it she did not find it a wholly undesirable life. She was about to explore another life with Frank. Frank was very bind, manly, open-hearted. She was to go away with him bó the nightboat to be his wife and to live with him m Buenos Ayres, where he had a home waiting for her. How well she remembered the first time she had seen him! He was lodging in a house on the main road where she used to visit. It seemed a few weeks ago. He was standing at the gate, his cap pushed on his head and his hair tumbled forward over a face of bronzå. Then they had come to know each other. He used to meet her outside the Stores every evening and see her home. He took her to see – 85 –

The Bohemian Girl and she felt excited as she sat in an unaccustomed part of the theatre with him. He was awfully fond of music and sang a little. People knew that they were courting, and, when he sang about the lass that loves a sailor, she always felt pleasantly confused. First of all it had been an excitement for her to have a fellow and then she had begun to like him. He told tales of distant countries. He had started as a deck bîó at apound amonth on ashi p of the Allan Line going out to Canada. He told her the names of the shi ps he had been on and the names of the different services. He had fallen on his feet in Buenos Ayres he said, and had come over to the old country just for a holiday. Of course, her father had found out the affair and had forbidden her to have anything to say to him. “I know these sailor chaps,” he said. One day he had quarreled with Frank, and after that she had to meet her lover secretly. The evening deepened in the avenue. The white of two letters in her lap grew indistinct. One was to Harry, the other was to her father. Ernest had been her favourite, but she liked Harry too. Her father was becoming old lately, she noticed; he would miss her. Sometimes he could be very nice. Not long before, when she had been laid up for a day, he had read her out a ghost story and made toast for her at the fire. Another day, when their mother was alive, they had all gone for a picnic to the Hill of Howth. She remembered her father putting on her mother’s hat to make the children laugh. Her time was running out, but she continued to sit by the window, leaning her head against the window curtain, inhaling the odour of dusty cotton cloth. Down in the avenue she could hear a street organ playing. She knew the tune. Strange that it should come that very night to remind her of the promise to her mother, her promise to keep the home together as long as she could. She remembered the last night of her mother’s illness; she was again in the close, dark room at the other side of the hall and outside she heard a melancholy tune of Italy. The organ-player had been ordered to go away and been given sixpence. She remembered her father walking back into the sick-room saying: “Damned Italians! Coming over here!” As she mused the pitiful vision of her mother’s life laid its spell on her very soul — that life of common-place sacrifices ending in final craziness. She trembled as she heard again her mother’s voice saying constantly with foolish insistence: – 86 –

“Derevaun Seraun! Derevaun Seraun!” She stood up in a sudden impulse of terror. Escape! She must escape! Frank would save her. He would give her life, perhaps love, too. But she wanted to live. Why should she be unhappy? She had a right to happiness. Frank would take her in his arms, fold her in his arms. He would save her. ¾ She stood among the swaying crowd in the station at the North Wall. He held her hand and she knew that he was speaking to her, saying something about the passage over and over again. The station was full of soldiers with brown baggages. Through the wide doors of the sheds she caught a glimpse of the black mass of the boat, lying beside the quay wall, with lighted portholes. She answered nothing. She felt her cheek pale and cold and, out of a confusion of pain, she prayed to God to direct her, to show her what was her duty. The boat blew a long mournful whistle into the mist. If she went, to-morrow she would be on the sea with Frank, steaming towards Buenos Ayres. Their passage had been booked. Could she still draw back after all he had done for her? Her pain awoke a nausea in her body and she kept moving her li ps in silent fervent prayer. A bell clanged upon her heart. She felt him seize her hand: “Come!” All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her into them: he would drown her.She gri pped with both hands at the iron railing. “Come!” No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in madness. Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish. “Eveline! Evvy!” He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was shouted at to go on, but he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition. THE AUTHOR James Joyce (1882—1941) was born in Dublin, now the capital of the Irish Republic, but spent most of his grown-up life in France and other Continental countries. His work has had a great influence on many modern English writers. Eveline is taken from an early book – 87 –

of short stories called Dubliners which describes the lives of people in Dublin. James also wrote two well-known novels. The, first of these, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, is about his own early life. The other, Ulysses, which is also about life in Dublin, is his best-known work. Ulysses and Joyce’s last book, Finnegan’s Wake, still arouse a great deal of discussion in literary circles. READING NOTES Ireland is a poor country, and for many years Irish people have emigrated to other lands, especially the American continent, to seek a better living than they could hope for at home. This is the background to Eveline. Her head was leaned. It would be more usual to say “She was leaning her head”. few: not many. Do not confuse it with “a few”, which means “some”. clacking, crunching: these words describe the different sounds made by the man’s feet as he walked first along the hard concrete pavement and then on a soft gravel path. brown houses: brown because they were built of brown stone, which had a soft colour. The brick of the new houses was bright red, and contrasted with it. hunt: this suggests that their father threatened them with his stick to make them go into the house. still: this marks a contrast with the previous sentence. It means “nevertheless” or “in spite of that”. Everything changes: the present tense is used here because the writer is saying something that is always true. reviewing: not only looking at, but dunking about, the objects in the room. weigh: consider carefully. Weigh is used in this sense particularly when opposite points of view are being considered. anyway: at least. Stores: a capital letter is used because this is the name of a particular shop where Eveline worked. a fellow: this is a colloquial use of fellow to mean a man with whom a girl is in love. Look lively: Be quick. – 88 –

