unit 1
The Permit
I think the building must have been used as a farmer's winter store; I found piles of forgotten dried chestnuts and grain in rotting barrels. I tried the chestnuts but they tasted sour and sharp, and some of them had small teeth-marks in their dark, peeling skins. Paulo said he would bring me food, but that was three days ago.
Yesterday, I heard a car engine getting closer, and climbed up to hide in the rafters of the patched roof, but the Guardia Civil men just looked in quickly through the smashed windows and broken doors before they left. I clung to the dusty wooden rafter, feeling it creak and bend under my weight, and tried to make no noise. My arms and legs grew numb, then began to tremble, and I longed to move, but I waited until I heard the policemen drive off.
I know that Paulo would not have told them about me.
And I know that they will return. When we began the final part of our journey, we were warned that the police patrol the land around here regularly. They are always searching for us, or others like us; the coast of Morocco and the Presidio of Ceuta are only ten miles away across the Straits.
That is how I got here: squeezed in with fifteen other men in a shallow boat meant for eight, with the cold waves reaching over the sides and the night deep and black as a tomb. I have never been more scared. I prayed all the way across, and thought about my family. I told myself, over and over, that I was doing it for them. That trip took almost all of my money. All of the money I had saved back home in Ecuador, all of the money I had worked for on the way. The boatmen left us on a beach in the middle of the night. We lost sight of them but we could still hear their small engine across the waves. Six of us started walking inland but the others waited for the contact, the friends of the boatmen, as they had been told, and met the Guardia Civil instead.
We were lucky: we met Paulo. We found the town and waited until the first bar opened; I went in alone while the others hid in the orchard nearby. When I asked for coffee, the young barman looked at me and nodded. He made the coffee, then disappeared into the back room. Cold and without strength, I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, not caring whether the barman had called the police, not caring about the next moment, just about the present.
But the man had called Paulo, who came and helped us. Paulo is always smiling, always happy. He is from Seville, a busy city of many people, and he knows many people. Paulo found work for us. I made good money on the farms. I picked cabbages, and cauliflowers, and artichokes and broccoli. I picked great round yellow squashes that smelled of rich perfume when you broke them. The farmers hired us by the day, and were content. The local people will not work for the wages we are paid. But there were many farms, and many crops to be picked. We were welcomed.
I shared a small clean house in the town with seven other workers. We had journeyed from Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela, even Argentina. Paulo found the house for us - he knew the landlord and arranged a good price. We lived well, with enough food and sometimes wine. I earned more in a week than I could in three months back home, if there had been work to do there. I sent most of the money that was left to my wife and parents, and wrote many letters to them. Then the government changed the rules, so that we needed work permits.
I queued with hundreds of other workers outside the Ayuntamiento, waiting for the application forms. We sat on the stone benches beneath the trees in the Pla?a and read the forms. Some of the other workers are from small villages and towns, and cannot read as well as I can, so I explained to them that the government wanted our birth certificates, driving licences, passports and many other documents. Many of the workers had perhaps one or two of these documents, but most had none. I helped the others complete the forms and we gave them to the clerk in the Ayuntamiento. He looked at our documents, stamped the forms many times and told us that they would be sent to Madrid, and our permits would be returned in two or three months. If the forms were approved.
We had to wait. Even Paulo and his friends could not help us.
The first month was not too bad, as most of the farmers continued to use us; their crops were rich and heavy, waiting to be picked. Then some men from Madrid visited all of the farms, and maybe half of the farmers stopped using us. The farmers told us that they were sorry, and we believed them.
So the second month was worse: few of the farmers would use us, and those that did paid very poor wages. We shared what we had, and ate once a day: rice, pasta, bread, cheap food that would fill our stomachs. We began to stare at each other, and wonder which of us would find work. There were fights in the morning, between different groups of workers, when the farms' foremen came to the Pla?a to choose who would work that day. But still we had some hope.
We lost the house in the third month, as we had no money for rent. We were able to get some food from the charity kitchens around the town, and the church, but we found always a long queue and very little food. We took our bags and blankets and slept in the fields. Then the weather became cold and we slept where we could, huddled together, in old forgotten buildings and alleys. Sometimes I dreamed of my family and my home, and when I awoke I wished the dream could continue.
