The Last Leaf
Greenwich Village is a place where the art people came together, hunting for apartments with north-facing windows and low rents. At the top of a three-story building, Sue and Johnsy had their studio.
In November, a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, arrived in Greenwich Village. Mr Pneumonia placed his icy finger on Johnsy; and she lay, barely moving, in her bed staring at a blank wall under her blanket.
The doctor took Sue aside and claimed, “She has one chance in — let us say, ten. And that chance is for her to want to live. Try to encourage her to think more hopeful thoughts, about the future, about living.”
Sue took some paper and a pen into Johnsy's room and began a pen drawing, in an attempt to raise Johnsy's spirits. Johnsy's eyes were open, but they weren't watching her. Instead, she stared out the window and counted backwards: “Ten, nine, eight, seven ...”
“What are you counting, dear?” asked Sue. “They're falling faster now,” replied Johnsy. “Three days ago there were almost a hundred. But now it's easy. There are only five left now. Five leaves on the ivy vine. When the last one falls, I must go, too. Didn't the doctor tell you?”“Oh, I never heard of such nonsense,” quickly replied Sue. But Johnsy's mind was made up. “I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I want to go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.”
“Try to sleep,” said Sue. Then she went to fetch her neighbor, Mr Behrman, to be a model for her drawing. He was a failed painter. In 40 years he had never produced the masterpiece he longed to paint. Sue told him about Johnsy's longing to slip away like the leaves. Behrman cried with disbelief. “Are there people in the world that foolish to think they'll die because leaves drop off from a vine? This is not a place in which Miss Johnsy shall lie sick. Someday I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away.”
Behrman and Sue looked out the window at the vine and noticed that there was just one remaining leaf. What's more, a cold rain was falling, mixed with snow.
The next morning, Johnsy woke and asked for the curtains to be opened. One leaf remained on the vine, bravely holding on in the wind and rain. “It will fall today. And I will die with it.”
The following day, Johnsy asked again for the curtains to be opened. The leaf was still there!
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. “I've been a bad girl, Sue,” said Johnsy. “It is a crime to want to die.” Then she asked for some food.
In the afternoon, the doctor visited, “Even chances,” said the doctor, “with good nursing, you'll win. And now I must see a fellow downstairs, Behrman. Pneumonia, too. There is no hope for him.”
The next day, Sue came to Johnsy's bed. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “Mr Behrman died today. He was ill for only two days. The janitor found him lying in bed helplessly with pain yesterday morning. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a terrible night. And then they found a lantern, still lit, and some brushes, and — look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never moved an inch when the wind blew? Ah, dear, it's Behrman's masterpiece — he painted it there the night when the last leaf fell.”