thelastleaf(最后一片常春藤叶英文改写)

THELASTLEAFI’mJohnsy.Sue,mybestfriend,andImetatacafeonEighthStreet.Wehavethesametastesinartchicorysaladandbishopsleeves,sowejointstudio.InNovember,unfortunately,thePneumoniastalkedaboutthedistrict.WhenIheartthatIwasamongthevictims,everythingseemedtolosecolor.Iwastoodisappointedtolivebecauseofthesmallchances.However,Sue,neverlosingconfidence,wasalwaysstayingwithmeandlookingafterme.EverytimewhenthedoctorinvitedSueintothehallway,Iknowmybodyconditionisworse.Inordertoencourageme,shecreatedcheerfulatmosphere.Butforme,IwasapessimisticpersonthatIhavenooptimisticattitudetofightwiththeillness.Ilookedoutofthewindow.Inoticedanoldivyvinewhichonlyhasfewleavesinthebare,drearyyard.Thecoldbreathofautumnhadblownawayitsleaves.“Twelve,eleven,ten,”Icountedtheluckyleavesofthetree.“Six,”Isaid,inalmostawhisper.“They’refallingfasternow.Threedaysagotherewerealmostahundred.Itmademyheadachetocountthem.Butnowit’seasy.Theregoesanotherone.Thereareonlyfiveleftnow.”Ithoughtmylifeissimilartotheleavesoftree.“Sue.WhenthelastonefallsImustgo,too.I’veknowthatforthreedays.”Itoldtoher.“Look.Thatleavesjustfour.Iwanttoseethelastone fallbeforeitgetsdark.I’llgo,too.”Afterhearingthat,herfaceblanched.Sheletmetrytosleep.Then,shecalledBehrmanuptobehermodelfortheoldminer.Lyingonthesickbed,Ithoughtnothing.Iwastiredofthinkingandwaiting.Ijustwantedtoturnloosemyholdoneverything,andgosailingdown,down,justlikeoneofthosepoor,tiredleaves.Gradually,Ifellasleep.Maybe,tomorrow,Iwouldgoanotherplace.Thebeatingrainandfiercewindneverstoppedallnight.WhenIawoke,IaskedSuetopullthecurtainup.Whatsurprisedmewasthatthelastleafonthevine.Thedayworeawayandeventhroughthetwilightwecouldseetheloneivyleafclingingtoitsstemagainstthewall.Atthismoment,IsuddenlyfeltthatIwassoselfish.Theweakleafcouldlivethroughthehorriblenigh.Onthecontrary,Ijustwantedtodie.Ifeltsorrytomyselfandmybestfriend.IknewImustbuilduptheconfidence.ItoldtoSue,“Youbringmealittlesoupnow,andsomemilkwithalittleportinit,andthenpacksomepillows.”Suewastoohappytosayaword.WiththecareofSueanddoctor,finally,Ibeatthedisease.Becauseofthelastleaf,Irestoredmyconfidence.However,indeed,aman,Mr.Behrman,ismoreimportantthanthelastleaf.IwillneverforgetMr.Behrman.IthankhimmorethanIcansay.Mr.Behrmanwasapainterwholivedonthegroundfloorbeneathus. Perhapsinother’mind,hewasnotagreatperson.Hewasafailureinart.Forfortyyearshehadbeenalwaysabouttopaintamasterpiece,butneverbeganit.Hedrankgintoexcessandalsohadabadtemper.Besides,hewasafiercelittleoldman,whomockedterriblyatsoftnessinanyone.Indeed,hewasawarmandfriendlyperson.SueinvitedBehrmantobehermodelthatday.Suetoldhimofmyfancy,paintingtheBayofMaplessomeday,andhowshefearedIwould,indeed,lightandfragileasaleaf,floataway.Althoughheshowedhiscontemptforsuchfoolishimaginingsafterhearingthat,thetearsfelldown.Inhisheart,hewasdeeplymoved.Atthatnight,Icouldnotimaginehowhespentsuchhorriblenight.Heusedthelanterntolightthewayandusedtheladderclimbuptheoldivyvineandhungthepaintedleafwhenthelastleaffell.Nooneknewthathewasill.ItwasMr.Behrman’smasterpiece-paintingthelastleaf.Theleafchangedmyfate.But,Mr.Behrmanleftusforeverbecauseofthepneumonia.