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The Old Man and the Sea (Excerpt)
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Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961), an American writer of novels and short stories, is well thought of for his unique writing style. He is extremely good at describing the adventures of tough men who he believes “can be destroyed but not defeated”. The Old Man and the Sea, one of his most important novels, tells the story of a fisherman named Santiago. After coming in empty-handed for eighty-four days, Santiago attempts to catch a huge fish. |
The fish was coming in on his circle now calm and beautiful looking and only his great tail moving. The old man pulled on him all that he could to bring him closer. For just a moment the fish turned a little on his side. Then he straightened himself and began another circle.
“I moved him,” the old man said. “I moved him then.”
He felt faint again now but he held on the great fish all the strain that he could. I moved him, he thought. Maybe this time I can get him over. Pull, hands, he thought. Hold up, legs. Last for me, head. Last for me. You never went. This time I'll pull him over.
But when he put all of his effort on, starting it well out before the fish came alongside and pulling with all his strength, the fish pulled part way over and then righted himself and swam away.
“Fish,” the old man said. “Fish, you are going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too?”
That way nothing is accomplished, he thought. His mouth was too dry to speak but he could not reach for the water now. I must get him alongside this time, he thought. I am not good for many more turns. Yes you are, he told himself. You're good for ever.
On the next turn, he nearly had him. But again the fish righted himself and swam slowly away.
You are killing me, fish, the old man thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who.
Now you are getting confused in the head, he thought. You must keep your head clear. Keep your head clear and know how to suffer like a man. Or a fish, he thought.
“Clear up, head,” he said in a voice he could hardly hear. “Clear up.”
Twice more it was the same on the turns.
I do not know, the old man thought. He had been on the point of feeling himself go each time. I do not know. But I will try it once more.
He tried it once more and he felt himself going when he turned the fish. The fish righted himself and swam off again slowly with the great tail weaving in the air.
I'll try it again, the old man promised, although his hands were mushy now and he could only see well in flashes.
He tried it again and it was the same. So he thought, and he felt himself going before he started; I will try it once again.
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Oliver's Early Life
Oliver Twist was born in a workhouse, and when he arrived in this hard world, it was very doubtful whether he would live beyond the first three minutes. He lay on a hard little bed and struggled to start breathing.
Oliver fought his first battle without much assistance from the two people present at his birth. One was an old woman, who was nearly always drunk, and the other was a busy local doctor, who was not paid enough to be very interested in Oliver's survival. After all, death was a common event in the workhouse, where only the poor and homeless lived.
However, Oliver managed to draw his first breath, and then announced his arrival to the rest of the workhouse by crying loudly. His mother raised her pale young face from the pillow and whispered, ‘Let me see the child, and die.'
The doctor turned away from the fire, where he had been warming his hands. ‘You must not talk about dying yet,' he said to her kindly. He gave her the child to hold. Lovingly, she kissed the baby on its forehead with her cold white lips, then stared wildly around the room, fell back — and died.
‘Poor dear!' said the nurse, hurriedly putting a green glass bottle back in the pocket of her long skirt.
The doctor began to put on his coat. ‘The baby is weak and will probably have difficulties,' he said. ‘If so, give it a little milk to keep it quiet.' Then he looked at the dead woman. ‘The mother was a good-looking girl. Where did she come from?'
‘She was brought here last night,' replied the old woman. ‘She was found lying in the street. She'd walked some distance, judging by her shoes, which were worn to pieces. Where she came from, where she was going to, or what her name was, nobody knows.'
The doctor lifted the girl's left hand. ‘The old story,' he said sadly, shaking his head. ‘No wedding ring, I see. Ah! Good night.'
And so Oliver was left with only the drunken nurse. Without clothes, under his first blanket, he could have been the child of a king or a beggar. But when the woman dressed him later in rough cotton clothes, yellow with age, he looked exactly what he was — an orphan in a workhouse, ready for a life of misery, hunger, and neglect.
Oliver cried loudly. If he could have known that he was a workhouse orphan, perhaps he would have cried even more loudly.
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Forrest Gump (Excerpt)
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Forrest Gump is a 1994 film starring Tom Hanks. It tells the story of Forrest Gump, a simple man with a warm personality. Despite an IQ of 75, he lives a truly amazing life. He sees, and sometimes influences, some of the major events of the United States in the second half of the 20th century. |
Mrs Gump and Forrest wait for the school bus. The bus pulls up as Mrs Gump prepares Forrest for his first day of school.
MRS GUMP: You do your very best now, Forrest.
FORREST: I sure will, Momma.
FORREST (Voice-over): I remember the bus ride on the first day of school very well.
