It looks as if I would never be 12 страница

I patted his back with one hand and mopped his face with the other.

Another deafening crash of thunder set him off again. My own fear was bad enough, but seeing Jimmy's fear was somehow even worse. Maybe because he was so little and sick. Or maybe because I knew he was counting on me to make everything all right. Desperate, I remembered something my father had tried with me when I was little. It hadn't worked because I was too scared to really give it a try. But maybe it would work for Jimmy.

"Look, Jimmy," I said. "Look out the window. It's just like fire­works. See that flash over there? Here comes the crash! Cover your ears!"

Jimmy actually giggled. He took his hands from his ears after the thunder stopped and said, "Again!"

"Help me watch, then," I said. "Let's see who sees the next flash first. Watch close now."

"There!" we both said at once, slapping our hands over our ears. This time I even managed a shaky laugh of my own

"Again," Jimmy squealed.

So we played the game over and over.

I'm not sure when Mom arrived. We were so busy playing our game, we didn't notice. But the storm was ending when I turned and spotted her in the doorway. She was soaking wet, but she had this huge smile on her face. 1 gave her a little wave and smiled over Jimmy's head.

"Want more fireworks," Jimmy was demanding.

"Sorry, Jimbo." I said. "It looks like the storm's over."

"Not over. More!" he insisted.

"Not today," I said. "But, hey, there may be another storm tomorrow. Think so?"

He nodded happily, and I grinned back. Yep, there's bound to be other storms. And from now on I plan to stick around to see them.

2.3. True of false?

1. The boy was absolutely alone at home.

2. Storms always frightened the narrator out of his wits.

3. Mother had to rush to the drugstore for some medicine that day.

4. The best place to wait out the storm was under the kitchen table.

5. The narrator ignored his brother's wails and hid in his room.

6. Jimmy had always been afraid of thunderstorms.

7. A game appeared an ideal way out for the boys.

8. The kids began to look forward to another storm.

2.4. Points of view.

What did they have in mind when saying or thinking so?

"My bed had never looked so good."

"This was going to be a bad one."

"Want more fireworks!"

"But, hey, there may be another storm tomorrow."

"If only Jimmy weren't sick!"

"I plan to stick around to see other storms."

2.5. Verbs in focus.

Match the verbs with their definitions, then try your hand at fragment translation.

	pick up	A	remain in the same place
	look away	B	yield to
	wait out	C	collect
	die away	D	cause to start
	give in to	E	gain speed or strength
	set off	F	turn one's eyes away
	stick around	G	become weaker, to fade
	pick up	H	deal successfully (by waiting)

1. The sound of the traffic (постепенно затих) and we found ourselves alone.

2. Would you (заберешь) my coat from the drycleaner's?

3. If you need my advice, I (побуду здесь) for a couple of weeks.

4. As the train (набирал) speed, the travelers started to relax.

5. One of the easiest ways to do nothing is (поддаться) one's laziness.

6. There was something about the girl that made it impossible (отвести глаза).

2.6. Storing vocabulary.

Fill in the right word from the list below.

Finding herself alone in the crowd the little girl... with fright.

Jack,... himself for the inevitable arguments, entered the boardroom.

The Indians... to throw the policemen off the track.

It was strange to see a bright... of light in total darkness.

The wheels of the truck... on the wet snow.

Suddenly a... of violent rage swept over him.

Choose from the following: to brace, to skid, to wail, to back­track, flash, a gust.

2.7. COLLOQUIAL ENGLISH. The stormy day was filled with emo­tions. One boy wished: "If only Jimmy weren't sick!" What about the characters? Exclaim for them, please (but not explain, remember!)

Jimmy: "If only_____!"

Narrator: "If only_____!"

Mother: "If only_____!"

2.8. Storing vocabulary.

Doing exercises with difficulty is no big news. We hope this one will prove to be easier — and more useful, too.

Mumbling Trembling Shaking Glowing Shivering Gesticulating

WITH

anger agitation fear happiness anticipation animation

s/he…

2.9. More grammar.

The kids heard and saw a lot of things that evening. For instance, the narrator watched Mom drive away. What else did they hear and see? Use the Complex Object, will you?

e.g. The boy(s) heard/saw/felt/made/let...

2.10. BRAINTHUNDERSTORMING DESCRIPTION. Find as many phrases as you can in the story describing the storm. Create your own picture of a perfect storm.

e.g. Thunder rocked the house the sky had gone from gray to black...

III. POST-READING

3.1. Feelings.

"The fear is in us". Does this saying apply to the narrator? Prove your point of view.

