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Now the Special English program American Stories. Our story today is called "To Those Who Wait". It was written by E. M. Here is Larry West with our story.
"I have got my job back." Jeff Miller1 said to himself over and over again that morning. He had been out of work four years. Times were difficult in 1933. People called it "The great depression2". A lot of men and women had lost their jobs. But now, Jeff Miller had his job back! The first thing he wanted to do was go to the restaurant he liked best and eat a big bowl of oyster4 soup. Then he would call his wife Martha and tell her the news. After he lost his job, they had to leave their apartment in New York. She went back to Ohio to live with her sister. He stayed in the city to look for work. Yesterday, Mr. Gormanly called him, he offered Jeff his old job again. In the office that morning, Mr. Gormanly shook hands with him. He told him he could use Ted3 Philips' office. He said Ted would not be coming back to work. He had killed himself. Then Mr. Gormanly pulled some money out of his pocket, "Here," he said, giving it to Jeff, "you probably need a few things."
At 12 o'clock, Jeff Miller left his office to go to lunch. He could not stop telling himself how wonderful that oyster soup would taste. At the corner, he stopped and waited for the traffic light to change. Suddenly he heard a low voice close beside him. A man standing5 next to him was talking to himself as he watched the cars speed by. The stranger was wearing a blue coat that looked costly6, but it was very old and worn-out. He wore no hat even though the day was cold. His face seemed tired. Jeff Miller thought he recognized the tired face and the low voice. As he looked hard at the man he realized he had seen men like this one many times during the last four years. They stood on street corners and talked to themselves. They had gone insane7 because of the depression. The traffic light changed and Jeff hurried across the street. He felt a little sick to his stomach, yet he held his head high. "Well," he thought, "those days are over for me. I have my job back." Yes, the last four years had been like a bad dream. But they were over now, he had his job back, and it was not his depression anymore.
Jeff Miller walked down, trying to recapture his good feelings. As he near the restaurant he walked more slowly, he could feel a knot8 in his stomach caused by pity and fear. He did not want oyster soup anymore. He would not be able to eat for hours. The Great Depression had destroyed that man on the corner and thousands liked him. They did not care that the depression was almost over. It was not over for them. It would never be over for them. "Hey, look," Jeff told himself, "the depression had been a time with trouble and loss9 for everybody. First a man lost his job and his money; then he lost his home, and maybe even his family. Finally, he lost his self-respect and courage. But at least I kept enough pride to hide my fear," Jeff said to himself, "and yet, some people like the man in the old blue coat had lost even that. Their fear was naked10 for all the world to see." Jeff shook a little, yes, he had suffered. But no one had ever pitied him, no one had said, "Poor Jeff, the depression really destroyed him." He had never looked for food in waste cans; he had never bent11 down to pick up someone else's half-smoked cigarette on the street. He was thankful for that.
Suddenly he remembered he had not called Martha. He had planned to do it after he ate the oyster soup. He had wanted to talk to her with the rich spicy12 taste still in his mouth. Over the last four years, he had dreamed of the day he would call his wife with the good news. He would pick up the telephone and say, "Hello, Martha, come home! I have got my job back!" He had always believed those words would wash away his shame and fear. He had thought they would make him forget the depression.
Jeff turned and headed back to his office. "Come on," he said to himself, "stop thinking like this. You should feel happy." He walked into his building and got on the elevator. "48 floor!" He said, louder than necessary. A young man stood next to the elevator operator13. He was carrying a bag in one hand; in the other hand, he held a cold half-smoked cigarette. He rolled it between his fingers.
The lights in the elevator lit up the numbers of the floors as they passed. 28, 29... From the corner of his eye, Jeff watched the young man with the bag. He saw him tried to drop the cold cigarette into his coat pocket. But he missed, the cigarette fell. At the same moment, the elevator reached the young man's floor. The doors slid open. The young man stepped out and the doors closed behind him. The elevator began climbing again. 38, 39, 40... Jeff looked at the cigarette which had rolled to one side of the elevator car. He moved toward14 it. 43, 44... the knot in his stomach began to ease15. He felt a little beam16 of excitement go through him. "Yes," Jeff thought to himself, "it might take a while to forget these last four years." He could not expect to wash away all those memories in one morning. In a week or two, it would all be gone from his mind. The depression would be like a bad dream he would forget in time. He and Martha would buy new furniture; they would go to restaurants again and take holiday trips. He continued to look at the cigarette. 46, 47... as the elevator came to a stop at the 48th floor, he suddenly bent down and picked up the half-smoked cigarette. Then he turned his head quickly to the elevator operator. The man was looking at him hard. Jeff felt as if the bottom of his stomach had fallen out. "Here is your floor, Mister," the operator said. Jeff stood up slowly. His face felt hot with shame. His hand close tightly17 around the cigarette, crushing18 it. He wanted to tell the operator that he never did that sort of thing. He wanted the man to know he did not need to smoke cigarette someone else had thrown away. After all, he had his job back. As the elevator doors opened, Jeff felt as if he were in another country. In this strange land, cold and hungry men in old blue coats talked to themselves. In this land of the dead, having a job meant nothing. He suddenly realized that sometime19 during the last four years, he had learned20 to live without oyster soup; he had learned to live without joy and without pride. He had learned to pick up used cigarettes. Jeff felt the elevator operator's eyes on him. He looked into the man's face, "Funny, isn't it?" Jeff said, laughing a little, "I just got my job back today after four years!" The elevator operator smiled, "I guess you must be feeling pretty good," he said. "Yes, I am," Jeff said, he opened his hand and looked at the crushed21 cigarette, he did not feel ashamed22 anymore. He realized he was not in the land of dead men. He had been there for four years. But he was not there now. A lot of people had been to that land, and many of them have found their way back. He knew he would never be alone again. Jeff touched the operator's shoulder as he stepped out of the elevator car. "I'll be seeing you," he said. The elevator doors closed behind him and he opened the freshly painted door of his office. "I have got my job back!" Jeff Miller said to himself.
