Áîðèñåíêî Âèêòîðèÿ Àëåêñàíäðîâíà, Ìêðò÷ÿí Òàìàðà Þðüåâíà, Ñàìîôàëîâà Ìàðèíà Âëàäèìèðîâíà Ý ë å ê ò ð î í í î å ó ÷ å á í î å ï î ñ î á è å | © ÞÔÓ 2015 ã. ã. Ðîñòîâ-íà-Äîíó

Ìîäóëè

Ìîäóëü 10. FAMILY AND MARRIAGE

Text 1. A CUP OF TEA (by K. Mansfield)

Text 2. MARIONETTES (after R. Bradbury)

Text 3. PATIENCE (after F. Galleymore)

VOCABULARY

Look through the suggested phrases, word combinations and idioms and use them in the sentences of your own.

A black sheep in the family – ïàðøèâàÿ îâöà

To get on well with each other – ëàäèòü äðóã ñ äðóãîì

To see eye to eye with each other – ïîëíîñòüþ ñîãëàøàòüñÿ, ðàçäåëÿòü âçãëÿäû

To come in one’s genes – ïîéòè â ê.-ë.

To fall out with smb. – ïîññîðèòüñÿ ñ ê.-ë.

To be in the family way – ãîòîâûé ê ñåðüåçíûì îòíîøåíèÿì, ê ñîçäàíèþ ñåìüè

To wash one’s dirty linen in public - âûíîñèòü ññîð èç èçáû

To wear the trousers – áûòü â ñåìüå ãëàâíûì

To be tired to one’s wife’s apron-string – áûòü ïîä êàáëóêîì ó æåíû

To be soulmates – áûòü ðîäñòâåííûìè äóøàìè

To be a well-matched couple – ïîäõîäèòü äðóã äðóãó

Each marriage has its ups and downs – ó êàæäîãî áðàêà åñòü ñâîè âçëåòû è ïàäåíèÿ

To feel an instant aversion to somebody – ïî÷óâñòâîâàòü ìãíîâåííóþ íåïðèÿçíü ê êîìó-òî

To have a pet aversion – ñàìîå íåïðèÿòíîå äëÿ êîãî-òî

Stag party – ìàëü÷èøíèê, õîëîñòÿöêàÿ âå÷åðèíêà

REMEMBER!

After reading the suggested texts, use some of the suggested vocabulary expressing the main idea and messages, describing the characters or retelling the story.

Text 1

A CUP OF TEA

(by K. Mansfield)

Rosemary Fell was not exactly beautiful. No, you could not have called her beautiful. Pretty? Well, if you took her to pieces… But why be so cruel as to take anyone to pieces? She was young, brilliant, extremely modern, exquisitely well dressed, amazingly well-read in the newest of the new books, and her parties were the most delicious mixture of the really important people and artists – quaint creatures, discoveries of hers, some of them too terrifying for words, but others quite presentable and amusing.

Rosemary had been married for two years. She had a duck of a boy. And her husband absolutely adored her. They were rich, really rich, not just comfortably well off. If Rosemary wanted to shop she would go to Paris as you and I would go to Bond Street. If she wanted to buy flowers, the car pulled up at that perfect shop in Regent Street, and Rosemary inside the shop just gazed in her exotic way, and said: “I want those and those and those. Give me four bunches of those. And that jar of roses. Yes, I’ll have all the roses in the jar. No, no lilac. I hate lilac. It’s got no shape.” The attendant bowed and put the lilac out of sight, as though this was only too true; lilac was dreadfully shapeless. And she was followed to the car by a thin shop-girl staggering under an immense white paper armful that looked like a baby in long clothes...

One winter afternoon she had been buying something in a little antique shop in Curzon Street. It was a shop she liked. For one thing, one usually had it to oneself. And then the man who kept it was ridiculously fond of serving her. He beamed whenever she came in. He clasped his hands; he was so grateful he could scarcely speak. Flattery, of course. All the same, there was something ...

Today it was a little box. He had been keeping it for her. He had shown it to nobody as yet. An exquisite little enamel box. Yes, she liked it very much. She loved it; it was a great luck. She must have it. And, turning the creamy box, opening and shutting it, she couldn’t help noticing how charming her hands were.

“Charming!” Rosemary admired the box. But what was the price? For a moment the shopman did not seem to hear. Then a murmur reached her. “Twenty-eight guineas, madam.” “Twenty-eight guineas.” Rosemary gave no sign. She laid the little box down; she buttoned her gloves again. Twenty-eight guineas. Even if one is rich ... She looked vague. “Well, keep it for me—will you? I’ll ...” But the shopman had already bowed as though keeping it for her was all any human being could ask. He would be willing, of course, to keep it for her forever.

The discreet door shut with a click. She was outside on the step, gazing at the winter afternoon. Rain was falling, and with the rain it seemed the dark came too. There was a cold bitter taste in the air, and the new-lighted lamps looked sad. Sad were the lights in the houses opposite. Dimly they burned as if regretting something. And people hurried by, hidden under their hateful umbrellas. Rosemary felt a strange pang. She pressed her muff against her breast; she wished she had the little box, too, to cling to. Of course the car was there. She’d only to cross the pavement. But still she waited. There are moments, horrible moments in life, when one emerges from shelter and looks out, and it’s awful. One oughtn’t to give way to them. One ought to go home and have an extra-special tea.

