"As they really were?" She repeated his words after him.
"Exactly. Her sight had always been poor, you see. She had thought her husband's hair was brown, but in reality it was red, bright red. A bit of a shock at first. But she was delighted."
The Aberdeen moved from the bed and nodded his head.
She repeated the words he had used himself. Marda West could see people as they really were. And those whom she had loved and trusted most were in truth a vulture and a snake…
The door opened and Nurse Ansel, with the sedative,entered the room.
"Ready to settle down, Mrs. West?" she asked.
"Yes, thank you."
The voice that had once seemed tender was oversmooth and false. How deceptive'-' are ears, thought Marda West, what traitors to truth. And for the first time she became aware of her own new power, the power to tell truth from falsehood, good from evil.
"Good night, Mrs. West."
"Good night."
Lying awake, Marda West decided upon her plan. She got out of bed. She took her clothes from the wardrobe and began to dress. She put on her coat and shoes andtied a scarf over her head. When she was ready she went to the door and softly turned the handle. All was quiet in the corridor. She stood there motionless. Then she took one step across the threshold and looked to the left, where the nurse on duty sat. The snake was there. The snake was sitting bent over a book.
Marda West waited. She was prepared to wait for hours. Presently the sound she hoped for came, the bell from a patient. The snake lifted its head from the book and checked the red light on the wall. Then, she glided down the corridor to the patient's room. She knocked and entered. Directly she had disappeared Marda West left her own room and went downstairs and into the street.
Marda West was walking down the street. She turned right, and left, and right again, and in the distance she saw the lights of Oxford Street. She began to hurry. The friendly traffic drew her like a magnet, the distant lights, the distant men and women. When she came to Oxford Street she paused, wondering of a sudden where she should go, whom she could ask for refuge. And it came to her once again that there was no one, no one at all; because the couple passing her now, a toad's"-' head on a short black body clutching a panther's" arm, could give her no protection, and the policeman standing at the corner was a baboon", the woman talking to him a little pig. No one was human, no one was safe, the man a pace or two behind her was like Jim, another vulture. There were vultures on the pavement opposite. Coming towards her, laughing, was a jackal.
She turned and ran. She ran, bumping into them, jackals, hyenas'"-, vultures, dogs. The world was theirs, there was no human left. Seeing her run they turned and looked at her, they pointed, they screamed and yapped, they gave chase, their footsteps followed her. Down Oxford Street she ran, pursued by them, the night all darkness and shadow, the light no longer with her, alone in an animal world.
"Lie quite still, Mrs. West, just a small prick", I'm not going to hurt you."
She recognized the voice of Mr. Greaves, the surgeon, and dimly she told herself that they had got hold of her again.
They had replaced the bandages over her eyes, and for this she was thankful.
"Now, Mrs. West, I think your troubles are over. No pain and no confusion with these lenses. The world's in colour again."
The bandages were removed after all. And suddenly everything was clear, as day, and the face of Mr. Greaves smiled down at her. At his side was a rounded, cheerful nurse.
"Where are your masks?" asked the patient.
"We didn't need masks for this little job," said the sur geon. "We were only taking out the temporary lenses.
That's better, isn't it?"
She looked around. She was back again all right. All was in natural qolour.
"Something happened to me, didn't it?" she said. "I tried to get away."
The nurse glanced at the surgeon. He nodded his head.
"Yes," he said, "you did. And, frankly, I don't blame you. I blame myself. Those lenses I inserted yesterday were pressing upon a tiny nerve, and the pressure threw out your balance. That's all over now."
His smile was reassuring. And the large eyes of Nurse Brand – it must surely be Nurse Brand – gazed down at her in sympathy.
"It was very terrible," said the patient. "I can never explain how terrible."
"Don't try," said Mr Greaves. "I can promise you it won't happen again."
The door opened and the young physician entered. He too was smiling. "Patient fully restored?" he asked.
"I think so," said the surgeon. "What about it, Mrs. West?"