The people of the town stared at us from the sides of their eyes as they passed us. They clenched their hands and muttered, and some of them spat on the pavement. A few of us were attacked and beaten in the dark, and driven from the parks and streets. All of the time, the Police told us to move on, move on.
It is the end of the third month when it happens.
The farmers hire coaches and send them into the Pla?a Colom. From four o'clock in the morning we wait in shuffling silence, hands pushed deep into pockets, our hats pulled down tight against the cold and the watching policemen.
By the time the coaches arrive there are hundreds of workers waiting in the darkness. We press forward as the doors open. The foremen stand on the bottom steps of the coaches and ask, "Who has the permit?"
The men with permits hold them up and are allowed onto the coaches.
Some of the workers are from the countries in Europe and do no need permits, so they are allowed on when they show their passports. I go from coach to coach until I see a group of Chileans, who I know have no permits, climb aboard a waiting coach. The leader of their group speaks first with the foreman and shakes his hand, then they are taken on. I stand before the foreman.
"You have the permit?" he asks me. He is broad and stout, and fills the doorway of the coach. His fat neck spills from the upturned collar of his leather jacket. His hair is shaven close to his head. I explain to him that my application was rejected but I have tried again.
"Come back when you have a permit," he tells me. He frowns as he pulls on his cigarette and looks down the avenue to where the policemen are watching the coaches. I explain to him that that I am a hard worker, that I have eaten only once in three days, that I am desperate to work and send money to my family.
He looks at the policemen, who have started walking along the pavement beside the coaches, and he scowls at me and says, "Go to Madrid and tell them."
The Chileans are laughing and pointing at me through the coach windows.
The foreman flicks his half-finished cigarette into the gutter by my foot and I punch him in the stomach. He folds over with a small cry.
The policemen look at us and I begin to run, away from the Pla?a, away from the coaches, into the dark side streets and avenues. I hear loud running steps close behind me, and the roar of car engines. The shuttered buildings reflect the blue lights.
I slide my body into the shadows of a shop's back door, behind two tall metal bins that stink of rotting meat and urine. I gasp, and each breath burns. My heart hammers against my chest.
I wait for a long time until the sounds of the cars and people fade. I walk slowly to the end of the alley and look out, but the streets are empty.
I have run almost to the river; I can hear it rushing in the darkness beneath me.
My right hand feels cold. I look down, in the yellow light of a street lamp, and see my hand still clenched into a fist. It looks like the hand of another person, not part of me. A short blade, no longer than my thumb, sticks out from the fist. The blade, my fist, and my sleeve are all stained dark red.
Paulo gave me the knife when I picked artichokes on the farms. The short thick blade is very sharp, made for slicing through the plants' thick stalks.
I scrambled down to the banks of the river and threw the knife into the night. I heard it splash far away. The river touched my feet. I reached down and washed my sleeve and hand, although the water was so cold, like ice, that my hand became numb. Then I walked back up to the street.
I found some of the other workers hiding in the deserted warehouse we had found. One of them went to find Paulo, who came and told me about the old farm buildings near to the coast road. Paulo was not smiling. I waited until darkness before I followed the road out of the town, throwing myself into the ditch if I heard a car approaching.
The weather has been clear and I have seen the coast of Morocco every day. Across the blue sea flecked with sun, the land is a strip of dark brown and grey, and looks close enough for me to touch. Maybe I could find an old tractor tyre tube around the farm and float across the Straits? Or maybe I could walk along the shore and steal a boat?
I do not want to become a thief. I am an honest man who wants only to work and support his family. But what can I do?
I will wait here for Paulo and listen to him. He will tell me what to do for the best. I know that he will help me.
unit2
Timeless photographs
I love to look at old photographs in the album(影集).My father had a big box of pictures in the cabinet and some of the pictures go way back to the 1890's. The women dressed with such dignity and had style back then. My Dad would linger around his precious box of photographs and teel me stories about each photo and very one.It was one of those moments that you could not really appreciate when you were yound. It is only after he was long gone that I can look back and say thanks for taking the time to show me a tiny window into the world of people who really did know how to live.
