最后一片葉子

《最后一片葉子》，也譯為《最后的常春藤葉》是美國著名批判現實主義作家歐·亨利（O.Henry）的代表作之一。他是世界三大短篇小說大師之一，他善于挖掘和贊美小人物的偉大人格和高尚品德，展現他們向往人性世界的美好愿望。本故事讓我們為瓊西的命運緊張了一番，為蘇的友誼感嘆了一回，為貝爾曼的博愛震撼了一次。

In a little district west of Washington Square， Sue and Johnsy had their studio at the top of a squatty， three-story brick.

“Johnsy” was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine； the other from California. They had met at a Café in the street in May and found they had a lot in common， so they rented the joint studio.

In November， Pneumonia spread in the district， many people were contracted， and Johnsy was one of the victims. She lay on her bed， scarcely moving， looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.

One morning， the doctor invited Sue into the hallway and said， “Her only chance is the wish to live. She has made up her mind that shes not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind？”

“She—she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day.” said Sue. “Paint？ Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice—a man for instance？” Sue shook her head.

Sue cried. She went into Johnsys room with her drawing board， whistling. Johnsy lay， scarcely moving， with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling， thinking she was asleep.

Johnsys eyes were open wide. She was looking out of the window and counting-counting backward. “Twelve，” she said， and little later “eleven”； and then “ten”； and “nine”； and then “eight” and “seven”， almost together.

“What is it， dear？” asked Sue. “Six，” said Johnsy in a whisper. “Theyre falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. There goes another one. There are only five left now.”

“Five what， dear？”“Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls， I must go， too.” Sue complained with magnificent scorn.“What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well？”

Johnsy said， keeping her eyes fixed out the window. “There goes another. That leaves just four. The last one will fall before it gets dark. Then Ill go， too.”

“Johnsy， dear，” said Sue， “Please promise me to keep your eyes closed， and try to sleep. I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old miner. Dont try to move till I come back.”

Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelos Moses beard. Behrman was a failure in art. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece， but had never begun it yet.

Sue found Behrman smelling strongly in his dimly lighted den below. She told him of Johnsys fancy， and how she feared she would indeed pass away soon.

Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue drew the shade and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine without speaking.

When Sue awoke the next morning， she found Johnsy staring at the drawn green shade. “Pull it up； I want to see，” she ordered， in a whisper. Sue obeyed. After the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind， one ivy leaf stood there.

The doctor came in the afternoon， and he told Sue： “Even chances， with good nursing youll win. And now I must see another case downstairs. Behrman， he is some kind of an artist， I believe. Pneumonia， too. There is no hope for him.”

The next day Johnnsy was out of danger. And later they knew that Behrman drew the leaf on such a dreadful night. Behrmans masterpiece—he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell.

在華盛頓廣場西邊的一個小區里，蘇和瓊西的畫室設在一所又寬又矮的三層樓磚房的頂樓上。

“瓊西”是瓊娜的昵稱。她倆一個來自緬因州，一個來自加利福尼亞州。她們五月在街上的咖啡廳相遇，發現彼此有很多相同之處，便合租了那間畫室。 到了11月，肺炎在這個區蔓延，很多人都感染了，瓊西也患上了可怕的肺炎。她躺在床上，一動也不動，凝望著小小的荷蘭式玻璃窗外對面磚房的空墻。

一天早晨，醫生把蘇叫到外邊的走廊上，說道：“她唯一的希望就是她想要活下去的念頭。她斷定自己好不了了。她還有什么牽掛嗎？”

“她，她希望有一天能夠去畫那不勒斯的海灣。”蘇說。“畫畫？她腦子里有沒有什么值得她想了又想的事……比如說，一個男人？”蘇搖了搖頭否認了。

蘇哭了。她拿著畫板走進瓊西的屋子，吹著口哨。瓊西躺著，臉朝著窗口，一動不動。蘇以為她睡著了，趕忙停止吹口哨。

瓊西的眼睛睜得很大。她望著窗外，數著……倒過來數。“12，”她數道，歇了一會又說，“11”，然后是“10”，和“9”，接著幾乎同時數著“8”和“7”。

“什么呀，親愛的？”蘇問道。“6，”瓊西低聲說道，“它們現在越落越快了。三天前差不多還有一百片。又掉了一片。只剩下五片了。”

“五片什么呀，親愛的。” “葉子。長春藤上的。等到最后一片葉子掉下來，我也就該去了。”蘇十分不以為然地說，“那些破長春藤葉子和你的病好不好有什么關系？”

瓊西的眼睛盯著窗外說道，“又落了一片。只剩四片了。我想在天黑以前那最后一片葉子也會掉的。然后我也要去了。”

“瓊西，親愛的，”蘇對她說，“答應我閉上眼睛睡一會兒吧。我得下樓把貝爾曼叫上來，給我當老礦工的模特兒。不要動，等我回來。”

老貝爾曼是住在她們這座樓底層的一個畫家。他年過60，有一把像米開朗琪羅的摩西雕像那樣的大胡子。貝爾曼是個失敗的畫家。他總說馬上開始畫他的那幅杰作，可是直到現在也還沒動筆。

蘇在樓下那間光線黯淡的斗室里找到了滿嘴酒氣的貝爾曼。蘇把瓊西的胡思亂想告訴了他，還說她害怕瓊西恐怕真會離世走了。

他們上樓發現瓊西在睡覺。蘇把窗簾拉下，做手勢叫貝爾曼到隔壁屋子里去。他們在那里提心吊膽地瞅著窗外那棵長春藤，一言不發。

第二天早晨，蘇醒來時，看見瓊西注視著綠窗簾。“把窗簾拉起來，我要看看。”她低聲地命令道。蘇照辦了。經過了漫長一夜的風吹雨打，在磚墻上還掛著一片藤葉。

下午醫生來了，他告訴蘇說：“有五成希望。好好護理你會成功的。現在我得去看樓下另一個病人。他的名字叫貝爾曼，聽說也是個藝術家。也是肺炎。他治不好了。”

第二天，瓊西脫離危險了。后來他們得知是貝爾曼在如此寒冷的冬夜畫了那片葉子。這片葉子就是貝爾曼的杰作。就在最后一片葉子掉下來的那個晚上，他把它畫在了那里。

后記： 最后一片常春藤葉依然留在古老的窗外；瓊西也綻放出了往日的笑容，變得開朗樂觀；偉大的畫家貝爾曼永遠留在人們的心中。