Now the Special English program "American Stories".
Our story today is called “Tale For A Frosty Morning”, it waswritten by Merrill Pollack. Here is Shep O'Neal with our story.
Ben was awakened by a gunshot. The shot noise came through the thickstone walls of the house. It was cold in the bedroom. Ben Newman wasshaking as he got out of bed. He put on his eyeglasses and went overto the window. The field was covered with white frost. Nothing movedout there in the deep quiet just before sunrise.
Ben looked past the field to the thick woods. Two weeks ago, he saw adeer among the trees. He held his breath with excitement; then thedeer walked off.
Ben wondered where the shot had come from. He thought perhaps he haddreamed he heard a gunshot. He looked out toward the frozen lake. Nearthe trees he saw a shining piece of metal. When it moved, Ben saw thatit was a long gun.
A minute later, a man came out of the woods, he wore hunting clothes.
Suddenly, a bird flew upward, the man quickly put the gun to hisshoulder and shot.
Ben watched the bird praying it had not been hurt. It flew near theground and went into some tall grass.
"Safe," Ben thought.
The hunter did not move for a moment; then he began to follow thebird. Hate for the hunter burned inside of Ben. "Hey!" he shouted.
His voice cut through the stillness. The hunter stopped, but thencontinued to follow the bird.
Ben shouted again, this time, the hunter did not stop. Ben started tomove toward him, but Ben was in his nightclothes and he did not gofar. Instead, he returned to the house, he got a metal shovel and hitthe stone sides of the house so that the noise would warn the birdsand animals of danger.
The hunter looked back at Ben.
“No hunting on my land.” Ben shouted. The man called “Where can Ihunt?” The hunter started to walk away.
Ben had just bought this house in the woods. He wanted to protecteverything on his land. He thought that everyone would obey the signs“No Hunting.”
Ben had just finished putting on his clothes when he heard anothergunshot. This troubled him deeply. How could he stop this hunter?
He walked toward the lake, he did not want to fight, but the man mustgo.
He walked quietly. He wanted to surprise the hunter, but then whatwould he do? He could not fight the hunter.
Suddenly, he heard a bird's wings beating the dry grass. Ben movedquickly toward the sound. He saw a colored head, the head of abeautiful pheasant bird. The bird did not move until Ben came close.
Then it tried to fly away, but one wing was broken.
Ben lifted the bird and held it close against his body. The birdfought to escape, but soon lay quietly in Ben’s arms. Its body waswarm and heavy.
Ben decided to take the bird home and fix its broken wing so that itcould fly again.
He was almost through the woods when he heard the hunter behind him.
“You just find that bird?” the hunter asked.
“Yes,” Ben answered, “it is mine.”
Ben was afraid and tried to answer but his mouth was too dry to speak.
But he wet his lips and said “No.”
“I shot him, I say he is mine!”
“But he is not dead yet,” Ben answered, “besides anything on myland belongs to me.”
The hunter reached out for the bird. “I will have to kill it,” hesaid. “The bird will soon die anyway.”
Ben got angry. “Get out of here,” he said, “I told you before and Iam telling you again get off my land.”
The hunter looked down at the little man and smiled. “Say, who areyou?”
Ben’s voice shook with both fear and anger. “I own this land; thereare signs everywhere that say “No Hunting.”
“No need to get angry, mister” the hunter said. ”Control yourself.
”
There were something threatening in the man’s cool quiet voice and hehad a gun. His arms were free, Ben’s were not.
The hunter stepped closer and said. “Give me that bird.”
Ben was white with anger. “No!” he answered. His eyeglasses becamewet. He had to look over the top of them to see the other man.
“Give me the bird and I will go away,” the hunter said.
“You get off my land,” Ben told him, “Get off right now, you do notbelong here.”
The man’s face got red. “Mister,” he said, “I have been huntinghere all my life. I grew up here.”
“That is a thing of the past,” Ben said, “I do not know who you areand I do not care. I own this place now; I am telling you to leave.
You get off my land.”
“Now, look, mister,” the hunter said, “be reasonable.”
“I am trying to be as reasonable as I can,” said Ben, holding thebird tightly, “I just want you to get off my land.”
The hunter raised his gun.
A cold wind blew across Ben’s face. He looked into the hunter’s greyeyes. Ben was frightened. It was not too late, he thought. He couldstill give the bird to the hunter and return safely home…that wouldend this whole terrible business.
The bird struggled weakly. It made a wild strange noise; then Ben knewhe could never give this bird to the hunter. This feeling gave Bengreat strength. He was no longer afraid.
“I will never let you kill this bird,” he said. “Get away fromhere. If you try to take this bird I will fight. You have a gun andyou are bigger, but that does not worry me. You will never get thisbird. You will have to kill me first.”
The 2 men looked at each other. Ben’s fear returned. His knees beganto shake and he felt sick. Yet, he stood straight, wondering whatwould happen next.
They stood close to each other for a long time. The woods werestrangely quiet; then the hunter’s rough voice broke the silence.
“You are a fool.” And to Ben’s surprise, he slowly walked away.
Ben watched until the hunter was gone. His arms hurt. His body feltwet and cold. He went to the house.
Ben carried the bird into the kitchen and put it gently on the floor.
It did not move. Ben took off his foggy glasses and dried his face.
The bird watched him. Ben smoothed its feathers with gentle fingers.
He carefully studied the injured wing. There seemed to be no hope. Thewing was pulled almost away from the body. The bullet had smashed thebone.
Ben knew the bird was dying. There was noting he could do to help it.
He wondered if birds felt pain. He wondered how long it took a bird todie. The hunter was right. The bird would soon die.
There was just one thing to do now to stop its suffering. Ben couldkill it quickly.
He put his hands around the bird’s neck, but when he felt the warmlife under his fingers, he could not kill this beautiful thing.
Tears filled his eyes. He knew now what he would do. He would staywith the bird, smoothing its feathers until it died.
You have been listening to the American Story "Tale For A FrostyMorning”. It was written by Merrill Pollack. It was published by theAnteyack Press. Your storyteller was Shep O'Neal. For VOA SpecialEnglish this is Shirley Griffith. |