現(xiàn)代大學(xué)英語(yǔ)精讀(1)Unit3課文1

Lesson

ThreeTEXT

AMessage

of

the

Land

Pira

SudhamPre-class

Work

IRead

the

text

once

for

the

main

idea.

Do

not

refer

to

the

notes

dictionaries

or

the

glossaryyet.Yes,

these

are

our

rice

fields.

They

belonged

to

my

parents

and

forefathers.

The

land

is

morethan

three

centuries

old.

I'm

the

only

daughter

in

our

family

and

it

was

I

who

stayed

with

myparents

till

they

died.

My

three

brothers

moved

out

to

their

wives'

houses

when

they

gotmarried.

My

husband

moved

into

our

house

as

is

the

way

with

us

in

Esarn.

I

was

then

eighteenand

he

was

nineteen.

He

gave

me

six

children.

Two

died

in

infancy

from

sickness.

The

rest,

twoboys

and

two

girls,

went

away

as

soon

as

we

could

afford

to

buy

jeans

for

them.

Our

oldestson

got

a

job

as

a

gardener

in

a

rich

man's

home

in

Bangkok

but

later

an

employment

agencysent

him

to

a

foreign

land

to

work.

My

other

son

also

went

far

away.

One

of

our

daughters

is

working

in

a

textile

factory

in

Bangkok,

and

the

other

has

a

job

in

astore.

They

come

home

to

see

us

now

and

then,

stay

a

few

days,

and

then

they

are

off

again.Often

they

send

some

money

to

us

and

tell

us

that

they

are

doing

well.

I

know

this

is

notalways

true.

Sometimes,

they

get

bullied

and

insulted,

and

it

is

like

a

knife

piercing

my

heart.

It'seasier

for

my

husband.

He

has

ears

which

don't

hear,

a

mouth

which

doesn't

speak,

and

eyesthat

don't

see.

He

has

always

been

patient

and

silent,

minding

his

own

life.

All

of

them

remain

my

children

in

spite

of

their

long

absence.

Maybe

it's

fate

that

sent

themaway

from

us.

Our

piece

of

land

is

small,

and

it

is

no

longer

fertile,

bleeding

year

after

yearand,

like

us,

getting

old

and

exhausted.

Still

my

husband

and

I

work

on

this

land.

The

soil

is

notdifficult

to

till

when

there

is

a

lot

of

rain,

but

in

a

bad

year,

it's

not

only

the

ploughs

that

breakbut

our

hearts,

too.

No,

we

two

haven't

changed

much,

but

the

village

has.

In

what

way?

Only

ten

years

ago,

youcould

barter

for

things,

but

now

it's

all

cash.

Years

ago,

you

could

ask

your

neighbors

to

helpbuild

your

house,

reap

the

rice

or

dig

a

well.

Now

they'll

do

it

only

if

you

have

money

to

paythem.

Plastic

things

replace

village

crafts.

Men

used

to

make

things

with

fine

bamboo

pieces,but

no

longer.

Plastic

bags

litter

the

village.

Shops

have

sprung

up,

filled

with

colorful

plasticthings

and

goods

we

have

no

use

for.

The

young

go

away

to

towns

and

cities

leaving

us

oldpeople

to

work

on

the

land.

They

think

differently,

I

know,

saying

that

the

old

are

old-fashioned.

All

my

life,

I

have

never

had

to

go

to

a

hairdresser,

or

to

paint

my

lips

or

nails.

Theserough

fingers

and

toes

are

for

working

in

the

mud

of

our

rice

fields,

not

for

looking

pretty.

Nowyoung

girls

put

on

jeans,

and

look

like

boys

and

they

think

it

is

fashionable.

Why,

they

arewilling

to

sell

their

pig

or

water

buffalo

just

to

be

able

to

buy

a

pair

of

jeans.

In

my

day,

if

Iwere

to

put

on

a

pair

of

trousers

like

they

do

now,

lightning

would

strike

me.

I

know,

times

have

changed,

but

certain

things

should

not

change.

We

should

offer

food

tothe

monks

every

day,

go

to

the

temple

regularly.

Young

people

tend

to

leave

these

things

toold

people

now,

and

that's

a

shame.

Why,

only

the

other

day

I

heard

a

boy

shout

and

scream

at

his

mother.

