听美国故事练听力 24

　　I'm an old lawyer and I have three men working for me. My businesscontinued to grow and so I decided 1 to get one more man to help writelegal papers 3. I have met a great many people in my days. But the manwho answered my advertisement was the strangest person I have everheard of or met. He stood outside my office and waited for me tospeak. He was a small man, quiet and dressed in a clean but old suitof clothes. I asked him his name. It was Bartleby.

At first, Bartleby almost worked himself too hard writing the legalpapers I gave him. He worked through the day by sunlight 4 and into thenight by candlelight. I was happy with his work, but not happy withthe way he worked. He was too quiet. But he worked well like a machinenever looking or speaking. One day I asked Bartleby to come to myoffice to study a legal 2 paper with me. Without moving from his chair,Bartleby said “ I do not want to.” I sat for a short time toosurprised to move, then I became excited“You do not want do? What doyou mean? Are you sick? I want you to help me with this paper. ”“Ido not want to.”His face was calm. His eyes showed no emotion. He wasnot angry. ‘This is strange.’ I thought ‘ What should I do?’ Butthe telephone rang and I forgot the problem for the time being.

A few days later, 4 long documents came into the office. They neededcareful study and I decided to give one document to each of my men. Icalled and all came to my office but not Bartleby. “ Bartleby quick!

I am waiting.” He came and stood in front of me for a moment. “ Idon't want to.” He said then turned and went back to his desk. I wasso surprised. I could not move. There was something about Bartlebythat froze me, yet at the same time made me feel sorry for him.

As time passed, I saw that Bartleby never went out to eat dinner.

Indeed he never went anywhere. At 11 o'clock each morning, one of themen would bring Bartleby some ginger 5 cakes. ‘Um he lives on them,’ Ithought ‘poor fellow. He is a little foolish at times. But he isuseful to me. ’

“Bartleby,” I said one afternoon, “ Please go to the post officeand bring my mail.” “I do not want to.” I walked back to my officetoo shocked to think. Let's see the problem here is one of my workersnamed Bartleby will not do some of the things I ask him to do. Oneimportant thing about him though he is always in his office.

One Sunday I walked to my office to do some work. When I placed thekey in the door, I couldn't open it. I stood a little surprised, thencaught thinking someone might be inside. There was Bartleby! He camefrom his office and told me he did not want to let me in. The idea ofBartleby living in my law office had a strange effect on me. I slunkaway much like a dog does when it has been shouted at with its tailbetween its legs. Was anything wrong? I did not for a moment believeBartleby would keep a woman in my office. But for sometime 6, He musthave eaten, dressed and slept there. How lonely and friendlessBartleby must be.

I decided to help him. The next morning I called him to my office.

“Bartleby, will you tell me anything about yourself? ” “ I do notwant to.” I sat down with him. I said “ You do not have to tell meabout your personal history. But when you finish writing that document…” “I have decided not to write any more.” He said and left myoffice. What was I to do? Bartleby would not work at all. Then whyshould he stay on his job? I decided to let him go. I gave him 6 daysto leave the office and told him I would give him some extra money. Ifhe would not work, he must leave. On the 6th day, somewhat 7 hopefully,I looked into the office Bartleby used. He was still there! The nextmorning, I went to the office early. All were still. I tried to open adoor. But it was locked. Bartleby's voice came from inside. I stood asif hit by lightning. I walked the streets, thinking‘Well, Bartleby,if you will not leave me, I shall leave you.’I paid some men to moveall the office furniture to another place. Bartleby just stood thereas the men took his chair away. Goodbye, Bartleby, I'm going. Goodbyeand God be with you. Here, take this money. I placed it in his hands.

It dropped to the floor and then strange to say I had difficultyleaving the person I wanted to leave me.

A few days later, a stranger visited me in my new office. “You areresponsible for the man you left in your last office.”He said“Theowner of the building has given me a court order which says you musttake him away. We try to make him leave. But he returned and troublesthe others there.”I went back to my old office and found Bartlebysitting on the empty floor. “Bartleby, one of two things must happen.

I will get you a different job or you can go to work for some otherlawyer.”He said he did not like either choice. “Bartleby, will youcome home with me and stay there until we decide what you will do?”Heanswered softly 8 “No, I do not want to make any changes.” I answerednothing more. I fled 9. I rode around the city and visited places ofhistoric interest anything to get Bartleby off my mind. When I enteredmy office later, I found a message for me. Bartleby had been taken toprison. I found him there and when he saw me, he said “I know you andI have nothing to say to you.”“But I didn't put you here, Bartleby.

” I was deeply 10 hurt. I told him I gave the prison guard money to buyhim a good dinner. “I do not want to eat today.” He said “I nevereat dinner. ”

Days passed and I went to see Bartleby again. I was told he wassleeping in the prison yard outside. Sleeping? The thin Bartleby waslying on the cold stones. I stood to look at the small man lying onhis side with his knees against his chest 11. I walked closer and lookeddown at him. His eyes were open. He seemed to be in a deep sleep.

“Won't he eat today either or does he live without eating? ”theguard asked.“ Lives without eating.” I answered and closed his eyes.

“Ah, he is asleep, isn't he?” the guard said. “With kings andlawyers.”I answered.

One little story came to me some days after Bartleby died. I learnedhe had worked for many years in the post office. He was in a specialoffice that opened all the nation's letters that never reach theperson they were written to. It is called the Dead Letter Office. Theletters are not written clearly so the mailmen cannot read theaddresses. Well, poor Bartleby had to read the letters to see ifanyone's name was written clearly so they could be sent. Think of it.

From one letter, a wedding ring fell. The finger it was bought forperhaps lies rotting 12 in the grave 13. Another letter has money to helpsomeone long since dead. Letters filled with hope for those who diedwithout hope. Poor Bartleby. He himself had lost all hope. His job hadkilled something inside him. Ah Bartleby. Ah humanity 14.

You have heard an American story called Bartleby. It was written byHerman Melville. Our storyteller was Shep O'Neal. This is ShirleyGriffith.