最后一片叶子

《最后一片叶子》，也译为《最后的常春藤叶》是美国著名批判现实主义作家欧·亨利（O.Henry）的代表作之一。他是世界三大短篇小说大师之一，他善于挖掘和赞美小人物的伟大人格和高尚品德，展现他们向往人性世界的美好愿望。本故事让我们为琼西的命运紧张了一番，为苏的友谊感叹了一回，为贝尔曼的博爱震撼了一次。

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.

在华盛顿广场西边的一个小区里，苏和琼西的画室设在一所又宽又矮的三层楼砖房的顶楼上。

“琼西”是琼娜的昵称。她俩一个来自缅因州，一个来自加利福尼亚州。她们五月在街上的咖啡厅相遇，发现彼此有很多相同之处，便合租了那间画室。 到了11月，肺炎在这个区蔓延，很多人都感染了，琼西也患上了可怕的肺炎。她躺在床上，一动也不动，凝望着小小的荷兰式玻璃窗外对面砖房的空墙。

一天早晨，医生把苏叫到外边的走廊上，说道：“她唯一的希望就是她想要活下去的念头。她断定自己好不了了。她还有什么牵挂吗？”

“她，她希望有一天能够去画那不勒斯的海湾。”苏说。“画画？她脑子里有没有什么值得她想了又想的事……比如说，一个男人？”苏摇了摇头否认了。

苏哭了。她拿着画板走进琼西的屋子，吹着口哨。琼西躺着，脸朝着窗口，一动不动。苏以为她睡着了，赶忙停止吹口哨。

琼西的眼睛睁得很大。她望着窗外，数着……倒过来数。“12，”她数道，歇了一会又说，“11”，然后是“10”，和“9”，接着几乎同时数着“8”和“7”。

“什么呀，亲爱的？”苏问道。“6，”琼西低声说道，“它们现在越落越快了。三天前差不多还有一百片。又掉了一片。只剩下五片了。”

“五片什么呀，亲爱的。” “叶子。长春藤上的。等到最后一片叶子掉下来，我也就该去了。”苏十分不以为然地说，“那些破长春藤叶子和你的病好不好有什么关系？”

琼西的眼睛盯着窗外说道，“又落了一片。只剩四片了。我想在天黑以前那最后一片叶子也会掉的。然后我也要去了。”

“琼西，亲爱的，”苏对她说，“答应我闭上眼睛睡一会儿吧。我得下楼把贝尔曼叫上来，给我当老矿工的模特儿。不要动，等我回来。”

老贝尔曼是住在她们这座楼底层的一个画家。他年过60，有一把像米开朗琪罗的摩西雕像那样的大胡子。贝尔曼是个失败的画家。他总说马上开始画他的那幅杰作，可是直到现在也还没动笔。

苏在楼下那间光线黯淡的斗室里找到了满嘴酒气的贝尔曼。苏把琼西的胡思乱想告诉了他，还说她害怕琼西恐怕真会离世走了。

他们上楼发现琼西在睡觉。苏把窗帘拉下，做手势叫贝尔曼到隔壁屋子里去。他们在那里提心吊胆地瞅着窗外那棵长春藤，一言不发。

第二天早晨，苏醒来时，看见琼西注视着绿窗帘。“把窗帘拉起来，我要看看。”她低声地命令道。苏照办了。经过了漫长一夜的风吹雨打，在砖墙上还挂着一片藤叶。

下午医生来了，他告诉苏说：“有五成希望。好好护理你会成功的。现在我得去看楼下另一个病人。他的名字叫贝尔曼，听说也是个艺术家。也是肺炎。他治不好了。”

第二天，琼西脱离危险了。后来他们得知是贝尔曼在如此寒冷的冬夜画了那片叶子。这片叶子就是贝尔曼的杰作。就在最后一片叶子掉下来的那个晚上，他把它画在了那里。

后记： 最后一片常春藤叶依然留在古老的窗外；琼西也绽放出了往日的笑容，变得开朗乐观；伟大的画家贝尔曼永远留在人们的心中。