"I thought you were dogs," she said. "I thought you were a hunt terrier, Mr. Greaves, and that you were an Aberdeen."
She turned to Nurse Brand. "I thought you were a cow," she said, "a kind cow. But you had sharp horns."
Everybody took it in good part.
The doctors were moving towards the door, laughing,
and Marda West, sensing the normal atmosphere, the absence of all strain, asked Nurse Brand, "Who found me, then? What happened? Who brought me back?"
Mr. Greaves glanced back at her from the door. "You didn't get very far, Mrs. West. The porter followed you. The person who really had the full shock was poor Nurse Ansel when she found you weren't in your bed."
"Nurse Ansel is here now," said Nurse Brand. "She was so upset when she went off duty that she wouldn't go back to the hostel to sleep. Would you care to have a word with her?"
Before she could answer the house doctor opened the door and called down the passage.
"Mrs. West wants to say good morning to you," she said. Marda West stared, then began to smile, and held out her hand.
"I'm sorry," she said, "you must forgive me."
How could she have seen Nurse Ansel as a snake! The hazel eyes, the clear olive skin, the dark hair trim under the frilled cap. And that smile, that slow, understandingsmile.
"Forgive you, Mrs. West?" said Nurse Ansel. "What have I to forgive you for? You've been through a terrible thing."
Patient and nurse held hands. They smiled at one another. Nurse Ansel was so pretty, so gentle. "Don't think about it," she said, "You're going to be happy from now on. Promise me?"
"I promise," said Marda West.
The telephone rang, and Nurse Ansel let go her patient's hand and reached for the receiver. "You know who this is going to be," she said. "Your poor husband." She gave the receiver to Marda West.
"Jim... Jim, is that you?"
The loved voice sounding so anxious at the other end."Are you all right?" he said. "I've been through to Matron twice, she said she would let me know. What the devil has been happening?"
Marda West smiled and handed the receiver to the nurse.
"You tell him," she said.
Nurse Ansel held the receiver to her ear. The skin of her hand was olive smooth, the nails gleaming with a soft pink polish.
"Is that you, Mr. West" she said. "Our patient gave us a fright, didn't she?" She smiled and nodded at the woman in the bed. "Well, you don't have to worry any more. Mr. Greaves changed the lenses. They were pressing on a nerve, and everything is now all right. She can see perfectly. Yes, Mr. Greaves said we could come home tomorrow."
Marda West reached once more for the receiver.
"Jim, I had a hideous'4 night," she said. "I'm only just beginning to understand it now. A nerve in the brain…"
"So, I understand," he said. "Don't excite yourself. I'll be along later."
His voice went. Marda West gave the receiver to Nurse Ansel, who replaced it on the stand.
"Did Mr. Greaves really say I could go home tomorrow?" she asked.
"Yes, if you're good." Nurse Ansel smiled and patted her patient's hand. "Are you sure you still want me to come with you? she asked.
"Why, yes," said Marda West. "Why, it's all arranged."
"The most precious thing in the world," she said to Nurse Ansel, "is sight. I know now. I know what I might have lost."
Nurse Ansel nodded her head in sympathy. "You've got your sight back," she said, "that's the miracle. You won't ever lose it now."
She moved to the door. "I'll slip back to the hostel and get some rest," she said. "Now I know everything is well with you I'll be able to sleep. Is there anything you want before I go?"
"Give me my face-cream and my powder," said the patient, "and the lipstick and the brush and comb."
Nurse Ansel fetched the things from the dressing-table and put them within reach upon the bed. She brought the hand-mirror, too, and the bottle of scent.
Already, thought Marda West, Nurse Ansel fitted in. She saw herself putting flowers in the small guest-room, choosing the right books, fitting a portable wireless in case Nurse Ansel should be bored in the evenings.
"I'll be with you at eight o'clock."
The door closed. Nurse Ansel had gone.
