Read the following story and prepare to discuss in class:
The Last Leaf
By O Henry
(Abridged and adapted)
Two young women lived in an apartment on the third floor of a building. Their names were Sue and Johnsy. They were artists. Their apartment was located in the Greenwich Village area of New York. Many artists lived in this area. They liked this area very much.
In November the weather became very cold and the dangerous disease pneumonia started spreading. It killed many people.
Johnsy was lying in bed. She was sick and felt very weak. She had pneumonia. When she looked from her bed through the small window of her apartment, she saw the side of the house next to her building. There was an old tree near the window, in front of the house.
One morning a doctor came to see how Johnsy was and to examine her. After he had seen her the doctor spoke with Sue in another room, "Your friend has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. In fact, she has one chance in ten to live," the doctor said, as he looked at the thermometer. "And that chance is for her to want to live. But it seems to me that she does not want to live. Has she anything on her mind?"
"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples in Italy some day," said Sue.
"Paint? - Bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice about - a man for instance?"
"A man?" said Sue. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
"Well" said the doctor, "I will do all that medical science can do. But if she feels so sad and pessimistic, it will be very difficult for her to get better."
When the doctor left, Sue cried for a while. Then she wiped her tears and went into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling and smiling.
Johnsy was lying on her bed, hardly moving under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep. She arranged her painting board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story.
When Sue heard a low sound, repeated several times, she went quickly to the bedside. Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out of the window and counting - counting backward.
"Twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.
Sue looked out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a lifeless yard to be seen, and the empty side of the house. An old tree was in front of the wall. There were not many leaves left on the tree. "What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five what, dear? Tell me please."
"Leaves. On the tree. When the last one falls I must go, too. I must die. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," answered Sue angrily. "What have old tree leaves to do with you getting well? And you used to love that tree so. Don't be silly. The doctor told me this morning that your chances of getting well soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Try to take some soup now. I will go back to my room to continue drawing. Later I will buy some food for us."
"You needn't get any more food," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed on the tree outside the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any soup. There are just four left now. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."
"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out of the window until I have finished working? I must finish those drawings by tomorrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."
"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "I don't want you to keep looking at those silly leaves."
"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to go down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call our friend Behrman to come up to be my model for the drawing. I'll come back soon. Don't try to move until I come back."
Old Mr Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor. He was over sixty years old, with a long beard. Behrman was not a good artist. He was actually a failure in art. For several years he had painted nothing except a few advertisements for businesses. He earned a little money by serving as a model to those young artists who did not have enough money to pay for a professional model.
Sue entered Mr Behrman’s room. She told him about Johnsy. She said she was afraid that her friend would die like a leaf of the tree near the house.
Old Behrman became angry when he heard Sue’s words. "Are there people in the world with the foolishness to die because leaves drop off a tree? Why do you let such silly ideas come into her brain? Oh, poor little Miss Johnsy."
"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the pneumonia has left her mind full of strange ideas."
"It is not good when such nice people like Miss Johnsy lie sick," said Behrman. "One day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away."
Johnsy was sleeping when Sue and Mr Behrman went upstairs. Sue covered the window of Johnsy’s room. Then they went into another room. As they entered they looked out of the window at the tree near the wall. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking – the last leaf had fallen. The weather was bad, and a cold rain was falling, mixed with snow.
When Sue awoke next morning she saw Johnsy with wide-open eyes looking at the covered window.
"Uncover the window. I want to see," she ordered, in a quiet voice.
Sue uncovered the window. There was one leaf on the tree. It was the last one.
"It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall today, and I shall die at the same time."
"Dear, dear!" said Sue, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do if you went?"
But Johnsy did not answer. Deep in her mind she was preparing for her last journey.
Early next morning Johnsy again asked Sue to uncover the window. The leaf was still on the tree in front of the wall. Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was cooking her some chicken.
"I've been bad," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how bad I was. It is a sin to want to die. Please bring me a little soup now and some milk too. Please bring me a hand-mirror first, and then put some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook." An hour later she said, "Sue, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
The doctor came in the afternoon to see Johnsy, and as he was leaving Sue asked him how Johnsy was.
"Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs - Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old and weak man. There is no hope for him; he will die soon, and he will go to the hospital today.
The next day the doctor came to see Johnsy, and as he was leaving he said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. She needs good food and care now - that's all."
That afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay.
"I have something to tell you," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only two days. He was found the morning after you thought the final leaf would fall. His shoes and clothing were wet and very cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a cold night. And then they found a lamp still lit, and a ladder; and some art supplies. Green and yellow colors were mixed on a painting board. Look out the window, dear, at the last leaf on the tree – it’s actually painted on the wall behind the tree. Didn't you wonder why it never moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
Abridged and adapted from the original version:
The Last Leaf, by O Henry
http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/LasLea.shtml
The Last Leaf
By O Henry
(Abridged and adapted)
Two young women lived in an apartment on the third floor of a building. Their names were Sue and Johnsy. They were artists. Their apartment was located in the Greenwich Village area of New York. Many artists lived in this area. They liked this area very much.