If

that

kind

of

thinghad

happened

when

I

was

young,

the

whole

village

would

have

condemned

such

an

ungratefulson,

and

his

father

would

surely

have

given

him

a

good

beating.

As

for

me,

I

wouldn't

change,

couldn't

change

even

if

I

wanted

to.

Am

I

happy

or

unhappy?This

question

has

never

occurred

to

me.

Life

simply

goes

on.

Yes,

this

bag

of

bones

dressed

inrags

can

still

plant

and

reap

rice

from

morning

till

dusk.

Disease,

wounds,

hardship

andscarcity

have

always

been

part

of

my

life.

I

don't

complain.

The

farmer:

My

wife

is

wrong.

My

eyes

do

see—they

see

more

than

they

should.

My

ears

dohear—they

hear

more

than

is

good

for

me.

I

don't

talk

about

what

I

know

because

I

know

toomuch.

I

know

for

example,

greed,

anger,

and

lust

are

the

root

of

all

evils.

I

am

at

peace

with

the

land

and

the

conditions

of

my

life.

But

I

feel

a

great

pity

for

my

wife.

Ihave

been

forcing

silence

upon

her

all

these

years,

yet

she

has

not

once

complained

ofanything.

I

wanted

to

have

a

lot

of

children

and

grandchildren

around

me

but

now

cities

and

foreign

landshave

attracted

my

children

away

and

it

seems

that

none

of

them

will

ever

come

back

to

live

hereagain.

To

whom

shall

I

give

these

rice

fields

when

I

die?

For

hundreds

of

years

this

strip

of

landhas

belonged

to

our

family.

I

know

every

inch

of

it.

My

children

grew

up

on

it,

catching

frogsand

mud

crabs

and

gathering

flowers.

Still

the

land

could

not

tie

them

down

or

call

them

back.When

each

of

them

has

a

pair

of

jeans,

they

are

off

like

birds

on

the

wing.

Fortunately,

my

wife

is

still

with

me,

and

both

of

us

are

still

strong.

Wounds

heal

over

time.Sickness

comes

and

goes,

and

we

get

back

on

our

feet

again.

I

never

want

to

leave

this

land.It's

nice

to

feel

the

wet

earth

as

my

fingers

dig

into

the

soil,

planting

rice,

to

hear

my

wifesighing,"Old

man,

if

I

die

first,

I

shall

become

a

cloud

to

protect

you

from

the

sun."

It's

goodto

smell

the

scent

of

ripening

rice

in

November.

The

soft

cool

breeze

moves

the

sheaves,

whichripple

and

shimmer

like

waves

of

gold.

Yes,

I

love

this

land

and

I

hope

one

of

my

childrencomes

back

one

day

to

live,

and

gives

me

grandchildren

so

that

I

can

pass

on

the

land's

secretmessages

to

them.Read

the

text

a

second

time.

Learn

the

new

words

and

expressions

listed

below.Glossaryagency

n.機(jī)構(gòu)；代理處；這里指職業(yè)介紹所bamboo

n.竹Bangkok

n.曼谷（泰國(guó)首都）barter

v.

to

exchange

goods

for

other

goods

以貨易貨breeze

n.

a

light

gentle

windbuffalo

n.美洲野牛；water

～:水牛bully

v.

to

threaten

to

hurt

sb.

who

is

smaller

or

weaker

欺負(fù)（弱?。ヽondemn

v.

to

express

strong

disapproval譴責(zé)crab

n.蟹craft

n.

handmade

items

手工藝術(shù)（這里指手工產(chǎn)品）dusk

n.

the

time

before

it

gets

dark

黃昏Esarn

n.

a

village

in

Thailandevil

n.

bad

or

harmful

influence

or

effect

邪惡exhausted

adj.

tired

outfashionable

adj.

popular合時(shí)尚的；時(shí)髦的fate

n.命運(yùn)fertile

adj.～

land

is

land

able

to

produce

good

crops

肥沃的；富饒的forefathers

n.

people

(especially

men)

who

were

part

of

your

family

a

long

time

ago

祖先f(wàn)rog

n.蛙gardener

n.

a

person

who

takes

care

of

a

gardengreed

n.