I found a few of my aunts in their fashionable outfits by an old Cadillac pretending to drink whisky. Many of the photographs were taken in COney Island and CapeCod. I especially love the photographs of the bathing beauties and their swimsuits. THe suits are quite modest by today's standards but the young women didn't seem to care. They were staying at such places as Newport Beach and Cape Cod having the time of their lives running in and out of the tide. One photograph had a vendor(小贩）selling dogs(热狗)by a coaster(轮船）at COney Island--a younger picture of my mother with here brown hair and blue eyes eager to go on board with my Dad. He looked a bit frightened in the picture as I could see he was lolding on tightly to the bar to the coaster,his black hair flying in the breeze. I smile when I look at that picture because it is hard to imagine anyone's Dad ever being a kid. He looked like he was having a great time probably because he was with my mother. SHe is smiling in the picture and wearing a white blouse(女衬衫）,blue shorts and tennis shoes. She is quite a looker(美女）,I can see why my Dad liked her so much.
I dig down to the bottom of the box and see two large photographs. One is dated 1900 and the other one is dated 1997--a recent picture that looks similar to the older one. The older picture looks familiar because it is taken in the same place--the summer home.
I will describe the older photograph as very interesting in the style of dress and exactly where the people are sitting. They are posed outside the cottage by a small tree that is still there today. A woman is sitting in a rocking chair, with here black hair pulled up in a bun(脑后的女髻）.She is not smiling but looking away from the camera and wearing a long black dress. Another woman is wearing a white blouse with a necktie(领结）and a long black skirt. Her hair is also long and blonder(金黄色的）but pulled back in a bun. There are two men on either side of a wooden table. BOth men appear older and are dressed in hats and suits and ties,trousers and SUnday shoes. Neither is smiling. (I have the distinct feeling that the women are their wives and it is Sunday.) they probably are hungry for their roast beef and potatoes,but that is just my guess. There is a young boy,probably about 13 in the photograph, He is wearing a white blouse,black shorts,long black socks and tan sports shoes. He is petting a black dog that is sitting on top of the round wooden table. The boy is bending down and he isn't smiling either. It must have been hot outside and he probably wants to go for a swim with the dog. The water is just below them and he is probably wondering why he has to take this stupid picture all dressed up on a Sunday.
I notice that the color of my cabin was quite different in 1900 and it was much smaller. The color was green,with white railings(栏杆)around the porch and steps leading down to the patio(院子). That is where the picture of this Smart Family was taken. The family appears rather stiff in the photo but I am sure that they had a good laugh after the Sunday dinner was served.
The second larger photograph is of my own family about 1997. It is also in black and white. We didn't wear andy older clothers but used our own clothes. The tree in the background has grown to enormous heights and is still standing. The steps leading down to Mousam Lake have cracked and are in awful need of repair. Believe it or bot,we still own the old wooden table and all of the rocking chairs owned by the Smart Family. I did a search of the Smart Family and they were originally from Portsmouth(朴茨茅斯）. At least five other families owned my cottage before my father bought it in 1950 for three thousand dollars. The cottage comes with thirteen acres of land that I still own along with my seven brothers and sisters. It was passed on to me when my mother died. We have formed the Camp Fund to pay the taxes and preserve our legacy. It is a beautiful cabin on a prime spot on Mousam Lake. I was not here when this photo was taken and it hangs in the livingroom of the cabin. Many vistors comment on it and think it is quite amazing to have a house for so long. The hitory of the house is interesting to view from photographs. Around the table are my brothere Bob just wearing a casual shirt and shorts(smilling), Annie wearing a T-Shirt and shorts. Mike wearing a white shirt and long nylon trousers not smiling, Mary,whom I couldn't tell what she was wearing,my Mom,her white hair and her beautiful blue eyes and smile,was wearing a peach blouse and slacks,my Dad wasn't alive for this photo, he died in 1986. Lastly in the picture is my brother John,wearing a white vest,trousers and suspenders. He slicked(使光滑、顺滑)back his black hair for the photo to appear in the period style. He wasn't smiling either. The only difference is that my cotaage is painted brown with a larger porch and some additional buildings. My father loved to build things and he was constantly improving the cabin. He built a deck downstairs,and also a dock for his many boats. He also designed a gliding swing and a picnic table.