Marda West lifted the hand-mirror and looked into it. Nothing changed in the room, the street noises came from outside, and presently the little maid who had seemed a weasel yesterday came in to dust the room. She said, "Good morning," but the patient did not answer. Perhaps she was tired. The maid dusted, and went her way.
Then Marda West took up the mirror and looked into it once more. No, she had not been mistaken. The eyes that stared back at her were doe's" eyes, weary before sacrifice", and the timid deer's" head was meek, already bowed"
NOTES:
bandage – rrOBH3KR
fit lenses – BCTRBHTb JINH3bI
surgeon – xepypr
endure – nepea
tip-toe – xopїva aa qbmoszax
temporary – apeMeїssiA
dissolve – paccesvacz
in pasture – ea nacv6їїe
on purpose – zapoїHO
in the deception – B MRCKRX
weasel – zracza
sedative – ycrrozoevezasoe
adjust oneself – npecnoco6evsca
trickery – o6MaH
guardedly – ocvopomao
mock – їacncexaTbCB
distressed – paccvpoeHHhIN
carnation – raoapeza
eonspiracy – saroaop
have a showdown – ace o6ї5ICHMTb
trap – aoayxuxa
flushed – BO36ympeavbrA
vulture – rpeQ
too numb – CJINIIIKOM
the plan still held – nzaz ocvaaaїca
scores of them – oseHb MHOI'0
as right as rain – coaepuzeHHO 3pOpOBbIM
deceptive – o6MaHHNBbIN
toad – ma6a
panther – їaHTepa
baboon – 6a6yeH
hyena – rneza
prick – yxozr
hideous – ymaCHBIH
doe – zraїb
sacrifice – mepvsonpїїomevve
deer – oїeїa
bowed – CKJIOHCHHbIA
Comprehension:
1) Why was Marda West in hospital?
2) What was the effect of the blue lenses?
3) Why was the woman frightened?
4) What did she suspect at first?
5) When did she understand that she had been mistaken?
6) Did animal heads have anything to do with their masters characters?
7) Did the new lenses put everything in its place?
The Last Inch by J. Aldridge
At forty you were lucky if you still enjoyed flying after twenty years of it, and you were lucky if you could still feel that artistic pleasure of a beginner when you brought the plane down well.
It was all gone; and he was forty-three and his wife had gone back to Linnean Street, Cambridge, Mass., and was leading the life she liked to lead, taking the streetcar to Harvard Square, shopping at the market, living in her old man's decent old farm house which made a decent life for a decent woman.
He had promised to join her before the summer but he knew he would never do it. He also knew he would never get another flying job at his age, not for his sort of flying, even in Canada.
That left him with an apathetic wife who didn't want him, and a ten-year-old boy who had come too late and was, Ben knew in his heart, not part of either of them: a very lonely boy lost between them, who understood, at ten, that his mother had no interest in him, and that his father was a stranger who couldn't talk to him and was too sharp with him in the rare moments when they were together.
This particular moment was no better than the others. Ben had the boy with him in an Auster bumping violently down the 2,000 feet corridor over the Red Sea coast, waiting for the boy to be airsick.
"If you want to be sick," he said to the boy, "put your head well down on the floor so that you don't make the plane dirty."
"Yes," the boy said miserably.
"Are you afraid?"
"A little," the boy answered: a rather pale, shy and serious voice for a North-American boy. "Can these bumps smash the plane?"
Ben had no way of comforting him, excepting the truth. "Only if the plane has not been looked after and periodically checked."
"Is this..." the boy began, but he was too sick to go on.
"It's all right," his father said irritably. "It's a good enough plane."
The boy had his head down and was beginning to cry quietly.
"Don't cry!" Ben ordered him now. "There's no need to cry. Get your head up, Davy! Get it up!"
"How do you know where the wind is?" the boy asked.
"The waves, the odd cloud, the feel," Ben shouted back.
But he no longer knew what.directed his flying. Without thinking about it he knew to a foot where he would put the plane down. He had to know here, because there were no feet to spare-' on this piece of natural sand, which was impossible to approach in anything but a small plane. It was a hundred miles from the nearest native village. It was dead desert country.
