Tuesday with Morrie相约星期二-英文版Word格式文档下载.docx

Tuesday with Morrie相约星期二-英文版Word格式文档下载.docx

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TheCurriculum

Thelastclassofmyoldprofessor'

slifetookplaceonceaweekinhishouse,byawindowinthestudywherehecouldwatchasmallhibiscusplantsheditspinkleaves.TheclassmetonTuesdays.Itbeganafterbreakfast.ThesubjectwasTheMeaningofLife.Itwastaughtfromexperience.

Nogradesweregiven,buttherewereoralexamseachweek.Youwereexpectedtorespondtoquestions,andyouwereexpectedtoposequestionsofyourown.Youwerealsorequiredtoperformphysicaltasksnowandthen,suchasliftingtheprofessor'

sheadtoacomfortablespotonthepilloworplacinghisglassesonthebridgeofhisnose.Kissinghimgood-byeearnedyouextracredit.

Nobookswererequired,yetmanytopicswerecovered,includinglove,work,community,family,aging,forgiveness,and,finally,death.Thelastlecturewasbrief,onlyafewwords.

Afuneralwasheldinlieuofgraduation.

Althoughnofinalexamwasgiven,youwereexpectedtoproduceonelongpaperonwhatwaslearned.Thatpaperispresentedhere.

slifehadonlyonestudent.Iwasthestudent.

Itisthelatespringof1979,ahot,stickySaturdayafternoon.Hundredsofussittogether,sidebyside,inrowsofwoodenfoldingchairsonthemaincampuslawn.Wewearbluenylonrobes.Welistenimpatientlytolongspeeches.Whentheceremonyisover,wethrowourcapsintheair,andweareofficiallygraduatedfromcollege,theseniorclassofBrandeisUniversityinthecityofWaltham,Massachusetts.Formanyofus,thecurtainhasjustcomedownonchildhood.

Afterward,IfindMorrieSchwartz,myfavoriteprofessor,andintroducehimtomyparents.Heisasmallmanwhotakessmallsteps,asifastrongwindcould,atanytime,whiskhimupintotheclouds.Inhisgraduationdayrobe,helookslikeacrossbetweenabiblicalprophetandaChristmaselfHehassparklingbluegreeneyes,thinningsilverhairthatspillsontohisforehead,bigears,atriangularnose,andtuftsofgrayingeyebrows.Althoughhisteetharecrookedandhisloweronesareslantedback—asifsomeonehadoncepunchedthemin—whenhesmilesit'

sasifyou'

djusttoldhimthefirstjokeonearth.

HetellsmyparentshowItookeveryclasshetaught.Hetellsthem,<

fY6uhaveaspecialboyhere."

Embarrassed,Ilookatmyfeet.Beforeweleave,Ihandmyprofessorapresent,atanbriefcasewithhisinitialsonthefront.Iboughtthisthedaybeforeatashoppingmall.Ididn'

twanttoforgethim.MaybeIdidn'

twanthimtoforgetme.

“Mitch,youareoneofthegoodones,"

hesays,admiringthebriefcase.Thenhehugsme.Ifeelhisthinarmsaroundmyback.Iamtallerthanheis,andwhenheholdsme,Ifeelawkward,older,asifIweretheparentandhewerethechild.HeasksifIwillstayintouch,andwithouthesitationIsay,11Ofcourse."

Whenhestepsback,Iseethatheiscrying.

TheSyllabus

Hisdeathsentencecameinthesummerof1994.Lookingback,Morrieknewsomethingbadwascominglongbeforethat.Heknewitthedayhegaveupdancing.Hehadalwaysbeenadancer,myoldprofessor.Themusicdidn'

tmatter.Rockandroll,bigband,theblues.Helovedthemall.Hewouldclosehiseyesandwithablissfulsmilebegintomovetohisownsenseofrhythm.Itwasn'

talwayspretty.Butthen,hedidn'

tworryaboutapartner.Morriedancedbyhimself.

HeusedtogotothischurchinHarvardSquareeveryWednesdaynightforsomethingcalled“DanceFree.”TheyhadflashinglightsandboomingspeakersandMorriewouldwanderinamongthemostlystudentcrowd,wearingawhiteT-shirtandblacksweatpantsandatowelaroundhisneck,andwhatevermusicwasplaying,that'

sthemusictowhichhedanced.He'

ddothelindytoJimiHendrix.Hetwistedandtwirled,hewavedhisarmslikeaconductoronamphetamines,untilsweatwasdrippingdownthemiddleofhisback.Noonethereknewhewasaprominentdoctorofsociology,withyearsofexperienceasacollegeprofessorandseveralwell-respectedbooks.Theyjustthoughthewassomeoldnut.

Once,hebroughtatangotapeandgotthemtoplayitoverthespeakers.Thenhecommandeeredthefloor,shootingbackandforthlikesomehotLatinlover.Whenhefinished,everyoneapplauded.Hecouldhavestayedinthatmomentforever.

Butthenthedancingstopped.

Hedevelopedasthmainhissixties.Hisbreathingbecamelabored.OnedayhewaswalkingalongtheCharlesRiver,andacoldburstofwindlefthimchokingforair.HewasrushedtothehospitalandinjectedwithAdrenalin.

