American Short Stories for the EFL Classroom

continued from No. 7

РRISCILLA IN THE POND

Priscilla was always ready for the unexpected. Much of her success in love and business had come from understanding that nothing could last forever. Things happened. People died. Meanwhile, she found strength, dignity, and a private sense of advantage in knowing that nothing could wholly surprise her. Until the very day she fell into the pond, at the age of 36, she was able to say with the poet, “Safe shall be my going, secretly armed against all death’s endeavor.”
She fell off a long footbridge near the teahouse. If the month had been June or July, the teahouse would have been occupied and all would have been well, or at least better. As it was, with the year nearly over, the teahouse was empty. The pond was covered with ice. So were the planks of the bridge, and that was why she slipped.
It was perfectly ridiculous. Her hip struck the flimsy railing, which broke and let her through. She fell several feet and then met the ice with her shoulder and the side of her head. Fortunately, it was her shoulder that broke the ice, so that her head struck only yielding fragments in the water.
Half stunned, but already beginning to struggle and make swimming motions, she plunged on an angle toward the bottom. Her fur coat was confining but buoyant. By the time she got her wits about her, she had risen to the layer of ice. Unfortunately, the hole she had made in it was somewhere else. There wasn’t any air.
After a second or two of panic, she got control of herself. She was a good swimmer, quite at home in cold water. The pond wasn’t Lake Superior. All she had to do was find the hole in the ice and get out.
Her coat was bunched maddeningly under her arms, though. Her head ached. There was a dreadful roaring in her ears – perhaps from hitting the ice, perhaps from plunging so deep, perhaps, already, from holding her breath too long. She’d have to be quick.
She took off her shoes and let them go. She fought free of her coat and pushed it away. Only then did she realize that her eyes had been shut tight since before she entered the water.
She opened them. Blue light was coming from above. She raised both hands and pushed upward against the milky ice, but succeeded only in forcing herself lower in the water. The ice did look thin, and she knew skaters mistrusted it. If only she could get her feet on something solid, she might be able to break out. She pointed her feet downward, feeling for the bottom, and felt only more water. She swam a few yards and tried again. Still no bottom. Clearly, the best chance of keeping matters from getting serious lay in searching for the hole she’d entered by. She couldn’t do much without air.
Treading water and keeping her eyes open, she turned slowly in a circle. She hoped there might be a brightening of the water in the direction of the hole. Instead, when she had made about half the turn, she saw something dark. Part of the bridge? If so, it probably indicated a good direction to try.
Using an easy breastroke, sometimes feeling the ceiling of ice against her back, she swam toward the dark thing. As she did so, it began to seem the only hope she had. Then she saw what it was. Stupid fur coat! Stupid coat of her own, from the Shangri-La Salon, looming like a walrus or an angel of death, watching her. It wasn’t fair.
The roaring in her ears increased. Her chest muscles jerked, trying to breathe. There wasn’t much more time.
Beyond the coat was a heavier darkness – the shadow of the bridge, this time for sure. She swam toward it, now unable to suppress the alarming spasms in her chest. Soon a vertical timber came into focus, straight ahead. It was brownish green. She ran her hand up its surface, expecting the ice to stop her. Instead, her hand encountered spongy material like packed snow. She forced her fingers upward into the slush, and they went clear through, into the air above.
Using both hands, she clawed a larger hole. It was disappointingly narrow. The sun’s heat had warmed the dark post, but not enough. The slot between the hard ice and the wood was too narrow for her body. If it proved too narrow for her head as well, she would die.
She embraced the post and forced her head upward beside it, scraping one cheek on the granular ice and the other on the wood. A moment later, her face was above water. She gasped air into herself, blew it out, and gasped more in. Dizzy with oxygen, dizzy with relief, she felt like weeping. Then she realized the relief was unwarranted. She was still in the water. The slot was like a vise holding her head in one position. She was free to escape the vise, but only downward.
She shouted for help. She did it again and again. At first she yelled the word “Help” very clearly, but later not. She sounded like a dog barking, and then like a whimpering child. No one came.
She heaved her shoulders against the collar of ice around the post, but failed to break it. Clutching the post, she pushed her head as high as it would go and looked out. Her eyes were barely above the upper surface of the ice. She was facing toward the teahouse. There weren’t any signs of a break in the ice beside the bridge.
Gritting her teeth, she lowered herself into the water far enough to be free to turn her head. Then she came up, facing in the opposite direction. She scratched both cheeks again, but this time she saw something. The splintered railing of the bridge was pointing at the ice, not 20 yards away.
She took three big breaths and held most of the last one. Then, she lowered her head, released her grip on the post, and pushed off along the shadow of the bridge. With the bridge’s underpinnings to guide her, she expected to have little trouble in locating the proper place to look for the hole in the ice.
She turned out to be wrong about that. Following the line of the bridge was easy enough, but accurately guessing the distance she had swum was impossible. By the time a few seconds had passed, she was terribly unsure. Ten yards to go? Five? She swam a little farther and stopped for a methodical search of the underside of the ice. She cruised in a small circle, then a larger one, without seeing anything encouraging. Soon she lost her orientation almost completely. All she could recognize was the shadow of the bridge, and its direction kept seeming to change.
She wasn’t going to find the hole. The truth grew on her very slowly. As soon as she was sure, she swam to the bridge and then to the nearest vertical post. She touched it and pushed her hand upward. This time, perhaps because the color of the post wasn’t very dark, there hadn’t been so much softening. Hard ice came within two inches of the wood. She wasn’t going to be able to get her head through.
Slowly she lowered her hand. Here, then, would be the place. Safe shall be my going. Now would be the time.
But the prospect of failing to survive was not merely frightening, as she had expected. It was devastating. The dignity with which she had intended to face her final moments, whenever they might come, turned out to have depended entirely on the ability to draw breath. Dignity was inconsistent with this straining chest, this locked throat now almost too tired to keep the water out. She perceived that her life had been not safe but smug, and that she was about to spend the last of it in mindless archings and jerkings, like a fish on a dusty bank. It wasn’t to be borne.
Her mind grew clear and crafty. Somehow a way must be found to survive after all, if only to proceed thereafter, always unsafe and unready, toward the earning of a better death.
Ignoring the jerking of her chest muscles and holding her breath resolutely, she pushed away from the post and swam along the bridge shadow. The bridge was long, but it had to lead to shallow water. She kept going.
She swam for many more seconds than she’d known she could stay alive. She kept going until the bottom of the pond was within a few feet of the ice. Then she stopped, planted her feet in the mud, and heaved upward against the ice with her back.
At first the ice held, only creaking a bit, like a heavy gate. Then it gave way with a crash – almost unbearably loud because her ears were underwater – she stood up, throwing off great slabs and shards of ice. It was like being born.
She stumbled to the shore and sat down against a tree. Then the cold began to penetrate, and she stood up and started for home. It wouldn’t do to freeze to death now, right at the beginning.
By John Savage