But at the very instant of thinking that, a young girl, thin, dark, shadowy – where had she come from?—was standing at Rosemary’s elbow and a voice like a sigh, almost like a sob, breathed: ‘Madam, may I speak to you a moment?” “Speak to me?” Rosemary turned. She saw a little battered creature with enormous eyes, someone quite young, no older than herself, who clutched at her coat-collar with reddened hands, and shivered as though she had just come out of the water. “M-madam,” stammered the voice. “Would you let me have the price of a cup of tea?” “A cup of tea?” There was something simple, sincere in that voice; it wasn’t in the least the voice of a beggar. “Then have you no money at all?” asked Rosemary. “None, madam,” came the answer. “How extraordinary!” Rosemary peered through the dusk and the girl gazed back at her. How more than extraordinary! And suddenly it seemed to Rosemary such an adventure. It was like something out of a novel by Dostoevsky, this meeting in the dusk. Supposing she took the girl home? Supposing she did one of those things she was always reading about or seeing on the stage, what would happen? It would be thrilling. And she heard herself saying afterwards to the amazement of her friends: “I simply took her home with me,” as she stepped forward and said to that dim person beside her: “Come home to tea with me.”

The girl drew back startled. She even stopped shivering for a moment. Rosemary put out a hand and touched her arm. “I mean it,” she said smiling. And she felt how simple and kind her smile was. “Why won’t you? Come home with me now in my car and have tea.” “You – you don’t mean it, madam,” said the girl, and there was pain in her voice. “But I do,” cried Rosemary. “I want you to please me. Come along.” The girl put her fingers to her lips and her eyes devoured Rosemary. “You’re – you’re not taking me to the police station?” she stammered. “The police station!” Rosemary laughed out. “Why should I be so cruel? No, I only want to make you warm and to hear – anything you care to tell me.” Hungry people are easily led. The footman held the door of the car open, and a moment later they were skimming through the dusk.

“There!” said Rosemary. She had a feeling of triumph as she slipped her hand through the velvet strap. She could have said, “Now, I’ve got you,” as she gazed at the little captive she had netted. But of course she meant it kindly. Oh, more than kindly. She was going to prove to this girl that wonderful things did happen in life, that fairy godmothers were real, that rich people had hearts, and that women were sisters. She turned impulsively, saying: “Don’t be frightened. After all, why shouldn’t you come back with me? We’re both women. If I’m the more fortunate, you ought to expect ...”

But happily at that moment, for she didn’t know how the sentence was going to end, the car stopped. “Come, come upstairs,” said Rosemary, longing to begin to be generous. “Come up to my room.” “There!” cried Rosemary again, as they reached her beautiful big bedroom with the curtains drawn, the fire leaping on her wonderful lacquer furniture, her gold cushions and the primrose and blue rugs. The girl stood just inside the door; she seemed dazed. But Rosemary didn’t mind that. “Come and sit down,” she cried, dragging her big chair up to the fire, “in this comfortable chair. Come and get warm. You look so dreadfully cold.” “I daren’t, madam,” said the girl, and she edged backwards. “Oh, please,” Rosemary ran forward – “you mustn’t be frightened, you mustn’t, really. Sit down, when I’ve taken off my things we shall go into the next room and have tea and be cozy. Why are you afraid?” And gently she half pushed the thin figure into its deep cradle. She leaned over her, saying: “Won’t you take off your hat? Your pretty hair is all wet. And one is so much more comfortable without a hat, isn’t one?”

There was a whisper that sounded like “Very good, madam,” and the crushed hat was taken off. “And let me help you off with your coat, too,” said Rosemary. But what was she to do with the coat now? She left it on the floor and the hat too. She was just going to take a cigarette off the mantelpiece when the girl said quickly, but so lightly and strangely: “I’m very sorry, madam, but I’m going to faint. I shall go off, madam, if I don’t have something.” “Good heavens, how thoughtless I am!” Rosemary rushed to the bell. “Tea! Tea at once! And some brandy immediately!”

The maid was gone again, but the girl almost cried out: “No, I don’t want no brandy. I never drink brandy. It’s a cup of tea I want, madam.” And she burst into tears. It was a terrible and fascinating moment. Rosemary knelt beside her chair. “Don’t cry, poor little thing,” she said. “Don’t cry.” And she gave the other her lace handkerchief. She really was touched beyond words. She put her arm round those thin, birdlike shoulders. Now at last the other forgot to be shy, forgot everything except that they were both women, and gasped out: “I can’t go on no longer like this. I can’t bear it. I shall do away with myself. I can’t bear no more.” “You shan’t have to. I’ll look after you. Don’t cry any more. Don’t you see what a good thing it was that you met me? We’ll have tea and you’ll tell me everything. And I shall arrange something. I promise. Do stop crying. It’s so exhausting. Please!”

The other did stop just in time for Rosemary to get up before the tea came. She had the table placed between them. She plied the poor little creature with everything, all the sandwiches, all the bread and butter, and every time her cup was empty she filled it with tea, cream and sugar. People always said sugar was so nourishing. As for herself she didn’t eat; she smoked and looked away tactfully so that the other should not be shy. And really the effect of that slight meal was marvellous. When the tea table was carried away a new being, a light, frail creature with tangled hair, dark lips, deep, lighted eyes, lay back in the big chair in a kind of sweet langour, looking at the blaze. Rosemary lit a fresh cigarette; it was time to begin.

“And when did you have your last meal?” she asked softly. But at that moment the door-handle turned. “Rosemary, may I come in?” It was Philip. “Of course.” Íå came in. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, and stopped and stared. “It’s quite all right,” said Rosemary, smiling. “This is my friend, Miss-“ “Smith, madam,” said the languid figure, who was strangely still and unafraid. “Smith,” said Rosemary. “We are going to have a little talk.” “Oh, yes,” said Philip. “Quite,” and his eyes caught sight of the coat and hat on the floor. He came over to the fire and turned his back to it. “It’s a beastly afternoon,” he said curiously, still looking at that figure, looking at its hands and boots, and then at Rosemary again. “Yes, isn’t it?” said Rosemary enthusiastically. “Vile”. Philip smiled his charming smile. “As a matter of fact,” said he, “I wanted you to come in to the library for a moment. Would you? Will Miss Smith excuse us?” The big eyes were raised to him, but Rosemary answered for her: “Of course she will.” And they went out of the room together.