All of these photographs remind me that people are not so very different. We all want to enjoy living and be together as a family. The time that families spend together is very valauble. The children wil always remeber the little things that their parents do for them. For me is was my Dad that showed me shese pictures and took the time to tell me the stories behind each of them. I thank him dearly for that.
unit 3 the story of my romance
Tanya got out of the bed while the sun was still asleep. She looked out the window; even the stars were lost in the dark. "Would I be able to watch sunrise today?" she asked her heart. She knew the answer but was afraid to tell herself. Mike, her husband was still in bed and so were her four kids. Even their sleep couldn't elude her from doing them service. She had to orchestrate her work to the microscopic details. From pressing clothes to polishing shoes, finding matching socks to arranging school bags, fixing up breakfast to preparing snack-boxes, she was unthankfully supposed to make it all happen like a magic wand. And to her own compulsory fault, she did it all; like a magic wand.Life ran like a wheel. The circle started every morning and ended up late in the night, and then morning appeared again. There was no pause, no rest, not even a slight curve to insert change. She condemned herself for not experiencing even a thought of ever getting out of this circle. She had committed herself to the orbit of life.
Coming out of the bathroom, she turned and looked at her bushed face in the mirror and gasped a tired answer to her long asked question, "Never, you just keep driving in the sunset." She shook her head to wing away those rebellious butterflies in her mind. She knew she couldn't join them so she didn't want them to hang around her either.
She entered the kitchen hearing Mike, yelling in his drowsy voice for the absence of his towel in the bathroom. Her youngest daughter Karen started crying for she didn't want to go to school that day. Nicole, the eldest, couldn't help herself but to blame Daniel for the overnight fragmentation of her dollhouse. While Randal registered his protest from his bed that he was not going to drink milk in breakfast like every day. While in the kitchen, sugar had run out and the laundry seemed to have been breeding itself. And she was still looking for that magic wand.
She never got to know when morning ran into noon; even the clock failed to tell her that. Mike left for office still screaming and shouting for his towel and the school bus only arrived after the kids had put all their stunts on the dining table. Their absence couldn't cease her work for they left their incarnations on her day. She was comparing the pile of her courage to that of the laundry when the doorbell rang. It had been so long anybody coming to their home that she had forgotten what their doorbell sounded like. She tried to guess who could it be but not a single name intervened her thoughts. She opened the door with an uncertain hope for a surprise from the blue but only found the postman standing in the door to vanish that uncertainty.
"Hi David! Since when did you start ringing the doorbell?" words flew out of her mouth with their own consent.
"Ever since I was a kid. Only that in my childhood I would ring the bell and run away." David was one hell of a cheerful postman.
"But you don't need to run away now."
"No, not until you have signed and received you letter."
"My letter! Who could send that?"
"I am not sure, its someone named L.H.M. Sounds like a postgraduate degree to me."
"Never mind, I'll sign it."
Tanya received the letter. It was a registered letter from within the town. She wondered who could that L.H.M be. She opened the envelope and the mystery that enfolded it. The handwriting sparked a memory but she felt too overwhelmed to scrape her past. Her heartbeat started flying on butterfly wings.
It wasn't just a letter with ordinary words written on a piece of paper. She could feel those words fluttering over her heart. They were telling her stories of her long lost love.
My flowered wish Tanya!
I once saw my home in the streets of your palm, my destiny in the smiles of your promises, and my shelter in the shadows of your eyes. I treasured all your whispers under my pillow, your fragrance in my breaths, and your name in my ears. Your face still lightens up the sky in the night, your voice still rhymes the rainfall, and your hair still soften the wind.
The sun always rose from the casement of your eyes.
And then, time flew you away into someone else's world. That sun vanished and ever since I haven't seen a sunrise.
