FRANCESCO SCHIPANI

Apprendimento fenomenico

2024-10-29T22:28:00.004+01:00

Morfologia latina di base: le cinque declinazioni e le due classi di aggettivi

2024-09-03T21:15:00.005+02:00

I tempi inglesi: tabella riassuntiva.

2023-12-17T17:47:00.001+01:00

Tabella riassuntiva dei tempi inglesi. Cliccare sull'immagine per scaricare.

100 etimologie latine

2023-03-03T23:54:00.003+01:00

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I 20 paradigmi latini più frequenti.

2022-10-04T21:52:00.003+02:00

Mappa concettuale con definizione delle principali figure retoriche

2021-04-16T11:04:00.005+02:00

Per scaricare la mappa cliccare con il tasto destro del mouse sull'immagine e selezionare Salva immagine con nome.

Le cinque declinazioni latine e gli aggettivi di prima e seconda classe.

2021-03-05T08:43:00.001+01:00

Scheda per l'analisi di un testo poetico

2020-10-14T11:47:00.002+02:00

365 perle di saggezza orientale e occidentale

2020-03-31T10:59:00.000+02:00

Pubblico di seguito una mia selezione di 365 perle di saggezza orientale e occidentale:

365 PERLE DI SAGGEZZA

1. Il saggio agisce senza sforzo e ammaestra con calmo esempio. LAO TZU

2. Come so che le cose vanno così? Osservando. LAO TZU

3. Un viaggio di mille miglia incomincia con un passo. LAO TZU

4. Abbandona ciò che è fuori, coltiva ciò che è dentro. LAO TZU

5. Attieniti a ciò che è essenziale, afferrati a ciò che è semplice. LAO TZU

6. Il saggio, sempre sensibile, evita gli estremi, evita le stravaganze, evita gli eccessi. LAO TZU

7. Il morbido vince il duro, il debole vince il forte. LAO TZU

8. Scegli un lavoro che ami, e non dovrai lavorare neppure un giorno in vita tua. CONFUCIO

9. Se c’è rimedio perché te la prendi? E se non c’è rimedio perché te la prendi? CONFUCIO

10. Se vedi un affamato non dargli del riso: insegnagli a coltivarlo. CONFUCIO

11. Non fare del bene se non sopporti l’ingratitudine. CONFUCIO

12. L’uomo che sposta le montagne comincia portando via i sassi più piccoli. CONFUCIO

13. Non parlate mai di voi stessi: né in bene, perché nessuno vi crederebbe, né in male, perché vi si crederebbe fin troppo. CONFUCIO

14. Non mettetevi a discutere con un pazzo! Chi vi guarda non distinguerebbe l’uno dall’altro. CONFUCIO

15. Non si può aprire un libro senza imparare qualcosa. CONFUCIO

16. Studia il passato se vuoi prevedere il futuro. CONFUCIO

17. Se uno ti offende senza volerti offendere e tu ti offendi, sei sciocco; se uno ti offende perché vuole offenderti e tu ti offendi, sei due volte sciocco. PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

18. Desidero poco e il poco che desidero lo desidero poco. SAN FRANCESCO DI SALES

19. Gran piacere è far del bene.

20. Presto e bene raro avviene.

21. S’imbarchi adagio chi vuol imbarcarsi a buon viaggio.

22. Faccio adagio perché ho fretta.

23. Chi molto parla spesso falla.

24. Se volete che altri mantenga il vostro segreto, cominciate a mantenerlo voi stessi.

25. Parla poco e ascolta assai, e giammai non fallirai.

26. Chi vuol mangiar tanto, mangi poco.

27. Ottimo mezzo veramente a guarir dai vizi è il lavorare.

28. Peccato confessato è mezzo perdonato.

29. Saggio è colui che a spese d’altri impara.

30. Chi ben fa, ben avrà.

31. Poco cibo e nullo affanno sanità nel corpo fanno.

32. Un buon parere val meglio che molti denari.

33. Fa’ bene, ti offenderanno; fa’ meglio, si acquieteranno.

34. Il miglior capezzale è una buona coscienza.

35. Il poco mangiare e il poco parlare non fecer mai male.

36. La sobrietà fa i sensi purgati, il corpo leggero, l’intelletto vivace, l’animo allegro, la memoria tenace, i movimenti spediti, le azioni pronte e disposte. LUIGI CORNARO

37. Quello che tu farai volentieri, per malagevole che ti paia, ti verrà fatto bene. AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

38. La ricchezza migliore è l’imparare qualche cosa.

39. Il troppo guasta, il poco non basta.

40. Un vizio costa più che due figlioli.

41. I libri sono come i cibi: fa pro non il mangiarne molti, ma il digerirli bene.

42. Chi vuol vivere in pace vede, ascolta e tace.

43. La Natura è più intelligente dell’uomo: se le cose sono così è perché è meglio che siano così. RENATO MARINI

44. Va’ in cerca, con la mente, di cose belle. RENATO MARINI

45. Per vivere bene questa vita bisogna pensare. RENATO MARINI

46. La mente educata trae gioia dalle cose belle, saggezza da quelle brutte. RENATO MARINI

47. La vita è una scuola: siamo venuti qui per diventare intelligenti e buoni. RENATO MARINI

48. La nostra mente può imparare di tutto, ma c’è un prezzo da pagare per ogni cosa. RENATO MARINI

49. Rispettare le leggi della Natura significa pagare un prezzo. Ciò che si acquista vale però molto di più del prezzo pagato. RENATO MARINI

50. Il dolore segnala un errore. RENATO MARINI

51. Hai visto bene? Ne sei sicuro? La maggior parte dei nostri giudizi è un tirare a indovinare. RENATO MARINI

52. Una persona non «è», una persona «fa»: astieniti dal giudicare e prendi solo atto di ciò che succede. RENATO MARINI

53. In natura, un essere felice non fa mai male a qualcuno volontariamente. Se capita che faccia del male, non lo fa apposta. RENATO MARINI

54. Il serpente morde, ma la maggior parte del veleno gli resta dentro. RENATO MARINI

55. Il sentimento di giustizia è fra le prime cause di infelicità. RENATO MARINI

56. La disciplina è un balsamo per la mente. RENATO MARINI

57. La Natura ha le sue leggi: rispettale e aumenterai salute e spiritualità. RENATO MARINI

58. La saggezza sta nello scoprire le leggi della natura e nel rispettarle. RENATO MARINI

59. Individua il male, stanne lontano il più possibile, non arrabbiarti perché c’è. RENATO MARINI

60. Per imparare occorrono tre cose: il desiderio, un maestro, l’autodisciplina. RENATO MARINI

61. Si deve cercare di controllare i pensieri, non le emozioni. RENATO MARINI

62. Se vuoi essere saggio, perdona in fretta. RENATO MARINI

63. Non c’è tentativo più sterile di quello di cercare di manipolare la mente altrui, quando facciamo così fatica a plasmare la nostra. RENATO MARINI

64. Ciò che dai ti torna indietro. RENATO MARINI

65. La chiave del successo non sta nella determinazione iniziale di fare gli esercizi, ma nella quotidiana applicazione di questa scelta. RENATO MARINI

66. Qualunque cosa mangi, fallo in allegria e con gratitudine. RENATO MARINI

67. Leggi senza fretta, con la disponibilità di fermare la lettura ogni volta che incontri un concetto nuovo, per meditarlo e assimilarlo. RENATO MARINI

68. Non credere a nulla che non ti produca nella mente un piacevole sentimento di pace e gioia. RENATO MARINI

69. Esistono leggi che non puoi eliminare né modificare, ma conoscere e usare a tuo vantaggio. Qui sta il trucco del vivere saggiamente. RENATO MARINI

70. Quello che conta non è tanto che cosa ti capita in questa vita, ma cosa impari da quello che ti capita. RENATO MARINI

71. Quando vedi sofferenza intorno a te, o la provi dentro di te, guardati attorno e considera bene: vedrai che qualcosa è stato fatto male. RENATO MARINI

72. Tutti abbiamo bisogno di uno che ci insegni. RENATO MARINI

73. La depressione è il pianto di uno spirito che non sta avendo dalla vita quello per cui era venuto in questo mondo. RENATO MARINI

74. La sapienza è l’abilità di applicare le conoscenze che hai alle scelte di vita che fai. RENATO MARINI

75. Fatti ascoltatore di qualcuno che parla: siediti davanti a lui e resta ad ascoltare, cercando di capire, senza nessuna intenzione di intervenire per dire la tua. Solo ascoltare. È un buon esercizio di salute spirituale. RENATO MARINI

76. La sapienza consiste nel saper distinguere il bene dal male e saper scegliere il bene. RENATO MARINI

77. Possiamo senza alcun pericolo dimezzare la quantità del cibo che ingeriamo. Hai letto bene: dimezzare. RENATO MARINI

78. Non è solo il leggere che conta, ma il ponderare le cose che leggi. RENATO MARINI

79. Seguire delle regole sviluppa autodisciplina. Chi possiede autodisciplina ha una mente saggia ed equilibrata. RENATO MARINI

80. Il segreto della felicità è la lentezza (CORANO)

81. Quello che insistiamo a fare diventa più facile. HEBER J. GRANT

82. Il progresso richiede sforzo, costanza, sistematicità. FRANCESCO SCHIPANI

83. Questo possiedo, ciò che ho donato. SENECA

84. Quando diventi maestro in una cosa, fatti subito allievo in un’altra.

85. La Terra è un paradiso. L’inferno è non accorgersene. JORGE LUIS BORGES

86. La felicità è quando ciò che pensi, ciò che dici e ciò che fai sono in armonia. GANDHI

87. Tanti sono gli uomini, tante sono le opinioni: ognuno ha il suo modo di pensare e di vivere. TERENZIO

88. Nessuna ragione umana può sperare di comprendere secondo cause meccaniche la produzione anche solo di un filo d’erba. IMMANUEL KANT

89. L'unico modo per avere un amico è essere un amico. RALPH WALDO EMERSON

90. L'avaro è senz'altro un pazzo: che senso ha, infatti, vivere da povero per morire da ricco? GIOVENALE

91. Il cuore ha delle ragioni che la ragione non comprende. BLAISE PASCAL

92. C’è un duplice vantaggio nell’insegnare, perché, mentre si insegna, si impara. SENECA

93. Si invecchia quando si smette di pensare. CLINT EASTWOOD

94. Nessun vento è favorevole per chi non sa dove andare, ma per noi che sappiamo, anche la brezza sarà preziosa. R. M. RILKE

95. Giudica un uomo dalle sue domande piuttosto che dalle sue risposte. VOLTAIRE

96. Lodo a gran voce e rimprovero sottovoce. CATERINA II

97. Chi ben comincia è a metà dell’opera.

98. Sii il cambiamento che vuoi vedere nel mondo. GANDHI

99. La logica vi porterà da A a B. L'immaginazione vi porterà dappertutto. ALBERT EINSTEIN

100. Dai a ogni giornata la possibilità di essere la più bella della tua vita. MARK TWAIN

101. Ogni giorno dovremmo ascoltare una piccola melodia, leggere una bella poesia, vedere una pittura squisita e, se possibile, dire delle parole sensibili. J. W. GOETHE

102. Dove sei? Qui. Che ore sono? Adesso. Che cosa sei? Questo momento. FILM “LA FORZA DEL CAMPIONE”

103. Ascolto e dimentico. Vedo e ricordo. Faccio e imparo. CONFUCIO

104. Migliaia di persone colpiscono i rami del male, uno solo colpisce la radice. HENRY DAVID THOREAU

105. La consuetudine sminuisce l’ammirazione. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

106. L’uomo prolisso è raramente saggio. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

107. L’uomo saggio rifugge tanto dall’essere contraddetto quanto dal contraddire. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

108. Uno dei grandi privilegi della saggezza è quello di non scomporsi mai. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

109. Ottiene di più una mente mediocre grazie all’applicazione che un ingegno eccellente senza di essa. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

110. Ciò che costa poco vale anche poco. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

111. Non esiste dominio più prezioso di quello che si esercita sopra se stessi. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

112. Le cattive maniere rovinano tutto e fanno passare dalla parte del torto anche chi ha ragione. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

113. Bisogna adattarsi al presente, anche se ci pare meglio il passato. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

114. Su in cielo tutto è gioia. All’inferno tutto è dolore. E nel mondo, che sta nel mezzo, c’è l’una e l’altra cosa. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

115. Le cose, per essere apprezzate, debbono costare. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

116. I metalli si riconoscono dal suono, le persone dalle parole e, soprattutto, dalle azioni. BALTASAR GRACIÀN

117. Gli sciocchi non capiscono le persone intelligenti. LUC DE CLAPIERS DE VAUVENARGUES

118. La coscienza della propria forza la accresce. LUC DE CLAPIERS DE VAUVENARGUES

119. Il commercio è la scuola della frode. LUC DE CLAPIERS DE VAUVENARGUES

120. Veramente nuovo e originale sarebbe quel libro che facesse amare vecchie verità. LUC DE CLAPIERS DE VAUVENARGUES

121. La giornata più perduta è quella in cui non si è riso. NICOLAS DE CHAMFORT

122. Godi e fa’ godere, senza far male né a te né ad alcuno: ecco, io credo, tutta la morale. NICOLAS DE CHAMFORT

123. Niente contribuisce di più alla quiete dell’animo del fatto di non avere alcuna opinione. CRISTOPH LICHTENBERG

124. Tutto va imparato non per esibirlo ma per adoperarlo. CRISTOPH LICHTENBERG

125. Il poeta comprende la natura meglio che lo scienziato. NOVALIS

126. Non basta sapere, bisogna anche applicare; non basta volere, bisogna anche fare. JOHANN WOLFGANG GOETHE

127. La ricchezza somiglia all’acqua di mare: quanto più se ne beve, tanto più si ha sete. ARTHUR SCHOPENAUER

128. Di fronte agli sciocchi e agli imbecilli esiste un modo solo per rivelare la propria intelligenza: quello di non parlare con loro. ARTHUR SCHOPENAUER

129. Nella conversazione ci si astenga da osservazioni intese a correggere, per quanto a fin di bene: poiché offendere la gente è facile, migliorarla difficile, se non impossibile. ARTHUR SCHOPENAUER

130. Chi vuole che il suo giudizio sia creduto lo pronunci freddamente e senza passione. ARTHUR SCHOPENAUER

131. I fanciulli trovano il tutto anche nel niente, gli uomini il niente nel tutto. GIACOMO LEOPARDI

132. Base del commercio, l’inganno. CARLO DOSSI

133. Un pensiero non basta trovarlo, bisogna meditarlo (pensarlo cioè pesarlo). CARLO DOSSI

134. Chi molto dice - pensa poco. CARLO DOSSI

135. Non vi ha che una medicina efficace; quella di regolare la vita in modo da non aver mai bisogno di rimedi. CARLO DOSSI

136. Chi semina benefici, miete ingratitudine. CARLO DOSSI

137. Oggigiorno si conosce il prezzo di tutto e il valore di niente. OSCAR WILDE

138. Vedi di non chiamare intelligenti solo quelli che la pensano come te. UGO OJETTI

139. Troppo cibo rovina lo stomaco, troppa saggezza l’esistenza. ALESSANDRO MORANDOTTI

140. Le assurdità di ieri sono le verità di oggi e saranno le banalità di domani. ALESSANDRO MORANDOTTI

141. Una maniera per farsi notare è l’assenza. ALESSANDRO MORANDOTTI

142. Un ramo di pazzia abbellisce l’albero della saggezza. ALESSANDRO MORANDOTTI

143. Anche l’anima, ogni tanto, deve stare a dieta. STANISLAW J. LEC

144. In un mondo d’arrivisti buona regola è non partire. GESUALDO BUFALINO

145. Per una persona, il proprio nome è il suono più dolce in qualsivoglia lingua. DALE CARNEGIE

146. Conoscenza è sapere, saggezza agire.

147. La gentilezza è la lingua che i sordi possono ascoltare e i ciechi possono vedere. Mark Twain

148. Non indugiare sul passato; non sognare il futuro, concentra la mente sul momento presente. Buddha

149. Una stanza senza libri è come un corpo senz’anima. MARCO TULLIO CICERONE

150. Non pensate che alle vostre cose altri sia più che voi medesimi sollecito. AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

151. Tutti pensano a cambiare il mondo, ma nessuno pensa a cambiar se stesso. LEV TOLSTOJ

152. Due strade trovai nel bosco e io scelsi la meno battuta. È per questo che sono diverso. Robert Frost

153. Ero intelligente, quindi volevo cambiare il mondo. Oggi sono saggio, quindi sto cambiando me stesso. DALAI LAMA

154. Se non riesci a spiegarlo a un bambino di sei anni, non lo hai capito neanche tu. ALBERT EINSTEIN

155. Tu sei quello che fai, non quello che dici che farai. Carl Jung

156. Ama tutti, credi a pochi e non far del male a nessuno. William Shakespeare

157. Con la gentilezza, si può scuotere il mondo. Gandhi

158. Che tu pensi di farcela o di non farcela, avrai ragione comunque. Henry Ford

159. Non è quello che diciamo o pensiamo che ci definisce, ma quello che facciamo. Jane Austen

160. C’è solo un modo per evitare le critiche: non fare nulla, non dire nulla e non essere nulla. Aristotele

161. Una persona intelligente risolve un problema. Una persona saggia lo evita. Albert Einstein

162. Ingegnatevi essere quali voi volete parere. AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

163. La mia religione è molto semplice. La mia religione è la gentilezza. Dalai Lama

164. I bambini imparano più da come ti comporti che da cosa insegni. William Edward Burghardt Du Bois

165. Se riesci a far ridere una donna, puoi farle fare qualsiasi cosa. Marilyn Monroe

166. La vita è come andare in bicicletta. Per rimanere in equilibrio bisogna continuare a muoversi. Albert Einstein

167. Se vuoi che i tuoi figli siano intelligenti, leggi loro delle fiabe. Se vuoi che siano più intelligenti, leggi loro più fiabe. Albert Einstein

168. Non posso darti una formula sicura per il successo, ma posso darti la formula per il fallimento: cercare di accontentare tutti in ogni momento. Herbert Bayard Swope

169. Il debole non può mai perdonare. Il perdono è un attributo del forte. Gandhi

170. La pace comincia con un sorriso. Madre Teresa di Calcutta

171. La vita è per il 10% cosa ti accade e per il 90% come reagisci. Charles R. Swindoll

172. Alla fine, ciò che conta non sono gli anni della tua vita, ma la vita che metti in quegli anni. Abraham Lincoln

173. La vita non si spiega, si vive. Luigi Pirandello

174. La vita è come un’eco: se non ti piace quello che ti rimanda indietro, devi cambiare il messaggio che invii. James Joyce

175. Quando il dito indica la luna lo stolto guarda il dito. Proverbio cinese

176. Cadi sette volte, rialzati otto. Proverbio Giapponese

177. Quando piove lo stolto impreca contro gli dei, il saggio si procura un ombrello. Proverbio cinese

178. Solo lo stolto percorre correndo il cammino della vita senza soffermarsi ad osservare le bellezze del creato. Proverbio Tibetano

179. Una buona risata allunga la vita. Proverbio svedese

180. Ogni tanto è bene scuotere l’albero dell’amicizia per far cadere i frutti marci. Proverbio africano

181. Dai un pesce a un uomo e lo nutrirai per un giorno. Insegnagli a pescare e lo nutrirai per tutta la vita. Proverbio cinese

182. Dio aiuta chi si sveglia molto presto. Proverbio portoghese

183. Chi non è stato truffato almeno una volta non può diventare un mercante. Proverbio cinese

184. Chi non sa sorridere non dovrebbe mai aprire un negozio. PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

185. Le persone amano essere lodate, perciò fallo quanto più puoi. Proverbio giapponese

186. La ricchezza arriva come una tartaruga, e corre via come una gazzella. Proverbio arabo

187. I grandi sacrifici portano a grandi risultati. Proverbio cinese

188. Alla porta di chi ride fortuna giunge. PROVERBIO GIAPPONESE

189. Parla soltanto quando sei sicuro che quello che dirai è più bello del silenzio. Proverbio arabo

190. Vecchi amici e vino vecchio sono i migliori. Proverbio inglese

191. Il segreto per mantener l'amore di una donna è dare tutto se stesso ma un poco alla volta.

192. Donna che non si concede, donna che conquista.

193. Dio ci ha dato due orecchie ed una sola bocca affinché ascoltassimo il doppio di quanto parliamo.

194. Chi non ha apprezzato il suo maestro né la sua lezione, un giorno sarà forse colto, ma non sarà mai saggio.

195. Ogni cosa possono le femmine, eccetto che tacere! AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

196. Se le vostre parole non sono migliori del silenzio, dovreste stare zitti. PROVERBIO CINESE

197. A molti abbrevia i giorni la cucina, ad altri il troppo amor per la cantina.

198. È assai comune usanza credersi persona d'importanza.

199. Bere acqua la mattina è già mezza medicina.

200. Bacco, Tabacco e Venere riducon l’uomo in cenere.

201. Chi parla poco dice tanto.

202. Gente allegra il ciel l’aiuta.

203. Fa’ il bene e scordati, fa’ il male e pensaci.

204. In casa del diavolo non parlar di acqua santa.

205. Se cucini con calma, il gusto ci guadagna.

206. Va’ con chi è meglio di te e pagagli le spese.

207. Follia è fare sempre la stessa cosa aspettandosi risultati diversi. Albert Einstein

208. L'amicizia consiste nel dimenticare ciò che uno dà, e nel ricordare ciò che uno riceve. A. Dumas

209. Se vuoi trovare l'arcobaleno... devi sopportare la pioggia. D. Parton

210. Un sorriso è un modo molto economico per migliorare il tuo aspetto. Jean Toomer

211. Il segreto per vivere a lungo è: mangiare la metà, camminare il doppio, ridere il triplo e amare senza misura. PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

212. Il Maestro apre la porta, ma tu devi entrare da solo. PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

213. Il saggio non si cruccia sul passato perché è concluso e non si può mutare, e non si preoccupa per il futuro perché deve ancora venire. PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

214. È più facile deviare il corso di un fiume o spianare una montagna che cambiare l’animo di un uomo. PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

215. Parla poco. Le parole sono come perle preziose il cui valore aumenta in proporzione della rarità. PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

216. Se non sai correggerti, come puoi pretendere di correggere gli altri? PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

217. Vivi senza aspettative. Affrontare la vita con aspettative porta inevitabilmente alla frustrazione, sempre e comunque. Osho

218. Sedendo quieto, non facendo nulla, la primavera arriva e l’erba cresce da sola. Proverbio Zen

219. Chi si accontenta di essere contento è sempre contento. Proverbio Zen

220. I saggi restano calmi e silenziosi in attesa del tempo giusto. Proverbio Zen

221. La conoscenza è imparare qualcosa ogni giorno. La saggezza è lasciar andare qualcosa ogni giorno. Proverbio Zen

222. Più sai, di meno cose hai bisogno. Proverbio Zen

223. Rendi il tuo spirito simile al vento, che passa su tutte le cose senza attaccarsi a nessuna di esse. Proverbio Zen

224. Fa più rumore un albero che cade di una foresta che cresce.

225. Le virtù sono i frutti dell’autodisciplina e non cadono dal cielo da sole come la pioggia o la neve. Proverbio ZeN

226. Non cercare di seguire le orme dei saggi. Cerca ciò che essi cercavano. Proverbio Zen

227. Non preoccuparti se non sai qualcosa, preoccupati piuttosto se non vuoi imparare. PROVERBIO ZEN

228. Casa è là dove risiedono i pensieri. PROVERBIO ZEN

229. Niuna letizia può essere ai vecchi maggiore, che vedere la loro gioventù accostumata, reverente e virtuosa. AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

230. Poche cose, ma ben maturate. Carl Friedrich Gauss

231. La digestione è la base della salute. MANUEL LEZAETA ACHARAN

232. La Natura ci ha dato l’acqua come unica bevanda. MANUEL LEZAETA ACHARAN

233. Coltiva tutte le virtù cercando di essere sempre allegro. MANUEL LEZAETA ACHARAN

234. Buone digestioni e non iniezioni. MANUEL LEZAETA ACHARAN

235. Siamo un apparato digerente con membra. MANUEL LEZAETA ACHARAN

236. L’uomo si nutre con quello che digerisce, non con quello che mangia. MANUEL LEZAETA ACHARAN

237. Il valore di un alimento non consiste nella sua composizione chimica, bensì nel suo grado di digeribilità. MANUEL LEZAETA ACHARAN

238. Un secchio con acqua sporca si pulisce versandovi molta acqua pulita. LUIGI COSTACURTA

239. L’aria pura è il primo alimento e il primo medicamento. IPPOCRATE

240. Prima di guarire qualcuno, chiedigli se è disposto a rinunciare alle cose che lo hanno fatto ammalare. IPPOCRATE

241. Il corpo umano è un tempio e come tale va curato e rispettato, sempre. IPPOCRATE

242. L’uomo deve armonizzare lo spirito e il corpo. IPPOCRATE

243. Lavorare, mangiare, bere, dormire, amare: tutto deve essere fatto con misura. IPPOCRATE

244. Camminare è la migliore medicina dell’uomo. IPPOCRATE

245. La natura è il medico delle malattie. Il medico deve solo seguirne gli insegnamenti. IPPOCRATE

246. Né la società, né l’uomo, né ogni altra cosa per essere buona deve eccedere i limiti stabiliti dalla natura. IPPOCRATE

247. I golosi si scavano la fossa con i propri denti. H. ESTIENNE

248. Dove entra il sole non entra il dottore.

249. Una mela al giorno toglie il medico di torno.

250. Mangia poco a pranzo e meno ancora a cena, perché la salute di tutto il corpo si costruisce nel laboratorio dello stomaco. Miguel de Cervantes

251. Amicus certus in re incerta cernitur. Il vero amico si rivela nella situazioni difficili. ENNIO

252. Cibi condimentum esse famem. Il miglior condimento per i cibi è l’appetito. MARCO TULLIO CICERONE

253. Corruptissima re publica plurimae leges. Moltissime sono le leggi quando lo Stato è corrotto. Tacito

254. De gustibus non est disputandum. Sui gusti non si discute.

255. Defecatio matutina tamquam medicina. Defecare di mattina è come una medicina.

256. Docendo discitur. Insegnando si impara.

257. Exercitatio optimus est magister. La pratica è il miglior insegnante.

258. Facta, non verba. Fatti, non parole.

259. Festina lente. Affrettati lentamente.

260. Gutta cavat lapidem. La goccia scava la pietra. OVIDIO

261. Historia magistra vitae. La storia è maestra di vita. CICERONE

262. Homo proponit sed Deus disponit. L’uomo propone, ma Dio dispone.

263. Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto. Sono un uomo: niente di ciò che è umano considero estraneo a me. TERENZIO

264. Imperare sibi maximum imperium est. Comandare a se stessi è la forma più grande di comando. SENECA

265. In medio stat virtus. La virtù sta nel mezzo. ORAZIO

266. Medicus curat, natura sanat. Il medico cura, la natura guarisce.

267. Mens sana in corpore sano. Mente sana in corpo sano. GIOVENALE

268. Nosce te ipsum. Conosci te stesso.

269. Non ut edam, vivo; sed ut vivam, edo. Non vivo per mangiare, ma mangio per vivere. QUINTILIANO

270. Nulla dies sine linea. Nessun giorno senza una linea. PLINIO IL VECCHIO

271. Omnia tempus habent. Ogni cosa ha il suo tempo.

272. Prima digestio fit in ore. La prima digestione avviene in bocca.

273. Quidquid praecipies, esto brevis. Qualsiasi cosa insegni, sii conciso. ORAZIO

274. Qui timide rogat, docet negare. Chi chiede timorosamente, insegna a rifiutare. SENECA

275. Quot homines, tot sententiae. Tanti uomini tanti modi di pensare.

276. Quod oculus non videt, cor non desiderat. Ciò che l’occhio non vede, il cuor non desidera.

277. Repetita iuvant. Ripetere è utile.

278. Semel in anno licet insanire. Una volta l’anno è lecito fare follie. ORAZIO

279. Si vis amari, ama. Se vuoi essere amato, ama.

280. Stultorum infinitus est numerus. Il numero degli sciocchi è infinito. BIBBIA

281. Tempus omnia medetur. Il tempo cura tutto.

282. Vis unita fortior. La forza unita è più forte.

283. Vita, si uti scias, longa est. La vita, se la si sa usare, è lunga. SENECA

284. Memoria minuitur, nisi eam exerceas. La memoria diminuisce se non la si esercita. CICERONE

285. In omnibus requiem quaesivi, et nusquam inveni nisi in angulo cum libro. In ogni cosa ho cercato pace e non l’ho trovata da nessuna parte se non in un angolo con un libro. TOMMASO DA KEMPIS

286. Per avere lo spirito pieno di pace occorre, semplicemente, riempirlo di pace. Tutto qui. NORMAN VINCENT PEALE

287. Dio gestisce un salone di bellezza. NORMAN VINCENT PEALE

288. L’acqua torbida, se la lasci riposare, diventa limpida. LAO TZU

289. Lasciate entrare il meglio, e solo il meglio, nei vostri pensieri. NORMAN VINCENT PEALE

290. Aspettatevi il meglio e l’avrete. NORMAN VINCENT PEALE

291. Ciò che semini, raccogli.

292. La saggezza vale più delle perle, tutti gli oggetti preziosi non la equivalgono. BIBBIA

293. Non riprendere il beffardo, per evitare che ti odi. BIBBIA

294. Chi tiene conto della correzione segue il cammino della vita. BIBBIA

295. Il figlio saggio ascolta l’istruzione di suo padre. BIBBIA

296. Chi va con i saggi diventa saggio. BIBBIA

297. Chi risparmia la verga odia suo figlio, ma chi lo ama lo corregge per tempo. BIBBIA

298. La speranza insoddisfatta fa languire il cuore, ma il desiderio realizzato è un albero di vita. BIBBIA

299. Un cuore calmo è la vita del corpo, ma l’invidia è la carie delle ossa. BIBBIA

300. La risposta dolce calma il furore. BIBBIA

301. La lingua che calma è un albero di vita. BIBBIA

302. Il cuore allegro rende gioioso il volto. BIBBIA

303. Per chi ha il cuore contento è sempre festa. BIBBIA

304. Uno sguardo luminoso rallegra il cuore; una buona notizia fortifica le ossa. BIBBIA

305. Le parole gentili sono un favo di miele; dolcezza all’anima, salute alle ossa. BIBBIA

306. Chi ha autocontrollo vale più di chi espugna una città. BIBBIA

307. Un cuore allegro è un buon rimedio, ma uno spirito abbattuto fiacca le ossa. BIBBIA

308. Insegna al ragazzo la condotta che deve tenere; anche quando sarà vecchio non se ne allontanerà. BIBBIA

309. Porgi l’orecchio e ascolta le parole dei saggi. BIBBIA

310. Non rivolgere la parola allo stolto, perché disprezzà il senno dei tuoi discorsi. BIBBIA

311. Applica il tuo cuore all’istruzione e gli orecchi alle parole della scienza. BIBBIA

312. L’uomo saggio è pieno di forza, chi ha scienza accresce la sua potenza. BIBBIA

313. Non t’irritare a motivo di chi fa il male. BIBBIA

314. Metti di rado il piede in casa del prossimo, perché egli, stufandosi di te, non abbia a odiarti. BIBBIA

315. L’uomo che non ha autocontrollo è una città smantellata, priva di mura. BIBBIA

316. L’uomo accorto vede il male e si mette al riparo, ma gli ingenui proseguono e ne pagano le conseguenze. BIBBIA

317. Il giusto se ne sta sicuro come un leone. BIBBIA

318. Se incontri una persona saggia, va’ presto da lei; il tuo piede logori i gradini della sua porta. BIBBIA

319. È inutile rimproverare la gente. DALE CARNEGIE

320. La critica è inutile perché pone le persone sulla difensiva e le induce immediatamente a cercare una giustificazione. DALE CARNEGIE

321. Siate pieni di calore nell’approvare l’operato altrui, siate prodighi di lodi meritate. DALE CARNEGIE

322. Come posso fare in modo che questa persona arrivi a desiderare la stessa cosa che voglio io? DALE CARNEGIE

323. Tutti, dal più umile stradino al più potente re sul suo trono, proviamo simpatia e affetto nei confronti di chi ci ammira. DALE CARNEGIE

324. Lasciate dire a uno studente “no” fin dall’inizio, o a un cliente, a un bambino, a un marito o a una moglie, e ci vorrà la pazienza di Giobbe per fargli cambiare idea. DALE CARNEGIE

325. Sempre m’è paruto opportuno ritrovarmi appresso a’ vecchi, domandargli, udirgli, ubbidirgli; imperocché il tempo è ottimo maestro di tutte le cose. AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

326. Chi non legge, a 70 anni avrà vissuto una sola vita: la propria. Chi legge avrà vissuto 5000 anni: c’era quando Caino uccise Abele, quando Renzo sposò Lucia, quando Leopardi ammirava l’infinito… perché la lettura è un’immortalità all’indietro. UMBERTO ECO

327. Attraverso la violenza forse puoi risolvere un problema, ma pianti i semi per un altro. BUDDHA

328. L’odio non si spegne con l’odio, ma con l’amore: questa è la legge Eterna. BUDDHA

329. Nella mente ha origine la sofferenza; nella mente ha origine la cessazione della sofferenza. BUDDHA

330. Il tuo compito è scoprire qual è il tuo compito e dedicartici con tutto il tuo cuore. BUDDHA

331. La pace viene da dentro. Non cercarla fuori. BUDDHA

332. Se poniamo a confronto il fiume e la roccia, il fiume vince sempre non grazie alla sua forza ma alla perseveranza. BUDDHA

333. Non c’è niente di costante tranne il cambiamento. BUDDHA

334. La gentilezza dovrebbe diventare il modo naturale della vita, non l’eccezione. BUDDHA

335. Se tu sapessi ciò che la tua rabbia ti sta facendo, fuggiresti da lei come dal peggior veleno. BUDDHA

336. I fontanieri incanalano l’acqua, gli armaioli piegano i dardi, i falegnami piegano il legno, i saggi piegano se stessi. BUDDHA

337. Per quante siano le parole sante che leggi, per quante siano quelle che pronunci, quale bene potranno farti se non fai seguire a loro l’azione? BUDDHA

338. Leggere, come io l’intendo, vuol dire profondamente pensare. VITTORIO ALFIERI

339. Prega come se tutto dipendesse da Dio; lavora come se tutto dipendesse da te. SANT’IGNAZIO DI LOYOLA

340. La fede ti fa partire, la costanza ti fa raggiungere il traguardo.

341. Come raggiungere un traguardo? Senza fretta ma senza sosta. GOETHE

342. Non c’è cosa che non venga resa più semplice attraverso la costanza e la familiarità e l’allenamento. DALAI LAMA

343. Il genere umano dispone di una sola arma veramente efficace: la risata. MARK TWAIN

344. Fai ogni giorno qualcosa che non ti piace: questa è la regola d’oro per abituarti a fare il tuo dovere senza fatica. MARK TWAIN

345. Il miglior modo per stare allegri è cercare di rallegrare qualcun altro. MARK TWAIN

346. Posso insegnare a chiunque come ottenere ciò che vuole dalla vita. Il problema è che non riesco a trovare nessuno che sia in grado di dirmi ciò che vuole. MARK TWAIN

347. Colui non faccia esercizio, che non vuole vivere sano e lieto. AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

348. La vita è un mistero. Non perdere tempo a cercare di capirla. FILM “lA FORZA DEL CAMPIONE”

349. Accostatevi co’ migliori, pigliate da loro esempio e dottrina. AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

350. È meglio fare e pentere, che starsi e pentersi. GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO

351. Bevi il tuo cibo, mastica la tua bevanda. PROVERBIO ORIENTALE

352. Lo sciocco non perdona e non dimentica. L'ingenuo perdona e dimentica. Il saggio perdona ma non dimentica. PROVERBIO CINESE

353. Una testa savia ha la bocca chiusa.

354. Chi ogni tanto si allena / al salto della cena, / mantiene vispo e snello / il corpo e il cervello.

355. La via dell'osteria finisce in farmacia.

356. Bisogna evitare le persone vili senza peraltro farsele nemiche. PROVERBIO CINESE

357. Che gli uccelli dell'ansia e della preoccupazione volino sulla vostra testa, non potete impedirlo; ma potete evitare che vi costruiscano un nido. PROVERBIO CINESE

358. La persona sempre scontenta non trova mai una sedia comoda.

359. Ogni anima che si eleva, eleva il mondo.

360. Il proverbio è una breve sentenza costruita da lunga esperienza.

361. Dicono gli uomini dotti e prudenti, che mai videro uomo diligente andare se non adagio. AGNOLO PANDOLFINI

362. Un buon principio va sempre a buon fine.

363. Il viaggio ci rende felici, non la destinazione. FILM “LA FORZA DEL CAMPIONE”.

364. Meglio un papà che cento insegnanti.

365. Non ho mai insegnato nulla ai miei studenti; ho solo cercato di metterli nelle condizioni migliori per imparare. ALBERT EINSTEIN

I progetti nella scuola italiana.

2018-08-28T13:10:00.001+02:00

Di seguito un mio articolo apparso su Orizzonte Scuola e Tecnica della Scuola.

Il troppio stroppia. Una riflessione sulla progettualità nella scuola italiana.

Il troppo stroppia o Il troppo storpia? Stroppiare o storpiare che dir si voglia, il concetto rimane inalterato e l’ammonimento del proverbio popolare non si presta a interpretazioni: quando si esagera in qualcosa, le conseguenze, molto spesso, sono negative.

Agli inizi di settembre i docenti italiani progettano. Fin qui niente di male. Anzi, la parola chiave della didattica è proprio “intenzionalità”: la progettazione va fatta e anche in modo serio. I problemi insorgono, a mio modo di vedere, quando i progetti si moltiplicano a dismisura. Segnalo a tale proposito almeno due criticità.

Innanzitutto, un numero elevato di progetti (le scuole fanno a gara per chi ne ha di più) non è affatto indice di una proposta formativa valida. Non è un vantaggio per l’alunno, è piuttosto una privazione: troppi stimoli (parlo per esperienza di docente “sul campo”) finiscono con il disorientare, confondere e ostacolare l’approfondimento. Del resto, ciò succede anche all’esterno della scuola, laddove vediamo ragazzi che frequentano per pochi mesi un corso di pianoforte, passano alla chitarra acustica, si iscrivono a lezioni di scherma per poi virare sulla pallavolo e così via. È tutto un assaggiare, un procedere a spizzichi e bocconi, uno stare in superficie senza mai andare in profondità. Sono pochi (per fortuna ci sono, verrebbe da dire) quelli che approfondiscono.

Ecco allora che la scuola potrebbe fare la sua parte selezionando in maniera oculata i progetti. Che siano pochi. Che siano di qualità. Che formino sul serio. Che non distraggano dall’essenziale. E per essenziale intendo i cosiddetti nuclei fondanti delle discipline scolastiche. Il troppo stroppia.

Seconda criticità: l’eccessiva insistenza su alcuni progetti sortisce esattamente l’effetto contrario a quello desiderato. Esiste una precisa dinamica mentale per cui l’inconscio non percepisce la negazione. Vogliamo fare una prova? Non pensiamo al colore della nostra macchina, non pensiamo alla nostra macchina, non visualizziamola proprio. Che cosa è successo? Ci abbiamo pensato, l’abbiamo visualizzata. Ecco, quando a uno studente di scuola media si propone per tre anni il Progetto Life Skills, che nelle intenzioni vorrebbe evitare il tabagismo e l’uso di sostanze, in realtà nella sua mente aumentano sia la curiosità sia l’interesse verso il fumo e le diverse droghe.

Abitando nel quartiere in cui insegno, vedo i ragazzi anche dopo la terza media e posso testimoniare che la maggior parte dei ragazzi che hanno seguito un percorso triennale Life Skills fuma. Dovendo azzardare una percentuale, direi un buon 70%. Tanto. Tantissimo. Troppo.

Stesso discorso vale per il Bullismo. Parlandone in continuazione, è molto probabile che la scuola sproni involontariamente in direzione di quei comportamenti che con le migliori intenzioni intende invece correggere.

Certo, i problemi vanno affrontati e non si può far finta di niente. Gli interventi vanno fatti. I progetti vanno realizzati. Solo, non così numerosi e nemmeno con così tanta insistenza. Il troppio storpia.

Francesco Schipani

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 52 (13-19 agosto): ripasso settimane 33-40 e saluti

2018-08-12T15:23:00.000+02:00

Siamo giunti alla conclusione. A chi ha avuto la costanza di seguire il corso annuale con New Fluency basteranno due o tre conversazioni in inglese per rendersi conto di aver imparato gratuitamente una lingua straniera e di saperla parlare con scioltezza. Grazie ai docenti engVid e al sito http://english-e-books.net/
Auguri a tutti dal gruppo New Fluency.

Ripasso settimane 33-40.
Di seguito i link giorno per giorno:

Lunedì

Fixed Modal Expressions: Easy English sentences to memorize and use!

23 Phrasal Verbs with COME: come across, come around, come up with...

Martedì

50 adjectives to describe what you see, hear, feel, smell, and taste

12 ways to use body parts as verbs

Mercoledì

10 ways to use ALRIGHT & ALL RIGHT in English

Meetings

The people we LOVE ❤ – spouse, girlfriend, partner, husband...

Giovedì

11 uses of the verb 'GET' in English: get going, get together, getting on...

Sports of the Winter Olympics

English word pairs about TIME

Venerdì

Vocabulary, culture and the first conditional!

8 KICK Phrasal Verbs in English: "kick back", "kick out", "kick up"...

Sabato

English color expressions to talk about situations & emotions

TO, ON, ABOUT: Prepositions of behavior in English

Domenica

MATH & GEOMETRY

10 "STEP" Phrasal Verbs in English: step up, step down, step in...

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 51 (6-12 agosto): ripasso settimane 25-32

2018-08-05T15:17:00.000+02:00

Ripasso settimane 25-32.
Ecco i link giorno per giorno:

Lunedì:

How to give a strong presentation: tips and key phrases

Talking about worries

Speak like a NATIVE SPEAKER by using sentence stress in English (with examples!)

Martedì:

How to start a phone conversation in English

Zero Conditional

The First Conditional

The 2nd Conditional: WOULD and COULD

How to use the 3rd conditional

Mercoledì:

10 ways to say 'NO' in English (politely!)

Learn 15 English Phrasal Verbs about CRIME!

LAST, LATEST, AT LEAST, LATTER, LATER, LATELY...

8 Ways to Ask 'CAN I...?'

Giovedì:

STILL, YET, ALWAYS, ALREADY...

Vocabulary for managers and supervisors (and parents!)

The RP English Accent – What is it, how does it sound, and who uses it?

Improve your Writing: Show, Not Tell

Venerdì:

How to talk like the boss

Conversation Skills: How to agree or disagree

PRESENT PERFECT and PAST SIMPLE

Talking about LOVE and relationships in English: I got dumped!

Sabato:

Studying English at a Language School

Sound more fluent in English

Speak English naturally by using filler phrases

Reported Speech / Indirect Speech

Domenica:

Top words for your JOB INTERVIEW and RESUME

Phrases for finding an apartment

Learn to make plans with the FUTURE PROGRESSIVE tense

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 50 (30 luglio-5 agosto): ripasso settimane 17-24.

2018-07-29T15:15:00.000+02:00

Ripasso settimane 17-24.
Ecco i link giorno per giorno:

Lunedì:

"WHAT" or "WHICH"? Learn how to choose!

Advance your English with 7 INTENSIFIERS

Practice Speaking English: How to give short answers about yourself

Martedì:

Easy English Expressions with "OUT OF"

Learn English Tenses: Past Simple, Past Continuous, Past Perfect, or Present Perfect?

Mercoledì:

Are you using "enough" correctly?

Vocabulary Hack: Sound smarter and avoid mistakes

Learn English Prepositions: TO or AT?

Giovedì:

Top 10 Most Confusing Words for Advanced English Learners

Learn 10 Easy 3-Word Questions in English

Discover your unique LEARNING STYLE: Visual, Auditory, Kinesthetic

Venerdì:

HAPPY NEW YEAR! What to say and do: expressions, customs, vocabulary

Learn 10 English Idioms about People at Work

Sabato:

Say MORE with LESS: 2-Word Expressions in English

How native speakers say AND & THE in English

Domenica:

8 Easy English Idioms with IN and ON

Learn English Grammar: How long does it take?

Improve your Vocabulary: 8 verbs to talk about movement

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 49 (23-29 luglio): ripasso settimane 9-16.

2018-07-22T15:10:00.000+02:00

Ripasso settimane 9-16.
Ecco i link giorno per giorno:

Lunedì:

6 ways to talk about a missed situation: "I was going to"

10 ways to use the verb 'KEEP' in English

How and when to use LOOK, SEE and WATCH

Martedì:

Polite English: How to ask people to repeat themselves

Many ways to use the word 'BACK'

TOUCH or FEEL?