GLOSSARY:

endeavor	v. to try to do something; n. an attempt to do something
flimsy	n. a lightweight paper used for multiple copies
stun	v. make senseless or unconscious, as by a blow
buoyant	adj. having the tendency to float or rise in liquid or air
bunch	gathered all around
tread water	keep the body upright and the head above water by moving the legs in a walking motion without moving forward
loom	v. appear, take shape, or come in sight indistinctly, as through a mist
suppress	to put down by force
spasms	n. sudden, convulsive involuntary contraction of a muscle [spasmodic adj.]
slush	n. partly melted snow
granular	adj. like grains
unwarranted	adj. unjustified
whimpering	n. making low crying sounds
grit	v. close firmly or tightly or grind (teeth) in anger or determination
splinter	v. to split or break into splinters
underpinnings	n. supporting structure or foundation
cruise	v. travel about at random
orientation	n. position with relation to the points of the compass or a particular fixed point
devastate	v. make helpless; overpower; overcome
smug	adj. narrowly contented with one’s own accomplishments, beliefs, morality
resolution	n. condition of being firm and unchanging in purpose [resolute adj.]
heave	to raise with an effort
slab	n. piece that is flat, broad, and fairly thick
penetrate	to deeply enter (something)

NOTE
Lake Superior one of five large fresh water lakes in the north central part of the United States.

TRUE-FALSE
Some of the statements below are true and some are false. Choose the false statements and tell why they are incorrect.
1. Priscilla did not fall off the footbridge in June or July.
2. She fell with her hip striking the ice first.
3. Priscilla was wearing a fur coat when she fell into the water.
4. She shut her eyes after going under water.
5. There were no skaters on the ice.
6. Priscilla swam toward her coat, mistaking it for part of the bridge.
7. She found a hole in the ice near the bridge post.
8. She got her head out of the water, but could not pull her body through the slot in the ice.
9. Priscilla was easily able to swim back and find the hole she had made when she fell through the ice.
10. Finally, she broke through the ice in a completely different place than the original hole.

