The adventure of the dying detective

One day in the second year of my married life Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, came to my rooms and told me that he was very ill.

"He is dying, Dr. Watson", she said. "He hasn't eaten and hasn't drunk anything for three days and he wouldn't allow me to get a doctor. This morning when I saw his thin and white face I could stand no more of it. "Mr. Holmes", I said, "I'm going for a doctor, whether you like it or not". "Let it be Watson, then, said he. So I have come to you".

I rushed for my coat and hat. On our way to Baker Street Mrs. Hudson told me that Holmes had been working on a case close by the river and had brought this disease back with him.

When I entered the room Holmes was lying in bed. He was looking very ill. When he saw me he cried:

"Stand back. Stand back."

"But why?", I asked.

"Because it is my wish. Is that not enough?"

"I only wanted to help", I explained.

"Exactly! You will best help by doing what you are told."

"Certainly, Holmes."

"I know what is the matter with me. It's a coolie disease from Sumatra. It is deadly and very contagious. Contagious by touch, Watson. So keep your distance and all is well".

"Good heavens, Holmes. Do you imagine this would prevent me from doing my duty to an old friend?"

Again I tried to come nearer. He got very angry.

"If you stand where you are I'll talk to you. If not, you must leave the room".

"Do you think I'll stand here and see you die without helping you?"

"You mean well, Watson, but you can do nothing. You don't know tropical diseases."

"Probably not. But I know Dr. Ainstree, the greatest specialist in tropical diseases. I'm going to bring him here". I turned to the door. I have never had such a shock.

The dying man jumped from his bed and locked the door. The next moment he was in bed again looking very tired.

"Now, Watson, it's four o'clock. At six you can go. Will you wait? If you want to help me you must bring me the man that I choose. I'll explain everything to you at six o'clock".

I stood for some minutes looking at him. He fell asleep. Then I walked slowly round the room, I saw a small ivory box and wanted to take it when Holmes gave a loud cry.

"Don't touch. I don't like it when people touch my things."

This incident showed me how ill my friend was. I sat in silence looking at the clock. He seemed to be watching the clock too. Before six he began to talk in great excitement. He was shaking with fever. He was raving. He asked me to light the gas and to put some letters and papers on the table near his bed.

"Thank you. Take those sugar-tongs now and kindly raise that small ivory box with them. Put it here among the papers. Be careful. Good. You can go now and bring Mr. Culverton Smith, of 13 Lover Burke Street." He is a planter from Sumatra, now visiting London. Some time ago people fell ill in his plantation and there were no doctors in the neighbourhood. So he began to study this disease himself. I am sure he can help me. If you tell him how ill I am, he will certainly come. But don't come with him. You must return here before he comes. Don't forget". "He can save me - only he".

Mr. Smith did not want to see me at all. The servant told me he was very busy. I thought of Holmes lying in bed and I pushed the door and came into the room. When Mr. Smith heard I had come from Holmes, he was no longer angry with me.

"What about Holmes? How is he?" he asked.

"He is very ill. That is why I have come."

"I'm sorry to hear it. I have great respect for his talents and character."

"How long has he been ill?"

"About three days".

"Is he raving?"

"Sometimes".

"That sounds serious. I will come with you at once, Dr. Watson".

I told him I could not come with him because I had another appointment.

"Very good. I'll go alone. I've got Mr. Holmes's address."

ASSIGNMENTS

1. Answer these questions.

1. What did Mrs. Hudson tell Dr. Watson?

2. What happened to Sherlock Holmes? Was he seriously ill?

3. What did Mrs. Hudson tell Dr. Watson on their way to Baker Street?

4. What did Dr. Watson see when he entered the room?

5. Did he diagnose the case?

6. Was Sherlock Holmes behaviour strange?

7. Did Dr. Watson examine him? Why?

8. Did Holmes have heart attack?

9. Did Holmes allow him to come nearer?

10. What did Holmes do when Dr. Watson said he would bring the greatest specialist in tropical diseases?

11. What happened when Dr. Watson wanted to touch a small ivory box?

12. What did this incident show?

13. What did Holmes ask Watson to do?

14. What was Mr. Culverton?

15. Why did he study that disease himself?

16. Did Mr. Culverton want to receive Dr. Watson? Did he agree to see Holmes?

17. Can you guess what happened?

2. Complete the following sentences from the text.

1. One day Mrs. Hudson came to my room …

2. … he wouldn’t allow me to get a doctor.