“I say,” said Philip, when they were alone. “Explain. Who is she? What does it all mean?” Rosemary, laughing, leaned against the door and said: “I picked her up in Curzon Street. Really. She’s a real pick-up. She asked me for the price of a cup of tea, and I brought her home with me.” “But what on earth are you going to do with her?” cried Philip. “Be nice to her,” said Rosemary quickly. “Be frightfully nice to her. Look after her. I don’t know how. We haven’t talked yet. But show her – treat her – make her feel –“ “My darling girl,” said Philip, “you’re quite mad, you know. It simply can’t be done.” “I knew you’d say that,” retorted Rosemary. “Why not? I want to. Isn’t that a reason? And besides, one’s always reading about these things. I decided —“ “But,” said Philip slowly, and he cut the end of a cigar, “she’s so astonishingly pretty.” “Pretty?” Rosemary was so surprised that she blushed. “Do you think so? I – I hadn’t thought about it.” “Good Lord!” Philip struck a match. “She’s absolutely lovely. Look again, my child. I was bowled over when I came into your room just now. However ... I think you are making a ghastly mistake.” “You absurd creature!” said Rosemary, and she went out of the library, but not back to her bedroom.

She went to her writing-room and sat down at her desk. Pretty! Absolutely lovely! Bowled over! Her heart beat like a heavy bell. Pretty! Lovely! She drew her cheque-book towards her. But no, cheques would be no use, of course. She opened a drawer and took out five pound notes, looked at them, put two back, and holding the three squeezed in her hand, she went back to her bedroom.

Half an hour later Philip was still in the library, when Rosemary came in. “I only wanted to tell you,” said she, and she leaned against the door again and looked at him with her exotic gaze, “Miss Smith won’t dine with us to-night.” Philip put down the paper. “Oh, what’s happened? Previous engagement?” Rosemary came over and sat down on his knee. “She insisted on going,” said she, “so I gave the poor little thing a present of money. I couldn’t keep her against her will, could I?” she added softly.

Rosemary had just done her hair, darkened her eyes a little and put on her pearls. She put up her hands and touched Philip’s cheeks. “Do you like me?” said she, and her tone, sweet, husky, troubled him. “I like you awfully,” he said, and he held her tighter. “Kiss me.” There was a pause. Then Rosemary said dreamily: “I saw a fascinating little box today. It cost twenty-eight guineas. May I have it?” Philip jumped her on his knee. “You may, little wasteful one,” said he. But that was not really what Rosemary wanted to say. “Philip,” she whispered, and she pressed his head against her bosom. “Am I pretty?”

Exercises

1.Find in the text English equivalents for the following Russian words and word-combinations and use them in the sentences.

Äåëàòü ïîêóïêè, ðàçîáðàòü íà ñîñòàâíûå ÷àñòè, ñèÿòü, ïðåëåñòíàÿ ýìàëåâàÿ øêàòóëêà, ëèöî åå íè÷åãî íå âûðàæàëî, ïîä ñâîèìè ïðîòèâíûìè çîíòàìè, â èñïóãå îòñòóïèëà íàçàä, óñèëåííî óãîùàëà áåäíîå ìàëåíüêîå ñîçäàíèå, íå ñòàðøå ñàìîé Ðîçìàðè, âãëÿäûâàÿñü â çèìíèå ñóìåðêè; âñå, ÷òî âû çàõîòèòå ìíå ðàññêàçàòü; ñìóòíî ìàÿ÷èâøèé, ïîêëîíèòüñÿ, èñêðåííèé, óïàñòü â îáìîðîê, ïîêîí÷èòü ñ ñîáîé, êàìèííàÿ ïîëêà, áûñòðî èäòè â ñóìðàêå, æàäíî åñòü, áûòü øîêèðîâàííûì, äåëàòü óæàñíóþ îøèáêó.

2 .Find in the text phrases and sentences meaning the following:

1. strange people; 2. a very nice boy; 3. it’s got no form; 4. put the lilac away; 5. she was accompanied to the car; 6. first of all; 7. the owner of the shop; 8. Rosemary was delighted with the box; 9. in the houses across the street; 10. people walked by hurriedly; 11. standing near Rosemary; 12. very big eyes; 13. gripped at her coat-collar; 14. Rosemàãó tried to see in the dark; 15. it would be exciting; 16. driving fast through the dark

3. Translate the following sentences into Russian. Comment on the meaning of Modal verbs.

1) He was so grateful he could scarcely speak.

2) She couldn’t help noticing how charming her hands were.

3) One oughtn’t to give way to them. One ought to go home and have an extra-special tea.

4) Madam, may I speak to you a moment?

5) Why should I be so cruel?

6) You mustn’t be frightened, you mustn’t, really.

7) I can’t go on no longer like this. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear no more.

8) You’re quite mad, you know. It simply can’t be done.

9) I couldn’t keep her against her will, could I?

10) I saw a fascinating little box today. It cost twenty-eight guineas. May I have it?

4. Discuss the story

1) What did Rosemary Fell look like? Was she beautiful?

2) Did she have a family? Were they well-off? Prove it.

3) How did Rosemary spend her spare-time? Where did go one winter afternoon?