a

strong

desire

for

more

money,

power

etc.

than

you

need

貪婪hairdresser

n.

a

person

who

cuts

and

shapes

your

hair

in

a

particular

style

理發(fā)師hardship

n.

difficult

condition

of

life,

such

as

lack

of

money

to

become

healthy

again,

to

recover

from

awound,

especially

to

grow

new

skin

愈合infancy

n.

early

childhood;

babyhoodinsult

v.

to

say

or

do

sth.

that

is

rude

or

act

offensively

to

someone

侮辱jeans

n.（常用復(fù)數(shù)）牛仔褲litter

v.

to

leave

(plastic

bags,

bits

of

waste

paper

etc.)

on

the

ground

in

a

public

place

扔得到處都是lust

n.

very

strong

desire

for

sex,

money

or

power

淫欲；金錢欲；權(quán)力欲old-fashioned

adj.

not

fashionable老式的，過(guò)時(shí)的monk

n.和尚，僧人nail

n.指甲pierce

v.

to

make

a

hole

through

something;

to

～

one's

heart:

to

make

one

feet

very

sadreap

v.

to

cut

and

gather

a

crop

such

as

rice

or

wheat收割replace

v.

to

take

the

place

of

替代ripen

adj.

mature成熟的ripple

v.

to

move

in

very

small

waves

在微風(fēng)中擺動(dòng)scarcity

n.

a

lack;

not

having

enough,

especially

foodscent

n.

a

pleasant

smellsheaves

n.(sheaf

的復(fù)數(shù)),

measure

of

quantity

in

farming

捆，束shimmer

v.

to

shine

with

a

soft

trembling

light

發(fā)微光，閃爍sickness

n.

illnesssigh

v.嘆息strip

n.

a

narrow

piece

of

細(xì)長(zhǎng)片temple

n.

a

place

for

the

worship

of

a

god

or

gods

寺廟，廟宇tend

v.

If

sth.～

s

to

happen,

it

means

that

it

is

likely

to

happen

quite

often,

especially

sth.

bad

orunpleasanttextile

n.

any

material

made

by

weaving

紡織品ungrateful

adj.

not

showing

thankswound

n.

injury

傷口；（感情上的）痛苦TEXT

BThe

Son

from

America

lsaac

Bashevis

SingerLsaac

Bashevis

Singer

(1904—1991)

was

born

in

a

Jewish

village

in

Poland.

In

1935

heimmigrated

to

New

York.

Singer

wrote

many

stories

and

novels,

as

well

as

books

for

juveniles

and

four

autobiographies(including

Lost

in

America,1981).

In

1978

his

work

received

world

attention

when

he

wasawarded

the

Noble

Prize

in

Literature.The

village

of

Lentshin

was

tiny.

It

was

surrounded

by

little

huts

with

thatchad

roofs.

Betweenthe

huts

there

were

fields,

where

the

owners

planted

vegetables

or

pastured

their

goats.

In

the

smallest

of

these

huts

lived

old

Berl,

a

man

in

his

eighties,

and

his

wife

Berlcha.

Old

Berlwas

one

of

the

Jews

driven

from

Russia

who

had

settled

in

Poland.

He

was

short,

broad-shouldered,

and

had

a

small

white

beard,

and

in

summer

and

winter

he

wore

a

sheepskin

hat,

apadded

cotton

jacket,

and

stout

boots.

He

had

a

half

acre

of

field,

a

cow,

a

goat,

and

chickens.

The

couple

had

a

son,

Samuel,

who

had

gone

to

America

forty

years

ago.

It

was

said

inLentshin

that

he

became

a

millionaire

there.

Every

month,

the

Lentshin

letter

carrier

brought

oldBerl

a

money

order

and

a

letter

that

no

one

could

read

because

many

of

the

words

wereEnglish.

How

much

money

Samuel

sent

his

parents

remained

a

secret.

They

never

seemed

touse

the

money.

What

for?

The

garden,

the

cow,

and

the

goat

provided

most

of

their

needs.

No

one

cared

to

know

where

Berl

kept

the

money

that

his

son

sent

him.

The

hut

consisted

ofone

room,

which

contained

all

their

belongings:

the

table,

the

shelf

for

meat,

the

shelf

for

milkfoods,

the

two

beds,

and

the

clay

oven.