3. On the way to Baker Street …

4. I know what is …

5. The dying man jumped from …

6. This incident showed me …

7. Some time ago …

8. I told him I could not come …

3. Find English equivalents for the following.

Я не могла дольше вынести это; нравится ли вам это или нет; работал над делом; смертельная и очень заразная болезнь; держаться на расстоянии; выполнять свой долг; боже мой; я собираюсь привести его сюда; засыпать; говорить в сильном возбуждении; лихорадка; осторожно; заболели на его плантациях; лакей; бредить; встречаться.

4. Make the summary of the text and retell it.

5. Think of the end of this story.

JACK LONDON (1876–1916)

J. London was born in San-Francisco. His father, an astrologer, didn’t want to see his son that’s why a boy was brought up in the family of a farmer John London. Later Jack took his surname.

In 1890 Jack London finished his school and began to work at the factory. Then he would be a newspaper seller, a driver, a sailor and a docker.

In 1896 he entered the California University in Berkley. He wrote his first short stories and notes. At that time he became a member of the Socialist party. In 1897 he went to Alaska and spent there the whole winter. After returning from Alaska his first book of short stories “The son of a wolf” was published. And this book made Jack London a world famous writer. Later he wrote many novels but “Martin Eden” was the most outstanding one.

Jack London died in California in 1916.

“MARTIN EDEN”

Martin left his sister's house and rented a small room in which he lived, slept, studied, wrote and kept house. Before the one window, looking out on the tiny front porch, was the kitchen table that served as desk, library, and typewriting stand. The bed, against the rear wall, occupied two-thirds of the total space of the room. A bureau stood in the corner; and in the opposite corner was the kitchen - the oil-stove on a box inside of which were dishes and cooking utensils, a shelf on the wall for provisions, and a bucket of water on the floor. Over the bed, hoisted to the ceiling, was his bicycle.

Day by day he worked on, and day by day the postman delivered to hirn rejected manuscripts. He had no money for stamps, so the manuscripts accumulated under the table. There came a day when for forty hours he had not tasted food. He could not hope for a meal at Ruth's, for she was away on a two weeks' visit. So he went down into Oakland, and came back without his overcoat, but with five dollars in his pocket.

Later on he pawned his watch, and still later his bicycle, reducing the amount available for food by putting stamps on all his manuscripts and sending them out. He was dissapointed with the work he was doing. Nobody cared to buy. He compared it with what he found in the newspapers, weeklies, and cheap magazines, and decided that his was better, far better, than the average. He reached stages of despair wherein he doubted if editors existed at all.

The hours he spent with Ruth were the only happy ones he had, and they were not all happy, for time was flying, and he was achieving nothing. Again, he was always conscious of the fact that she did not approve of what he was doing. She did not say directly, yet indirectly she let him understand it as clearly and definitely as she could have spoken it. What was great and strong in him she misunderstood.

Martin's landlady Maria Silva was poor. She knew Martin was poor too. She saw him leave the house with his overcoat and return without it, though the day was chill and raw. In the same way she had seen his bicycle and watch go.

Likewise she watched his toils, and knew the measure of the midnight oil he burned. Work! She knew that he outdid her, though his work was of a different order.

Martin toiled on, miserable and hopeless. He began to think he would have to go to work. In doing this he would satisfy everybody - the grocer, his sister, Ruth and even Maria, to whom he owed a month's room rent. It was at this time that the postman brought him one morning a short thin envelope. Martin glanced at the upper left-hand corner and read the name and address of the "Transcontinental Monthly". His heart gave a great leap, and he suddenly felt faint. He staggered into his room and sat down on the bed, the envelope still unopened, and in that moment he understood how people suddenly fall dead upon receiving extraordinary good news. ^r

But when he tore the envelope open he found no cheque. In trembling haste he drew out a typewritten letter and read it. The sheet slid from his hand and he lay back on the pillow.

Five dollars for "The Ring of Bells" - five dollars for five thousand words! Instead of two cents a word, ten words for a cent! And the editor praised it, too. And he would receive the cheque when the story was published.

