داستانک داستان های کوتاه خارجی|کاربران نگاه

[Na_fas]

لاک‌پشت و خرگوش
خرگوشی چابک در جنگل زندگی می‌کرد. او همیشه درباره سرعت دویدنش برای حیوانات دیگر لاف می‌زد.

حیوانات از گوش دادن به حرف‌های خرگوش خسته شده بودند. به همین خاطر روزی از روزها لاک‌پشت آرام‌آرام پیش او رفت و او را به مسابقه دعوت کرد. خرگوش با خنده‌ای فریاد زد.

خرگوش گفت: «با تو مسابقه بدم؟ من تو رو به‌راحتی می‌برم!» اما نظر لاک‌پشت عوض نشد. «باشه لاک‌پشته. پس تو می خوای مسابقه بدی؟ باشه قبوله. این واسه من مثه آب خوردنه.» حیوانات برای تماشای مسابقه بزرگ جمع شدند.

سوتی زدند و آن‌ها مسابقه را شروع کردند. خرگوش مسیر را با حداکثر سرعت می‌دوید درحالی‌که لاک‌پشت به‌کندی از خط شروع مسابقه دور می‌شد.

خرگوش مدتی دوید و به عقب نگاه کرد. او دیگر نمی‌توانست لاک‌پشت را پشت سرش در مسیر ببیند. خرگوش که از برنده شدن خود مطمئن بود تصمیم گرفت در سایه‌ی یک درخت کمی استراحت کند.

لاک‌پشت با سرعت همیشگی‌اش آهسته‌آهسته از راه رسید. او خرگوش را دید که کنار تنه‌ی درختی به خواب رفته است. لاک‌پشت درست از کنارش رد شد.

خرگوش از خواب بیدار شد و پاهایش را کش‌وقوسی داد. مسیر را نگاه کرد و اثری از لاک‌پشت ندید. با خودش فکر کرد «من باید برم و این مسابقه رو هم برنده بشم.»

وقتی خرگوش آخرین پیچ را رد کرد، ازآنچه می‌دید تعجب کرد. لاک‌پشت داشت از خط پایان رد می‌شد! لاک‌پشت مسابقه را برد!

خرگوش سردرگم از خط پایان رد شد. خرگوش گفت: «وای لاک‌پشته، من واقعاً فکر نمی‌کردم تو بتونی منو ببری.» لاک‌پشت لبخندی زد و گفت: «می دونم. واسه همین بود که من برنده شدم.»

 

[Na_fas]

Secret Library
Imagine taking a risky walk through bombed-out buildings, the entire time hiding from snipers. Now imagine that you’re dodging bullets and risking your life to…read. For many of us, this seems crazy, but for some people in Damascus, Syria, risking their lives to read is the only thing that keeps them sane.

For more than four years, Damascus has faced violence, hunger, and political unrest. More than 2,000 civilians have been murdered and many important buildings, including libraries, have been destroyed.

Hope and inspiration are hard to come by in Damascus. That’s why a group of brave citizens, many of them former students, decided to make a secret, hidden library.

Down a steep flight of stairs in the basement of a bombed-out building lives more than 14,000 pieces of hope and inspiration. The library’s creators have collected more than 14,000 books from abandoned buildings destroyed by bombs.

And collecting these books is dangerous business. Collectors risk life and limb each time they venture out to find new titles for the library. So why do they do it?

For one, much of the content found in the books is useful. Many medical volunteers no longer have access to medical literature and can find some of the information they need to help people in the secret library.

But actually, most of the visitors to the library are simply looking for hope and inspiration. They want to remember a time and a place that wasn’t devastated by bombs and bullets.

For now, the library is deemed too dangerous for children. But there is one child that visits daily. Fourteen-year-old Anas lives next door, so he has easy access. He says that even though people could be looking for food instead of books, he thinks that the brain is just as important as the body. He says his brain has become stronger because of the books. In turn, he says he feels like his soul is also being fed.

Even those who have the grueling job of defending what’s left of Damascus say that the books are important to them. Some of them go to the front lines carrying a rifle in one hand a few books in the other.

Omar Abu Anas is one of those guys on the front lines trying to defend his home. He says, “Truly I swear the library holds a special place in all our hearts. And every time there’s shelling near the library we pray for it.”

Omar says that the books are helping them remain hopeful for freedom.

And as African-American writer and human rights leader, Frederick Douglass, once said: “Once you learn to read, you will be forever free.”
​

 

[Na_fas]

کتابخانه‌ی مخفی
فرض کنید از میان ویرانه‌های ساختمان‌های بمباران‌شده، پیاده روی خطرناکی می‌کنید و تمام مدت از دید تک تیراندازها پنهان می‌شوید. حال فرض کنید که به گلوله‌ها جاخالی می‌دهید و جانتان را به خطر می‌اندازید… تا مطالعه کنید. برای بسیاری از ما چنین کاری دیوانگی است اما برای برخی افراد در دمشقِ سوریه، به خطر انداختن جان برای مطالعه، تنها راهی است که مانع دیوانه‌شدن می شود.

مردم سوریه برای رساندن خود به کتابخانه خطرات فراوانی را به جان می‌خرند

بیش از چهار سال است که دمشق با خشونت، گرسنگی و ناآرامی‌های سیـاس*ـی دست‌و‌پنجه نرم می‌کند. بیش از 2000 غیرنظامی کشته شده‌اند و بسیاری از ساختمان‌های مهم، از جمله کتابخانه‌ها ویران شده‌اند.

در دمشق امیدواری و انگیزه، به سختی حاصل می‌شود. به همین خاطر است که گروهی از شهروندان دلیر، که بسیاری از آنان سابقا دانشجو بوده‌اند تصمیم گرفته‌اند کتابخانه‌ای سرّی و مخفی درست کنند.

پائین پلکانها در زیرزمین ساختمانی بمباران شده، بیش از 14 هزار تکه‌ی امید و انگیزه وجود دارد. سازندگان این کتابخانه، بیش از 14 هزار کتاب را از ساختمان‌هایی که بر اثر اصابت بمب تبدیل به ویرانه شده‌اند، جمع آوری نموده اند.

جمع کردن این کتابها کار خطرناکی است. گردآورندگان هر بار به قیمت از دست دادن جان یا دست و پایشان بیرون می‌روند تا عناوین تازه‌ای از کتاب‌ها را برای کتابخانه بیابند. چرا آنها چنین کاری می‌کنند؟

یک دلیلش این است که بیشتر محتوای این کتاب‌ها مفید است. بسیاری از داوطلبانی که به کار مداوا مشغول شده‌اند، دیگر به کتاب‌های پزشکی دسترسی ندارند و می توانند اطلاعاتی که برای کمک به مردم نیاز دارند را در این کتابخانه‌ی مخفی بیابند.

اما بیشتر مراجعان این کتابخانه، در پی امید و انگیزه هستند. آنها می‌خواهند زمان و مکانی را به یاد بیاورند که بمب‌ها و گلوله‌ها نابودش نکرده بودند.

دختر سوری در حال خواندن کتاب برای مادرش

این کتابخانه فعلا برای کودکان، محل بسیار خطرناکی تلقی می‌شود. اما کودکی هست که هر روز به آنجا سر می‌زند. اَنَس چهارده ساله، در خانه‌ی مجاور زندگی می کند. پس به راحتی به کتابخانه دسترسی دارد. او می‌گوید با اینکه مردم می‌توانستند به جای کتاب به دنبال غذا باشند، به نظر او مغز نیز به اندازه جسم اهمیت دارد. او می‌گوید مغز او به خاطر وجود کتاب قوی‌تر شده است. او می‌گوید که احساس می کند روحش نیز به نوبه خود تغذیه شده است.

حتی کسانی که مشغول کار جان‌فرسای دفاع از بقایای سوریه هستند می‌گویند کتاب برایشان مهم است. برخی از آنها در حالی راهی خط مقدم می‌شوند که در یک دست اسلحه و در دست دیگر چند کتاب دارند.

عمر ابو انس یکی از مردان خط مقدم است که سعی دارد از خانه‌اش دفاع کند. او می گوید «با اطمینان می‌گویم که این کتابخانه جایگاه خاصی در دل‌های ما دارد و هر بار که در نزدیکی آن گلوله بارانی رخ می‌دهد برای حفظ آن دعا می‌کنیم.»

عمر می گوید که کتاب به آنها کمک کرده به آزادی امیدوار بمانند.

و آنگونه که فردریک داگلاس نویسنده آفریقایی-امریکایی و رهبر حقوق بشر زمانی می‌گفت: «وقتی خواندن بیاموزی تا ابد آزاد خواهی ماند.»