You have just heard the American story called "To Those Who Wait". It was written by E. M. Your storyteller was Larry West. "To Those Who Wait" was published by Charles Scribner's Sons. It was adapted for Special English by Donald Sanctas by permission of Harold Ober Associates23 Incorporated24. This story is copyrighted25. All rights reserved26. For VOA Special English, this is Shep O'Neal.
"I have got my job back." Jeff Miller1 said to himself over and over again that morning. He had been out of work four years. Times were difficult in 1933. People called it "The great depression2". A lot of men and women had lost their jobs. But now, Jeff Miller had his job back! The first thing he wanted to do was go to the restaurant he liked best and eat a big bowl of oyster4 soup. Then he would call his wife Martha and tell her the news. After he lost his job, they had to leave their apartment in New York. She went back to Ohio to live with her sister. He stayed in the city to look for work. Yesterday, Mr. Gormanly called him, he offered Jeff his old job again. In the office that morning, Mr. Gormanly shook hands with him. He told him he could use Ted3 Philips' office. He said Ted would not be coming back to work. He had killed himself. Then Mr. Gormanly pulled some money out of his pocket, "Here," he said, giving it to Jeff, "you probably need a few things."
At 12 o'clock, Jeff Miller left his office to go to lunch. He could not stop telling himself how wonderful that oyster soup would taste. At the corner, he stopped and waited for the traffic light to change. Suddenly he heard a low voice close beside him. A man standing5 next to him was talking to himself as he watched the cars speed by. The stranger was wearing a blue coat that looked costly6, but it was very old and worn-out. He wore no hat even though the day was cold. His face seemed tired. Jeff Miller thought he recognized the tired face and the low voice. As he looked hard at the man he realized he had seen men like this one many times during the last four years. They stood on street corners and talked to themselves. They had gone insane7 because of the depression. The traffic light changed and Jeff hurried across the street. He felt a little sick to his stomach, yet he held his head high. "Well," he thought, "those days are over for me. I have my job back." Yes, the last four years had been like a bad dream. But they were over now, he had his job back, and it was not his depression anymore.
Jeff Miller walked down, trying to recapture his good feelings. As he near the restaurant he walked more slowly, he could feel a knot8 in his stomach caused by pity and fear. He did not want oyster soup anymore. He would not be able to eat for hours. The Great Depression had destroyed that man on the corner and thousands liked him. They did not care that the depression was almost over. It was not over for them. It would never be over for them. "Hey, look," Jeff told himself, "the depression had been a time with trouble and loss9 for everybody. First a man lost his job and his money; then he lost his home, and maybe even his family. Finally, he lost his self-respect and courage. But at least I kept enough pride to hide my fear," Jeff said to himself, "and yet, some people like the man in the old blue coat had lost even that. Their fear was naked10 for all the world to see." Jeff shook a little, yes, he had suffered. But no one had ever pitied him, no one had said, "Poor Jeff, the depression really destroyed him." He had never looked for food in waste cans; he had never bent11 down to pick up someone else's half-smoked cigarette on the street. He was thankful for that.
Suddenly he remembered he had not called Martha. He had planned to do it after he ate the oyster soup. He had wanted to talk to her with the rich spicy12 taste still in his mouth. Over the last four years, he had dreamed of the day he would call his wife with the good news. He would pick up the telephone and say, "Hello, Martha, come home! I have got my job back!" He had always believed those words would wash away his shame and fear. He had thought they would make him forget the depression.