Mercoledì:

How and when to use DO, DOES and DID

10 English PHRASAL VERBS with "UP": dress up, wash up, grow up...

Giovedì:

Speaking on the phone

10 words that come from "BACK"

Venerdì:

English Vocabulary for visiting the DOCTOR

12 English expressions using 'THINK'

MAY or MIGHT?

Sabato:

TEST YOUR ENGLISH! Irregular Past Participles

Basic English Lesson: LISTEN or HEAR?

Domenica:

Learn all about the British political system and elections

Real English: Using WHEN & WHERE to Make Plans

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 48 (16-22 luglio): ripasso settimane 1-8

2018-07-15T15:05:00.000+02:00

Riprendiamo engVid per avviarci alla conclusione. Le ultime cinque settimane di New Fluency sono dedicate al ripasso di tutto il percorso, in modo tale che le informazioni vengano fissate nella memoria in modo definitivo.

Non utilizzare sottotitoli (nemmeno martedì e mercoledì):

Ecco i link giorno per giorno:

Lunedì:

Phrasal Verb Opposites in English

The 10 Most Common "WHAT" Questions in English

English Vocabulary: House Cleaning

Martedì:

English Homophones for Beginners – different words that sound the same!

Collective Nouns in English: How to talk about groups of people and things

Real English Vocabulary: At the BANK

Mercoledì:

"When" Questions

The 25 Most Common Verbs in English

Words that belong together: Adverb-Adjective Collocations in English

Giovedì:

Pronunciation Mistakes

Five Jokes

Reported Speech

Present Continuous

Venerdì:

Expressions with "Have"

How to talk about yourself

Using Do and Did to make a strong point

Keep in touch!

Sabato:

Should you use DO or BE?

Talking about SPORTS!

5 common sayings in English

6 ways to use WILL

Talking about FEAR

Domenica:

Talking about RAIN

6 Phrasal Verbs with HANG: hang on, hang up, hang out...

Synonyms for "small" in English

Active and Passive Gerunds

"Dress up" or "Get dressed"?

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 47 (9-15 luglio): ultima settimana di lettura ad alta voce

2018-07-08T14:56:00.001+02:00

La proposta della settimana per la lettura ad alta voce (30 minuti al giorno): The Body.

CHAPTER ONE

The Hardest Things to Say

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words make them smaller. When they were in your head they were limitless; but when they come out they seem to be no bigger than normal things. But that's not all. The most important things he too close to wherever your secret heart is buried; they are clues that could guide your enemies to a prize they would love to steal. It's hard and painful for you to talk about these things... and then people just look at you strangely. They haven't understood what you've said at all, or why you almost cried while you were saying it.

I was twelve, nearly thirteen, when I first saw a dead person. It happened in 1960, a long time ago... although sometimes it doesn't seem very long to me. Especially on the nights when I wake up from dreams in which the hail falls into his open eyes.

CHAPTER TWO

The Tree House Gang

We had a tree house in a big tree which hung over some empty ground in Castle Rock. It was a kind of club, although it had no name. There were five or six regulars and some other pussies who came and went. We'd let them come up when we were playing cards for money and we needed some fresh blood.

The sides of the tree house were made out of wood, and the roof was metal we had taken from the dump, looking over our shoulders all the time because the manager of the dump had a dog which ate children for breakfast, or so people said. We found a screen door out there on the same day. It stopped the flies getting in, but it was really rusty. It didn't matter what time of day you looked out through that screen door: it always looked like sunset.

Besides playing cards, the club was a good place to go and smoke cigarettes and look at girlie books. We built a secret space under the floor to hide magazines and cigarette packets when somebody's father decided to do the Me And My Son Are Best Friends routine and visit us.

That summer had been the driest and hottest since 1907, the newspapers said, and on that Friday in September, a few days before school started again, the grass was dry and brown. Teddy and Chris and I were up in the club in the morning, complaining about school being so near and playing cards and telling the same jokes we'd told each other a hundred times before. Teddy was laughing his peculiar laugh at the jokes - Eeee-eee-eee, like a fingernail scratching on a board. He was strange; we all knew it. Close to being thirteen like the rest of us, the thick glasses and his deafness made him seem like an old man sometimes.

In spite of the glasses Teddy couldn't see very well, and he often misunderstood the things people said to him. His eyesight was just naturally bad, but there was nothing natural about what had happened to his ears. Back in those days, when it was the fashion to get your hair cut really short, Teddy had Castle Rock's first Beatle haircut - four years before anyone in America had even heard of the Beatles. He kept his ears covered because they looked like two lumps of warm wax.

One day when Teddy was eight, his father had got angry with him for breaking a plate. His mother was out at work. Teddy's dad took him over to the big oven at the back of the kitchen and pushed the side of Teddy's head down against one of the burner plates. He held it down for about ten seconds. Then he pulled Teddy up by the hair and did the other side. Then he called the hospital and told them to come and fetch his boy. Then he sat down in front of the TV with his gun across his knees. When Mrs Burroughs from next door came to ask if Teddy was OK - she had heard the screaming- Teddy's dad pointed the gun at her. Mrs Burroughs left the Duchamp house at roughly the speed of light and called the police.

When the ambulance came for Teddy, his dad explained to the ambulancemen that although the captain said the area was clear, he knew there were still German soldiers around. Before long, Teddy's dad was in Togus, which was a special hospital where they sent soldiers who were mad from the war. He had been on the beaches in Normandy and had just got worse and worse ever since. In spite of what his dad had done to him, Teddy was proud of him and visited him in Togus every week.

Teddy was the stupidest boy in our gang, I suppose, and he was crazy. He used to take the craziest chances, like running out in front of lorries on the road and jumping out of the way at the very last moment. This made him laugh, but it frightened us because his eyesight was so bad. You had to be careful what you dared him because he liked to do anything for a dare.

In the middle of a game of cards we heard someone coming fast up the ladder which was fixed to the side of the tree. It was Vern Tessio, one of the other regulars. He was sweating hard.

'Wait till you hear this, guys,' he said.

'Hear what?' I asked.

'I've got to get my breath. I ran all the way from my house.'

'All the way?' Chris asked unbelievingly. 'Man, you're crazy.' Vern's house was two miles away. 'It's too hot for that.'

'This is worth it,' Vern said. 'You won't believe this.'

'What?'

'Can you all camp out tonight?' Vern was looking at us in excitement. His eyes were dark and hard in his sweaty face. 'I mean, if you tell your families we're going to camp in my back field?'

'Yeah, I think so,' Chris said, picking up his cards and looking at them. 'But my dad's in an awful mood. Drinking... you know.'

'You've got to, man,' Vern said. 'Sincerely. You won't believe this. Can you, Gordie?'

'Probably.'

I usually could do things like that; in fact, I had hardly been at home all summer. In April my older brother, Dennis, had died in a Jeep accident. He had just started training in the army. An army lorry hit the jeep he was in and he died immediately. He was a few days short of being twenty. My parents...

'So what's this all about, Vern?' Teddy asked. He and Chris were still playing cards; I was reaching for a detective magazine.

Vern Tessio said: 'You guys want to go and see a dead body?'

Everybody stopped.

CHAPTER THREE

The Forests of Maine

We'd all heard about it on the radio, of course. We had our old radio on all the time, listening to pop music - Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison and the rest. When the news came on we usually stopped listening, but the Ray Brower story was different: he was our age and from Chamberlain, a town about forty miles away from Castle Rock.

Three days before Vern burst into the clubhouse, Ray Brower had gone out with one of his mother's buckets to pick wild fruit. When night fell and he still hadn't returned, his mother called the police and the search started. But three days later no one had found him. We knew, from listening to the story on the radio, that they were never going to find him alive. Sooner or later they would just stop searching. They were already sending divers down into the pools and lakes.

Nothing like that could happen in south-west Maine today.

Suburbs have spread over most of the land. The forest is still there in places, but if you walk steadily in a single direction you'll find a road sooner or later. But in those days it was possible to walk into the forest and lose your direction there and die.

CHAPTER FOUR

A Jar of Pennies

Vern Tessio had been under the front of his house digging. Before I go any further I'd better tell you why he was digging there. And even before I tell you that, I'd better tell you that Vern and Teddy were about equal in intelligence - in not having very much intelligence, that is. Vern's brother Billy was even more stupid, as you'll see.

Four years ago, when he was eight, Vern buried a jar of pennies under the front of the house, in the dark space he called his cave. He was playing a game about robbers, and they were hiding the pennies from the police. He drew a map which showed where the jar was, put it in his room and forgot about it for nearly a month. Then, one day when he wanted to go and see a film and he didn't have enough money, he remembered about the pennies and went to find the map. But his mother had tidied his room and taken away the map, along with old magazines and other rubbish. She had used them to start a fire in the kitchen the next morning, so Vern's map went up the kitchen chimney.

Ever since then Vern had looked for the jar of pennies. They added up to only about three dollars, but as the years passed, and Vern became more and more desperate about these pennies of his, the jar held sometimes as much as ten dollars. He never found the place where he had buried them.

Sometimes we tried to tell him what was obvious to us - that his big brother Billy had known about the jar and had dug it up himself. But Vern refused to believe this, although he hated Billy. He also refused to ask Billy about it. Probably he was afraid that Billy would laugh and say, 'Of course I took them, you stupid pussy, and there were twenty dollars in the jar and I spent it all.'

Anyway, he was digging there early that Friday morning when he heard the screen door open and shut above him. He kept very quiet. He heard Billy's friend Charlie Hogan say, 'Jesus Christ, Billy, what are we going to do?'

Now, Charlie was one of the hardest guys in town. He was in the same gang as Ace Merrill and Eyeball Chambers, so he had to be hard. So as soon as Vern heard him talk like that, he was very interested. Something big was happening.

'Nothing,' Billy said. 'That's what we're going to do. Nothing.'

'But didn't you see him?' Charlie said. 'It must be that boy in the news on the radio, the one called Brower or something. Christ, Billy, the train must have hit him.'

'Yeah, right,' Billy agreed. 'And you puked. It was lucky the girls didn't see him. They would tell everyone. Do you think they guessed something was wrong?'

'No,' said Charlie. 'Marie doesn't like to go down that Back Harlow Road, anyway. She thinks it's frightening out there. But it's a pity we stole that car, Billy. Now we can't tell the police, because they would ask us how we got to Harlow district without a car of our own. And I puked on my new shoes. The guy was just lying there - did you see him, man?'

They finished their cigarettes and went off to find Ace.

'Are we going to tell Ace, Billy?' Charlie asked as they walked away.

'Man, we aren't ever going to tell anyone,' said Billy.

As soon as Vern was sure that they were really gone, he ran all the way to our tree house with the news.

CHAPTER FIVE

Making Plans

'You're really lucky,' I said. 'They'd kill you if they knew you had listened'

Teddy said, 'I know the Back Harlow Road. It ends at the river. I used to go fishing there.'

'Could he have walked all the way from Chamberlain to Harlow?' I asked. 'That's twenty or thirty miles.'

'I think so,' Chris said, 'if he was following the railway tracks. It's easy to walk on them, and he probably thought they would lead him out of the forest. And then in the dark along comes a train and... bang.'

'Anyway, do you want to go and see. it?' Vern asked. He was so excited that he could hardly keep still.

'Yes,' said Chris, throwing his cards on to the table. 'And you know what? I bet we get our pictures in the paper. We'll be famous.'

'What?' said Vern. Teddy grinned.

'Yeah,' Chris explained. 'We can find the body and report it.'

'I don't know,' said Vern. 'Billy would guess that I heard him and Charlie talking, and he'll beat me.'

'No, he won't,' I said. 'He won't have to worry any more about the stolen car and everything.'

'But what about our parents?' Teddy said. 'If we find the body, they'll know we weren't camping in Vern's back field.'

'We'll just tell them we got bored in the field,' I said, 'and decided to camp in the forest instead. And then everyone will be too excited about us finding the body to beat us.'

'OK,' Teddy said. 'Let's all meet here after lunch. What can we tell them about supper?'

Chris said, 'You and me and Gordie can say we're eating at Vern's.'

'And I'll tell my mother I'm eating over at Chris's,' Vern said.

That would work unless there was some emergency or unless any of the parents contacted each other. None of us came from rich families, and neither Vern's nor Chris's house had a telephone. A lot of people didn't in those days.

My dad had retired from work, Vern's dad worked at a factory in town. Teddy's mum hired out a room in her house when she could find someone to take it. Chris's dad was nearly always drunk and didn't have a job.

Chris didn't talk about his dad much, but we all knew he hated him like poison. His dad beat him often. Once, the year before, some milk-money had disappeared from school. Chris was accused of taking it. He swore he didn't steal it, but because he was one of those no-good Chambers he wasn't allowed back in school for two weeks. His father put him in the hospital that time, with a broken nose and wrist. It's true that he came from a bad family: his eldest brother Dave was in prison, and Richard (called Eyeball because he had a bad eye) went round with Ace Merrill and the other local hard men.

'I think that'll work,' I said. 'What about John and Marty?' John and Marty DeSpain were two other regular members of our gang.

'They're still away,' Chris said. 'They won't be back till Monday.'

We were too excited now to play cards. We all left the clubhouse and went home to get ready.

CHAPTER SIX

Brother Denny

When I got home, my mum was out. My dad was in the garden, hopelessly watering the dry plants.

'Hi, Dad,' I said brightly. 'Will it be all right if I camp out in Vern Tessio's back field tonight with some of the guys?'

'What guys?'

'Vern, Teddy Duchamp, Chris.'

Sometimes he took the opportunity to complain about the friends I chose, but today he didn't care. 'I suppose it's OK,' he said.

There was no argument in him that morning; he just looked sad and tired. He was sixty-three, old enough to be my grandfather. My mother was fifty-five. When she and Dad got married they tried to start a family straight away, but with no luck. A few years later a doctor told them they would never have a baby. But five years after that, Dennis was born.

The doctor said it was amazing, and that my parents should thank God and be happy with Denny because he would be the only child. Seven years later, I was born.

For my parents, one gift from God was enough. I won't say they were cruel to me or anything like that, but I certainly came as a surprise, and I guess when you're in your forties you don't enjoy surprises as much as you used to. They just acted as if I didn't exist most of the time. I was the invisible man, like in the book. At the supper table it was 'Denny, how did you do today at school?' and 'Denny, who are you taking to the dance?' and 'Denny, we'd better talk man to man about that car we saw'. If I said, 'Pass the butter,' Dad would say, 'Denny, are you sure the army is what you want?' If I repeated my request for the butter, Mum would say, 'Denny, do you want me to buy you one of those Pendleton shirts tomorrow?' One night when I was nine, I said, 'Jesus, these potatoes taste like garbage.' I wanted to see what would happen. And Mum said, 'Denny, Auntie Grace called today and asked about you and Gordon.'

I didn't hate Denny or think he was the greatest person in the world either. We rarely did things together. He was seven years older than me, and lived in a different world. So how could I have strong feelings about him? It was great when he took me to the park to watch him play ball with his friends, or when he read a story-book to me, but there weren't many times like that. Most of the time I was alone. I guess that's why I started reading a lot, and why I'm a writer now. Like all writers I sometimes try to put the places and people I knew when I was young into my stories.

After his death, my parents just went to pieces. Now it was five months, and I didn't know if they would ever be whole again. They left Denny's room exactly the same; they didn't touch a thing. That room frightened me. I expected dead Denny to be there, waiting for me in the clothes cupboard, with his brains spilling out of his head from the accident. I imagined his arms coming up, and him whispering: Why wasn't it you, Gordie? Why wasn't it you who died?

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Gun

My room was on the second floor, and it was really hot up there. I was glad I wasn't sleeping there that night, and the thought of where we were going made me excited again. I rolled up two blankets and tied an old belt around them. I collected all my money, which was less than a dollar. Then I was ready to go.

I went down the back stairs to avoid meeting my dad. I was walking up Carbine Street towards the clubhouse when Chris caught up with me. His eyes were shining.

'Gordie! You want to see something?'

'Sure. What?'

'Come down here first.' He pointed down an alley between two shops.

'What is it, Chris?'

'Come on, I said!'

He ran down the alley and I ran after him. At the bottom, the smell from the rubbish was terrible. 'Chris, sincerely, I'm going to puke, I'm -'

But I forgot about the smell when Chris put his hand into his backpack and pulled out an enormous handgun.

'Do you want to be the Lone Ranger or the Cisco Kid?' Chris asked with a grin, naming our two favourite TV heroes.

'Jesus, Chris, where did you get that?'

'From my dad's desk.'

'Man, your dad's going to beat you when he finds out.'

Chris's eyes just went on dancing. 'He isn't going to find out. He and his friends have got enough wine to keep them drunk for a week. I'll put it back before then.' Chris hated alcohol - he'd already seen too much of what it can do. He was the only one in our gang who didn't have a drink when the DeSpain twins brought some beer they'd stolen from their father.

'Have you got bullets for it?'

'Nine of them - all that was left in the box. He'll think he used them himself, shooting at bottles when he was drunk.'

'Any in it at the moment?'

'No, of course not. What do you think I am?'

I finally took the gun. I liked the heavy way it sat in my hand. I could see myself as someone out of an Ed McBain story or a John D. MacDonald novel. I pointed the gun at a large tin with smelly rubbish spilling out of it and squeezed.

KA - BLAM!

The gun jumped in my hand. Fire shot from the end. It felt as if my wrist was broken. My heart was in my mouth. A big hole appeared in the surface of the tin - it was the work of an evil magician.

'Jesus!' I screamed.

Chris was laughing wildly; I couldn't tell if he was amused or frightened. 'You did it, you did it! Gordie Lachance is shooting Castle Rock to pieces. Be careful, everyone! Here comes Gordie!'

'Shut up! Let's go!' I screamed, and grabbed him by the shirt.

I gave the gun to Chris and he pushed it into his backpack as we ran up the alley. When we reached Carbine Street we slowed to a walk, so that no one would notice us if they had heard the noise of the gun. Chris was still laughing.

'Man, it's a pity you couldn't see your face. Oh, man, that was really great.'

'You knew there was a bullet in it, didn't you? That was a rotten trick, Chris, really.'

'I didn't know, Gordie, honestly. I just took it out of my dad's desk. He always takes the bullets out of it. I suppose he was too drunk to remember last time.'

Chris looked as innocent as a baby, but when we got to the clubhouse we found Vern and Teddy waiting, and he started to laugh again. He told them the whole story, and after everyone had had a good laugh Teddy asked Chris what he thought they needed a gun for.

'Nothing, really,' Chris said. 'Except we might see a wild animal. Besides, it's frightening out in the forest at night.'

Everyone nodded at that. Chris was the strongest and bravest guy in our gang, and he could say things like that. If Teddy had said it, we'd all have laughed at him.

'Did you put your tent up in the field?' Teddy asked Vern.

'Yeah, and I put two lamps in it and turned them on, so it'll look as if we're there after dark.'

'Hey, man, great!' I said, and slapped Vern on the back. For him, that was real thinking. He grinned.

'So let's go,' Teddy said. 'It's nearly twelve already.'

Chris stood up and we gathered round him.

'We'll walk across Beeman's field,' he said, 'and then we'll meet the railway tracks by the dump and just walk across the bridge into Harlow.'

'How far is it, do you think?' Teddy asked.

'I don't know,' said Chris. 'Harlow's big. We're going to have to walk at least twenty miles. Does that sound right to you, Gordie?'

'Yeah. Maybe more - thirty miles.'

'Even if it's thirty we should be there by tomorrow afternoon, if no one turns into a pussy,' said Chris.

'No pussies here,' Teddy said straight away.

'Miaoww,' Vern said, and we all laughed.

'Come on, you guys,' Chris said, and picked up his backpack, blankets and water bottle.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Railway

By the time we got across Beeman's field and had reached the tracks, we had all taken our shirts off and tied them around our waists. We were sweating like pigs. We climbed the bank up to the railway, and there we stood and looked down the tracks.

I'll never forget that moment, however old I get. The hands on my watch stood at twelve o'clock and the sun shone down with cruel heat. Behind us was Castle Rock, where we had all grown up, with its houses and its factories sending smoke into the sky and waste into the river. In front of us were the railway tracks, and the sun seemed to send us messages off the metal. The Castle River was to our left, and to our right some empty land, covered in small bushes.

We stood there for that one midday moment, and then Chris said, 'Come on, let's go.'

We walked beside the tracks and our feet sent up clouds of black dust at every step. Vern started singing, but soon stopped, which was better for our ears. Only Teddy and Chris had brought water bottles and we were all drinking from them a lot.

'We can fill the bottles again at the dump,' I said. 'There's a tap there with good water, my dad told me.'

'OK,' Chris said. 'That will be a good place to rest, anyway.'

'What about food?' Teddy asked suddenly. 'I bet nobody remembered to bring something to eat. I know I didn't.'

Chris stopped. 'God! I didn't either. Gordie?'

I shook my head, feeling really stupid.

'Vern?'

'Nothing,' Vern said. 'Sorry.'

'Let's see how much money we've got,' I said. I untied my shirt and laid it on the ground. We all put our money into it. We had about two and a half dollars.

'Not bad,' I said. 'There's a shop at the end of that little road that goes to the dump. One of us can get some hamburger meat and some Cokes there.'

'Who?' Vern asked.

'We'll, spin coins for it when we get to the dump. Come on.'

I put all the money into my pocket and was just tying my shirt around my waist again when Chris shouted, 'Train!'

I put my hand on to one of the tracks to feel it, although I could already hear it. The track was shaking like a living thing. Vern and Chris jumped down the bank. The train was really loud now. Instead of jumping, Teddy turned towards the train. The sun flashed off his thick glasses.

'Come on, Teddy,' I said.

'No, I'm going to wait till it's close and then jump.' He looked at me in excitement. 'Lorries are nothing, man. This is a train.'

'You're crazy, man. Do you want to get killed?'

'Just like on the beaches at Normandy!' Teddy shouted, and walked out into the middle of the tracks.

For a moment I was too surprised to move, unable to believe such amazing stupidity. Then I grabbed him, pulled him to the top of the bank and pushed him over the edge. I jumped after him and he hit me in the stomach as I landed. I got a knee into his chest at the same time and he fell down. Then we were locked together, rolling over and over, hitting and scratching each other.

'You little worm!' Teddy was screaming. 'Don't you act big with me! I'll kill you!'

'Teddy!' I shouted back. 'No one must know we're here. Don't you understand, you stupid pussy?'

Eventually Chris and Vern separated us. Chris held Teddy until he became calm and just stood there, his glasses bent and hanging off one ear.

'You're a pussy, Lachance,' Teddy said.

'He was just trying to do the right thing, man,' Chris said.

'Come on, you guys,' Vern said. 'Let's go.'

CHAPTER NINE

The Dump

We reached the dump around half past one and slid down the bank. The dump was surrounded by a high wire fence, and there were signs saying that the dump was open between four and eight in the afternoon - no entry at any other time under any circumstances. We climbed over the fence and jumped down to the ground.

We went straight to the tap. While Vern and Teddy argued about who would go next, I looked round. There was always so much stuff in the dump that my eyes hurt just looking at it. All of America was there - all the stuff for which America had no further use. There were plenty of wild animals too, but not the kinds you see in Disney films or in children's zoos where they let you stroke the animals. The town dogs came here too. They used to attack each other over a piece of rotten meat, but they never attacked Milo Pressman, the manager of the dump, because Milo always had Chopper with him.

Chopper was the most feared and the least seen dog in Castle Rock. Rumours and stories had made him enormous, cruel and ugly. It was said that Milo had trained him to go for particular parts of the body. He could take an ear, an eye, a foot, a leg or... any part of the body. Even Teddy was afraid of Chopper.

There was no sign of Milo or Chopper today.

Chris and I watched Vern and Teddy at the tap. 'Teddy's crazy,' I said softly.

'I know it,' Chris said. 'He won't live to be twice the age he is now.'

'You remember that time in the tree?'

'Of course.'

The year before, Teddy and Chris had climbed a tall tree behind my house. Chris had stopped near the top because the rest of the branches looked dry and rotten. Teddy wanted to go on, and nothing Chris said made any difference. Teddy did it, though - he reached the top. But then the branch he was on broke and Teddy fell. Chris just managed to grab hold of Teddy's hair as he went past. Although his wrist hurt for a week afterwards, he held him until his feet found a branch to stand on. When they got down Chris was grey-faced and almost puking from fear. And Teddy was angry with him for pulling his hair!

'I dream about it sometimes,' Chris said. 'Except in the dream I miss him. I just grab a couple of hairs and Teddy goes screaming down through the branches to the ground. Strange, eh?'

'Right,' I said, and for a moment we looked in each other's eyes and saw some of the true things that made us friends.

After we had all had enough to drink and had thrown water at one another for a while, we sat in the shadow of the dump's only- tree.

'This is really a good time,' Vern said simply. He didn't mean just being here in the dump or going for a walk up the tracks. All that was only part of it. Everything was there and around us. We knew exactly who we were and exactly where we were going in life. It was great.

We sat under the tree until the shadows grew longer, and then we realized someone had to go and get some food.

'The dump opens at four,' Vern said. 'I don't want to be here when Milo and Chopper arrive.'

'OK,' I said. 'Odd man goes?'

'That's you, Gordie,' Chris said. 'You're odd all right.'

I grinned and gave them each a coin. 'Spin,' I said.

Four coins shone brightly as they turned in the sun. Four hands grabbed them from the air. Four flat slaps on four dirty wrists. We uncovered. Two heads and two tails. We spun again and this time all four of us had tails.

'Oh, Jesus, that's bad luck,' Vern said, not telling us anything we didn't know. Four heads meant really good luck, four tails the opposite.

'Nobody believes that garbage,' Teddy said. 'It's baby stuff. Come on, spin.'

This time the other three all had tails and I had heads. And I was suddenly frightened. They still had the bad luck. Then Teddy was laughing his crazy laugh and pointing at me, and the feeling disappeared.

'Go and get the food,' Teddy cried.

'Go on, Gordie,' said Chris. 'We'll wait by the tracks.'

'You guys had better not go on without me,' I said. And away I went.

I never had any friends later like the ones I had when I was twelve. Did you?

CHAPTER TEN

Milo and Chopper

Words mean different things to different people. To me summer is always going to mean running down the road to the Florida Market with coins jumping in my pocket and the sun flying my brains. The word brings a picture to my mind of railway tracks running off into the distance. There were also favourite songs and films, games to play, grass to cut, sports to play and teams to support.

And now I sit here trying to look through an IBM screen and see that time, and I can almost feel the thin, brown boy buried in this 34-year-old body, and I can almost hear the sounds I heard then. But all of that summer is contained in the picture of Gordon Lachance running down the road to the Florida Market with the coins in his pocket and the sweat running down his back.

After I had bought the food I walked fast back to the dump. I put the bag of food inside my shirt and climbed over the gate. I was halfway through the dump, towards the back where I had left the others, when I saw something I didn't like: Milo Pressman's car was parked beside his office building. If Milo saw me, I was going to be in a world of pain. Suddenly the other side of the dump seemed very far away. Why hadn't I gone round the outside of the fence? But I was too far into the dump now to want to turn round and go back.

I kept putting one foot in front of the other, trying to look calm, trying to look as if I belonged here, with a paper bag down the front of my shirt, walking towards the fence between the dump and the railway tracks.

I was about fifty feet from the fence and just beginning to think that everything was going to be all right when I heard Milo shout, 'Hey, you! Get away from that fence! Get out of here!'

I started running for the fence with a wild shout. Vern, Teddy and Chris appeared on the other side of the fence and stared through it.

'You come back here!' Milo screamed. 'Come back here or I'll send my dog after you!'

That only made me run even faster for the fence. Teddy started to laugh his crazy laugh - eee-eee-eee.

'Go, Gordie! Go!' Vern shouted.

And Milo screamed: 'Get him, Chopper! Go and get him!'

I threw the bag over the fence and Vern caught it. Behind me, I could hear Chopper coming, shaking the earth, breathing fire and ice from his nose. I threw myself halfway up the fence with one jump, screaming. I reached the top in about three seconds and simply leapt off, without looking down to see what I might land on. What I almost landed on was Teddy, who was bent over with laughter. His glasses had fallen off and tears were streaming from his eyes. I turned round and got my first look at the famous Chopper.

Instead of some enormous creature from hell with red eyes and cruel teeth, I was looking at an ordinary, black and white, middle- sized dog. He was jumping up at the fence and trying to reach us. Teddy was walking up and down outside the fence, making Chopper even more angry.

'Kiss my ass, Chopper!' Teddy invited, and turned round to hit the fence with his ass. Chopper went crazy and leapt at the fence to accept Teddy's invitation, but Teddy moved away and all Chopper got was a hurt nose. Chris and Vern were lying on the bank, laughing so hard they could scarcely move.

And here came Milo Pressman. 'You boys stop being horrible to my dog! Stop it this second!'

'Bite it, Chopper! Bite it! Come and get me!' Teddy continued from the other side of the fence.

Chopper went mad. He ran around in a big circle three times - perhaps giving himself courage - and then threw himself with full force at the fence. He was doing maybe thirty miles an hour when he hit the fence. The fence seemed to stretch, and then Chopper fell back to the ground in a cloud of dust. He lay there for a moment before walking away with his tongue hanging out of one side of his mouth.

Milo was now really angry. His face turned dark red.

'I know you!' he shouted. 'You're Teddy Duchamp! I know all of you! I'll beat your ass for being cruel to my dog!'

'I'd like to see you try!' Teddy shouted back. 'Let's see you climb over this fence and get me, fat-ass!'

WHAT? WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?'

'FAT-ASS!' Teddy screamed happily. 'You and your stupid dog!'

'You little madman's son! I'll talk to your mother!'

'What did you call me?' It was Teddy's turn now. He had stopped jumping up and down and was looking at Milo strangely.

Milo realized that he had found the right button and he pushed hard down on it. 'Your dad is crazy,' he said, grinning. 'Mad and up in Togus, that's what. Crazier than a rat in a pile of garbage. Crazy. It's not surprising you're behaving the way you are, with a madman for a father.'

Teddy and Milo were nose to nose at the fence now. Vern and Chris had almost stopped laughing and begun to see the seriousness of the situation.

'Don't you say anything else about my dad. My dad was on the beaches at Normandy, you fat pussy.'

'Yes, but where is he now, you ugly little four-eyed lump of puke. Up in Togus, isn't he?'

'OK, that's enough,' said Teddy. 'Now I'm going to kill you.' He started to climb the fence.

'Come on and try, you dirty little rat.' Milo stepped back and stood there, waiting and grinning.

'No!' I shouted. I got to my feet, grabbed Teddy by his jeans and pulled him off the fence.

'Let me go!' Teddy shouted. 'Let me get him!'

'No, that's just what he wants,' I shouted in his ear. 'He wants to get you over there and beat you and take you to the police.'

'What?' Teddy turned his head round to look at me.

'You think you're so clever,' Milo said, approaching the fence again with his hands curled. 'Why don't you let him fight his own battles?'

'Sure,' I said. 'A grown man against a boy!'

'I know you' Milo said. 'Your name's Lachance. And those guys are Chris Chambers and one of those stupid Tessio boys. I'm going to talk to your fathers.' He stood and waited for us to cry and say we were sorry or something.

Chris made an O with his thumb and finger and pushed his tongue through it.

Vern looked up at the sky.

Teddy said, 'Come on, Gordie. Let's go before this guy makes me puke.'

'I'll get you, you dirty-mouthed little rat. Wait till I get you to the police.'

'We heard what you said about his father,' I told him. 'We're all witnesses. And you sent your dog after me. That's against the law.' Milo looked uncertain. Before he could see how weak my argument was, I said, 'Come on, you guys. Let's go. Something smells bad around here.'

'I can't wait to tell the police how you called a war hero a madman,' Chris called back over his shoulder as we left. 'What did you do in the war, Mr Pressman?'

'That's none of your business,' Milo shouted back. 'You hurt my dog! Come back here!' But his voice was lower now and he seemed to be losing interest.

I looked back when we reached the top of the bank. Milo was standing there behind the fence, a big man with a dog sitting beside him. His fingers were holding the fence and I suddenly felt sorry for him. He looked exactly like a schoolboy locked in the school playground by mistake, calling for someone to let him out.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Night-Sweats

'We showed old Milo that we're no pussies,' Vern said.

'Right,' agreed Teddy 'You bet we did.'

Although I enjoyed the victory too, I was worried. Perhaps Milo would go to the police. Perhaps those four tails on the coins were a sign of bad luck. What were we doing anyway, going to look at the broken body of some poor guy that a train had hit?

But we were doing it, and none of us wanted to stop.

We had almost reached the bridge which carried the tracks across the river when Teddy suddenly burst into tears. He fell to the ground, shaking with the violence of the storm that had come on him. None of us knew what to do. This wasn't the kind of crying we were used to, when you fell off your bike or something.

'Hey, man...' Vern said in a very thin voice. Chris and I looked at Vern hopefully. 'Hey, man' was always a good start. But Vern couldn't go on.

At last, when the force of his crying had lessened a bit, it was Chris who went to him. Chris was the hardest guy in our gang, but he was also the guy who made the best peace. He was good at it. I've seen him sit down on the pavement next to a small boy he didn't even know, who had hurt his knee, and get him talking about something until the boy forgot his pain.

'Listen, Teddy, does it matter what a fat old bag of puke like him said about your father? It doesn't change anything, does it? Does it?'

Teddy shook his head. No, it didn't change anything. But this was something he had thought about on those long, lonely nights when he couldn't sleep, and hearing it spoken aloud in the daytime... realizing in the clear light of day that everyone else in the world considers your father a madman... that had shaken him.

'He still fought on the beaches at Normandy, didn't he?' Chris went on. He took one of Teddy's hands. Teddy nodded fiercely.

'Do you think that pile of garbage was at Normandy?'

Teddy shook his head violently. 'No!'

'Do you think that guy knows your father?'

'No.'

'Talk is cheap.'

Teddy nodded but still didn't look up.

'And whatever there is between you and your father, talk can't change that. He was just trying to get you to climb back over the fence, man. He doesn't know anything about your father. He's only heard stuff from people he drinks with, that's all'.

Teddy had nearly stopped crying now. He wiped his eyes and sat up. 'I'm OK,' he said, and the sound of his own voice seemed to persuade him he was right. 'Yes, I'm OK.' He stood up and put his glasses back on. He laughed thinly and wiped his bare arm across his nose. 'I'm a cry-baby, right?'

'No, man,' Vern said uncomfortably. 'If anyone said those kinds of things about my father -'

'Then you have to kill them,' Teddy said. 'Right, Chris?'

'Right,' said Chris, and slapped Teddy on the back.

'Right, Gordie?'

'Yeah, right,' I said wondering how Teddy could care so much for his dad, who had almost killed him, and how I didn't either love or hate my father, who had never even beaten me, as far as I could remember.

We walked on down the tracks for another two hundred yards and then Teddy said in a quieter voice, 'If I spoiled your good time, I'm sorry.'

'I'm not sure I want it to be a good time,' Vern said suddenly.

Chris looked at him. 'Are you saying you want to go back?'

'No.' Vern's face showed that he was trying to work out how to say what he was thinking. 'But we're going to see a dead guy. That shouldn't be like going to a party. I mean, I could even get a little frightened, if you know what I mean.'

Nobody said anything and Vern went on.

'I mean, sometimes I'm in bed at night, and maybe I've been reading a frightening magazine or something, and I start wondering whether there's anything under my bed, you know? Something with a green face and blood on its hands, which might reach up and grab me...'

We all began to nod. We all knew about the night-sweats. I certainly didn't imagine then that in about a dozen years I'd turn a simple example of the night-sweats into about a million dollars.

'So you see, if this body we're going to see is really bad, maybe I'll start dreaming and imagining him under my bed. But I feel as if we still have to see him... but maybe it shouldn't be a good time.'

'Right,' Chris said softly. 'Maybe it shouldn't.'

'You won't tell anyone else what I said, will you?' Vern said. 'The other guys wouldn't understand.'

We all said we wouldn't. We walked on in thoughtful silence. It wasn't yet three o'clock, but it seemed much later. We hadn't even reached Harlow yet. We were going to have to move faster. Around half past three we arrived at the Castle River and the bridge which crossed it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Bridge

The bridge was made of wood and had spaces all the way across, through which you could look straight down into the river. There was a narrow walkway on either side of the tracks - wide enough so that you wouldn't actually get hit by any train, but so narrow that the wind of a passing train would blow you off the bridge. And it was a long way down to the river, and the river was shallow and fast. In fact, this bridge wasn't for walking across.

Looking at the bridge, we all felt fear start to move in our stomachs, but mixing with the fear was the excitement of a really big dare, something you could be proud to tell your friends about after you got home... if you got home. Teddy's eyes were shining: this was better than lorries.

'Man,' Chris said softly.

'Come on,' Teddy said. 'Let's go.' He was already at the start of the bridge, where the wooden supports were built out over the land.

'Does anybody know when the next train's due?' Vern asked uneasily.

Nobody knew.

I said, 'There's the Route 136 bridge... '

'No, man!' Teddy cried. 'That means walking five miles down the river on this side and then five miles back on the other side. It'll take hours. We can cross the bridge and get to the same place in ten minutes.'

'But if a train comes, there's nowhere to go,' Vern said. He wasn't looking at Teddy; he was looking down at the river.

'Of course there is,' Teddy said. He climbed over the edge of the bridge and held on to one of the wooden supports between the tracks. He was still hanging over the land, but the thought of doing that in the middle of the bridge, with the river fifty feet below and a train thundering by overhead, made me feel sick.

'See how easy it is?' Teddy said. He dropped to the ground, wiped his hands and climbed back up beside us.

'What if it's a 200-car train?' Chris asked. 'Are you going to hang there for five or ten minutes?'

'Are you afraid?' Teddy asked. 'You can go the long way round if you want to, but I'm going across the bridge. I'll wait for you on the other side!'

'There are probably only one or two trains a day here,' I said, 'and one has passed us already. Look at all the grass growing in the middle of the tracks.'

'See?' Teddy was delighted at his victory.

'There's still a chance of a train,' I added.

'Yes,' Chris said. He was looking only at me, his eyes shining. 'I dare you, Lachance.'

'Darers go first.'

'All right,' Chris said. He looked at the others as well. 'Any pussies here?'

'NO!' Teddy shouted.

Vern cleared his throat and said 'no' in a small voice. He smiled a weak, sickly smile.

'OK,' Chris said... but we hesitated for a moment and looked up and down the tracks. I knelt down and touched the steel. Nothing.

'OK,' I said.

We went out on to the bridge one by one: Chris first, then Teddy, then Vern, and me last because I was the one who said that darers go first.

You had to walk looking down, to make sure you put your feet down on wood rather than thin air. When I saw river instead of rocks below me, I stopped to look up. Chris and Teddy were a long way in front, almost halfway across the bridge. Vern was between them and me. I had to go on. If I turned back, I'd be a pussy for life.

When I was nearly halfway across I stopped again and looked up. I had almost caught up with Vern, who was being very cautious. Chris and Teddy had nearly reached the other side. And although I've written seven books about people who can do strange things like read other people's minds and see into the future, that was when I had my first and last experience of it myself. I bent down and touched the track. It was shaking hard, although it hadn't made a sound.

I have never been as frightened as I was at that moment, holding that live track. My whole body just stopped working. My legs felt like water. My mouth opened - I didn't open it, it opened by itself. I couldn't move, but I could hear and see and sense everything inside me and for miles around me. I thought of Ray Brower, and I thought that Vern and I would soon be joining him.

That thought unlocked my body. I jumped to my feet. At least, I suppose I jumped; to me it felt as if I was moving slowly up through five hundred feet of water.

I screamed, 'TRAIN!' and began to run.

Vern looked back over his shoulder. He saw my attempt at running and knew straight away that I wasn't joking. He began to run himself.

Far in front I could see Chris stepping off the bridge and on to solid ground. He was safe. I was glad for him, but I was also jealous as hell. I watched him drop to his knees and touch a track.

My left foot almost slipped, but I recovered and ran on. Now I was just behind Vern. We were more than halfway across, and for the first time I heard the train. It was coming from behind us, from the Castle Rock side of the river.

'Ooooooh, Jesus!' Vern screamed.

'Run, you pussy!' I shouted, and hit him on his back with my hand.

'I can't! I'll fall!'

'Run faster!'

'Gordie! I can't!'

'YOU CAN! RUN FASTER, PUKE-FACE!' I shouted at the top of my voice... and was I enjoying this?

The train was very loud now. I kept expecting the bridge to start shaking under my feet. When that happened the train would be right behind us.

GO FASTER, VERN! FAAASTER!'

'Oh God Gordie oh Gordie God ooooooh, heeeell!'

The noise of the train filled the air now. There was no other sound in the world. It tore the air and it was the sound of death. I could see Chris below us and to the right, and Teddy behind him. They were both mouthing a single word and the word was jump! But the train had taken all the blood out of the word, leaving only its shape in their mouths. The bridge began to shake as the train charged across it. We jumped.

Vern landed in the dust and the stones, and I landed beside him, almost on top of him. I never saw the train and I don't know if the engineer saw us. I clapped my hands over my ears and dug my face into the hot dirt as the train went by, metal screaming against metal, the air blowing over us. I had no wish to look at it. Before it had passed completely I felt a warm hand on my neck and I knew it was Chris's-

When it was gone - when I was sure it was gone - I lifted my head. Vern was still lying face down in the dirt. Chris was sitting between us, one hand on Vern's sweaty neck, the other still on mine.

When Vern finally sat up, shaking all over and wetting his lips.

Chris said, 'Maybe we should have those Cokes? What do you guys think? Could anybody use one besides me?'

We all thought we could use one.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Loser's Life

About a quarter of a mile further on, the tracks ran into the forest and the land ran down to a bog. The air was full of biting insects which were about the size of aeroplanes, but it was cool... wonderfully cool.

We sat in the shadows of the trees to drink our Cokes. We hadn't been there five minutes when Vern had to go off into the bushes, which caused a lot of joking when he came back.

'Train frighten you much, Vern?'

'No, man. I was going to go when we got across, anyway. I had to, you know.'

'Are you sure, Vern?'

'Come on, you guys. I did. Sincerely.'

Chris turned to me. 'What about you, Gordie? Were you frightened?'

'No way,' I said, and had a drink of my Coke.

'Sincerely?'

'Sincerely, man. I wasn't frightened at all.'

'No? You weren't frightened?' Teddy was looking at me carefully.

'No. I was a long way past fright - I was into terror.'

They laughed for a long time at that. Then we lay back, not joking any more,just drinking our Cokes and being quiet. My body felt warm and peaceful. I was alive and glad to be. I felt affectionate towards everyone and everything around me. It was a very special feeling.

After a while Chris stood up. 'Let's do some walking,' he said. It was still bright daylight and the sky was a hot, steely blue, but our shadows were beginning to grow longer. I remember that, when I was young, September days always seemed to end much too soon and catch me by surprise. It was as if something inside my heart expected it always to be June, with daylight hanging softly in the sky until almost half past nine. 'What time is it, Gordie?' Chris asked.

I looked at my watch and said, 'After five.'

'Yeah, let's go,' Teddy said. 'But let's make camp before dark so that we can see to get wood and stuff. I'm getting hungry, too.'

'We'll stop at half past six,' Chris promised. 'OK with you guys?'

It was. We started to walk again, along the stones beside the tracks. Soon the river was so far behind us that we couldn't even hear its sound. We were slapping insects off our backs and necks. Vern and Teddy were up in front, deep in conversation about TV shows. Chris was next to me, hands in his pockets, shirt slapping against his knees.

'I've got some Winstons,' he said. 'One each, for after supper.'

'Yeah? That's great.'

'That's when a cigarette tastes best,' Chris said. 'After supper.'

'Right.'

'We walked in silence for a while, and then he asked, 'Are you ready for school?'

'I guess so.' But who ever was ready? You got a little excited about going back and seeing your friends; you were curious about your new teachers and what they would be like. In a strange way you could even get excited about the long, boring lessons, because by the time the summer holidays were nearly over you sometimes got bored enough to believe you could learn something at school. But summer boredom was nothing like the school boredom that always started by the end of the second week, and by the beginning of the third week you were busy with the really important stuff: Could you hit Stinky Fiske in the back of the head with a paper bullet while the teacher was writing the capital cities of South America on the blackboard? Could you get a good loud noise off the surface of your desk if your hands were really sweaty? How many girls would let you feel their asses during lunch-hour? This is higher education, man.

'You know what, Gordie?' Chris went on. 'By next June it'll be all over between us.'

'What are you talking about? Why would that happen?'

'Because me and Teddy and Vern will be doing different courses from you. You'll be on the college courses, we'll be on the shop courses, making bird houses and pots and stuff like that. You'll meet a lot of new guys - clever guys, like you. That's just the way it goes, Gordie.'

'I'll meet a lot of pussies, you mean,' I said.