3.2. Memories.

Have you ever had a really BAD dream? The one which was a thousand times worse than a thunderstorm? Share your recollec­tions, if you can.

3.3. Poetry corner.

Read the poem Tantrum by Monika Kulling and discuss its mes­sage.

The sky / lost its temper to day.

The blue of the face / went black in an angry scowl.

The brow of its sunny disposition / furrowed in rage —

its voice thundered / and its eyes / flashed fury.

By dawn its face / is washed in light, / the night of tears forgotten.

THE SILVER STREAM

I. PRE-READING

1.1. SHARE your thoughts about autumn. Do you tend to see the beauty and charm of its colours or the tediousness of its rains?

1.2. IN PAIRS, discuss the problem of naming the season that comes after summer. Which word, British or American — autumn or fall — makes more sense to you?

1.3. IN SMALL GROUPS, discuss the most striking features of seasons in Belarus that can make it a great attraction for season lovers (and seasoned lovers as well).

II. READING

2.1. Understanding the title. Here is the title of the story, The Silver Stream, written by Jon Letcher. What images does it evoke?

2.2. READING FOR PLEASURE AND ENRICHMENT.Read the story and answer the question: Is it true that everything comes to him who waits? The following words will be useful for better understanding of the events.

Twist — to change your position by turning

Bypass — a road that goes around the centre of town

Brook — a small stream

Twig — a small thin stem growing from a tree-branch

Shed — a small wooden building often for storing things

Rippling — getting gradually softer

Draught-stop — a piece of wood stopping cold air from the doorstep

One fine autumn afternoon, when Joe was walking up to his grandparents' house, he saw the first real sign that the birds were coming. All the leaves of a small tree growing far away against a factory wall seemed to fly up, twist in the air, and settle back down again among the branches. It was a mass of birds.

Once every year the birds begin to gather in trees and hedges, on walls and wires and towers. Then the small groups join into larger groups, until they all come together and fly away to the south. It was something Joe looked forward to every year. Soon they would be on their way, and unless he was high up, out of town, he would miss them. Without waiting for his family to catch up, he hurried down through the town, over the brook and the bypass and the railway line, and finally up the steep slope of Chalkstone Hill.

When he reached the top, he sat down for a rest. It was not far to the house now, and there was nothing moving anywhere in the sky. His mum and dad, with Andy and Ella, were trailing slowly up the path. The whole town was curled up in the valley behind them, sleeping in the hazy Sunday sunshine. Then a black fist of birds punched out of the trees beside the sports ground, sped away across the town and down the valley. Joe jumped up and didn't stop again until he reached the house.

After saying a quick hello to his nana and granddad, he came straight outside again and took up his position at the gate. At last he was in the right place. He could see for miles across the wide, flat hills, and if any birds came, he would see them.

Joe settled down to wait. It had been quite warm in the valley, almost like summer, but a keen wind was blowing across the hilltop. He began to feel very cold. There was still nothing moving in the sky, so he walked over to the garden shed and went inside.

It felt safe and warm in there. Joe heard his family going past and into the house, and he peered out at them through a mist of cobweb curtain. The spiders had woven thick tubes of web behind the woodwork, and Joe watched them coming out from their hiding places, one leg at a time. The only sound was the scratch, scratch of a plum twig against the window-until he heard a whistling, singing sound getting louder and louder.

He ran out through the shed and up to the gate, but it was only an old van going past on the road, whining away into silence. After the warmth of the shed, Joe felt even colder than before. He shel­tered as best he could behind the hedge and huddled deep down inside his jacket.

Every few minutes he got up and peered out across the fields. Still nothing. Nothing but an empty sky and a freezing wind. It was not yet getting dark, but it felt late, and a damp chill was coming out of the ground. The living room window looked unbearably warm and bright. Creeping closer, he could see his granddad asleep in a chair by the fire. They were setting the table for tea.

Joe decided to have one last look, just to make sure, and then give up. He didn't think for a moment that there'd be anything to see, but this time there was.

A dark bud was growing up over the horizon. It grew longer and longer, out into the sky, until it pointed like a vast black finger, straight toward the house. Joe tore himself away from the gate, ran into the house, and crashed through the door into the living room.

"The birds are coming! Quick! They're almost here!"

He dashed back out again. He didn't feel the cold anymore. He'd forgotten it. Andy and Ella joined him at the gate. His nana and granddad, mum and dad all stood by the back door. Nobody spoke. All of them were staring up into the sky, up into a huge cloud of birds-thousands wide and hundreds deep.