"This is what is important," Ben said. "When you level off it's got to be' six inches. Not one foot, or three feet. Six inches! If it's too high and you come down hard, you'll wreck the plane. If it's too low, you hit a bump and go over. It's the last inch that's important."
Davy nodded. He knew. He had seen an Auster like this one go over at Embaba. The student flying it had been killed.
"See!" his father shouted. "Six inches. When she begins to sink, I ease back the stick. I ease it back. Now!" he said and the plane touched down like a snowflake. The last inch! He cut off the engine instantly and put on the heel brakes4 which stopped them short of the sudden drop into the water by six or seven feet.
The two pilots who had discovered this bay had called it Shark Bay, not for its shape but for its population. It was always well filled with good-sized Red Sea sharks who came into it after the big shoals of herring and mullet which looked for a safe place in here from time to time.
It was sharks Ben was here for; and now that he was here he forgot the boy, except to instruct him how to help unload, how to pack the food bag in wet sand, how to keep the sand wet with buckets of sea water, and to bring the tools and the small things necessary for his aqualung and cameras.
"Does anybody ever come here?" Davy asked him.
Ben was too busy to hear him now, but he shook his head. “Nobody! Nobody could get here, except in a light plane. Bring me the two green bags from the floor”, he said, “and keep your head covered against the sun. I don't want you to get sunstroke”.
It was Davy's last question. He had asked his questions seriously trying in that way to soften his father's hard answers. But he gave up the attempt and simply did as he was told. He watched carefully while his father prepared his aqualung eqvipment and underwater cameras to go into the perfect clear coral water to film sharks.
"Don't go near the water!" his father ordered.
Davy said nothing.
"These sharks," his father warned, "will be glad to take a bite at you,' especially on the surface; so don't even put your feet in."
Davy shook his head.
Ben wished he could do more for the boy, but it was too late by many years. When he was away flying (which had been most of the time since Davy was born and since he was a baby, and now when he was growing into his teens) he had never had contact with him. In Colorado, in Florida, in Canada, in Iraq, in Bahrein, and here in Egypt: it should have been his wife's work, Joannie's work, to keep the boy lively and happy.
In the early days he had tried himself to make friends with the boy. But he was very rarely at home, and the "home" was some outlandish place of Arabia which Joannie had hated and had continually compared with the clear summer evenings and cold sparkling winters and quiet college streets of that New England town. She had found nothing interesting in the mud houses of Bahrein at 110 degrees with 100 degrees humidity; nor in the iron encampments of oilfields, nor even in the dusty streets of Cairo. But all that apathy, (which had increased until it had beaten her) should be disappearing, now when she was at home. He would take the boy back to her, and hope that she would begin to take some interest in him now when she was where she wanted to be. Butshe hadn't shown much interest yet, and she'd left three months ago.
"Fix that strap between my legs," he told Davy.
He had the heavy aqualung on his back. Its two cylinders of compressed air, 56 lbs in weight, would give him the possibility to be thirty feet below for more than an hour. There was no need to go deeper. The sharks didn't.
"And don't throw any stones in the water," his father said, picking up the cylindrical watertight camera box.
"It frightens everything in sight. Even the sharks. Give me the mask."
Davy handed him the glass-fronted mask for his face. "I'll be down there about twenty minutes," Ben told him. “Then I'll come up and have lunch because the sun is already too high. You can put some stones on each side of the plane's wheels, and then sit under the wing out of the sun. Do you get that?”
"Yes," Davy said.
Davy watched the sea swallow his father and sat down to watch for a moment, as if there was something to see.But there was nothing at all, except the air-bubble breaking the surface from time to time.
There was nothing on the surface of the sea, which disappeared in the far horizon; and when he climbed up the hot sand-hill to the highest side of the sand bay, he could see nothing but the bare desert behind him.