He held my arm. 'No, man. Don't say that. Don't even think that. You know how you tell us stories sometimes? You've got a million stories inside you, and you can just sit there and tell one to us. Vern and Teddy may not always understand your stories. But those guys on the college courses will understand them.'

'It doesn't matter about the stories. I'm not taking courses with a lot of pussies.'

'If you don't, you're a fool.'

'Why is it foolish to want to be with your friends?'

He looked at me thoughtfully, as if deciding whether to tell me something. We had slowed down; Vern and Teddy were almost half a mile in front. The sun, which was lower now, came at us through the trees overhead in broken columns of light and turned everything gold.

'It's foolish if your friends can drag you down,' Chris said finally. 'I know about you and your parents. They don't care about you. Your big brother was the one they cared about. It's like my dad. It was when Dave went to prison that he started hitting us and all. Your dad doesn't hit you, but maybe that's even worse. He's put you to sleep. If you told him you were joining the shop course, do you know what he'd do? He'd turn to the next page in his newspaper and say, "That's nice, Gordon. Would you ask your mother what's for dinner?" And don't try to tell me I'm wrong. I've met him.'

I didn't try to tell him he was wrong. It's a bit frightening to find out that someone else, even a friend, knows just how things are with you.

'You're still young, Gordie -'

'Thanks, Dad.'

'I wish I was your dad,' he said angrily. 'If I was, you wouldn't talk about taking stupid shop courses. It's as if God gave you something-all those stories - and said, "Here you are. Try not to lose it." But children lose everything unless somebody is there to help them, and if your parents are too stupid to do it, maybe I ought to.'

He looked like he was expecting me to try to hit him. His face was unhappy in the late afternoon light. He had broken the unwritten rule. You could say what you liked to a guy about himself, but never say a bad word about his parents.

'If you stay with us just because you don't want to lose the gang,' Chris went on, 'you'll turn into just another guy with no good use for his brains, except to make clever, cruel remarks about other people. You'll never escape Castle Rock. You'll think it's important to have the right kind of car and then the right girl. And then you'll get married and work in the factory or some shoe shop for ever. Is that what you want?'

Chris Chambers was twelve when he said all that to me, but something in his face as he spoke was older, ageless. It was as if he had lived that whole life already, and his words made me frightened. He understood the loser's life so well. He seemed to know what I was thinking.

'I know what people think of my family in this town. Nobody even asked me if I took the milk-money that time.'

'Did you take it?' I asked. I had never asked him before, and if you had told me I ever would I'd have called you crazy. The words came out like a dry bullet:

'Yeah,' he said tiredly. 'Yeah, I took it.' He was silent for a moment. 'You knew I took it, Teddy knew, everybody knew. Even Vern knew, I think.'

I started to deny it and then closed my mouth. He was right. I had argued with my parents that a person was innocent until proved guilty... but deep inside I had known the truth.

'Then maybe I was sorry and tried to give it back,' Chris said.

I stared at him. 'You tried to give it back?'

'Maybe, I said. Just maybe. And maybe I took it to old Mrs Simons and told her, and gave her all the money; and maybe I wasn't allowed back at school for two weeks anyway, because the money still never appeared; and maybe the next week Mrs Simons had this new skirt on when she came to school.'

I stared at Chris, speechless with horror. He smiled at me, but it was a tight, terrible smile which never touched his eyes.

'Just maybe,' he said, but I remembered the new skirt.

'Chris, how much was that money?'

'Almost seven dollars.'

'Christ,' I whispered.

'But if I stole the money and then Mrs Simons stole it from me, and if I told anyone, what do you think would happen? Who would believe me? Me, Chris Chambers. Younger brother of Dave Chambers and Eyeball Chambers.'

'No one would believe it,' I whispered. 'Jesus, Chris!'

'I never thought that a teacher... Oh, hell. Who cares, anyway? Why am I even talking about it?' He wiped an arm angrily across his eyes and I realized he was almost crying.

'Chris,' I said, 'why don't you go into the college courses? You're clever enough.'

'The teachers decide all that in the school office. All they care about is whether you've behaved yourself in school and what the town thinks of your family. They don't want you to infect their top college-course pupils, the ones from the big houses on the hill. I don't know if I could do it, but I might try, because I want to get out of Castle Rock and go to college and never see my father or my brothers again. I want to go somewhere where nobody knows me and people don't have bad ideas about me before I've even done anything. But I don't know if I can do it.'

'Why not?'

'People. People drag you down.'

'Who?' I asked, thinking he must mean the teachers, or his brother Eyeball, or maybe his parents.

But he said, 'Your friends drag you down, Gordie. Don't you know that?' He pointed at Vern and Teddy, who were standing and waiting for us to catch up. They were laughing about something. 'Your friends do. They're like drowning guys who are holding on to your legs. You can't save them. You can only drown with them.'

'Come on, guys,' Vern shouted. 'Don't be so slow!'

'Yes, coming,' Chris called, and before I could say anything else he began to run, but he caught up to them before I could catch up to him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Darkness in the Forest

We went another mile and then decided to camp for the night. There was still some daylight left, but nobody really wanted to use it. We were exhausted from what had happened at the dump and on the bridge, but it was more than that. We were in Harlow now, in the forest. Somewhere was a dead child, who probably had a broken body and was covered with flies. Nobody wanted to get too close to him with night approaching. By stopping here, we thought there had to be at least ten miles between us and him, and of course all four of us knew there were no such things as ghosts, but ten miles seemed about far enough if we were wrong.

Vern, Chris and Teddy gathered wood and started a campfire. Chris laid it on stones and made a clear space around it because the forest was very dry and he didn't want to take any risks. While they were doing that, I sharpened some green sticks and pushed lumps of hamburger meat on to them. When the flames were low and the fire was good and hot, we cooked the meat, but we were too hungry to wait. We pulled the lumps off their sticks early. They were black on the outside, red on the inside and completely delicious.

Afterwards Chris opened his backpack. He took out a packet of cigarettes and gave us one each. We lay back on the ground or against trees and smoked our cigarettes, as if we were grown men. We were feeling good.

'There's nothing like a smoke after a meal,' Teddy said.

'Absolutely,' Vern agreed.

We laid our blankets out on the ground and lay down on them. Then for about an hour we fed the fire and talked - the kind of talk you can never quite remember when you get past fifteen and discover girls. We talked about fishing and sport, and about the summer that was now ending. Teddy told about the time he had been at White's Beach in Brunswick and some guy had hit his head while diving and had almost drowned. We had a long discussion about our teachers at school.

We didn't talk about Ray Brower, but I was thinking about him. There's something horrible about the way darkness comes to the forest. There are no car lights to make it softer or less sudden; there are no mothers' voices calling for their children to come in now. If you're used to the town, the coming of the dark in the forest seems unnatural.

And as I thought about the body of Ray Brower, I didn't feel frightened and wonder whether he would suddenly appear as a ghost. Unexpectedly I felt pity for him, lying so alone in the dark. If something wanted to eat him, it would. His mother wasn't here to stop it and neither was his father, nor any of his friends, nor Jesus Christ. He was dead and he was all alone, and I realized that if I didn't stop thinking about it I was going to cry.

So I told the others a Le Dio story; Le Dio is a soldier I invented who had a lot of adventures in the Second World War. It wasn't a very good one. And when it ended, as the Le Dio stories usually did, with a single American soldier coughing out a dying promise of his love for America and for a girl back home, it was not his face I saw in my mind's eye but the face of a much younger boy, already dead, his eyes closed, blood running from the left corner of his mouth. And behind him, instead of war-scarred France, I saw only dark forest and the railway tracks dark at the top of a bank against the starry sky.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A Dream of Deep Water

I woke up in the middle of the night. I didn't know where I was, and I wondered why it was so cold in my bedroom and who had left the windows open.

Then I realized that this wasn't my room. This was somewhere else. And someone had his arms wrapped around me, while someone else was kneeling beside me, head turned as if listening to something.

'What's happening?' I asked in puzzlement. The thing holding me made a noise. It sounded like Vern. That made me wake up properly and remember where I was. But what was everybody doing awake in the middle of the night? I had been asleep for some hours.

'Don't let it get me,' Vern said. 'I promise I'll be good.'

I sat up, frightened. 'Chris?'

'Shut up, Vern,' Chris said. He was the one next to me, listening. 'It's nothing.'

'Oh, yes it is,' Teddy said heavily. 'It's something.' What is?' I asked. As if to answer my question, a long and hollow team rose from the forest. It was the sort of scream you might expect from a woman who was dying in extreme pain and extreme fear.

'Oh, Jesus,' Vern whispered, his voice high and filled with tears. He tightened his hold on me, making it hard for me to breathe and adding to my own terror. I threw him loose, but he came straight back, like a young dog which can't think of anywhere else to go.

'It's Brower,' Teddy whispered. 'His ghost is out walking in the forest.'

'Oh, God!' Vern shouted. 'I promise I won't take any more sexy magazines from the shops. I promise to eat my vegetables. I won't swear. I won't...'

'Shut up, Vern,' Chris said. But Vern's voice only dropped back to a whisper. Chris sounded strong, but underneath I could hear iff. I wondered if the hair was standing up on his neck as it was on mine.

'It's a bird, isn't it?' I asked Chris.

'No. At least I don't think it is. I think it's a wild cat. My dad says they scream like hell at certain times of the year. It sounds like a woman, doesn't it?'

'Yes,' I said.

'But no woman could scream that loud,' Chris said... and then added helplessly, 'Could she, Gordie?'

'It's his ghost,' Teddy whispered again. 'I'm going to go and look for it.'

I don't think he was serious, but we took no chances. When he started to get up, Chris and I pulled him back down.

'Let me go, you asses!' Teddy shouted. 'If I say I want to go and look for it, then I'm going to go and look for it! I want to see it! I want to see the ghost! I -'

The wild cry rose into the night again, cutting the air like a knife and freezing us with our hands on Teddy. The scream climbed impossibly high, hung there for a moment and then slid down to the lowest imaginable sound. This was followed by a burst of what sounded like mad laughter... and then there was silence again.

'Jesus Christ,' Teddy whispered, and he talked no more of going into the forest to see what was making that screaming noise. All four of us stayed close together and I thought of running. I doubt I was the only one. If we had been camping in Vern's field -where our parents thought we were - we probably would have run. But Castle Rock was too far, and the thought of trying to run across that bridge in the dark made my blood freeze. Running deeper into Harlow and closer to the body of Ray Brower was equally unthinkable. We had nowhere to go. If there was a ghost out there, and if it wanted us, it would probably get us.

Chris suggested that we keep guard and everyone was agreeable to that. We spun coins to see who would go first. It was Vern, and I was last. Vern sat by the camp-fire while the rest of us lay down again, close to one another, like sheep.

I was sure that sleep would be impossible, but I did sleep - a light, uneasy sleep that was as near to being awake as it was to being asleep. My half-sleeping dreams were filled with wild cries which were possibly real or possibly imagined. I saw - or thought I saw - something white and shapeless float through the trees.

At last I slipped into something I knew was a dream. Chris and I were swimming at White's Beach, a lake in Brunswick. It was where Teddy had seen the boy hit his head and almost drown. In my dream we were out in deep water, swimming lazily along, with a hot July sun up in the sky. From behind us came cries and shouts of laughter. On the sandy beach, people lay face down on blankets, and little children played with plastic buckets at the edge of the water or sat happily pouring sand into their hair. Teenagers formed grinning groups and the boys watched the girls walk endlessly up and down in twos and threes, never alone, the secret places of their bodies wrapped in swimsuits.

Mrs Cote, our English teacher from school, floated past us on a rubber boat. She was lying on her back, dressed in her usual September-to-june uniform of a grey suit.

'Be careful boys,' she said. 'If you're not good I'll hit you so hard that you'll go blind. Now, Mr Chambers, we'll hear the poem "Mending Wall", please.'

'I tried to give the money back,' Chris said. 'Mrs Simons said OK, but she took it! Do you hear me? She took it! Now what are you going to do about it? Are you going to hit her until she's blind?'

'"Mending Wall", Mr Chambers, if you please.'

Chris threw me a desperate look, as if to say 'Didn't I tell you it would be like this? ' and then began: 'Something there is that doesn't love a wall, that sends the -' And then his head went under, his mouth filling with water in the middle of repeating the poem.

He broke through the surface, crying, 'Help me, Gordie! Help me!'

Then he was dragged under again. Looking into the clear water, I could see two bare swollen bodies holding his ankles. One was Vern and the other was Teddy, and their open eyes were empty and white. Chris's head broke out of the water again. He reached one hand towards me and out of his mouth came a screaming, womanish cry that rose and rose in the hot, sunny, summer air. I looked wildly towards the beach, but nobody had heard. Chris's scream was cut off as the bodies pulled him under the water again. As they dragged him down to black water, I could see his eyes turned up to me and his hands reaching out helplessly. But instead of diving down and trying to save him, I swam madly for the shore, or at least to a place where the water would not be over my head. Before I could get there - before I could even get close - I felt a soft, rotten hand wrap itself firmly around my leg and begin to pull. A scream started to rise in my chest... but before it came out, the dream passed into reality. There was Teddy with his hand on my leg. He was shaking me awake. It was my turn to keep guard.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Deer

The others slept heavily through the rest of the night. I was sometimes awake and sometimes half asleep. The night was far from silent, with the cries of birds and mice and insects; but there were no more screams.

Finally I came awake and realized that something was different. It took a moment or two to know what it was: although the moon was down, I could see my hands resting on my jeans. My watch said quarter to five. It was dawn.

I stood and walked a few yards into the forest. I stretched and began to feel the fear of the night before slide away. It was a good feeling.

I climbed up the bank to the railway tracks and sat on one of the tracks, spinning and catching stones. I was in no hurry to wake the others. The new day felt too good to share.

I don't know how long I sat there, watching dawn turn to full morning, watching the sky change from purple to blue. I was about to get up when I looked to my right and saw a deer standing between the tracks not ten yards from me.

My heart flew up into my throat. I didn't move. I couldn't move. Her eyes weren't brown, but a dark, dusty black. She looked calmly at me, her head held a little low in what looked like curiosity, seeing a boy with his hair standing up from sleep in jeans and brown shirt, sitting there on the tracks. What I was seeing was a gift, given with a kind of terrible carelessness.

We looked at each other for a long time ... I think it was a long time. Then she turned and walked off to the other side of the tracks. She found grass and began to eat. I couldn't believe it. She hadn't gone away; she had begun to eat. She didn't look back at me and didn't need to: I was frozen solid.

Then the tracks started to shake under my body and seconds later the deer's head came up and turned back towards Castle Rock. She stood there for a moment and then she was gone in three leaps, disappearing into the forest with no sound except one dry branch that cracked like a gun.

I sat and looked at the place where she had been until the actual sound of the train came through the stillness. Then I slid back down the bank to where the others were sleeping.

The train woke them up. They yawned and scratched. There was some nervous talk about the 'screaming ghost', as Chris called it, but not as much as you might imagine. In daylight it seemed more foolish than interesting - almost embarrassing. Best forgotten.

I nearly told them about the deer, but in the end I didn't. That was one thing I kept to myself. I've never spoken or written about it until just now, today. And I have to tell you that it seems less important when it is written down. But for me it was the best part of that trip, the cleanest part, and it was a moment I found myself returning to, almost helplessly, when there was trouble in my life: my first day in the forest in Vietnam, when this guy walked up with his hand over his nose, and he took his hand away and there was no nose there, because a bullet had taken if off; the time the doctor told us that our son might have a brain infection; the long, crazy weeks before my mother died. I would find my thoughts turning back to that morning. But the most important things are the hardest to say. It's hard to make strangers care about the good things in life.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Leeches

The tracks now bent south-west and ran through thick forest. "We ate a breakfast of wild fruit. Vern wished aloud for a couple of filed eggs with bacon on the side.

This was the last day of the heat and I think it was the worst of all. By nine o'clock the sky was a pale steel colour that made you feel hotter just from looking at it. The sweat ran from our chests and backs, and washed away some of the dirt. Insects were a constant annoyance. We knew we still had eight or ten miles to walk, but the thing pulled us towards itself and kept us walking fast, even in that heat. We were all crazy to see that boy's body - I can't say it any more simply or honestly than that. We didn't know whether it was going to be harmless or horrible, but we wanted to see it.

It was about half past nine when Teddy and Chris saw water. They shouted to Vern and me, and we ran over to where they were standing. There was a deep pool, which was fed by a little stream, which continued under the tracks.

'Do you think it's deep enough to swim in?' Vern asked, looking hungrily at the water.

'There's only one way to find out,' Teddy said.

'Who goes first?' I asked.

'Me!' Chris said. He went running down the bank, kicking off his shoes and untying his shirt from around his waist as he went. He pushed his trousers down with his thumbs, pulled off his socks and made a shallow dive. He came up shaking his head to get his wet hair out of his eyes. 'It's great!' he shouted.

'How deep is it?' Teddy called back. He had never learned to swim.

Chris stood up in the water and his shoulders broke the surface. I saw something grey on one of them. I decided it was a piece of mud and didn't think any more about it. If I had looked more closely I could have saved myself a lot of bad dreams later on. 'Come on in, you pussies!' Chris called.

We all got undressed. Vern was in next, then me. The water was clean and cool. I swam across to Chris, loving the feel of having nothing on except water. I stood up and we grinned in each other's faces.

'Great!' We both said it at exactly the same moment.

We played around in the water for almost half an hour before we realized that the pool was full of leeches. We were diving, swimming between each other's legs, pushing one another beneath the surface of the water. Then Vern swam into the shallower part, went under and stood on his hands. When his legs were up in the air I saw that they were covered in blackish-grey lumps, just like the one I had seen on Chris's shoulder. They were big leeches.

Chris's mouth dropped open and I felt all the blood in my body freeze. Teddy screamed and his face went pale. Then all three of us made our way as fast as we could for the side. I know more about leeches now than I did then, but, although I know they are mostly harmless, I feel the same horror about them now as I have felt ever since that day in the pool. You don't feel them come on to your body. If you don't happen to see them, they'll go on feeding until their swollen bodies fall off you or they actually burst.

We pulled ourselves up on to the bank and Teddy started screaming as he looked down at himself. He started to pull the leeches off his bare body, still screaming.

Vern broke the water and looked at us in puzzlement. 'What the hell's wrong with him?'

'Leeches!' Teddy screamed, pulling two off his legs and throwing them as far as he could.

'OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod!' Vern cried. He swam over to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out.

I was still feeling cold; the heat of the day was interrupted. I kept telling myself not to scream, not to be a pussy. I picked half a dozen off my arms and several more off my chest.

Chris turned his back to me. 'Gordie? Are there any more? Take them off if there are, Gordie, please.' There were more - five or six of them, running down his back like horrible black buttons. I pulled their soft, boneless bodies off him.

I was starting to feel a little better. I brushed my hair away from my ears... and that's when I felt the big one. It had gone down inside my ear, it seemed, so that only its back was still outside, and that's the part I had touched. I tried to get hold of it, but I couldn't see it. I held on to it tightly and pulled. It burst in my fingers as I pulled it off, and blood - my blood - ran down the side of my face and into my ear in a warm stream. I couldn't stop the tears coming then. I washed my ear and got dressed.

Vern ran up to me, still bare. 'Are they off me, Gordie? Have they all gone?'

He spun in front of me like a crazy dancer. I nodded that they were and kept on crying for a while. Finally the tears began to slow down.

When we were all dressed we just stood there looking at one another for a moment, and then we began to climb the bank up to the tracks. I looked back at the burst leeches lying on top of the flattened grass where we had danced and screamed them off our bodies.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Short Shadows, Dusty Shoes

We walked on, and were beginning to think that we were getting close. But we weren't as close as we thought. We knew we wanted to reach the place where the Back Harlow Road met the tracks, we knew that the Back Harlow Road ran by the Royal River, and we knew the Royal River was only ten miles from Castle River. But those ten miles were measured in a straight line, and the railway tracks made a long, slight curve around some hills called The Bluffs. If we had looked at a map we'd have seen that curve easily, and we'd have realized that it was more like sixteen miles between the two rivers, walking along the tracks. And there was nowhere else to walk.

Chris began to suspect the truth when midday had come and gone and the Royal still hadn't appeared. We stopped while he climbed a tall tree and looked round. He came down and told us it was going to be at least four in the afternoon before we reached the Royal, if we moved fast.

'Jesus!' Teddy swore. 'What are we going to do now?'

We looked into each other's sweaty faces. We were hungry and tired. The big adventure had turned into hard work. We were dirty and sometimes frightened. By now our parents would be wondering where we were, and the police might even be looking for us if Milo Pressman or the engineer on the train crossing the bridge had told them anything. We had been planning to hitchhike back to Castle Rock, but four o'clock was just three hours from dark and nobody picks up four boys in a back country road after dark.

Finally Chris said, 'It's still closer if we carry on. Let's go.'

He turned and started to walk along the tracks in his dusty shoes, head down, his shadow short at his feet. A few seconds later the rest of us followed, one after another.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A Serious Matter

I have sometimes wondered why we decided to walk from Castle Rock to Harlow on the railway tracks. I imagine a conversation between the four of us.

'We could easily hitchhike up Route 7,' I say, 'until it joins the Back Harlow Road. With a little luck we'll find Ray Brower only a few hours after we leave.'

'That's too easy, man' says Teddy, and Vern adds, 'Don't be such a pussy, Gordie. It will really be something to walk along the tracks.' Chris only smiles.

So we didn't take the shorter way, the easier way. They say the effect of events can grow larger and larger as the years pass, so who knows? If we hadn't walked along the tracks maybe Chris and Teddy and Vern would still be alive today. No, they didn't die in the forest or on the railway tracks. No one dies in this story except some leeches and Ray Brower, and he was dead before the story started, actually. But it is true that of the four of us who spun coins to see who would go down to the Florida Market to get food, only the one who went is still alive, at the ripe old age of thirty- four.

Maybe we knew, or half knew, that going to see a dead body was a big thing, as big as sleeping with a girl for the first time. And the big things in life should never be easy; they should be marked in some way as important. You don't hitchhike to a thing like that, perhaps. So if walking along the tracks turned out to be harder than we had expected, maybe we thought that was right. Events had turned our trip into what we had always suspected it was: a serious matter.

What we didn't know as we walked around The Bluffs was that Billy Tessio, Charlie Hogan, Jack Mudgett, Norman 'Fuzzy' Brackowicz, Vince Desjardins, Chris's older brother Eyeball and Ace Merrill himself were all on their way to take a look at the body themselves. They were climbing into Ace's black 1952 Ford and Vince's pink 1954 Studebaker even as we started on the last part of our trip.

Billy and Charlie had managed to keep their enormous secret for just about twenty-four hours. Then Charlie told Ace while they were drinking at the bar, and Billy told Jack Mudgett while they were fishing from the Boom Road Bridge. Both Ace and Jack had sworn to keep the secret - and that was how everyone in their gang knew about it by midday.

Fuzzy suggested that they could all become heroes by 'finding' the body. They could tell the police they had gone to the Royal River to fish and had found the body instead.

They were driving fast up the road from Castle Rock to the Back Harlow area just as we finally started to get close.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Body

Clouds began to gather in the sky around two o'clock, but at first none of us thought it would rain. After all, it hadn't rained since the early days of July. But they kept building up to the south of us in great purple columns, and they began to move slowly in our direction.

Finally we had to accept that it was going to rain. In the hour between two and three the quality of the day's light began to change. It was just as hot as before, but we knew. The birds knew as well; they seemed to appear from nowhere and fill the sky with their cries. The light grew less definite and our shadows became less clear. The sun had begun to sail in and out of the thickening clouds, and the southern sky turned brown. We watched the enormous thunderclouds come closer and threaten the land. Sometimes lightning flashed within the clouds and changed their purplish colour to a light grey. Then we saw lightning flash down from the nearest cloud. It was followed by a long, shaking burst of thunder.

We complained a bit about how wet we were going to get, but of course we were looking forward to it. It would be cool... and there would be no leeches in this water.

Around half past three we saw running water through a break in the trees.

'That's it!' Chris shouted happily. 'That's the Royal!'

We began to walk faster. The storm was getting close now. The air began to move and the temperature dropped suddenly I looked down and saw that my shadow had completely disappeared.

We were walking in pairs again, two on either side of the tracks, so that we could look down both sides of the railway bank. My mouth was dry with nervousness. The sun finally sailed behind the clouds and didn't reappear. The light became dull. We could smell the river clearly - or perhaps it was the smell of the rain in the air.

A sudden impossible flash of lightning lit the area, making me cry out and cover my eyes. I heard the tearing fall of some big tree about sixty yards away. The crack of thunder which followed made me stop for a second in fear. I wanted to be at home reading a good book in a safe place.

'Jesus!' Vern screamed in a high voice. 'Look at that!'

I looked up in the direction Vern was pointing and saw a blue-white fireball rolling fast up the left track, sounding exactly like an angry cat. It hurried past us as we turned in amazement to watch it go. Twenty feet beyond us it suddenly burst and disappeared.

'What am I doing here?' Teddy said.

'Man!' Chris said happily. 'It is going to rain like it's never rained before!'

But I agreed with Teddy. The sky was alarming. Lightning flashed down again and this time there was no pause before the following thunder.

My ears were still ringing from the thunder when Vern began to shout: 'THERE! THERE HE IS! I SEE HIM!'

I can see Vern still, if I want to. All I have to do is sit back for a minute and close my eyes. He's standing there on the left of the tracks, one hand protecting his eyes from the lightning that has just come down, the other stretched out and pointing.

We ran up beside him and looked. I was thinking to myself, Vern's just imagining it, that's all. But he wasn't, although for a second I wished he was. In that moment I knew I never wanted to see a dead body, not even of a tiny animal.

At the bottom of the bank was a boggy, smelly mess of bushes and appearing out of the bushes was a single, pale, white hand.

Did any of us breathe? I didn't.

The wind was blowing quite strongly at times now, and was coming at us from no particular direction. I hardly noticed. Why couldn't we have seen the whole body instead of just that one hand, horribly white, the fingers resting upside down on the ground? That hand told us the truth of the whole matter. It made us know that death was real. The memory of that hand comes back to me every time I hear or read of some tragic disaster. Somewhere, joined to that hand, was the rest of Ray Brower.

Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked after each flash of lightning.

'Jesus!' Chris whispered.

Vern's tongue was running over his lips as if he had just tasted something new and different - something which excited him and disgusted him at the same time.

Teddy only stood and looked. The wind blew his dirty hair first away from his ears and then back over them. His face was totally blank.

There were black insects walking on the hand.

A great whispering noise began to rise in the forest on both sides of the tracks, as if the forest had just noticed we were there and was commenting on it. The rain had started.

Enormous drops of rain fell for five seconds and then stopped. There was a pause, and then the storm really started. Immediately we were all completely wet. The whispering sound changed; now it sounded like millions of hammers. It was as if the forest was blaming us for our discovery.

Chris jumped over the side of the bank and I followed. Vern and Teddy were close behind us, but Chris and I were the first to reach the body of Ray Brower. He was face down. Chris looked into my eyes. I nodded slightly, as if he had spoken aloud.

I think he was down here and fairly undamaged instead of up there between the tracks and completely knocked out of shape because he was trying to get out of the way when the train hit him. He had landed with his head towards the tracks, arms over his head like someone about to dive. He had landed in boggy ground which was rapidly filling with water. His hair was dark red. There was blood in it, but not a lot - not enough to make you feel sick. The insects were worse. He was wearing a dark green T-shirt and blue jeans. His feet were bare and a few feet behind him, caught in a bush, I saw a pair of dirty shoes. For a moment I was puzzled - why was he here and his shoes there? Then I realized, and the realization was like a heavy blow to the stomach. My wife, my children, my friends - they all think that having an imagination like mine must be quite nice: not only do I make a lot of money from it, but I can also see films in my mind when I want to. But sometimes my imagination turns out to have long, sharp, cruel teeth. You see things you would prefer not to see, things that keep you awake all night. I saw one of those things then; I saw it clearly and with absolute certainty. He was knocked clean out of his shoes. The train had knocked him out of his shoes just as it had knocked the life out of his body.

That was what finally made me realize that the guy was dead. He wasn't ill, he wasn't sleeping. He wasn't going to get up in the morning any more, or eat too many apples, or worry about school exams. He was dead, completely dead. He wasn't going to go out with his friends in the spring to collect bottles uncovered by the departing snow. He wasn't going to get into fights in the playground. He wasn't going to pull a single girl's hair. He was everything like wasn't, can't, don't, shouldn't, wouldn't, couldn't. He was one big not. He was dead. I could go on all day and not explain the distance between his bare feet on the ground and his dirty shoes hanging on the bush. It was about three feet, it was millions and millions of miles. He was disconnected from his shoes and there was no hope of reconnection. He was dead.

We turned him face up into the pouring rain, the lightning, the steady crack of thunder.

There were insects all over his face and neck. They ran in and out of the round collar of his T-shirt. His eyes were open but horribly wrong: one was rolled back so far that we could see only white, the other stared straight up into the storm. There was some dried blood around his mouth and on his chin, and a wound on the right side of his face. Still, I thought, he didn't look too bad. I had once walked into a door my brother Dennis was pushing open, and I had looked worse than this.

An insect came out of his mouth, walked across his cheek, stepped on to the leaf of a plant and was gone.

'Did you see that?' Teddy asked in a high, strange voice. 'I bet he's full of insects! I bet his brains are -'

'Shut up, Teddy,' Chris said.

Lightning lit up his one good eye. You could almost believe he was glad to see us, boys his own age. His body was swollen and there was the slight smell of some gas.

I turned away. I was sure I was going to be sick, but my stomach was dry and steady. I pushed two fingers down my throat, trying to make myself puke, wanting to, needing to. But nothing happened.

The noise of the rain and the thunder had completely covered the sound of cars approaching along the Back Harlow Road, which lay a few yards beyond this boggy area. It also covered the sound of them pushing through the trees and the bushes. The first we knew of them was Ace Merrill's voice calling above the noise of the storm, saying: 'What have we got here?'

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Ace Merrill

We all jumped in surprise and Vern cried out. He admitted later that he thought, just for a second, that the voice had come from the dead boy.

On the far side of the boggy area, where the forest started again and hid the end of the road, Ace Merrill and Eyeball Chambers stood together.

'Hell!' Eyeball said. 'That's my little brother!'

Chris was staring at Eyeball with his mouth open. His wet shirt was still tied around his waist. His backpack, darker green now because of the rain, was hanging against his bare back.

'You go away, Rich,' he said. 'We found him.'

'It doesn't matter. We're going to report him.'

'No, you're not,' I said. I was suddenly angry with them. I was determined that this one time the older guys weren't going to just take something from the younger ones. They had come in cars. I think that's what made me angriest. After all our hard work, they had come in cars. 'There are four of us, Eyeball.'

In answer, Vince Desjardins, Charlie Hogan and Vern's brother Billy stepped through the trees behind Ace and Eyeball, and they were followed by Jack Mudgett and Fuzzy Brackowicz.

'Here we all are,' Ace said, grinning. 'So you just -'

'VERN!' Billy Tessio cried in a terrible, accusing voice. 'You little worm! You were under the front of the house. You heard us talking!'

Vern looked frightened.

Charlie Hogan supported Billy. 'I ought to beat the puke out of you!'

'Yeah? Come on, then,' Teddy suddenly shouted. His eyes were shining crazily behind his rain-washed glasses. 'Come on, then. We'll fight you for the body. Come on, you big men.'

Billy and Charlie stepped forward, but Ace put a hand on their shoulders. 'Now listen, you guys,' he said patiently, as if we weren't standing in a rainstorm. 'There are more of us than there are of you. We're bigger. We'll give you one chance to disappear. I don't care where. Just leave.'

Eyeball laughed and Fuzzy slapped Ace on the back.

'Because we're taking him.' Ace smiled gently. 'If you go, we'll take him. If you stay, we'll hurt you and then take him. Anyway, Charlie and Billy found him first.'

'They were pussies!' Teddy shouted back. 'Vern told us about it.'

They were too frightened to do anything about it.' He copied Charlie Hogan's voice.' "It's a pity we stole that car! It's a pity we went to the Back Harlow Road! Oh, Billy, what are we going to do? Oh, Billy, I think I just puked on my shoes!"'

Charlie started forward again. I looked wildly at Ray Brower. He stared calmly up into the rain with his one eye. There was still thunder, but the rain was getting lighter.

'What do you say, Gordie?' Ace asked. He was holding Charlie lightly by the arm. 'You must have at least some of your brother's sense. Tell these guys to go away. I'll let Charlie beat up the one with glasses a bit, but that's all. What do you say?'

He was wrong to mention Denny. I had wanted to explain that we had really found the body first, since Charlie and Billy hadn't been interested. I wanted to tell him about the train on the bridge; about Milo Pressman and his fearless but stupid dog; about the leeches. I wanted to say: come on, Ace, be fair. But he had to mention Denny, and instead of a reasonable argument, what I heard coming out of my mouth was certain death: 'Go to hell, Ace,' I said.

Ace's mouth formed a perfect O of surprise. Everyone, on both sides of the bog, stared at me in amazement.

Then Teddy screamed happily, 'That's telling him, Gordie! Yeah, man!'

I stood still, unable to believe what I had done. I was like an actor on stage who has just spoken the wrong words. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Chris was digging in the bottom of his backpack, but I didn't immediately understand.

'OK,' Ace said softly. 'Let's get them. Don't hurt anyone except the Lachance boy. I'm going to break both his arms.' And he meant it.

They started to walk towards us through the rain. Jackie Mudgett took a knife out of his pocket. Vern and Teddy dropped into fighting positions on either side of me. Teddy did so eagerly, Vern with a desperate look on his face.

Ace and his gang moved towards us in a line through the mud. The body of Ray Brower lay at our feet. I got ready to fight... and that was when Chris used the gun he had taken from his father's desk.

KA-BLAM!

God, what a wonderful sound that was! Charlie Hogan jumped up into the air. Ace Merrill, who had been staring straight at me, turned round and looked at Chris. His mouth made that O again. Eyeball looked amazed.

'Chris that's Daddy's gun,' he said. 'He's really going to hurt you for that.'

'That's nothing compared to what you'll get,' Chris said. His face was horribly pale and his eyes flashed. 'You all know Charlie and Billy didn't want to come at first. We wouldn't have walked all the way out here if they were going to come. They just went somewhere and puked the story up and let Ace Merrill do all the thinking.' His voice rose to a scream. 'But you aren't going to get him, do you hear me?'

'Now listen,' Ace said. 'You'd better put that down before you shoot your foot off. You haven't got the courage to shoot a mouse.' He began to walk forward again, smiling the gentle smile as he came. 'I'm going to make you eat that gun.'

'Ace, if you don't stand still, I'm going to shoot you, I swear to God.'

'You'll go to jail,' Ace said. He continued to advance. He was still smiling. The rest of us were frozen, watching and waiting. Ace didn't think a twelve-year-old boy would shoot him; I thought he was wrong. I thought Chris would shoot Ace before he would let Ace take his father's gun away from him. In those few seconds I was sure there was going to be bad trouble, the worst I'd ever known. Killing trouble, maybe. And all about who would report finding a dead body.

Chris said softly, with great regret, 'Where do you want it, Ace? Arm or leg? I can't decide. You decide for me.'

And Ace stopped.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Hailstones

His face fell and I saw sudden terror in it. It wasn't Chris's words, I think, it was the way he spoke them - the real regret that things were going to go from bad to worse.

Ace controlled himself. 'All right,' he said softly, speaking to Chris. 'But you know what's going to happen to you, don't you?'

'No, I don't,' Chris said.

'You little worm!' Eyeball said loudly. 'You're going to end up in hospital.'

'Kiss my ass,' Chris told him.

With an angry cry Eyeball started forward, and Chris put a bullet into the water about ten feet in front of him. Eyeball jumped back, cursing.

'OK,' Ace said. 'Now what?'

'Now you guys are going to get back into your cars and go back to Castle Rock. After that, I don't care. But you aren't getting him,' He touched Ray Brower lightly with his foot. 'Do you understand?'

'But we'll get you,' Ace said. He was starting to smile again. 'Don't you know that? We'll hurt you. Sincerely. I can't believe you don't know that.'

'Oh, why don't you go home and...'

Then the storm came back and the sound drowned out his words. This time the storm was even stronger; and this time it was hail instead of rain. The hailstones were enormous, and the sound they made when they hit the leaves and the trees was unbelievably loud. Stones began to hit my shoulders; it felt as if some evil creature was throwing them, intending to hurt. But the hailstones also began to hit Ray Brower's face with an awful sound, as if they were sinking into him.

Vern gave in first. With a scream he ran up the bank. Teddy waited only a minute, then followed Vern, his hands held up over his head. On the other side Vince Desjardins disappeared back under the cover of some trees and Fuzzy Brackowicz soon joined him. But the rest of them stayed where they were and Ace began to grin again.

'Stay with me, Gordie,' Chris said in a low, shaky voice, 'Stay with me, man.'

'I'm here.'

'Go away now,' Chris said to Ace, and he was able by some magic to get the shaking out of his voice. He sounded as if he was giving instructions to a stupid child.

'We'll get you,' Ace said. 'We won't forget this.'

'OK,' Chris said. 'That's another day.'

'We're going to enjoy getting you, Chambers. We'll -'

'Get out of here!' Chris suddenly screamed, and pointed the gun. Ace stepped back.

He looked threateningly at Chris for a moment longer, nodded, then turned round. 'Come on' he said to the others. He looked back over his shoulder at Chris and me once more. 'We'll see you later.'

They went back into the trees between the bog and the road. Chris and I stood perfectly still, in spite of the hail which was so hard that it was making our skin red and which was piling up all around us like snow. We stood and listened until we heard the sound of the engines of two cars.

Chris went and checked that they were really gone. When he came back he said, 'We did it.' I was shaking all over.

We looked at each other warmly for a second and then looked down together. A nasty thrill of fear shot through me and the sound of Chris moving his feet let me know that he too had seen it. Ray Brower's eyes had become wide and white, as if he was staring blindly. A second later I understood what had happened, but understanding didn't make the horror less. His eyes had filled up with round, white hailstones. Now water was running down his cheeks as if he was crying. Chris and I just looked at each other helplessly.

Branches cracked behind us. I spun round, sure that Ace and the others were coming back, but it was Vern and Teddy.

'What are we going to do, man?' Chris asked. He was still looking down at the body and I didn't know whether he was talking to me or to it.

'We're going to take him back, aren't we?' Teddy asked, puzzled. 'We're going to be heroes. Isn't that right, man?' He looked from Chris to me and back to Chris again.

Chris looked up as if he was suddenly waking up from a dream. He walked over to Teddy and pushed him in the chest so hard that he fell down in the mud. 'You shut up!' Chris said. 'You pussy!'

'It was the hail!' Teddy cried out, angry and ashamed. 'It wasn't those guys, Chris! I'm frightened of storms! I can't help it!' He began to cry, sitting there in the mud and the water.

'What about you?' Chris asked, turning to Vern. 'Are you afraid of storms too?'

Vern shook his head, surprised by Chris's anger. 'No, man, I thought we were all going to run.'

'But you ran first, you pussy, so how did you know we were all going to run?'

Vern swallowed nervously and said nothing.

He turned to me. 'We're going to carry him back, Gordie.'

'If you say so, Chris. But what if those guys -'

'I don't care about those guys. You are all pussies.'

'Chris, they could call the police, for revenge.'

'I DON'T CARE!' he screamed, and leapt at me. But one of his feet hit Ray Brewer's body. He fell to the ground and lay in the exact position Ray Brower was lying. I looked wildly at Chris's feet to make sure his shoes were still on. Then he began to cry and scream, beating his hands and feet on the wet ground. Teddy and Vern were staring at him in amazement, because nobody had ever seen Chris Chambers cry before. After a moment or two I walked back to the bank, climbed it and sat down on one of the tracks. Teddy and Vern followed me. There we sat in the rain.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

A Twenty-Year-Old Dream

It was twenty minutes before Chris climbed the bank to sit down beside us. The clouds had begun to break and in places the sun was shining through. Chris was covered in mud from head to foot.

'You're right, Gordie,' he said. 'He doesn't belong to anyone.' I nodded. Five minutes passed. No one said anything. Then I had a thought: what if they did call the police? I went back down the bank and over to where Chris had been standing. I got down on my knees and began to search through the water and grass with my fingers.

'What are you doing?' Teddy asked, joining me.

'To your left, I think,' Chris said, and pointed.

I looked and after a minute or two I found both cartridges. They flashed in the sunlight. I gave them to Chris. He nodded and pushed them into his pocket.

'Now we go,' Chris said.

'No, man!' Teddy cried. 'I want to take him!'

'Listen, stupid,' Chris said. 'If we take him back we could get into real trouble. Gordie was right. Those guys could tell any story they wanted. What if they said we killed him? How would you like that?'

Teddy was silent.

'We're going to walk fast back to the bridge,' Chris said. 'Then we'll leave the tracks and come into Castle Rock from the other direction. If people ask where we were, we'll say we were camping up on Brickyard Hill and got lost.'

'Milo Pressman knows better,' I said.

'We'll say Milo frightened us and that's when we decided to go up on the Brickyard.'

I nodded. We were all on our feet now, ready to go. The birds were singing madly, pleased with the rain and now the sun and all the worms appearing above ground. We all turned round, as if pulled by strings, and looked back at Ray Brower.

He was lying there, alone again. We had turned him over, so it looked as if he was just lying in the sunshine. Then you saw the blood on the chin and under the nose, and his slightly swollen body. You saw that the flies had come out with the sun and were beginning to settle on the body. You remembered the smell. He was a boy our age, and he was dead.

'OK,' said Chris. 'Let's go.'

We started back the way we had come. We didn't talk. I don't know about the others, but I was too busy thinking to talk. There were things that worried me about the body of Ray Brower - they worried me then and they worry me now.

He didn't seem to be badly hurt. But the train must have hit him - why else would his shoes be of his feet? Perhaps the train had hit him hard enough to knock him down the bank but not hard enough to kill him. That was just possible, if he had been trying to get out of the train's way. Then he had lain awake down there in the mud, too frightened to move, in pain and not knowing where he was. I caught a wounded bird once and it died of fear in my hands. Perhaps Ray Brower had died because he was simply too frightened to go on living.

But there was another thing, which worried me most of all. All the news reports said that he had been carrying a bucket when he went off to pick fruit. Back in Castle Rock, I went to the library and checked in the newspapers. But we never saw the bucket. Where was it? He must have thrown it away somewhere between Chamberlain and the boggy ground in Harlow where he died. He must have thrown it away when he was just too lost and frightened to go on carrying such a useless object.

I've thought of going back to look for the bucket. I've thought of driving to the end of the Back Harlow Road and chasing a twenty-year-old dream. I get my backpack out of the car, take off my shirt and tie it around my waist. I find the boggy ground. Is the grass growing yellow there in the shape of a human body? Of course not, there's no sign. Then I climb the bank up to the now rusty tracks and rotted wood and start walking towards Chamberlain. I feel sure that somewhere, to one side of the tracks, I would find the bucket. It would show that there had once been a thirteen-year-old Gordon Lachance.

It's a stupid idea, of course, but the line between childhood and adulthood is narrower than most people like to think. And at times we all feel closer to the children we once were than to the boring, sensible adults we have become. And I remember those days at the end of that summer so well, and I think: that boy was me. And then the fearful thought comes: Which boy do you mean?

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Love Has Teeth

We got back to Castle Rock a little past five o'clock on Sunday morning. We had walked all night. Nobody complained, although our feet hurt and we were unbelievably hungry. We crossed the bridge in safety, passed through the dump with no sign of Milo Pressman and the now-not-so-awful Chopper, and finally reached town. We stood in front of our tree house and looked at it, so that we didn't have to look at one another.

At last Teddy said, 'I'll see you in school on Wednesday. I think I'm going to sleep till then.'

'Me too,' Vern agreed. 'But Billy's going to get me.'

'So what?' Chris said. 'Richie's going to get me and Ace is probably going to get Gordie and one of the others will get Teddy. But we did it.'

'That's right,' Vern said. But he still sounded unhappy.

Vern and Teddy left. I hesitated for a second before going home, and Chris said, 'I'll walk with you.'

'OK.'

We walked for a while without talking. Castle Rock was wonderfully quiet in the day's first light. I almost expected to turn a corner and see my deer standing there.

Finally Chris spoke. 'Vern and Teddy will tell others,' he said.

'Yes,' I said. 'But not today or tomorrow, if that's what you're worried about. Maybe not for years.'

He looked at me, surprised.

'At first they won't know what to say,' I explained. 'And then it will start to seem like a dream and they'll be too embarrassed to talk about it, and then ... it sounds crazy, but I think they'll almost forget it ever happened.'

He nodded. 'You see through people, Gordie.'

We had reached the corner of my street. I wanted to say something more to Chris and didn't know how to.

'Shake hands, man,' he said, sounding tired.

'Chris -'

'Shake.'

We shook.

'I'll see you.'

He grinned. 'Not if I see you first.'