The cloud flowed toward them as smoothly as a river. Now they could see the movement of the wings. And at last, Joe could hear the first faint sounds of birdsong.

Every bird was singing as it flew, a song of all the days of sum­mer that had ended, of every tree and garden of the country they were leaving, of every worm and crumb and berry they had ever found and eaten. This was what Joe had been waiting for; this was what he loved more than anything else, this rippling, silver sound, like nothing else on earth. The sound of summer itself as it

flew south.

Sswsswsswsswsswsswsswsswsswsswssivsswsswsswsswsswss!!!!

He closed his eyes, and in his mind he could see the sparks of song drifting down, settling like snow, turning everything they touched to silver. He could see a whole river of singing, flowing across the landscape, bright as the sea-the Silver Stream.

When Joe opened his eyes again, the leaders had disappeared, and the mass of birds stretched in a dark, unbroken line across the sky. For perhaps ten minutes it flowed on and on, neither moving nor still. The millions of wings flickered bright and black, like leaves, against the sky.

And then the line broke off at the horizon. There was sky behind it, and no more birds to fill the gap. The space grew wider. Soon the end of, the line passed overhead, and Joe and his family turned and watched as it trailed away over the field behind the house. The singing stayed for a few moments. But it grew fainter, and fainter. Then it was gone.

The wind was getting stronger, making a gray, icy sound in the hedge. Joe's parents and grandparents began to move about and stretch. Without a word, they went back into the house, and Andy and Ella followed them.

Joe was alone again. He stood with his back to the gate, watch­ing the cloud of birds grow smaller, farther away, sinking below the skyline. Soon there was nothing to be seen but the line of trees and an empty sky.

Joe began to shiver. It was very cold. Winter was coming, freez­ing the ground where the Silver Stream had been.

He went into the house, closed the door, and pushed the draught-stop tight against the crack.

2.3. True or false.

1. Joe had seen the birds fly away before, so the spectacle didn't interest him.

2. He preferred to see the birds alone. He was tired of waiting and he gave up.

3. He could see his family enjoying the warmth of the house and joined them.

4. The birds' songs meant the end of fall and the arrival of winter.

5. The birds' song was what fascinated Joe most.

6. The Silver Stream, in fact, means a stream of the boy's dreams.

2.4. Points of view. Prove that...

Joe was observant.

The boy had a poetic nature.

The boy was patient and determined.

Joe was a sharing person.

Joe was imaginative and dreamy.

2.5. Vocabulary practice.

Match the words with their definitions.

	dash	A	to walk slowly following other people
	hazy	B	a sound made by sharp or rough thing
	keen	C	cold and strong (usually about a wind or frost)
	cobweb	D	not clear because of slight smoke
	faint	E	to go or run very quickly
	fist	E	difficult to see, hear, or smell
	trail	F	a net of sticky threads
	scratch	G	the hand with the fingers curled towards the palm

2.6. Translate into English.

1. Погода была ужасная — ветер и дождь. Не лучший день для похода.

2. Учительница шагала впереди, а класс медленно следовал за ней.

3. За стеной была слышна негромкая музыка.

4. Было туманное осеннее утро. Ветви в паутине были покрыты каплями.

5. Увидев хозяина, щенок бросился к нему.

6. В классе было тихо — слышалось только царапанье мела по доске.

7. Он незаметно показал ему кулак.

2.7. FOCUS ON GRAMMAR.

Describe some of Joe's experiences using conditionals (+ unless, in case, provided, supposing, as long as).

1. Joe know he would surely miss the birds unless...

2. Though cold, Joe stayed out waiting in case...

3. As long as he hoped to see the birds, Joe....

4. Provided (that)...

5. Supposing...

2.8. Metaphors in use.

There are many metaphors in the text. Find as many in the story as you can.

e.g. A black fist of birds punched out of the trees beside the sports ground...

The whole town was curled up in the valley behind them...

2.9. Verbs of motion.

It was a big day for Joe. He did a lot of waiting and running. Pick out all the verbs of motion the story contains and arrange them ac­cording to the degree of the intensity of action.

Very slow	Unhurried	Quick enough	Rather brisk	Very fast
trail			hurry

III. POST-READING

3.1. Feelings.

Describe your usual feelings when you see birds fly to the south in the fall or come back in the spring. Have you ever paid attention to these natural phenomena?

3.2. Dreams, dreams, dreams...

There are dreams about and dreams of things and/or people. Which do you prefer? Have you ever had a REALLY weird dream? Together with your group mates, hold a session of dream interpretation.