In November the weather became very cold and the dangerous disease pneumonia started spreading. It killed many people.
Johnsy was lying in bed. She was sick and felt very weak. She had pneumonia. When she looked from her bed through the small window of her apartment, she saw the side of the house next to her building. There was an old tree near the window, in front of the house.
One morning a doctor came to see how Johnsy was and to examine her. After he had seen her the doctor spoke with Sue in another room, "Your friend has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. In fact, she has one chance in ten to live," the doctor said, as he looked at the thermometer. "And that chance is for her to want to live. But it seems to me that she does not want to live. Has she anything on her mind?"
"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples in Italy some day," said Sue.
"Paint? - Bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice about - a man for instance?"
"A man?" said Sue. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
"Well" said the doctor, "I will do all that medical science can do. But if she feels so sad and pessimistic, it will be very difficult for her to get better."
When the doctor left, Sue cried for a while. Then she wiped her tears and went into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling and smiling.
Johnsy was lying on her bed, hardly moving under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep. She arranged her painting board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story.
When Sue heard a low sound, repeated several times, she went quickly to the bedside. Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out of the window and counting - counting backward.
"Twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.
Sue looked out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a lifeless yard to be seen, and the empty side of the house. An old tree was in front of the wall. There were not many leaves left on the tree. "What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five what, dear? Tell me please."
"Leaves. On the tree. When the last one falls I must go, too. I must die. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," answered Sue angrily. "What have old tree leaves to do with you getting well? And you used to love that tree so. Don't be silly. The doctor told me this morning that your chances of getting well soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Try to take some soup now. I will go back to my room to continue drawing. Later I will buy some food for us."
"You needn't get any more food," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed on the tree outside the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any soup. There are just four left now. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."
"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out of the window until I have finished working? I must finish those drawings by tomorrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."
"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "I don't want you to keep looking at those silly leaves."
"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to go down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call our friend Behrman to come up to be my model for the drawing. I'll come back soon. Don't try to move until I come back."
Old Mr Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor. He was over sixty years old, with a long beard. Behrman was not a good artist. He was actually a failure in art. For several years he had painted nothing except a few advertisements for businesses. He earned a little money by serving as a model to those young artists who did not have enough money to pay for a professional model.
Sue entered Mr Behrman’s room. She told him about Johnsy. She said she was afraid that her friend would die like a leaf of the tree near the house.
Old Behrman became angry when he heard Sue’s words. "Are there people in the world with the foolishness to die because leaves drop off a tree? Why do you let such silly ideas come into her brain? Oh, poor little Miss Johnsy."
"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the pneumonia has left her mind full of strange ideas."
"It is not good when such nice people like Miss Johnsy lie sick," said Behrman. "One day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away."
Johnsy was sleeping when Sue and Mr Behrman went upstairs. Sue covered the window of Johnsy’s room. Then they went into another room. As they entered they looked out of the window at the tree near the wall. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking – the last leaf had fallen. The weather was bad, and a cold rain was falling, mixed with snow.
When Sue awoke next morning she saw Johnsy with wide-open eyes looking at the covered window.
"Uncover the window. I want to see," she ordered, in a quiet voice.
Sue uncovered the window. There was one leaf on the tree. It was the last one.
"It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall today, and I shall die at the same time."
"Dear, dear!" said Sue, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do if you went?"
But Johnsy did not answer. Deep in her mind she was preparing for her last journey.
Early next morning Johnsy again asked Sue to uncover the window. The leaf was still on the tree in front of the wall. Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was cooking her some chicken.
"I've been bad," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how bad I was. It is a sin to want to die. Please bring me a little soup now and some milk too. Please bring me a hand-mirror first, and then put some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook." An hour later she said, "Sue, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
The doctor came in the afternoon to see Johnsy, and as he was leaving Sue asked him how Johnsy was.
"Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs - Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old and weak man. There is no hope for him; he will die soon, and he will go to the hospital today.
The next day the doctor came to see Johnsy, and as he was leaving he said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. She needs good food and care now - that's all."
That afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay.
"I have something to tell you," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only two days. He was found the morning after you thought the final leaf would fall. His shoes and clothing were wet and very cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a cold night. And then they found a lamp still lit, and a ladder; and some art supplies. Green and yellow colors were mixed on a painting board. Look out the window, dear, at the last leaf on the tree – it’s actually painted on the wall behind the tree. Didn't you wonder why it never moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
Abridged and adapted from the original version:
The Last Leaf, by O Henry
http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/LasLea.shtml
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