He walked off, still laughing, as if he didn't hurt like me and wasn't covered in insect bites; as if he didn't have a care in the world, and wasn't returning to a dirty three-room house with no running water and broken windows covered with plastic.

Even if I had known the right thing to say I probably couldn't have said it. Talking destroys the effects of love. Love isn't soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close. No word can close those love-bites. In fact, if the wounds dry up, the words will stop too.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Empty Kitchen

Back home the kitchen was empty. I took off my clothes and washed all over, until the skin began to hurt. I made myself an enormous breakfast. While I was eating, my mother came into the kitchen.

'Gordon, where have you been?'

'Camping,' I said. 'We started in Vern's field and then went up the Brickyard Hill. Vern's mother said she would speak to you. Didn't she?'

'She probably spoke to your father,' she said, and walked over to the cupboard. She sighed. 'I miss Dennis most in the mornings,' she said. 'I always look in his room and it's always empty.'

'Thats terrible,' I said.

'He always slept with the curtains open and the blankets... Gordon? Did you say something?'

'Nothing important, Mum.'

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Some People Drown

The story never did get out. Ace Merrill phoned the police without leaving his name, and that's how they found the body. Neither his gang nor ours became heroes.

Milo Pressman never said a word. Chris's dad hadn't noticed that Chris was gone; he was too drunk. Teddy's mum got worried on the second night and called Vern's mum. Vern's mum said that we were in the field - she knew because she could see the lights on in the tent. Teddy's mum said she hoped no one was smoking cigarettes in there. Vern's mum said she was sure none of Vern's or Billy's friends smoked.

So the story never came out - but that wasn't the end of it. One day near the end of the month, when I was walking home from school, a black Ford stopped in front of me. I knew straight away whose car it was, before Ace and Fuzzy got out of it.

I dropped my school books and ran, but they caught me within a few yards. If an old lady hadn't come out of her house, I don't know what would have happened. As it was, they broke my nose and two fingers, as well as giving me a large number of minor injuries.

Chris's brother broke his arm in two places and left his face as colourful as a sunrise. Teddy and Vern were hurt too. Various stories went round the school, all wildly wrong.

When the injuries mended, Vern and Teddy just drifted away. They had discovered a whole new group of people our age who would do what they said. They started bringing them to the tree house, and Chris and I started going there less and less. I think the last time I went there was in the spring of 1961, Teddy and Vern slowly became just two more faces in school. We nodded and said Hi. That was all. It happens. Friends come in and out of your life like waiters in a restaurant. But when I think of that dream, the swollen dead bodies under the water pulling at my legs, it seems right that friends should come and go. Some people drown. It's not fair, but it happens. Some people drown.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Tears for a Friend

Vern Tessio was killed in a fire that destroyed a house in Lewiston in 1966. There had been a large party in the house the night before. Someone fell asleep holding a cigarette - Vern himself, perhaps, dreaming of his lost pennies.

Teddy, who had always wanted to join the army, was refused, of course. Everyone knew he would be, because of his eyes and his ears - everyone except Teddy. He started missing school, going to the places Ace and Fuzzy and the rest had gone before him. After school he got a job filling holes in the road. He bought himself a car. One day when it was full of his friends, and they were all drinking, he crashed into a tree, turned the car over. It rolled six times and no one came out alive.

Chris joined the college courses. His parents thought he was crazy; his friends thought he was a pussy; his teachers didn't want this leather-jacketed and leather-booted person on their courses. He and I studied together almost every night, trying to win back the seven years of education Chris had lost. We were hanging on to each other in deep water.

We both graduated. Chris went to university to study law. Near the end of the spring term in 1968, Chris was queuing in a restaurant when two men in front of him started to argue about who was there first. Chris, who had always been the best of us at making peace, stepped between them and got a knife in his throat. He was dead in seconds. I wasn't there. Chris was in graduate school, and I had already graduated from university and was married. When I read about it in the newspaper I told my wife I was going out to get a drink. I drove out of town, parked and cried for him. I cried for nearly half an hour without stopping.

Me? I'm a writer now.

- THE END -

Hope you enjoyed the reading!

Comeback to http://english-e-books.net/ to find more interesting and exiting stories!

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 46 (2-8 luglio)

2018-07-01T14:53:00.001+02:00

La proposta della settimana per la lettura ad alta voce (30 minuti al giorno): THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON.

CHAPTER ONE

As long ago as 1860 it was the proper thing to be born at home. At present, so I am told, the high gods of medicine have decreed that the first cries of the young shall be uttered upon the anaesthetic air of a hospital, preferably a fashionable one. So young Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were fifty years ahead of style when they decided, one day in the summer of 1860, that their first baby should be born in a hospital. Whether this anachronism had any bearing upon the astonishing history I am about to set down will never be known.

I shall tell you what occurred, and let you judge for yourself.

The Roger Buttons held an enviable position, both social and financial, in ante - bellum Baltimore. They were related to the This Family and the That Family, which, as every Southerner knew, entitled them to membership in that enormous peerage which largely populated the Confederacy. This was their first experience with the charming old custom of having babies - Mr. Button was naturally nervous. He hoped it would be a boy so that he could be sent to Yale College in Connecticut, at which institution Mr. Button himself had been known for four years by the somewhat obvious nickname of "Cuff."

On the September morning consecrated to the enormous event he arose nervously at six o'clock dressed himself, adjusted an impeccable stock, and hurried forth through the streets of Baltimore to the hospital, to determine whether the darkness of the night had borne in new life upon its bosom.

When he was approximately a hundred yards from the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen he saw Doctor Keene, the family physician, descending the front steps, rubbing his hands together with a washing movement - as all doctors are required to do by the unwritten ethics of their profession.

Mr. Roger Button, the president of Roger Button & Co., Wholesale Hardware, began to run toward Doctor Keene with much less dignity than was expected from a Southern gentleman of that picturesque period.

"Doctor Keene!" he called. "Oh, Doctor Keene!"

The doctor heard him, faced around, and stood waiting, a curious expression settling on his harsh, medicinal face as Mr. Button drew near.

"What happened?" demanded Mr. Button, as he came up in a gasping rush. "What was it? How is she" A boy? Who is it? What -"

"Talk sense!" said Doctor Keene sharply, He appeared somewhat irritated.

"Is the child born?" begged Mr. Button.

Doctor Keene frowned. "Why, yes, I suppose so - after a fashion." Again he threw a curious glance at Mr. Button.

"Is my wife all right?"

"Yes."

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Here now!" cried Doctor Keene in a perfect passion of irritation, "I'll ask you to go and see for yourself. Outrageous!" He snapped the last word out in almost one syllable, then he turned away muttering: "Do you imagine a case like this will help my professional reputation? One more would ruin me - ruin anybody."

"What's the matter?" demanded Mr. Button appalled. "Triplets?"

"No, not triplets!" answered the doctor cuttingly. "What's more, you can go and see for yourself. And get another doctor. I brought you into the world, young man, and I've been physician to your family for forty years, but I'm through with you! I don't want to see you or any of your relatives ever again! Good - bye!"

Then he turned sharply, and without another word climbed into his phaeton, which was waiting at the curbstone, and drove severely away.

Mr. Button stood there upon the sidewalk, stupefied and trembling from head to foot. What horrible mishap had occurred? He had suddenly lost all desire to go into the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen - it was with the greatest difficulty that, a moment later, he forced himself to mount the steps and enter the front door.

A nurse was sitting behind a desk in the opaque gloom of the hall. Swallowing his shame, Mr. Button approached her.

"Good - morning," she remarked, looking up at him pleasantly.

"Good - morning. I - I am Mr. Button."

At this a look of utter terror spread itself over girl's face. She rose to her feet and seemed about to fly from the hall, restraining herself only with the most apparent difficulty.

"I want to see my child," said Mr. Button.

The nurse gave a little scream. "Oh - of course!" she cried hysterically. "Upstairs. Right upstairs. Go - up!"

She pointed the direction, and Mr. Button, bathed in cool perspiration, turned falteringly, and began to mount to the second floor. In the upper hall he addressed another nurse who approached him, basin in hand. "I'm Mr. Button," he managed to articulate. "I want to see my -"

Clank! The basin clattered to the floor and rolled in the direction of the stairs. Clank! Clank! I began a methodical decent as if sharing in the general terror which this gentleman provoked.

"I want to see my child!" Mr. Button almost shrieked. He was on the verge of collapse.

Clank! The basin reached the first floor. The nurse regained control of herself, and threw Mr. Button a look of hearty contempt.

"All right, Mr. Button," she agreed in a hushed voice. "Very well! But if you knew what a state it's put us all in this morning! It's perfectly outrageous! The hospital will never have a ghost of a reputation after -"

"Hurry!" he cried hoarsely. "I can't stand this!"

"Come this way, then, Mr. Button."

He dragged himself after her. At the end of a long hall they reached a room from which proceeded a variety of howls - indeed, a room which, in later parlance, would have been known as the "crying - room." They entered.

Ranged around the walls were half a dozen white - enameled rolling cribs, each with a tag tied at the head.

"Well," gasped Mr. Button, "which is mine?"

"There!" said the nurse.

Mr. Button's eyes followed her pointing finger, and this is what he saw. Wrapped in a voluminous white blanket, and partly crammed into one of the cribs, there sat an old man apparently about seventy years of age. His sparse hair was almost white, and from his chin dripped a long smoke - coloured beard, which waved absurdly back and forth, fanned by the breeze coming in at the window. He looked up at Mr. Button with dim, faded eyes in which lurked a puzzled question.

"Am I mad?" thundered Mr. Button, his terror resolving into rage. "Is this some ghastly hospital joke?

"It doesn't seem like a joke to us," replied the nurse severely. "And I don't know whether you're mad or not - but that is most certainly your child."

The cool perspiration redoubled on Mr. Button's forehead. He closed his eyes, and then, opening them, looked again. There was no mistake - he was gazing at a man of threescore and ten - a baby of threescore and ten, a baby whose feet hung over the sides of the crib in which it was reposing.

The old man looked placidly from one to the other for a moment, and then suddenly spoke in a cracked and ancient voice. "Are you my father?" he demanded.

Mr. Button and the nurse started violently.

"Because if you are," went on the old man querulously, "I wish you'd get me out of this place - or, at least, get them to put a comfortable rocker in here,"

"Where in God's name did you come from? Who are you?" burst out Mr. Button frantically.

"I can't tell you exactly who I am," replied the querulous whine, "because I've only been born a few hours - but my last name is certainly Button."

"You lie! You're an impostor!"

The old man turned wearily to the nurse. "Nice way to welcome a new - born child," he complained in a weak voice. "Tell him he's wrong, why don't you?"

"You're wrong. Mr. Button," said the nurse severely. "This is your child, and you'll have to make the best of it. We're going to ask you to take him home with you as soon as possible - some time to - day."

"Home?" repeated Mr. Button incredulously.

"Yes, we can't have him here. We really can't, you know?"

"I'm right glad of it," whined the old man. "This is a fine place to keep a youngster of quiet tastes. With all this yelling and howling, I haven't been able to get a wink of sleep. I asked for something to eat" - here his voice rose to a shrill note of protest - "and they brought me a bottle of milk!"

Mr. Button sank down upon a chair near his son and concealed his face in his hands. "My heavens!" he murmured, in an ecstasy of horror. "What will people say? What must I do?"

"You'll have to take him home," insisted the nurse - "immediately!"

A grotesque picture formed itself with dreadful clarity before the eyes of the tortured man - a picture of himself walking through the crowded streets of the city with this appalling apparition stalking by his side. "I can't. I can't," he moaned.

People would stop to speak to him, and what was he going to say? He would have to introduce this - this septuagenarian: "This is my son, born early this morning." And then the old man would gather his blanket around him and they would plod on, past the bustling stores, the slave market - for a dark instant Mr. Button wished passionately that his son was black - past the luxurious houses of the residential district, past the home for the aged...

"Come! Pull yourself together," commanded the nurse.

"See here," the old man announced suddenly, "if you think I'm going to walk home in this blanket, you're entirely mistaken."

"Babies always have blankets."

With a malicious crackle the old man held up a small white swaddling garment. "Look!" he quavered. "This is what they had ready for me."

"Babies always wear those," said the nurse primly.

"Well," said the old man, "this baby's not going to wear anything in about two minutes. This blanket itches. They might at least have given me a sheet."

"Keep it on! Keep it on!" said Mr. Button hurriedly. He turned to the nurse. "What'll I do?"

"Go down town and buy your son some clothes."

Mr. Button's son's voice followed him down into the: hall: "And a cane, father. I want to have a cane."

Mr. Button banged the outer door savagely...

CHAPTER TWO

"Good - morning," Mr. Button said nervously, to the clerk in the Chesapeake Dry Goods Company. "I want to buy some clothes for my child."

"How old is your child, sir?"

"About six hours," answered Mr. Button, without due consideration.

"Babies' supply department in the rear."

"Why, I don't think - I'm not sure that's what I want. It's - he's an unusually large - size child. Exceptionally - ah large."

"They have the largest child's sizes."

"Where is the boys' department?" inquired Mr. Button, shifting his ground desperately. He felt that the clerk must surely scent his shameful secret.

"Right here."

"Well -" He hesitated. The notion of dressing his son in men's clothes was repugnant to him. If, say, he could only find a very large boy's suit, he might cut off that long and awful beard, dye the white hair brown, and thus manage to conceal the worst, and to retain something of his own self - respect - not to mention his position in Baltimore society.

But a frantic inspection of the boys' department revealed no suits to fit the new - born Button. He blamed the store, of course - in such cases it is the thing to blame the store.

"How old did you say that boy of yours was?" demanded the clerk curiously.

"He's - sixteen."

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you said six hours. You'll find the youths' department in the next aisle."

Mr. Button turned miserably away. Then he stopped, brightened, and pointed his finger toward a dressed dummy in the window display. "There!" he exclaimed. "I'll take that suit, out there on the dummy."

The clerk stared. "Why," he protested, "that's not a child's suit. At least it is, but it's for fancy dress. You could wear it yourself!"

"Wrap it up," insisted his customer nervously. "That's what I want."

The astonished clerk obeyed.

Back at the hospital Mr. Button entered the nursery and almost threw the package at his son. "Here's your clothes," he snapped out.

The old man untied the package and viewed the contents with a quizzical eye.

"They look sort of funny to me," he complained, "I don't want to be made a monkey of -"

"You've made a monkey of me!" retorted Mr. Button fiercely. "Never you mind how funny you look. Put them on - or I'll - or I'll spank you." He swallowed uneasily at the penultimate word, feeling nevertheless that it was the proper thing to say.

"All right, father" - this with a grotesque simulation of filial respect - "you've lived longer; you know best. Just as you say."

As before, the sound of the word "father" caused Mr. Button to start violently.

"And hurry."

"I'm hurrying, father."

When his son was dressed Mr. Button regarded him with depression. The costume consisted of dotted socks, pink pants, and a belted blouse with a wide white collar. Over the latter waved the long whitish beard, drooping almost to the waist. The effect was not good.

"Wait!"

Mr. Button seized a hospital shears and with three quick snaps amputated a large section of the beard. But even with this improvement the ensemble fell far short of perfection. The remaining brush of scraggly hair, the watery eyes, the ancient teeth, seemed oddly out of tone with the gaiety of the costume. Mr. Button, however, was obdurate - he held out his hand. "Come along!" he said sternly.

His son took the hand trustingly. "What are you going to call me, dad?" he quavered as they walked from the nursery - "just 'baby' for a while? till you think of a better name?"

Mr. Button grunted. "I don't know," he answered harshly. "I think we'll call you Methuselah."

CHAPTER THREE

Even after the new addition to the Button family had had his hair cut short and then dyed to a sparse unnatural black, had had his face shaved so dose that it glistened, and had been attired in small - boy clothes made to order by a flabbergasted tailor, it was impossible for Button to ignore the fact that his son was a excuse for a first family baby. Despite his aged stoop, Benjamin Button - for it was by this name they called him instead of by the appropriate but invidious Methuselah - was five feet eight inches tall. His clothes did not conceal this, nor did the clipping and dyeing of his eyebrows disguise the fact that the eyes under - were faded and watery and tired. In fact, the baby - nurse who had been engaged in advance left the house after one look, in a state of considerable indignation.

But Mr. Button persisted in his unwavering purpose. Benjamin was a baby, and a baby he should remain. At first he declared that if Benjamin didn't like warm milk he could go without food altogether, but he was finally prevailed upon to allow his son bread and butter, and even oatmeal by way of a compromise. One day he brought home a rattle and, giving it to Benjamin, insisted in no uncertain terms that he should "play with it," whereupon the old man took it with - a weary expression and could be heard jingling it obediently at intervals throughout the day.

There can be no doubt, though, that the rattle bored him, and that he found other and more soothing amusements when he was left alone. For instance, Mr. Button discovered one day that during the preceding week be had smoked more cigars than ever before - a phenomenon, which was explained a few days later when, entering the nursery unexpectedly, he found the room full of faint blue haze and Benjamin, with a guilty expression on his face, trying to conceal the butt of a dark Havana.This, of course, called for a severe spanking, but Mr. Button found that he could not bring himself to administer it. He merely warned his son that he would "stunt his growth."

Nevertheless he persisted in his attitude. He brought home lead soldiers, he brought toy trains, he brought large pleasant animals made of cotton, and, to perfect the illusion which he was creating - for himself at least - he passionately demanded of the clerk in the toy - store whether "the paint would come oft the pink duck if the baby put it in his mouth." But, despite all his father's efforts, Benjamin refused to be interested. He would steal down the back stairs and return to the nursery with a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica, over which he would pore through an afternoon, while his cotton cows and his Noah's ark were left neglected on the floor. Against such a stubbornness Mr. Button's efforts were of little avail.

The sensation created in Baltimore was, at first, prodigious. What the mishap would have cost the Buttons and their kinsfolk socially cannot be determined, for the outbreak of the Civil War drew the city's attention to other things. A few people who were unfailingly polite racked their brains for compliments to give to the parents - and finally hit upon the ingenious device of declaring that the baby resembled his grandfather, a fact which, due to the standard state of decay common to all men of seventy, could not be denied. Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were not pleased, and Benjamin's grandfather was furiously insulted.

Benjamin, once he left the hospital, took life as he found it. Several small boys were brought to see him, and he spent a stiff - jointed afternoon trying to work up an interest in tops and marbles - he even managed, quite accidentally, to break a kitchen window with a stone from a sling shot, a feat which secretly delighted his father.

Thereafter Benjamin contrived to break something every day, but he did these things only because they were expected of him, and because he was by nature obliging.

When his grandfather's initial antagonism wore off, Benjamin and that gentleman took enormous pleasure in one another's company. They would sit for hours, these two, so far apart in age and experience, and, like old cronies, discuss with tireless monotony the slow events of the day. Benjamin felt more at ease in his grandfather's presence than in his parents' - they seemed always somewhat in awe of him and, despite the dictatorial authority they exercised over him, frequently addressed him as "Mr."

He was as puzzled as any one else at the apparently advanced age of his mind and body at birth. He read up on it in the medical journal, but found that no such case had been previously recorded. At his father's urging he made an honest attempt to play with other boys, and frequently he joined in the milder games - football shook him up too much, and he feared that in case of a fracture his ancient bones would refuse to knit.

When he was five he was sent to kindergarten, where he initiated into the art of pasting green paper on orange paper, of weaving coloured maps and manufacturing eternal cardboard necklaces. He was inclined to drowse off to sleep in the middle of these tasks, a habit which both irritated and frightened his young teacher. To his relief she complained to his parents, and he was removed from the school. The Roger Buttons told their friends that they felt he was too young.

By the time he was twelve years old his parents had grown used to him. Indeed, so strong is the force of custom that they no longer felt that he was different from any other child - except when some curious anomaly reminded them of the fact. But one day a few weeks after his twelfth birthday, while looking in the mirror, Benjamin made, or thought he made, an astonishing discovery. Did his eyes deceive him, or had his hair turned in the dozen years of his life from white to iron - gray under its concealing dye? Was the network of wrinkles on his face becoming less pronounced? Was his skin healthier and firmer, with even a touch of ruddy winter colour? He could not tell. He knew that he no longer stooped, and that his physical condition had improved since the early days of his life.

"Can it be - ?" he thought to himself, or, rather, scarcely dared to think.

He went to his father. "I am grown," he announced determinedly. "I want to put on long trousers."

His father hesitated. "Well," he said finally, "I don't know. Fourteen is the age for putting on long trousers - and you are only twelve."

"But you'll have to admit," protested Benjamin, "that I'm big for my age."

His father looked at him with illusory speculation. "Oh, I'm not so sure of that," he said. "I was as big as you when I was twelve."

This was not true - it was all part of Roger Button's silent agreement with himself to believe in his son's normality.

Finally a compromise was reached. Benjamin was to continue to dye his hair. He was to make a better attempt to play with boys of his own age. He was not to wear his spectacles or carry a cane in the street. In return for these concessions he was allowed his first suit of long trousers...

CHAPTER FOUR

Of the life of Benjamin Button between his twelfth and twenty - first year I intend to say little. Suffice to record that they were years of normal ungrowth. When Benjamin was eighteen he was erect as a man of fifty; he had more hair and it was of a dark gray; his step was firm, his voice had lost its cracked quaver and descended to a healthy baritone. So his father sent him up to Connecticut to take examinations for entrance to Yale College. Benjamin passed his examination and became a member of the freshman class.

On the third day following his matriculation he received a notification from Mr. Hart, the college registrar, to call at his office and arrange his schedule. Benjamin, glancing in the mirror, decided that his hair needed a new application of its brown dye, but an anxious inspection of his bureau drawer disclosed that the dye bottle was not there. Then he remembered - he had emptied it the day before and thrown it away.

He was in a dilemma. He was due at the registrar's in five minutes. There seemed to be no help for it - he must go as he was. He did.

"Good - morning," said the registrar politely. "You've come to inquire about your son."

"Why, as a matter of fact, my name's Button -" began Benjamin, but Mr. Hart cut him off.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Button. I'm expecting your son here any minute."

"That's me!" burst out Benjamin. "I'm a freshman."

"What!"

"I'm a freshman."

"Surely you're joking."

"Not at all."

The registrar frowned and glanced at a card before him. "Why, I have Mr. Benjamin Button's age down here as eighteen."

"That's my age," asserted Benjamin, flushing slightly.

The registrar eyed him wearily. "Now surely, Mr. Button, you don't expect me to believe that."

Benjamin smiled wearily. "I am eighteen," he repeated.

The registrar pointed sternly to the door. "Get out," he said. "Get out of college and get out of town. You are a dangerous lunatic."

"I am eighteen."

Mr. Hart opened the door. "The idea!" he shouted. "A man of your age trying to enter here as a freshman. Eighteen years old, are you? Well, I'll give you eighteen minutes to get out of town."

Benjamin Button walked with dignity from the room, and half a dozen undergraduates, who were waiting in the hall, followed him curiously with their eyes. When he had gone a little way he turned around, faced the infuriated registrar, who was still standing in the door - way, and repeated in a firm voice: "I am eighteen years old."

To a chorus of titters which went up from the group of undergraduates, Benjamin walked away.

But he was not fated to escape so easily. On his melancholy walk to the railroad station he found that he was being followed by a group, then by a swarm, and finally by a dense mass of undergraduates. The word had gone around that a lunatic had passed the entrance examinations for Yale and attempted to palm himself off as a youth of eighteen. A fever of excitement permeated the college. Men ran hatless out of classes, the football team abandoned its practice and joined the mob, professors' wives with bonnets awry and bustles out of position, ran shouting after the procession, from which proceeded a continual succession of remarks aimed at the tender sensibilities of Benjamin Button.

"He must be the Wandering Jew!"

"He ought to go to prep school at his age!"

"Look at the infant prodigy!"

"He thought this was the old men's home."

"Go up to Harvard!"

Benjamin increased his gait, and soon he was running. He would show them! He would go to Harvard, and then they would regret these ill - considered taunts!

Safely on board the train for Baltimore, he put his head from the window. "You'll regret this!" he shouted.

"Ha - ha!" the undergraduates laughed. "Ha - ha - ha!" It was the biggest mistake that Yale College had ever made...

CHAPTER FIVE

In 1880 Benjamin Button was twenty years old, and he signalised his birthday by going to work for his father in Roger Button & Co., Wholesale Hardware. It was in that same year that he began "going out socially" - that is, his father insisted on taking him to several fashionable dances. Roger Button was now fifty, and he and his son were more and more companionable - in fact, since Benjamin had ceased to dye his hair (which was still grayish) they appeared about the same age, and could have passed for brothers.

One night in August they got into the phaeton attired in their full - dress suits and drove out to a dance at the Shevlins' country house, situated just outside of Baltimore. It was a gorgeous evening. A full moon drenched the road to the lustreless colour of platinum, and late - blooming harvest flowers breathed into the motionless air aromas that were like low, half - heard laughter. The open country, carpeted for rods around with bright wheat, was translucent as in the day. It was almost impossible not to be affected by the sheer beauty of the sky - almost.

"There's a great future in the dry - goods business," Roger Button was saying. He was not a spiritual man - his aesthetic sense was rudimentary.

"Old fellows like me can't learn new tricks," he observed profoundly. "It's you youngsters with energy and vitality that have the great future before you."

Far up the road the lights of the Shevlins' country house drifted into view, and presently there was a sighing sound that crept persistently toward them - it might have been the fine plaint of violins or the rustle of the silver wheat under the moon.

They pulled up behind a handsome brougham whose passengers were disembarking at the door. A lady got out, then an elderly gentleman, then another young lady, beautiful as sin. Benjamin started; an almost chemical change seemed to dissolve and recompose the very elements of his body. A rigour passed over him, blood rose into his cheeks, his forehead, and there was a steady thumping in his ears. It was first love.

The girl was slender and frail, with hair that was ashen under the moon and honey - coloured under the sputtering gas - lamps of the porch. Over her shoulders was thrown a Spanish mantilla of softest yellow, butterflied in black; her feet were glittering buttons at the hem of her bustled dress.

Roger Button leaned over to his son. "That," he said, "is young Hildegarde Moncrief, the daughter of General Moncrief."

Benjamin nodded coldly. "Pretty little thing," he said indifferently. But when the negro boy had led the buggy away, he added: "Dad, you might introduce me to her."

They approached a group, of which Miss Moncrief was the centre. Reared in the old tradition, she curtsied low before Benjamin. Yes, he might have a dance. He thanked her and walked away - staggered away.

The interval until the time for his turn should arrive dragged itself out interminably. He stood close to the wall, silent, inscrutable, watching with murderous eyes the young bloods of Baltimore as they eddied around Hildegarde Moncrief, passionate admiration in their faces. How obnoxious they seemed to Benjamin; how intolerably rosy! Their curling brown whiskers aroused in him a feeling equivalent to indigestion.

But when his own time came, and he drifted with her out upon the changing floor to the music of the latest waltz from Paris, his jealousies and anxieties melted from him like a mantle of snow. Blind with enchantment, he felt that life was just beginning.

"You and your brother got here just as we did, didn't you?" asked Hildegarde, looking up at him with eyes that were like bright blue enamel.

Benjamin hesitated. If she took him for his father's brother, would it be best to enlighten her? He remembered his experience at Yale, so he decided against it. It would be rude to contradict a lady; it would be criminal to mar this exquisite occasion with the grotesque story of his origin. Later, perhaps. So he nodded, smiled, listened, was happy.

"I like men of your age," Hildegarde told him. "Young boys are so idiotic. They tell me how much champagne they drink at college, and how much money they lose playing cards. Men of your age know how to appreciate women."

Benjamin felt himself on the verge of a proposal - with an effort he choked back the impulse.

"You're just the romantic age," she continued - "fifty. Twenty - five is too wordly - wise; thirty is apt to be pale from overwork; forty is the age of long stories that take a whole cigar to tell; sixty is - oh, sixty is too near seventy; but fifty is the mellow age. I love fifty."

Fifty seemed to Benjamin a glorious age. He longed passionately to be fifty.

"I've always said," went on Hildegarde, "that I'd rather marry a man of fifty and be taken care of than many a man of thirty and take care of him."

For Benjamin the rest of the evening was bathed in a honey - coloured mist. Hildegarde gave him two more dances, and they discovered that they were marvellously in accord on all the questions of the day. She was to go driving with him on the following Sunday, and then they would discuss all these questions further.

Going home in the phaeton just before the crack of dawn, when the first bees were humming and the fading moon glimmered in the cool dew, Benjamin knew vaguely that his father was discussing wholesale hardware.

"... And what do you think should merit our biggest attention after hammers and nails?" the elder Button was saying.

"Love," replied Benjamin absent - mindedly.

"Lugs?" exclaimed Roger Button, "Why, I've just covered the question of lugs."

Benjamin regarded him with dazed eyes just as the eastern sky was suddenly cracked with light, and an oriole yawned piercingly in the quickening trees...

CHAPTER SIX

When, six months later, the engagement of Miss Hildegarde Moncrief to Mr. Benjamin Button was made known (I say "made known," for General Moncrief declared he would rather fall upon his sword than announce it), the excitement in Baltimore society reached a feverish pitch. The almost forgotten story of Benjamin's birth was remembered and sent out upon the winds of scandal in picaresque and incredible forms. It was said that Benjamin was really the father of Roger Button, that he was his brother who had been in prison for forty years, that he was John Wilkes Booth in disguise - and, finally, that he had two small conical horns sprouting from his head.

The Sunday supplements of the New York papers played up the case with fascinating sketches which showed the head of Benjamin Button attached to a fish, to a snake, and, finally, to a body of solid brass. He became known, journalistically, as the Mystery Man of Maryland. But the true story, as is usually the case, had a very small circulation.

However, every one agreed with General Moncrief that it was "criminal" for a lovely girl who could have married any beau in Baltimore to throw herself into the arms of a man who was assuredly fifty. In vain Mr. Roger Button published Us son's birth certificate in large type in the Baltimore Blaze. No one believed it. You had only to look at Benjamin and see.

On the part of the two people most concerned there was no wavering. So many of the stories about her fiance were false that Hildegarde refused stubbornly to believe even the true one. In vain General Moncrief pointed out to her the high mortality among men of fifty - or, at least, among men who looked fifty; in vain he told her of the instability of the wholesale hardware business. Hildegarde had chosen to marry for mellowness, and marry she did...

CHAPTER SEVEN

In one particular, at least, the friends of Hildegarde Moncrief were mistaken. The wholesale hardware business prospered amazingly. In the fifteen years between Benjamin Button's marriage in 1880 and his father's retirement in 1895, the family fortune was doubled - and this was due largely to the younger member of the firm.

Needless to say, Baltimore eventually received the couple to its bosom. Even old General Moncrief became reconciled to his son - in - law when Benjamin gave him the money to bring out his History of the Civil War in twenty volumes, which had been refused by nine prominent publishers.

In Benjamin himself fifteen years had wrought many changes. It seemed to him that the blood flowed with new vigour through his veins. It began to be a pleasure to rise in the morning, to walk with an active step along the busy, sunny street, to work untiringly with his shipments of hammers and his cargoes of nails. It was in 1890 that he executed his famous business coup: he brought up the suggestion that all nails used in nailing up the boxes in which nails are shipped are the property of the shippee, a proposal which became a statute, was approved by Chief Justice Fossile, and saved Roger Button and Company, Wholesale Hardware, more than six hundred nails every year.

In addition, Benjamin discovered that he was becoming more and more attracted by the gay side of life. It was typical of his growing enthusiasm for pleasure that he was the first man in the city of Baltimore to own and run an automobile. Meeting him on the street, his contemporaries would stare enviously at the picture he made of health and vitality.

"He seems to grow younger every year," they would remark. And if old Roger Button, now sixty - five years old, had failed at first to give a proper welcome to his son he atoned at last by bestowing on him what amounted to adulation.

And here we come to an unpleasant subject which it will be well to pass over as quickly as possible. There was only one thing that worried Benjamin Button; his wife had ceased to attract him.

At that time Hildegarde was a woman of thirty - five, with a son, Roscoe, fourteen years old. In the early days of their marriage Benjamin had worshipped her. But, as the years passed, her honey - coloured hair became an unexciting brown, the blue enamel of her eyes assumed the aspect of cheap crockery - moreover, and, most of all, she had become too settled in her ways, too placid, too content, too anaemic in her excitements, and too sober in her taste. As a bride it been she who had "dragged" Benjamin to dances and dinners - now conditions were reversed. She went out socially with him, but without enthusiasm, devoured already by that eternal inertia which comes to live with each of us one day and stays with us to the end.

Benjamin's discontent waxed stronger. At the outbreak of the Spanish - American War in 1898 his home had for him so little charm that he decided to join the army. With his business influence he obtained a commission as captain, and proved so adaptable to the work that he was made a major, and finally a lieutenant - colonel just in time to participate in the celebrated charge up San Juan Hill. He was slightly wounded, and received a medal.

Benjamin had become so attached to the activity and excitement of array life that he regretted to give it up, but his business required attention, so he resigned his commission and came home. He was met at the station by a brass band and escorted to his house.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hildegarde, waving a large silk flag, greeted him on the porch, and even as he kissed her he felt with a sinking of the heart that these three years had taken their toll. She was a woman of forty now, with a faint skirmish line of gray hairs in her head. The sight depressed him.

Up in his room he saw his reflection in the familiar mirror - he went closer and examined his own face with anxiety, comparing it after a moment with a photograph of himself in uniform taken just before the war.

"Good Lord!" he said aloud. The process was continuing. There was no doubt of it - he looked now like a man of thirty. Instead of being delighted, he was uneasy - he was growing younger. He had hitherto hoped that once he reached a bodily age equivalent to his age in years, the grotesque phenomenon which had marked his birth would cease to function. He shuddered. His destiny seemed to him awful, incredible.

When he came downstairs Hildegarde was waiting for him. She appeared annoyed, and he wondered if she had at last discovered that there was something amiss. It was with an effort to relieve the tension between them that he broached the matter at dinner in what he considered a delicate way.

"Well," he remarked lightly, "everybody says I look younger than ever."

Hildegarde regarded him with scorn. She sniffed. "Do you think it's anything to boast about?"

"I'm not boasting," he asserted uncomfortably.

She sniffed again. "The idea," she said, and after a moment: "I should think you'd have enough pride to stop it."

"How can I?" he demanded.

"I'm not going to argue with you," she retorted. "But there's a right way of doing things and a wrong way. If you've made up your mind to be different from everybody else, I don't suppose I can stop you, but I really don't think it's very considerate."

"But, Hildegarde, I can't help it."

"You can too. You're simply stubborn. You think you don't want to be like any one else. You always have been that way, and you always will be. But just think how it would be if every one else looked at things as you do - what would the world be like?"

As this was an inane and unanswerable argument Benjamin made no reply, and from that time on a chasm began to widen between them. He wondered what possible fascination she had ever exercised over him.

To add to the breach, he found, as the new century gathered headway, that his thirst for gaiety grew stronger. Never a party of any kind in the city of Baltimore but he was there, dancing with the prettiest of the young married women, chatting with the most popular of the debutantes, and finding their company charming, while his wife, a dowager of evil omen, sat among the chaperons, now in haughty disapproval, and now following him with solemn, puzzled, and reproachful eyes.

"Look!" people would remark. "What a pity! A young fellow that age tied to a woman of forty - five. He must be twenty years younger than his wife." They had forgotten - as people inevitably forget - that back in 1880 their mammas and papas had also remarked about this same ill - matched pair.

Benjamin's growing unhappiness at home was compensated for by his many new interests. He took up golf and made a great success of it. He went in for dancing: in 1906 he was an expert at "The Boston," and in 1908 he was considered proficient at the "Maxine," while in 1909 his "Castle Walk" was the envy of every young man in town.

His social activities, of course, interfered to some extent with his business, but then he had worked hard at wholesale hardware for twenty - five years and felt that he could soon hand it on to his son, Roscoe, who had recently graduated from Harvard.

He and his son were, in fact, often mistaken for each other. This pleased Benjamin - he soon forgot the insidious fear which had come over him on his return from the Spanish - American War, and grew to take a naive pleasure in his appearance. There was only one fly in the delicious ointment - he hated to appear in public with his wife. Hildegarde was almost fifty, and the sight of her made him feel absurd...

CHAPTER NINE

One September day in 1910 - a few years after Roger Button & Co., Wholesale Hardware, had been handed over to young Roscoe Button - a man, apparently about twenty years old, entered himself as a freshman at Harvard University in Cambridge. He did not make the mistake of announcing that he would never see fifty again, nor did he mention the fact that his son had been graduated from the same institution ten years before.

He was admitted, and almost immediately attained a prominent position in the class, partly because he seemed a little older than the other freshmen, whose average age was about eighteen.

But his success was largely due to the fact that in the football game with Yale he played so brilliantly, with so much dash and with such a cold, remorseless anger that he scored seven touchdowns and fourteen field goals for Harvard, and caused one entire eleven of Yale men to be carried singly from the field, unconscious. He was the most celebrated man in college.

Strange to say, in his third or junior year he was scarcely able to "make" the team. The coaches said that he had lost weight, and it seemed to the more observant among them that he was not quite as tall as before. He made no touchdowns - indeed, he was retained on the team chiefly in hope that his enormous reputation would bring terror and disorganisation to the Yale team.

In his senior year he did not make the team at all. He had grown so slight and frail that one day he was taken by some sophomores for a freshman, an incident which humiliated him terribly. He became known as something of a prodigy - a senior who was surely no more than sixteen - and he was often shocked at the worldliness of some of his classmates. His studies seemed harder to him - he felt that they were too advanced. He had heard his classmates speak of St. Midas's, the famous preparatory school, at which so many of them had prepared for college, and he determined after his graduation to enter himself at St. Midas's, where the sheltered life among boys his own size would be more congenial to him.

Upon his graduation in 1914 he went home to Baltimore with his Harvard diploma in his pocket. Hildegarde was now residing in Italy, so Benjamin went to live with his son, Roscoe. But though he was welcomed in a general way there was obviously no heartiness in Roscoe's feeling toward him - there was even perceptible a tendency on his son's part to think that Benjamin, as he moped about the house in adolescent mooniness, was somewhat in the way. Roscoe was married now and prominent in Baltimore life, and he wanted no scandal to creep out in connection with his family.

Benjamin, no longer persona grata with the debutantes and younger college set, found himself left much done, except for the companionship of three or four fifteen - year - old boys in the neighbourhood. His idea of going to St. Midas's school recurred to him.

"Say," he said to Roscoe one day, "I've told you over and over that I want to go to prep, school."

"Well, go, then," replied Roscoe shortly. The matter was distasteful to him, and he wished to avoid a discussion.

"I can't go alone," said Benjamin helplessly. "You'll have to enter me and take me up there."

"I haven't got time," declared Roscoe abruptly. His eyes narrowed and he looked uneasily at his father. "As a matter of fact," he added, "you'd better not go on with this business much longer. You better pull up short. You better - you better" - he paused and his face crimsoned as he sought for words - "you better turn right around and start back the other way. This has gone too far to be a joke. It isn't funny any longer. You - you behave yourself!"

Benjamin looked at him, on the verge of tears.

"And another thing," continued Roscoe, "when visitors are in the house I want you to call me 'Uncle' - not 'Roscoe,' but 'Uncle,' do you understand? It looks absurd for a boy of fifteen to call me by my first name. Perhaps you'd better call me 'Uncle' all the time, so you'll get used to it."

With a harsh look at his father, Roscoe turned away...

CHAPTER TEN

At the termination of this interview, Benjamin wandered dismally upstairs and stared at himself in the mirror. He had not shaved for three months, but he could find nothing on his face but a faint white down with which it seemed unnecessary to meddle. When he had first come home from Harvard, Roscoe had approached him with the proposition that he should wear eye - glasses and imitation whiskers glued to his cheeks, and it had seemed for a moment that the farce of his early years was to be repeated. But whiskers had itched and made him ashamed. He wept and Roscoe had reluctantly relented.

Benjamin opened a book of boys' stories, The Boy Scouts in Bimini Bay, and began to read. But he found himself thinking persistently about the war. America had joined the Allied cause during the preceding month, and Benjamin wanted to enlist, but, alas, sixteen was the minimum age, and he did not look that old. His true age, which was fifty - seven, would have disqualified him, anyway.

There was a knock at his door, and the butler appeared with a letter bearing a large official legend in the corner and addressed to Mr. Benjamin Button. Benjamin tore it open eagerly, and read the enclosure with delight. It informed him that many reserve officers who had served in the Spanish - American War were being called back into service with a higher rank, and it enclosed his commission as brigadier - general in the United States army with orders to report immediately.

Benjamin jumped to his feet fairly quivering with enthusiasm. This was what he had wanted. He seized his cap, and ten minutes later he had entered a large tailoring establishment on Charles Street, and asked in his uncertain treble to be measured for a uniform.

"Want to play soldier, sonny?" demanded a clerk casually.

Benjamin flushed. "Say! Never mind what I want!" he retorted angrily. "My name's Button and I live on Mt. Vernon Place, so you know I'm good for it."

"Well," admitted the clerk hesitantly, "if you're not, I guess your daddy is, all right."

Benjamin was measured, and a week later his uniform was completed. He had difficulty in obtaining the proper general's insignia because the dealer kept insisting to Benjamin that a nice Y.M.C.A. badge would look just as well and be much more fun to play with.

Saying nothing to Roscoe, he left the house one night and proceeded by train to Camp Mosby, in South Carolina, where he was to command an infantry brigade. On a sultry April day he approached the entrance to the camp, paid off the taxicab which had brought him from the station, and turned to the sentry on guard.

"Get some one to handle my luggage!" he said briskly.

The sentry eyed him reproachfully. "Say," he remarked, "where you goin' with the general's duds, sonny?"

Benjamin, veteran of the Spanish - American War, whirled upon him with fire in his eye, but with, alas, a changing treble voice.

"Come to attention!" he tried to thunder; he paused for breath - then suddenly he saw the sentry snap his heels together and bring his rifle to the present. Benjamin concealed a smile of gratification, but when he glanced around his smile faded. It was not he who had inspired obedience, but an imposing artillery colonel who was approaching on horseback.

"Colonel!" called Benjamin shrilly.

The colonel came up, drew rein, and looked coolly down at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "Whose little boy are you?" he demanded kindly.

"I'll soon darn well show you whose little boy I am!" retorted Benjamin in a ferocious voice. "Get down off that horse!"

The colonel roared with laughter.

"You want him, eh, general?"

"Here!" cried Benjamin desperately. "Read this." And he thrust his commission toward the colonel.

The colonel read it, his eyes popping from their sockets.

"Where'd you get this?" he demanded, slipping the document into his own pocket.

"I got it from the Government, as you'll soon find out!"

"You come along with me," said the colonel with a peculiar look. "We'll go up to headquarters and talk this over. Come along."

The colonel turned and began walking his horse in the direction of headquarters. There was nothing for Benjamin to do but follow with as much dignity as possible - meanwhile promising himself a stern revenge.

But this revenge did not materialise. Two days later, however, his son Roscoe materialised from Baltimore, hot and cross from a hasty trip, and escorted the weeping general, sans uniform, back to his home.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

In 1920 Roscoe Button's first child was born. During the attendant festivities, however, no one thought it "the thing" to mention, that the little grubby boy, apparently about ten years of age who played around the house with lead soldiers and a miniature circus, was the new baby's own grandfather.

No one disliked the little boy whose fresh, cheerful face was crossed with just a hint of sadness, but to Roscoe Button his presence was a source of torment. In the idiom of his generation Roscoe did not consider the matter "efficient." It seemed to him that his father, in refusing to look sixty, had not behaved like a "red-blooded he-man" - this was Roscoe's favourite expression - but in a curious and perverse manner. Indeed, to think about the matter for as much as a half an hour drove him to the edge of insanity. Roscoe believed that "live wires" should keep young, but carrying it out on such a scale was - was - was inefficient. And there Roscoe rested.

Five years later Roscoe's little boy had grown old enough to play childish games with little Benjamin under the supervision of the same nurse. Roscoe took them both to kindergarten on the same day, and Benjamin found that playing with little strips of coloured paper, making mats and chains and curious and beautiful designs, was the most fascinating game in the world. Once he was bad and had to stand in the corner - then he cried - but for the most part there were gay hours in the cheerful room, with the sunlight coming in the windows and Miss Bailey's kind hand resting for a moment now and then in his tousled hair.

Roscoe's son moved up into the first grade after a year, but Benjamin stayed on in the kindergarten. He was very happy. Sometimes when other tots talked about what they would do when they grew up a shadow would cross his little face as if in a dim, childish way he realised that those were things in which he was never to share.

The days flowed on in monotonous content. He went back a third year to the kindergarten, but he was too little now to understand what the bright shining strips of paper were for. He cried because the other boys were bigger than he, and he was afraid of them. The teacher talked to him, but though he tried to understand he could not understand at all.