3.3 ROLEPLAY.

'Birds of a feather flock together' says a proverb. This is absolutely true, as we all know. Yet different birds have different views, don't they? Dramatize a session of the Parliament of Birds discussing an environmental issue: How to prevent Man from destroying the beauty of nature? Choose your role mask wisely: wings, beak and all that.

3.4. Poetry corner.

Read the poem written by Richard Digance entitled The Duck. What do you think the message of the poem is?

When you're a Duck like me it's impossible

To make friends with humans like you.

We're friendly and don't cause any trouble,

But you're not and you certainly do.

We swim around, me and my family,

While you throw us old lumps of bread.

Your dog starts to run with the crack of your gun

And one of us loses his head.

And if that's not enough, then you cook us

With our legs sticking up in the air.

Try putting yourself into our place.

I tell you, it just isn't fair.

BEANS

I. PRE-READING

1.1. SHARE your ideas on some special weather days that are always meaningful to you. And what kind of meaning is that and what kind of weather — a summer thunderstorm, or a winter blizzard, or a soft spring breeze, or a howling fall wind?

1.2. DISCUSS the problem of giving something up for the sake of another thing. Did you feel very sorry for yourself when you had to do that? Did you feel proud?

1.3. ARGUE if it is worthwhile to care about stray animals like kittens or puppies.

II. READING

2.1. Understanding the title.

The title of the story written by Pat Snell means it's about beans, right? What exactly is it about — cooking accidents or idylls on a farm? Give your ideas.

2.2. Reading for pleasure and enrichment.

Read the story and answer the question: Was buying Beans a great sacrifice or an absolute must for the girl? The following words will be useful for better understanding of the events.

Bin — a container for putting waste

Tug of war — a test of strength when teams pull against each other on a rope

Abuelita (Spanish) = GrannyShove — to push in a rough or careless way

Yank — to pull quickly and forcefully

Dumpster — a large metal container used for waste

Itty-bitty — very small

Mutt — a dog of no particular breed

I could tell you it started on a windy day. But in West Texas that doesn't mean a lot. Everything starts on a windy day. The meanest winds are on Thursdays. Cap-gloves-jacket-freeze-your-nose winds. Trash-day winds.

"Amelia, it's Thursday. Take out the trash," Mama says.

I fill my wagon with garbage bags and head to the bin. Head to. Not walk. You can't walk-head up, eyes open-in West Texas. I tried once. Got plastered with dirt, bugs, and forty kinds of trash. Nico, my older brother, swore he didn't know me.

Dumping the bags was like a tug of war with a tornado. As the last one thumped in, I shivered and reached over to grab the wagon handle.

Yip! Yip! Yip! With a howl I shot upright, cracking my head on the bin. "Yip, yourself!" I screamed.

Silence. I peeked around the corner. There, next to the cold metal, squatted a puppy, a dirty rag of a puppy.

'Jeez," I whispered. Spots, the exact color and size of pinto beans dotted his bony body.

"What are you doing here?"

In answer, he turned toward a stick that was shoved into the ground. From it, a rope trailed to his neck. He had no food, water, or shelter.

"This won't do!" Hugging the half-frozen puppy, I yanked up the stick and walked to the other side of the bin. Sitting down, I shoved the stick into a crack in the cement.

"You can get my coat dirty," I said as I placed him next to my shirt. "I'm gonna get a new one."

Forgetting the cold, I thought of the bright purple jacket with the green lining. A puffy green glove, attached by a button, hung from each sleeve. No more ugly, boring, brown coat, with sleeves

three inches shorter than my arms. Mama couldn't pay $49.95 for a jacket, so I asked her if $39.95 was too much. I showed her the ten dollars I'd saved from the birthday money Abuelita had sent me. Mama said $39.95 was fine. The next day she put the jacket on layaway.

Mama, I knew, would not take to a puppy. Slipping my hand under my coat, I could feel he was warm.

"I'll be gone for just a few minutes," I said, tying him to the dumpster.

In answer, he pulled hard against the rope, whining and pawing the air in panic. Wagon banging, I ran through the alley and charged up the dirt path leading to our door.

"Mama! Guess what? Guess what? Guess what?"

"Guess you better close that back door. Now."

"Mama! Guess what's at the trash bin!"

Nico looked up from his beans and rice. "Trash?"

"I'm serious. Somebody's tied up an itty-bitty puppy. No food. Nothing. He's freezing."

"No."

"But, Mama.

"If he's tied up, he belongs to someone."

"Who? Who'd be so mean?"