Sometimes

the

chickens

roosted

in

the

woodshed

andsometimes,

when

it

was

cold,

in

a

coop

near

the

oven.

The

goat,

too,

found

shelter

insidewhen

the

weather

was

bad.

The

more

prosperous

villagers

had

kerosene

lamps,

but

Berl

and

hiswife

did

not

believe

in

new

gadgets.

Only

for

the

Sabbath

would

Berlcha

buy

candles

at

thestore.

In

summer,

the

couple

got

up

at

sunrise

and

retired

with

the

chickens.

In

the

long

winterevenings,

Berlcha

spun

flax

and

Berl

sat

beside

her

in

the

silence

of

those

who

enjoy

theirrest.

Once

in

a

while

when

Berl

came

home

from

the

synagogue,

he

brought

news

to

his

wife.

InWarsaw

there

were

strikers

who

demanded

that

the

czar

abdicate.

Somebody

by

the

name

ofDr.

Herzl*

had

come

up

with

the

idea

that

Jews

should

settle

again

in

Palestine.

Berlcha

listenedand

shook

her

head.

Her

face

was

yellowish

and

wrinkled

like

a

cabbage

leaf.

She

was

half

deaf.Berl

had

to

repeat

each

word

he

said

to

her.

Here

in

Lentshin

nothing

happened

except

usual

events:

a

cow

gave

birth

to

a

calf,

a

youngcouple

got

married.

Actually,

Lentshin

had

become

a

village

with

few

young

people.

The

youngmen

left

for

Zakroczym,

for

Warsaw,

and

sometimes

for

the

United

States.

Like

Samuel,

theysent

letters

and

photographs

in

which

the

men

wore

top

hats

and

the

women

fancy

dresses.

Berl

and

Berlcha

also

received

such

photographs.

But

their

eyes

were

failing

and

neither

he

norshe

had

glasses.

They

could

barely

make

out

the

pictures.

Samuel

had

sons

and

daughters—and

grandchildren.

Their

names

were

so

strange

that

Berl

and

Berlcha

could

never

rememberthem.

But

what

difference

do

names

make?

America

was

on

the

other

side

of

the

ocean,

at

theedge

of

the

world.

A

talmud*

teacher

who

came

to

Lentshin

had

said

that

Americans

walkedwith

their

heads

down

and

their

feet

up.

Berl

and

Berlcha

could

not

grasp

this.

How

was

itpossible?

But

since

the

teacher

said

so

it

must

be

true.

One

Friday

morning,

when

Berlcha

was

kneading

the

dough

for

the

Sabbath

loaves,

the

dooropened

and

a

nobleman

entered.

He

was

so

tall

that

he

had

to

bend

down

to

get

through

thedoor.

He

was

followed

by

the

coachman

who

carried

two

leather

suitcases.

In

astonishmentBerlcha

raised

her

eyes.

The

nobleman

looked

around

and

said

to

the

coachman

in

Yiddish,"Here

it

is."

He

took

out

asilver

ruble

and

paid

him.

Then

he

said,"You

can

go

now."

When

the

coachman

closed

the

door,

the

nobleman

said,"Mother,

it's

me,

your

son

Samuel-Sam."

Berlcha

heard

the

words

and

her

legs

grew

numb.

The

nobleman

hugged

her,

kissed

herforehead,

both

her

cheeks,

and

Berlcha

began

to

cackle

like

a

hen,"My

son!"

At

that

momentBerl

came

in

from

the

woodshed,

his

arms

piled

with

logs.

The

goat

followed

him.

When

he

sawa

nobleman

kissing

his

wife,

Berl

dropped

the

wood

and

exclaimed,"What

is

this?"

The

nobleman

let

go

of

Berlcha

and

embraced

Berl."Father!"

For

a

long

time

Berl

was

unable

to

utter

a

sound.

Then

he

asked,"Are

you

Samuel?"

"Yes,

Father,

I

am

Samuel."

"Well,

peace

be

with

you."

Berl

grasped

his

son's

hand.

He

was

still

not

sure

that

he

was

notbeing

fooled.

Samuel

wasn't

as

tall

and

heavy

as

this

man,

but

then

Berl

reminded

himself

thatSamuel

was

only

fifteen

years

old

when

he

had

left

home.