He was taken from the kindergarten. His nurse, Nana, in her starched gingham dress, became the centre of his tiny world. On bright days they walked in the park; Nana would point at a great gray monster and say "elephant," and Benjamin would say it after her, and when he was being undressed for bed that night he would say it over and over aloud to her: "Elyphant, elyphant, elyphant." Sometimes Nana let him jump on the bed, which was fun, because if you sat down exactly right it would bounce you up on your feet again, and if you said "Ah" for a long time while you jumped you got a very pleasing broken vocal effect.

He loved to take a big cane from the hat - rack and go around hitting chairs and tables with it and saying: "Fight, fight, fight." When there were people there the old ladies would cluck at him, which interested him, and the young ladies would try to kiss him, which he submitted to with mild boredom. And when the long day was done at five o'clock he would go upstairs with Nana and be fed on oatmeal and nice soft mushy foods with a spoon.

There were no troublesome memories in his childish sleep; no token came to him of his brave days at college, of the glittering years when he flustered the hearts of many girls. There were only the white, safe walls of his crib and Nana and a man who came to see him sometimes, and a great big orange ball that Nana pointed at just before his twilight bed hour and called "sun." When the sun went his eyes were sleepy - there were no dreams, no dreams to haunt him.

The past - the wild charge at the head of his men up San Juan Hill; the first years of his marriage when he worked late into the summer dusk down in the busy city for young Hildegarde whom he loved; the days before that when he sat smoking far into the night in the gloomy old Button house on Monroe Street with his grandfather - all these had faded like unsubstantial dreams from his mind as though they had never been. He did not remember.

He did not remember clearly whether the milk was warm or cool at his last feeding or how the days passed - there was only his crib and Nana's familiar presence. And then he remembered nothing. When he was hungry he cried - that was all. Through the noons and nights he breathed and over him there were soft mumblings and murmurings that he scarcely heard, and faintly differentiated smells, and light and darkness.

Then it was all dark, and his white crib and the dim faces that moved above him, and the warm sweet aroma of the milk, faded out altogether from his mind.

- THE END -

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Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 45 (25 giugno-1 luglio)

2018-06-24T14:50:00.000+02:00

La proposta della settimana per la lettura ad alta voce in inglese (30 minuti al giorno): Don Quixote.

Chapter one

A Gentleman from La Mancha

In the Spanish village of La Mancha, there lived a gentleman who loved to read. His favorite stories were of knights and their code of chivalry: full of dragons, magic swords, enchanted forests, and damsels in distress.

This gentleman was not a wealthy man, but rather a hidalgo. A hidalgo was a landowner who was richer than a peasant, but poorer than a nobleman. His name was Senor Quixano.

Senor Quixano lived modestly with his housekeeper and his young niece. He was a tall, thin man in his fifties. He was a strong and healthy man, who went hunting every morning.

However, he started to read adventure stories all the time. His best friends, the local priest and the village barber, were worried. Their friend suddenly began spending night and day in his chair, reading adventure books through crazed, bloodshot eyes.

Soon he started thinking these stories were true. Finally he went completely crazy.

Waking up in his reading chair one morning, Senor Quixano announced, "I'm going to become a knight-errant!"

"A what?" asked his concerned niece.

"A knight-errant is a righter of wrongs, a friend to the unfortunate, a rescuer of fair maidens, and a killer of dragons!"

"But Uncle," she cried, "there are no dragons in Spain! And who are these maidens who need rescuing?"

The old man went to the attic of his house and found a rusty old suit of armor. He put the suit on and felt ready for action.

In a bold voice, he announced, "Now, to my faithful steed.

This "steed" was really a worn-out nag. But to his delusional eyes, it was a valiant war horse.

"I name you Rocinante, Queen of the hacks! And I will call myself.

He took a moment to think of the perfect name. "Don Quixote!"

"Now I must dedicate my life to a lady!'

"Do you know a lady?" sobbed the man's niece, frightened by his insane ramblings.

"All knights know a lady," the man replied. "When I conquer a giant or capture a villain, I'll parade them in front of her to prove my love and loyalty."

Then he remembered stories he had heard of a beautiful peasant girl from the nearby village of El Toboso. Having lost his grip on reality, he decided that she was a lonely princess.

"What's her name?" demanded his niece, hoping to bring him to his senses.

Quickly, he invented a name. "All of the sweetest ladies are named Dulcinea. Her name is Dulcinea del Toboso, and to her I dedicate my life! Don't try to stop me. I must go!"

Then he picked up his sword, a cracked old lance, and a leather shield and marched out to the stable. A few minutes later, he rode out in search of his first knightly adventure. Don Quixote soon realized that he had not been knighted. "I must find a lord or lady to dub me a knight," he said. "I don't want to be called a fraud!"

All day Don Quixote rode the scorching plain searching for adventure, but nothing happened. By sunset, he and Rocinante were hungry and tired. In the fading light, the armored man saw an inn and rode toward it. "Perhaps we'll find shelter at that castle," he said to his horse.

The inn was of the common shabby type found along the highways of Spain. In front of the inn were two dirty-faced peasant girls, who watched in shock as this man in rusty armor approached them.

"Good evening, fair maidens," he said. "I am the knight, Don Quixote de La Mancha. Please summon a trumpeter to announce my arrival."

In his eyes, this old inn was a great castle with tall silver towers. Don Quixote became annoyed when the girls just giggled.

But at this moment, a pig-handler stepped out of the inn and blew his horn to round up his grunting animals for the night. Don Quixote mistook the sound of the horn for a chorus of pipes and trumpets.

Then the innkeeper came to the knight. "If you're looking for a bed for the night, I'm sorry to tell you that we're all full."

"Sire, are you the master of this castle?" asked Don Quixote politely.

Looking at this man in his rusty armor, the innkeeper realized that he was obviously crazy. The innkeeper decided to have some fun with this loon.

"All of the royal apartments in my castle are full."

"That's okay," replied Don Quixote. "A good knight has no need for comfort. I'll be happy to sleep on the ground with a rock for a pillow."

"You're a knight, aren't you?" the innkeeper asked mischievously.

"I am an apprentice knight," replied Don Quixote. "I seek a kind lord who will dub me a knight with his sword."

"I see," said the innkeeper, "but I'm busy now caring for my other guests. I'll be back to you when I get a chance." "Thank you, my lord," replied Don Quixote.

After some rest, Don Quixote grew impatient and sent for the innkeeper. When the innkeeper stumbled out, Don Quixote said, "Lord, I can wait no longer. Please tell me what good deed I must do to earn my knighthood."

The innkeeper said, "If you want me to knight you, stay here and guard my courtyard tonight."

With that, he turned and stomped off to the kitchen.

Don Quixote picked up his weapons and walked to the middle of the courtyard, next to a water trough. Inside, the innkeeper told his guests about the madman who thought he was a knight in the courtyard.

A few hours later, a muleteer approached the trough with his animals.

"Stand back, foolish knight!" shouted Don Quixote. "I will defend this magic well to the death!"

"But my mules need water," cried the peasant as he pushed past Don Quixote.

Swinging his lance, Don Quixote hit the man on the head and knocked him out.

"I have done my first good deed!" exclaimed Don Quixote. "When this man awakes, I must send him to my lady Dulcinea to pay his respects."

Alarmed by the noise, the other muleteers rushed out of the inn and attacked Don Quixote.

"A swarm of evil knights attacks me!" cried Don Quixote as he blocked their flying stones with his shield.

The innkeeper realized that he needed to get rid of this dangerous screwball.

"Dear knight," he said to Don Quixote, "forgive these evil knights and put down your weapons. You have proved your courage. I will dub you a knight without delay. Kneel down."

Obediently, Don Quixote knelt amid the straw and dung of the yard.

"I hereby appoint you to the order of righteous knights," cried the innkeeper, smacking Don Quixote across the back with his own sword.

Don Quixote jumped to his feet excitedly, "My lord, I owe you everything!"

"Yes, yes," replied the innkeeper. "Now you must go off on your good-deed doing and wrong-righting."

"At once!" cried Don Quixote, who hurried to the stable, mounted Rocinante, and rode out into the dawn of La Mancha.

Shortly after, Don Quixote spotted a group of silk merchants coming toward him on the road.

"Here is an opportunity for gallantry."

Riding in front of the group, he blocked the road. "Halt, cretins! None shall be allowed to pass without proclaiming that my lady, Dulcinea del Toboso, is the most beautiful maiden in the world!"

The traders stopped and looked at each other. It was obvious to them that they were in the presence of a madman.

"I want to see her first before I can proclaim her beauty. How do we know that she's not just some old sloppy chops?" said the joker of the group.

"Sloppy chops?" screamed Don Quixote. "Prepare to do battle, you impudent knave!" Don Quixote raised his lance and charged the group. But Rocinante was not accustomed to speed and stumbled. Don Quixote was thrown through the air and landed in a ditch with a crash. The merchants went away, laughing loudly.

Hours later, a passing farmer heard a whimper. He found Don Quixote in the ditch, covered in mud. The farmer recognized him as Senor Qixano from the village. He hurriedly picked up Don Quixote and carried him home. There the knight was tucked safely into his own bed.

Chapter two

Knight & Squire

For two weeks Don Quixote rested in his house, making everyone think he had regained his sanity.

But he had secretly sold some of his land to finance his next adventure. He was also looking for a squire to accompany him.

The only man Don Quixote found who would work for him was a fat little farmer named Sancho Panza. He was a total dunce.

"This squire job sounds like hard work," said Sancho. "I'd rather be at home with my family, munching on a big plate of pork."

Sancho Panza loved wine, food, and afternoon naps more than anything else.

"But squires always receive great prizes of gold and land from the knights they serve," promised Don Quixote. "If you serve me, you'll surely end up as the governor of some rich island."

"My own island!" Sancho repeated, licking his lips. "Okay, I'll grab my bags and saddle up my donkey."

Then the two left in the middle of the night without telling anyone.

By dawn, the two men were in the middle of a wide plain. Squinting in the glare of the brilliant sun, Don Quixote saw thirty or forty windmills in the fields before them. "Sancho, fortune is smiling upon us!" he called. "Does that mean it's time for breakfast?" replied Sancho.

"This is no time for eating, you pig. Look at those giants over there. I'll kill every one of them. Our great service will be remembered for centuries!"

"What giants?" cried Sancho Panza.

"Over there! The ones with the long arms!"

"But Master, those are windmills."

"Don't contradict me," scolded Don Quixote. "I know an army of giants when I see them!"

Don Quixote spurred Rocinante into a gallop and raised his lance.

"Giants! Prepare to fight!" he shouted.

Charging into the nearest tower, he thrust the shaft of his lance into a sweeping sail. The weapon shattered, and the knight was picked up off his horse and tossed into the air.

He landed with a great "BOOM!" fifty meters away in a large puff of white dust.

Trotting over on his donkey, Sancho Panza said, "I told you they were windmills."

"You fool!" said Don Quixote. "When I charged those giants, an evil wizard flew by on an invisible horse and cast a spell that changed them into windmills! To rob me of my glory!"

"I see," said Sancho, believing every word as he helped his master to his feet.

"Don't worry, my squire. I'll find this wizard and destroy him!"

The next morning, they began traveling again with-out breakfast, to Sancho's dismay. An hour later, they saw a large cloud of dust in the distance.

"It must be two bloodthirsty armies in battle!" exclaimed Don Quixote. Then he quickly described both of the armies, including the names of their generals and fiercest knights which he made up.

"How do we know that this isn't just a trick by those evil wizards?"

"Can't you hear thousands of marching feet?" yelled Don Quixote, who raised his broken lance and charged them.

"They're not soldiers," cried Sancho, "It's just a large flock of sheep!"

The knight began skewering the poor sheep on the end of his lance. As soon as the shepherds saw him killing their animals, they began pelting him with stones. A rock smashed the side of Don Quixote's face and knocked him off Rocinante.

"Those evil wizards!" cried Don Quixote, spitting out a mouthful of blood and the chips of broken teeth. "They've done it again!"

In a nearby meadow, the knight and the squire found a place to rest for the night.

"I'll have dinner ready in a minute," said Sancho.

"Oh, Squire, how can you think of eating in the moment of my greatest despair?"

"There's nothing more important to me than eating," Sancho said, devouring raw onion and salami. "What are you so sad about anyway?"

Holding his throbbing head, the knight answered, "The loss of half my ear and four teeth saddens me."

"I'm not surprised. There will be nothing left of you in a week or two. I've never seen a man more miserable. We should call you the Knight of the Long Face. Your chin is almost scraping the ground."

"Yes, my squire, that's an excellent name for such an unhappy knight as myself.

The two realized that they were thirsty. An hour later, they located a stream in the forest. As the sun began to set, they heard a terrible sound coming from within the depths of the forest.

"This is an enchanted forest ruled by a terrible ogre. I will find and destroy him with my lightning lance. If I'm not back in three days, go to my lady Dulcinea and tell her I died valiantly in her honor."

Sancho Panza was afraid to be left alone, so he slipped off his donkey and sneaked under Rocinante's hind legs. There he tied a loop of rope to hold her still.

When Don Quixote tried to spur the nag on, she could not move.

"What magic is this?" boomed Don Quixote. "My steed is held still."

"Oh, it must be that evil wizard again," lied Sancho. "Perhaps it would be better to destroy the ogre in the morning."

"Yes, I will break this spell in the morning," agreed Don Quixote.

The two men spent the rest of the night trembling in the forest for fear of the terrible noise coming from down the river.

At dawn, Sancho slipped the rope from Rocinante's hind legs. When Don Quixote mounted her, she could walk.

"I'm free!" exclaimed the knight happily. Then they set off to search for the ogre.

But when they found the source of the terrible crashing sound, it wasn't an ogre but an old water machine, clanking away under the power of a water- fail.

Sancho Panza began laughing at Don Quixote's newest folly. "We just spent the night trembling in fear of this!" he laughed.

The Knight of the Long Face was even more miserable after this failed adventure. But late that afternoon, he saw something that lifted his spirits.

"Look, Sancho, do you see that knight riding toward us?"

"I see a man on a donkey," replied Sancho.

"That knight is Horatio the Brave, and his helmet is the most valuable on Earth."

"I think that's a barber's wash basin on his head."

"No, it's a solid gold battle helmet. I will challenge him and win it!"

Don Quixote shouted, "Surrender your helmet, Horatio, or I'll spear you with my lance!"

"I have no helmet," cried the man. "I'm just a barber. This brass basin is for my work. I put it on my head because it was raining."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" scoffed Don Quixote, drawing his sword.

Don Quixote snatched the basin from the man and placed it on his head. "The visor is missing, and someone has tried to melt the gold off. But I shall wear it with pride."

Sancho tried not to giggle at the sight of Don Quixote with the wash basin on his head.

Later they came to a line of a dozen men with heavy chains around their necks and hands. Four soldiers herded them, cursing and lashing them with whips.

"Prisoners," said Sancho, "off to row the king's boat."

"I don't believe it," said Don Quixote. "These unfortunate men are being held against their will. It is my duty to rescue them."

"Master," said Sancho with alarm, "these men are terrible criminals. They must pay for their crimes!"

"Move aside!" commanded one of the soldiers.

"These men are vulnerable and needy," said Don Quixote. "As a knight-errant, I offer them protection!"

"This crazy old fool is out of his mind," laughed the sergeant. "He's got a wash basin on his head!"

As the other soldiers laughed, Don Quixote smashed the sergeant over the head with his lance and knocked him unconscious. The other soldiers attacked him, but the convicts attacked them faster. One of the convicts stole the keys from the sergeant's pocket and unlocked the other criminals. The convicts overtook the soldiers easily.

"My friends," cried Don Quixote, "I have given you freedom. All I ask in return is that you go to the village of El Toboso and testify of my courage to my mistress."

"He's as crazy as a coconut!" yelled one of the convicts. "Grab him!"

The convicts attacked Don Quixote and Sancho Panza and beat them. They robbed their saddlebags and cracked Don Quixote's basin on a rock before running away.

Sancho Panza cried, "Now we're going to be in big trouble. We'll be wanted men. The Holy Brotherhood Police will be after us!"

CHAPTER THREE

The Giant Killer

To escape from the Holy Brotherhood, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza fled into the mountains. They traveled high up to desolate lonely country of the Sierra Moreno range.

"All great men go through a period of despair when they question everything they believe in," Don Quixote said. He turned to his hungry squire, "I am sending you to El Toboso, with a message of my love for Dulcinea. She must tell me whether she can return my love or not. I will stay here and whip myself until you return."

All Sancho could think about was the feast he was going to eat as soon as he got back to a village.

"Ride quickly, Sancho Panza," commanded Don Quixote as he took off his armor. Then he smashed himself in the chest with a large rock and began to beat himself on the back with a tree branch. Riding away from the strange scene. Sancho called to his master, "Don't overdo it, or there'll be nothing left of you before I can return."

Halfway to the village, Sancho stopped at an inn for the feast he had been waiting for. As he approached the door after his big meal, he came face to face with Don Quixote's old friends, the priest and the barber.

"Hey, you work for our troubled friend, Senor Quixano, don't you?" the priest said to Sancho.

"It's true. I am his squire."

"How can you believe his nonsense? Don't you realize he has lost his mind?"

"There have been some strange things happening," replied Sancho.

"Where is he now?" demanded the barber.

"He's in the mountains, waiting for me to return with an answer from his mistress, the lady Dulcinea del Toboso."

"Her answer to what?" asked the priest.

"Something about love," answered Sancho.

"Take us to him. We have to bring him back to the village with us," said the priest.

"I will, but I warn you he'll never come back with you."

"Hmm," said the barber, "I have a plan. I'll be back in a minute."

Shortly after, the barber came back with two dresses from the innkeeper's wife.

The three traveled back to the mountains. That night, they camped and discussed the details of their plan. In the morning, Sancho went off to find Don Quixote and tell him about the ladies in need of help. Meanwhile, the priest and the barber put on the dresses and began cooking bacon over the fire for their breakfast. As they ate and talked, they saw a beautiful woman passing by.

"We must show ourselves at once,'" said the priest. They stepped out to meet her.

The girl screamed when she saw them, and tried to run away.

"Do not fear us," shouted the priest, "I am a man of God!"

"If you're a priest, why are you wearing that dress?" she questioned.

"It's a long story," he replied.

"By the way, why are you wandering these hills?" asked the barber.

The beautiful young girl then told her sad story. "My name is Dorotea. I am the daughter of a wealthy farmer. I was to be married to the Duke's son, Ferdinando. But he left me for another woman. I was so broken-hearted that I came here to cry away the rest of my days."

Then the priest had an idea. "Perhaps a truly beautiful lady such as yourself could convince Don Quixote to come back to our village, rather than an old priest and barber dressed like women."

Dorotea agreed to their plan and put on one of the dresses.

When Sancho returned, he led them to Don Quixote, who was still lashing himself with the branch of an old olive tree.

Immediately, Dorotea fell to her knees. "Please, brave knight, a terrible giant is attacking my father's kingdom. You must help us!"

"Of course I will help you! Sancho, prepare my horse. We leave at once. I cannot refuse a princess in distress."

Later the group arrived at the inn where Sancho had first met the barber and the priest. The innkeeper ran out to greet them and was met by the priest. The priest handed him ten gold pieces and said, "My friend in the iron suit is mad. He thinks he's a knight and this is a castle. I ask you only to play along for the night and let us stay until morning."

"Yes, my wife heard something about a lunatic roaming the valley," said the innkeeper. "I heard the Holy Brotherhood is searching for him. You may stay, but your crazy friend will have to stay in the hayloft where I keep my wine, so he won't bother anyone."

The priest and barber agreed.

Long past midnight, after everyone had gone to bed, the priest awoke to the loud sound of gushing liquid, as if a river had burst into the inn. Suddenly, Sancho Panza stumbled into the room, covered in blood. "My master is fighting a giant upstairs! It's a bloodbath up there!"

The priest helped him up and tasted some of the redness on his fingers. "Sancho, this isn't blood, you simpleton. It's wine!"

Sprinting up the stairs, the priest shuddered when he saw what had happened. There was Don Quixote, swinging his sword and stabbing the huge pigskin sacks full of wine hung from the ceiling.

"Ah ha!" cried Don Quixote as the wine splashed out over him, blinding his eyes. "Another fatal wound. Soon there will be no more blood left in your body. Victory will be mine!"

The innkeeper raced upstairs screaming, "Oh no, you're a madman. My best wine is all gone. My wife has sent for the Holy Brotherhood. You'll pay for all of this damage!"

As the officers of the Holy Brotherhood arrived to arrest Don Quixote, the priest came and took one of the officers aside for a moment. He explained that Don Quixote was crazy and needed to be taken home for medical attention. The priest also told the officer to have his men put some chalk on their faces.

Soon after, Dorotea came to Don Quixote. "Brave knight, you have slain the giant and saved my father's kingdom. I thank you."

"It was my pleasure, dear princess,' said Don Quixote.

Suddenly the knight was surrounded by eight ghostly figures with white faces.

One of them stepped forward and said,

"We are demons, sent by the evil wizard to take you back to your village! Get into this cage!"

Don Quixote tried to fight, but the eight men seized him and locked him into the cage. Don Quixote struggled to break free from the cage until his strength was gone. Then he fell asleep.

Chapter four

New Quest

Don Quixote stayed in bed for several weeks. His niece and housekeeper watched him closely, hoping his knightly madness was finished.

One day, the barber and the priest visited him.

"I'm fully recovered and ready to get back to my old life," said Don Quixote.

"So old friend," asked the priest, "what do you think our king should do about this Turkish sultan who has threatened to attack our shores?"

"I would hold a jousting contest to find the bravest knight in all of Spain," said Don Quixote. "Then I would send that single courageous knight to conquer the sultan's armies."

Don Quixote sat up in bed, demonstrating the sword thrusts to destroy the sultan's forces.

"Oh dear," said the barber to the priest, "it seems as if our friend's sanity has not returned. We may have to employ more shocking tactics to bring his mind back."

Suddenly Sancho squeezed into the room with a grin on his face and gave the old knight some good news.

"Last night I was at a party to welcome back young Carrasco, who has been studying at Salamanca University. Before I could say 'hello', he told me he had read about all of our adventures," said Sancho. "Somebody wrote a book called Don Quixote, and it's the biggest bestseller in all of Spain!"

"Bring him to me, my squire. I must meet this young man," said Don Quixote.

A few minutes later, Sancho returned, leading a young man with a chubby face and a mischievous expression into the room. Before Don Quixote could speak, the youth fell onto his knees and said, "Oh, great knight, I'm humbled to be in your excellent presence!"

Carrasco kept talking, trying to control his giggles. "In all the history of chivalry, no one can find a braver, more extraordinary knight than Don Quixote. The book is beloved by every man and woman in every social class. The author is even talking about writing part two!"

"Well then," cried Don Quixote, hopping out of bed, "it's time to get back in the saddle. My public needs me!"

Seven days later, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza saddled their mounts and prepared to ride. Carrasco was there to wish them farewell.

Suddenly the housekeeper and niece burst out of the house and cried, "What's going on here? Where's the priest? He must stop this madness!"

Carrasco whispered to them, "Don't worry. The priest and I have a plan to bring him home. You'll see in a day or two."

Then Don Quixote shouted farewell, and they rode off.

"So what's our first move?" asked Sancho after they had been riding for an hour.

"We are riding to El Toboso where you will guide me to the palace of my mistress."

"Oh no," fretted Sancho. "I'm not sure I can remember where she lives."

Later they found themselves riding around the dark streets of El Toboso, hopelessly lost. Sancho convinced Don Quixote that they should wait until morning to find Dulcinea. After eating breakfast at their campsite, Sancho rode off, trying to figure out what to do.

As he was trying to think of a solution, Sancho saw three peasant girls riding across the plain on donkeys. He had an idea. He turned around and rode back to camp.

"Master, I have great news," he cried.

"Will she allow me to visit?" Don Quixote asked hopefully.

"Polish your suit. She couldn't wait for your visit. She's riding here with two of her maids."

Don Quixote ran around in a panic. Sancho helped him into his armor, and minutes later they were riding through the trees.

"Where is she?" cried Don Quixote.

"Over there," said Sancho, pointing to the peasant girls who were riding past.

"All I see are three ugly girls on donkeys," said Don Quixote.

"But sir, those are the prettiest women I have ever seen."

Don Quixote walked up to them and asked the one in the middle, "Are you my mistress, Princess? Are you Dulcinea, the sweetest rose in Spain?"

The girl let out a big laugh, "Sorry, Granddad, I can't waste time talking with lunatics."

Then she kicked Sancho so hard he almost fell off his donkey. The girls rode off, leaving Don Quixote in a cloud of dust.

"The evil wizard has changed my love into a disgusting country wench!" cried Don Quixote.

"It's terrible," cried Sancho, clapping his hands with glee because his plan was working so well.

"Now I am truly the Knight of the Long Face. This evil wizard has struck me in my weakest spot! I must find a way to break his spell and restore her beauty!"

Don Quixote spent the rest of that day crying in the woods, reciting poetry about lost love. Sancho contented himself with two salamis and a leather cask of wine.

Suddenly Don Quixote hissed, "I hear two men approaching in the forest."

"Where?" asked Sancho.

"On the other side of those bushes."

Then the two sat and listened.

"My lady, Casilda, is the most lovely woman in Spain!" said the voice. "And she has sent me, the Knight of the Forest, on my mission to destroy all knights who would disagree."

"This knight lies," whispered Don Quixote.

"You are mistaken!" shouted Don Quixote, stepping out of the bushes to face the knight.

"I must tell you that my Dulcinea is the most beautiful woman on Earth."

"Then we must do battle," the other knight replied coolly.

"We will joust at dawn," replied Don Quixote.

"Yes, but there is one condition. The loser must return to his village and swear to stay there and not enter any combat for one year."

"I accept," answered Don Quixote.

The next morning at dawn, the knights met on opposite sides of a clearing. To the left of the Knight of the Forest was his squire, a hunchback with a large purple nose.

Without warning, the Knight of the Forest spurred his steed into a gallop and charged Don Quixote with his lance. Don Quixote immediately raised his lance. At the last moment, the Knight of the Forest's horse neighed and refused to take another step. Don Quixote charged with all his might and knocked the other knight out of his saddle. Don Quixote quickly jumped down from Rocinante, drawing his sword and holding it to the downed knight's neck.

"Do you surrender?" Don Quixote demanded.

"Yes," cried the Knight of the Forest, "I'm finished."

Then Don Quixote commanded Sancho to remove the knight's helmet.

"Well," cried Sancho, "this knight looks like that youth Carrasco!"

"Yes, he does," agreed Don Quixote. "The power of this evil wizard to change people's faces is amazing."

"No, I really am Carrasco," sobbed the student.

"It would be safer to kill him now," said Sancho. Don Quixote raised his sword to strike, but the hunchback rushed over and flung off his robe. It was Don Quixote's friend, the barber. "Put your sword away," he said.

"Amazing," said Don Quixote, "This evil wizard never stops."

The barber dragged Carrasco away toward their campsite, cursing him for not being better in a joust.

The next morning found Don Quixote and Sancho Panza riding through a wheat field. The victory over the Knight of the Forest left Don Quixote feeling unstoppable. He didn't suspect for a moment that it had been a plot hatched by the priest to bring him back to the village.

Stepping onto the road, the knight and his squire came upon a royal cart. Raising his lance, Don Quixote blocked the cart and said, "Halt, or I'll slice you in two. I demand to know what you have in this cart."

"A lion," called one of the cart drivers, "A gift to our king from an African prince."

"Dangerous?" asked Don Quixote.

"It's thirsty for blood. It's even more dangerous because it's hungry. So clear off, old man, before you get hurt."

"I am Don Quixote," proclaimed the knight. "And I'm not afraid of any pussy cats!"

Then he swung his lance below the driver's nose. "Open the cage!"

Sancho and the driver's mate quickly ran up a nearby hill, while Don Quixote positioned himself in front of the lion's cage, and the driver prepared to pull a rope that would open it.

"Will you reconsider?" asked the driver.

"Don Quixote does not fear danger!" shouted the knight. "Pull!"

The door crashed open, and a gigantic lion stuck his head into the air. His jaws were black and covered with thick drool, his teeth yellow and curved like knives. The lion's eyes blazed as if on fire.

"I'm waiting for you, King of the jungle," Don Quixote cried fearlessly. "Are you afraid to come out?"

The lion stared at the old knight for a moment, and then yawned and went to sleep.

"This lion is a coward!" shouted Don Quixote. "Driver, rattle his cage. Make him roar!"

"I will not!" replied the driver, dropping the rope that closed the lion's cage. "You are the bravest man in Spain. No one else would go up against a man-killer."

"Will you swear to our king?" asked Don Quixote.

"He will receive a full report of your bravery," replied the driver.

Don Quixote signaled to Sancho and the driver's mate that it was safe to return.

"From this day on," announced Don Quixote, "I wish to be known as the Knight of the Lions. Men will tell tales of this adventure hundreds of years to come!"

CHAPTER FIVE

The Final Adventures

Sancho grumbled and sulked for three days as Don Quixote led them through the forest. Their food was almost gone, and the squire had to go to sleep hungry, under a damp blanket worrying about wolves and other predators. Don Quixote was proud of their sufferings, often reminding Sancho that "a hard life makes a brave heart."

On the fourth day, at sunset, they came across a group of riders. Among them was a lady dressed in green velvet. She sat atop a majestic white stallion and held a falcon on her arm.

"A huntress," gasped Don Quixote. "Perhaps even a princess. She'll certainly want to be introduced to me."

"She probably just wants us to mind our own business," Sancho replied with a grin.

Ignoring his squire, the knight commanded him, "Ride over there and introduce me."

Sancho groaned and spurred his donkey in the group's direction.

"My lady," he called. "My master, the Knight of the Lions, formerly known as the Knight of the Long Face, wishes to…

"Wait," interrupted the lady, "Did you say the Knight of the Long Face?"

"Yes, and I'm his squire, Sancho..."

"Panza?" interrupted the lady again with a smile.

"Yes," gulped Sancho. "Do you know about us?"

"Of course," she replied. "I've read the book of your adventures. It's my husband's and my favorite book!"

"Shall I bring him over then?" asked Sancho.

"You must do more than that," said the lady. "You and your master must come to our nearby castle as distinguished guests of my husband, the Duke."

The Duchess giggled when Sancho accepted her invitation. In truth, she and her husband thought the book Don Quixote was the finest comedy ever written. She and her husband were great jokers, and she figured they would be able to have some fun with the crazy knight and his dim-witted sidekick.

The group with Don Quixote and Sancho soon crossed a drawbridge and found themselves inside a vast, opulent castle. Two trumpeters sounded the knight's arrival, and a group of maidens surrounded them, fanning jars of perfume.

That night, the knight and his squire ate the best meal of their lives while chatting with their hosts. The Duke and Duchess listened with great interest about all of their recent adventures. But their greatest interest was in hearing news of Dulcinea.

When they asked about Dulcinea, the knight replied sadly, "My beautiful lady has been transformed into a vulgar, donkey-riding trollop by an evil wizard."

"How terrible!" gasped the Duchess, barely able to contain her laughter.

The next day, the Duke and Duchess convinced Don Quixote to accompany them on a wild boar hunt in the forest. But they had made secret plans to play a big joke on the knight and his squire.

While they were hunting, there was a sudden noise coming through the trees.

"My men must have found a boar. It's coming toward us. Beware its tusks!" said the Duchess.

But when the trees parted, there was no wild boar. Rather, a black stallion came prancing and kicking before them. On its back rode a man, covered in twigs, leaves, and ivy.

"I am the forest sprite!" the strange figure wearing a green mask with horns on top of his head shouted. "The demons of the forest have sent me with a message for the knight-errant, Don Quixote de La Mancha!"

"I am Don Quixote," replied the knight.

"To free your lady from their spell," the sprite continued, "you must do two things. First of all, your squire must lash himself."

"How many times?" screamed Sancho.

"Three thousand, three hundred times."

Sancho gasped in disbelief.

"But first, you must ride a flying horse through the air and over the mountains. This horse waits for you at the Duke's castle. If you are brave enough to perform these two tasks, your beloved Dulcinea will be set free," said the forest sprite.

Then the creature turned and rode away.

"It's a miracle!" cried the Duchess, "We must return to the castle at once!"

"Yes, but first, Sancho, fetch me a whip," shouted Don Quixote. "You can begin lashing yourself while we ride!"

The terrified squire had already ridden away from the knight's grasp.

Back at the castle, the servants were rushing around, shouting alarm from the towers. There was a giant wooden horse in the middle of the courtyard. The servants told the Duke it had suddenly and mysteriously dropped from the sky. Meanwhile, Don Quixote and Sancho were arguing about the lashes the squire must suffer to free Dulcinea.

"I won't do it," cried the squire.

"For the sake of my lady, I beg you," sobbed the knight.

The Duchess approached them. "You two must cease your squabbling," she said, leading them into the courtyard. She was enjoying every moment of this grand practical joke she had planned with her husband.

Don Quixote stared up at the wooden horse in amazement.

"What a creature! It must be twenty feet tall!"

Sancho's knees knocked together in fear. There was a rope ladder on the side which they climbed up. Seeing them mount the wooden horse, the Duke and Duchess could hardly control their laughter.

When the two seated themselves on top of the horse, Sancho found there was nothing to hold on to. So he grabbed onto Don Quixote's trouser belt with both hands.

"There is a carving in the wood here!" exclaimed Don Quixote. "It says we have to blindfold ourselves. Anyone who rides this magic horse without a blindfold will be struck dead!" "I've got a handkerchief!" said Sancho.

He pulled out his handkerchief, tore it in two, and gave half to his master. The two fixed the smelly halves of handkerchief around their faces. From a balcony, the Duchess and Duke squealed with pleasure at the sight of the two fools on the horse.

Once their eyes were covered, a servant tapped on the horse, and the servants inside lifted it three feet off the ground and rocked it from side to side.

"We're up in the clouds, Sancho," cried Don Quixote,

"I'm feeling airsick," moaned Sancho.

On a balcony across from the knight and squire, four maidens were pumping a pair of bellows and dousing them with cups of water.

"Hold on, Sancho. We're flying through a rainstorm!" called Don Quixote.

At this point, the Duke and Duchess were laughing their socks off. But they were also beginning to feel guilty for playing such a prank on the good knight. The Duke signaled to his butler for the grand finale.

A servant lit the horse's tail on fire. There was a "POP" and a "FIZZ" as hundreds of fireworks hidden inside the tail exploded. Sancho wrapped his arms around the knight and howled, "Save me, Master. I promise I'll suffer the lashing!"

"All of them?" asked Don Quixote.

"Every one!" cried Sancho.

Then Don Quixote beat the top of the horse with his fist. But this only made the men inside rock it harder. Finally, they tilted it too far, and the wooden horse crashed to the ground. Sancho and the knight were thrown to safety, landing on the soft grass of the castle lawn. Quickly the servants carried the horse away.

By the time Don Quixote and Sancho tore the rags from their eyes, they were facing the Duchess who leaned over them, acting concerned.

"Welcome back," she said softly, "You've been gone for hours. We were so worried. How was the ride?"

Sancho and Don Quixote rested for a few days. Then the knight announced it was time for them to leave.

"But what about Sancho's lashing?" asked the Duchess, who didn't want to miss out on the spectacle.

"He'll have to carry out the lashes while we travel. Life at court is softening my sword arm. It is time for us to go. I thank you for your hospitality."

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza rode away toward the sea and the city of Barcelona.

The next morning, Don Quixote told Sancho, "I want to see you do some whipping right now."

"Don't rush me," cried Sancho, jumping to his feet. "And I prefer to perform my lashing in private."

"I don't care how you do it, but I want to hear each lash so I know you're not shirking."

"Fine," snapped Sancho, "I'll get started."

He grabbed the whip and stomped off into the trees. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and cracked the whip against the trunk of the tree.

"Ow!" he yelled. "That one almost drew blood!"

A few days later, when Don Quixote and Sancho rode into Barcelona, word had already spread of their arrival. The streets were filled with citizens trying to get a glimpse of the crazy yet noble knight. People threw flowers and cheered. The leader of their escort allowed Don Quixote and Sancho to stay in his luxurious villa in the middle of the city.

For two weeks they lived like kings. They were paid daily visits by generals, admirals, and high-ranking public officials.

Each morning, Don Quixote would take Rocinante for a trot along the beach. Then one day, as he was on his morning jaunt, he saw a figure approaching him from down the beach. The figure was a knight, wearing a full suit of armor with his visor lowered. When Don Quixote neared the knight, he could see a white crescent emblem on his chest.

"Halt, the Knight of the Lions!" called the Knight of the White Moon. "I have a challenge for you."

"Don Quixote is always ready for a challenge," the old hidalgo answered bravely.

"Then we will joust," said the strange knight, raising a shiny new lance.

"Name your terms," called Don Quixote.

"If you win, this fine horse and my new lance are yours. If I am the victor, you must retire from your career as a knight-errant."

"Retire?" cried Don Quixote. "But that is impossible."

"We young knights are tired of you getting all of the public's attention. We want you to return to your village for a year and live a peaceful life."

"I accept your terms!" snapped Don Quixote.

Then both knights turned away from each other and checked their weapons. When they turned, the Knight of the White Moon spurred his horse into a gallop and thrust his lance toward Don Quixote.

He held his lance with such precision that the elderly knight didn't have a chance and was thrown from his saddle. He landed in the shallow water and sand of the beach. In a flash, the Knight of the White Moon dismounted and pressed his sword to Don Quixote's neck.

"You are vanquished. Do you concede?" demanded the Knight of the White Moon.

"But it means the end of my life," sobbed Don Quixote. "Without chivalry, I am nothing." "You gave your word," snarled the victor. "I will retire," coughed Don Quixote, "as I promised."

The knight's tears of defeat mixed with the salt water of the waves. "This is the darkest day of all my adventures," he moaned.

But the Knight of the White Moon showed no mercy and rode off on his stallion. The broken hidalgo sat, sobbing in the surf.

Later, Don Quixote hobbled back to town. He never realized that the Knight of the White Moon was actually the youth, Carrasco. In the months since he had been defeated as the Knight of the Forest, he had studied jousting and horsemanship. He was determined to have his revenge on Don Quixote and to return the crazy hidalgo to his friends in the village.

When Sancho heard of Don Quixote's defeat and retirement, he sobbed.

"You can't quit, Sire. Old dogs don't learn new tricks."

"I promised. Now help me take off my armor. I no longer need it."

As the two began their three-day journey home, they lamented their fate.

One night, the two men made camp by a stream. Sancho had been trying to lift the broken-hearted knight's spirits all day.

"Can I do anything to make you feel better?" he asked.

"If I knew my lady was safe," said Don Quixote, "I might be able to smile again."

So Sancho wandered off into the nearby woods and lashed a tree letting out blood-chilling cries with each crack of the whip. When Sancho had lashed all the bark off the tree, Don Quixote told him he had finished a thousand lashes and he stopped for the day.

"I am proud of you," Don Quixote told him warmly. "If you can manage a thousand per night, Dulcinea will be free by the time we reach our village."

They rode hard each day, passing by many sights of past adventures. Each night, Sancho found a suitable tree to whip and rack up another thousand lashes. On the fourth morning, he completed the final two hundred and forty-eight lashes. Don Quixote shook his hand and promised to double his salary if they ever went questing again.

When Don Quixote rode into the courtyard of his home, the housekeeper dropped her basket of laundry in the dust.

"Master, you're back in one piece," she cried.

"I am weak," whispered Don Quixote, "Sancho, help me to my room."

Back in his bed, the old hidalgo slipped into a sleep that lasted for six days. The fever he had gotten grew stronger each day. He cried and moaned in his sleep, as if being haunted by nightmares. Meanwhile, his friends waited patiently by his bedside. After a week, he opened his eyes to see the priest and the barber sitting at the end of his bed.

"I am back," muttered the old knight.

"Don Quixote!" they shouted, rushing to his side.

"My name is Alonso Quixano," said the man in the bed. "I was mad, but now my mind is restored."

"Is it true? Are all your thoughts of chivalry and wizards really gone from your head?" asked the priest.

"They are all gone," he replied softly. "I am sane enough to know that I am dying."

The news that the hidalgo was on his deathbed raced around the village. Sancho came running in from the fields where he had been at work. He was shown into the room and knelt down at his former master's side.

"Perhaps you were a little crazy," Sancho sobbed, "but if you were still a knight, you would not die."

"Your friend who was a knight," replied the hidalgo, "is no longer here. You must forget him."

"I cannot," sobbed the squire.

Sancho tried to convince his old friend not to give up the ghost. But the old hidalgo was overcome with fever. Sancho waited at his bedside for three days until finally, the old knight slipped away.

This was the end of the brave knight, Don Quixote de La Mancha. In his madness, he accomplished feats that ordinary men can only dream of. The stories of his amazing adventures have been told for more than four hundred years.

Rest in peace, noble Don Quixote. May the questing be grand and the adventures bring you glory...

- THE END -

Hope you have enjoyed the reading!

Come back to http://english-e-books.net/ to find more fascinating and exciting stories!

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 44 (18-24 giugno)

2018-06-17T14:46:00.000+02:00

Leggere ad alta voce trenta minuti al giorno.

La proposta della settimana: A Christmas Carol.

CHAPTER ONE

Scrooge

Marley was dead. That was certain because there were people at his funeral. Scrooge was there too. He and Marley were business partners, and he was Marley's only friend. But Scrooge looked very happy at the funeral because on that day he made some money. Scrooge was a clever businessman.

Yes, old Marley was certainly dead. But years later his name was still there above the office door. Scrooge and Marley. That was the company's name. Sometimes people called Scrooge 'Scrooge' and sometimes 'Marley'. He always answered. It was all the same to him.

Oh, but he was a mean man, Scrooge! He never spent any money and he never gave any away. He was an old miser. And he was a cold and solitary man. The cold was inside him. You could see it in his red eyes and on his blue nose and thin, white lips. You could hear it in his hard voice, and it made his office cold, especially at Christmas. Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, 'My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come and see me?' Children never spoke to him, and even dogs ran away from him. But Scrooge didn't care. He liked it. That was what he wanted.

One Christmas Eve Scrooge was sitting in his office. It was only three o'clock in the afternoon but it was already dark. The weather was very cold and there was a lot of fog. It came into the office through the windows and doors. Bob Cratchit, Scrooge's clerk, was copying letters in a dark little room, and the old man watched him carefully. Bob had a very very small fire in his room. It was even smaller than Scrooge's, and he tried to warm his hands at the candle but he couldn't do it.

'A merry Christmas, uncle!' said a happy voice. And Scrooge's nephew Fred came in.

'Bah!' answered Scrooge. 'Humbug!'

His nephew looked warm. His face was red and his eyes were bright.

'Christmas a humbug, uncle?' he cried, surprised. 'You don't mean that, I'm sure.'

'Yes, I do,' said Scrooge. 'Merry Christmas! Why are you merry? You're a poor man, aren't you?'

'Well, why are you so unhappy? You're rich.'

'Bah! Humbug!'

'Don't be angry, uncle,' said Fred.

'Why not? There are too many fools in this world. You say "Merry Christmas" when you're a year older and poorer. That's stupid!'

'Uncle - please!'

'Nephew! You have your own Christmas and I'll have mine. Leave me alone.'

'But you don't celebrate Christmas, uncle.'

'Because I never make any money at Christmas. I don't like it. Leave me alone.'

'But Christmas is a good time,' said the nephew. 'It's the only time in the year when people open their hearts and help each other. They become kind and generous. I like Christmas and I say God bless it!'

The clerk in his little room clapped his hands happily and said, 'Yes, that's right!'

'Another word from you and you'll lose your job,' Scrooge said to him.

'Don't be angry, uncle. Come and eat with us tomorrow,' said his nephew.

'No! Go away! I'm busy.'

'But why won't you come?'

'Why did you get married?' Scrooge asked.

'Because I fell in love.'

'Because you fell in love! Bah! That's more stupid than a merry Christmas. Good afternoon.'

'But why don't you ever come to see me, uncle?'

'Good afternoon,' said Scrooge.

'Can't we be friends?'

'Good afternoon,' said Scrooge.

'Well. I'm very sorry about this, but I wish you a merry Christmas with all my heart, uncle.'

'Good afternoon,' said Scrooge.

'And a happy new Year!'

'Good afternoon!' said Scrooge.

So his nephew went to the door and opened it. But before he left, he said 'Merry Christmas!' to the clerk, who answered with a warm ' Happy Christmas!'

'Are you stupid too?' Scrooge said.

At that moment two fat gentlemen came in.

'Excuse me, is this Scrooge and Marley's?' said one of them. 'May I ask if you are Mr Scrooge or Mr Marley?'

'Mr Marley is dead. He died on Christmas Eve seven years ago.'

'At this festive time of the year, Mr Scrooge,' said the man, taking a pen from his pocket, 'we ask people to give some money to help the poor. There are thousands of people with nothing to eat at Christmas.'

'Aren't there any prisons?' asked Scrooge.

'Yes, lots of them.'

'And what about the workhouses? Aren't there still lots of them?'

'Unfortunately, yes.'

'Good. I'm happy to hear it.'