Life is spending me and I am aging into it. Days keep climbing the mountain of years. Moon drapes its face in the clouds and the night refuses to bring sleep onto my pillow. I fight your memories and defeat myself. The pain-waves of your absence storm through my stale heart and leave it in a vortex.
Life runs like a wheel. The circle starts every morning and ends up late in the night, and then morning appears again. There is no pause, no rest, not even a slight curve to turn into a change.
My face has lived with me for ten cold winters, now I want to feel the warmth of you face. Bring the sunshine of your eyes to me. Meet me while the sun sets this Sunday at the river bridge where days use to meet nights. My eyes will be measuring the passage until you come.
Larry
The letter ended and left her standing at the door of her time-faded memories. Larry was her classmate in college days. He lived her heart and she dreamed his eyes. They had planned to get married after graduation as soon as Larry found a good job. It took him a year to find one and this expansion of time let Mike surface. Mike was an elegant and handsome man with already a good job. He proposed Tanya and she, tired of waiting for fresh air, stepped into the clouds with Mike. Larry got a first-rate job the day Tanya got married.
In next six months, Larry left the country and Tanya moved to Wisconsin. Life got busy in its details and Larry lived in her memory too much that she forgot to remember him. Mike's love scattered into his job, kids and Tanya. She did the same to him, except for the job thing. Her job was to take care of the kids and the home. "Easier said than done" she liked this phrase ever since. Her job imprisoned her wishes and she couldn't even wish for her freedom.
And today, after more than ten years, a letter came into her life like a butterfly carrying on its wings words written in rainbow colors. It was Wednesday and she wished to jump over those three days into the Sunday sunset.
She never got to know when the kids came back from the school and how she spent the rest of the day. The days had started flying with her. In the night she would read that letter to the moon, the stars and the breeze. She would tell them stories of her love; the first time she met Larry, her first words and her first kiss. Every inch of her memory had a bond to a whole new memory itself. Now she remembered everything; every ray the sun ever decanted on her love.
Life had taken a right turn on a straight highway of routines. The orbit had finally broken. She could feel a powerful freedom that was removing those monotonous thoughts from her mind and injecting life into her veins. Life was wearing hope now.
The time from Sunday morning to evening was hard to spend. Time clock was snailing out of the day and the sun got hung up in mid air. Wind stopped on the surface of water and the shadows declined to shrink. She wished time was a horse with a tail on the forehead and she would pull it from its tail. She wished time was a dry leaf and she would through it in the windstorm of her heart. She wished time was a boat and she would sail it in the river of her eyes. But today, time that had always been a teacher to her, had turn into a teaser. It wasn't breathing at all, just holding its breath and teasing her more. She wanted the time to fly and it was crawling. She tried to make herself busy in house chores but her eyes quit supporting her hands as they were still looking at the sun. And the sun also kept glaring at her, all day. Finally the sun lost the battle and started going down. From the ventilator, it had skid to the window.
No one in the family felt any change in her. Mike had to go to meet a client and was quite busy looking at himself and the kids were too involved looking at the TV. It was an hour to sunset and she was ready, wearing her best dress and wrapped in her favorite fragrance. She surrendered a couple of years from her face and brought back a few young smiles onto her lips.
"Where are you going dear?" her preparation couldn't wage enough resistance against Mike's curiosity.
"Aa, well, actually I thought I would go for some shopping" she hardly uttered.
"Mom! I would go with you." Nicole yelled as the idea of going out had removed her attention from the TV. The rest were too absorbed they didn't even listen the conversation.
"Yeah dear, why don't you take Nicole with you, she could be help."
Tanya didn't feel comfortable having a company at that time but she didn't want to change Mike's curiosity in to suspicion so she said OK.
All the way to the city center, Nicole kept telling her of all the stuff her friends had and what she wanted to buy in response. Tanya wasn't listening. She was just shaking her head in approval of whatever Nicole said. She couldn't possibly have said a word. Her heart was rumbling like a volcano, hitting the rib cage trying to get out to take a look at its long lost love.
The sun was hurrying down now. She was afraid of getting late so she speeded up a little.