4) What was the weather like that day?

5) Who asked Rosemary for some money? What did the girl look like?

6) What did Rosemary insist on? Why did she take the girl home? What did she want to prove?

7) What did they do when they arrived at Rosemary’s place? Did the girl feel herself comfortable and relaxed?

8) What was her husband’s reaction when he saw the beggar in Rosemary’s bedroom?

9) Why did Rosemary get rid of the girl?

10) Do you think her husband liked the beggar? Did he really consider her pretty? Why did he say it?

11) Comment on the title. What is the theme and the main idea of the story? What messages can you distinguish?

Text 2

MARIONETTES

(after R. Bradbury)

They walked slowly down the street at about ten in the evening, talking calmly. They were both about thirty-five, both eminently sober.

“But why so early?” said Smith.

“Because,” said Braling.

“Your first night out in years and you go home at ten o’clock.”

“Nerves, I suppose.”

“What I wonder is how you ever managed it. I’ve been trying to get you out for ten years for a quiet drink. And now, on the one night, you insist on turning in early.”

“Mustn’t crowd my luck”' said Braling.

“What did you do, put sleeping powder in your wife’s coffee?”

“No, that would be unethical. You’ll see soon enough.”

They turned a corner. “Honestly, Braling, I hate to say this, but you have been patient with her. You may not admit it to me, but marriage has been awful for you, hasn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“It’s got around, anyway, here and there, how she got you to marry her. That time back in 1979 when you were going to Rio –“

“Dear Rio. I never did see it after all my plans.”

“And how she tore her clothes and rumpled her hair and threatened to call the police unless you married her.”

“She always was nervous, Smith, understand.”

“It was more than unfair. You didn’t love her. You told her as much, didn’t you?”

“I recall that I was quite firm on the subject.”

“But you married her anyhow.”

“I had my business to think of, as well as my mother and father. A thing like that would have killed them.”

“And it’s been ten years.”

“Yes”, said Braling, his gray eyes steady. “But I think perhaps it might change now. I think what I’ve waited for has come about. Look here.”

He drew forth a long blue ticket.

“Why, it’s a ticket for Rio on the Thursday rocket!”

“Yes, I’m finally going to make it.”

“But how wonderful! You do deserve it! But won’t she object? Cause trouble?”

Braling smiled nervously. “She won’t know I’m gone. I’ll be back in a month and no one the wiser, except you.”

Smith sighed. “I wish I were going with you.”

“Poor Smith, your marriage hasn’t exactly been roses, has it?”

“Not exactly, married to a woman who overdoes it. I mean, after all, when you’ve been married ten years, you don’t expect a woman to sit on your lap for two hours every evening, call you at work twelve times a day and talk baby talk. And it seems to me that in the last month she’s gotten worse. I wonder if perhaps she isn’t a little simple-minded?”

“Ah, Smith, always the conservative. Well, here’s my house. Now, would you like to know my secret? How I made it out this evening?”

“Will you really tell?”

“Look up, there!” said Braling.

They both stared up through the dark air.

In the window above them, on the second floor, a shade was raised. A man about thirty-five years old, with a touch of gray at either temple, sad gray eyes, and a small thin mustache looked down at them.

“Why, that’s you!” cried Smith.

“Sh-h-h, not so loud!” Braling waved upward. The man in the window gestured significantly and vanished.

“I must be insane,” said Smith.

“Hold on a moment.”

They waited.

The street door of the apartment opened spare gentleman with the mustache and he came out to meet them.

“Hello, Braling,” he said.

“Hello, Braling,” said Braling. They were identical.

Smith stared. “Is this your twin brother? I never knew…”

“No, no,” said Braling quietly. “Bend close. Put your ear Braling Two’s chest.”

Smith hesitated and then leaned forward to place his against the uncomplaining ribs.

Tick- tick- tick- tick- tick- tick- tick- tick.

“Oh no! It can’t be!”

“It is.”

“Let me listen again.”

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.

Smith staggered back and fluttered his eyelids, appalled, reached out and touched the warm hands and the cheeks the thing.

“Where’d you get him?”

“Isn’t he excellently fashioned?” “Incredible. Where?”

“Give the man your card, Braling Two.”

Braling Two did a magic trick and produced a white card:

MARIONETTES,INC.
Duplicate self or friends; new humanoid plastic 1990 models, guaranteed against all physical wear. From $ 7,600 to our $ 15,000 de luxe model.

“No,” said Smith.

“Yes,” said Braling.

“Naturally,” said Braling Two.

“How long has this gone on?”

“I’ve had him for a month. I keep him in the cellar in a toolbox. My wife never goes downstairs, and I have the only lock and key to that box. Tonight I said I wished to take a walk to buy a cigar. I went down the cellar and took Braling Two out of his box and sent him back up to sit with my wife while I came on out to see you, Smith.”

“Wonderful! He even smells like you!”

“It may be splitting hairs, but I think it highly ethical. After all, what my wife wants most of all is me. This marionette is me to the hairest detail. I’ve been home all evening. I shall be home with her for the next month. In the meantime another gentleman will be in Rio after ten years of waiting. When I return from Rio, Braling Two here will go back in his box.”

Smith thought that over a minute or two. “Will he walk around without sustenance for a month?” he finally asked.

“For six months if necessary. And he’s built to do everything - eat, sleep, perspire - everything, natural as natural is. You’ll take good care of my wife, won’t you, Braling Two?”

“Your wife is rather nice,” said Braling Two. “I’ve grown rather fond of her.”

Smith was beginning to tremble.

“How long has Marionettes, Inc., been in business?”