'We don't think the people in the workhouses or prisons are happy about it. They don't have much to eat or drink, and they're always cold. How much can you give us, sir?'

'Nothing!' Scrooge replied. 'Leave me alone. I don't celebrate Christmas and I don't give money to lazy people. I help to pay for the workhouses and prisons. That's enough.'

'But many people can't go there and they'll die in this cold weather.'

'Well, there are too many people in the world already, so that's a good thing. Good afternoon, gentlemen!'

So the two men went out and Scrooge continued his work. It became colder and foggier and darker. When a boy came to sing a Christmas carol outside Scrooge's door, he stood up and shouted angrily, 'Go away!' The boy was frightened and ran away very quickly.

Finally, it was time to close the office and go home. Scrooge stopped his work and put down his pen. The clerk put on his hat to go.

'You want all day tomorrow, do you?' said Scrooge.

'If it's all right, sir - yes.'

'It's not all right,' Scrooge answered. 'I must pay you for a day's holiday.'

'It's only once a year, sir.'

'Bah! Every December 25th you get money for nothing! Well, arrive here extra early on the 26th - do you hear me?'

'Yes, sir,' said the clerk.

And when he left the office, he ran and danced all the way home because it was Christmas Eve.

CHAPTER TWO

Marley's Ghost

Scrooge walked home to the rooms where he lived. Years ago his partner Marley lived there. They were very old and dark and silent. The knocker on the door was large but it was like hundreds of other door knockers. Scrooge never looked at it. And he wasn't thinking about Marley when he put his key in the door. So how did he see Marley's face in the knocker? Yes, Marley's face! There was a strange light around it. It looked at Scrooge with its glasses up in its hair, like Marley when he was alive. The hair was moving slowly, the eyes were wide open, and the face was very white. Scrooge looked at it for a moment, and then it was a knocker again. He was surprised, but he went in and lit his candle. Then he looked at the knocker again.

'Pooh, pooh!' he said, and closed the door.

The sound echoed around the house, but Scrooge wasn't frightened of echoes and he went slowly up the dark stairs. He liked darkness; it was cheap. He looked around his room: nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa, nobody under the bed, nobody in the cupboards. He locked the door and put on his dressing-gown, slippers and nightcap. Then he sat in front of an old fireplace with a very small fire in it. For a moment he thought he saw Marley's face in the fire.

'Humbug!' he said.

Then he looked at the old bell above him on the wall. He was very surprised when this bell began to move. At first it moved slowly and quietly, but soon it made a very loud sound and all the bells in the house began to ring too. Suddenly they stopped. Scrooge heard a strange noise far away in the house - a noise of metal, like chains. It was coming up the stairs. Something was coming towards his door.

'It's humbug!' he said. 'I don't believe it.'

But the thing came into the room and stopped in front of him.

He couldn't believe his eyes! The same face: Marley's face! Scrooge recognised his dead partner's clothes and boots, and he saw a long chain round his transparent body. The chain had heavy cash-boxes, keys, locks, and account books on it. Marley was looking at him with cold, dead eyes. There was a handkerchief round his head and chin.

'Well?' Scrooge said. 'What do you want with me?'

'Much!' It was certainly Marley's voice.

'Who are you?'

'Ask me who I was?'

'Who were you then?'

'In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.'

'Sit down - if you can.'

The Ghost sat in a chair on the other side of the fireplace.

'You don't believe in me, do you?' it said.

'No, I don't.'

'Why not?'

'Because perhaps I ate a piece of meat or cheese and my stomach didn't digest it, so you are only the consequence of a bad stomach.'

Scrooge said this because he didn't want to show his terror. But the Ghost's cold eyes frightened him very much.

'If I eat this candle,' Scrooge continued, 'I'll see hundreds of ghosts like you, but they'll only be in my head.'

Then the Spirit gave a terrible cry, and it shook its chain with a tremendous noise. Scrooge trembled. And then he fell out of his chair with horror when the Ghost took off the handkerchief and its chin dropped on its chest.

'Help!' he cried with his hands on his face. 'Oh, why are you here, terrible Spirit?'

'Do you believe in me or not?'

'Yes, I do - I must!' Scrooge replied. 'But why do you come to me?'

'If a man's spirit stays away from other people while he is alive, it must walk through the world after he is dead, but it cannot share the happiness of living people.' And again the Ghost shook its chain with a sad cry.

'Why are you wearing that chain?' Scrooge asked, trembling.

'Because I made it when I was alive. I stayed away from other people. I didn't try to help them. I never loved anybody; I loved only money. So I made this chain for myself and now I must wear it. I lived like you, Scrooge! Seven years ago your chain was long and heavy. Now it is very long and very heavy!'

Again Scrooge trembled in terror. 'Tell me more, old Jacob Marley. Help me!'

'I cannot help you, Ebenezer Scrooge,' answered the Ghost. 'I cannot rest, I cannot stay here. When I was alive, my spirit never walked out of our office. It was locked in there while I made all my money. So now I must travel and never stop.'

'Have you travelled all this time - for seven years?'

'Yes. No rest. No peace. Always travelling.'

'Do you travel fast?'

'Very fast. Like the wind.'

'Well, in seven years you have been to a lot of places then.'

'Oh but I am a prisoner!' cried the phantom, and it shook the chain again, a terrible sound in the silence of the night. 'I was also a prisoner in my life because I didn't try to help others.'

'But you were a good man of business, Jacob.' Scrooge was thinking of himself too.

'Business! What was my business? My business was people, my business was charity, my business was love, my business was goodness! But I didn't do anything good. I lived with my eyes closed. I didn't see the poor and hungry people in the streets. But now I must go. Listen!'

'I'm listening, Jacob,' Scrooge said.

'I am here tonight to tell you something. There is still hope for you, Ebenezer. You still have a chance.'

'You were always a good friend, Jacob. Thank you.'

'You will see three Ghosts.'

Scrooge looked frightened. 'Are they the hope and the chance you spoke about, Jacob?'

'Yes.'

'Well - I don't want to see them...'

'You must! If you don't want to be like me, you must! The first Spirit will come at one o'clock tomorrow morning.'

'Can't they all come at one o'clock and finish it quickly, Jacob?'

'The second will come on the next night at the same time. The third will come on the night after that when the church bell strikes twelve midnight. You will not see me again. Remember my words!'

Then the Ghost put the handkerchief round its head and began to walk towards the window. It asked Scrooge to follow. But when the window opened, Scrooge stopped. He was very frightened because he could hear a great noise of crying outside. The air was full of ghosts. They were moving quickly here and there, and they all wore chains like Marley's Ghost. Their cries were very sad. There was one old ghost with a big metal box of money on a chain. It was unhappy because it couldn't help a poor woman and her baby out in the cold, foggy night without a home.

Marley's Ghost went out into the night. In a moment it was with the other ghosts, and all of them disappeared. Scrooge closed the window and went to the door. It was locked. Did Marley's Ghost really come through a locked door?

'Bah!' he said. And he began to say 'Humbug!' but stopped. He didn't want to say it now.

It was late and he was tired. So he went to bed and fell asleep immediately.

CHAPTER THREE

The First Spirit

When Scrooge woke up, it was very dark. The church clock struck twelve.

'Twelve!' said Scrooge, surprised. 'But it was after two o'clock when I went to bed. It's impossible! That clock is wrong.'

He got out of bed and went to the window, but he couldn't see much. It was dark, foggy and very cold. He went back to bed and began to think.

'Was it all a dream? Was Marley's Ghost really here?' he said to himself.

Suddenly he remembered the Ghost's words: 'The first Spirit will come at one o'clock tomorrow morning.' So he decided to wait and see. After a long time he heard the church clock.

'It's one o'clock!' said Scrooge. 'And there's nobody here!'

At that moment there was a great light in the room and the curtains of his bod opened. Yes, a hand opened the curtain in front of his face! He sat up and saw a strange person. It was small, like a child, but it was also like an old man. Its long hair was white but its face looked young. It was wearing white clothes with summer flowers on them. There was a piece of green holly in its hand.

'Are you the first Spirit?' asked Scrooge.

'Yes, I am,' the visitor replied in a quiet voice.

'Who and what are you?'

I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.'

'Whose past?'

'Your past.'

'Why are you here?'

'To help you.'

'I thank you,' Scrooge said. 'If you want to help me, let me sleep.'

'Get up and walk with me,' said the Spirit, and it took his arm.

Scrooge wanted to say that it was late, the weather was very cold, and his bed was warm. But the Spirit took him to the window.

'No, I'll fall!' Scrooge said.

The Spirit put its hand on his heart. 'If I touch you here, you won't fall,' it said.

Then they went through the wall, and suddenly they were standing on a road in the country. There was snow in the fields.

'Good Heavens!' Scrooge cried. This is where I was born! I was a boy here!' And he remembered all his old feelings about the place.

'Your lips is trembling,' said the Ghost. Are you crying?'

'No... no...' answered Scrooge. But a tear fell from his eye.

They walked along the road towards a little town with a bridge, a church and a river. Some boys came out of a school. They were laughing and singing because it was a holiday. They shouted 'Merry Christmas!' to each other.

'They are all in the past,' the Ghost said. 'They are only shadows.'

Scrooge knew all of them and he felt suddenly happy. Why did his cold eyes and heart become warm with joy? What did merry Christmas mean to him? He didn't like Christmas!

The school is not empty.' said the Spirit. 'One child is still there. He hasn't got any friends.'

'I know, I know,' Scrooge said. And there were big tears in his eyes.

They went into the school, a big, old, dark place. Inside there was a long classroom. It looked sad and empty, with only a few desks and chairs in it. A little boy was sitting at one of the desks. He was reading a book by a small fire. Scrooge sat down on a chair and cried because he knew that the little boy was himself many years ago.

That's me,' he said. 'I was left here one Christmas. Poor boy! Oh, I would like to... but it's too late now!'

'What is it?' asked the Spirit.

'Nothing. You see, there was a poor boy outside my office last night. He was singing a Christmas carol. But I didn't give him anything and I told him to go away.'

The Spirit smiled. 'Let's see another Christmas!'

Then everything changed. The boy was bigger, and the room looked older and darker. Scrooge saw himself again. He was walking sadly up and down. Then the door opened and a little girl ran in. She was younger than the boy.

'Dear, dear brother!' she said happily. And she put her arms round his neck and kissed him. 'I've come to bring you home - home, home!'

'Home, Fanny?' the boy asked.

'Yes! Home for ever and ever!" the girl laughed. 'Father is kinder now and he wants you to come home. He sent me in a coach to fetch you. Oh, you'll never come back to this horrible school! And we'll be together for Christmas! I'm so happy!'

She began to pull him towards the door.

'Bring Master Scrooge's luggage to the coach!' somebody shouted in a terrible voice.

It was the teacher, and when he came in, the boy was very frightened.

'Goodbye, Master Scrooge!' said the teacher in his terrible voice.

'Goodbye, sir,' the boy answered, trembling.

But when he got into the coach with his sister, he felt happy.

'Your sister had a very good heart,' said the Ghost. 'When she died, she left one child - your nephew.'

'Yes.' Scrooge remembered the conversation with his nephew in his office the afternoon before, and he felt bad about it.

Suddenly they were standing at the door of an office in the city. It was Christmas again.

'I know this place very well! And there's old Mr Fezziwig - alive again! Oh, dear old Fezziwig!'

Mr Fezziwig was a fat, happy man with a red face. He was working at a desk.

'Hey! Ebenezer! Dick!' he shouted. 'Stop your work!'

Scrooge, now a young man, came in with his friend Dick.

'It's Christmas Eve, boys! We must celebrate!' said Fezziwig. 'Let's stop work and close the office.'

So they put away all the books and papers and made a big fire. Then a man came in and started to play the violin. Mrs Fezziwig and the three Miss Fezziwigs arrived, and then a lot of young people came, and everybody began to dance to the music. Then there were games and more dances; cake and hot wine and more dances. And there was lots of roast beef and beer, and mince pies too. It was a wonderful party. At eleven o'clock everybody said 'Merry Christmas!' and the party finished. While Scrooge was watching all this, he laughed and sang and wanted to dance. He remembered it all and enjoyed it very much.

'You and Dick and everybody loved Mr Fezziwig,' the Ghost said to him. 'But why? That party was a very small thing. It cost only three or four pounds. So why did you all love him so much?'

'A small thing!' answered Scrooge. 'No! Fezziwig was our manager, so he could make us happy or unhappy. He could make our work easy or hard. He gave us a lot of happiness - and that was like a fortune in money!'

Then Scrooge looked sadly at the Ghost.

'What are you thinking about?' it asked.

'I... was thinking that I would like to speak to my clerk now...'

'Come, there isn't much time,' said the Ghost. 'We must be quick.'

At that moment the scene vanished and they were standing in the open air. Scrooge saw a man of about forty. It was himself again, and his face showed the first signs of the problems of business and a passion for money. He was sitting next to a young girl dressed in black. It was his fiancee Belle. She was crying quietly.

'You love something more than me, Ebenezer,' she said.

'Oh? What?'

'Money. You are afraid of life, you are afraid of the world, and so you do only one thing: make money. Then you feel more secure. Money is your passion now.'

'No,' he said angrily. 'My feelings for you haven't changed, Belle!'

'But you have changed. When you promised to marry me, you were a different person.'

'I was a boy,' he said.

'And so my love is nothing to you now. You aren't happy with me and you don't want to marry me.'

'I've never said that.'

'Not in words, no - but I know it's true. I haven't got any money so you don't want me. Well, you're free to go. I hope you will be happy.' And Belle went sadly away.

'Spirit!' Scrooge cried. 'Don't show me anymore! Take me home!'

'There's one more scene.'

'No! No more! I don't want to see it!'

But suddenly they were in a room where a beautiful young girl was sitting near a big fire. Next to her sat her mother. This was Belle, now older. The room was full of children and there was a lot of noise. But Belle and her daughter liked it, and the daughter began to play with the children. Then the father came in with a lot of Christmas presents. He gave them to the children and they laughed and shouted happily. Finally, they went to bed and the house was quiet. The father sat by the fire with his wife and daughter. Scrooge looked at them and thought: 'How sad that don't have a wife and daughter!'

'Belle,' said the husband to his wife. 'I saw your old friend this afternoon.'

'Who was it? Mr Scrooge?'

'Yes. I passed his office window and he was there. He hasn't got a friend in the world. His old partner Marley is dying.'

'Spirit, take me away!' said Scrooge.

'These things happened,' the Ghost answered, 'and they cannot be changed.'

'Please take me back! I can't watch this anymore!'

At that moment the Spirit disappeared and Scrooge was in his bedroom again. He felt very tired, so he got into bed and fell asleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Second Spirit

Scrooge woke up, opened his bed-curtain and looked around. He was ready to see anything, but when one o'clock struck, nothing happened. After a while he saw a strong light in the next room. He got out of bed and went slowly to the door.

'Scrooge!' said a voice. 'Come in, Ebenezer!'

The room was his room, but it was different. On the walls there was some green holly with red berries, and mistletoe and ivy. In the fireplace was a great fire. On the floor there was a lot of food: turkey, goose, chicken, rabbit, pork and sausages, as well as mince pies, puddings, fruit, cakes, and hot punch. And on the sofa sat a very large man - a giant - and he was holding up a torch.

'Come in!' said the Ghost.

Scrooge went and stood in front of this giant, but he didn't look at it. He was too frightened.

'I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,' said the Spirit. 'Look at me!'

So Scrooge looked. He saw that the Spirit was smiling. It had kind, gentle eyes. There was holly round its long dark hair. Its face was young and happy.

'You have never seen anybody like me before,' it said.

'Never.'

'And you have never met any of my brothers?'

'No. How many brothers have you got?'

'More than eighteen hundred. I am the youngest.'

'Spirit,' Scrooge said, 'take me where you want. I learnt a good lesson last night.'

'Touch my clothes!'

When Scrooge did this, the room disappeared and he stood in the city streets on Christmas morning. There was a lot of snow. Some people were playing and throwing snowballs. Others were buying food in the shops. It was a busy, cheerful scene, and the bells were ringing.

Then a lot of poor people came along the street with their Christmas dinners of goose or chicken. They were taking them to the baker's shops to be cooked in the oven. The spirit took Scrooge to one of these shops and touched some of the dinners with its torch.

'What are you doing?' Scrooge asked.

'I am making these dinners extra good so the people will be happier,' it replied, smiling.

After a while Scrooge followed the Ghost to the suburbs of the city. They went to the house of Bob Cratchit, his clerk. The kind Ghost touched the house with its torch. Then they went in. Mrs Cratchit and her daughter Belinda were preparing the table for Christmas dinner. Young Peter Cratchit was helping them. Suddenly two little Cratchits ran in and shouted that the goose was ready at the baker's. Then the oldest daughter Martha arrived, and after her came Bob with his little son Tiny Tim on his shoulder. The child was a cripple and he walked around on a small crutch.

Young Peter went to fetch the goose. When he came back, all the children in the family shouted 'Hurray!' because they didn't often eat goose. Belinda made some apple sauce; Mrs Cratchit prepared the potatoes and the gravy; Martha put the hot plates on the table. Finally, everything was ready. When Mrs Cratchit cut the goose, everybody cried 'Hurray!' again, and Tiny Tim hit the table with his knife. The goose was small, but they all said it was the best goose in the world and ate every bit of it. Then Mrs Cratchit brought in the Christmas pudding with brandy on it. She lit the brandy with a match, and when they were all eating, they said, 'Oh, what a wonderful pudding!' Nobody said or thought that it was a very small pudding for a big family.

After dinner the Cratchits sat round the fire. They ate apples and oranges, and hot chestnuts. Then Bob served some hot wine.

'A Merry Christmas to us all!' he said.

'A Merry Christmas!' the family shouted.

'And God bless everyone!' said Tiny Tim in his weak voice.

He sat very near his father. Bob loved his son very much and be held Tiny Tim's thin little hand.

'Will Tiny Tim live, Spirit?' Scrooge asked.

'I see an empty chair,' replied the Ghost, 'and a small crutch. But not Tiny Tim. If the future does not change, the child will die.'

'No, no!' said Scrooge. 'Say he will live, kind Spirit!'

'If the future is not changed, he will not see another Christmas. But you think that's a good thing, don't you? You said there are too many people in the world.'

Scrooge didn't answer and he didn't look in the Ghost's eyes. He felt very bad.

'Those were wicked words, Ebenezer Scrooge,' the Ghost continued. 'Do you think you can decide who will live or die? Are you better than this poor man's child, or millions like him? Perhaps you are worse in God's eyes!'

Scrooge trembled and looked at the ground. Suddenly he heard his name.

'Mr Scrooge! Let's drink to Mr Scrooge!' It was Bob Cratchit and he was holding up his glass.

'Drink to Mr Scrooge!' said Mrs Cratchit angrily. 'Drink to that hard old miser! What are you saying, Robert Cratchit?'

'My dear - the children. It's Christmas Day.'

'I know that, but I would like to tell Mr Scrooge what I think of him! You know how bad he is.'

'My dear, it's Christmas Day.'

'Well, I'll drink to him because it's Christmas. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, Mr Scrooge! - But you won't be merry or happy, I know.'

The children drank to Scrooge too, but his name was like a dark shadow in the room and for a few minutes they were silent. Then they told stories and sang songs, and they felt better. The Cratchits were poor and they looked poor. Their clothes were old; there were big holes in their shoes. Bob Cratchit's salary I was very small. He never had enough money and there was never much food in the house. But the family was contented now because it was Christmas. Scrooge watched them carefully. He listened to them well. And he looked at Tiny Tim very often before the family scene vanished.

It was dark now, and snow was falling. Scrooge and the Ghost walked along the streets and saw great fires in the houses, where families and friends were enjoying Christmas together. The Ghost was happy to see the celebrations. It laughed, and where it passed, people laughed too. And then Scrooge heard a loud, happy laugh. It was his nephew's. He saw him in a bright, warm room. When his nephew laughed, the other people in the room laughed with him.

'He said that Christmas was a humbug!' the nephew laughed. 'And he believed it too!'

'He's stupid and bad, Fred,' said his wife.

'Well, he's a strange man, and he isn't very happy.'

'But he's very rich, Fred.'

'Yes, my dear, but he doesn't do anything with his money. He doesn't help others, and he lives like a poor man.'

'Nobody likes him. I don't like him. He makes me angry.'

'I'm not angry with him. I feel sorry for him because he doesn't enjoy his life. He never laughs. He didn't want to eat with us today, but I'm going to ask him every year. I'll say, "How are you, Uncle Scrooge? Come and eat with us.'"

Then they played some music and sang. After that, there were games. When they played twenty questions, Scrooge forgot that they couldn't hear him and he shouted his answers. Then his nephew thought of something and everybody asked him questions.

'Is it an animal?'

'Yes.'

'Does it live in the city?'

'Yes.'

'Is it a horse?'

'No.'

It wasn't a dog, a cat or a pigeon. It made horrible noises, sometimes it talked, and nobody liked it.

'I know what it is!' shouted Fred's wife. 'It's your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!'

She was right.

'A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old man!' said Fred.

Scrooge wanted to say this to Fred, but the scene vanished and he and the Ghost travelled again. Scrooge noticed that the Spirit looked older. Its hair was grey now.

'Is your life so short?' he asked.

'Very short. It ends tonight at midnight. It's eleven forty-five. I haven't got much time. Look - look down here!'

The Spirit opened its coat and Scrooge saw two children on the ground, a boy and a girl. They were very thin. Their clothes were old and poor, and they were trembling with cold. They looked very hungry. Their eyes were sad. They looked older than children and they were ugly, like monsters. Scrooge was shocked.

'Are they yours?' he asked.

'No. They are Man's. They belong to humanity.'

'Haven't they got a house or a family?'

'Aren't there a lot of prisons?' the Spirit replied. 'And aren't there any workhouses?'

'Oh, no - no! Those are my words!' Scrooge cried.

The church clock struck twelve. He looked around for the Ghost but it wasn't there. Then he remembered old Jacob Marley's words:

'The third Spirit will come at twelve midnight.'

CHAPTER FIVE

The Last of the Spirits

Another phantom was coming towards him. It was tall and silent. Scrooge couldn't see its face or its body because it was wearing long, black clothes and a black hood. There was something mysterious about it. When it came near him, Scrooge was very frightened. It didn't speak or move.

'Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?' he asked.

The Spirit didn't answer, but its long, white hand came out from the black clothes and pointed down.

'Are you going to show me things from the future?' Scrooge asked.

His legs were trembling a lot and so he couldn't follow the Ghost when it moved away. It stopped and waited for him. He couldn't see its eyes but he felt that they were looking at him. This Ghost was the most frightening of the three.

'Ghost of the Future!' he cried. 'I'm very frightened of you! But I know that you want to help me so I'll go with you. Please speak to me!'

It made no reply. Its long hand pointed ahead.

'All right, I'll come,' said Scrooge.

So the Ghost carried him to the centre of London. At a place called the Exchange he saw a lot of businessmen. Their pockets were full of money. They were walking around and talking to each other. They often jingled the money in their pockets and looked at their watches. Scrooge knew many of them. When the Ghost stopped near three men, he could hear their conversation.

'No, I don't know much,' said one very fat man. 'I only know he's dead.'

'When did he die?' another man asked.

'Last night, I think.'

'I thought he would never die. Was he very ill?'

'God knows.'

'What about his money?' asked a man with a very red face.

'I don't know,' replied the fat man. 'He hasn't left it to me.'

Everybody laughed.

'The funeral will be very cheap because only a few people will go,' the fat man continued.

'I'll go if there's a big lunch,' the red-faced man said.

Another laugh. And then the men went away. Scrooge looked at the Ghost.

'Who are they talking about?' he asked.

But the Ghost said nothing. It went into the street and showed Scrooge two men. He knew them. They were rich and important businessmen. First they said hallo. Then one of them said:

'Well, he's finally dead.'

'Yes, I've heard,' answered his companion. 'Cold, isn't it?'

'Very cold. But it's the right weather for Christmas. Would you like to come ice-skating?'

'No. thank you. I'm too busy. Good morning.'

That was the end of their conversation. Scrooge was surprised. Who were they talking about? He couldn't think of anybody. Old Marley died seven years ago and this Ghost was showing him the future. He decided to wait and see. He looked around but couldn't see himself anywhere. Wasn't he there in the future? Silent and black, the Ghost stood near him. He knew that it was watching him and he trembled.

They went into a poor part of the city where the streets were dirty and narrow. There were dark shops and houses, and the people looked ugly and miserable. A lot of them were drunk. Rubbish was everywhere, and there were bad smells. The quarter was full of dangerous criminals. Scrooge followed the Ghost into a small, dark shop. It was full of dirty, old things - bottles, clothes, keys, chains. A man of about seventy with grey hair sat near a fire and smoked his pipe. Then a woman came in with a big, heavy box in her arms. She put it on the floor and sat down.

'Open it. Old Joe,' she said, 'and give me the money.'

The man opened the box. 'What are these?' he said. 'Bed - curtains! Did you take them while he was in bed?'

'Yes. Why not? There was nobody with him. There are blankets too.'

'His blankets?'

'Of course! He won't need them where he's going. Here's a beautiful, expensive shirt too. He was wearing it for his funeral. I thought, "What a pity! This is a very fine shirt but nobody will wear it again.'' So I took it off him.'

'You did well, madam,' laughed Old Joe. 'You're a clever woman and you'll make a fortune one day.'

'I must think of myself, like him. He was a selfish old miser. I cleaned his rooms and his clothes. I worked very hard for him but he never gave me anything. I wanted to take more things but his housekeeper took them before me.'

Just then the housekeeper came in. She had a large bag full of sheets, towels, clothes, and shoes.

'Now look in my bag. Old Joe,' she said, 'and tell me how much you'll give me.'

Old Joe counted up the money for each thing in the box and the bag and wrote some numbers on the wall.

'That's how much I'll give you,' he said. 'And no more. I always give too much and so I'm poor.' Then he opened a dirty bag and put the money on the floor. 'When he was alive, he frightened people and they hated him. So we get the profits now that he's dead. Ha, ha, ha!'

Scrooge watched this in horror. 'Spirit! I see and I understand. This could happen to me. Oh God, what's this now?'

The scene changed and he was near a bed. It had no blankets or curtains. There was only an old sheet with something under it - the body of a dead man. The Ghost pointed at the head, but Scrooge couldn't pull down the sheet and look at the dead man's face. He was shaking with terror. The body was cold, rigid, and alone in that dark room. 'How terrible!' thought Scrooge. 'Not a man, woman or child to say that he was kind to them in life and to remember him with love!' Then he heard the sound of rats behind the walls. Were they waiting, were they going to jump on the bed and...?

'Spirit!' he said. 'What a horrible place! I'll always remember this scene. Can we go now?'

But the Ghost still pointed at the dead man's head.

'I understand,' Scrooge said. 'But I can't do it. I ask you to show me somebody who is sorry that this man is dead.'

The Ghost took him to Bob Cratchit's house. The mother and children were sitting round the fire. They were quiet, very quiet. The little Cratchits sat like statues in a corner. Peter was reading.

'When is Father coming?' he asked. 'He's late. But I think he walks slower now.'

'I remember when he walked very fast with - with Tiny Tim on his shoulder,' said the mother. 'But Tiny Tim was very light - and his father loved him so much. Ah there's your father at the door!'

Bob came in. He drank some tea while the two little Cratchits put their faces close to his, saying, 'Don't be sad, Father!'

So Bob tried to be cheerful; but suddenly he cried. 'My little child! My little boy!'

He went to a room upstairs. It looked as bright and happy as Christmas. He sat on a chair next to the bed. There was a little child on it. It was Tiny Tim, and he wasn't sleeping. He was dead. Bob kissed the little face; then he went downstairs.

'I met Mr Scrooge's nephew in the street.' he told the family. 'He asked me why I was so sad. When I told him, he said he was very sorry and wanted to help us. I think he's going to find a job for Peter.'

'He's a very good man,' said Mrs Cratchit.

'Yes. Children, when you all leave home in a few years, you won't forget Tiny Tim, will you?'

'Never, Father!' they all cried.

'Thank you. I feel happier now,' Bob said.

Scrooge said to the Ghost, 'Oh, please tell me who that dead man was!'

The Ghost took him near his office, but it didn't stop.

'Wait!' said Scrooge. 'My office is in that house. Let me go and see what I'll be in the future.'

The Ghost continued walking. Scrooge ran to the window of his office and looked in. He saw an office, but it wasn't his. Everything was different, including the man at the desk. He followed the Ghost again. It stopped at the gate of a cemetery.

'Am I going to learn the dead man's name now?' asked Scrooge.

The Spirit led him to a grave. He went near it, trembling.

'Before I look at the name,' he said, 'answer me one question. Is it really necessary for these things to happen or are they only possible?'

The Ghost didn't answer.

'I mean, if men change their lives and become better, will the future change too? Is this what you want to tell me?'

The Ghost was silent. Scrooge went slowly towards the grave, still trembling. He read the name on the gravestone: EBENEZER SCROOGE.

He fell on his knees. 'I was the dead man in the bed! Oh, Spirit! Oh no, no! Listen, I've changed. I won't be the same man as before. Tell me there is still hope - please! Tell me that if I change my life, the things that you have shown me will be different!'

The Spirit's hand trembled.

'I will celebrate Christmas with all my heart!' Scrooge continued. 'And I'll always try to have the Christmas spirit - every day of the year! I will live in the past, the present and the future. I will not forget the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me that I can clean the name off this stone!'

Scrooge held up his hands to the Ghost but suddenly it vanished. There was only a bed-curtain in front of his eyes.

CHAPTER SIX

'A Merry Christmas, Mr Scrooge!'

The bed was his, the room was his, and best of all, he still had time to be a better man. He jumped out of bed.

'I will live with the spirits of the past, present and future in me!' he said, on his knees and with tears in his eyes. 'Thank you. Jacob Marley! God bless Christmas!'

Then he put on his clothes.

'My clothes are here: I am here. But the future is not here yet and I can change it!' he said, laughing and crying at the same time. 'What shall I do first? Oh, I feel as light as a feather! I'm as happy as an angel! A Merry Christmas to everybody! A Happy New Year to all the world!'

He danced in the sitting-room and looked around.

'There's the door where Jacob Marley came in. There's the place where the Ghost of Christmas Present sat. There's the window where I saw the ghosts in the air. It's all right, it's all true, it all happened!'

And he laughed and laughed. Then the church bells rang - ding, dong, ding, dong! It was a glorious sound! He opened the window and put out his head. No fog. It was a bright, sunny day and the air was cold and sweet.

'What's today?' Scrooge shouted to a boy in the street.

'Eh?' The boy looked very surprised.

'What's today, my boy?'

'It's Christmas Day.'

'Christmas Day!' Scrooge said happily to himself. 'So the Spirits did everything in one night. Hey, boy! Do you know the butcher's shop in the next street?'

'Of course!'

'You're an intelligent boy! Do you know if they've sold that big turkey in the window?'

'You mean the one as big as me?'

'What a nice boy!' said Scrooge. 'Yes, that one.'

'No. It's still there.'

'Is it? Oh, good! Go and buy it for me, will you? Tell them to bring it here. If you come back in five minutes, I'll give you half-a-crown.'

The boy ran as fast as possible to the shop.

'I'll send it to Bob Cratchit,' Scrooge said. 'Ha, ha! He won't know who sent it!'

And he wrote Bob's address on a piece of paper. When the butcher's man arrived with the enormous turkey, Scrooge told him to call a cab. He paid for the turkey and the cab, and he gave the boy half-a-crown. He was laughing all the time. Then he put on his coat and walked along the street. He looked at all the people with a happy smile.

'Good morning!' people said to him. 'A Merry Christmas to you!'

And Scrooge answered in the same way.

'Ah, there are the two gentlemen who were asking for money in my office yesterday,' he said. 'How do you do my dear sirs! A Merry Christmas to you!'

'Mr Scrooge?' asked one of them.

'Yes. That's my name and perhaps you don't like me. Please excuse me for yesterday. Listen...'

Scrooge spoke quietly in the man's ear.

'Are you serious, Mr Scrooge?' The man was very surprised.

'Of course. Can you do me that favour?'

'My dear Scrooge, that's very generous! I don't know what to say to thank you.'

'Don't say anything. Come and see me tomorrow. I'll give it to you then. All right?'

Then Scrooge continued walking. He watched the people, he kissed little children, he played with some dogs, he looked at everything with love, and he felt very happy.

In the afternoon he went to his nephew's house. Everybody was in the dining-room.

'Fred!' said Scrooge at the door.

'My God! Who's that?' cried Fred.

'It's your Uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Can I come in, Fred?'

'Come in? Of course, uncle! You're very welcome.'

Everybody was happy to see Scrooge and he was happy to see them. They ate a wonderful dinner, and then they played wonderful games and had a wonderful time!

Scrooge was in his office early the next morning. He was waiting for Bob Cratchit. Of course, he knew Bob would be late. Nine o'clock and no Bob. A quarter past nine. No Bob. At nine-twenty Bob ran in. He went into his room immediately and started to work fast.

'Hallo!' Scrooge said in his old angry voice. 'You're late!'

'I'm very sorry, sir!' Bob answered.

'Are you? Come here, Cratchit.'

'It's only once a year, sir,' said poor Bob. 'It won't happen again.'

'Well, my friend, I hope not,' Scrooge said with a big smile. 'Because I'm going to give you a bigger salary!'

Bob trembled. He couldn't believe his ears.

'A merry Christmas, Bob!' said Scrooge. 'This will be your happiest Christmas! Yes, I'm going to give you a lot more money and I'm going to help your poor family. Come on make a very big fire and let's have a drink. Bob Cratchit!'

Scrooge gave Bob more money, helped his family and did much more. Tiny Tim did NOT die and Scrooge was a second father to him. He became a good friend, a good manager and a good man. A few people laughed at him, of course, but he knew that some people always laugh at anything new, strange, and good. He often laughed now and that was the most important thing to him. He didn't see the Spirits again, and he celebrated every Christmas with all his heart. And, like Tiny Tim he said, 'God bless everyone!'

- THE END -

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Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 43 (11-17 giugno): file audio su english-e-books.net

2018-06-10T14:43:00.000+02:00

New Fluency segnala che sul sito www.english-e-books.net sono disponibili i file audio dei testi proposti per la lettura ad alta voce: utili per verificare la correttezza della pronuncia.

La proposta della settimana: FIVE FAMOUS FAIRYTALES

CHAPTER ONE

The Table, the Donkey and the Stick

Once there was a woman with three sons - Tom, Bob and Jack. Tom was the youngest. Bob came next, and Jack was the oldest. They lived in a village. They were happy, but their mother was very poor. So the boys looked for work.

Tom worked for a kind man in the next town. The man made tables and other things from wood. Tom worked very hard for one year. When the year ended, the kind man gave him a table. It looked old and dirty, but it was a magic table.

'Say to the table, "I am hungry." Then wonderful food will appear on it by magic,' said the man, with a smile.

'You are very kind,' said Tom to the man. And he left. He went from country to country and from city to city, and he was always happy. He carried his table on his back. When he wanted food, he put the table down - in the street, by a river, under a tree. He said to the table, 'I am hungry', and lovely food appeared.

Some months later, he thought, 'I would like to see my mother. I'll go home.'

On the last night of his journey to his mother's house, he came to an old house. An old man lived there.

'Can I stay the night here?' he asked the old man.

'Yes, you can stay here, but I can't give you any food,' said the old man.

'Don't give me any food,' Tom said. 'You can eat with me.' Then he put down his table and said, 'I am hungry.' Wonderful food appeared and they ate it.

Now this man was not a good man. He was a jealous man.

'I want this boy's table,' he thought. 'It will give me food. I can sell the food to other people. I will never be hungry again.'

When Tom was asleep that night, the old man took the magic table from Tom's room. He worked all night and made a new table. It looked the same. He put it next to Tom's bed.

The next morning Tom put the new table on his back and he walked to his mother's house.

Tom's mother was very happy when she saw her youngest son.

'What did you do when you were away?' she asked.

'I made tables,' said Tom. 'And I have a table here.'

'It's not a very nice table,' said his mother.

'But it's a magic table,' answered Tom. 'When I say to it, "I am hungry", beautiful food appears on it.'

'Show me!' said his mother.

'Let's invite our friends from the village. Then everybody can see the magic,' said Tom.

Tom's mother invited everybody from the village. Tom put his table down in front of them and said, 'I am hungry.' But nothing happened. No wonderful food appeared on the table. Everybody laughed and went away. Tom was very angry. He knew now - the old man had his magic table.

Tom was very unhappy. He ran away from home and went back to his old job. He wrote to his brother, Jack. His letter told the story of the magic table and the jealous old man.

Bob, the second brother, worked with a friendly man in a village many kilometres away. Bob worked very hard for one year. When the year ended, the man gave Bob a donkey.

'You can't sit on this donkey,' the man said, 'but it is a good donkey.'

'It's very small. Why is it a good donkey?' asked Bob.

'Because it's a magic donkey,' answered the man. 'Put a box under its mouth. Say the magic word, "Bricklebat", and gold will suddenly fall from its mouth. Catch the gold in the box. You will never be poor.'

'You are very kind,' Bob said to the man. Bob went from country to country, and from city to city, and he was always happy. He took the donkey with him. He bought the most expensive clothes and ate the most wonderful food. He stayed in the best houses. When he wanted more money, he said 'Bricklebat' to the donkey.

Some months later, Bob thought, 'I would like to see my mother. I'll go home.'

On the last night of his journey, he came to the old house. The jealous old man was there.

'Can I stay the night here?' he asked.

'Yes, you can stay here, but I want money for your food and your bed.'

'Money!' cried Bob. 'You can have a lot of money!'

Bob ate lovely food at Tom's table. The old man asked for some money. Bob put his hand in his coat but there was nothing in it.

'Wait,' said Bob, 'I'll get some.'

He took a box and went outside to the donkey. The old man followed him to the door. He stood behind the door and Bob did not see him.

'Where is his money?' the old man thought. 'I'll watch him. When he's asleep, I'll take his money.'

Bob put the box under the donkey's mouth. He said the magic word. The gold fell into the box. The old man's mouth opened wider and wider.

'I want that donkey,' he thought.

Later that night, when Bob was asleep, the old man went outside. He found another donkey and put it in the place of the magic donkey.

The next morning, Bob took the new donkey and walked to his mother's house.

Bob's mother was very happy when she saw her son.

'What did you do when you were away?' she asked.

'I worked for a man,' said Bob. 'And he gave me this donkey.'

'It's a very small donkey,' said his mother. 'Is it strong?'

'No,' answered Bob, 'but it's a magic donkey. When I say the magic word, gold falls from its mouth. Call your friends. Let's show them.'

Everybody came from the village.

'Now, watch this!' said Bob. 'Bricklebat! 'Everybody looked at the donkey. The donkey looked at them. Nothing happened. No gold fell from its mouth. Everybody laughed, and Bob was very angry. He knew now - the old man had his magic donkey. He ran away from home and went back to his old job. He wrote to his brother, Jack. His letter told the story of the magic donkey and the jealous old man.

Jack worked with a wood-cutter. He worked very hard for one year. When the year ended, the wood-cutter gave Jack a beautiful box. There was a stick inside it.

'Thank you for the beautiful box,' said Jack, 'but I don't want the stick. I'll put something prettier than a stick in this lovely box.'

'It's a magic stick,' said the wood-cutter. 'When somebody is unkind to you, the stick will help you. You say, "Stick! Out of the box!'' The stick will jump out of the box and it will hit them. When you say, "Stick! Back in the box!", it will stop hitting them.'

Jack took the box and started his journey home. On the last night of his journey, he came to the old house. The jealous old man was there. He gave Jack some food. Then Jack told him about his journey.

'Do you know,' said Jack, 'that there is a magic table? You say "I am hungry" to the table. Then wonderful food appears on it. And there is a magic donkey. You say "Bricklebat!" to it, and gold falls from its mouth. But I have something better than the magic table or the magic donkey in this box. Nothing in the world is as good as this!'

'What is it?' thought the jealous old man. 'I want it.'

When Jack went to bed, he put the box on the floor. He shut his eyes. After some time, the old man came into Jack's room. He looked at Jack. Quietly he put his hand on the box. Suddenly, Jack jumped out of bed. 'Stick! Out of the box!' he cried. The stick hit the jealous old man on his head and arms and back. The old man wanted to run away but he couldn't.

'Give me the magic table and the magic donkey. Then I will put the stick back in the box,' said Jack.

'Yes, yes,' cried the old man. 'You can have them. Stop the stick! Stop the stick!'

The next day, Jack took the table, the donkey and the stick and he walked to his mother's house.

Jack's mother was very happy when she saw her son.

'What did you do when you were away?' she asked.

'I worked with a wood-cutter,' said Jack.' He gave me this stick.'

'A stick!' cried his mother angrily. 'Why did he give you a stick? You can get a stick from every tree in the world!'

'Yes,' said Jack. 'But this is a magic stick. When somebody is unkind to me, I say, "Stick! Out of the box!" It jumps out of the box and hits them. It only stops when I say, "Stick! Back in the box!" My brothers had a magic table and a magic donkey. A jealous old man took them. With this stick, I got them back again.'

Jack's mother was very happy. She wrote to Tom and Bob and told them the story. They came home. She invited everybody from the village to their house. Everybody sat round the magic table and ate wonderful food. Everybody took home a bag of gold from the magic donkey's mouth.

From that day, the old woman and her three sons lived very happily.

CHAPTER TWO

The Prince and the Servants

Once there was a bad and jealous queen. She had a kind and beautiful daughter. Many princes from many countries wanted to marry the princess. The queen said to each prince, 'Before you marry my daughter, you have to do something for me.' And then she gave him an impossible job. When he couldn't do it, she said, 'Now you will die.' And her wood-cutter cut off his head.

'You will never marry,' she said to her unhappy daughter. And she laughed.

Prince Charles was the son of a poor king in a small country. He heard about the beautiful princess. He said to his father, 'I want to marry her.'

'Never!' cried the king. 'The queen will kill you. You are my only son - I cannot lose you! There are hundreds of beautiful women in the world. You don't have to marry this one.' But the prince was very sad. He couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep. In the end his father said, 'Go, then - go to the princess! I hope you will do better than the other princes. I hope I will see you again.'

The prince was very excited and he danced round his rooms. He ate a lot of food and got strong again. Then he began his journey. He had no servants because his father was poor. 'I'll find servants on the way,' he said.

After a short time, the prince saw a small mountain. 'What is that mountain?' he thought. 'It wasn't there before.'

He went nearer. It wasn't a mountain. It was a very fat man on his back, asleep. The prince went near him and the fat man woke up.

'What are you doing here, Fat Man?' asked the prince.

'I was asleep,' said Fat Man, 'and now I am not asleep. Because of you.'

'Why were you asleep?'

'Because I had some food this morning. Now I want my lunch.'

'What did you eat this morning?' asked the prince.

'Ten chickens and a hundred cakes,' said Fat Man.

'Will you be my servant?' asked the prince.

'Give me food,' said the Fat Man, 'and I will do anything for you.'

So the Fat Man followed the prince.

A short time later on their journey, they found another man. His head was down and his left ear was on the ground. He looked up. His left ear was very large.

'What are you doing, Big Ear?' asked the prince.

'I am listening,' said Big Ear. 'The flowers are opening. The birds are singing in a country over the sea. I can hear them.'

'What can you hear in the house of the beautiful princess?' asked the prince.

'People are crying. Another prince is dead.'

'Will you be my servant, Big Ear?'

'Yes,' said Big Ear, 'I will.'

A short time after that, they saw two long things by the road.

'What are they? Trees?' said Fat Man. They went nearer.

'They're not trees,' said Big Ear. 'They're arms. The longest arms in the world.' A little later they saw the man's head.

'You are a very long person,' said the prince.

'I can be longer than this,' said Long Arms.

'Come with me, Long Arms,' said the prince. 'Be my servant.'

So Long Arms followed the prince.

Next they saw a man with a hand over one eye.

'Is there something in your eye?' asked the prince.

'No,' said the man. 'I can see a long way. I can see through things - buildings, mountains, water. When something is near me, I have to put my hand over one eye. Then I can see it.'

'Come with me, Quick Eyes,' said the prince, 'and be my servant.' And Quick Eyes followed the prince.

They went on their journey and the sun got very hot. The prince opened his coat. They came to a man by the road. He wore two thick coats and a large hat. They could not see his face. He said, 'I am cold, cold, cold.'

'Why are you cold, Cold Man?' asked the prince. 'The sun is very hot and our coats and shirts are open. We are hot.'

'When I open my coat,' answered Cold Man, 'the sun disappears. It snows. Everything dies of cold.'

'Come with me,' said the prince, 'and be my servant. But please don't open your coat.' Cold Man went with the prince.

Prince Charles and his servants arrived at the city, and the prince went to the queen.

'I want to marry the princess,' he said. 'What do I have to do?'

The queen answered, 'You will have to do three things. Do them well. Then you can marry the princess.'