Jeff turned and headed back to his office. "Come on," he said to himself, "stop thinking like this. You should feel happy." He walked into his building and got on the elevator. "48 floor!" He said, louder than necessary. A young man stood next to the elevator operator13. He was carrying a bag in one hand; in the other hand, he held a cold half-smoked cigarette. He rolled it between his fingers.
The lights in the elevator lit up the numbers of the floors as they passed. 28, 29... From the corner of his eye, Jeff watched the young man with the bag. He saw him tried to drop the cold cigarette into his coat pocket. But he missed, the cigarette fell. At the same moment, the elevator reached the young man's floor. The doors slid open. The young man stepped out and the doors closed behind him. The elevator began climbing again. 38, 39, 40... Jeff looked at the cigarette which had rolled to one side of the elevator car. He moved toward14 it. 43, 44... the knot in his stomach began to ease15. He felt a little beam16 of excitement go through him. "Yes," Jeff thought to himself, "it might take a while to forget these last four years." He could not expect to wash away all those memories in one morning. In a week or two, it would all be gone from his mind. The depression would be like a bad dream he would forget in time. He and Martha would buy new furniture; they would go to restaurants again and take holiday trips. He continued to look at the cigarette. 46, 47... as the elevator came to a stop at the 48th floor, he suddenly bent down and picked up the half-smoked cigarette. Then he turned his head quickly to the elevator operator. The man was looking at him hard. Jeff felt as if the bottom of his stomach had fallen out. "Here is your floor, Mister," the operator said. Jeff stood up slowly. His face felt hot with shame. His hand close tightly17 around the cigarette, crushing18 it. He wanted to tell the operator that he never did that sort of thing. He wanted the man to know he did not need to smoke cigarette someone else had thrown away. After all, he had his job back. As the elevator doors opened, Jeff felt as if he were in another country. In this strange land, cold and hungry men in old blue coats talked to themselves. In this land of the dead, having a job meant nothing. He suddenly realized that sometime19 during the last four years, he had learned20 to live without oyster soup; he had learned to live without joy and without pride. He had learned to pick up used cigarettes. Jeff felt the elevator operator's eyes on him. He looked into the man's face, "Funny, isn't it?" Jeff said, laughing a little, "I just got my job back today after four years!" The elevator operator smiled, "I guess you must be feeling pretty good," he said. "Yes, I am," Jeff said, he opened his hand and looked at the crushed21 cigarette, he did not feel ashamed22 anymore. He realized he was not in the land of dead men. He had been there for four years. But he was not there now. A lot of people had been to that land, and many of them have found their way back. He knew he would never be alone again. Jeff touched the operator's shoulder as he stepped out of the elevator car. "I'll be seeing you," he said. The elevator doors closed behind him and he opened the freshly painted door of his office. "I have got my job back!" Jeff Miller said to himself.
You have just heard the American story called "To Those Who Wait". It was written by E. M. Your storyteller was Larry West. "To Those Who Wait" was published by Charles Scribner's Sons. It was adapted for Special English by Donald Sanctas by permission of Harold Ober Associates23 Incorporated24. This story is copyrighted25. All rights reserved26. For VOA Special English, this is Shep O'Neal.
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1
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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2
depression
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| n.压抑，抑制，沮丧；萧条，衰退 | |
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3
ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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4
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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5
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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6
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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7
insane
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| adj.蠢极的，荒唐的，精神错乱的，疯狂的 | |
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8
knot
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| n.结，难题，一小群；vi.打结；vt. 把...打成结，系牢，捆扎 | |
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9
loss
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| n.损失，遗失，失败，输，浪费，错过，[军]伤亡，降低 | |
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10
naked
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| adj.裸露的；赤裸裸的，无遮蔽的 | |
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11
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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12
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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13
operator
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| n.（机器、设备等的）操作员；电话接线员 | |
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14
toward
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| prep.对于，关于，接近，将近，向，朝 | |
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15
ease
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| n. 安乐,安逸,悠闲; v. 使...安乐,使...安心,减轻,放松 | |
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16
beam
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| n.横梁；光束；vi.发光，发热 | |
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tightly
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| adv.紧紧地，坚固地，牢固地 | |
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18
crushing
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| adj. 打破得支离破碎的, 使不能在站起来, 压倒的 v. 动词crush的现在分词形式 | |
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19
sometime
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| adv.将来某一时候；改天 | |
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20
learned
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| adj.有学问的，博学的；learn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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21
crushed
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| a.压碎的，倒碎的 | |
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22
ashamed
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| adj.感到惭愧，感到害臊，因为羞耻或勉强作某事 | |
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23
associates
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| 接合物( associate的名词复数 )； 朋友； 非正式会员 | |
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24
incorporated
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| a.结合的，并为一体的 | |
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copyrighted
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| 获得…的版权( copyright的过去式 ) | |
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26
reserved
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| adj.预订的；矜持的；储藏着的v.保留[储备]某物( reserve的过去式) | |
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