"Mom! Aren't we suppose to go to City Center?" Nicole asked seeing her turning to a different street.
"Yes dear but I have to take care of something important before we go shopping, all right?" she said.
"All right." It was OK for Nicole as long as it didn't alter their shopping plan.
The bridge was getting closer and so was logic. Sanity had started penetrating her enthusiasm. The question of "how should I do it?" turned into "why should I do it?" The eclipse of her memories had started declining. She could see the bridge now. She stopped the car a hundred yards away from the bridge.
"Honey! You stay in the car, I'll be back in a few minutes." She said to Nicole without a slight touch of emotions. She didn't wait for her answer, stepped out of the car in a mechanical way and started walking towards the bridge.
Larry was standing on the corner of the bridge, with his back to her. He was looking down the bridge into the running water. She walked for a few yards and then stopped. Larry turned his face towards her. Age seemed to have worn him out. He looked tired as if he had traveled a huge mileage of years. His presence sent no waves of fresh air to clean her heart from the mist of dissatisfaction. He disappointed her again. She hoped to find a ray of hope and he disappointed her hope. She looked back towards the car at her daughter. "I have too much to lose, I don't want to lose my ten years." she decided and turned back. Larry ran after her but she had reached her car. Larry called her with a passionate cry, "Tanya!" She opened the door and sat in. Larry stopped abruptly with shock struck eyes. Tanya turned the car back.
"You are my wish Tanya!" Larry murmured. She stepped on the car. Larry saw her going into the sunset.
"Who was he mommy?" Nicole couldn't catch any idea out of it.
"He was a nobody my dear."
Tanya kept driving into the sunset.
Unit4 Big Tom
If all the males in our company’s dormitory, I felt the most affection for Tom. He was a genius, I thought, but the other guys took him for a nut. He came from far away, and at first had a strong Spanish accent. Now, after a year with the company, he spoke English very well. But his English accent had an exaggerated precision that the other guys didn’t like. In the crude environment of the dormitory, Tom’s accent seemed artificial. But he was a big man, a giant, and strong as an ox, and the others feared him and left him alone.
I on the other hand had a weak constitution. I couldn’t digest any real food and lived on little more than coffee. My arms and legs were as thin as stems. And what work did I do there, you may well ask. I was chief garbage man for the dormitory.
Our company had a big project to build a reinforced concrete reservoir out I a suburb surrounded by hills. At night a portion of the project was closed to us by means of a big square gate made of brass. One cold evening I was depositing the garbage from supper behind our dormitory when I saw a torch and the shape of a man passing through the grass gate. I walked over.
“I knew it was you,” I said to Tom.
“It’s open,” he said. “Shall we go in?”
“Don’t you know we shouldn’t ?” I said. “You still haven’t adjusted to the company.”
“Adjust?” he said. “I’d rather quit. Come. What are you afraid of? Don’t you want to investigate this portion?” He knew I did. Already it seemed inevitable that I would to with him. I only feared that the torch would be noticeable on the TV monitor of the chief watchman.
“Turn off the torch,” I said, and we walked through the brass square gate. Tom and I penetrated all the way to the crane, and no watchman had yet pursued us. This giant crane was used for moving and placing the reinforced concrete blocks. In the dark we recognized it by its shape—an immense pillar of zigzag rods. At the top of it, we knew, at he peak, would be the flag. And far over our heads, up in the dark sky, would be the crane’s giant arm. On the arm was the banner that we saw everyday, with the letters ABC, the initial letters of our company’s name. We had ABC written on our shirts, too, and on the chairs and beds with which our dormitory was furnished.
“Let’s go up!” said Tom. I laughed—but Tome had spoken in earnest. Strong as he was, he really had no concept of authority.
“Tom, you are a nut!” I said, wanting to show him that I was reluctant. But in the end he convinced me, and we mounted the ladder to the lift. There were two buttons, a red one and a green one. I pressed the latter, just to see if the lift might be operational. It was. I pressed the red button and stopped it. Tome got in. I pressed the green one again and we rose and rose and finally reached the top. We were at the peak of the pillar, just underneath the flag. Even in the dark we were close enough to see it. Before us the crane’s giant arm led of like a road into the night. Its rods and all zigzag, made me feel that over there would be, I saw, a square gate, some garbage and a dormitory. But no. Off the end of that zigzag road really would be nothing but dark night. The geometry of the crane scared me.