دانلود رمان و کتاب های جدید

 

[☾♔TALAYEH_A♔☽]

The other woman
Sherwood anderson
"I am in love with my wife," he said
--
a superfluous remark, as I had not questioned
his attachment to the woman he had married. We walked for ten minutes and then
he said it again. I turned to look at him. He began to
talk and told me the tale I am
now about to set down.
The thing he had on his mind happened during what must have been the most
eventful week of his life. He was to be married on Friday afternoon. On Friday of
the week before he got a telegram announcing h
is appointment to a government
position. Something else happened that made him very proud and glad. In secret he
was in the habit of writing verses and during the year before several of them had
been printed in poetry magazines. One of the societies that g
ive prizes for what
they think the best poems published during the year put his name at the head of its
list. The story of his triumph was printed in the newspapers of his home city and
one of them also printed his picture.
As might have been expected he w
as excited and in a rather highly strung nervous
state all during that week. Almost every evening he went to call on his fiancée, the
daughter of a judge. When he got there the house was filled with people and many
letters, telegrams and packages were bein
g received. He stood a little to one side
and men and women kept coming up to speak to him. They congratulated him
upon his success in getting the government position and on his achievement as a
poet. Everyone seemed to be praising him and when he went hom
e and to bed he
could not sleep. On Wednesday evening he went to the theatre and it seemed to
him that people all over the house recognized him. Everyone nodded and smiled.
After the first act five or six men and two women left their seats to gather about
him. A little group was formed. Strangers sitting along the same row of seats
stretched their necks and looked. He had never received so much attention before,
and now a fever of expectancy took possession of him.
As he explained when he told me of his exp
erience, it was for him an altogether
abnormal time. He felt like one floating in air. When he got into bed after seeing so
many people and hearing so many words of praise his head whirled round and
round. When he closed his eyes a crowd of people invaded
his room. It seemed as
though the minds of all the people of his city were centred on himself. The most
absurd fancies took possession of him. He imagined himself riding in a carriage
through the streets of a city. Windows were thrown open and people ran o
ut at the
doors of houses. "There he is. That's him," they shouted, and at the words a glad
cry arose. The carriage drove into a street blocked with people. A hundred
thousand pairs of eyes looked up at him. "There you are! What a fellow you have
managed t
o make of yourself!" the eyes seemed to be saying.
My friend could not explain whether the excitement of the people was due to the
fact that he had written a new poem or whether, in his new government position, he
had performed some notable act. The apartm
ent where he lived at that time was on
a street perched along the top of a cliff far out at the edge of his city, and from his
bedroom window he could look down over trees and factory roofs to a river. As he
could not sleep and as the fancies that kept cro
wding in upon him only made him
more excited, he got out of bed and tried to think.
As would be natural under such circumstances, he tried to control his thoughts, but
when he sat by the window and was wide awake a most unexpected and
humiliating thing hap
pened. The night was clear and fine. There was a moon. He
wanted to dream of the woman who was to be his wife, to think out lines for noble
poems or make plans that would affect his career. Much to his surprise his mind
refused to do anything of the sort.
At a corner of the street where he lived there was a small cigar store and
newspaper stand run by a fat man of forty and his wife, a small active woman with
bright grey eyes. In the morning he stopped there to buy a paper before going
down to the city. Som
etimes he saw only the fat man, but often the man had
disappeared and the woman waited on him. She was, as he assured me at least
twenty times in telling me his tale, a very ordinary person with nothing special or
notable about her, but for some reason he
could not explain, being in her presence
stirred him profoundly. During that week in the midst of his distraction she was the
only person he knew who stood out clear and distinct in his mind. When he wanted
so much to think noble thoughts he could think on
ly of her. Before he knew what
was happening his imagination had taken hold of the notion of having a love affair
with the woman.
"I could not understand myself," he declared, in telling me the story. "At night,
when the city was quiet and when I should ha
ve been asleep, I thought about her
all the time. After two or three days of that sort of thing the consciousness of her
got into my daytime thoughts. I was terribly muddled. When I went to see the
woman who is now my wife I found that my love for her was
in no way affected
by my vagrant thoughts. There was but one woman in the world I wanted to live
with and to be my comrade in undertaking to improve my own character and my
position in the world, but for the moment, you see, I wanted this other woman to be
in my arms. She had worked her way into my being. On all sides people were
saying I was a big man who would do big things, and there I was. That evening
when I went to the theatre I walked home because I knew I would be unable to
sleep, and to satisfy the
annoying impulse in myself I went and stood on the
sidewalk before the tobacco shop. It was a two story building, and I knew the
woman lived upstairs with her husband. For a long time I stood in the darkness
with my body pressed against the wall of the bu
ilding, and then I thought of the
two of them up there and no doubt in bed together. That made me furious.
"Then I grew more furious with myself. I went home and got into bed, shaken with
anger. There are certain books of verse and some prose writings that
have always
moved me deeply, and so I put several books on a table by my bed.
"The voices in the books were like the voices of the dead. I did not hear them. The
printed words would not penetrate into my consciousness. I tried to think of the
woman I love
d, but her figure had also become something far away, something
with which I for the moment seemed to have nothing to do. I rolled and tumbled
about in the bed. It was a miserable experience.
"On Thursday morning I went into the store. There stood the woma
n alone. I think
she knew how I felt. Perhaps she had been thinking of me as I had been thinking of
her. A doubtful hesitating smile played about the corners of her mouth. She had on
a dress made of cheap cloth and there was a tear on the shoulder. She mus
t have
been ten years older than myself. When I tried to put my pennies on the glass
counter, behind which she stood, my hand trembled so that the pennies made a
sharp rattling noise. When I spoke the voice that came out of my throat did not
sound like any
thing that had ever belonged to me. It barely arose above a thick
whisper. 'I want you,' I said. 'I want you very much. Can't you run away from your
husband? Come to me at my apartment at seven tonight.'
"The woman did come to my apartment at seven. That m
orning she didn't say
anything at all. For a minute perhaps we stood looking at each other. I had
forgotten everything in the world but just her. Then she nodded her head and I
went away. Now that I think of it I cannot remember a word I ever heard her say
.
She came to my apartment at seven and it was dark. You must understand this was
in the month of October. I had not lighted a light and I had sent my servant away.
"During that day I was no good at all. Several men came to see me at my office,
but I got a
ll muddled up in trying to talk with them. They attributed my rattle
-
headedness to my approaching marriage and went away laughing.
"It was on that morning, just the day before my marriage, that I got a long and very
beautiful letter from my fiancée. During
the night before she also had been unable
to sleep and had got out of bed to write the letter. Everything she said in it was
very sharp and real, but she herself, as a living thing, seemed to have receded into
the distance. It seemed to me that she was li
ke a bird, flying far away in distant
skies, and that I was like a perplexed bare
-
footed boy standing in the dusty road
before a farm house and looking at her receding figure. I wonder if you will
understand what I mean?
"In regard to the letter. In it she
, the awakening woman, poured out her heart. She
of course knew nothing of life, but she was a woman. She lay, I suppose, in her bed
feeling nervous and wrought up as I had been doing. She realized that a great
change was about to take place in her life an
d was glad and afraid too. There she
lay thinking of it all. Then she got out of bed and began talking to me on the bit of
paper. She told me how afraid she was and how glad too. Like most young women
she had heard things whispered. In the letter she was v
ery sweet and fine. 'For a
long time, after we are married, we will forget we are a man and woman,' she
wrote. 'We will be human beings. You must remember that I am ignorant and often
I will be very stupid. You must love me and be very patient and kind. Wh
en I
know more, when after a long time you have taught me the way of life, I will try to
repay you. I will love you tenderly and passionately. The possibility of that is in
me or I would not want to marry at all. I am afraid but I am also happy. O, I am so
glad our marriage time is near at hand!'
"Now you see clearly enough what a mess I was in. In my office, after I had read
my fiancée's letter, I became at once very resolute and strong. I remember that I got
out of my chair and walked about, proud of the
fact that I was to be the husband of
so noble a woman. Right away I felt concerning her as I had been feeling about
myself before I found out what a weak thing I was. To be sure I took a strong
resolution that I would not be weak. At nine that evening I ha
d planned to run in to
see my fiancée. 'I'm all right now,' I said to myself. 'The beauty of her character has
saved me from myself. I will go home now and send the other woman away.' In the
morning I had telephoned to my servant and told him that I did no
t want him to be
at the apartment that evening and I now picked up the telephone to tell him to stay
at home.
"Then a thought came to me. 'I will not want him there in any event,' I told myself.
'What will he think when he sees a woman coming in my place o
n the evening
before the day I am to be married?' I put the telephone down and prepared to go
home. 'If I want my servant out of the apartment it is because I do not want him to
hear me talk with the woman. I cannot be rude to her. I will have to make some
kind of an explanation,' I said to myself.
"The woman came at seven o'clock, and, as you may have guessed, I let her in and
forgot the resolution I had made. It is likely I never had any intention of doing
anything else. There was a bell on my door, but s
he did not ring, but knocked very
softly. It seems to me that everything she did that evening was soft and quiet, but
very determined and quick. Do I make myself clear? When she came I was
standing just within the door where I had been standing and waiting
for a half hour.
My hands were trembling as they had trembled in the morning when her eyes
looked at me and when I tried to put the pennies on the counter in the store. When I
opened the door she stepped quickly in and I took her into my arms. We stood
to
gether in the darkness. My hands no longer trembled. I felt very happy and
strong.
"Although I have tried to make everything clear I have not told you what the
woman I married is like. I have emphasized, you see, the other woman. I make the
blind statement
that I love my wife, and to a man of your shrewdness that means
nothing at all. To tell the truth, had I not started to speak of this matter I would feel
more comfortable. It is inevitable that I give you the impression that I am in love
with the tobaccon
ist's wife. That's not true. To be sure I was very conscious of her
all during the week before my marriage, but after she had come to me at my
apartment she went entirely out of my mind.
"Am I telling the truth? I am trying very hard to tell what happened
to me. I am
saying that I have not since that evening thought of the woman who came to my
apartment. Now, to tell the facts of the case, that is not true. On that evening I went
to my fiancée at nine, as she had asked me to do in her letter. In a kind of w
ay I
cannot explain the other woman went with me. This is what I mean
--
you see I had
been thinking that if anything happened between me and the tobacconist's wife I
would not be able to go through with my marriage. 'It is one thing or the other with
me,' I
had said to myself.
"As a matter of fact I went to see my beloved on that evening filled with a new
faith in the outcome of our life together. I am afraid I muddle this matter in trying
to tell it. A moment ago I said the other woman, the tobacconist's wi
fe, went with
me. I do not mean she went in fact. What I am trying to say is that something of
her faith in her own desires and her courage in seeing things through went with me.
Is that clear to you? When I got to my fiancée's house there was a crowd of p
eople
standing about. Some were relatives from distant places I had not seen before. She
looked up quickly when I came into the room. My face must have been radiant. I
never saw her so moved. She thought her letter had affected me deeply, and of
course it
had. Up she jumped and ran to meet me. She was like a glad child. Right
before the people who turned and looked inquiringly at us, she said the thing that
was in her mind. 'O, I am so happy,' she cried. 'You have understood. We will be
two human beings. We
will not have to be husband and wife.'
"As you may suppose everyone laughed, but I did not laugh. The tears came into
my eyes. I was so happy I wanted to shout. Perhaps you understand what I mean.
In the office that day when I read the letter my fiancée h
ad written I had said to
myself, 'I will take care of the dear little woman.' There was something smug, you
see, about that. In her house when she cried out in that way, and when everyone
laughed, what I said to myself was something like this: 'We will tak
e care of
ourselves.' I whispered something of the sort into her ears. To tell you the truth I
had come down off my perch. The spirit of the other woman did that to me. Before
all the people gathered about I held my fiancée close and we kissed. They though
t
it very sweet of us to be so affected at the sight of each other. What they would
have thought had they known the truth about me God only knows!
"Twice now I have said that after that evening I never thought of the other woman
at all. That is partially t
rue but, sometimes in the evening when I am walking alone
in the street or in the park as we are walking now, and when evening comes softly
and quickly as it has come to
-
night, the feeling of her comes sharply into my body
and mind. After that one meeting
I never saw her again. On the next day I was
married and I have never gone back into her street. Often however as I am walking
along as I am doing now, a quick sharp earthy feeling takes possession of me. It is
as though I were a seed in the ground and the
warm rains of the spring had come. It
is as though I were not a man but a tree.
"And now you see I am married and everything is all right. My marriage is to me a
very beautiful fact. If you were to say that my marriage is not a happy one I could
call you
a liar and be speaking the absolute truth. I have tried to tell you about this
other woman. There is a kind of relief in speaking of her. I have never done it
before. I wonder why I was so silly as to be afraid that I would give you the
impression I am not
in love with my wife. If I did not instinctively trust your
understanding I would not have spoken. As the matter stands I have a little stirred
myself up. To
-
night I shall think of the other woman. That sometimes occurs. It
will happen after I have gone t
o bed. My wife sleeps in the next room to mine and
the door is always left open. There will be a moon to
-
night, and when there is a
moon long streaks of light fall on her bed. I shall awake at midnight to
-
night. She
will be lying asleep with one arm thrown
over her head.
"What is it that I am now talking about? A man does not speak of his wife lying in
bed. What I am trying to say is that, because of this talk, I shall think of the other
woman to
-
night. My thoughts will not take the form they did during the
week
before I was married. I will wonder what has become of the woman. For a moment
I will again feel myself holding her close. I will think that for an hour I was closer
to her than I have ever been to anyone else. Then I will think of the time when I
wi
ll be as close as that to my wife. She is still, you see, an awakening woman. For
a moment I will close my eyes and the quick, shrewd, determined eyes of that other
woman will look into mine. My head will swim and then I will quickly open my
eyes and see a
gain the dear woman with whom I have undertaken to live out my
life. Then I will sleep and when I awake in the morning it will be as it was that
evening when I walked out of my dark apartment after having had the most notable
experience of my life. What I
mean to say, you understand is that, for me, when I
awake, the other woman will be utterly gone.​