Key: l. T; 2. F; 3. T; 4. F; 5. T; 6. T; 7. Т; 8. Т; 9. F; 10. T

MEANING FROM CONTEXT
Choose the meaning that is closest to the meaning in the context of the story. Look for clues to help you guess correctly.

1.	clutch	5.	stun
	a. brake		a. cut
	b. grasp		b. drown
	c. drop		c. daze
2.	borne	6.	creak
	a. tolerated		a. slide
	b. produced		b. break
	c. carried		c. squeak
3.	heave	7.	spongy
	a. swim		a. yielding
	b. push		b. soaked
	c. fall		c. compressed
4.	plank	8.	suppress
	a. board		a. escape
	b. flat		b. restrain
	c. railing		c. breathe

Key: l. b; 2. а; 3. b; 4. a; 5. c; 6. с; 7. a; 8. b

SYNONYMS AND ANTONYMS
Below are words from the story, each followed by a group of synonyms and antonyms. Decide which is a synonym (S) and which is an antonym (A) by referring to the context the word is used in.
1. crafty: sincere, naive, cunning, subtle, designing, artless, natural, tricky, sly, intriguing
2. devastate: demolish, obliterate, construct, produce, overturn, ruin, establish, form, constitute, dissolve, upset
3. flimsy: frail, stout, fragile, sturdy, potent, unsubstantial, hardy, papery, sound
4. inconsistent: conformable, abnormal, exceptional, arbitrary, regular, conventional, anomalous, habitual, compliant
5. resolute: determined, decided, unresolved, hesitating, tenacious, serious, earnest, weak, unsteady, relentless, shrinking
6. unwarranted: unjustified, authorized, undue, unsanctioned, unentitled, meriting, allowed, deserving, worthy, unearned

Key: 1. A, A, S, S, S, A, A, S, S, S; 2. S, S, A, A, S, S, A, A, A, S, S; 3. S, A, S, A, A, S, A, S, A; 4. A, S, S, S, A, A, S, A, A; 5. S, S, A, A, S, S, S, A, A, S, A; 6. S, A, S, S, S, A, A, A, A, S

WHAT IS YOUR UNDERSTANDING?
1. Why had Priscilla been successful in love and business?
2.Why would all have been well if Priscilla had fallen into the pond in June or July?
3. How was her fur coat both a help and a hindrance?
4. Why is it important that she get her feet on something solid?
5. What was Priscilla’s problem after she left the bridge in her search for the hole? Why did she give up the search?
6. When she thought she was going to die, what truth did Priscilla see about her own life?

WHAT IS YOUR INTERPRETATION?
1. How would you interpret the meaning of “Safe shall be my going, secretly armed against all death’s endeavor,” within the context of the story?
2. Priscilla is concerned as much with the dignity of dying as with the struggle to survive. Discuss why dying under the ice would be inconsistent with dignity, and why Priscilla should be so concerned about dignity at such a time.
3. What do you take to be the significance of the last sentence in the story?