Five dollars for five thousand words, ten words for a cent, the market price of art! So the other high rewards of writers that he had read about must be lies too. Well, he would never write another line. He would do what Ruth wanted him to do - get a job.

The reaction of nineteen hours a day for many days was-strong upon him. He shivered and was aware of an aching in his bones. The small of his back ached especially. His head ached - the top of it ached, the back of it ached, the brains inside of it ached, and seemed to be swelling, while the ache over his brows was intolerable.

After what seemed a very long time, he heard a knock at the door, and Maria's voice asking if he was sick. He was surprised when he noted the darkness of the night in the room. He had received the letter at two in the afternoon; and he realized that he was sick.

At two in the morning, Maria, having heard his groans through the thin partition, came into his room, to put hot flat-irons against his body and damp cloths upon his aching eyes.

Martin Eden did not go out in the morning. He was not used to sickness, but when he tried to get up and dress, he found himself unable to do so.

It seemed a lifetime since he had received that letter from the "Transcontinental" – a lifetime since it was all over and done with and a new page turned. If he hadn't starved himself, he wouldn't have been caught by the grippe.

Two days later, having eaten an egg and two slices of toast and drunk a cup of tea, he asked for his mail, but found his eyes still hurt too much to permit him to read.

So Teresa Silva, aged nine, opened his letters and read them to him.

"We offer you forty dollars for your story," Teresa slowly spelled out, "provided you allow us to make the alterations suggested."

"What magazine is that?" Martin shouted. "Here, give it to me."

He could see to read now, and he did not feel the pain of the action. It was the "White Mouse" that was offering him forty dollars, and the story was "The Whirlpool!", one of his early stories. He read the letter through again and again. If they could cut the story down one-third, they would take it, and send him forty dollars on receiving his answer.

He called for pen and ink, and told the editor to cut the story down three-thirds if he wanted to, and send the forty dollars right along.

He also wrote to Ruth, and told her that he had been sick, but was now nearly well.

ASSIGNMENTS

1. Answer the questions.

1. What kind of a room did Martin rent?

2. What was his room furnished with?

3. What was Martin Eden?

4. What did he have to do to buy the stamps on all his manuscripts for sending them out?

5. What did Martin think about his manuscripts?

6. When did the postman bring him a short thin envelope?

7. Why didn’t Martin open the envelope immediately?

8. Did he rest satisfied after having read the letter?

9. Why did Martin fall ill?

10. What was the good news that Teresa Silva had read?

11. What magazine offered him forty dollars for one of his early stories?

12. What were the terms of the publishing of that story asked by the editor?

13. Did Martin accept the terms?

2. Make your own sentences with the words and words combinations given below.

1. to pawn smth. 5. tiny

2. to toil on 6. against the rear wall

3. to praise smb. 7. to reject manuscripts

4. to starve oneself 8. to reduce the amount available for

3. Complete the sentences.

1. Martin rented a small room …

2. Day by day he worked …

3. He pawned his watch …

4. … and decided his was better …

5. The postman brought him …

6. He staggered into his room …

7. He was not used to sickness …

8. It seemed a lifetime since …

9. He told the editor …

4. Summarize the text.

5. Tell about your ideas on Martin’s future career of a writer.

THEODORE DREISER (1871–1945)

Th. Dreiser, the great American progressive writer, was born in a poor family in 1871. He began to work for his living when he was sixteen. He had a number of jobs, and one time was a newspaper reporter. As a reporter he gained a wide experience of life, which was a great help to him when he took up novel-writing.

Dreiser’s literary career started in 1900 when “Sister Carrie” was published. In this novel and also in his later works “American tragedy”, “The financier” and others, the writer exposed the true nature of American “democracy”.

Dreiser was deeply impressed by the Great October Socialist Revolution. In 1927–1928 he visited the Soviet Union and from that time he was a true friend to our country. In 1945, at the age of 74, he joined the Communist Party of the USA.

Dreiser died in 1945 in Los-Angeles.

“THE FINANCIER”

Buttonwood Street, Philadelphia, where Frank Cowperwood spent the first ten years of his life, was a lovely place for a boy to live in. There were mainly red brick houses there with small marble steps leading up to the front doors. There were trees in the street – a lot of them. Behind each house there was a garden with trees and grass and sometimes flowers.