دانلود رمان و کتاب های جدید

 

[☾♔TALAYEH_A♔☽]

The Golden Honeymoon




MOTHER says that when I start talking I never know when to stop. But I tell her the only time I get a chance is when she ain't around, so I have to make the most of it. I guess the fact is neither one of us would be welcome in a Quaker meeting, but as I tell Mother, what did God give us tongues for if He didn't want we should use them? Only she says He didn't give them to us to say the same thing over and over again, like I do, and repeat myself. But I say:

"Well, Mother," I say, "when people is like you and I and been married fifty years, do you expect everything I say will be something you ain't heard me say before? But it may be new to others, as they ain't nobody else lived with me as long as you have."

So she says:

"You can bet they ain't, as they couldn't nobody else stand you that long."

"Well," I tell her, "you look pretty healthy."

"Maybe I do," she will say, "but I looked even healthier before I married you."

You can't get ahead of Mother.

Yes, sir, we was married just fifty years ago the seventeenth day of last December and my daughter and son-in-law was over from Trenton to help us celebrate the Golden Wedding. My son-in-law is John H. Kramer, the real estate man. He made $12,000 one year and is pretty well thought of around Trenton; a good, steady, hard worker. The Rotarians was after him a long time to join, but he kept telling them his home was his club. But Edie fnally made him join. That's my daughter.

Well, anyway, they come over to help us celebrate the Golden Wedding and it was pretty crimpy weather and the furnace don't seem to heat up no more like it used to and Mother made the remark that she hoped this winter wouldn't be as cold as the last, referring to the winter previous. So Edie said if she was us, and nothing to keep us home, she certainly wouldn't spend no more winters up here and why didn't we just shut off the water and close up the house and go down to Tampa, Florida? You know we was there four winters ago and staid five weeks, but it cost us over three hundred and fifty dollars for hotel bill alone. So Mother said we wasn't going no place to be robbed. So my son-in-law spoke up and said that Tampa wasn't the only place in the South, and besides we didn't have to stop at no high price hotel but could rent us a couple rooms and board out somewheres, and he had heard that St. Petersburg, Florida, was the spot and if we said the word he would write down there and make inquiries.

Well, to make a long story short, we decided to do it and Edie said it would be our Golden Honeymoon and for a present my son-in-law paid the difference between a section and a compartment so as we could have a compartment and have more privatecy. In a compartment you have an upper and lower berth just like the regular sleeper, but it is a shut in room by itself and got a wash bowl. The car we went in was all compartments and no regular berths at all. It was all compartments.

We went to Trenton the night before and staid at my daughter and son-in-law and we left Trenton the next afternoon at 3.23 P.M.

This was the twelfth day of January. Mother set facing the front of the train, as it makes her giddy to ride backwards. I set facing her, which does not affect me. We reached North Philadelphia at 4.03 P.M. and we reached West Philadelphia at 4.14, but did not go into Broad Street. We reached Baltimore at 6.30 and Washington, D.C., at 7.25. Our train laid over in Washington two hours till another train come along to pick us up and I got out and strolled up the platform and into the Union Station. When I come back, our car had been switched on to another track, but I remembered the name of it, the La Belle, as I had once visited my aunt out in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, where there was a lake of that name, so I had no difficulty in getting located. But Mother had nearly fretted herself sick for fear I would be left.

"Well," I said, "I would of followed you on the next train."

"You could of," said Mother, and she pointed out that she had the money.

"Well," I said, "we are in Washington and I could of borrowed from the United States Treasury. I would of pretended I was an Englishman."

Mother caught the point and laughed heartily.

Our train pulled out of Washington at 9.40 P.M. and Mother and I turned in early, I taking the upper. During the night we passed through the green fields of old Virginia, though it was too dark to tell if they was green or what color. When we got up in the morning, we was at Fayetteville, North Carolina. We had breakfast in the dining car and after breakfast I got in conversation with the man in the next compartment to ours. He was from Lebanon, New Hampshire, and a man about eighty years of age. His wife was with him, and two unmarried daughters and I made the remark that I should think the four of them would be crowded in one compartment, but he said they had made the trip every winter for fifteen years and knowed how to keep out of each other's way. He said they was bound for Tarpon Springs.

We reached Charleston, South Carolina, at 12.50 P.M. and arrived at Savannah, Georgia, at 4.20. We reached Jacksonville, Florida, at 8.45 P.M. and had an hour and a quarter to lay over there, but Mother made a fuss about me getting off the train, so we had the darky make up our berths and retired before we left Jacksonville. I didn't sleep good as the train done a lot of hemming and hawing, and Mother never sleeps good on a train as she says she is always worrying that I will fall out. She says she would rather have the upper herself, as then she would not have to worry about me, but I tell her I can't take the risk of having it get out that I allowed my wife to sleep in an upper berth. It would make talk.

We was up in the morning in time to see our friends from New Hampshire get off at Tarpon Springs, which we reached at 6.53 A.M.

Several of our fellow passengers got off at Clearwater and some at Belleair, where the train backs right up to the door of the mammoth hotel. Belleair is the winter headquarters for the golf dudes and everybody that got off there had their bag of sticks, as many as ten and twelve in a bag. Women and all. When I was a young man we called it shinny and only needed one club to play with and about one game of it would of been a-plenty for some of these dudes, the way we played it.