cry many tears: it would be more usual to say “shed many tears”. This is a colloquial Irish usage. palpitations: violent beatings of the heart, in this case caused by fear. only for: but for, or except for. unspeakably: the quarrels about money worried her so much that she could not bear to speak about them. she had no head: she was not careful with money. elbowed: pushed through the crowds by using her elbows. Buenos Ayres: this is now spelt “Buenos Aires” in English. tumbled: this past partici ple matches “pushed” in the same line. It would be more usual to say “tumbling”. The Bohemian Girl: alight operaabout gi psy life by anineteenthcentury Irish composer, Joaquim Balfe. courting: associating with someone with a view to getting married. He had fallen on his feet: He had managed to make a good living, or He had been lucky. the old country: the country where he was born. these sailor chaps: chaps is a colloquial word for men. It suggests here that Eveline’s father did not trust sailors. The white of two letters ... indistinct: a vivid way of describing how it grew dark as Eveline sat there. miss her: be sorry she had gone away. laid up: ill in bed. street organ: better known in English as “barrel organ”, this instrument on wheels was pushed along by street musicians and played tunes when they turned a handle. Derevaun Seraun: these two words, apparently Irish, do not in fact mean anything. fold her in his arms: embrace her, or protect her. passage: sea journey, voyage. baggages: “baggage”, like “luggage”, is generally used only in the singular. The plural here gives an idea of a great quantity of baggage. portholes: the windows in ashi p, usually round. steaming: travelling in a steamshi p. pain: sorrow. nausea: a feeling of sickness, in this case caused by strong emotion. A bell clanged upon her heart: a bell rang to warn passengers that the shi p was about to leave, and its sound made Eveline agitated, because she knew that she must decide now whether to go or not. – 89 –

amid: among, used normally only in poetry. He was shouted at: he was shouted at by the crew of the shi p, to warn him that he must go on board. set: turned, but in a fixed, motionless position, because she was seized by powerful emotions which made her unable to take any decision. A. Answer these questions: 1. What were the circumstances of Eveline’s life that had changed? 2. “Her father was not so bad then.” “He was usually bad on Saturday nights.” What do these remarks suggest to you? 3. “It was hard work.” Describe Eveline’s work at home and at the Stores. 4. What facts about Frank have you learnt from the story? 5. “He would save her.” “He would drown her.” Explain this change in Eveline’s thoughts about Frank. B. Use each of these words in a sentence, to show that you understand its meaning: anguish fervent invariable melancholy provisions cri pple (n) inhale lodge (v) odour review (v) Ñ. Find expressions in the story with the same meaning as those below: 1) she could smell dusty cotton cloth; 2) hurry up; 3) to spend foolishly; 4) left in her care; 5) he used to walk home with her; 6) the avenue grew dark; 7) she had not much time left; 8) To prevent the family from breaking up; 9) (The memory of her mother) held her as if by the power of magic; 10) She had a quick sight of the boat. D. Put in the missing prepositions or adverbs: 1. She had consented to go ¾ 2. She had to work hard both ¾ the house and ¾ business. 3. What would they say ... her ¾ the Stores when they found ¾ that she had run ¾ ¾ a fellow? 4. Her place would be filled ... advertisement. – 90 –

5. Miss Gavan had always spoken harshly ¾ her. 6. She would not cry many tears ¾ leaving the Stores. 7. But ¾ her new home, ... a distant country, people would treat her ¾ respect. 8. She had sometimes felt herself ¾ danger ... her father’s violence. 9. Lately he had begun ¾ threaten her. 10. When they were growing ¾ he had never attacked her, only ¾ her mother’s sake. E. The words in italics in (a) express a future meaning. Those in (b) express a past meaning. Make up two more examples of each kind of sentence: a) She was about to explore another life. She was to go away with him. b) She used to play there. Miss Gavan had always spoken harshly to her. F. Rewrite the sentences below, using the correct form of one of these expressions: call, call for, call in at, call on, call up, make calls. 1. Mr. Jones visited some friends while he was on holiday. 2. What name are you going to give your new baby? 3. The sailors shouted out to Frank to go on board. 4. I have done nothing but speak on the telephone all morning. 5. I want you to go to the post office and buy some stamps on your way home. 6. The doctor paid several visits during the morning. 7. If you find your work too hard, you can always ask me to help you. 8. My friends are going to fetch me in their car. 9. If war breaks out, all the men will be sent for to join the army. 10. Shy people don’t like paying visits, because they don’t know how to say good-bye. G. Subjects for composition and discussion: 1. “Eveline did her duty.” “Eveline was a coward.” Which of these statements is more true? Give reasons for your answer. 2. Show how the writer prepares the reader during the story for Eveline’s behaviour at the end. – 91 –

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Ðåíö Òàòüÿíà Ãàâðèëîâíà Êóçíåöîâà Èðèíà Àëåêñååâíà Ïèñêîâà Òàòüÿíà Âëàäèìèðîâíà GENDER READINGS Top Ten

Ãëàâíûé ðåäàêòîð À.Â. Øåñòàêîâà Ðåäàêòîð Ë.Â. Ïàõîìîâà Òåõíè÷åñêèé ðåäàêòîð Ë.Â. Ïàõîìîâà Õóäîæíèê Í.Í. Çàõàðîâà Ïîäïèñàíî â ïå÷àòü 10.12.03. Ôîðìàò 60½84/16. Áóìàãà îôñåòíàÿ. Ãàðíèòóðà Òàéìñ. Óñë. ïå÷. ë. 5,35. Ó÷.-èçä. ë. 5,75. Òèðàæ 100 ýêç. (1-é çàâîä 60 ýêç.). Çàêàç . «Ñ» 147. Èçäàòåëüñòâî Âîëãîãðàäñêîãî ãîñóäàðñòâåííîãî óíèâåðñèòåòà. 400062, Âîëãîãðàä, óë. 2-ÿ Ïðîäîëüíàÿ, 30. – 92 –