'What is the first thing?' asked the prince.

'I have a beautiful blue jewel. Yesterday it fell into the river. Bring me the jewel before the sun goes down!'

The prince went back to his servants.

How can we find the jewel?' he asked them.

Quick Eyes took his hand from his eye.

'I will look for it.' He went to the river. 'There it is - over there.'

'I can't see it,' said Long Arms.

Then Fat Man opened his mouth and drank the water in the river. A short time later, the river was dry. Long Arms got the jewel and gave it to the prince.

The queen was very angry when she saw the jewel. Then she said, 'Tomorrow I will give this prince a very difficult job.' She thought hard. She did not sleep that night.

The next morning the prince woke up early. He went to the queen again.

'You are hungry after your long journey,' she said, with a cold smile. 'I have thirty chickens outside. Eat them before twelve o'clock. I do not want to find one chicken leg.'

'Can I invite a friend?' the prince asked. 'I do not like eating without a friend.'

'You can ask one friend,' said the queen. The prince left. 'He will die this afternoon,' she said to her daughter. And she laughed.

The prince went back to his friends.

'Come with me, Fat Man,' he said.

Fat Man quickly ate the thirty chickens. Then he ate the queen's other animals, the bread in the kitchens, the fruit on the trees and the vegetables in the ground.

'Now what can I eat?' asked Fat Man. There was nothing there so he went to sleep.

At twelve o'clock the queen called for her lunch. She waited and waited, but no food came. She went to see the cook. 'Where is my lunch?' she asked.

'A fat man ate everything in the gardens and everything in the kitchens. There is no food.'

The queen got angrier and angrier. Then she thought of a plan. 'Ha ha!' she laughed. 'Now I will catch him.'

The prince came to her on the third day.

'Will you eat with me tonight?' she asked, with a lovely smile. 'And after that, would you like to sit with the princess for two hours?'

'Yes,' answered the prince. 'I would love that.'

'You will not fall asleep when you are talking to the princess?' asked the queen.

'Fall asleep!' cried the prince. 'Never!'

'When a person falls asleep with the princess,' said the queen, 'the princess disappears by magic. Then that person dies.'

The prince put on his most beautiful clothes. He ate with the queen. Their conversation was very cold. Servants brought wonderful food and wonderful drinks. When the prince turned away for a minute, the queen quickly put something into his glass of wine. The prince did not see. He drank the wine.

Then the queen took him to the princess. They climbed up many stairs to a high room. The princess sat sadly by the window. The red light of the evening sun lit up her beautiful face. The river below, the flowers round the window and her dress were the same colour.

The prince sat near the princess. They were very happy for a short time. But the prince's eyes suddenly felt heavy. He started to fall asleep. He couldn't hear the princess's words. His eyes shut. He was asleep.

Half an hour later, he opened his eyes again. The princess wasn't there! He looked everywhere in the room, but he couldn't find her! He ran to the window and looked out. He saw Big Ear below. He called to him, 'The princess isn't here. We have to find her in the next hour.' Long Arms brought the prince down to the ground.

'Where is the princess? Can you hear her, Big Ear?'

Big Ear put his ear to the ground.

'Yes,' he said. 'I can hear her. She is calling. She says that she is across the river. She is inside a tree. Her mother's men put her there.'

Quick Eyes looked. 'Yes,' he said, 'I can see her.'

'But how can we get her?' cried the prince. 'I have an idea,' said Cold Man and he opened his coat. Snow fell. Everything went white. Cold Man jumped into the river and the water was ice. They ran across the ice and brought the princess back. Long Arms put the prince and princess back through the window into the high room. They sat down and the door opened. The queen came in. She could not speak when she saw the princess. She gave them a cold smile.

'We are having a very interesting conversation,' said the prince. 'We are talking about trees and rivers.'

'Come with me,' said the queen. 'It is night. Your bedroom is ready. Your servants can sleep there too.'

The prince said goodnight to the princess and he and his servants followed the queen. She took them to a big room. The queen shut the door. She ran to the cook and said, 'Make a great fire under their room.'

After a short time the room got very hot. The prince went to the door but he couldn't open it.

'I can hear a great fire below us,' said Big Ear.

'This is wonderful,' said Cold Man. 'I feel really warm for the first time in my life.'

'Open your coat, Cold Man,' said the prince. When Cold Man opened his coat, the room got colder again. 'That's better,' they said.

The queen listened at the door. She heard them. She ran to the cook and said, 'Make the fire hotter.'

Cold Man smiled. 'I am warm again,' he said.

'They are cooking us,' said the other servants.

'Take off your coat,' said the prince. The prince took Cold Man's coat away.

'I am too cold,' said Cold Man. 'Please give me back my coat.'

Snow fell in the room. The prince could not speak because he was too cold. Fat Man cried. There was ice in his hair.

The queen came to the door. She listened. Nothing.

'They are dead now,' she said. She opened the door. The prince and his servants ran out of the room.

'Let's go and sit by a fire,' said the prince. 'My face and hands are blue with cold.'

The queen could not win - she knew that now. So she left the country. The princess married the prince and they lived happily. And the good servants lived with them.

CHAPTER THREE

The Glass Box

Once there was a poor man. His name was Hans. He had no money, no house and no food, but he was happy. 'I'll find something,' he said. 'I'll walk down this road to the next town.' After a short time, a very old woman called to him from across the road.

'What do you want?' asked Hans.

'What do you want?' said the old woman.

'What do I want? I want money.'

'You can have money,' said the old woman. 'Take this magic blue coat and climb to the top of that tall tree. Then climb down inside it. You will come into a large room with three hundred lights. There are three doors. Go through the first door and you will see a big box. On the box sits a dog with eyes as large as eggs. Don't be afraid - it won't hurt you. Put my blue coat on the floor. Take the dog and put it down on the coat in front of the box. Open the box and you will see money. Take some.

'Go through the second door and you will see a bigger box. On the box sits a dog with eyes as large as oranges. Don't be afraid - it won't hurt you. Put the dog down on the coat in front of the box. Open the box and you will see gold. Take some.

'Go through the third door. There you will see the biggest box. On the box sits a dog with eyes as large as plates. Don't be afraid - it is friendly. There are jewels in its box. Take some.'

'This is wonderful,' said Hans. 'But what can I do for you?'

'I don't want any money or gold or jewels,' said the old woman. 'I only want one little thing. In the third room, there is a small glass box. My grandmother lost it there. Bring me that box.' Hans climbed up the tree and then down inside the tree. He went down and down and down. Then he saw the three hundred lights and the three doors. He opened the first door and went into a little room. There, on a box, was a dog with eyes as large as eggs.

'Good dog!' said Hans. He remembered the old woman's words. He put her blue coat on the floor. He took the dog and put it down on the coat in front of the box. He opened the box and he got very excited. He took some money and put it in his hat. He put the dog back on the box and went into the second room.

There, on a box, was a dog with eyes as large as oranges.

'You're a fine dog!' said Hans. He put the dog down in front of the box, and opened the box. His eyes were suddenly as yellow as the gold in the box. Hans took some gold and put it in his hat.

Then he went into the last room. This dog's eyes were as large as plates. 'You are a very fine dog!' he said. Hans looked at the jewels in the box. His eyes were suddenly red, blue, yellow, green and gold. He took some jewels and put them in his shoes. Then he remembered the old woman's glass box. He found it on the floor next to the dog.

He climbed up inside the tree again. It was harder this time with the heavy gold and jewels, but he got out of the tree.

'Throw down the box,' called the old woman when she saw him. But he did not throw it. Suddenly a stone hit him on the head.

'Help! I'm going to fall and die,' he thought. But he put out a hand and he did not fall.

'Did you throw that stone?' he called.

'Yes. Now give me the box.' She was not very friendly now.

'I'm not going to give it to you,' he answered.

The old woman got very angry and her face was very ugly. He climbed to the ground and walked away down the road. She called him names but he did not answer. She could do nothing.

It was night when he came to the town. He found a very nice room and asked for the best food. The next day he went out and bought beautiful clothes. He was a very important and rich man, people thought. He suddenly had many friends.

One day somebody asked him, 'Do you know about the princess?'

'What princess?' asked Hans. 'Who is she? Where does she live?'

'You cannot see her,' answered the man.

'Why not?'

'Because she is in a big house and she can't leave it. There is only one door. The windows are high up. She never goes out. The king says nobody can see her.'

'Why does she live in that way?' asked Hans.

'Because a clever old man said to the king, "Your daughter will marry a poor man." The king was very angry. He built the big house with high windows and shut the princess in it.'

'I want to see the princess,' said Hans. He found the house and went to the door. But the king's servants quickly sent him away. Then he put on his most expensive clothes and went to the king's home. The king was very angry. 'Don't come near my house again,' he shouted. 'I will cut off your head and put it on a stick.'

Hans lived well at this time and quickly used his money. One day he only had two jewels. He left his nice room. He found a poor house and lived in it. Hans was poor now. Nobody cooked his food. Nobody cleaned his shoes. His rich 'friends' did not invite him to their homes. He tried to find the tree with the three dogs again, but he couldn't find it.

After a short time Hans had no money. No money for food. He looked round his room. What could he sell? There, on the table, he saw the little glass box.

'Perhaps I can buy some bread with this,' he thought. 'Why did the old woman want it? It is glass but I can't see into it. Perhaps there are jewels or gold inside.' He tried to open the box but he couldn't. He hit it once with his hand. Suddenly the dog with eyes as large as eggs appeared in front of him.

'What do you want?' asked the dog.

'What do I want!' cried Hans. 'I want money!'

The dog went away. It quickly came back with a bag of money in its mouth.

Hans thought. Then he said, 'I know! The first dog comes when I hit the box once. The second dog will come when I hit the box again. The third dog will come when I hit the box three times.'

He hit the box - one, two - and the dog with eyes as large as oranges brought gold. He hit the box three times - one, two, three - and the dog with eyes as large as plates brought jewels.

Hans was rich again. He bought beautiful clothes and moved to a big house. All his 'friends' came back.

'Why didn't you visit us?' they said. 'Where were you?'

Hans did not like these friends. He thought only of the sad princess.

'She can never go out,' he thought. 'She can never walk in the garden. Her mother is dead. She can only speak to the servants and the old king. She has an unhappy life.'

One night Hans could not sleep. Suddenly he had an idea and he got up from his bed. He took the glass box and hit it once. The dog came.

'It is night - a beautiful night,' said Hans, 'and nobody will see. I know that the princess would like a walk in my garden. Bring her here.'

Very quickly the dog came back. The princess was asleep on its back. Her beautiful face was sad.

Hans woke her and took her into the garden.

'Where am I?' she cried. 'What is happening?' She was afraid.

'You are walking with me in my garden,' said Hans. 'Look - the flowers are asleep.'

'A garden!' cried the princess. 'Am I outside? With the ground under my feet and the sky over my head? No walls? No windows? I can hear the sounds of the night round me!'

They walked for a long time. Then the sun started to appear. 'I have to go,' she said. 'But how did I get here?' Hans told her about the glass box and the dogs. She hit the box and called the dog.

'Good dog!' she said, when it appeared. 'You have beautiful eyes. Take me home. I don't want anybody to see us. Thank you for this night, Hans.' The princess climbed on the dog's back and fell asleep.

The next day the princess did not remember anything but she felt different. Her servant, Anna, a jealous and unkind woman, woke her. She said, 'Wake up, princess, it is the middle of the day. The king is waiting for you.'

'Is he?' said the princess and she jumped happily out of bed. 'Look, Anna, it's a beautiful day.'

Anna started to think. A number of things were strange. First, the princess always got up at seven o'clock, but today it was twelve o'clock. Second, the princess was always sad, but today, she was happy. Third, the bottom of the princess's nightdress was dirty. Fourth, there was a beautiful white flower on the princess's bedroom floor, but there were no white flowers in the king's garden.

Anna went to the king.

'Let's wait and watch,' said the king. 'When she goes out again, well follow her.'

Hans was in love with the princess. He thought about her all day and all night. After three days, he couldn't wait. He hit the glass box - one, two - and the dog with eyes as large as oranges appeared.

'Please bring the princess to my garden,' he said.

The dog went to the princess. But Anna was there, too. The dog carried the princess away on its back and Anna followed. The dog stopped at the door of a big house and went in. Anna wrote the letter 'X' on the door and went home.

Hans and the princess walked in the garden. Hans told the story of the old woman and the tree and the three dogs and the glass box. He told the princess about his poor mother and about his three brothers and three sisters. The princess loved his stories. She talked about her parents.

'My father was a great man and a good king,' she said. 'But when my mother died, he changed. Suddenly he was old and tired and sad. He shut me in that house. Now he gets angry about little things. He doesn't want to be king. He wants white flowers in his garden. My mother loved white flowers. But now his flowers always die.'

The red of the morning sun started to light up the sky. The princess said goodnight to Hans. He hit the box - one, two - and the second dog appeared. With its eyes as big as oranges, this dog could see everything. It saw the 'X' on the door and it told Hans.

'Ho ho!' laughed Hans. 'Come with me quickly and we will write "X"s on every door in this street, and the next ten streets!'

The next day, Anna told the king the story of the night. The king took Anna and some men to Hans's street.

'Here is the house,' cried Anna.

'No, here it is,' cried the king.

One of the men ran to them. 'The house is in the next street,' he said. 'There is an "X" on the door.' Every house had an 'X' on its door. The king was very angry and went home.

Later that day, Anna thought of another plan. She went into her room and shut the door. She made a small bag and she put little white stones in the bag. She made a small cut in the bottom of the bag and then put it in the princess's clothes. 'Now,' she said, 'when the princess goes out, the little stones will fall onto the road. We can follow the stones to the house.'

That night Hans called the princess again with the glass box. They walked in the garden. The dog with eyes as large as plates waited at the front of the house.

'I would like to be a prince,' said Hans.

'I would like not to be a princess,' said the princess.

'Why?' asked Hans. She didn't answer. 'I want to be a prince,' he said, 'because I want to marry you.' They sat down under a tree. Hans put the glass box on the ground next to him.

'Don't be a prince,' she said. 'I can't love a prince. I will be a poor girl and you will be Hans.'

At that minute the dog saw the king and Anna with a hundred servants. They came out of the king's house and looked at the little white stones. The white stones shone in the dark and they followed them. The dog ran to the princess.

'The king! The king is coming!' it cried. 'Come quickly!' The dog ran away through the streets with the princess on its back.

The king, Anna and the servants arrived at Hans's house. 'Is the princess here?' cried the king. Hans didn't answer. Suddenly the king saw his daughter's little shoe on the ground next to some beautiful white flowers. He couldn't speak for a minute. Then he said angrily to Hans, 'My wood-cutter will cut off your head at twelve o'clock tomorrow.' The servants took Hans to the king's house and shut him in a room.

Hans looked for his glass box. Where was it? Lost! He could not call the dogs. Then he remembered. It was under the tree.

When the sun came up, Hans went to the window and looked out. He was very high up. He saw a little boy below him and called to him.

'Hey! Little boy!'

'What do you want?' cried the boy.

'Would you like three pence?'

'Yes, please,' said the boy.

'Then run to my house. Say to my servant, "Hans has a little glass box. It is in the garden under a tree. He wants me to bring it to the king's house." When you bring me the box, I will give you three pence.'

The boy disappeared. A little time later he came back with the box.

'Throw it up to me,' called Hans. The boy threw up the box and Hans caught it. Then he threw down the money.

At that minute, the door opened and the king's men came in. They took Hans to a big square in the centre of the town. Everybody from the town was there. They wanted to watch. The king stood in the middle of the square with the important people of the town round him. In front of Hans stood a big strong wood-cutter. He wore a long red coat and a tall black hat.

'Are you ready?' said the king to the wood-cutter.

'Are you ready?' said the wood-cutter to Hans.

'No!' cried Hans, and he took out the glass box.

'Are you ready?' said the wood-cutter to Hans.

'No!' cried Hans, and he hit the box once. He hit the box again - one, two - and then again - one, two, three. The three dogs stood in front of him.

'Take the wood-cutter away,' he said to the dog with eyes as large as eggs. 'Throw him in the river.' The dog ran away with the wood-cutter on his back.

'Take the king's men away,' Hans said to the dog with eyes as large as plates. The dog got bigger and bigger. Everybody watched with open mouths. Now the dog was as big as a house. The king's men were very afraid and ran away.

'Bring the princess here,' Hans said to the dog with eyes as big as oranges. Where is the king?' he cried.

In a short time the princess and the king stood in front of Hans with the dogs behind them.

'Do you want to be king?' Hans asked the old king.

'No,' said the king. 'I only want to have white flowers in my garden, and a happy daughter.'

'When the princess and I marry, white flowers will live in your garden again and the princess will be happy.'

And so Hans married the princess. The new king and queen lived happily for many years. They had six children and a very big garden. The old king lived his last years near them. His garden was a sea of white flowers all year.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Fisherman and the Giant

Once there was a poor fisherman. He never caught many fish and so he had no money. On some days he did not catch any fish. He couldn't buy food for his wife and three children. They only ate fish!

Usually he caught very small fish, but one day he caught a dead horse. 'Today is a bad day,' he thought.

Angrily, he began to fish again. This time he caught a bag of old cups. Sadly, he threw them back in the water. 'What can I do?' he said. 'I am a poor man. I want to sell fish. I want to buy food for my children.'

He tried again. This time he caught an old jar. It looked green, but then he looked again. It was dirty. So he washed it and it was gold. There were some words on the top of the jar, but he couldn't read.

The fisherman jumped up happily. 'I can sell this now,' he said.

'Today is a good day.'

He looked at the jar carefully. 'Perhaps there is something inside,' he thought. 'I'll open it.' So he opened the jar and looked inside. Suddenly white smoke came out of the jar and a great giant appeared. The fisherman was very afraid. The giant spoke.

'Now, fisherman. I am going to kill you.'

'Why?' cried the fisherman. 'What did I do?'

'You opened the jar. For that I am going to kill you. How do you want to die? I can kill you with my hands, or I can throw you into the sea.'

'But why do you have to kill me?'

'I will tell you,' said the giant. 'One day, the King of the Giants was very angry with me. I took his youngest and loveliest daughter for a walk by the sea and he didn't like it. So he put me in this jar. I could not get out because he wrote his name on the top of the jar. I could hear him from inside the jar. "Because you love the sea, you dog," he cried, "you can live in it!" And he threw me in the water.

'I was in the jar for days and weeks. "One day somebody will open this bottle," I thought. "And I will make them into a great king or queen." But after a hundred years, nobody opened the bottle. So I thought, "I will make them into a king or queen but not a great king or queen." After 200 years, I thought, "Where is this person? Now I will make them rich, but I will not make them a king or queen." After 300 years, I was very angry." When somebody opens the jar, I will kill them," I thought. You are that person, Fisherman. How do you want to die?'

'I have one question,' said the fisherman. 'Will you answer it?'

'I will,' said the giant, 'but ask quickly.'

'Were you in that jar?'

'Yes, I was,' answered the giant. 'You saw me.'

'But you are so big. Your hand is as big as the jar. Think before you speak. Is there nothing inside your head?'

The giant was not very clever. 'I will show you,' he said angrily. Suddenly he disappeared into white smoke again, and the smoke went inside the jar. 'You see!' he called from inside. The fisherman quickly put the top back on the jar.

'Hah! Now, Giant,' he said. 'I will throw the jar back into the sea. Perhaps somebody will find you in another 300 years.'

'Please open the jar,' called the Giant. 'I will make you a rich man.'

'No. You will kill me,' answered the fisherman.

'No, I won't,' said the giant. 'I won't. I'll make you very, very rich.'

The fisherman thought for a minute. 'All right, then,' he said, and opened the jar. White smoke came out of the jar and the giant appeared again. He quickly threw the jar into the sea.

'Thank you,' he said to the fisherman. 'I will not forget this. Come with me.' The fisherman followed the giant round the city walls and over a mountain. There they came to a great blue and gold sea. In the water there were many fish.

'Now, catch something. I will watch you,' said the giant. In no time, the fisherman caught three fish - three beautiful red, white and gold fish. 'Take these fish to your king,' said the giant. 'He will give you a lot of money for them.'

The giant disappeared, and blue and gold smoke went into the ground.

When the king saw the fish, he said to the fisherman, 'Those are beautiful fish! I will give you gold for them.' Then he said to his servant, 'Take these fish to the cook. We will eat them today.'

The fisherman took his gold home to his family. They ate a wonderful dinner of bread, meat, fruit, vegetables and no fish. For the first time in their lives, they were not hungry.

The king's cook put the fish over the fire. They started to cook. Suddenly, the smoke from the fire went blue and gold and a strange woman appeared in the kitchen. She spoke to the fish.

'Fish, fish! Are you doing your work?' The fish did not answer. Then their heads went up, and they said, 'We are, and we are happy.' The strange woman pushed the fish into the fire. The smoke from the fire went blue and gold and the woman disappeared into it.

The king and his servant came into the kitchen. 'I am waiting for the fish. Where are they?' he said to the cook. He saw that the fish were in the fire and he could not eat them. The cook told him about the strange woman. The king wanted to see the woman so he sent for the fisherman. 'Bring me three more fish!' he said.

When the fisherman came back with three more fish, the king gave him more gold. The cook put the fish over the fire. This time the smoke from the fire went red and gold and a big man with red hair appeared.

'Fish, fish! Are you doing your work?' The fish answered, 'We are, we are! And we are happy!' And the same thing happened. The man pushed the fish into the fire and disappeared into the red and gold smoke.

The king did not speak for a minute. This was magic! Then he turned to the fisherman. 'Where do you get these fish?' he asked.

'I get them from a sea of blue and gold water over the mountain.'

'Do you know this sea?' the king asked his servant.

'No. I often go across the mountain, but there is no blue and gold sea.'

'Will you take us there?' the king asked the fisherman.

The king and his men followed the fisherman over the mountain to the sea of blue and gold and there they saw the wonderful fish. The fish were jewels in the water.

'Wait here,' said the king. He took two men and went round the sea. There they came to a great house of red stone. All round the house were gardens of wonderful flowers. There was no answer at the door. But it was open so the king went in. He saw many beautiful rooms but no people. He came into a very large room with high windows. Somebody spoke: 'When will I die? I don't want to live.'

The king saw a young man at the other end of the room. He was on the floor with a coat over his feet.

'I know you are a king,' said the young man, 'but I cannot stand up.' The king took away the coat and saw that his feet were fine white stone.

'What is this?' cried the king. 'Why do you have stone feet? Why do the fish talk? Why does a man with red hair appear from nowhere in my kitchen? What is happening? Tell me.'

'I will tell you,' said the young man. 'Please sit down and listen. There was once a great city in this place. My father was king of that city, and I was a prince. Then my father died and I was the king. I married a beautiful woman. She was my queen but she did not love me. She loved a servant. When I learnt about him, I wanted to kill that servant. We had a fight. I hurt him but I didn't kill him. He could not use his legs.

'My wife was very angry. She can do magic and she changed my feet to white stone. Then I could not use my legs. That was not the end of it. Three mountains and a blue and gold sea appeared in place of the city. She changed the men and women of the city into fish.

'There is a little house of white stone in the garden of this house. The servant lives there. He cannot walk. My wife visits him every day.'

The king went into the garden and thought for some time. Then he went to the house of white stone. He found the servant inside and killed him. He put the servant under the bed and then climbed onto it. He pulled the servant's jacket over his face. Sometime later, the queen came in.

'Are you happy, my dearest servant?' she asked.

'No,' said the king. 'I cannot sleep. Somebody is crying. The young king is crying because of his stone feet.'

The queen went to the young king and threw some magic water over his feet. He stood up and walked.

Then she came back to the house of white stone. 'And I cannot sleep,' the king said, 'because the men and women of the city cry at night. They do not want to be fish.'

So the queen went to the blue and gold sea. She said some magic words. A great city appeared all round her. Men and women ran happily through the streets and in and out of the houses. Then the queen came back to the house of white stone.

'Are you happy now, my dear servant?' she asked.

'Yes, my love,' he said. 'Come near me.' She came near him. 'Come nearer. I want to put my arms round you.' She came nearer his bed. He put his arms round her. In one hand he had a knife, and he killed her.

He went back to the young king. 'Your queen is dead. The city and its people are living.'

The older king and the young king were friends after that. One city helped the other city. But nobody ate fish again.

The fisherman and his family were happy. The two kings sent them gold and beautiful things. They were never hungry again.

CHAPTER FIVE

The White Birds

Once there was a king with ten sons and one daughter. Their mother died when the daughter, Elisa, was born. They were very good, happy children.

Then the king fell in love with another woman and he married her. He loved his new queen and in his eyes she was always right. But she was a bad, jealous woman. She hated the king's ten sons, and she wanted to send them away. Love made the king stupid. It can make everybody stupid.

The poor old king sadly said goodbye to his sons. Then the queen took them outside the city walls. She said some magic words and changed the ten boys into ten white birds.

'Fly away to another country,' she said. 'Make your homes in treetops. Find your food on the ground.'

And the ten brothers flew high into the sky and away over mountains and rivers. They came to a great sea and they made their home in some trees next to it.

When Elisa learned about her brothers, she ran away from the king's house. She cried for hours. She walked for days. She did not use her eyes - she followed her love for her brothers. 'One day I will find them,' she thought. And her love took her near their home by the great sea.

Night came and Elisa fell asleep under a tree. All night the fairies watched her and no dangerous animal came near her. The next morning she walked again. She met an old woman.

'What are you doing here? Can't a brother or friend help you?' asked the old woman. She gave Elisa some good food.

Elisa told her the story of her brothers. 'I am looking for ten fine princes on ten white horses,' she said. 'Do you know of them?'

'Ten princes?' said the woman. 'No, but I saw ten white birds this morning. They had gold feet and jewels for eyes. Perhaps they were princes. They were by the river.'

She took Elisa to the river. Elisa followed the river to the great sea. She saw ten fine white birds. Their gold feet and jewel-eyes shone in the sun. All round her Elisa saw pretty flowers and beautiful trees.

Elisa built a small house from sticks. She found flowers and put them round the walls. When she came back, she found bread, eggs and fish near the door.

That night her brothers came to her. She cried. 'Don't be sad,' they said. 'We'll tell you some stories.' Their stories were funny and after a time she smiled. Then she laughed.

When it was late, the brothers flew up into a tree. 'Sleep well, Elisa,' they said. 'We are watching you.'

In her sleep, Elisa saw the old woman again. Now she was a beautiful fairy.

'Do you want to help your brothers?' she asked.

'Yes!' cried Elisa. 'Of course!'

'Are you strong?'

'Yes! I am strong.'

'Then listen to my words and follow them. There are gold flowers near your little house. Take some home and put them in water from the river. Wash them many times and then make them into coats. Ten coats of gold flowers, one for each brother.

'But remember these things: First, only you can make the coats. Second, you can only speak after you finish them. Don't speak before that, or your brothers will die. Can you do these things?'

'Yes,' answered the princess in her sleep, and she woke up. She looked outside her door and saw the gold flowers. She followed the fairy's words and she worked all day. When the sun went down, her fingers hurt. Her brothers came that night, but she did not speak to them.

'Why are you not speaking?' they asked. 'Is this the work of a bad fairy?' She showed them her work. She made a picture of ten coats on the ground with her finger. Then they understood - her work was for them. She worked and worked. Her brothers watched her.

After two or three weeks, six coats were ready. Then one day, when she was by the river, a dog suddenly appeared. It jumped at her. Then other dogs came. They made a great noise and ran round her. A man came through the trees on a fine white horse, with many men behind him. Elisa looked at this man and she loved him.

'Who are you?' he asked her. 'Nobody lives here. Where are you from?' Elisa could not answer him. 'I am the king of a great country behind those mountains,' he told her. 'I often come here with my dogs and horses.'

He came every day and spoke to Elisa. They walked by the river and he told her about his life. He loved her and he wanted her to be his queen. But why did she not speak? She only spoke to him with her eyes.

In the end, he asked her, 'Will you be my queen?' Poor Elisa started to cry. She ran to the gold flowers.

'We will take the gold flowers and your work to my house. You can work there. Will you come?' She could not say no, because she loved him.

'So Elisa and the king took the flowers and the coats - there were eight now - to his country. Her brothers were sad, but each day they flew high above the king's house.

The king had a jealous younger brother. He wanted to be king and he wanted his brother to die. When the king married, he was angry. 'Now the king will have a son,' he thought, 'and I will never be king.' The king could not see inside his jealous brother's head. Because he was good and kind, everybody was good and kind.

One day the king had to leave the city for many days. He had to visit an important king in another country. The queen stayed at home and worked on her coats. Now she had nine. But she had no more flowers. She looked everywhere for the gold flowers. Then she found some flowers in a bad place. The people of the city threw their dead animals there.

'I cannot go there in daylight,' thought the queen. 'People will see me. They will not understand and I cannot tell them.' So she waited for night. Then she went out and got some flowers.

The king's younger brother saw the queen that night. He followed her and watched her. He waited the next night and followed her again. 'Now I have a plan,' he thought. He followed her for five nights. The next night he called the great men and women of the city to a place outside the city walls.

'Why are we meeting in the dark?' they asked.

'You will see,' he answered. 'You will learn something about your queen. Now, everybody, be quiet. Wait here with me and watch. What does our lovely queen do every night when the king is away? What do you think?'

A little time later, the queen appeared and got the flowers. She started to walk home, but the king's brother ran after her. He caught her arm. 'See!' he cried to the people. 'She is a bad woman. Only a bad woman looks for flowers in this place at night. She uses them for bad magic. She plans to kill our dear king, my brother. Why do you think she never speaks? Because she can only say magic words!' People shouted, 'Kill her!', 'Put her on a fire!' And the king's brother said, 'Let's kill her before the king comes back. Or she will kill him!' He took the queen back to her room.

'Tomorrow,' he said to her before he closed the door, 'you will die!'

The king and his servants were one day's journey away from the city. They found a place for the night and got off their horses. The king looked up and saw a white bird in the sky. The bird flew down to the king and the king's horse was afraid. The king shouted at the bird, but it did not go away.

Then he looked again and saw its gold feet and jewel-eyes. 'It is one of the fairy birds,' he thought. 'One of the queen's birds. She can understand their cries but I cannot. I think it wants me to go back quickly to the city.'

The king called his men. 'We are not staying here tonight,' he told them. 'We are going to the city now. We have to go back to the queen. Get ready quickly. I am leaving now. Follow me!'

The king and his men followed the white bird all night. The bird called to them, 'Quickly. Quickly.' In the city, Elisa worked all night with her gold flowers.

The next morning the people of the city met in the big square in front of the king's house. They looked up at the sky. 'What are those white birds up there? Why are they making this noise?'

Men brought sticks and built a large fire. The birds flew down and round the men's heads. They took some sticks and flew away. But they could not take every stick.

The king's brother went to the queen's room. He brought her outside and into the square. She carried the gold coats in her arms, and the birds flew with her.

At the same time the king arrived at the opposite end of the square. His white bird flew over the people's heads.

'It is the queen,' cried the king. He fought his way through the people to the middle of the square.

'A fire?' cried the king. 'Why are you building a fire?' He looked at his younger brother and he knew! He was very angry, and the people were sorry. The younger brother turned to the people and shouted, 'Do we want her to die?' But the people did not answer 'yes'. They looked at their feet. Then a little boy at the front shouted, 'No.' And everybody shouted, 'No!'

The queen called to the white birds, 'Come here, my brothers.' The birds flew down to her feet. She threw her wonderful gold coats over them and they changed into ten fine young princes. The princes took the king's brother on top of the city walls and threw him to the ground. Boys ran after them and threw stones at him. Nobody saw him again.

The king put his arms round his queen. Speak to me now, my beautiful wife.'

When you see white birds above you, listen. You will hear them cry, 'Quickly. Quickly'. Now you understand.

- THE END -

Hope you have enjoyed the reading!

Come back to http://english-e-books.net/ to find more fascinating and exciting stories!

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 42 (4-10 giugno): indicazioni per la lettura ad alta voce

2018-06-03T14:38:00.000+02:00

Si tenga presente che l'obiettivo della lettura ad alta voce non è l'acquisizione di lessico bensì la scorrevolezza nel parlato. Per questo motivo i corsisti New Fluency: 1) evitino di interrompere la lettura per andare a cercare sul vocabolario il significato o la pronuncia dei termini sconosciuti; 2) scelgano testi semplici (le proposte New Fluency sono pensate per questo scopo).

La proposta settimanale: Mr. Bean in Town.

Chapter one

Steak Tartare

It was Mr. Bean's birthday, and he wanted to enjoy it! What could he do?

'How can I make this important day a happy day?' he thought. 'I know. I'll go out to a restaurant for dinner this evening! I'll enjoy that. '

Mr. Bean didn't often eat in restaurants. They were sometimes very expensive. And he sometimes did things wrong when he was in a new or strange place.

Oh dear! Life wasn't easy for Mr. Bean!

***

That evening, Mr. Bean put on a clean shirt. He put on his best coat and trousers. He put on his best shoes. Then he drove to a restaurant in the centre of town.

He arrived at eight o'clock and went inside. It was a very nice restaurant. Everybody was wearing their best clothes, and there were flowers on every table.

'I'm going to like it here, ' thought Mr. Bean. 'This is a good restaurant for my birthday dinner. '

The manager met him at the door.

'Good evening, sir, ' he said. 'How are you? Would you like a table for one?'

'Yes, please, ' said Mr. Bean.

'Follow me, sir, ' said the manager.

He walked across the room to a table, and Mr. Bean went after him.

'Here you are, sir, ' said the manager. 'This is a nice table. '

He pulled the chair away from the table. Then he waited for Mr. Bean to sit down. Mr. Bean looked at him.

'Why is he taking my chair away?' thought Mr. Bean. 'What's he doing?'

And he pulled the chair away from the manager and sat down quickly.

When the manager went away, Mr. Bean sat quietly for a minute. Then he remembered something. He took a birthday card and an envelope out of his jacket. Next, he took out a pen and wrote 'Happy Birthday, Bean' inside the card. Then he put the card into the envelope and wrote his name on the outside of it. He put it on the table, and put his pen back into his jacket.

After a minute or two, Mr. Bean pretended to see the card for the first time.

'Oh! A card - for me?' he said.

He opened the envelope and took out the card. He read it carefully.

'Now that's nice!' he said. 'Somebody remembered my birthday!'

And he stood the card on his table.

The manager arrived with the menu and gave it to Mr. Bean. Mr. Bean started to read it.

'Oh, dear!' he thought. 'Everything's very expensive! What can I have?'

Mr. Bean got out his money. He had a ten-pound note and some coins. He put the money on to a plate.

'How much have I got?' he said, and he moved the money round on the plate. 'Ten, eleven... And forty, fifty, fifty-five! Eleven pounds and fifty-five pence. '

He looked at the menu again. What could he eat for eleven pounds fifty-five?

The manager came to his table.

'Are you ready, sir?' he asked.

'Yes, ' said Mr. Bean. He put his finger on the menu. 'I'll have that, please. '

The manager looked at the menu. 'The steak tartare, sir. Yes, of course. '

'Yes, ' said Mr. Bean. 'Steak. '

The manager took the menu and went away.

Mr. Bean sat and looked round the restaurant. There were a lot of people in the room. There was a man and a woman at the next table. They ate and talked.

Suddenly, a waiter arrived at Mr. Bean's table with a bottle of wine.

'Would you like to try the wine, sir?' he said.

'Oh, yes please, ' said Mr. Bean.

The waiter put some wine in Mr. Bean's glass and Mr. Bean had a drink. It was very nice! He smiled, and the waiter tried to put more wine into the glass.

Of course, the waiter was right. First, the customer tries his wine. When he is happy with it, the waiter gives him more wine. But Mr. Bean didn't know this, and he quickly put his hand across the glass.

'No, thank you, ' he said. 'I don't drink wine when I'm driving.' The waiter looked at him strangely - and walked away. He didn't say, 'Why did you try the wine when you didn't want it, you stupid man!'

Mr. Bean took the knife from the table and started to play with it. He pretended to be a bad man. He pretended to push the knife into somebody. But he didn't really want to kill anybody, of course. It was a game.

The woman at the next table looked at him angrily, and Mr. Bean quickly moved the knife. Next, he hit the glasses and plate on his table with it. Ping, ping, ping they went! And after a minute, he played the song 'Happy Birthday' on the glasses. He smiled and thought, 'I'm very clever!'

But the woman at the next table didn't think, 'That's clever!' or 'Oh yes, that's funny!' She thought, 'That man's really stupid!' And she looked hard at Mr. Bean.

Mr. Bean put the knife down and looked at his napkin.

'It's a very nice napkin, ' he thought.

The waiter saw Mr. Bean looking at his napkin. He didn't say anything, but suddenly - flick! - he opened it for Mr. Bean.

'That's clever, ' thought Mr. Bean. 'I'll try that!'

And he began to move his napkin. Flick! Flick! Flick!

Suddenly, the napkin flew out of his hand. It flew across on to the next table. The woman at the table looked round again. But Mr. Bean pretended not to see her. His face said, 'It's not my napkin!'

A minute later, the waiter arrived with his food. There was a large cover on the plate and Mr. Bean couldn't see the food. But he gave the waiter the money on the table.

Customers don't usually give a waiter money when he arrives with the food. But the waiter didn't say anything. He took the money and put it in his jacket. Mr. Bean was happy. 'I'm doing everything right, ' he thought. The waiter took the cover off the plate and walked away. Mr. Bean looked at the food in front of him. He put his nose near the meat and smelled it. Then he put his ear next to it.

'What's this?' he thought.

He put some of the meat into his mouth.

Suddenly, the manager arrived at his table.

'Is everything all right, sir?' he asked. 'Are you happy with everything?'

'Mmmmm, ' said Mr. Bean. He smiled.

The manager smiled, too. He walked away - and Mr. Bean's face changed. There was no smile now. 'Aaagh!' he thought. 'They didn't cook this meat!'

But he had to eat it. 'I don't want people to think that I'm stupid,' he thought. 'But I'll never ask for steak tartare again! Never!' He pushed his plate away. But then the waiter went past his table. 'Is everything all right, sir?' he asked.

'Oh, yes,' said Mr. Bean. He smiled. 'Yes, everything's very nice, thank you.' He smiled and pretended to eat some meat. But the waiter went away before Mr. Bean put it into his mouth.

'What can I do with it?' he thought. 'I can't eat this. Where can I hide it?' Then he had an idea. Carefully, he put the meat into the mustard pot and put the cover on it.

'Where can I put some now?' he thought. 'I can't eat it, so I've got to hide all of it. Oh, yes, the flowers!'

He took the flowers out of the vase. But then the manager went past, so Mr. Bean pretended to smell the flowers. 'Mmm, very nice!' he said. The manager smiled and walked away.

Quickly, Mr. Bean put some meat into the vase and pushed the flowers in on top of it.

He looked round the table.

'Where next?' he thought. 'Yes! The bread!'

He took his knife and cut the bread roll. Then he quickly ate the middle of it. Now he could push some meat inside the roll. He did this, then he put the roll down.

He looked at the meat on his plate. 'There's a lot of it, ' he thought. 'Where can I hide it now?'

He looked at the small plate on the table. Perhaps he could hide some meat under the plate. He looked round.

'Nobody's watching me, ' he thought.

So he took more meat from the big plate in front of him, and put it under the small plate. Then he pushed down hard with his hand.

The waiter walked past his table again. Mr. Bean smiled at him and put his arm on the plate. After the waiter went away, he pushed down on the small plate again.

'That's better, ' he thought. 'Now you can't see the meat. Good. But there's more meat. Where can I hide it?'

He looked round the table.

'The sugar pot!' he thought. 'But it's got sugar in it. What can I do?'

He thought quickly, then he put some sugar into a wine glass. Next, he put some of the meat into the sugar pot. Then he put the sugar from the wine glass on top of it.

'Good!' he thought. 'Nobody can see it in there. '

Suddenly, Mr. Bean could hear music.

'Where's that coming from?' he thought.

He looked round - and saw a man with a violin. After a minute or two, the man came across to Mr. Bean's table and played for him.

Mr. Bean smiled. 'This is nice, ' he thought.

Then the man saw Mr. Bean's birthday card, and the music changed. The man started to play 'Happy Birthday'!

The people at the other tables looked round when they heard the song. 'Who's having a birthday?' they thought. Then they saw Mr. Bean and smiled at him. Mr. Bean smiled back at them.

He pretended to eat some of the meat, but he didn't put it into his mouth. The man with the violin walked round Mr. Bean's table and watched him. He played his violin and waited for Mr. Bean to eat the meat. And he waited... and waited... and waited...

'I'll have to eat some,' thought Mr. Bean. 'He'll only go away when I eat it. '

So he put the meat into his mouth.

And the man with the violin turned away to the next table.

The meat was in Mr. Bean's mouth, but he didn't want to eat it. He wanted to put it somewhere. But where? He looked at the man with the violin. He moved quickly. He pulled open the back of the man's trousers and opened his mouth. The meat fell inside the trousers!

He smiled. 'That was clever, ' he thought.

The man with the violin moved round the next table. He played a song to the man and the woman. The music was very beautiful. They listened and drank their wine. They watched the man with the violin, so their eyes weren't on Mr. Bean. Nobody's eyes were on Mr. Bean. He saw this, and he had an idea.

Mr. Bean quickly took the woman's bag from the floor. He opened it and pushed some meat inside it. Then he put the bag on the floor again.

But when he did this, he accidentally put his foot out.

The waiter walked past with some plates of food - and he fell over Mr. Bean's foot! The plates fell on to Mr. Bean's table, and on to the floor. There was a loud CRASH!, and the people at the other tables looked up quickly.

'What happened?' they said. Then they saw the waiter on the floor. 'Oh, dear!' they said.

Now Mr. Bean had another idea. Here was the answer to his problem!

He moved very quickly. He pushed the meat from his plate on to the table with the other food. Then he pretended to be very angry.

'Look, you stupid man!' he said to the waiter. 'Oh, look at this!'

The waiter got up from the floor.

'I'm sorry, sir, ' he said. 'I'm really very sorry. '

The manager arrived at the table.

'I'm very sorry, too, sir, ' he said. 'Oh, the food-!'

'Yes, it's everywhere!' said Mr. Bean. 'Look! It's in the mustard pot. It's in the bread roll. It's in the vase of flowers.' He took the woman's bag from the floor. 'And it's in here!' He pulled open the back of the violin player's trousers. 'And here!'

The waiter couldn't understand it.

'Go back to the kitchen, ' the manager told him, and the waiter went away. Then the manager turned to Mr. Bean. 'Please, sir, ' he said. 'Come with me.'

'What?' said Mr. Bean. 'Oh, yes, all right.'

The manager took Mr. Bean to a clean table. 'Sit here, sir, ' he said. Mr. Bean sat down.

'Thank you, ' he said.

The manager opened Mr. Bean's napkin. Then he got the birthday card from the other table. He put it on Mr. Bean's clean table. 'Thank you,' said Mr. Bean.

The man with the violin came across and played 'Happy Birthday' to him again. Mr. Bean smiled. Now everything was all right.

'Now I can start again, ' he thought. 'And this time I'll do everything right.' The waiter arrived at Mr. Bean's table. He put a plate in front of Mr. Bean. The manager smiled and took off the cover. Mr. Bean looked down. And he stopped smiling.

There, in front of him, was a very large plate - of steak tartare!

Chapter two

The Launderette

A lot of Mr. Bean's clothes were dirty.

'I'll go to the launderette this morning, ' he thought. 'I'll take the car. '

He put his dirty clothes into a very large black bag, and took the bag out to his car. He put it inside. Then he got in and drove to the launderette.

The launderette wasn't very busy that morning. Before Mr. Bean arrived, there were only two women there. The younger woman was with the launderette manager.

'I've got to wash a lot of clothes, ' the young woman said to the manager. 'I'll want a big washing machine.'

'This is one of our bigger machines,' said the manager. 'Use this. '

At that minute, Mr. Bean arrived. He had the black bag on his back, and he couldn't get it through the launderette door.

'Oh!' he said.

He pulled and he pushed. He pushed and he pulled. In the end, he got the bag inside. He took it across to one of the washing machines.

'Money,' he thought. 'I want two one-pound coins for the washing machine. '

He took two one-pound coins out of his jacket and put them on the top of the machine.

But then Mr. Bean saw a note above the washing machine: Machines now cost 3 pounds.

'Oh, no!' thought Mr. Bean. 'Have I got another one-pound coin?'

He looked in his jacket and his trousers, but he could only find a five-pence coin. He put this on top of the washing machine.

Then Mr. Bean remembered something. He did have another one-pound coin, but...

He looked round.

The young woman was next to the big washing machine.

Mr. Bean saw her putting some clothes into it. The launderette manager was busy in his little office.

'Nobody's watching me, ' thought Mr. Bean. 'Good. '

He opened the front of his trousers. Then he started to pull out some string.

The young woman turned suddenly and saw Mr. Bean pulling the string out of his trousers.

'What is that man doing?' she thought.