The train pulled into St. Petersburg at 8.20 and when we got off the train you would think they was a riot, what with all the darkies barking for the different hotels.

I said to Mother, I said:

"It is a good thing we have got a place picked out to go to and don't have to choose a hotel, as it would be hard to choose amongst them if every one of them is the best."

She laughed.

We found a jitney and I give him the address of the room my son-in-law had got for us and soon we was there and introduced ourselves to the lady that owns the house, a young widow about forty-eight years of age. She showed us our room, which was light and airy with a comfortable bed and bureau and washstand. It was twelve dollars a week, but the location was good, only three blocks from Williams Park.

St. Pete is what folks calls the town, though they also call it the Sunshine City, as they claim they's no other place in the country where they's fewer days when Old Sol don't smile down on Mother Earth, and one of the newspapers gives away all their copies free every day when the sun don't shine. They claim to of only give them away some sixty-odd times in the last eleven years. Another nickname they have got for the town is "the Poor Man's Palm Beach," but I guess they's men that comes there that could borrow as much from the bank as some of the Willie boys over to the other Palm Beach.

During our stay we paid a visit to the Lewis Tent City, which is the headquarters for the Tin Can Tourists. But maybe you ain't heard about them. Well, they are an organization that takes their vacation trips by auto and carries everything with them. That is, they bring along their tents to sleep in and cook in and they don't patronize no hotels or cafeterias, but they have got to be bona fide auto campers or they can't belong to the organization.

They tell me they's over 200,000 members to it and they call themselves the Tin Canners on account of most of their food being put up in tin cans. One couple we seen in the Tent City was a couple from Brady, Texas, named Mr. and Mrs. Pence, which the old man is over eighty years of age and they had come in their auto all the way from home, a distance of 1,641 miles. They took five weeks for the trip, Mr. Pence driving the entire distance.

The Tin Canners hails from every State in the Union and in the summer time they visit places like New England and the Great Lakes region, but in the winter the most of them comes to Florida and scatters all over the State. While we was down there, they was a national convention of them at Gainesville, Florida, and they elected a Fredonia, New York, man as their president. His title is Royal Tin Can Opener of the World. They have got a song wrote up which everybody has got to learn it before they are a member:

"The tin can forever! Hurrah, boys! Hurrah!
Up with the tin can! Down with the foe!
We will rally round the campfire, we'll rally once again,
Shouting, 'We auto camp forever!'"

That is something like it. And the members has also got to have a tin can fastened on to the front of their machine.

I asked Mother how she would like to travel around that way and she said:

"Fine, but not with an old rattle brain like you driving."

"Well," I said, "I am eight years younger than this Mr. Pence who drove here from Texas."

"Yes," she said, "but he is old enough to not be skittish."

You can't get ahead of Mother.

Well, one of the first things we done in St. Petersburg was to go to the Chamber of Commerce and register our names and where we was from as they's great rivalry amongst the different States in regards to the number of their citizens visiting in town and of course our little State don't stand much of a show, but still every little bit helps, as the fella says. All and all, the man told us, they was eleven thousand names registered, Ohio leading with some fifteen hundred-odd and New York State next with twelve hundred. Then come Michigan, Pennsylvania and so on down, with one man each from Cuba and Nevada.

The first night we was there, they was a meeting of the New York-New Jersey Society at the Congregational Church and a man from Ogdensburg, New York State, made the talk. His subject was Rainbow Chasing. He is a Rotarian and a very convicting speaker, though I forget his name.

Our first business, of course, was to find a place to eat and after trying several places we run on to a cafeteria on Central Avenue that suited us up and down. We eat pretty near all our meals there and it averaged about two dollars per day for the two of us, but the food was well cooked and everything nice and clean. A man don't mind paying the price if things is clean and well cooked.

On the third day of February, which is Mother's birthday, we spread ourselves and eat supper at the Poinsettia Hotel and they charged us seventy-five cents for a sirloin steak that wasn't hardly big enough for one.

I said to Mother: "Well," I said, "I guess it's a good thing every day ain't your birthday or we would be in the poorhouse."

"No," says Mother, "because if every day was my birthday, I would be old enough by this time to of been in my grave long ago."

You can't get ahead of Mother.

In the hotel they had a card-room where they was several men and ladies playing five hundred and this new fangled whist bridge. We also seen a place where they was dancing, so I asked Mother would she like to trip tne light fantastic toe and she said no, she was too old to squirm like you have got to do now days. We watched some of the young folks at it awhile till Mother got disgusted and said we would have to see a good movie to take the taste out of our mouth. Mother is a great movie heroyne and we go twice a week here at home.

But I want to tell you about the Park. The second day we was there we visited the Park, which is a good deal like the one in Tampa, only bigger, and they's more fun goes on here every day than you could shake a stick at. In the middle they's a big bandstand and chairs for the folks to set and listen to the concerts, which they give you music for all tastes, from Dixie up to classical pieces like Hearts and Flowers.

Then all around they's places marked off for different sports and games--chess and checkers and dominoes for folks that enjoys those kind of games, and roque and horse-shoes for the nimbler ones. I used to pitch a pretty fair shoe myself, but ain't done much of it in the last twenty years.

Well, anyway, we bought a membership ticket in the club which costs one dollar for the season, and they tell me that up to a couple years ago it was fifty cents, but they had to raise it to keep out the riffraff.

Well, Mother and I put in a great day watching the pitchers and she wanted I should get in the game, but I told her I was all out of practice and would make a fool of myself, though I seen several men pitching who I guess I could take their measure without no practice. However, they was some good pitchers, too, and one boy from Akron, Ohio, who could certainly throw a pretty shoe. They told me it looked like he would win them championship of the United States in the February tournament. We come away a few days before they held that and I never did hear if he win. I forget his name, but he was a clean cut young fella and he has got a brother in Cleveland that's a Rotarian.

Well, we just stood around and watched the different games for two or three days and finally I set down in a checker game with a man named Weaver from Danville, Illinois. He was a pretty fair checker player, but he wasn't no match for me, and I hope that don't sound like bragging. But I always could hold my own on a checker-board and the folks around here will tell you the same thing. I played with this Weaver pretty near all morning for two or three mornings and he beat me one game and the only other time it looked like he had a chance, the noon whistle blowed and we had to quit and go to dinner.

While I was playing checkers, Mother would set and listen to the band, as she loves music, classical or no matter what kind, but anyway she was setting there one day and between selections the woman next to her opened up a conversation. She was a woman about Mother's own age, seventy or seventy-one, and finally she asked Mother's name and Mother told her her name and where she was from and Mother asked her the same question, and who do you think the woman was?

Well, sir, it was the wife of Frank M. Hartsell, the man who was engaged to Mother till I stepped in and cut him out, fifty-two years ago!

Yes, sir!

You can imagine Mother's surprise! And Mrs. Hartsell was surprised, too, when Mother told her she had once been friends with her husband, though Mother didn't say how close friends they had been, or that Mother and I was the cause of Hartsell going out West. But that's what we was. Hartsell left his town a month after the engagement was broke off and ain't never been back since. He had went out to Michigan and become a veterinary, and that is where he had settled down, in Hillsdale, Michigan, and finally married his wife.

Well, Mother screwed up her courage to ask if Frank was still living and Mrs. Hartsell took her over to where they was pitching horse-shoes and there was old Frank, waiting his turn. And he knowed Mother as soon as he seen her, though it was over fifty years. He said he knowed her by her eyes.

"Why, it's Lucy Frost!" he says, and he throwed down his shoes and quit the game.

Then they come over and hunted me up and I will confess I wouldn't of knowed him. Him and I is the same age to the month, but he seems to show it more, some way. He is balder for one thing. And his beard is all white, where mine has still got a streak of brown in it. The very first thing I said to him, I said:

"Well, Frank, that beard of yours makes me feel like I was back north. It looks like a regular blizzard."

"Well," he said, "I guess yourn would be just as white if you had it dry cleaned."

But Mother wouldn't stand that.

"Is that so!" she said to Frank. "Well, Chancy ain't had no tobacco in his mouth for over ten years!"

And I ain't!

Well, I excused myself from the checker game and it was pretty close to noon, so we decided to all have dinner together and they was nothing for it only we must try their cafeteria on Third Avenue. It was a little more expensive than ours and not near as good, I thought. I and Mother had about the same dinner we had been having every day and our bill was $1.10. Frank's check was $1.20 for he and his wife. The same meal wouldn't of cost them more than a dollar at our place.

After dinner we made them come up to our house and we all set in the parlor, which the young woman had give us the use of to entertain company. We begun talking over old times and Mother said she was a-scared Mrs. Hartsell would find it tiresome listening to we three talk over old times, but as it turned out they wasn't much chance for nobody else to talk with Mrs. Hartsell in the company. I have heard lots of women that could go it, but Hartsell's wife takes the cake of all the women I ever seen. She told us the family history of everybody in the State of Michigan and bragged for a half hour about her son, who she said is in the drug business in Grand Rapids, and a Rotarian.

When I and Hartsell could get a word in edgeways we joked one another back and forth and I chafed him about being a horse doctor.

"Well, Frank," I said, " you look pretty prosperous, so I suppose they's been plenty of glanders around Hillsdale."

