Rain.docx
- 文档编号:4457057
- 上传时间:2022-12-01
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Rain.docx
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Rain
Rain,rain,comeagain!
It’sspringagainandanotherstormispassingoverus.no,I’mnottalkingaboutthefinalexamswe’reallworriedabout,I’mtalkingaboutoneofnature’struewonders.Stormscanbebeautifulthingswhenyouthinkaboutthemtherightway.
Haveyoueverstoppedtothinkaboutlightning?
It’sreallyanawesomeforcewhenyouthinkaboutit.Andnothinglooksquiteasamazingasthatfierceflashofbrightlightquicklylightingablue-blacksky.Nothingputslifeinmoreviewformethanwatchingthewindblowthetreeswithallitsstrengthwhileanimalshurrytotakecover.Cloudscoverus,boltsoflightningaresentflyingatus,thunderroarsatus,andfearisawakenedsomewheredeepinside.AndsomehowinthemidstofallitIfeelasfreeandreleasedastheleavessweptupinthewind’sstrongembrace.
Perhapsthebestpartofastormistheexpectation.Whenwewatchthelightningwithcompleteexcitementwewonderifanotherpowerfulboltwillbesenttotargetthegeneratorandfreeusfromtechnology.Istillrememberwhentherewasnoelectricityonenightlastyearduringthefinals.Icansaywithoutadoubt,thatwasoneofthebesttimesI’vehadhere.I’mnotsurewhatlifewaslikeintheotherresidencehalls,butherethebuildingsuddenlycametolife.Everybodyandtheirroommatesleapttothehalls,flashlightsinhand.Andforonewonderfulnightwewerefreedfromthecomputerlabs,thetelevisions,,theVCRs,thelightsandtheactivitiesofthemodernworld.Insidewetoldstories,playedboardgames,andforonceeventookthetimetogettoknoweveryoneinthehall.Ithinkmostofusevengotmorehomeworkandstudydonethanwehadallyear.AndOthinktheviolentstormoutsideevengaveusafeelingofsafetyasweallsattogether,wrapppedupinourwarmblankets,beingourselves,andhavingpure,worry-freefun.
Soastormcanbeawonderfulthing.Itcanbeasourceofbeauty,wonderandenlightenment.Itcanmakeusfeelfreeasifwetoowereflyinginthewindoutside,andgiveusenergywhichcanlastallnight.Andmostofallitcanbringpeopletogether.Ifapowerfailurecanbringoneresidencehalltogethermaybeweshouldhaveblackoutdayonceayear,andescapeforadayfromalltheworriesofmodernlife.Ifitwasn’tfortheonelastyear,manyofusmayneverhavetakenthetimetomeetourneighbors,andgettoknowourselver.Andtothink,itallstartedwithastorm.
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Loveforrace
Redroseswereherfavorites,hernamewasalso.Andeveryyearherhusbandsentthem,tiedwithprettybows.Theyearhediedtherosesweredeliveredtoherdoor.Thecardsaid,“BemyValentine,”likeslltheyearsbefore.
Eachyearhewentherroses,andthenotewouldalwayssay,“Iloveyouevenmorethisyearthanlastyearonthisday.”Or“Myloveforyouwillalwaysgrowtitheverypassingyear.”Theyearhepassedaway,sheknewthiswasthelasttimethattheroseswouldappear.
Shethought,hemusthaveorderedrosesinadvancebeforethisday.Herlovinghusbanddidnotknowthathewouldpassaway.Healwayslikedtodothingsearly,wellbeforethetime.Then,ifhegottoobusy,everythingwouldworkoutfine.
Shetrimmedthestemsandplacedtheminaveryspecialvase.Then,satthevasebesidetheportraitofhissmilingface.Shesatforhours,inherhusband’sfavouritechair,whilestaringathispictureandtherosessittingthere.
Ayearwentbyanditwashardtolivewithoutherhusband.Withthelonelinessthattragedyhadbecomeherfate.Then,atthatverysamehour,asonValentinesbefore,thedoorellrangandtherewereredrosessittingbyherdoor.
Shebroughttherosesinandthenjustlookedattheminshock.Thenshewenttogetthetelephonetocalltheflowershop.Theowneransweredandsheaskedhimifhecouldexplain,whywouldsomeonedothintohercausinghersuchpain?
“Iknowyourhusbandpassedawaymorethanayearago,”theownersaid,“Iknewyou’dcallandyouwouldwanttoknow.”Hecontinued,“Theflowersoureceivedtodaywerepaidforinadvance.Yourhusbandalwaysplannedahead,heleftnothingtochance.
“ThereisastandingorderthatIhaveonfiledownhere,andhehaspaidwellinadvance.You’llgetthemeveryyear.ThereisalsoanotherthingthatIthinkyoushouldknow,hewroteaspecisllittlecard…hedidthisyearsago.”
“ThenshouldeverIfindoutthathe’snolongerhere,that’sthecard...thatshouldbewenttoyouthefollowingyear.”Shethankedhimandhungupthephone,hertearsnowflowinghard.Herfingerswereshakingassheslowlyreachedtogetthecard.
Insidethecardshesawthathehadwrittenheranote.Thenshereadintotalsilence.Thiniswhathewrote…
“Hellomylove,Iknowit’sbeenayearsinceI’vebeengone.Ihopeithasn’tbeentoohardforyoutoovercome.