Mama and Nico looked at each other. "Sneeds."

I froze. Not good news. Why couldn't the Sneeds stick to col­lecting the trash they piled in their yard or the relatives who con­stantly pulled up to their house? All day long, people crawled out of pickups and cars with mismatched doors and cracked windows. Shouting, they'd rush to the front porch. A few minutes later, like overheated popcorn, kids would explode out the back door, red-faced and screaming.

Why the Sneeds? When they first moved in, I spoke to Mrs. Sneed, but she never answered. She-did holler a lot, especially at Mooney. Mooney of the pie-plate face and raisin eyes. The main thing I knew about Mooney was that stuff tended to disappear when he showed up.

"Mama, I gotta help. That puppy could die."

She sighed. "Heat some milk." Nico grinned and handed me two bowls. I filled one with water and the other with leftover rice. As soon as the milk was hot, I poured it over the food. Nico helped me make a house by taping up an empty cardboard box and cutting a hole in the side for an opening. Then I laid rags in the bottom.

Nice's smart. Knows all about fixing and building things. A couple years ago, when he got out of high school, Nico started fixing lawn mowers, televisions, all sorts of stuff. Now he's even got his own shop. He calls it a shed, to show he's not too proud of himself.

Mama shook her head. "This isn't your dog, Amelia. Don't get carried away."

Nico laughed. "Listen to Mamacita. Have you named him?"

Mama whacked him with a spoon.

"Beans."

"Beans?"

"Yeah. He's got brown spots and today's Thursday. We always have beans on Thursday."

That night, excitement kept me awake. I couldn't forget Beans and his joy at having a snug box and a bowl full of mush. He re­minded me of what we never talk about. When I was little, I didn't go to school. We followed the crops. Mama still feels bad about the way we lived. Sometimes we had no place to sleep but our old car. And I remember being cold, hungry, begging for food, and Mama crying. Cold is cold. Hungry is hungry. And to me, suffering is suf­fering. I had to help.

By morning, I had a plan. Get up. Feed Beans. Hurry to school. Find Mooney.

"Hi, Mooney." Mooney frowned. "Sure is cold. Anything happen­ing?" Mooney shook his head. "Guess what? There's a dog tied at the trash bin. You seen him?"

"Reckon so. He's mine."

"It's awfully cold. You gonna take him in?"

"Pa don't allow dogs inside."

And that became my routine, caring for Beans and bugging Mooney.

"Mooney, folks are talking about the pup. Say he's pitiful." "Mooney, puppy's got worms. He's gotta go to the vet."

Mooney, Mooney, Mooney. Besides being after Mooney, I stayed awake nights, worrying about Beans. It couldn't continue. One night, listening to the icy tap of sleet, I knew what to do.

It wasn't until lunch that I spotted Mooney. "Hey! Wait up! I've been looking for you. Doing O.K.?"

'Till you showed up."

"That's not friendly. Besides, I got something for you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. It's about the dog. I kinda like him and figured you might sell him."

Mooney's eyes glistened. I had him!

"How much?"

"It's not like I'm rich. Five bucks."

"Ten."

"Seven."

"Deal."

Beans was mine! Now all I had to worry about was Mama. She'd kill me when I got home. She met me at the front door. She was hiding her hands and smiling. "Righ hand or left?" she asked.

"Right."

She held out her hand, and I took the paper. "Jacket," I croaked. "$49.95 plus tax. Balance $ 10.00."

"Finish your chores and you can pick it up."

"Can't."

"Pardon?"

"I know you're gonna be mad, but I haven't got the money."

"What?"

"It's Beans. Something had to be done. I bought him. Nico could keep him at the shop until I find him a home."

"Amelia Maria Garcia! You needed that coat! That mutt can't keep you warm. If you think you've got ten dollars to waste, you can do without the coat!"

"I only paid seven."

"You and Nico can raise the dog. See how funny he thinks that is. Do your chores, then go to Stubblefields and get my money." After I finished my work, I took Beans and headed to Nico's shop. He turned as Beans bounced in with his nails clicking. Nico gasped when he saw him. I explained what had happened.

"This is your seven-dollar dog?" he laughed. "Looks like a rat with the measles."

I smiled. Nico didn't insult anything he didn't like. "Can he stay here?"

He smiled. "He's gonna die of old age before you find him a home."

"Thanks, Nico."

"Don't worry about Mama, she'll be O.K. Now get going."

The walk to Stubblefields took forever. The wind, no matter which direction I headed, blew into my face. Mrs. Carvey spoke as I opened the door.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-16