“Secretly, for two years.”

“Could I - I mean, is there a possibility – “…

Smith took his friend’s elbow earnestly. “Can you tell me where I can get one, a robot, a marionette, for myself? You will give me the address, won’t you?”

“Here you are.”

Smith took the card and turned it round and round. “Thank you,” he said. “You don’t know what this means. Just a little respite. A night or so, once a month even. My wife loves me so much she can’t bear to have me gone an hour. I love her dearly, you know, but remember the old poem: “Love will fly if held too lightly, love will die if held too tightly.” I just want her to relax her grip a little bit.”

“You’re lucky, at least, that your wife loves you. Hate’s my problem. Not so easy. “

“Oh, Nettie loves me madly. It will be my task to make her love me comfortably.”

“Good luck to you, Smith. Do drop around while I’m in Rio. It will seem strange, if you suddenly stop calling by, to my wife. You’re to treat Braling Two, here, just like me.”

“Right! Goodbye. And thank you.”

Smith went smiling down the street. Braling and Braling Two turned and walked into the apartment hall.

On the cross-town bus Smith whistled softly, turning the white card in his fingers:

Clients must be pledged to secrecy, for while an act is pending in Congress to legalize Marionettes, Inc., it is still a felony, if caught, to use one.

“Well,” said Smith.

Clients must have a mold made of their body and a color index check of their eyes, lips, hair, skin, etc. Clients must expect to wait for two months until their model is finished.

Not so long, thought Smith. Two months from now my hand will heal from being constantly held. Two months from now my bruised underlip will begin to reshape itself. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful... He flipped the card over.

Marionettes, Inc., is two years old and has a fine record of satisfied customers behind it. Our motto is “No Strings Attached”. Address: 43 South Wesley Drive.

The bus pulled to his stop; he alighted, and while humming up the stairs he thought, Nettie and I have fifteen thousand on our joint bank account. I’ll just slip eight thousand out as a business venture, you might say. The marionette, probably pay back my money, with interest, in many ways. Nettie needn’t know. He unlocked the door and in a minute was in the bedroom. There lay Nettie, pale, huge, and piously asleep.

“Dear Nettie.” He was almost overwhelmed with remorse her innocent face there in the semidarkness. “If you were awake you would smother me with kisses and coo in my ear. Really, you make me feel like a criminal. You have been a good, loving wife. Sometimes it is impossible for me believe you married me instead of that Bud Chapman you once liked. It seems that in the last month you have loved me more wildly than ever before.”

Tears came to his eyes. Suddenly he wished to kiss her, confess his love, tear up the card, forget the whole business. But as he moved to do this, his hand ached and his ribs racked and groaned. He stopped, with a pained look in his eyes, and turned away. He moved out into the hall and the dark rooms. Humming, he opened the kidney desk in the library and filched the bankbook. “Just take it thousand dollars is all,” he said. “No more than that” he stopped. “Wait a minute.”

He rechecked the bankbook frantically. “Hold on here!” he cried. “Ten thousand dollars is missing!” He leaped up.

“There’s only five thousand left! What’s she done? What’s she done with it? More hats, more clothes, more perfume! Or, wait - I know! She bought that little house on the Hudson she’s been talking about for months, without so much as a by your leave!”

He stormed into the bedroom, righteous and indignant. What did she mean, taking their money like this! He bent over her. “Nettie, wake up!”

She did not stir. “What’ve you done with my money!” he bellowed.

She stirred fitfully. The light from the street flushed over her beautiful cheeks.

There was something about her. His heart throbbed violently. His tongue dried. He shivered. His knees suddenly turned to water. He collapsed. “Nettie, Nettie!” he cried. “What’ve you done with my money!”

And then, the horrid thought. And then the terror and the loneliness engulfed him. And then the fever and disillusionment. For, without desiring to do so, he bent forward and yet forward again until his fevered ear was resting firmly and irrevocably upon her pink bosom. “Nettie!” he cried.

Tick- tick- tick- tick- tick- tick- tick- tick- tick.

As Smith walked away down the avenue in the night, Braling and Braling Two turned in at the door to the apartment. “I’m glad he’ll be happy too,” said Braling.

“Yes,” said Braling Two abstractedly.

“Well, it’s the cellar box for you, B-Two.” Braling guided the other creature’s elbow down the stairs to the cellar.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” said Braling Two, as they reached the concrete floor and walked across it. “The cellar. I don’t like it. I don’t like that toolbox.”

“I’ll try and fix up something more comfortable.”

“Marionettes are made to move, not to lie still. How would you like to lie in a box most of the time?”

“Well –“

“You wouldn’t like it at all. I keep running. There’s no way to shut me off. I’m perfectly alive and I have feelings.”

“It’ll only be a few days now. I’ll be off to Rio and you won’t have to stay in the box. You can live upstairs”.

Braling Two gestured irritably.

“And when you come back from having a good time, back in the box I go.”

Braling said, “They didn’t tell me at the marionette shop that I’d get a difficult specimen.”

“There’s a lot they don’t know about us,” said Braling Two. “We’re pretty new. And we’re sensitive. I hate the idea of you going off and laughing and lying in the sun in Rio while we’re stuck here in the cold.”

“But I’ve wanted that trip all my life,” said Braling quietly.

He squinted his eyes and could see the sea and the mountains and the yellow sand. The sound of the waves was good his inward mind. The sun was fine on his bared shoulders. The wine was most excellent. “I’ll never get to go to Rio,” said the other man. “Have you thought of that?”

“No, I –“

“And another thing. Your wife.”

“What about her?” asked Braling, beginning to edge toward the door.