Afewyearslater,hebegantohavetroublewalking.Atabirthdaypartyforafriend,hestumbledinexplicably.Anothernight,hefelldownthestepsofatheater,startlingasmallcrowdofpeople.

“Givehimair!

”someoneyelled.

Hewasinhisseventiesbythispoint,sotheywhispered“oldage"

andhelpedhimtohisfeet.ButMorrie,whowasalwaysmoreintouchwithhisinsidesthantherestofus,knewsomethingelsewaswrong.Thiswasmorethanoldage.Hewaswearyallthetime.Hehadtroublesleeping.Hedreamthewasdying.

Hebegantoseedoctors.Lotsofthem.Theytestedhisblood.Theytestedhisurine.Theyputascopeuphisrearendandlookedinsidehisintestines.Finally,whennothingcouldbefound,onedoctororderedamusclebiopsy,takingasmallpieceoutofMorrie'

scalf.Thelabreportcamebacksuggestinganeurologicalproblem,andMorriewasbroughtinforyetanotherseriesoftests.Inoneofthosetests,hesatinaspecialseatastheyzappedhimwithelectricalcurrent—anelectricchair,ofsortsandstudiedhisneurologicalresponses.

11Weneedtocheckthisfurther,"

thedoctorssaid,lookingoverhisresults.,tWhy?

,Morrieasked."

Whatisit?

”

“We'

renotsure.Yburtimesareslow.”Histimeswereslow?

Whatdidthatmean?

Finally,onahot,humiddayinAugust1994,Morrieandhiswife,Charlotte,wenttotheneurologist'

soffice,andheaskedthemtositbeforehebrokethenews:

Morriehadamyotrophiclateralsclerosis（ALS）,LouGehrig'

sdisease,abrutal,unforgivingillnessoftheneurologicalsystem.

Therewasnoknowncure.

"

HowdidIgetit?

”Morrieasked.Nobodyknew.ulsitterminal?

,Yes.

“SoI'

mgoingtodie?

Yes,youare,thedoctorsaid.I'

mverysorry.

HesatwithMorrieandCharlottefornearlytwohours,patientlyansweringtheirquestions.Whentheyleft,thedoctorgavethemsomeinformationonALS,littlepamphlets,asiftheywereopeningabankaccount.Outside,thesunwasshiningandpeopleweregoingabouttheirbusiness.Awomanrantoputmoneyintheparkingmeter.Anothercarriedgroceries.Charlottehadamillionthoughtsrunningthroughhermind:

Howmuchtimedowehaveleft?

Howwillwemanage?

Howwillwepaythebills?

Myoldprofessor,meanwhile,wasstunnedbythenormalcyofthedayaroundhim.Shouldn'

ttheworldstop?

Don'

ttheyknowwhathashappenedtome?

Buttheworlddidnotstop,ittooknonoticeatall,andasMorriepulledweaklyonthecardoor,hefeltasifheweredroppingintoahole.

Nowwhat?

hethought.

Asmyoldprofessorsearchedforanswers,thediseasetookhimover,daybyday,weekbyweek.Hebackedthecaroutofthegarageonemorningandcouldbarelypushthebrakes.Thatwastheendofhisdriving.

Hekepttripping,sohepurchasedacane.Thatwastheendofhiswalkingfree.

HewentforhisregularswimattheYMCA,butfoundhecouldnolongerundresshimself.Sohehiredhisfirsthomecareworker—atheologystudentnamedTony—whohelpedhiminandoutofthepool,andinandoutofhisbathingsuit.Inthelockerroom,theotherswimmerspretendednottostare.Theystaredanyhow.Thatwastheendofhisprivacy.

Inthefallof1994,MorriecametothehillyBrandeiscampustoteachhisfinalcollegecourse.Hecouldhaveskippedthis,ofcourse.Theuniversitywouldhaveunderstood.Whysufferinfrontofsomanypeople?

Stayathome.Getyouraffairsinorder.ButtheideaofquittingdidnotoccurtoMorrie.

Instead,hehobbledintotheclassroom,hishomeformorethanthirtyyears.Becauseofthecane,hetookawhiletoreachthechair.Finally,hesatdown,droppedhisglassesoffhisnose,andlookedoutattheyoungfaceswhostaredbackinsilence.

“Myfriends,IassumeyouareallherefortheSocialPsychologyclass.Ihavebeenteachingthiscoursefortwentyyears,andthisisthefirsttimeIcansaythereisariskintakingit,becauseIhaveafatalillness.Imaynotlivetofinishthesemester.

Tfyoufeelthisisaproblem,Iunderstandifyouwishtodropthecourse.M

Hesmiled.

Andthatwastheendofhissecret.

ALSislikealitcandle:

itmeltsyournervesandleavesyourbodyapileofwax.Often,itbeginswiththelegsandworksitswayup.Youlosecontrolofyourthighmuscles,sothatyoucannotsupportyourselfstanding.Youlosecontrolofyourtrunkmuscles,sothatyoucannotsitupstraight.Bytheend,ifyouarestillalive,youarebreathingthroughatubeinaholeinyourthroat,whileyoursoul,perfectlyawake,isimprisonedinsidealimphusk,perhapsable