The Cowperwoods, father and mother, were happy with their children. Henry Cowperwood, the father of the family, started life as a bank clerk, but when Frank, his elder son, was ten, Henry Cowperwood became a teller at the bank. As his position grew more responsible, his business connections increased. He already knew a number of rich businessmen who dealt with the bank where he worked. The brokers knew him as representing a well-known firm and considered him to be the most reliable person.

Young Cowperwood took an interest in his father’s progress. He was quite often allowed to come to the bank on Saturdays, when he would watch with great interest the quick exchange of bills. He wanted to know where all the different kinds of money came from, and what the men did with all the money they received. His father, pleased at his interest, was glad to explain, so that even at this early age – from ten to fifteen – the boy gained a wide knowledge of the condition of the country financially. He was also interested in stocks and bonds, and he learned that some stocks and bonds were not even worth the paper they were written on, and others were worth much more than their face value showed.

At home also he listened to considerable talk of business and financial adventures.

Frank realized that his father was too honest, too careful. He often told himself that when he grew up, he was going to be a broker, or a financier, or a banker, and do some of the risky things he so often used to hear about.

Just at this time there came to the Cowperwoods an uncle, Seneca Davis, who had not appeared in the life of the family before.

Henry Cowperwood was pleased at the arrival of this rather rich relative, for before that Seneca Davis had not taken much notice of Henry Cowperwood and his family.

This time, however, he showed much more interest in the Cowperwoods, particularly in Frank.

“How would you like to come down to Cuba and to be a planter, my boy?” he asked him once.

“I am not so sure that I’d like to”, replied the boy.

“Well, that’s frank enough. What have you against it?”

“Nothing, except that I don’t know anything about it.”

“What do you know?”

The boy smiled, “Not very much, I guess”.

“Well, what are you interested in?”

“Money.”

He looked at Frank carefully now. There was something in the boy … no doubt of it.

“A smart boy!” he said to Henry, his brother-in-law. “You have a good family.”

Uncle Seneca became a frequent visitor to the house and took an increasing interest in

Frank.

“Keep in touch with me,” he said to his sister one day. “When that boy gets old enough to find out what he wants to do, I think I’ll help him to do it.” She told him she was very grateful. He talked to Frank about his studies, and found that the boy took little interest in books or most of the subjects he had to take at school.

“I like book-keeping and mathematics,” he said. “I want to get out and get to work, though. That’s what I want to do.”

“You’re very young, my son,” his uncle said. “You’re only how old now? Fourteen?”

“Thirteen.”

“Well, you can’t leave school much before sixteen. You’ll do better if you stay until seventeen or eighteen. It can’t do you any harm. You won’t be a boy again.”

“I don’t want to be a boy. I want to get to work.”

“Don’t go too fast, son. You’ll be a man soon enough. You want to be a banker, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, when the time comes, if everything is all right and you’ve behaved well and you still want to, I’ll help you to get a tart in business. If you are going to be a banker, you must work with some good company a year or so. You’ll get a good training there. And, meantime, keep your health and learn all you can.”

And with these words he gave the boy a ten-dollar gold piece with which to start a bank account.