“I’ve grown quite fond of her.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying your employment.” Braling licked his lips nervously.

“I’m afraid you don’t understand. I think – I’m in love with her.”

Braling took another step and froze. “You’re in what?”

“And I’ve been thinking,” said Braling Two, “how nice it is in Rio and how I’ll never get there, and I’ve thought out your wife and - I think we could be very happy.”

“Th-that’s nice.” Braling strolled as casually as he could the cellar door. “You won’t mind waiting a moment, will you? I have to make a phone call.”

“To whom?” Braling Two frowned.

“No one important.”

“To Marionettes, Incorporated? To tell them to come get me?”

“No, no - nothing like that!” He tried to rush out the door.

A metal-firm grip seized his wrists. “Don’t run! “

“Take your hands off!”

“No.”

“Did my wife put you up to this?”

“No.”

“Did she guess? Did she talk to you? Does she know? Is that it?” He screamed. A hand clapped over his mouth.

“You’ll never know, will you?” Braling Two smiled delicately. “You’ll never know.”

Braling struggled. “She must have guessed; she must have affected you!”

Braling Two said, “I’m going to put you in the box, lock and lose the key. Then I’ll buy another Rio ticket for your wife.”

“Now, now, wait a minute. Hold on. Don’t be rash. Let’s talk this over!”

“Goodbye, Braling.”

Ten minutes later Mrs. Braling awoke. She put her hand to her cheek. Someone had just kissed it. She shivered and looked up.

“Why - you haven’t done that in years,” she murmured.

“We’ll see what we can do about that,” someone said.

Exercises

1. Give the English equivalents for the following words and word combinations and use them in sentences.

Ëå÷ü ñïàòü ðàíî, ðâàòü íà ñåáå âîëîñû, õóäîùàâûé ãîñïîäèí, óñû, îäèíàêîâûé, ñåðäöå íåèñòîâî áèëîñü, ïîäïèòêà/ïèòàíèå, óãîëîâíîå ïðåñòóïëåíèå, ñïèñîê äîâîëüíûõ êëèåíòîâ, ðèñêîâîå ïðåäïðèÿòèå, ïîãëîòèòü, ãðóäü, ýêçåìïëÿð, íå äåëàé îïðîìåò÷èâûõ ïîñòóïêîâ, øåïòàòü.

2. Rephrase these expressions from the story in your own words:

1) Your marriage hasn’t exactly been roses, has it?

2) It may be splitting hairs.

3) Natural as natural is.

4) His knees suddenly turned to waters.

5) Did my wife put you up for this?

3. Discuss the story:

1) Did Braling marry for love? What did his friend think of his marriage?

2) How did Braling manage to get for a walk with his friend? Why did he hurry back home?

3) Where did he get Braling Two from? Why did he need him?

4) What did you learn about Marionettes Inc.?

5) Did his friend like the plan? Did he want to have a marionette for himself? Why did he hesitate?

6) What did Smith find out about his wife when he returned home? Why do you think his wife did it? Where can she be now?

7) Did Braling treat Braling Two well? Did he deserve the treatment he got from Braling Two?

8) Why did Braling Two get rid of his owner? What reasons did he name?

9) Marionettes Inc. is still not legalized. What objections do you think might be raised to legalizing it?

10) What is the theme and main idea of the story? Comment on the title. Do you think Marionettes, Inc. is a good title for the story? Why or why not? Suggest other titles that would arouse the reader’s interest without giving away the ending.

11) How far are the feelings Smith and Braling have about their marriages the same and how far are they different? How much sympathy do you have for them or for their wives?

Text 3

PATIENCE

(after F. Galleymore)

“If I wasn’t around one day,” she had asked, just before he turned out the light, “you’d replace me quite easily, wouldn’t you? With a second wife.” He had turned his glance at her. “Whatever kind of talk is that?”“But you would, wouldn’t you?” she persisted. “Of course not! What an idea,” he chided affectionately. It was not like her to ask such a thing. Needing to sleep he had turned out the light. “Good night.”

This morning, there was no time to think about it. She was in good health and he loved her after all, so he dismissed her question as night thoughts. He had a busy few hours ahead. Tomorrow, he had to go to Bristol for the conference. “What time would you like me home?” “By seven? I thought, lamb, and fruit crumble.” “Sounds nice.” He kissed her check. “Don’t forget to pick up my navy suit from the cleaners”.

Taking his briefcase, he went down the front path, never imagining that he might not see her again. He turned at the gate and waved, but he didn’t really look at her. He missed seeing her smile fade, as she turned straight to the phone. Pat dialed, biting her lip. When she spoke, her voice was calm and secretarial. “Good morning. Do you have the usual booking for Mr. Darcy today?” Her face became strained and set, as she listened. “I just need to confirm. Thank you.”

By 12.30 his morning was completed, and his deputy manager had instructions that covered the next two days. Since it was Wednesday, he wasn’t expected back in the office. Driving out of the sports centre, past incoming customers, he allowed himself to relax. He deserved this playtime and all the pleasure of its anticipation just as surely as he had earned the Mercedes, smoothly lapping the miles. Thirty miles driving out of town and to the coast. It was a spectacular coast, with granite cliffs and wooded fields that rolled to the edge. The Motel Mirabel had changed little in the past few years. The receptionist was chatty, but he was careful never to get talking. Pocketing the key to room 13 he turned to enter the restaurant.