THE DEAD DOG

It was a quiet, shady street, on a Sunday afternoon, and the houses, set back on long lawns, looked closed up, deserted. A few people were walking on the street, under the trees, and some children were playing in an empty lot next to a small apartment building. A car passed me, and just then a dog ran out into the street, and the front wheels of the car hit it. The car did not stop, and by the time I had stopped mine it had disappeared round a corner. The old man who had been walking with the dog was standing on the curb, bent over a little, looking down at the dog where it had been thrown in the gutter. The children stopped their playing and drew nearer, and a man and woman paused on the sidewalk behind the old man and stared at him curiously for a moment, said something to each other, and went on, looking back at him over their shoulders. I got out and started to walk toward him, and then he did a curious thing.
He bent over and fastened the leash which he had in his hand on to the collar of the dead dog. I was beside him when he straightened up, but he did not look at me. He was looking down at the animal and pulling at the leash with insistent little tugs, as if he thought that the dog might be persuaded to come along. It was perfectly clear that the dog was dead.
He was a very old man who had behaved as a child would behave in the same situation, pretending in the face of catastrophe that no catastrophe had occurred. At the same time, he was trembling with shock and grief, with the knowledge of what had happened. I was afraid that he might topple over, so I said, “Sit down here and I’ll bring my car closer,” and helped him to a sitting position on the curb. Still he said nothing, still had not even looked at me. He sat staring at the dog, with the leash shaking in his hand.
The children had moved into the middle of the street, where the three of them stood in a line and stared. One of them suddenly began a shrill crying, “She’s dead! She’s dead!” and ran back to the sidewalk across the street. The others followed, and then they all ran into the middle of the street and circled back again, all crying in a shrill, excited chorus, “She’s dead!” I was going to tell them to be quiet, but then I saw that the old man did not hear even their racket. I walked back to my car to save him that many steps.
I drove up to where he was and got out again. I touched his shoulder and said, “Tell me what I can do. Where do you live?”
He looked up at me with watering eyes, and then down at the dog again, and said, “She’s dead. Cissy’s dead.” He said it with something like awe in his voice, with a child’s frightened incredulity. He was trembling more than ever, utterly confused, really sick with fright and shock, and, of course, grief for his dog. And again he said, “Cissy’s dead,” as if he had to restate the fact to himself if he was to understand it.
“I’ll put the dog in the back, and you get in the front with me,” I said.
I bent over the dog and was about to unfasten the leash from the collar when he said, “No, leave that on. Don’t take that off.”
I said, “All right. Shall I take the other end of it?”
He handed me the end of the leash, and I picked up the dog. It was a wire-haired terrier with some Airedale in it, and overfed – not much of a dog as dogs go. And now it was heavy, sagging with the heavy limpness of newly dead animals, and a trickle of blood was drying on its muzzle. I picked it up and put it on the floor in the back of the car, and rolled up the trailing leash.
From his seat on the curb the old man watched me handle the dog, and when I had closed the back door and came toward him he said, “Take me to 14 Stephens Street, will you?”
I said, “Yes. Let me help you in.”
He seemed now to have more or less taken in his situation, but he was not able to get to his feet. I helped him up and then had almost to lift him into the car. I could feel how frail he was, and how powerful the blow which, for the moment, had shattered what small strength he had.
I went around and got in beside him and started the motor. “Stephens Street’s only a few blocks from here,” I said. “I’ll have you home in a moment.”
As we started off, the three children, who were standing quietly on the other curb now, staring, began their high screaming again: “She’s dead! She’s dead!”
The old man looked at the fixtures on the door of the car and said, “May I have some air?”
I ran down the window on his side. Then he said, “I’m not well. I’ve been sick for five years – not feeling quite well.”
“I’m sorry. You’ll be all right now, won’t you, until you get home?”
He breathed quickly, as if to get as much of the fresh air into his lungs as he could, and said, “You’ll see that I get home? It’s 14 Stephens Street.”
I said, “Yes,” and drove a little faster.
His hands, which he held gripped together in his lap, were clean and well kept. White hair hung in neat wisps under the upturned brim of his black hat, and he had a carefully tended white beard. His clothes were black, clean, and a little worn. Altogether, he looked like a retired professor, like a man who had grown old in gentle surroundings and a pleasant profession.
We turned into Stephens Street. I would have placed him somewhere else. Stephens Street was deserted, drab, without trees. The packed rows of houses with their blank windows seemed two-dimensional. Number 14 Stephens Street was exactly like the houses on either side of it.
“This is it, isn’t it?”
He looked out at the building and said nothing, and except for his trembling, which had not abated, he did not move.
“I live with my daughter-in-law,” he said finally. “My son’s dead. It’s her house.”
The building was hard and ugly in the afternoon light, a tall frame structure painted a shade of tan which reflected the sunlight in a solid glare. It was obviously a three-flat arrangement, with ugly dark interiors, and grim people.
“My son’s been dead for four years,” he said.
“I’ll take you in,” I said.
He looked at me with his sorrowing eyes as if he were asking a question, and I thought I answered the question when I said, “Yes, I’ll carry the dog in.”
I helped him out, but instead of moving toward the house with me he clung to the open door of the car and looked down into the back where his dog lay with the leash on her collar.
“What shall I tell my daughter-in-law?” he asked in his quavering tones.
“Well, Cissy’s yours, after all,” I said. His voice turned a little shrill. “Oh, no! No!” he cried. “She’s always told me – she’s told me time and again that I must never let Cissy off the leash! I knew it, I knew it – I was told –”
And then suddenly he let go of the door and sat down heavily on the running board, and I saw that he was looking at me not with grief at all, but with absolute, quaking terror. It was the terror of a child who knows the punishment ahead.
I looked at the bare front of the house, and for a moment I had an impulse not to take him in there at all. But of course there was nothing else to do.
By Mark Schorer