"Well," he said, "I've managed to make more than a fair living. But I've worked pretty hard."

"Yes," I said, "and I suppose you get called out all hours of the night to attend births and so on."

Mother made me shut up.

Well, I thought they wouldn't never go home and I and Mother was in misery trying to keep awake, as the both of us generally always takes a nap after dinner. Finally they went, after we had made an engagement to meet them in the Park the next morning, and Mrs. Hartsell also invited us to come to their place the next night and play five hundred. But she had forgot that they was a meeting of the Michigan Society that evening, so it was not till two evenings later that we had our first card game.

Hartsell and his wife lived in a house on Third Avenue North and had a private setting room besides their bedroom. Mrs. Hartsell couldn't quit talking about their private setting room like it was something wonderful. We played cards with them, with Mother and Hartsell partners against his wife and I. Mrs. Hartsell is a miserable card player and we certainly got the worst of it.

After the game she brought out a dish of oranges and we had to pretend it was just what we wanted, though oranges down there is like a young man's whiskers; you enjoy them at first, but they get to be a pesky nuisance.

We played cards again the next night at our place with the same partners and I and Mrs. Hartsell was beat again. Mother and Hartsell was full of compliments for each other on what a good team they made, but the both of them knowed well enough where the secret of their success laid. I guess all and all we must of played ten different evenings and they was only one night when Mrs. Hartsell and I come out ahead. And that one night wasn't no fault of hern.

When we had been down there about two weeks, we spent one evening as their guest in the Congregational Church, at a social give by the Michigan Society. A talk was made by a man named Bitting of Detroit, Michigan, on How I was Cured of Story Telling. He is a big man in the Rotarians and give a witty talk.

A woman named Mrs. Oxford rendered some selections which Mrs. Hartsell said was grand opera music, but whatever they was my daughter Edie could of give her cards and spades and not made such a hullaballoo about it neither.

Then they was a ventriloquist from Grand Rapids and a young woman about forty-five years of age that mimicked different kinds of birds. I whispered to Mother that they all sounded like a chicken, but she nudged me to shut up.

After the show we stopped in a drug store and I set up the refreshments and it was pretty close to ten o'clock before we finally turned in. Mother and I would of preferred tending the movies, but Mother said we mustn't offend Mrs. Hartsell, though I asked her had we came to Florida to enjoy ourselves or to just not offend an old chatter-box from Michigan.

I felt sorry for Hartsell one morning. The women folks both had an engagement down to the chiropodist's and I run across Hartsell in the Park and he foolishly offered to play me checkers.

It was him that suggested it, not me, and I guess he repented himself before we had played one game. But he was too stubborn to give up and set there while I beat him game after game and the worst part of it was that a crowd of folks had got in the habit of watching me play and there they all was, hooking on, and finally they seen what a fool Frank was making of himself, and they began to chafe him and pass remarks. Like one of them said:

"Who ever told you you was a checker player!"

And:

"You might maybe be good for tiddle-de-winks, but not checkers!

I almost felt like letting him beat me a couple games. But the crowd would of knowed it was a put up job.

Well, the women folks joined us in the Park and I wasn't going to mention our little game, but Hartsell told about it himself and admitted he wasn't no match for me.

"Well," said Mrs. Hartsell, "checkers ain't much of a game anyway, is it?" She said: "It's more of a children's game, ain't it? At least, I know my boy's children used to play it a good deal."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. "It's a children's game the way your husband plays it, too."

Mother wanted to smooth things over, so she said:

"Maybe they's other games where Frank can beat you."

"Yes," said Mrs. Hartsell, "and I bet he could beat you pitching horse-shoes."

"Well," I said, "I would give him a chance to try, only I ain't pitched a shoe in over sixteen years."

"Well," said Hartsell, "I ain't played checkers in twenty years."

"You ain't never played it," I said.

"Anyway," says Frank, "Lucy and I is your master at five hundred."

Well, I could of told him why that was, but had decency enough to hold my tongue.

It had got so now that he wanted to play cards every night and when I or Mother wanted to go to a movie, any one of us would have to pretend we had a headache and then trust to goodness that they wouldn't see us sneak into the theater. I don't mind playing cards when my partner keeps their mind on the game, but you take a woman like Hartsell's wife and how can they play cards when they have got to stop every couple seconds and brag about their son in Grand Rapids?

Well, the New York-New Jersey Society announced that they was goin' to give a social evening too and I said to Mother, I said:

"Well, that is one evening when we will have an excuse not to play five hundred."

"Yes," she said, "but we will have to ask Frank and his wife to go to the social with us as they asked us to go to the Michigan social."

"Well," I said, "I had rather stay home than drag that chatterbox everywheres we go."

So Mother said:

"You are getting too cranky. Maybe she does talk a little too much but she is good hearted. And Frank is always good company."

So I said:

"I suppose if he is such good company you wished you had of married him."

Mother laughed and said I sounded like I was jealous. Jealous of a cow doctor!

Anyway we had to drag them along to the social and I will say that we give them a much better entertainment than they had given us.

Judge Lane of Paterson made a fine talk on business conditions and a Mrs. Newell of Westfield imitated birds, only you could really tell what they was the way she done it. Two young women from Red Bank sung a choral selection and we clapped them back and they gave us Home to Our Mountains and Mother and Mrs. Hartsell both had tears in their eyes. And Hartsell, too.

Well, some way or another the chairman got wind that I was there and asked me to make a talk and I wasn't even going to get up, but Mother made me, so I got up and said:

"Ladies and gentlemen," I said. "I didn't expect to be called on for a speech on an occasion like this or no other occasion as I do not set myself up as a speech maker, so will have to do the best I can, which I often say is the best anybody can do."

Then I told them the story about Pat and the motorcycle, using the brogue, and it seemed to tickle them and I told them one or two other stories, hut altogether I wasn't on my feet more than twenty or twenty-five minutes and you ought to of heard the clapping and hollering when I set down. Even Mrs. Hartsell admitted that I am quite a speechifier and said if I ever went to Grand Rapids, Michigan, her son would make me talk to the Rotarians.

When it was over, Hartsell wanted we should go to their house and play cards, but his wife reminded him that it was after 9.30 P.M., rather a late hour to start a card game, but he had went crazy on the subject of cards, probably because he didn't have to play partners with his wife. Anyway, we got rid of them and went home to bed.

It was the next morning, when we met over to the Park, that Mrs. Hartsell made the remark that she wasn't getting no exercise so I suggested that why didn't she take part in the roque game.

She said she had not played a game of roque in twenty years, but if Mother would play she would play. Well, at first Mother wouldn't hear of it, but finally consented, more to please Mrs. Hartsell than anything else.

Well, they had a game with a Mrs. Ryan from Eagle, Nebraska, and a young Mrs. Morse from Rutland, Vermont, who Mother had met down to the chiropodist's. Well, Mother couldn't hit a flea and they all laughed at her and I couldn't help from laughing at her myself and finally she quit and said her back was too lame to stoop over. So they got another lady and kept on playing and soon Mrs. Hartsell was the one everybody was laughing at, as she had a long shot to hit the black ball, and as she made the effort her teeth fell out on to the court. I never seen a woman so flustered in my life. And I never heard so much laughing, only Mrs. Hartsell didn't join in and she was madder than a hornet and wouldn't play no more, so the game broke up.

Mrs. Hartsell went home without speaking to nobody, but Hartsell stayed around and finally he said to me, he said:

"Well, I played you checkers the other day and you beat me bad and now what do you say if you and me play a game of horseshoes?"

I told him I hadn't pitched a shoe in sixteen years, but Mother said:

"Go ahead and play. You used to be good at it and maybe it will come back to you."

Well, to make a long story short, I give in. I oughtn't to of never tried it, as I hadn't pitched a shoe in sixteen years, and I only done it to humor Hartsell.

Before we started, Mother patted me on the back and told me to do my best, so we started in and I seen right off that I was in for it, as I hadn't pitched a shoe in sixteen years and didn't have my distance. And besides, the plating had wore off the shoes so that they was points right where they stuck into my thumb and I hadn't throwed more than two or three times when my thumb was raw and it pretty near killed me to hang on to the shoe, let alone pitch it.

Well, Hartsell throws the awkwardest shoe I ever seen pitched and to see him pitch you wouldn't think he would ever come nowheres near, but he is also the luckiest pitcher I ever seen and he made some pitches where the shoe lit five and six feet short and then schoonered up and was a ringer. They's no use trying to beat that kind of luck.

They was a pretty fair size crowd watching us and four or five other ladies besides Mother, and it seems like, when Hartsell pitches, he has got to chew and it kept the ladies on the anxious seat as he don't seem to care which way he is facing when he leaves go.

You would think a man as old as him would of learnt more manners.

Well, to make a long story short, I was just beginning to get my distance when I had to give up on account of my thumb, which I showed it to Hartsell and he seen I couldn't go on, as it was raw and bleeding. Even if I could of stood it to go on myself, Mother wouldn't of allowed it after she seen my thumb. So anyway I quit and Hartsell said the score was nineteen to six, but I don't know what it was. Or don't care, neither.

Well, Mother and I went home and I said I hoped we was through with the Hartsells as I was sick and tired of them, but it seemed like she had promised we would go over to their house that evening for another game of their everlasting cards.