“Mr.Darcy - your usual table! Come, please.”Behind the picture window he waited at their table. The single red rose, only half opened, was by her place. The sea shimmered brightly below, whispering of freedom, adventure. Suddenly she was approaching through the quiet restaurant, wearing that smile of hers, and a white dress that hugged her body. He stood at once to greet her wreathed in Amarige and pleasure. “Gabrielle.” She was late, but he had enjoyed the delay. The Bollinger, drawn from its ice bucket, was opened and poured: a silent toast to each other. He felt mesmerized by her shining eyes, her mouth, the way she flicked back her dark mane of hair when she laughed. Every time he saw Gabrielle he felt happier and revitalized, and would take those feelings back to Pat, which surely made their marriage stronger.

“You’d replace me quite easily, wouldn’t you? With a second wife.“ Pat couldn’t know he already had someone. After their daughter was born, when all her attention seemed to fly to their child, he had first felt left out in the cold. Much later, Gabrielle appeared, and after a few years she had given up pushing for divorce. He had a good marriage and would never hurt Pat. They had been careful to protect her, using all the pleasures of secrecy.

It was 2.30 when they left the restaurant to walk hand in hand through the gardens. Room 13 lay at the far end of the motel building. It was not as if Pat was ever far from his thoughts, nor as if he was depriving her of anything. Even the spectacular view from the window of room 13 reminded him of climbing holidays when they were first together. Stopping on the little bridge between the ponds, Gabrielle threw coins into the water. A hundred coins lay glittering beneath the silver and gold fishes. “Look at that big fish,” he said. “They only grow as large as the pond that holds them. Like people,” she said, and turned to him. “It’s pretty here, but why don’t we try somewhere else?” “Somewhere else?” “Yes. There’s a new seafood restaurant, a few miles west. I went there recently, with a new friend.”

What was she saying? Did she see other men when they weren’t together? She had no reason to do that. Her casual revelation took his breath away, and he looked at her carefully. Bewitched by her smile, he had stopped noticing when she didn’t smile. There was a wariness in her eyes, and even a loss of hope, perhaps. Was time changing Gabrielle? As he watched she held up the half-opened rosebud to savour its scent and he fell in love with her again. “Come on.” She tugged him, towed him, laughing quickly.

Their room was exactly the same as it always has been, and the tray with coffee and liqueurs was already on the table. Beyond lay their splendid view. He went to the window, and saw a body on a ledge, halfway down the cliff. Horror washed through him. The woman lay just 50 yards away from them with her limbs bent at odd angles. The red-and-white stuff of tangled clothes had spilled a bare, dangling arm, and her face was hidden under clouds of dark hair. She was far too still. “What is it?” Gabrielle came to the window, he heard her suddenly drawn breath. “Oh no.” They stared, too shocked to think what to do. “She might be ...alive.” “Just look. She isn’t alive.” “But we must call for help, tell someone”. He turned swiftly towards the phone, then stopped.

“We might have to give our real names. An address?” Appealing back towards the thing on the rocks. No one could have survived that fall. Could they? “Call anonymously - but quickly.” Gabrielle’s voice was sharp “Just in ease...” They separated, quickly. A strange, sick feeling had permeated through him. An anonymous call, but not from the motel and not from his mobile. Suppose Pat found out? He didn’t wait for Gabriella to leave, but sped off urgently towards the village. In a phone box next to the green, his voice sounded false. “There’s been an accident on Hella Rocks.” He told them the victim appeared unconscious and he refused, twice, to give his name.

Putting down the phone, he was trembling. An odd paralysis began. He was too shaken to drive on or perhaps he was waiting for her rescuers. When the sirens split the peaceful afternoon, screaming up the main road opposite, he sighed. Whoever she was, they had come to look after her now. He didn’t wait to see the body brought down. Driving on, erratic and dazed, something was troubling him. The road seemed crammed with prescient danger, cars and trucks looming up with no warning, flashing into the corners of his eyes, grinding a narrow tunnel through his head.

He saw that bare arm, dangling into space, pitiful. The dark hair and the dress of red with white. It was just the unexpectedness of it. He had turned off at the sports centre before realizing he was not due back in the office but might go home early. A shock of recognition, jarring through. Pat had a dress of exactly that colour. But no, of course not. It was impossible. Only a similarity. But some thought, a vague cloud of fear, persisted. He was being fanciful, just imagining. And yet. That terrible suspicion beginning to gnaw and take hold. Of course not - but what had Pat been wearing this morning, when he left? He hadn’t noticed but she did have a dress of exactly those colours, that pattern.

“If I wasn‘t around one day... “ Why had she asked that? Why, on a Tuesday night, before his regular afternoon with Gabrielle? Of course he was mistaken, but he ripped the Mercedes in a tight U-turn, tyres screeching on tarmac, surprised faces gaping round, as he shot out of the car park. Traffic scattered across the carriageway. A lorry blared and veered, almost too late, articulated cab dragging awkward neck, broken spine along its wake.

His hands on the wheel were sliding in sweat. Panic-stricken, unable to slow, he drove as someone possessed, back to the close and the quiet houses, their home of 20 years. Pulling in, he slammed out up the front path, into the hall. Silence. “Pat! Are you home?” She wasn’t there. His watch said 3.10: she would be on her way home from work. That dress, red with the white pattern, would be on its hanger as usual. He took the stairs two at a time, strode to the wardrobe and looked through her side. The dress was not there. Vainly he searched through the laundry box, tumbling soiled clothes on to the bathroom floor. It wasn’t in the washer or dryer, or the ironing basket.