Iknowyoumustbelonelandthepainisveryreal.ForifitwastheotherwayaroundIknowhowIwouldfeel.Thelovewesharedmadeeverythingsobeautifulinlife.Ilovedyoumorethanwordscansay.Youwweretheperfectwifeandidealcompanion.Youweremyfriendandlover;youfulfilledmyeveryneed.
Iknowit’sonlybeenayearbutpleasetrynottogrieve.Iwantyoutobehappyevenwhenyoushedyourtears.Thatiswhytheroseswillbesenttoyouforyears.
Whenyougettheseroses,thinkofallthehappinessthatwehadtogetherandhowbothofuswereblessedtohaveeachother.IhavealwayslovedyouandIknowIalwayswill.But,mylove,youmustgoon,youhavetoliveyourlife.
Please…trytofindhappiness,whilelivingoutyourdays.Iknowitisnoteasy,butIhopeyoufindsomeways.Theroseswillcomeeveryyearandtheywillonlystopcomingwhenyourdoor’snotanswered,thentheowneroftheflowershopwillstopdeliveringandknockingatthedoor.
Hewillcomefivetimesthatdayincaseyoushouldbeout.Butafterhislastvisithewillknowwithoutadoubt,totaketherosestotheplacewhereI’vetoldhim,andplacetheroseswhereweare,togetheronceagain.”
THELASTLESSON
Iwasverylatethatmorningonmywaytoschoolandwasafraidofbeingblamed.Themasterhadtoldushewouldquestionusonverbs,andIdidnotknowathingaboutthem,forIhadnotdonemylesson.
ForamomentIthoughtofplayingtruant.Theairwassowarmandbright,andIcouldhearthebirdswhistlingontheedgeofwoods,andthePrussiansdrillinginthemeadows.Ilikedthismuchbetterthanlearningtherulesofverbs,butIdidnotdaretostop,soIranquicklytowardsschool.Whenreachingtheschoolyard,Iwasquiteoutofbreath.
Usuallyatthebeginningofschool,thenoiseofdesksbeingopendeandcliosed,andlessonsrepeatedatthetopofthechildren’svoicescouldbeheardoutinthestreet.Occasionallythemasterbeatthetablewiththeheavyrulerashecried,“Silence,please,silence!
”
Ihadhopedtobeabletoeakemyseatinallthisnoisewithoutbeingseen;butthatmorningtheroomwasquietandorderly.
ThroughtheopenwindowIsawmyschoolmatesalreadyintheirplace.Themasterwaswalkingupanddowntheroomwiththeironrulerunderhisarmandabookinhishand.
AsIenterdehelookedatmekindly,andsaid,“Goquicklytoyourplace,littleFranz;weweregoingtobeginwithoutyou.Youshouldhavebeenherefiveminutesago.”
Iclimbedovermybenchandsatdownatonceatmydesk.JustthenInoticed,forthefirsttime,thatourmasterworehisfinegreencoatandhisblacksilkcap.
Butwhatsurprisedmemostwastoseesomeofthevillagepeopleseatedonthebenchesattheendoftheroom.Oneofthemwasholdinganoldspellingbookonhisknee;andtheyalllookedsadlyatthemaster.
WhileIwaswonderingatthis,ourschoolmastertookhisplace.“Children,”hesaid,“thisisthelasttimethatIshallgiveyoualesson.AnorderhascomefromBerlinthatnolanguagebutGermanteachyouGerman.TodayisyourlastlessonintheschoolsofAlsaceandLorraine.AnewmasterwillcometomorrowwhowillteachyouGerman.TodayisyourlastlessoninFrench.IhardlyknewhowtowriteandInevershouldlearnnow.HowIregrettedthehourswastedinthewoodsandfields,thedayswhenIhadplayedandshouldhavestudied!
Mybooksthatashorttimeagohadseemedsotiresome,soheavytocarry,nowseemedtomelikeoldfriends.
IwasthinkingofthiswhenIheardmynamecalled.Itwasmyturntorecite.WhatwouldInothavegiventobeabletosaytheruleswithoutamistake!
ButIcouldnotsayaword,andstoodatmybenchwithoutdaringtoliftmyhead.ThenIheardthemasterspeakingtome.
“Ishallnotblameyou,littleFranz.Youarepunishedenoughnow.Everydayyouhavesaidtoyourself,‘Ihaveplentyoftime.Iwilllearnmylessonstomorrow.’Nowyouseewhathashappened.”
ThenhebegantotalktousabouttheFrenchlanguage,sayingthatitwasthemostbeautifultongueintheworld,andthatwemustkeepitamongusandneverforgetit.
Finallyhetookthegrammarandreadusthelesson.IwassurprisedtoseehowwellIunderstood.Everythingseemedeasy.Ibelievedtoo,thatIhadneverlistenedsoattentively;anditalmostseemedasifthegoodmanweretryingtoteachusallheknewatthislastlesson.
Whenthelessoningrammarwasoverwebeganourwriting.
Fromtimetotime,whenIlookedupfrommypage,Isawthemasterlookingaboutasofhewishedtoimpressuponhismindeverythingintheroom.
Afterwriting,wehadahistorylesson.Next,thelittleonesrecitedinconcerttheir“Ba,bebi,bo,bu”.
Oh,Ishallalwaysrememberthatlastlesson!
Suddenlythechurchclockstrucktwelve.Themasterrosefromhischair.“Myfriends,”saidhe,“Myfriends,…I…I…”
Butsomethingchokedhim;hecouldnotfinishthesente
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