“Let’s walk out to the banner!”
To the banner? Oh, no. This was too much.
“I want to see the ABC!” said Tome. “Come on!” why was his voice so urgent? What did the want that ABC banner for?
“Tom, you are too bold,” I said. “You really have no concept…..” But he had set off. I was very scared, but somehow rose to the challenge and went with him. It became a contest: who would be the first one to touch the long banner? I was halfway along the arm when I heard the water of the reservoir, far underneath us. It was then that I remembered that the chief crane operator, before stopping his work for the day, would always swing the giant arm so that it projected out over the water. Now I was really scared. I held on to a rod. I could feel the coffee I had drunk could and undigested inside me. I did not have Tom’s ox-like constitution.
“Tom!” I said. I did not possess hi boldness, and not his urgency.
“You can’t quit now!” Said Tom. But I could not move. I was trapped.
Tom had reached the banner. He was a dark shape, loosening the knots that held the banner to the rods.
“ I possess the ABC!” he said got what he wanted. He put his other hand on what he thought was a rod, but it was the wire that would shock him.
They said later that the nuts on the box that surrounded the wire were loose and had come unscrewed. The box had fallen away, and the wire was exposed.
Tome never panicked. He looked at me as if I were far away. But his legs would not hold him up. Wrapped in the banner, he fell, like a baby bird from a nest. It was I who panicked, when I heard him hit and vanish underneath the water of the reservoir. Maybe his fall had not been fatal, but would my beloved Tom now drown? It was possible.
I began to cal for help.
We spent an anxious fortnight in the dormitory. While the others would talk about his vitality, I stared at jeans and socks of the vanishing nut. The dorm was a different place without his precise English. An X-ray scan had revealed that he would need an operation. And of course the big ox had to recover from the exposure to the cold water. There was a mention in the media of Tom’s shock and fall, and the TV guys were going to come and see what we were doing at the reservoir project, until their investigation was canceled. But the authorities did investigate our company. Their investigation revealed that the square gate had been left open, and the box surrounding the wire had come off.
The company reinforced the square gate with more brass, and put a new box back onto the arm, screwing its nuts tightly. They tightened up the knots of the new banner, and even put anew banner all down the crane’s pillar, this latter one having not only the initials ABC but all the letters of the name of the suburb. And they put a bigger flag on the crane.
The company enhanced the authority of the chief watchman. Now we had to sign in when were came back to the dormitory, and sign out. Even when I took out the garbage in the evening, I had to sign in the and out! Besides, they furnish their chief garbage man with a torch in case I should see any shapes of people
Unit5
The colors of fall rustle through the trees on this brisk October morning in1990. Jason and his sister Joanna get into the car to drive to school. Jason is driving this morning. He has just received his permit and is very anxious to start driving on his own. His sister Joanna is a year older than him and is showing him the finer points of driving. Today, she decides that he should drive to school. He takes the wheel and proceeds slowly down the back roads to Massabesic High School in Waterboro, Maine. These are back country roads and the twists and hairpin turns cause Jason to drive slowly and cautiously. He takes each turn with a bit of bravado and his sister teases him that he is being a “wimp” and to speed up a bit. They will be late for school if he doesn't step on it! He presses the gas pedal down and accelerates but finds it difficult to manage the steering wheel properly. His sister tells him to watch the road teasingly but he turns to tell her a smart remark and doesn't see the embankment ahead of him. Just a second of distraction sends the car down the embankment and the car rolls over and over and hits a tree. Jason's head hits the windshield and he is trapped between that and the steering wheel. He can't breathe and is losing consciousness. Joanna tries desperately to free him, but is unable too. She does the only thing possible and that is to escape out of the open window and find help...fast!