GLOSSARY:

curb	(Brit.) kerb
sidewalk	(Brit.) pavement
leash	n. strap, chain, etc., for holding a dog or other animal in check
collar	a band worn round the neck
tugs	to pull hard
shock and grief	a strong feeling of sadness and unpleasant surprise
topple	v. fall forward
shrill	sharp, high-pitched tone or sound
racket	confused, clattering noise
awe	an emotion of reverence, dread and wonder
incredulity	n. unreadiness to believe; a lack of belief
sag	v. sink under weight or pressure
limpness	lacking strength or structure
muzzle	n. nose, mouth, and jaws of a four-footed animal
frail	physically and emotionally weak
fixture	n. thing put in place to stay
wisp	n. a small curl or bunch
brim	the projecting rim of a hat
drab	adj. having a dull, monotonous, cheerless quality
abate	v. make or become less; put an end to; decrease

TRUE-FALSE
Some of the statements below are true and some are false. Choose the false statements and tell why they are incorrect.
1. The narrator of the story hit the dog.
2. The children did not help the old man.
3. The dog had broken the leash and run into the street.
4. The children’s shouting was bothering the old man.
5. The dog did not belong to the old man.

Key: l. F; 2. T; 3. F; 4. F; 5. T

MEANING FROM CONTEXT
Choose the meaning that is closest to the meaning in the context of the story. Look for clues to help you guess correctly.

1.	abate	4.	take in
	a. increase		a. dislike
	b. decrease		b. go inside
	c. shake		c. understand
2.	drab	5.	topple over
	a. dull		a. fall forward
	b. empty		b. jump over
	c. wet		c. drive close
3.	sag
	a. smell bad
	b. sink down under weight
	c. make a sad noise

Key: l. b; 2. а; 3. b; 4. c; 5. a

SYNONYM STUDY
The words in the left column are from the story. Without using a dictionary, try to match them with synonyms in the right column.

1.	awe	a.	dragging
2.	brim	b.	edge
3.	frail	c.	sudden desire
4.	grim	d.	sharp tone
5.	impulse	e.	completely
6.	racket	f.	wonder
7.	shrill	g.	severe
8.	trailing	h.	loud noise
9.	tremble	i.	weak
10.	utterly	j.	shake

Key: l. f; 2. b; 3. i; 4. g; 5. c; 6. h; 7. d; 8. a; 9. j; 10. e

WHAT IS YOUR UNDERSTANDING?
1. What is the reason for the street being deserted?
2. What is the “curious” thing that the old man did and why was it curious?
3. Immediately after the accident, do you think the old man realized that the dog was dead? Give a reason for your answer.
4. What do you think the narrator meant by the comment, “...not much of a dog as dogs go”?
5. What was the old man’s purpose in looking at the fixtures on the door of the car?
6. Why didn’t the narrator think the old man would have lived on Stephens Street?
7. What caused the houses on Stephens Street to look two-dimensional?
8. “Yes, I’ll carry the dog in” is the answer to what question?
9. Why was the narrator wrong to have believed that the old man was grieving for the dog?
10. When the narrator learns that the old man is terrified, what does he want to do for him?

WHAT IS YOUR INTERPRETATION?
1. Were the children being cruel when they shouted, “She’s dead!” Why would they do such a thing? Do you think they knew the old man?
2. When you first read the part where the old man fastens the leash to the dead dog, what did you think was the reason for this action? Did you accept the narrator’s explanation or did you feel that there was another way to account for the old man’s behavior?
3. Given the description of the old man as he sat in the car, would you guess along with the narrator that he might be a retired professor? What other occupation might he have had?

OPTIONAL ACTIVITIES FOR DISCUSSION OR COMPOSITION
1. Why would a person get so upset at the death of an animal? Would you be so seriously affected if your pet were killed?
2. Why do you think the driver of the car that hit the dog didn’t stop? Should he have stopped? Could it have made a difference to the old man?
3. There is one character important to the story who is never directly described – the daughter-in-law. What image do you have of her? Try describing what she might be like.