Unit 3 - The Present
They say that blood is thicker than water, that our relatives are more important to us than others. Everyone was so kind to the old lady on her birthday. Surely her daughter would make an even bigger effort to please her?
The Present
It was the old lady's birthday.
She got up early to be ready for the post. From the second floor flat she could see the postman when he came down the street, and the little boy from the ground floor brought up her letters on the rare occasions when anything came.
Today she was sure there would be something. Myra wouldn't forget her mother's birthday, even if she seldom wrote at other times. Of course Myra was busy. Her husband had been made Mayor, and Myra herself had got a medal for her work for the aged.
The old lady was proud of Myra, but Enid was the daughter she loved. Enid had never married, but had seemed content to live with her mother, and teach in a primary school round the corner.
One evening, however, Enid said, "I've arranged for Mrs. Morrison to look after you for a few days, Mother. Tomorrow I have to go into hospital--just a minor operation, I'll soon be home."
In the morning she went, but never came back--she died on the operating table. Myra came to the funeral, and in her efficient way arranged for Mrs. Morrison to come in and light the fire and give the old lady her breakfast.
Two years ago that was, and since then Myra had been to see her mother three times, but her husband never.
The old lady was eighty today. She had put on her best dress. Perhaps--perhaps Myra might come. After all, eighty was a special birthday, another decade lived or endured just as you chose to look at it.
Even if Myra did not come, she would send a present. The old lady was sure of that. Two spots of colour brightened her cheeks. She was excited--like a child. She would enjoy her day.
Yesterday Mrs. Morrison had given the flat an extra clean, and today she had brought a card and a bunch of marigolds when she came to do the breakfast. Mrs. Grant downstairs had made a cake, and in the afternoon she was going down there to tea. The little boy, Johnnie, had been up with a packet of mints, and said he wouldn't go out to play until the post had come.
"I guess you'll get lots and lots of presents," he said, "I did last week when I was six."
What would she like? A pair of slippers perhaps. Or a new cardigan. A cardigan would be lovely. Blue's such a pretty colour. Jim had always liked her in blue. Or a table lamp. Or a book, a travel book, with pictures, or a little clock, with clear black numbers. So many lovely things.
She stood by the window, watching. The postman turned round the corner on his bicycle. Her heart beat fast. Johnnie had seen him too and ran to the gate.
Then clatter, clatter up the stairs. Johnnie knocked at her door.
"Granny, granny," he shouted, "I've got your post."
He gave her four envelopes. Three were unsealed cards from old friends. The fourth was sealed, in Myra's writing. The old lady felt a pang of disappointment.
"No parcel, Johnnie?"
"No, granny."
Maybe the parcel was too large to come by letter post. That was it. It would come later by parcel post. She must be patient.
Almost reluctantly she tore the envelope open. Folded in the card was a piece of paper. Written on the card was a message under the printed Happy Birthday -- Buy yourself something nice with the cheque, Myra and Harold.
The cheque fluttered to the floor like a bird with a broken wing. Slowly the old lady stooped to pick it up. Her present, her lovely present. With trembling fingers she tore it into little bits.
参考译文——礼物
人们说血浓于水，即我们的亲属比别人对我们更重要。老太太生日这天，所有的人都对她那么好。无疑她的女儿将会做出更大的努力使她高兴了？
礼物
这天是老太太的生日。
为了静心等候邮件，她一早就起床了。邮差打马路那头过来的时候，她从三楼的公寓套间里一眼就可以看到。她难得有信，偶尔有邮件寄来，总是由住在底楼的小男孩给她送上来。
她相信今天肯定会有东西来。迈拉尽管在别的时候绝少写信，可母亲的生日她是不会忘记的。当然，迈拉很忙。她丈夫当上了市长，迈拉自己也由于悉心为老年人工作而获得了一枚奖章。
老太太颇以迈拉自豪，但她真心疼爱的女儿却是伊妮德。伊妮德始终没结婚，但她似乎以跟老母同住，并任教于附近的一所小学而心满意足。
然而一天傍晚，伊妮德却说：“妈妈，我已安排让莫里森太太来照顾你几天。明天我要去住院——只是动个小手术。我很快会回家来的。”
第二天早上她去了，却再也没有回来——她死在了手术台上。迈拉来参加了葬礼，并以她特有的干练方式，安排莫里森太太来家生火，并为老太太准备早餐。
那是两年以前的事了，打那以后，迈拉来看过她母亲三次，可她丈夫却一次也没来过。
今天是老太太的八十寿辰。她穿上了她最好的衣裙。也许——也许迈拉会来的吧。不管怎么说，八十大寿毕竟非同一般——你又活了十年，或者说又熬过了十年，是活是熬，全在于你怎么看了。
即便迈拉不来，她也会寄礼物来的。老太太对这点是拿得准的。脸颊上的两片红晕，使她满脸生辉。她心情激动——激动得像个小孩。她的这个生日一定会过得很快活。
昨天，莫里森太太把这套公寓房间额外打扫了一遍。今天来准备早餐时还带来一张生日卡和一束万寿菊。楼下的格兰特太太特地做了一只蛋糕，下午老太太要下楼到她家去吃茶点。小男孩约翰尼也上楼来过，送来了一盒薄荷糖，还说他要等邮件来了以后再出去玩。
“我猜你准会收到好多好多礼物，”他说。“上个礼拜我六岁生日，就收到好多好多。”
她想要样什么礼物呢？也许是一双拖鞋，或者是一件新的羊毛开衫。要真是一件羊毛开衫那就太好了，蓝盈盈的，那颜色该多么漂亮。过去吉姆就总喜欢她穿蓝的。再不就是一盏台灯，或者一本书，一本带照片的游记；一只小钟也行，钟面带醒目黑色数字的小钟。让人喜欢的东西可真多。
她站在窗口张望着。邮差骑着自行车过了拐角。她心跳加快了。约翰尼也看到了邮差，立即向大门口跑去。
接着，楼梯上传来“得得得”的脚步声。约翰尼敲了敲她的门。
“奶奶，奶奶，”他叫着说，“我拿到你的信了。”
他交给她四封信。三封没封口，是老朋友寄来的生日卡。第四封是封口的，上面的字迹出自于迈拉之手。失望的痛楚攫住了老太太的心头。
“没有包裹吗，约翰尼？”
“没有，奶奶。”
也许是包裹太大了，没有随信件邮班同来。对了，准是这个缘故。待会儿会由包裹邮班送来的。她一定要有耐心。
她几乎是带着几分勉强之意撕开了信封。只见生日卡里夹着一张折叠起来的纸。卡上印有“生日快乐”的字样，下面写着一句附言——拿这张支票给自己买样称心的东西吧——迈拉和哈罗德。
支票像只断了翅膀的小鸟似的飘落到地板上。老太太慢慢地弯下腰，把支票从地上捡了起来。她的礼物，她的可爱的礼物！她用颤抖的手指把支票撕了个粉碎。
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