The bus driver opens the door and looks down. Forrest walks to the steps of the bus and looks at the bus driver.
BUS DRIVER: Are you coming along?
FORREST: Momma said not to be taking rides from strangers.
BUS DRIVER: This is the bus to school.
FORREST: I'm Forrest. Forrest Gump.
BUS DRIVER: I'm Dorothy Harris.
FORREST: Well, now we aren't strangers anymore.
The bus driver smiles as Forrest steps up into the bus. Mrs Gump waves to Forrest as the bus drives away. Forrest begins to walk down the bus. Two young boys look up from the seat.
BOY 1: This seat's taken.
BOY 2: It's taken!
Forrest looks around. A larger girl moves over so Forrest can't sit next to her. She shakes her head. Forrest looks to the other side where a boy sits alone on a larger seat. The boy looks angrily at Forrest.
BOY 3: You can't sit here.
FORREST (Voice-over): You know, it's funny what a young man recollects. Because I don't remember being born. I, I ... don't recall what I got for my first Christmas and I don't know when I went on my first outdoor picnic. But, I do remember the first time I heard the sweetest voice in the wide world.
GIRL: You can sit here if you want.
Forrest looks back at Jenny Curran, a young girl about Forrest's age.
FORREST (Voice-over): I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. She was like an angel.
JENNY: Well, are you going to sit down, or aren't you?
Forrest sits down next to Jenny.
JENNY: What's wrong with your legs?
FORREST: Um, nothing at all, thank you. My legs are just fine and dandy.
FORREST (Voice-over): I just sat next to her on that bus and had a conversation all the way to school.
JENNY: Then why do you have those shoes on?
FORREST: My momma said my back's crooked like a question mark. These are going to make me as straight as an arrow. They're my magic shoes.
FORREST (Voice-over): And next to Momma, no one ever talked to me or asked me questions.
JENNY: Are you stupid or something?
FORREST: Mommy says stupid is as stupid does.
Jenny puts her hand out toward Forrest. Forrest reaches over and shakes her hand.
JENNY: I'm Jenny.
FORREST: I'm Forrest. Forrest Gump.
FORREST (Voice-over): From that day on, we was always together. Jenny and me was like peas and carrots.
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Mama and Her Bank Account
Every Saturday night Mama would sit down by the kitchen table and count out the money Papa had brought home.
“For the rent,” Mama would count out the big silver pieces.
“For the groceries.” Another group of coins.
“I'll need a notebook.” That would be my sister Christine, my brother Nels or me.
Mama would put one or two coins to the side. We would watch with anxious interest. At last, Papa would ask, “Is that all?” And when Mama nodded, we could relax a little. Mama would look up and smile, “Good. We do not have to go to the Bank.” We were all so proud of Mama's Bank Account. It gave us such a warm, secure feeling.
When Nels graduated from grammar school, he wanted to go on to high school. “It will cost a little money,” he said.
Eagerly we gathered around the table. I took down a box and laid it carefully in front of Mama. This was the “Little Bank”. It was used for sudden emergencies, such as the time Christine broke her arm and had to be taken to a doctor.
Nels listed the costs of the things he would need. Mama counted out the money in the Little Bank. There was not enough. “We do not want to go to the Bank,” she reminded. We all shook our heads.
“I will work in Dillon's store after school,” Nels volunteered.
Mama gave him a bright smile and wrote down a number. “That's not enough,” Papa said. Then he took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at it for a long time. “I will give up smoking,” he said suddenly.
Mama reached across the table and touched Papa's arm. Then she wrote down another figure.
“I will look after the Elvington children every Friday night,” I said. “Christine can help me.”
Now there was enough money. We all felt very good because we did not have to go downtown and draw money out of Mama's Bank Account.
So many things came out of the Little Bank that year: Christine's dress for the school play, my Girl Scout uniform ... Whatever happened, we always knew we still had the Bank to depend upon.
That was twenty years ago.
Last year I sold my first story. When the check came, I hurried over to Mama's and put it in her lap. “For you,” I said, “to put in your Bank Account.”
I noticed for the first time how old Mama and Papa looked. Papa seemed shorter, now, and Mama's golden hair was silver.
“Tomorrow,” I told Mama, “you must take it to the Bank.”
“You will go with me, Katrin?”
“That won't be necessary. Just hand it to the teller. He'll pay it into your account.”
Mama looked at me. “There is no account,” she said. “In all my life, I've never been inside a bank.”
And when I didn't—couldn't—answer, Mama said seriously, “It is not good for little ones to be afraid—to not feel secure.”
(Adapted from Kathryn Forbes's Mama's Bank Account, which has 17 short stories and describes the struggles and dreams of a family in San Francisco in the early 1900s.)
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