Well, my thumb was giving me considerable pain and I felt kind of out of sorts and I guess maybe I forgot myself, but anyway, when we was about through playing Hartsell made the remark that he wouldn't never lose a game of cards if he could always have Mother for a partner.

So I said:

"Well, you had a chance fifty years ago to always have her for a partner, but you wasn't man enough to keep her."

I was sorry the minute I had said it and Hartsell didn't know what to say and for once his wife couldn't say nothing. Mother tried to smooth things over by making the remark that I must of had something stronger than tea or I wouldn't talk so silly. But Mrs. Hartsell had froze up like an iceberg and hardly said good night to us and I bet her and Frank put in a pleasant hour after we was gone.

As we was leaving, Mother said to him: "Never mind Charley's nonsense, Frank. He is just mad because you beat him all hollow pitching horseshoes and playing cards."

She said that to make up for my slip, but at the same time she certainly riled me. I tried to keep ahold of myself, but as soon as we was out of the house she had to open up the subject and begun to scold me for the break I had made.

Well, I wasn't in no mood to be scolded. So I said:

"I guess he is such a wonderful pitcher and card player that you wished you had married him."

"Well," she said, "at least he ain't a baby to give up pitching because his thumb has got a few scratches."

"And how about you," I said, "making a fool of yourself on the roque court and then pretemiding your back is lame and you can't play no more!"

"Yes," she said, "but when you hurt your thumb I didn't laugh at you, and why did you laugh at me when I sprained my back?"

"Who could help from laughing!" I said.

"Well," she said, "Frank Hartsell didn't laugh."

"Well," I said, "why didn't you marry him?"

"Well," said Mother, "I almost wished I had!"

"And I wished so, too!" I said.

"I'll remember that!" said Mother, and that's the last word she said to me for two days.

We seen the Hartsells the next day in the Park and I was willing to apologize, but they just nodded to us. And a couple days later we heard they had left for Orlando, where they have got relatives.

I wished they had went there in the first place.

Mother and I made it up setting on a bench.

"Listen, Charley," she said. "This is our Golden Honeymoon and we don't want the whole thing spoilt with a silly old quarrel."

"Well," I said, "did you mean that about wishing you had married Hartsell?"

"Of course not," she said, "that is, if you didn't mean that you wished I had, too." So I said:

"I was just tired and all wrought up. I thank God you chose me instead of him as they's no other woman in the world who I could of lived with all these years."

"How about Mrs. Hartsell?" says Mother.

"Good gracious!" I said. "Imagine being married to a woman that plays five hundred like she does and drops her teeth on the roque court!"

"Well," said Mother, "it wouldn't be no worse than being married to a man that expectorates towards ladies and is such a fool in a checker game."

So I put my arm around her shoulder and she stroked my hand and I guess we got kind of spoony.

They was two days left of our stay in St. Petersburg and the next to the last day Mother introduced me to a Mrs. Kendall from Kingston, Rhode Island, who she had met at the chiropodist's.

Mrs. Kendall made us acquainted with her husband, who is in the grocery business. They have got two sons and five grandchildren and one great-grandchild. One of their sons lives in Providence and is way up in the Elks as well as a Rotarian.

We found them very congenial people and we played cards with them the last two nights we was there. They was both experts and I only wished we had met them sooner instead of running into the Hartsells. But the Kendalls will be there again next winter and we will see more of them, that is, if we decide to make the trip again.

We left the Sunshine City on the eleventh day of February, at 11 A.M. This give us a day trip through Florida and we seen all the country we had passed through at night on the way down.

We reached Jacksonville at 7 P.M. and pulled out of there at 8.10 P.M. We reached Fayetteville, North Carolina, at nine o'clock the following morning, and reached Washington, D. C., at 6.30 P.M., laying over there half an hour.

We reached Trenton at 11.01 P.M. and had wired ahead to my daughter and son-in-law and they met us at the train and we went to their house and they put us up for the night. John would of made us stay up all night, telling about our trip, but Edie said we must be tired and made us go to bed. That's my daughter.

The next day we took our train for home and arrived safe and sound, having been gone just one month and a day.

Here comes Mother, so I guess I better shut up.

دانلود رمان و کتاب های جدید

 

[☾♔TALAYEH_A♔☽]

"The Killers" begins with two men walking into a lunchroom. They’re clearly from out of town, and they act like jerks by giving George, the man running the place, a hard time. They also taunt Nick Adams, the young man sitting at the other end of the counter. When they’re done with their supper, they order Nick behind the counter. One of the two strangers, named Al, ties up Nick and the Sam, the cook, in the kitchen. The other stranger, named Max, stays out at the counter with George. The men reveal that they’re planning on killing "a big Swede named Ole Andreson" who often eats supper at this lunchroom. They’re basically staking the place out. So everyone stands around and waits until 7pm, at which point it’s clear that Ole isn’t coming. The killers leave, rather anti-climactically.

Once the men are gone, Nick runs over to Ole’s place, a room at a boarding house. He finds the man, a former heavyweight prizefighter, lying in bed fully dressed. He knows there are men coming to kill him, Ole says, and he doesn’t want to run away. He accepts that he’s going to die, but he still can’t bring himself to leave the house (knowing he’ll be killed when he does). Nick returns, defeated, to the lunchroom, where the three men stand around talking about how awful this is. While George and Sam seem ready to forget about it all, Nick declares that he’s "going to get out of this town." George tells him that it’s best just not to think about it.

دانلود رمان و کتاب های جدید

 

[☾♔TALAYEH_A♔☽]

Grace Stone Coates was born May 20, 1881 on a wheat farm in Kansas, the daughter of Heinrich and Olive Stone. Heinrich Stone, who had been a teacher of Greek in Berlin, Germany, fostered Coates' love for the classics. Coates attended high school in Wisconsin. She later attended both Normal College in Wisconsin and Chicago University for a year. In addition, she completed terms at the University of Southern California, University of Hawaii, and carried on correspondence work into middle age, but never received a degree. She received a teaching certificate in 1900. She taught high school in Butte, Montana, where she met Henderson Coates, who owned a livery business with his brother in Martinsdale, Montana. The Coates married in 1910 and settled on a ranch near Martinsdale. Grace S. Coates taught in Martinsdale from 1914 to 1919. She also served as Meagher County Superintendent of Schools from 1918 to 1921, and was on the County Board of Examiners for many years.

In the 1920s, Coates became more dedicated to her writing and began submitting work to various publications. She published her first poem, "The Intruder," in Poetry, a Magazine of Verse, in 1921. She went on to publish in such periodicals as The Greenwich Quill, The Christian Science Monitor, and the New York Times, among others. In 1929, she won the Bozart Prize for a quatrain poem and her story, "Wild Plums," was collected in the Anthology of the American Short Story. The same year, four of Coates' short stories appeared in O'Brian's Yearbook of the American Short Story. Coates wrote intermittently for the Harlowton and Meagher County papers, as a society reporter. She was also a prolific letter writer.

Coates was the assistant editor of the University of Montana's literary magazine, The Frontier, edited by H.G. Merriam. Coates published a book of short stories, Black Cherries, in 1929, with Merriam's encouragement. She wrote two volumes of verse, Mead and Mangel-Wurzel in 1931, and Portulacas in the Wheat in 1932. Coates edited volumes of prose for the Caxton Press until 1937. She co-authored Patrick T. Tucker's book Riding the High Country about artist Charles M. Russell. She edited such books as Taylor Gordon's Born to Be and John Barrows' Ubet. She continued to be collected by O'Brien and her biography appeared in Principal Women of America. In November 1935, Coates was appointed district superintendent of the Federal Writers' Project. She continued as assistant editor of The Frontier until 1939, the magazine's final year.

Henderson Coates died in 1952. Coates' literary output was much less in the following years. During her later years, Coates wrote a column for the Bozeman Chronicle from a Martinsdale retirement home. She died in January 1976 at age 95. Her poems and biography appear in the book, Honey Wine and Hunger Root, by Lee Rostad, published in 1985.

Content Descriptio
The collection contains general correspondence between Grace Stone Coates and T.A. Powers of Columbus, Ohio, from 1931 to 1932. The collection includes 42 poems by Grace Stone Coates, many of which were published in various literary publications. The poems contain revision marks and publication notes. The collection also includes a published poem by Anna H. Branch, an advertisement for a poetry anthology, and a page from Coates' book, Mead and Mangel-Wurzel.

Researchers are responsible for using in accordance with 17 U.S.C. and any other applicable statutes. Copyright not transferred to The University of Montana.

Preferred Citation
[Name of document or photograph number], Grace Stone Coates Papers, Archives and Special Collections, Maureen and Mike Mansfield Library, The University of Montana--Missoula.

دانلود رمان و کتاب های جدید

 

[☾♔TALAYEH_A♔☽]

In Theft by Katherine Anne Porter we have the theme of loneliness, uncertainty, struggle, trust, independence, love, identity and loss. Taken from her Flowering Judas and Other Stories collection the story is narrated in the third person by an unnamed narrator and after reading the story the reader realises that Porter is using the weather to set the tone of the story. At various stages in the story it is raining which not only blurs an individual’s vision and in turn leads to uncertainty but there is also a sense of hopelessness that comes with the rain. It is also interesting that the majority of the story is set in the night time when it is dark. This may be important as in many ways the setting matches the mood of the main protagonist. She too is in a dark place having received a letter of rejection from a lover. It may also be important that the reader never knows the full contents of the letter, only a few lines. It is possible that by only giving the reader a few lines Porter is attempting to bring the reader into the main protagonist’s mind. To highlight how she is thinking and feeling. From the lines given by Porter and which the main protagonist is focused on we can see expressions of love, unanswered questions and finally the conclusion or ending of the relationship. Just as the main protagonist has lost her purse, she has lost in love too.