Joanna reaches the house and calls the ambulance for her brother. They arrive within minutes but Jason is unconscious. They have to extricate him with the “Jaws of Life.” He is taken to the hospital and for three days he lies between life and death. He is breathing only with the assistance of a respirator. He has limited brain activity. The doctors take Joey aside and tell him that Jason will have extensive brain damage and that there is no real hope that Jason would be normal again. Joey must make a decision whether to turn off the respirator and let Jason die in peace. He decides that is the best decision but it is also the most painful one he has ever made in his life.
Jason and Joey shared a unique bond. They did everything together from the time he was born. When they had a free moment, they would be golfing, skiing, traveling and forming a bond of love remains even beyond the boundaries of life and death. It is a relationship between father and son that is wondrous and forever.
Jason lived only sixteen years but he did so much in his short time on Earth. He was an honor student, a musician, a golf fanatic and a lover of life. He had many, many friends and a zest for living that is quite unlike any I have witnessed. He had the kind of boyish charm and he lit up a room when he entered it. He had a beautiful smile and a kind word for everyone. I have never seen him get angry but he was fun loving and intelligent. I was Jason's godmother and when he was baptized in 1974, he had the coolest priest. The priest had long hair and sandals and beads. He seemed to personify the times of the seventies. I still smile when I think about that priest. Jason cried when I held him for the blessing of the water but not for very long. The ceremony only took a few moments but looking down at Jason, I knew then and there that this was indeed a special child. It turned out my impressions were correct. Joe was an enthusiastic and devoted father to Jason and Joanna. He made sure that he spent time with his children. Time seemed of the utmost importance to him as well as having fun. He always enjoyed life and was a bit of a risk taker. He still is. I do not think I will ever think of my brother Joey without smiling and wishing I had his life. Golf was a passion that Jason and Joe shared.
It was almost religious. They would even attempt to golf when there was a blanket of snow on the golf course. Jason would just put his mittens on and laugh. “I must golf!” he would say, “I love it!”
One year earlier, Jason was pursuing one of his other passions. Skiing. A few of his friends drove up to Sugarloaf Mountain and skied for the whole day. If you know Sugarloaf at all, it is an advanced mountain slope. Jason spent the day schussing and transversing back and forth down the mountain ski trails for many runs up and down the mountain. Sunset was illuminating the snow and there is a group of trees ahead. The sun blinds him for a second and he tries to avoid the trees but misses and falls right onto his ski pole. The ski pole plunges right into his head. There is a gush of blood but Jason recovers enough to make it down the mountain. He drives himself to the emergency room, where the doctors scratch their heads wondering how he did it. There is a strange liquid flowing down the back of his throat. He later finds out that was brain fluid. He was lucky to be alive. The doctors rush to save him and later, when he is in recovery, the doctors tell him that they are amazed at how he is even able to speak to them now. A few days later, Jason is back on the ski slopes like nothing at all happened. He was just that kind of young man. He didn't let one set back make him stop living. He beat the odds and he lived for exactly one extra year. Joe told this story at Jason's funeral. The gift of the “extra” year. His eyes fill up with tears of love and gratitude every time he mentions Jason's name.
Jason's bedroom is a testimony to his personality and his life. He has a collection of model airplanes. The piano still has the sheet music of the song that was Jason's favorite of his time, “Chariots of Fire.” Jason was a very outgoing young man. He was an accomplished student, skier, golfer, sportsman and had many, many friends that loved him. I loved Jason very much. I knew that he was destined for a great life, but that was not to be. Joey and Jason share a bond that defies death.
Today, Joey takes in exchange students and his home is open to any one who has a zest for living. He loves to have fun. He isn't one to sit still and let life pass him by. He wants to help young people reach their potentials. He is active in Junior Achievement and is a member of the Chamber of Commerce. He set up a college fund for the study of music and it would be available to any eligible student who shares Jason's philosophy of being outgoing and hardworking. It is called the Jason Hartley Lincourt Music Scholarship Fund. It is his way of carrying on Jason's musical dreams. Jason lays to rest in by a beautiful Mousam River by bed of roses at Notre Dame Catholic Cemetery, Springvale, Maine. Joey visits him each and every day, along with his wife.