ASSIGNMENTS

1. Answer the following questions.

1. Why do you think the author calls Buttonwood Street a lovely place?

2. Why did Henry Cowperwood’s business connections increase?

3. What kind of firm did Henry Cowperwood represent?

4. Why did he get to know a number of rich businessmen?

5. What kind of person was he considered to be?

6. Why was young Cowperwood allowed to come to the bank where his father worked? What did he like to watch there?

7. How did the boy gain a wide knowledge of the condition of the country financially? What was he interested in?

8. What did Frank think of his father’s business activities?

9. What were the boy’s plans for the future? Were they associated with banking?

10. Why had uncle Seneca taken no notice of the family before? Why did he get particularly interested in the boy?

11. Was the boy frank with his uncle or did he try to deceive him?

12. Why did uncle Seneca become a frequent visitor to the house?

13. Why did uncle Seneca want his sister to keep in touch with him?

14. Why did uncle Seneca object to Frank leaving school at thirteen?

15. What did uncle Seneca promise he would do if the boy behaved well?

16. What was uncle Seneca’s idea of a good training for the boy?

2. Complete the following sentences from the text.

1. Buttonwood Street was a lovely place …

2. The Cowperwoods, father and mother …

3. He was quite often allowed to come to the bank on Saturdays, when …

4. He was going to do some of the risky things …

5. … he showed much more interest in the Cowperwoods …

6. Uncle Seneca became a frequent visitor to the house …

7. If you are going to be a banker, you …

8. And meantime …

3. In the text find English equivalents for the following.

Генри Каупервуд начал работать в банке мелким служащим; откуда берутся все эти деньги?; с радостью объяснял; как раз в это время; на этот раз; не хочешь ли ты поехать на Кубу?; я не уверен, что хочу этого; что ты имеешь против этого; несомненно, в мальчике что-то было; большинство предметов, которые ему приходилось изучать в школе; вот что я хочу сделать; ты большего достигнешь, если …; не торопись, сынок; я помогу тебе начать; поработать в хорошей фирме год – другой; береги здоровье.

4. Act out the conversation between uncle Seneca and Frank Cowperwood.

a) from “How would you like to come down to Cuba …” up to “Money.”

b) from “I like book-keeping …” up to “… keep your health and learn all you can.”

5. Imagine that Frank Cowperwood was seventy years old and he told his life story to his grandchildren. What do you think he told about? Write down the story of his life.

MARK TWAIN (1835–1910)

M. Twain is one of America’s most famous authors. He wrote many books including “The adventures of Tom Sawyer” and “The adventures of Huckleberry Finn”.

M. Twain was born in 1835 in the state of Missouri, near the Mississippi River. He came from a poor family. His father died when he was 12, so he had to leave school. While he was still a boy, he worked as a riverboat pilot.

The Civil War, which started in 1861, made traveling on the Mississippi impossible. Twain went to Nevada, then to California. Later he left California to travel in Europe. Twain wrote a book about his trips around Europe.

But the most important influence on Twain and his books was the Mississippi River. One of Twain’s books is called “Life on the Mississippi”.

In fact, even the name Mark Twain comes from the Mississippi. M. Twain’s real name was Samuel Langhorne Clemens. On the river Samuel Clemens often heard the boatmen shout “Mark twain!” This meant the water was twelve feet deep. When Samuel Clemens began to write he chose for himself the name Mark Twain.

“PUNCH, BROTHERS, PUNCH”

Will the reader please look at the following verses, and see if he can discover anything harmful in them?

“Conductor, when you receive a fare,

Punch in the presence of the passanjare!

A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare,

A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare,

A pink trip slip for a tree-cent fare,

Punch in the presence of the passanjare!”

I came across these verses in a newspaper, not long ago, and read them a couple of times. They took instant possession of me. All through breakfast they went waltzing through my brain; and when, at last, I finished my breakfast, I could not tell whether I had eaten or not. My head kept humming. “A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare,” and so on and so on.

The day’s work was ruined. I tried to read, but there was nothing visisble upon the page except: “Punch! Punch in the presence of the passanjare!”

Two days later I went to keep an appointment with a friend of mine. He stared at me. But asked no questions. We started for a walk.

My friend talked and talked, I said nothing: I heard nothing. At last he said: “Mark, are you sick? I never saw a man look so worn and absent-minded. Say something, do!”

I said without enthusiasm: “Punch, brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passanjare!”

My friend’s face lighted with interest. He said: “Why, what a charming verse it is! It is almost music. I have nearly caught the rhymes myself. Say them over just once more, and then I”ll have them, sure.” I said them over. Then my friend said them. The next time and the next he got them right.

Now a great burden seemed to fall from my shoulders. That torturing verse departed out of my brain, and a sense of rest and peace descended upon me.

As I parted with my friend, I said: “Haven’t we had a good time! But now I remember, you haven’t said a word for two hours.”

My friend looked at me sadly, drew a deep sigh, and said: “Punch, brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passanjare!” A pang shot through me as I said to myself: Poor fellow, poor fellow! He has got it now.”

I did not see my friend for two or three days after that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he came to see me. He was pale and worn. He lifted his eyes to my face and said: “Ah, Mark, those heartless rhymes have haunted me like a nightmare day and night, hour after hour, to this very moment.”