Though the majority of the story is a flashback (of the previous night) it might be important that the main protagonist remains in the same place at both the beginning and the end of the story – her apartment. It is possible that Porter is suggesting nothing has or will change for the main protagonist. It might also be significant that she is also alone at the beginning and end of the story as Porter may be suggesting that the protagonist despite having had an eventful night is in essence lonely. What is also interesting is that as readers we never fully know what the protagonist’s relationship is with Camilo, Eddie or Roger. There is an element of uncertainty as to whether they are just friends or if the relationship is driven by desire. However Porter does use symbolism (hats) to explore further the character of both Camilo and Eddie. Camilo’s hat is described as being impractical while Eddie’s hat suited him even though it was an older hat. It may be case that Porter is suggesting that Eddie is wiser than Camilo though again whether the protagonist looks upon either man or Roger as a suitor remains unclear. It is possible that Porter by including all three men in the story is suggesting that an individual (the protagonist) can still have people in their lives but remain lonely.

With regard to trust as a theme in the story. It is clear to the reader that the main protagonist cannot trust the janitress. She has after all stolen the purse. Though the purse was empty of money it still remains important to the main protagonist. If anything the purse gives her a sense of self it is part of her identity. Something that becomes clearer when we realise that the purse was a gift. Though we don’t know who gave the purse to her we are aware of its importance and its possible symbolic significance. If anything the purse provides the main protagonist with a connection. It is also noticeable that she can’t trust Bill. He owes her money but is refusing to pay her preferring instead to try and persuade her to forget about the money and have another drink with him. How important the money is to the protagonist is noticeable by the fact she needs to pay her account in the basement restaurant. This may be important as it suggests that the protagonist is struggling to make ends meet. Rather than being able to pay for her food every day she has credit with the restaurant.

There is other symbolism in the story which may be important. Prior to going down to the basement to confront the janitress the main protagonist is drinking a cup of hot coffee which symbolically mirrors her mood of anger. Yet when she retrieves her purse and returns to her apartment the coffee is described as chilled (or cold). Which again may mirror the mood of the protagonist. The janitress wanted the purse for her niece and in essence has told the main protagonist that her best days are behind her. This along with the rejection letter from her lover leaves the protagonist feeling cold. It is also possible that she is acutely aware of her circumstances. Something that becomes clearer in the final line of the story – ‘I was right not to be afraid of any thief but myself, who will end by leaving me nothing.’ This line is important for several reasons. Firstly it suggests that the protagonist knows her circumstances only too well and secondly it is possible that Porter is suggesting that the protagonist rather than giving herself to others (as she did with her lover) should be more independent not only when it comes to the men in her life but with life in general. If anything rather than focusing on others (her lover) the main protagonist should focus on herself.

دانلود رمان و کتاب های جدید

 

[. sonia .]

امیدوارم خوشتون بیاد

دانلود رمان و کتاب های جدید

 

[. sonia .]

1. CHILD SLAVERY
   What is a hero? Some people say a hero is someone who fights evil. Some people say a hero is someone who defends the weak. Other people say a hero is someone who risks his or her safety to protect others. Iqbal Masih was all of these things, and he was only 12 years old.
   
   Iqbal was born in a rural village in Pakistan. Iqbal’s father left the family after he was born. Iqbal’s mother cleaned houses. She had very little money and could not take care of Iqbal and his brother and sisters. At the age of four, Iqbal’s mother sold him to a carpet factory owner for $12. Many carpets in Pakistan are made by child workers like Iqbal. These children have no freedom and are slaves to the factory owners. They work in terrible conditions for very long hours. Iqbal worked 12 hours a day, six days a week. He couldn’t do anything normal children do. He couldn’t go to school or play with his friends. There were many rules at the carpet factory. If Iqbal broke a rule, he was beaten. If he talked to the other children while he was working, he was beaten. If he made a mistake on a carpet, he was beaten. If he became sick, he was also beaten. This was no place for children.
   
   Working at the carpet factory was very hard on Iqbal’s body. He could not sit down.
   
   He had to squat all day while he made the carpets. This was very bad for his back and he had trouble walking. He also didn’t get enough food to eat. His body never fully developed. At the age of 12, he was the size of a 6-year-old boy.
   
   He also developed breathing problems because the children couldn’t open the windows and breathe fresh air. It was very hot, but the owner kept the windows closed. The owner didn’t care about the children’s health. He was only worried about protecting the carpets.
   
   One day Iqbal decided to escape. He ran away and went to the police. Iqbal told a policeman about the carpet factory. He told him about all the children who worked there and about the terrible working conditions. Iqbal thought the police would help him but he was wrong. The policeman was a friend of the carpet factory owner. He took Iqbal back to the factory and told the owner to put Iqbal in chains.
   
   Iqbal didn’t trust the police, but he didn’t give up. One day he heard about a BLLF meeting. The BLLF is an organization that helps free child workers in Pakistan. Iqbal ran away again to go to the meeting. The BLLF president was a lawyer. He helped Iqbal get legal papers that helped him become free. Iqbal was only 10 years old, but he was a slave in the carpet factory for more than half of his life.
   
   Iqbal didn’t want freedom only for himself. He also wanted freedom for all the children in the carpet factory. He began to speak at BLLF meetings. Iqbal was only 10, but he was not afraid to speak to large groups of people. He was a confident and powerful speaker. He talked about his experiences to many people and his words encouraged thousands to seek freedom.
   
   Iqbal didn’t only encourage children to seek freedom. He also helped teach people in other countries about the children who made Pakistani carpets. This was very bad for the carpet industry. International sales went down and many carpet factories lost a lot of money. Iqbal and his family received many death threats. Iqbal was still just a little boy, but he was very brave. He didn’t just talk. One time he went to a new carpet factory and pretended to be one of the regular child workers. He collected information about the children who worked there, and this information helped free hundreds of children at that factory.
   
   In 1994, Iqbal traveled to Sweden and the United States. He was recognized for his courage and success in teaching people about child slavery.
   
   During his trip to the US, Iqbal wanted to meet children his own age, so he went to Broad Meadows Middle School. He talked to the students about his experience as a child slave.
   
   He also talked about children like him all over the world who never have the chance to go to school. The students of Broad Meadows were very moved by Iqbal’s words. Before he left, they wrote hundreds of letters in support of Iqbal. After he left, they began writing letters to US politicians asking them to fight against child labor.
   
   When Iqbal returned, he took some of the letters he received from the American students and put them on his wall. He made many friends there and didn’t want to forget them. He was planning to return to the U.S. to continue studying after he finished high school. An American university recognized his work fighting for the rights of children and offered him a full scholarship. Iqbal would never get the chance to go to school in the U.S. or continue his studies at home. When he returned to Pakistan, he went to his uncle’s house with his cousins. On the way, Iqbal was shot in the back and killed.
   
   No one knows who killed Iqbal, but many people think it was the carpet industry. Iqbal’s death was a tragedy, but his life was an inspiration. He was only 12 years old, but he was a true hero. In just two years he helped 3,000 children become free. The courage of a small boy to stand up against the powerful carpet industry deeply moved people around the world. The children of Broad Meadows continue to remember Iqbal and his fight for the rights of children.
   
   Every year they visit all the stores in their town and ask them whether children make any of the products they sell. They also have raised money to open schools in Pakistan and other countries in Iqbal’s memory.
   
   Child labor is still a problem in many countries such as India and Pakistan, but it’s also a problem in some countries in Europe, too. Around the world there are 158 million child workers between the ages of 5 and 14. In the worst situations, children are forced to become soldiers and prostitutes. Even in rich countries where child labor problems are rare, there is an economic connection. Who is making the products you buy? Could it be a little boy or girl like Iqbal?
   
   
   
2. بردگی کودکان
   قهرمان کیست و قهرمانی چیست؟ برخی از مردم بر این باورند که قهرمان کسی است که با شر و بدی ‌می‌جنگد. برخی دیگر از آن‌ها می‌گویند قهرمان کسی است که از ضعفا حمایت و دفاع‌می‌کند. افراد دیگر قهرمان را کسی می‌دانند که جان خود را در محافظت از جان دیگران به ‌خطر ‌می‌اندازد. اقبال مسیح همه‌ی این قهرمانی‌ها را داشت. همه‌ی تصورات ممکن از یک قهرمان را داشت حال‌آنکه تنها ۱۲ سال داشت.
   