But it couldn’t be her. Grabbing the phone book, he flicked through numbers. Then he saw the message pad, with a single word scored deeply into the page: yes. She had called someone, or taken a call. He pressed radial, and waited. It was a woman’s voice: “Motel Mirabel. How may I help you?” Slowly, without speaking, he replaced the receiver. How could he have hoped she would not find out? Perhaps she had always known. Leaden, he pressed out numbers and got through to her school. “This is Mr. Andrews.” He cleared his throat. “Is my wife Pat still in the building?” “Mrs. Andrews?” The secretary sounded surprised. “But Patience didn’t come in today. She called this morning to say she was sick.”“Of course,” he said, full of quick excuses. “For a moment, I forgot.”

For a while, he sat in the green chair they had been given by his father, as a wedding present. Minutes ticked past. It couldn’t be her on the cliff. He knew that, was certain of it. Guilt had just got to him, momentarily. Somehow she had learned about Gabrielle, but Pat was sensible, an understanding woman. She would never do anything destructive or stupid. Still, she was always home punctually for him. And why hadn’t she gone to work today?

The phone drilled into his thoughts, shattering them. It was the police. The answer phone was picking up: then whoever it was rang off, leaving no message. Or had it been the hospital? She was too broken, lying too still. He could not bear to know. Not for certain, not yet. But he grew sick with the horror of already knowing. She had jumped to her death outside the window of room 13, and his mind shied away from imagining, what she must have gone through. If only it was not her, or if it were possible to undo time, then he would never see Gabrielle again. That could never have turned into anything. He had simply been trying to turn back the clock.

The darkness outside was creeping through the house, as the evening passed. The phone rang. Held by guilt, he sat listening dully as the machine answered. It was their daughter, her voice exactly like Pat’s. “Hi Mum, Dad. Where are you, out of the town? I’ve loads to tell you, it’s brilliant here! Gotta rush, so I’ll catch you later. Loads of love, byeee.” He couldn’t pick up, and couldn’t say he had killed her mother. Her happiness fizzled out of the room, and silence closed in again. His memories unreeled, of their lives together. Crouching forward, he cradled the phone as if it were life. “Susannah... Pat.” He fell asleep. He dreamed that their daughter Susannah was a baby again. She was crying for her mother, and Pat asked him to go to her. “But it’s you she wants,” he said. “No. She wants you, her father. Why are you just sitting there?”

He woke, stiff and cold. Pat was repeating, “Why are you sitting there?” She was real, alive, wearing a blue skirt and top. Suddenly he remembered she had worn those yesterday. When he touched her hand, it was warm. Shock turned to relief. A tide of life was returning, sensation flooding through him. “Darling,” she went on, “aren’t you supposed to catch the 9.20 to Bristol? I’ll make us some breakfast. You must shower and shave. Are those yesterday’s clothes?”

He missed seeing her expression, as she turned away and went into the kitchen. Pat took the local paper, folded under her arm, and gently placed it in the bin. A small item in it he need not see: the rescue services, alerted by an anonymous call, had retrieved a display dummy from Hella Rocks. It was not her fault things had turned out that way. It was just that after several years her patience had run out, with her capacity for suffering. Pat put on the kettle to make coffee. He had glimpsed life without her. Now, from the kitchen doorway, he watched her preparing breakfast. He had thought he knew everything about her but she was a woman, like all human beings, with secrets. He would not ask where she had been.

Exercises

1. Give the English equivalents for the following words and word combinations and use them in sentences.

Âûêëþ÷èòü ñâåò, óäîñòîâåðèòüñÿ, âåäåðêî ñî ëüäîì, áûòü î÷àðîâàííûì, ëèøèòü êîãî-ëèáî ÷åãî-ëèáî, îòêðîâåíèå, æåðòâà áûëà áåç ñîçíàíèÿ, òåðçàòü, òîò æå ðèñóíîê, ïëå÷èêè, êîðçèíà äëÿ áåëüÿ, äîçâîíèòüñÿ, àâòîîòâåò÷èê, ñíÿòü òðóáêó, òå÷åíèå æèçíè, ÷ó÷åëî, ñëóæáà ñïàñåíèÿ, ïîâåðíóòü âðåìÿ âñïÿòü, òåðïåíèå èññÿêëî, ïîñòàâèòü ÷àéíèê.

2. Find in the text words for the following definitions:

- to speak in an angry way to someone who has done smth. wrong (para.1);

- the act of expecting smth.to happen (para.4);

- to make smb.completely interested in smth. (para.5);

- a feeling or belief that smth.is probably true (para.12);

- ability to do or to produce smth. (last para.).

3. Translate the following sentences into Russian. Comment on the meaning of Modal verbs.

1) Tomorrow, he had to go to Bristol for the conference.

2) Taking his briefcase, he went down the front path, never imagining that he might not see her again.

3) Pat couldn’t know he already had someone.

4) She might be ...alive.

5) But we must call for help, tell someone.

6) We might have to give our real names. An address?

7) No one could have survived that fall. Could they?

8) How could he have hoped she would not find out?

9) It couldn’t be her on the cliff.

10) His mind shied away from imagining, what she must have gone through.

11) He couldn’t pick up, and couldn’t say he had killed her mother.

12) A small item in it he need not see: the rescue services, alerted by an anonymous call, had retrieved a display dummy from Hella Rocks.

4. Discuss the story

1) What question did Pat ask her husband? Did he pay any attention to it?

2) What were Mr.Darcy’s plans for the day?

3) What did Pat do after her husband had left?

4) What was his and Gabrielle’s meeting place? Did their love affair last long?

5) Why did Mr.Darcy betray his wife with another woman?

6) Why did horror wash through him when he came up to the window?

7) What did they decide to do? Where did he drive?

8) Why did he rip the car in a tight U-turn and drive home?

9) What did he find out when he arrived home? Why did he fall asleep?

10) Whom did he see when he woke up? What happened on the cliff near the motel? Why did Pat fake her death?