My friend’s hopeless eyes rested upon mine, and then he said impressively: “Mark, you do not say anything. You do not offer me any hope. Something tells me that my tongue is doomed to repeat for ever these heartless rhymes. There, there, it is coming on me again: “A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a …”

Thus murmuring fainter and fainter, my friend sank into a peaceful trance.

How did I finally save him from the asylum? I took him to a neighbouring university and made him discharge the burden of his persecuting rhymes into the eager ears of poor unthinking students.

How is it with them now? The result is too sad to tell.

ASSIGNMENTS

1. Answer the questions.

1. By what writer is this story?

2. Where did Mark Twain come across these verses?

3. How many times did he read them?

4. Did he forget them?

5. What was he thinking about while having breakfast?

6. Could he read and work that day?

7. With whom did he go to keep an appointment?

8. Who talked during their walk?

9. What did his friend ask him to do?

10. What was Mark Twain’s answer?

11. Did his friend like the verses?

12. What did he ask Mark Twain to do?

13. How many times did he repeat the verses?

14. Why did Mark Twain feel a sense of rest and peace?

15. What did he say to his friend? Did he answer him?

16. When did Mark Twain see his friend again?

17. What did he look like? Did he say anything about those rhymes?

18. How did Mark Twain save him from the asylum?

2. Fill in the blanks with necessary articles.

1. Once … great American novelist Mark Twain came across some … verses in … newspaper.

2. … verses were about … conductor who is to punch … blue trip slip for … eight-cent fare in … presence of the passenger in … tram.

3. He read … verses … couple of times and remembered them.

4. Having breakfast, working or walking he was thinking about …rhymes.

5. … day’s work was ruined; he could not read as he did not see anything upon … page except … verses.

6. In some days he went to keep …appointment with … friends of his.

7. His friend said: “I never saw … man look so absent-minded. Are you sick, Mark?”

8. … answer was: “Punch in … presence of … passanjare!”

9. “What … charming verse it is! Say it again,” said his friend.

10. He said … verses once then … next time and … next he got them right.

11. …a great burden fell from Mark Twain’s shoulders, but his poor friend began to repeat … rhymes.

12. To save him from … asylum Mark Twain took him to … neighbouring university where he discharged … burden of … rhymes into …ears of … unthinking students.

13. “… result is too bad to tell,” concluded … story Mark Twain.

3. Make up your own sentences with the following words and word combinations.

1. to punch 6. burden

2. to be ruined 7. sense of rest and peace

3. to keep an appointment 8. to drew a deep sigh

4. to look absent-minded 9. to discharge

5. charming verse

4. Think of a conversation between Mark Twain and his friend and the students of the university.

5. Try to retell the content of the story.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY (1899–1961)

E. Hemingway was born in 1899 in Oak Park, Illinois. His father was a doctor who initiated the boy into the outdoor life of hunting, camping and fishing. In high school Hemingway played football and wrote for the school newspaper.

In 1917, when the United States entered the First World War, he left home and schooling to become a young reporter for the Kansas City “Star”.

His war experience and adventurous life provided the background for many short stories and novels. He achieved success with “A farewell to arms”.

Hemingway actively supported the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War and wrote another successful novel of war, love and death. It was “For whom the bell tolls”.

In his later years E. Hemingway lived mostly in Cuba where his passion for deep-sea fishing provided the background for “The old man and the sea”. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1954.

“A CLEAN, WELL-LIGHTED PLACE”

It was late and everyone had left the cafe except an old man who was sitting in the shadow of the leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the daytime the street was dusty, but at night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.

“Last week he tried to commit suicide,” one waiter said.

“Why?”

“He was in despair.”

“What about?”

“Nothing.”

“How do you know it was nothing.”

“He has plenty of money.”

They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door at the terrace where the tables were empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind.

The old man rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went over him.

“What do you want?”

The old man looked at him. “Another brandy,” he said. The waiter went away.

“He’ll stay all night,” he said to his colleague. “I’m sleepy now. I never get to bed before three o’clock. He should have killed himself last week.”

The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the cafe and marched out to the old man’s table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy.

“Thank you,” the old man said. The waiter took the bottle inside the cafe. He sat down at the table with his colleague again.

“He’s drunk now,” he said.

“He’s drunk every night.”

“What did he want to kill himself for?”