Below, there was only the aeroplane, the little silver Auster. He felt free enough now, with no one in sight for a hundred miles, to sit inside the plane and study it. But the smell of it began to make him sick again, so he got out and poured a bucket of water around the sand where the lunch was, and then sat down to see if he could watch the sharks his father was photographing. He could see nothing below surface at all; and in the hot silence and loneliness he wondered what would happen if his father didn't come up again.
Ben was having trouble with the valve' that gave the right amount of air. He wasn't deep, only twenty feet, but the valve worked irregularly.
The sharks were there, but at a distance, just out of camera range.
"This time," he told himself, "I'm going to get three thousand dollars."
He was paid by the Commercial Television Stock Company; a thousand dollars for every five hundred feet of shark film, and a special'thousand dollars for any shot of a hammerhead.
While they ate their silent lunch he changed the film in the French camera and fixed the valve of his aqualung, and it was only when he began to open one of the bottles of lager that he remembered that he had brought nothing lighter to drink for his son.
"Did you find something to drink?" he asked Davy.
"No," Davy told him. "There is no water…"
"You'll have to drink some of this," he told Davy. "Open a bottle and try it, but don't drink too much of it."
He did not like the idea of a ten-year-old drinking beer but there was nothing else. Davy opened a bottle, took a quick drink, but swallowed it with difficulty. He shook his head and gave the bottle back to his father.
"You had better open a can of peaches," Ben said.
A can of peaches was no good in this dry noonday heat, but there was nothing else to give him. Ben lay back when he had finished eating, covered the equipment carefully with a wet towel, looked at Davy to see that he was not ill or in the sun, and went to sleep.
"Does anyone know we are here?" Davy was asking him when he was getting into the water again after his sweaty rest.
"Why do you ask that? What's the matter?"
"I don't know. I just thought…"
"Nobody knows we're here," Ben said. "We get permission from the Egyptians to fly to Hurgada; but they don't know that we come down this far. They must not know either. Remember that!"
"Could they find us?"
Ben thought the boy was afraid that they would be caught for doing something wrong. "No, no one could ever reach us either by sea or by land."
"Doesn't anyone know?" the boy asked, still worried.
"I told you," Ben said irritably. But suddenly he realised and too late that Davy was afraid not of being caught, but of being left alone. "Don't worry about it," Ben said. "You'll be all right."
"It's getting windy," Davy said in his quiet way.
"I know that. I'll be under water about half an hour. Then I'll come up and put in a new film and go down for another ten minutes. So find something to do while I'mgone. You should have brought a fishing line with you."
There were five of them now in the silver space where the coral joined the sand. He was right; The sharks came in almost immediately, smelling the blood of the meat, or feeling it somehow. He kept very still.
"Come on! Come on!" he said quietly.
They came straight for the piece of horsemeat, first the familiar tiger and then two or three smaller sharks of the same shape. They did not swim nor even propel their bodies. They simply moved forward like grey rockets. As they came to the meat they moved a little on one side and took passing bites at it.
He took films of all of it: the approach, the opening of their jaws as if they had tooth-ache, and the grabbing, messy bites that were as ugly a sight as he had seen in his life.
Like every underwater man, he hated and admired them on sight and was afraid of them.
They came back again, and his hundred feet of film was almost finished so he would have to leave all this, go up, reload, and return as quickly as he could. He looked down at the camera for a moment. When he looked up again he saw the unfriendly tiger coming at him.
"Git! Git! Git!"" he shouted through his mouthpiece.
The tiger simply rolled over in his approach, and Ben knew that he was being attacked.
The side-gashing teeth caught Ben's right arm in one sweep and passed across the other arm like a razor. Ben panicked, and in ten seconds he felt rather than saw the next attack. He felt the shark hit him along the legs, and even as he saw one of the smaller sharks come at him, he kicked out at in and rolled over backwards.
He had come to the surface ledge.
He rolled out of the water in a bleeding mess.
When he came to" he remembered at once what had happened, and he wondered how long he had been out – and what happened next.
"Davy!" he shouted.