Berl

asked,"Why

didn't

you

let

usknow

that

you

were

coming?"

"Didn't

you

receive

my

cable?"

Samuel

asked.

Berl

did

not

know

what

a

cable

was.

Berlcha

had

scraped

the

dough

from

her

hands

and

enfolded

her

son.

"I

never

thought

I

could

live

to

see

this.

Now,

I

am

happy

to

die,"

Berlcha

said.

Berl

wasamazed.

These

were

just

the

words

he

could

have

said

earlier.

After

a

while

Berl

came

to

himselfand

said,"Pescha,

you

will

have

to

make

a

double

Sabbath

pudding

in

addition

to

the

stew."

It

was

years

since

Berl

had

called

Berlcha

by

her

given

name.

Only

now

did

Berlcha

begin

to

cry.Yellow

tears

ran

from

her

eyes,

and

everything

became

dim.

Then

she

called

out,"It's

Friday—Ihave

to

prepare

for

the

Sabbath."

Yes,

she

had

to

knead

the

dough

for

the

loaves.

With

such

aguest,

she

had

to

make

a

larger

Sabbath

stew.

The

winter

day

is

short

and

she

must

hurry.

Her

son

understood

what

was

worrying

her,

because

he

said,"Mother,

I

will

help

you."

The

nobleman

took

off

his

jacket

and

remained

in

his

vest,

on

which

hung

a

solidgold-watchchain.

H

rolled

up

his

sleeves."Mother,

I

was

a

baker

for

many

years

in

New

York,"

he

said,

andhe

began

to

knead

the

dough.

Berlcha

wept

for

joy.

Her

strength

left

her,

and

she

slumped

onto

the

bed.

Berl

said,"Women

will

always

be

women."

And

he

went

to

the

shed

to

get

more

wood.

Thegoat

sat

down

near

the

oven;

she

gazed

with

surprise

at

this

strange

man.

The

neighbors

had

heard

the

good

news

that

Berl's

son

had

arrived

from

America

and

theycame

to

greet

him.

The

women

began

to

help

Berlcha

prepare

for

the

Sabbath.

Some

laughed,some

cried.

The

room

was

full

of

people,

as

at

a

wedding.

After

Berlcha

lit

the

candles,

fatherand

son

went

to

the

little

synagogue

across

the

street.

A

new

snow

had

fallen.

The

son

tooklarge

steps,

but

Berl

warned

him,"Slow

down."

In

the

synagogue

the

Jews

sang

their

prayers.

All

the

time,

the

snow

outside

kept

falling.

WhenBerl

and

Samuel

left

the

Holy

Place,

the

village

was

unrecognizable.

Everything

was

covered

insnow.

One

could

see

only

the

contours

of

the

roofs

and

the

candles

in

the

windows.

Samuelsaid,"Nothing

has

changed

here."

Berlcha

had

prepared

fish,

chicken

soup

with

rice,

meat,

carrot

stew.

The

family

ate

and

drank,and

when

it

grew

quiet

for

a

while

one

could

hear

the

chirping

of

the

house

cricket.

After

the

final

prayer

Samuel

asked,"Father,

what

did

you

do

with

all

the

money

I

sent

you?"

Berl

raised

his

white

brows."It's

here."

"Didn't

you

put

it

in

a

bank?"

"There

is

no

bank

in

Lentshin."

"Where

do

you

keep

it?"

Berl

hesitated."One

is

not

allowed

to

touch

money

on

the

Sabbath,

but

I

will

show

you."Hecrouched

beside

the

bed

and

began

to

shove

something

heavy.

A

boot

appeared.

Its

top

wasstuffed

with

straw.

Berl

removed

the

straw

and

the

son

saw

that

the

boot

was

full

of

goldcoins.

He

lifted

it.

"Father,

this

is

a

treasure!"

he

called

out.

"Well."

"Why

didn't

you

spend

it?"

"On

what?

Thank

God,

we

have

everything."

"Why

didn't

you

travel

somewhere?"

"Where

to?

This

is

our

home."

The

son

asked

one

question

after

the

other,

but

Berl's

answer

was

always

the

same:

They

hadeverything.

The

garden,

the

cow,

the

goat