“How should I know?”

“How did he do it?”

“He hung himself with a rope.”

“Who cut him down?”

“His niece.”

“Why did she do it?”

“Fear for his soul.”

“How much money has he got?”

“He’s got plenty.”

“He must be eighty years old. I wouldn’t want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing.”

“Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him.”

“I don’t want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who must work.”

The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.

“Another brandy,” he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry came over.

“Finished,” he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to drunken people or foreigners. “No more tonight. Close now.”

The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his pocket and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip.

The waiter watched him go down the street, a very old man walking unsteady but with dignity.

“Why didn’t you let him stay and drink?” the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up the shutters. “It is not half past two.”

“I want to go home. Come on. Stop talking and lock up.”

“I’m of those who like to stay late at the cafe,” the older waiter said. “With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night.”

“I want to go home.”

“We are of two different kinds,” the older waiter said. He was now dressed to go home. “Each night I am reluctant to close up because there may be someone who needs the cafe.”

“There are bodegas open all night long.”

“You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves.”

“Good night,” said the younger waiter.

“Good night,” the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with himself. It is the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You do not want music, certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too. It was only that and the light was all needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nothing. He smiled and stopped before a bar with a shining pressure coffee machine. He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, well-lighted café was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it.

ASSIGNMENTS

1. Answer the questions.

1. Where was the old man sitting late in the evening?

2. Why did he like to stay there every night?

3. Who kept watch him? Why?

4. How old was the old man? Was he poor?

5. Who said that the man had tried to commit suicide?

6. How did he do it? What was the reason for it?

7. Who cut him down? Does his niece look after him?

8. Why did the younger waiter wish the old man to go home?

9. Did he bring him more brandy?

10. Did the old man pay for the drinks before leaving the café?

11. In what way was he walking down the street?

12. What did the older waiter say about himself?

13. Why was he reluctant to close up each night?

14. What did he think about the difference between a bodega and a clean and pleasant café?

15. What does a lonely man need?

16. With whom did the older waiter continue the conversation when the younger waiter had left?

17. Why didn’t the older waiter like bars and bodegas?

18. What did he think the matter with him?

2. Complete the sentences with the words from the text.

1. A clean and pleasant café was located …

2. In the café there were … waiters.

3. One of them was rather …

4. He had …

5. He was always sleepy as he never got to bed before …

6. He wished … to leave the café.

7. The old man asked him to bring …

8. He said to him that …

9. The old man stood up and …

3. Complete the sentences with English equivalents of the Russian words in the brackets.

1. The man was … (глухой).

2. He was rather … (старый) something about eighty.

3. But he was … (чистый) and had … (достоинство).

4. People said he had … (масса) of money.

5. He had no wife, his … (племянница) looked after him.

6. He liked to come to the café and … (оставаться) there late at night because he was very …(одинокий).

7. At night the street was …(тихий), there was no … (пыль) and though he was deaf he felt the … (разница).

8. He was … (пьян) nearly every night and sometimes he left … (не заплатив).

9. But in general he was a good … (клиент).

10. Last week he tried to … (покончить жизнь самоубийством), because he was … (в отчаянии).

11. He … (повесился) with a rope.

12. His niece cut him down for fear for his … (душа).

4. Tell about: a) the old man;

b) the younger waiter;

c) the older waiter.

5. Retell the content of the story.

СПИСОК ЛИТЕРАТУРЫ

1. Арбекова Т. И. Я хочу и буду знать английский / Т. И. Арбекова, Н. Н. Власова и др. – М., 1993.

2. Лыско С. Д. Читай и говори по-английски. Выпуск 6 / С. Д. Лыско. – М., 1971.

3. Лыско С. Д. Читай и говори по-английски. Выпуск 13 / С. Д. Лыско. – М., 1978.

4. Сикорская Н. Г. Учебник английского языка / Н. Г. Сикорская. – М., 1992.

5. Фролова Г. М. Учебник английского языка для I курса языкового ВУЗа / Г. М. Фролова и др. – М., 2000.

6. Цветкова И. В. Английский язык для поступающих в ВУЗы / И.В. Цветкова и др. – М., 2003.

7. Русско-английский и англо-русский словарь / под ред. А. В. Литвиновой. – М., 2000.

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