Mr. Bean saw her looking and turned away quickly.

But now the older woman looked at him. Her eyes opened wide. 'That's a strange man, ' the woman thought. 'He's got string inside his trousers!'

On the end of the string was some paper, and inside the paper was a one-pound coin. Mr. Bean smiled. He took the coin out of the paper and put it on the top of the washing machine. Then he put the five-pence coin back into his jacket.

Next, he opened the washing machine.

A man came into the launderette with a bag of dirty clothes under his arm. He was young and strong. When he saw Mr. Bean, he smiled. But it wasn't a nice smile. He didn't say 'Hello' or 'Good morning'. He pushed Mr. Bean away from the washing machine.

'What-!' began Mr. Bean.

Then the young man pushed Mr. Bean's one-pound coins on to the next machine.

Mr. Bean was angry. He turned round to speak angrily - but then he saw the young man taking a white karate suit out of his bag.

'A karate suit!' thought Mr. Bean. 'So he can fight. Perhaps I won't say anything. '

The young man pushed his white karate suit into the washing machine. Then he put some money into the machine and sat down on a chair. He took a magazine out of his bag and began to read.

Mr. Bean started to put his clothes into his washing machine. There were some pairs of underpants.

'Monday,' he said, and he put one pair into the machine. 'Tuesday' He put the next pair into the machine. 'Thursday. Friday. Saturday.' Three pairs went into the machine.

Mr. Bean stopped.

'Wednesday!' he thought. 'Where are Wednesday's underpants? Oh, it's Wednesday today, and I'm wearing them!'

What could he do? He had to wash them, so he had to take them off. He looked round.

'Where can I go?' he thought.

There was a partition near the washing machines.

'I'll go behind that, ' he thought.

He started to walk to the partition, but the young man put his legs across the floor. He wanted to make Mr. Bean angry. But Mr. Bean remembered the karate suit. The man could fight! He walked round the young man's legs and said nothing.

He went behind the partition and carefully took off his brown trousers.

The young woman put some of her clothes into one of the very big washing machines. The other clothes were on the top of a smaller machine near the partition.

She didn't watch her clothes very carefully. She didn't see Mr. Bean put a hand round the partition. And she didn't see him put his brown trousers down with her clothes.

Mr. Bean took off his underpants - Wednesday's underpants. Then he put his hand round the partition. He took something - but it wasn't his brown trousers.

It was a long brown skirt.

Mr. Bean put on the skirt and came out from behind the partition. He walked back to his washing machine.

The young woman took the brown trousers from the top of the smaller washing machine. She didn't look at them. She put them into the big machine. Next, she shut the door of the machine and took a magazine. Then she sat down on a chair near the dryers and started to read. She had her back to Mr. Bean, so she didn't see him wearing her skirt.

Mr. Bean put his Wednesday underpants into his washing machine. Then he closed the door and put in his three one-pound coins.

He sat down on a chair - and saw the skirt!

'Oh, no!' he thought. 'What's this? A skirt? Where are my trousers?'

The young man walked past and Mr. Bean tried to hide the skirt with his hands.

'I don't want him to see me in this skirt,' he thought. 'What will he think?'

The young man went across to a machine on the wall and bought a cup of conditioner.

Mr. Bean got up and went back to the partition. He looked at the washing machine next to it and remembered the young woman's clothes.

'She put my trousers in the big washing machine with her things!' he thought.

He went across to the big washing machine and tried to open it. But he couldn't do it.

'I'll have to wait, ' he thought, and he walked back to his chair.

The young man put his cup of conditioner on the top of his washing machine. Then he looked at Mr. Bean - and saw the skirt. He started to laugh.

Mr. Bean looked away quickly. He got his black bag - and a pair of underpants fell out of it.

'Oh! Sunday's underpants!' he said.

He tried to stop his washing machine and open the door. But the machine didn't stop.

'What can I do?' he thought. He looked down at the skirt. 'I know! I'll wear Sunday's underpants under this skirt! That's a good idea. '

He looked round, then went across to the conditioner machine, away from the other people. Carefully, he started to put on Sunday's underpants. He put his feet into them and - suddenly, he couldn't pull them up. He couldn't move them. There was a strange foot on them!

It was the young man's foot.

Mr. Bean turned round and saw the young man laughing at him. Mr. Bean wanted to shout, 'Go away, you stupid man!' but he was too afraid.

After a minute, the young man laughed again and went back to his chair.

Mr. Bean quickly pulled up Sunday's underpants. He was angry.

'I don't like people laughing at me,' he thought, and he looked at the young man. 'What can I do to him? I can't fight him. He's too strong. '

Then he had an idea.

There was a coffee machine next to the machine for conditioner. Mr. Bean went across to it and got a cup of black coffee. He smiled and walked back to his washing machine with the coffee.

The young man's eyes were on his magazine. He didn't look at Mr. Bean or the washing machine.

'Now!' thought Mr. Bean

And he quickly changed the young man's cup of conditioner for his cup of black coffee. Then he carried the cup of conditioner to his chair and sat down.

He smiled. 'That will teach him a lesson,' he thought.

After a minute, the young man stood up and went to his machine. He had to put the conditioner into it now. He stood next to the machine and laughed at Mr. Bean's skirt. So he didn't look at the cup when he put the 'conditioner' into the top of his washing machine.

But, of course, it wasn't conditioner. It was black coffee.

Mr. Bean tried not to laugh.

The young man sat down in his chair again and looked across at his washing machine. There was a window in the door, and the young man could see his white karate suit going round and round in the water. But the suit wasn't white now. It was brown!

'What-!?' he shouted.

He jumped up. He ran across to the cup and looked inside it. Then he put it to his nose and smelled it.

'Coffee!' he shouted. Then he looked across at Mr. Bean. 'Did you... ?'

Mr. Bean didn't answer, but his face said, 'Who, me?' He pretended to drink his cup of 'coffee'. But it wasn't coffee, it was conditioner.

The young man went to find the launderette manager. Mr. Bean stopped drinking and said, 'Aaaagh!'

The young man showed the brown karate suit to the launderette manager. 'What's wrong, sir?' said the manager.

'This karate suit was white when I came in here, ' said the young man. 'Now look at it!'

'What did you do to it?' said the manager.

'Me? I didn't do anything to it,' said the young man, angrily. He pulled the manager across to his washing machine. 'This is your machine. Is that right?'

'Y-yes, ' said the manager. The young man showed him the karate suit again.

'This cost me two hundred pounds!' he said. 'What are you going to do about it?'

'Er - will you come to my office please, sir?' said the manager. 'We can talk about it there. '

***

Mr. Bean sat opposite a large dryer. His underpants and other things were in the machine. They were clean now, and nearly dry. Mr. Bean waited.

After a minute, the dryer stopped. He got up and opened the door. Then he started to take out his clothes.

A minute or two later, the young woman came to the next dryer and started to take out her clothes. They were dry, too.

'Perhaps my trousers are in there!' thought Mr. Bean. The young woman took some clothes out of the machine and put them into a bag. Then she went back to the big washing machine for her other clothes.

Mr. Bean moved quickly. He started to look through her clothes for his trousers, but he couldn't find them.

'Where are they?' he thought. 'They're here somewhere. Wait a minute! Perhaps she left them in the dryer.'

So he looked inside it. First, he put his head into the machine. 'I can't see anything,' he thought. 'It's too dark.' Next, he climbed into the machine.

The young woman was busy at the big washing machine. She didn't see Mr. Bean climb into the dryer. Then she took something out of the big washing machine. Her eyes opened wide.

'What's this?' she thought. 'A pair of trousers. I haven't got any brown trousers.'

She threw them on to one of the other washing machines, then she took her clothes across to the dryer.

Mr. Bean was inside the dryer. 'Where are my trousers?' he thought.

Suddenly, the woman's washing began to fly into the machine - a skirt, a dress and some shirts.

'What-?' began Mr. Bean.

Then the dryer door shut with a BANG!

'Oh, no!' thought Mr. Bean. He turned and climbed back to the door. 'Help!' he shouted through the window in the door. 'There's somebody in here!'

But the woman couldn't hear him. She took a pound coin and put it into the dryer.

Mr. Bean hit the window in the dryer door. Bang! Bang! But nobody heard him.

'I can't get out!' he shouted.

Suddenly, it was very hot inside the dryer. There was a noise - and the machine started!

The clothes began to go round and round!

And Mr. Bean began to go round and round... and round... and round...

- THE END -

Hope you have enjoyed the reading!

Come back to http://english-e-books.net/ to find more fascinating and exciting stories!

L'alunno alla griglia

2018-05-31T09:22:00.000+02:00

L’alunno alla griglia

Fine maggio. È tempo di grigliate per la scuola italiana. Non di carne. Non di pesce. Non di verdure. Di alunno.

In prossimità degli scrutini i docenti sono alle prese con i giudizi globali, da formulare facendo riferimento a rubriche di istituto approntate da un’apposita commissione di insegnanti: decine e decine di indicatori e descrittori a formare una vera e propria giungla di caselle. Giusto per capire, i non addetti ai lavori digitino su un motore di ricerca le parole chiave “formulazione giudizi globali”.

Nel testo Psiche amica, Renato Marini scrive: “La società occidentale, in modo particolare quella nordamericana, fonda una grande parte della propria pedagogia sulla competizione e la concorrenza fra i vari membri della comunità. I bambini, i giovani e gli adulti vengono costantemente valutati, misurati nelle loro prestazioni e confrontati con gli altri […] Le strutture sociali vengono costruite sui giochi di potere o di successo e lo stesso avviene per i contatti sociali. La vita non è che una perenne gara, nella quale si deve per forza arrivare, se non primo, almeno in buona posizione; i criteri per misurare il successo sono molti: la casa, l’auto, i mobili, il lavoro, i figli, il titolo di studio, la bellezza della moglie, la posizione sociale del marito ecc. Tutto questo è molto materialista. Forse stimola la lotta e quindi ottiene maggiore impegno, ma il prezzo che si paga è la perdita della serenità”.

Lo stesso Oscar Wilde, ne Il ritratto di Dorian Gray, mette in guardia: “Definire è limitare”.

Alla luce di queste poche riflessioni, mi domando: è sensato costringere l’essere umano, nella sua straordinaria (e per molti versi affascinante) complessità, all’interno dei piccoli rettangoli di una griglia? Aumenta davvero il grado di oggettività della valutazione? Valutare ogni respiro? Perché? Non è uno spreco di risorse - e di intelligenze - impiegare i docenti (molti dei quali preparati e con seri studi alle spalle) nella compilazione e tabulazione di decine e decine di griglie nel corso di tutto l’anno scolastico, per un totale di centinaia (a essere buoni) di caselline? Di nuovo, si faccia una ricerca su Internet per rendersi conto di che cosa stiamo discutendo.

In una società che corre, la scuola dovrebbe spronare - spronarsi - all'indugio, alla lentezza, alla riflessione. Che bella questa parola: indugio. Indugiare su un dipinto, su un brano di letteratura, su una composizione musicale... Non sarebbe il caso, ogni tanto, di fermarsi e riflettere su ciò che si fa? Stiamo sbagliando? La direzione è quella giusta? Bisogna correggere un po' la rotta? Invertirla del tutto?

Pensiamoci, almeno noi docenti. Se non altro per evitare "grigliate di alunno".

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 41 (28 maggio-3 giugno): lettura ad alta voce obbligatoria

2018-05-27T11:53:00.000+02:00

Lasciamo decantare nei magazzini della memoria quanto abbiamo ascoltato finora: le attività di comprehensible input riprenderanno nelle ultime cinque settimane. Ora è tempo di dedicarsi alla lettura ad alta voce con proposte settimanali tratte dal sito http://english-e-books.net/

Istruzioni:

1) Finora la lettura ad alta voce è stata opzionale, ora è obbligatoria e sostituisce i video engVid;

2) Leggere ad alta voce in inglese per trenta minuti al giorno (ogni corsista può scegliere i testi che preferisce; il gruppo New Fluency, come sempre, fa le sue proposte);

3) Mantenere alta la concentrazione durante la lettura;

4) Usare molto volume.

La proposta della settimana: Mutiny on the Bounty

CHAPTER ONE

From England to Tahiti

It was a cold day in December, 1787. There was a strong wind and a green sea. Three men and a boy stood on the deck of the little ship, HMS Bounty. Behind them, on the land, were some hills and small white houses. The ship moved slowly out to sea.

The boy, Peter Heywood, was fourteen years old. He was a young officer, and he was happy and excited.

'England looks very small, Mr Christian,' he said. Fletcher Christian smiled at him. Christian was a tall young man with black hair and a long tired face. 'England is small,' he said. 'But we're going to some much smaller islands. Tahiti. The Friendly Islands. They're small, but they're very warm and beautiful.'

A sailor, John Adams, laughed. 'That's right, Mr Christian, sir,' he said.

'Good food, warm sun, blue skies - and hot, beautiful women, too! I want-'

'Be quiet, man!' someone shouted. Christian and Hey wood looked behind them. They saw the captain, William Bligh. He was a small man with brown hair. Christian knew Bligh well; they were friends. But Bligh was a captain now, so things were different. The Bounty was his first ship, and it was very important to him.

'Don't talk about women on my ship, Adams!' he said angrily. 'Be quiet, and sail this ship! Do you hear?'

'Yes, sir,' said Adams quietly.

'Now, listen to me, Mr Christian. And you, too, Mr Heywood.' Bligh stood very near them, but he didn't speak quietly. All the sailors could hear him. 'I'm the captain of this ship-remember that! We're going thirty thousand kilometres through bad weather and very bad seas, and I don't want any accidents. You are officers, so you don't talk to sailors about women or drink, or anything! You must work hard, and your sailors must work hard, too. Do you understand me, Mr Christian?'

'Yes, sir,' said Christian. But he didn't look happy.

'Good. And you, Mr Heywood?'

'Yes, sir.' The boy looked at Bligh, afraid. Then Bligh smiled.

'Is this your first time at sea, boy?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, you must work hard, and listen to me. One day, perhaps, you can be a captain too. Would you like that?'

'Yes, sir, of course.' Peter Heywood smiled.

'Right then. Mr Christian! Look at those men there - they aren't working! Run and talk to them, quickly!'

Bligh smiled again at Heywood. 'In a happy ship, the men must work hard, but the officers must work harder. Do you understand, boy?'

The Bounty sailed south across the Atlantic. For ten days they were in a storm near Cape Horn, but they could not sail west because of the strong west wind. So they sailed east to South Africa, Tasmania, and Tahiti.

There were thirty-three sailors on the Bounty, and eleven officers. Bligh was the captain, Christian was his second officer. The ship was often wet and cold, but no one was ill. Once Bligh gave the sailors some apples, but they would not eat them because they were old and bad. Bligh was very angry.

'Damn you men!' he shouted. 'Apples are good for you! You eat them, I say!'

On 26 October 1788 the Bounty arrived at Tahiti. The islanders came to the ship in big canoes with food. The King of Tahiti, Otoo, was friendly. Bligh went to Otoo's house, and gave him things from the King of England.

'Thank you, Captain,' Otoo said. 'You are welcome here. I must give the King of England something, too. But he's a rich man. What would he like? Do you know?'

Bligh smiled. It was an important question. 'My King is very rich, Otoo,' he said. 'But we don't have any breadfruit trees in England. My King would like some, for his people in Jamaica. Can I take some on my ship?'

Otoo laughed. 'Of course,' he said. 'That's easy! Take lots of them. My people can help you.'

The Bounty stayed at Tahiti for five months, and by March there were a thousand breadfruit trees on the ship. Tahitian children played on the ship, and in the evenings the sailors danced and sang with the women.

One morning, some sailors and Tahitian women took a ship's boat to a different island. Bligh was very angry. When the sailors came back, he put chains on their legs. Then he shouted at his officers and men. 'You men must stay away from these women!' he said. 'You must all listen to me, and work hard for me and the King!'

Some officers kept pigs on the ship. Sometimes Bligh took the pigs from his officers. 'I'm giving this food to the sailors,' he said. 'They need it, not you!'

April 4th was the Bounty's last day in Tahiti. The ship was full of food and people - Otoo and his family, all the sailors and their Tahitian friends. But nobody sang or danced. Everyone was quiet and sad.

Peter Hey wood saw John Adams with a Tahitian woman. She cried, and he talked to her for the last time. Then she got into a canoe and went back to the island. Peter stood near him, sadly. The sun went down in the west.

'Mr Christian?' shouted Captain Bligh. 'Are all the Tahitians off the ship?'

'Yes, sir,' Christian answered.

'Good. Then we sail for Jamaica, and then back to old England!' He looked at Peter. 'Don't stand there, boy! Get to work! Look at all our beautiful breadfruit trees! King George is going to be very happy about them!'

CHAPTER TWO

Mutiny!

On the evening of 26th April Adams saw Bligh on deck. He looked angry, and stopped near Fletcher Christian.

'Mr Christian!' Bligh said. 'Where are my coconuts? I had fifty yesterday, and there are only twenty here now! Where are they? Do you know?'

'No, sir,' Christian said. 'I don't know. I never saw them. I didn't take them - you know that!'

Captain Bligh looked at his tall young officer and said nothing. Bligh and Christian were once friends, Adams remembered. But not now. Bligh was often angry; Christian was always worried, afraid.

Bligh said: 'Mr Christian, you took my coconuts! I know you did! You're my second officer, but all you officers take my things! God damn you all!'

At four o'clock that morning, Adams saw Christian again. It was a quiet night, and the ship moved slowly through the water. Christian had a piece of wood with him, and a hag. His face was white in the moonlight. A young officer, George Stewart, talked to Christian.

'What are you doing, Mr Christian?' Stewart asked.

'I'm in hell,' Christian said. 'Bligh doesn't like me, or any of his officers! I must leave the ship!'

'Leave? What are you talking about? How?'

'I have some food in this bag, and wood, and I can swim,' Christian said. 'We're not far from the island of Tafua. Perhaps I can swim there.'

'Swim to Tafua? Of course you can't, man! Do you want to die?'

'It doesn't matter! I can't stay here with that man! I'm in hell, I tell you! Every day he shouts at me, and it takes a year to sail to England! I must leave the ship!'

'I understand,' Stewart said. 'Many of us are afraid of Bligh - we don't like him. But you must stay - you're our best officer. Listen to me, now...'

Bligh was in bed when the door opened. Christian came in, with three sailors. It was still dark. Bligh opened his eyes. In the moonlight, he saw the gun in Christian's hand.

'What?' Bligh sat up. 'Get out, damn you! This is my-'

'Hold him!' Christian said. The sailors put Bligh's arms behind his back, and Christian tied them with a rope. 'Now, sir, come with us!'

They took Bligh out of his bed and up onto the deck. He wore a shirt, but no trousers or shoes. There were ten or twelve men there with guns and small swords. Christian held Bligh's hands with the rope, and Adams stood behind Bligh with a gun.

'What are you doing?' Bligh said angrily. 'Let me go at once! You're-'

'Be quiet,' Adams said. 'Listen to Mr Christian!'

'But I'm the captain-'

'Not now. This is our ship now,' Christian said. 'Adams, put the launch in the water.'

The launch was a small boat, seven metres long. Adams put it in the water next to the ship. 'Right,' Christian said. 'Thank you, Adams. You stay with me.'

Christian looked at some other sailors. He didn't like them. 'You men!' he said. 'Get into that boat! Quickly now!'

'No!' Bligh shouted. 'All of you, stay on this ship! Help me, now!'

He began to run, but Christian held the rope and Adams held a knife to his neck. 'Do that again, Captain Bligh, and you're a dead man!' he said quietly.

At the front of the ship, Peter Heywood came up on deck. 'What's happening?' he asked. He was afraid.

'Be quiet, Peter,' Christian said. 'You stay there. Get into the launch, you men!' he shouted. 'I told you!'

Slowly, eighteen sailors got into the launch. Then Christian took Bligh to the side of the ship. 'Now you, Captain,' he said. 'Over the side.'

Two men carried Bligh over the side of the ship. Then the sailors threw some bread into the launch, with a barrel of water, a little meat, bottles of rum and wine, some rope and sails, and some of the captain's books.

'You see, we aren't going to kill you,' Christian said. 'You can live on that, for a week or two.'

'But why are you doing this, Christian?' Bligh shouted angrily. 'I'm your captain - and your friend!'

'No you're not! Not now!' Christian said. 'Don't you understand? I'm in hell, with you here on this ship!'

'You're going to be in hell all your life now, Christian, because of this!' Bligh said.

Bligh sat in the launch with eighteen men. Christian and the sailors watched him from the back of the ship, then they opened a bottle of rum, and laughed.

'England is that way, Captain Bligh!' one of the sailors said. 'Thirty thousand kilometres to the north!'

'Forget England, my friend,' Adams said. 'I'm thinking about Tahiti, and those beautiful women! We're going to be happy now, on Tahiti with Mr Christian!'

Christian looked at Adams for a minute, but he didn't smile. His face, in the early morning sun, was white and cold. Then he looked at the launch, far away across the sea, with nineteen men in it.

'Tahiti, England, or the Bounty-it doesn't matter, John,' he said. 'I'm going to live and die in hell.'

CHAPTER THREE

In the launch

The launch was seven metres long, and there were nineteen men in it. Captain Bligh sat at the back of the launch, and looked at his men. The sides of the launch were only thirty centimetres above the sea.

'Mr Hall, look at our food, please,' Bligh said.

'Yes, sir.'

Bligh looked away, over the sea. The Bounty was very far away now, but there was a small island, Tafua, about twenty kilometres to the west.

After some minutes, Mr Hall, a young officer, said: 'Sir, we have 150 kilos of bread, two kilos of meat, six bottles of rum, and 126 litres of water, sir.'

'Is that all?' Bligh asked.

'We have a small sail, and some coats, sir,' Hall said. 'That's all.'

'Thank you, Mr Hall,' Bligh said. 'It's not much, but we're going to Tafua, so perhaps we can find some more food and water there.'

Bligh was afraid, but he didn't want them to see that. The men were quiet; they didn't look angry.

Next day they landed at Tafua. They found breadfruit, bananas, and coconuts, but no water. A lot of islanders came down to the sea. 'Where is your ship?' they asked.

'It sank,' Bligh said. 'All our friends are dead. We need food and water.'

The islanders laughed. It was not a friendly laugh. They talked quietly. More men came - soon there were nearly a hundred. They began to pick up stones.

'Get back into the boat!' Bligh said. 'Quickly, now.' But the islanders killed one man with stones. When the launch went out to sea, the islanders came after it in their canoes. They threw stones at the sailors.

'Throw the coats into the sea,' Bligh said. 'Quick!'

The islanders stopped and picked the coats out of the sea. Then the canoes went back to Tafua.

'We can't land on any islands, then,' Bligh said. 'Not without a big ship, and guns.' He looked at his men. They were quiet, and afraid. 'We must be very careful with our food,' he said. 'Every man can have a small piece of bread and coconut today, and a cup of water. That's all. When it's cold we can have some rum. But don't worry. Remember, I'm your captain. Listen to me, and we can stay alive.'

'Yes, sir.'

Then the youngest, a boy called Robert Tinkler, said: 'I want to go home.'

Bligh looked at him, and for a minute the boy was afraid, because Bligh was often angry. Then he saw a small, cold smile on Bligh's face. 'To England, Robert?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, that's about thirty thousand kilometres away. So first, let's find Timor. That's much nearer. There are Dutch ships there; they can take us home.'

'Yes, sir.' The boy looked happier. 'How far is it to Timor, sir?'

For a minute Bligh didn't answer. He looked away, over the cold green sea. The wind was stronger now, and the sky was dark. 'Oh, not far,' he said slowly. 'Only about seven thousand kilometres.'

Next morning the wind got stronger and stronger, and the launch went up and down over big green waves. Everyone was wet, and white water came into the launch. The sailors used the empty coconuts to throw the water back into the sea. At midday they ate five small coconuts and drank some rum, and they ate some wet breadfruit in the evening. The wind and waves were strong all night, so no one could sleep.

Next day, the bread was wet, but they didn't throw it away. In the afternoon it rained, and they caught the water in cups and coconuts. But it rained all night, so everyone was cold and wet. The launch was small, so they could not all sleep. Most men sat up all night.

On 8th May it was sunny. The men took off their wet shirts and trousers. Bligh gave them some rum, coconut milk, and eighty grams of bread. Often he talked about New Guinea, Australia, and Timor.

There were storms for the next two weeks. Sometimes they saw the sun for an hour, but every day it rained. Big green waves threw white water into the launch. They were always wet, tired, and hungry. Three times they saw islands, but they didn't go near them. They ate bad bread and old meat, but they had lots of rain water to drink. When they were very wet, Bligh gave his men some rum. No one could sleep for more than one or two hours.

But every hour, Bligh held a long rope over the side. The rope had knots in it. The men watched carefully. The knots went behind the launch, and Bligh looked at his watch. 'We're going quickly today,' Bligh told them, and wrote in a little book.

'We're going about one hundred and sixty kilometres every day,' he told his men. 'But we can't always sail west, because of the wind. So, I'm sorry, but today we can only have forty grams of bread.'

'Bad bread, too,' said one man, Purcell.

'Yes, but it keeps us alive,' Bligh answered angrily. Then he laughed. 'Look-up there!' he said.

There was a bird on the front of the launch. Its small yellow eye looked at them. Carefully, two sailors opened their hands, very slowly. The bird didn't move. One man put his hand on it. The bird moved away. But at the same time, his friend caught the bird's feet, and killed it.

The sailors laughed and shouted. It was only a very small black and white bird, but it was food! Good food!

'I caught it!' the first sailor said.

'No, you didn't!' the other man said. 'I did!'

'Be quiet!' Bligh said. 'Give it to me.' He cut the bird with his knife, and caught its red blood in a cup. The men drank the blood. Then Bligh cut the bird into eighteen pieces and put them in front of him.

'Right,' he said. 'Fryer, sit here, with your back to the bird. Now, I have one piece of the bird in my hand.' He held up a piece of its leg. 'Tell me, Fryer, who shall have this?'

'Ledward,' Fryer said.

'All right.' Bligh gave the piece to Ledward, and picked up a second piece. 'And who shall have this?'

'Hall.'

'All right.' No one was angry, because Fryer couldn't see the pieces. Everyone watched. Bligh picked up the bird's head and feet. 'Who shall have this?' he asked.

'Bligh,' Fryer answered. Everyone laughed, and Bligh looked at the head and feet sadly. 'Oh well,' he said. 'I know it's good for me.' Slowly, he began to eat them.

That evening, they caught a bigger bird, and ate that too. Next day they caught one more. Everyone was happy.

'Why are all these birds here?' the boy Robert asked.

Bligh smiled. 'Because we are near land,' he said.

On 28th May, at midnight, they saw white water in front of them.

'The Barrier Reef,' Bligh said. 'A line of rocks underwater. We must be careful - ships often sink here! Take down the sail, and move slowly. We must find a way through!'

They sailed slowly near the white angry water. Then, after four hours, they found a way through. Behind the Barrier Reef, the sea was blue and quiet. They sailed quietly to a small island.

They could sleep on the island, and walk about. They began to look stronger. But they were two thousand kilometres from Timor, so they could not stay long. After six days they went to sea again - west, towards Timor. The sun was very hot, and two men were ill. Bligh gave them some rum, and the blood of birds. 'But they can't live much longer in a little boat like this,' he thought. 'We're all tired and hungry - someone is going to die soon.'

But it was not far now. Every hour Bligh held the rope over the side, and wrote in his little book. He watched the sun and the sea and the sky. And then, on 11th June, Bligh said: 'You cannot see it, but south of us, there's a big island called Timor.' They laughed and smiled and sang. Next day, they saw the island - green trees and hills. Two days later, they came to a town called Caupang. There were some Dutch sailors by the sea. Bligh and his men walked up to them.

'Who are you?' a Dutch officer asked. 'You look hungry, and ill. Where are you from?'

'I'm Captain William Bligh, of the English ship HMS Bounty. These men are English sailors. We left Tafua forty-one days ago.'

'Tafua?' the Dutch officer asked. 'Where is that?'

'It is a small island, about seven thousand kilometres away. We came in that small launch.'

'My God! Forty-one days - in that!' The Dutchman looked at the launch, and for a minute he said nothing. Then he asked: 'Did many of you die?'

Bligh smiled. 'Oh no. Only one, and the islanders on Tafua killed him. Seventeen men left Tafua with me, and seventeen men are here now. Alive.'

CHAPTER FOUR

The Pandora

On 14th March 1790, Bligh and his men arrived in England. When he told the story of the mutiny, English people were very angry. They sent Captain Edwards, in the Pandora, to Tahiti.

On 23rd March 1791, the Pandora arrived in Tahiti. Captain Edwards and his men looked carefully at the island. They could see a lot of trees and small houses, but no English ship. Then, a small canoe came out to the Pandora. The three men in the canoe shouted and smiled.

'I think they're Englishmen, sir,' a sailor said.

'All right,' Captain Edwards said. 'They can come on the ship. Perhaps they can tell us something.'

The three men were brown and strong, but they wore English sailors' hats and trousers. One of them - a boy, about eighteen years old - smiled at Edwards.

'Good morning, sir! My name is Peter Heywood - I'm a young officer from the Bounty. This is Mr Stewart, and Joseph Coleman, a sailor.'

'Yes, I see,' said Edwards. 'Three of you? Where are your friends? Where is Mr Christian and the Bounty?'

Heywood looked worried. 'Mr Christian? He sailed away in the Bounty, sir, a year ago, I think. But we didn't go with them. We waited - for you. We aren't afraid.'

'I see,' Edwards said. He looked at them carefully. 'All right, then. Tell me your story. What happened, after Christian put Captain Bligh in the launch?'

'Well, sir,' Heywood said. 'We threw the breadfruit trees into the sea, and sailed here, to Tahiti. Otoo, the King of Tahiti, was good to us, and a lot of men wanted to stay here. But Mr Christian was afraid. "We can't stay here," he said, "because a ship is going to come from England." So Otoo gave us a lot of pigs, and goats and food, and we sailed to a different island, Toobouai. Some islanders from Tahiti came with us-eight men, nine women, and seven boys. But the people of Tooboaui didn't like us, and some of us didn't like Mr Christian. So Mr Christian sailed the Bounty back to Tahiti, and left sixteen of us here.'

'And then?' Captain Edwards was excited. 'What did Mr Christian do?' he asked.

'He sailed away in the Bounty, sir.'

'I see. And how many men went with him?'

'Nine sailors, I think, sir. But they took seven Tahitian men and twelve women, too.'

'I see,' Edwards said. He looked at them angrily. 'Sixteen men stayed on Tahiti, and three of you are here. So where are the other thirteen? Are they waiting for me, too, on the island?'

'Er... well, yes, sir... I mean...' Peter Heywood stopped. He was worried and afraid.

'They were here, but they aren't here now,' said George Stewart quickly. He put his hand on Peter Heywood's arm. 'They sailed away too.'

'Oh, did they?' Captain Edwards asked. 'When?'

Heywood and Stewart both spoke at once.

'Four days...'

'Two weeks...'

'... ago, sir,' they said. Then they stopped.

Edwards watched them. 'I see,' he said slowly. 'First you are in a mutiny, and now you tell me things that are not true! Sailor!'

'Yes, sir,' one of the Pandora's sailors answered.

'Put these three men in chains. They are prisoners.'

'But sir!' Peter Heywood said. 'We didn't run away! We came to tell you our story. And Mr Stewart has a wife!'

'A wife?' Captain Edwards laughed. 'Is she at home in England?'

'No, sir. Here,' Mr Stewart answered. 'She's a Tahitian woman. Her name is Peggy - Mrs Peggy Stewart. And we have a daughter.'

Edwards laughed again. 'A Tahitian woman! I'm sorry for her! But don't worry. She can come on the ship and see you in your new prison. Look behind you. We have a wonderful prison for you and your friends. Look!'

The three sailors looked behind them. On the deck of the Pandora was a wooden box, about two metres high and four metres long. It had a small door, but no windows. The Pandora's sailors put the prisoners in the box, with chains on their arms and legs. Captain Edwards laughed.

'There! Are you happy now? You can stay there, all the way to England!'

'But... my wife! My little daughter!' Stewart said. The door closed in his face. 'We didn't put Bligh in the launch - Christian did! We came to tell you everything!'

Edwards laughed, and Peter Heywood said nothing.

Captain Edwards caught eleven more men, and put them in the Pandora's box, too. Their Tahitian wives and children came onto the Pandora and cried, but Captain Edwards didn't open the door. For three months, the Pandora sailed to different islands, and the prisoners stayed in the box. But Edwards couldn't find Christian or the Bounty, and so he began to sail home.

Near Australia, the Pandora hit the Barrier Reef. Water came into the ship, and the sailors couldn't stop it. After twelve hours, Captain Edwards said: 'We must leave the ship! Get into the boats, men!'

The prisoners could hear the noise outside, and water came in through the door. Captain Edwards took three prisoners out, but then he closed the door.

'What about us?' Peter Heywood shouted. 'Please, Captain, open the door! Why are you leaving us in here?'

'Be quiet, boy!' said Captain Edwards. 'We're working hard now - the ship is sinking!'

'But we're going to die - we can't move!' George Stewart shouted. 'Open the door!'

But Edwards closed the door, and no one helped them. Outside, the first sailors got into the boats, and rowed away. Inside the box, the prisoners hit the walls, and shouted. But they couldn't move, because of the chains.

After an hour, a sailor opened the door and helped them out of their chains. But there was very little time. All of them got their legs free, but some couldn't get their arms free. Peter Heywood was nearly the last man to get out. In the sea, he held on to some wood. He saw George Stewart and four other prisoners. They couldn't swim, because of the chains on their arms.

'Help me, Peter!' Stewart called. But the sea took Stewart away. Peter Heywood never saw his friend again.

Peter Heywood landed on a small island with some prisoners, Captain Edwards and the Pandora's sailors. They had four boats, but only one small barrel of water and some bread. Like Captain Bligh, they sailed to the Dutch island of Timor. Then a Dutch ship took them to England. They arrived on 19th June 1792.

Peter Heywood looked across the water at the green hills and small houses. 'Home,' he said quietly to a Dutch sailor. 'England is very beautiful, you know. I left here five years ago!'

'Are you going to see your family?' the Dutchman asked.

'Not yet,' Peter answered. 'I must go to my trial first. And the punishment for mutiny, you know...'

He stopped. The wind moved his brown hair. The Dutchman put a hand on his arm.

'I know, Peter,' he said sadly. 'The punishment for mutiny... is death.'

CHAPTER FIVE

Death, life, and Thursday

There were nine captains at the trial. Peter Hey wood stood in front of them, and talked about the night of the mutiny.

'It was four years ago,' he said. 'I was a young officer, fifteen years old. When I came up on deck, Captain Bligh was Mr Christian's prisoner. How could I help him? I didn't have a sword or a gun. Mr Christian put Captain Bligh and eighteen men into the launch.'

One of the nine captains asked: 'Did you try to help Captain Bligh, Mr Heywood?'

'No, sir. I couldn't. Christian and his men had swords and guns... I had nothing.'

A different captain asked: 'Did Mr Christian do the right thing, then? What do you think?'

'No sir, of course not!'

'But you didn't get into the launch with Captain Bligh. Why not?'

'I couldn't, sir! It was full. There were nineteen men in it. It nearly sank without me.'

'Did you say anything to Captain Bligh?'

'Er... no, sir, I didn't. Some men did, but not me.'

'So, Mr Heywood, you were an officer on the Bounty, and you saw this mutiny, but you did nothing. You just stood, and watched. Is that right?'

'Er... yes, sir.' Peter Heywood was afraid now. 'I was... very young then, sir.'

'You were an officer. An officer must always help his captain. Wait there.' The nine captains walked out of the room.

Peter waited for a long time. His mother and sister were with him, but he felt afraid. Then the captains came back, and the oldest captain said: 'Peter Heywood, because you did not help Captain Bligh, we say you helped the mutiny. And there is only one punishment for mutiny. Death. Do you understand?'

Peter's face was white and he felt ill. But he said quietly: 'Yes, sir. I understand.'

Two days later he saw the oldest captain again. There was a small, cold smile on his face. 'Mr Heywood, I have a letter from the King. The older sailors must die, but because you were a young boy on the Bounty, the King says you can live. You can go, Mr Heywood. You are a free man.'

'Oh, sir! Thank you. Thank you very much.'

Peter Heywood lived for many years. Twenty years later, he was a captain of a ship, like Captain Bligh.

Captain Bligh went back to Tahiti, and took some more breadfruit trees to Jamaica. After that, he sailed many more ships. He was an important man. He died in 1817.

But what happened to the Bounty, and Fletcher Christian? For years, no one knew. Then, twenty years after the mutiny, in 1809, an American ship, the Topaz, visited a small island called Pitcairn. When the captain of the Topaz came home, he had an interesting story. And five years after that, in 1814, two British ships - the Briton and the Tagus-arrived.

Pitcairn was a small island with nowhere good for ships to land. But a canoe came out through the white water to the British ships. The men from the canoe came onto the Briton and looked for the captain, Sir Thomas Staines.

'Good afternoon,' he said. 'Who are you?'

A tall young man answered: 'I'm Thursday.'

'I'm sorry,' Captain Staines said. 'What did you say?'

'My name is Thursday,' answered the young man. 'Thursday October Christian. I live on this island. You are welcome here. Would you like to come to my village, and eat with us? Mr Adams would like to see you.'

'Well, thank you very much,' said Captain Staines. 'And Captain Pipon, from the Tagus-can he come too?'

'Of course,' said Thursday. 'He is welcome.'

The two captains got into the canoe, and Thursday and his friends took it through big green and white waves to the island. Near the beach was a small village.

'How many people live here?' Captain Staines asked. 'About forty,' said Thursday. 'Here is our king, John Adams.'

An old man with white hair came towards the two captains. He wore trousers and an English sailor's shirt. 'Good afternoon,' he said. 'My name is John Adams, of HMS Bounty. Welcome to Pitcairn Island.'

Some old women gave the captains wonderful food, and John Adams told them his story.

'When the Bounty left Tahiti, Christian was very worried. "A ship is going to come from England," he said. "They want to kill me. They must never find us." So when we landed here, we took all the pigs and goats, and burned the Bounty. We stood by the sea and watched. Then we made our village. But Christian was always worried and afraid, and it was difficult to live here. The Tahitian men didn't like the English sailors. There were ten English men, seven Tahitian men, and twelve Tahitian women. When Christian took the wife of one of the Tahitian men, the Tahitian man killed him. Then the Tahitian men killed most of the English men - they nearly killed me! But the women stopped them - the women killed the Tahitian men! After that, there was one man alive on the island - me! But there were nine women, and some small children - this young man, Thursday, is Fletcher Christian's son.'

'Oh, I see!' said Captain Staines. 'So... you were alone here, with nine wives!'

John Adams smiled. He looked a tired but happy man. The old women near him smiled too. 'Well, yes, sir,' he said. 'But I'm a good husband to them, and a good father to all these children. And of course, now that these boys are men, they have wives too.'

'Do you all speak English?' Captain Pipon asked.

'Yes, sir. English and Tahitian too. We have our pigs and goats and coconut trees, and we think about God every day, sir.'

'You are very happy,' Captain Staines said.

'We are, sir,' John Adams said. 'All of us. But...' He stood up slowly. 'I know why you are here. You are going to take me to England with you. I must die there.'

Captain Staines looked at him. The Pitcairn islanders looked very sad, and some of the women began to cry.

'What do you mean, man?' Captain Staines asked.

'Well, Captain, I was in the mutiny against Captain Bligh. It was a long time ago, but I did it. I must take my punishment.'

'But... my God!' Captain Staines looked at Captain Pipon. 'Of course the man is right,' he said. 'But... we can't do this. You're an old man, Mr Adams, and you are happy here. Your wives and children need you. It was twenty years ago, man! People in England don't talk about the Bounty today. And Fletcher Christian is dead!'

'He is dead, but I'm not,' John Adams said. 'I helped him, and I'm here, now, in front of you.'

'And this is your home,' Captain Staines said. 'You are an old man. You must die here - not in England. Sit down, Mr Adams. Let's finish this wonderful food.'

'All right, Captain,' John Adams said. 'And... thank you.' He sat down, and the Pitcairn islanders smiled.

'Tell me about Bligh,' Captain Staines said. 'He's an important man now, you know. But most people like him. Why were you all angry with him?'

Adams thought for a minute. He looked up at the trees over his village, and at the smiling faces of his wives and children. 'Bligh,' he said. 'Well, he was a good sailor, of course. We were angry with him, but I can't remember why. It's a very long time ago...'

- THE END -

Hope you have enjoyed the reading!

Come back to http://english-e-books.net/ to find more fascinating and exciting stories!

Gruppo New Fluency, settimana 40 (21-27 maggio): ripasso

2018-05-20T10:00:00.000+02:00

Questa settimana ripasso del quinto ciclo di New Fluency (settimane 32-40), dedicato interamente al potenziamento lessicale. Non utilizzare sottotitoli, nemmeno martedì e mercoledì.
Grazie ai diversi docenti engVid.

Ecco alcune frasi tratte dalle lezioni:

You can say that again!
Puoi dirlo forte!

In case you don't know...
Nel caso non lo sappiate...

You shouldn't have!
Non dovevi!

I came in third.
Sono arrivato terzo.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.
Non lo farei se fossi al tuo posto.

I gotta get going.
Devo andare.

Don't butt in line.
Non saltare la coda.

The ayes have it.
Vincono i sì.

Things are getting out of hand.
Le cose stanno sfuggendo di mano.

She's getting on a bit.
Sta invecchiando un po'.

Whoever does it the fastest is the winner.
Chi lo fa più velocemente vince.

What happens next?
Poi che succede?

Break a leg!
Buona fortuna!

Go buy the pills.
Va' a comprare le pillole.

I grew up in a very superstitious household.
Sono cresciuto in una famiglia molto superstiziosa.

Show of hands.
Alzata di mano.

Di seguito i link giorno per giorno (attività opzionale: lettura ad alta voce in inglese dieci minuti al giorno):

Lunedì

Fixed Modal Expressions: Easy English sentences to memorize and use!

23 Phrasal Verbs with COME: come across, come around, come up with...

Martedì

50 adjectives to describe what you see, hear, feel, smell, and taste

12 ways to use body parts as verbs

Mercoledì

10 ways to use ALRIGHT & ALL RIGHT in English

Meetings

The people we LOVE ❤ – spouse, girlfriend, partner, husband...

Giovedì

11 uses of the verb 'GET' in English: get going, get together, getting on...

Sports of the Winter Olympics

English word pairs about TIME

Venerdì

Vocabulary, culture and the first conditional!

8 KICK Phrasal Verbs in English: "kick back", "kick out", "kick up"...

Sabato

English color expressions to talk about situations & emotions

TO, ON, ABOUT: Prepositions of behavior in English

Domenica

MATH & GEOMETRY

10 "STEP" Phrasal Verbs in English: step up, step down, step in...

Imparare l'inglese con Netflix in un anno senza andare all'estero (anche per bambini)

2018-05-19T12:52:00.000+02:00

Ecco una versione alternativa di New Fluency per imparare a parlare inglese in un anno senza andare all'estero.

Prerequisiti:

- inglese scolastico a livello di terza media (se si comincia con i cartoni animati non occorrono prerequisiti particolari e possono seguirlo anche i bimbi a partire dalla prima elementare)

Strumenti:

- connessione a Internet

- abbonamento a Netflix

- cuffie

Tempi:

- 40 minuti al giorno per un anno

Metodo (esempio con il cartone animato Peppa Pig):

- Scegliere, in base ai propri interessi, una serie TV (o un cartone animato) le cui puntate durino circa venti minuti

- Lunedì, martedì, giovedì, venerdì, sabato e domenica: guardare un episodio di Peppa Pig prima in inglese senza sottotitoli (un episodio di Peppa Pig è formato da quattro puntate di circa 5 minuti ciascuna, per una durata complessiva di circa 20 minuti), poi in inglese con i sottotitoli in inglese. L'episodio sia lo stesso per tutta la settimana.

- Mercoledì: riguardare l'episodio di Peppa Pig prima in inglese senza sottotitoli, poi in italiano con i sottotitoli in inglese

- Settimana successiva: stesso procedimento con un altro episodio

- Procedere di settimana in settimana

- Gli ultimi due mesi aggiungere la lettura ad alta voce di semplici testi inglesi per almeno un quarto d'ora al giorno.

Attenzione:

- usare sempre le cuffie

- non cercare di memorizzare

- non scrivere nulla

- non svolgere esercizi

- cercare di capire quanto più possibile (non importa se le prime quattro o cinque settimane sembrerà di non capire nulla, si vada avanti lo stesso)

- rimanere rilassati

- mantenere alto il livello di concentrazione

Per chiarimenti e/o ulteriori informazioni sul metodo commentare il post oppure scrivere a fra.schipani @gmail.com oppure leggere i post di questo blog (www.francescoschipani.blogspot.it) relativi al metodo New Fluency.