   اقبال در یکی از روستاهای پاکستان به دنیا ‌آمد. پس از تولد او، پدرش خانواده را ترک‌کرد. مادر اقبال در خانه‌های دیگران کار می‌کرد. درآمد مادرش بسیار ناچیز بود. او نمی‌توانست از اقبال، و برادر و خواهرش مراقبت کند. مادرش، اقبال را در چهارسالگی در ازای ۱۲ دلار به صاحب کارخانه‌ی‌ فرشی‌ فروخت. در پاکستان بسیاری از فرش‌ها، به دست کودکان کارگری مانند اقبال بافته‌می‌شوند. این کودکان از هیچ‌گونه آزادی برخوردار نیستند و بـرده‌‌ی مالکان کارخانه‌ها هستند. آن‌ها ساعت‌های طولانی در شرایط وحشتناکی کار ‌می‌کنند. اقبال شش روز در هفته و ۱۲ ساعت در روز کار ‌می‌کرد. او نمی‌توانست کارهایی که کودکان عادی انجام‌می‌دادند را انجام‌‍دهد. اقبال نمی‌توانست به مدرسه برود و با دوستانش بازی کند. کارخانه‌ی فرش‌بافی قواعد بسیاری داشت. اگر قانون‌شکنی می‌کرد تنبیه بدنی می‌شد. اگر در حین کار با کودکان دیگر حرف‌می‌زد، کتکش می‌زدند. اگر در کار فرش‌بافی اشتباه ‌می‌کرد، کتک می‌خورد. حتی اگر مریض هم می‌شد بازهم تنبیه‌ می‌شد. آنجا جای بچه‌ها نبود.
   
   
   
   
   فرش‌بافی کودکان در کارخانه
   
   کار در کارخانه‌ی فرش، برای جثه‌ی اقبال دشوار بود. او نمی‌توانست بنشیند. در حین فرش‌بافی، او مجبور بور تمام طول روز را چمباتمه بزند. این مسئله برای کمرش بسیار بد بود و در راه رفتن مشکل داشت. اقبال حتی غذای کافی برای خوردن نداشت. جثه‌اش هرگز کامل رشد نکرد و در ۱۲ سالگی جثه‌ی یک پسربچه‌ی ۶ ساله را داشت. مشکلات تنفسی اقبال نیز بیشتر می‌شد زیرا کودکان نمی‌توانستند پنجره را باز و هوای تازه استنشاق کنند. هوا بسیار گرم بود، اما مالک کارخانه پنجره‌ها را می‌بست. او به سلامتی کودکان اهمیت نمی‌داد و فقط نگران محافظت و نگهداری از فرش‌هایش بود.
   
   روزی اقبال تصمیم به فرار گرفت. او فرار کرد و به پلیس پناه‌برد. اقبال از وضعیت کارخانه‌ی فرش، به پلیس خبر داد. او درباره‌ی تمامی کودکانی که در کارخانه کار می‌کردند و درباره‌ی شرایط کاری وحشتناک آنجا گفت. اقبال تصور می‌کرد که پلیس به او کمک خواهد کرد اما سخت در اشتباه‌بود. پلیس دوست مالک همان کارخانه‌بود. او اقبال را به کارخانه بازگرداند و از مالک کارخانه خواست تا او را بند کند.
   
   اقبال اعتمادی به پلیس نداشت، اما دست از تلاش‌نکشید. روزی او درباره‌ی جلسه و نشست BLLF شنید. BLLF سازمانی است در پاکستان، که به کودکان کار بی‌مزد و مواجب، کمک ‌می‌کند. اقبال، دوباره، به‌قصد رفتن به آن جلسه فرار کرد. رئیس BLLF وکیل بود. او به اقبال کمک‌کرد تا بتواند حکم قانونی برای آزادی‌اش بگیرد. اقبال تنها ده سال داشت اما بیش از نصف عمرش را اسیر کارخانه‌ی فرش بود.
   
   اقبال آزادی را فقط برای خودش نمی‌خواست. او خواستار آزادی تمامی کودکان کارخانه‌ی فرش بود. او شروع به‌سخنرانی در جلسات BLLF کرد. او تنها ده سال داشت اما از صحبت‌کردن در حضور افراد زیاد، هراسی‌نداشت. او یک سخنران قدرتمند و با اعتمادبه‌نفسی بود. او از تجربیاتش با دیگران سخن‌ می‌گفت. حرف‌های او، هزاران نفر را به جستجو و طلب آزادی، ترغیب‌کرد.
   
   او فقط کودکان را ترغیب به طلب آزادی نمی‌کرد. اقبال به مردمان دیگر کشورها کمک ‌کرد تا شرایط کودکانی که فرش‌های پاکستانی می‌بافتند را بدانند. این مسئله برای صنعت فرش بسیار بد بود. فروش بین‌المللی پایین‌ آمد. و بسیاری از کارخانه‌های فرش متحمل نقصان مالی بسیاری ‌شدند. اقبال و خانواده‌اش بارها پیام‌های تهدید به مرگ دریافت ‌کردند. اقبال بااینکه هنوز یک پسربچه بود، اما بسیار شجاع بود. فقط حرف نمی‌زد، بلکه عمل می‌کرد. روزی به یک کارخانه‌ی جدید فرش رفت و وانمود کرد که یکی از کودکان کارگر همیشگی آنجاست. درباره‌‌ی کودکانی که در آنجا کار ‌می‌کردند اطلاعاتی را به دست ‌آورد؛ این اطلاعات به آزادی هزاران کودک آن کارخانه کمک ‌کرد.
   
   در سال ۱۹۹۴، اقبال به سوئد و ایالات‌متحده‌ی آمریکا سفر کرد. او به‌خاطر شجاعت و موفقیتش در آگاه‌سازی مردم نسبت به بردگی کودکان شناخته شد. در سفرش به آمریکا، خواستار ملاقات با کودکان هم‌سن‌وسال خود شد، بنابراین به مدرسه‌یMeadows Middle رفت. او با دانش‌آموزان آنجا درباره‌‌ی تجربه‌اش به‌عنوان یک کودک بـرده حرف‌زد.
   
   او همچنین درباره‌‌ی همه‌ی کودکان مانند خودش در سرتاسر جهان که هرگز شانس رفتن به مدرسه نداشتند حرف زد. دانش‌آموزان مدرسه‌ی Meadows Middle تحت تأثیر سخنان اقبال قرار گرفتند. قبل از بازگشتش، آن‌ها صدها نامه در حمایت از اقبال نوشتند. پس از ترک اقبال، آن‌ها نامه‌هایی به سیاستمداران آمریکا نوشتند و خواستار مبارزه با بیگاری کودکان شدند.
   
   اقبال ،پس از بازگشتش، تعدادی از آن نامه‌های دریافتی از دانش‌آموزان ایالات‌متحده را به دیوار چسباند. در آنجا دوستان بسیاری پیدا کرده‌بود و نمی‌خواست آن‌ها را فراموش کند. او تصمیم داشت پس از پایان تحصیلات دوره‌ی متوسطه برای ادامه‌ی تحصیلاتش به آمریکا بازگردد. یک دانشگاه آمریکایی کارهای اقبال را مبارزه علیه حقوق کودکان می‌شناخت و به او بورسیه‌‌ی کامل اعطا کرد. اما اقبال هرگز شانس رفتن به آن مدرسه در آمریکا را نداشت. وی حتی نتوانست در کشور خودش ادامه‌ تحصیل دهد. به هنگام بازگشت به پاکستان، به‌همراه پسردایی‌اش به خانه‌‌ی دایی‌اش رفت. در راه از پشت مورد شلیک گلوله قرار گرفت و کشته شد.
   
   هیچ‌کس نداست که چه‌کسی اقبال را کشت، اما بسیاری از مردم فکر می‌کنند که کار صنعت فرش‌بافی باشد. مرگ اقبال یک تراژدی ‌است ،اما زندگی‌اش الهام‌بخش بود. او فقط دوازده سال داشت اما یک قهرمان واقعی‌ بود. در طی دو سال، به آزادی ۳۰۰۰ کودک کمک ‌کرد. شجاعت پسربچه‌ای در مبارزه علیه صنعت قدرتمند فرش، مردمان سراسر جهان را عمیقاً تحت تأثیر قرارداد. بچه‌های مدرسه‌ی Broad Meadows اقبال و مبارزه‌ی او برای حقوق کودکان را همیشه به‌یاد دارند و هرگز فراموش نکرده‌اند.
   
   آن‌ها هرسال در شهر خودشان به تمامی فروشگاه‌ها سر می‌زنند و از فروشندگان درباره‌ی محصولاتشان می‌پرسند که آیا ساخته‌ی دست کودکان کار هستند یا خیر. آن‌ها همچنین برای بازگشایی مدارسی در پاکستان و دیگر کشورها به یاد و خاطره‌ی اقبال پول جمع‌می‌کردند.
   
   
   
   
   بردگی کودکان هنوز یکی از معضلات تاسف برانگیز دنیای کنونی است.
   
   بیگاری کودکان هنوز هم یکی از مشکلات کشورهایی مانند هند و پاکستان و همچنین مشکل برخی از کشورهای اروپایی نیز هست. در سرتاسر جهان ۱۵۸ میلیون کارگر کودک با رده‌ی سنی ۵ تا ۱۴ سال وجود دارد. در بدترین شرایط، کودکان مجبور می‌شوند تا به سربازی بروند و یا به تباهـ*کاری کشیده ‌شوند. حتی در کشورهای ثروتمند که مشکلات بیگاری کودکان نادر است، این مسئله با اقتصاد ارتباط دارد. چه کسی سازنده‌ی محصولاتی است که می‌خرید؟ آیا سازنده‌ی ‌آن‌ها دختربچه یا پسربچه‌ای مانند اقبال است؟

دانلود رمان و کتاب های جدید