He could hear his son's voice, but he could hardly see. He knew the physical shock had come upon him. But he saw the boy then, his terrified face looking down at him, and he realised he had only been out for a second, but he could hardly move.
"What shall I do?" Davy was crying. "Look what happened to you!"
Ben closed his eyes to think clearly for a moment. He – knew he could never fly that plane; his arms were like fire and lead, and his legs could not move, and he was not entirely conscious.
"Davy," he said carefully with his eyes closed. "How are my legs?"
"It's not your legs," he heard from Davy's sick-sounding voice. "It's your arms. They're all cut up, they're horrible."
"I know that," he said angrily through his teeth. "What about my legs?"
"They're covered in blood and they're cut up too."
"Badly?"
"Yes, but not like your arms. What do I do?"
Ben looked at his arms then, and saw that the right one seemed almost cut off, and he could see muscle and sinew and not much blood. The left one looked like a chewed-up piece of meat and it was bleeding greatly, and he bent it up, wrist to shoulder, to stop the blood and groaned with pain.
He knew there wasn't much hope.
But then he knew there had to be; because if he died now the boy would be left here and that was a bad prospect. That was a worse prospect than his own condition. They would never find the boy in time – if they could, in fact, find him at all.
"Davy," he said. "Listen to me. Get my shirt and tear it up and wrap up my right arm. Are you listening?"
"Tie up my left arm tight above all those cuts to stop the blood. Then tie my wrist up to my shoulder so me how, as hard as you can. Do you understand? Tie up both my arms."
"Yes, I understand."
"Tie them tight. Do my right arm first, but close up the wound. Do you understand? Is it clear…"
Ben did not hear the answer because he felt himself losing consciousness again, and this time it was longer, and he came to himself and saw the boy working on his left arm with his serious pale face expressing fear and terror and desperation.
“Is that you, Davy?” Ben said and heard his own indistinct speech, and went on. "Listen, boy," he said with dif ficulty. "I'm going to tell it all to you, in case I lose consciousness again. Bandage my arms, so that I don't lose more blood. Fix my legs, and then get me out of this aqualung. It's killing me."
"I've tried to get you out of it," Davy said in his hopeless voice. "But I can't. I don't know how to get you out."
"You'll have to get me out!" Ben said sharply in his old way, but he knew then that the only hope he had for the boy, as well as for himself, was to make Davy think for himself, make him believe that he could do what he had to do.
"I'm going to tell it to you, Davy, so that you understand. Do you hear me?" Ben could hardly hear himself and he didn't' feel the pain for a moment. "You will have to do all this, I'm sorry but you'll have to do it. Don't be upset if I shout at you. That's not important. That's never important. Do you understand me?"
"Yes." He was lying up the left arm and he wasn't listening.
"Good boy!" Ben tried to get a little encouragement into his words, but he couldn't do it. He did not know yet how to get to the boy," but he would find the way somehow.This ten-year-old boy had a super-human job before him if he was to remain alive.
"Get my knife out of my belt," Ben said, "and cut off all the straps of the aqualung." That was the knife he had had no time to use. "Don't cut yourself."
"I'll be all right," Davy said, standing up and looking sick at the sight of his own bloody hands. "If you could lif t your head a little I could pull one of the straps off, theone I undid."
"All right. I'll lift my head!"
Ben lifted his head and wondered why he felt so paralysed. With t hism ovement h ep assedo ut a gain, and this time into the terrible black pain that seemed to last too long, although he only half-felt it. He came to slowly and felt a little rested and not so paralysed.
"Hello, Davy," he said from his far distance.
"I got you off the aqualung," he heard the boy's frightened voice say. "You're still bleeding down the legs…"
"Never mind my legs," he said and opened his eyes and tried to rise up a little to see what shape he was in, but he was afraid of passing out, and he knew he could not sit up or stand up; and now when the boy had tied his arms back he was helpless from the waist up.'4 The worst had yet to come, and he had to think about it for a moment.
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