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Her er du: NRK > Undervisning > Språk og reiser > Engelsk | Oppdatert 31.10.2001 19:01 |
| SO MUCH TO TELL YOU – part six Publisert 31.10.2001 19:01 Music: Pat Metheny "Precious Jewel" JUNE 19 Mrs. Ransome came through with the address today. He’s in a place called Townley Prison Farm in Tarpaggi. A prison farm. That doesn’t sound quite as bad. I imagined him in a cell block having to fight mass murderers every day just to stay alive.... A prison farm might be all right, with fresh air and stuff, and I guess: the prisoners wouldn’t be so violent or dangerous there JUNE 24 Well, I finally managed to write a sort of letter. It’s s not very good. In fact, it’s pathetic. I solved the "Dear Daddy" problem by not starting it with anything. This is what I wrote: I’m sorry I haven’t written before. I hope it’s not too bad where you are and that the food is good. It’s not too bad here. I hope you’re O.K. And that was all. It took two, nearly three hours to write that. I didn’t know how to end it, either ... I don't think I can sign it "Love" or "Your loving daughter" or even "Yours sincerely." I’m going to chuck it away. JUNE 26 Well, I posted the letter today – stupid, but there it is, it’s done now, even though I wanted to get it back as soon as I’d put it in the box. JUNE 30 Today has been a disturbing, frightening, confusing day. I don’t know what to do. I have an answer to my letter already, within five days – like mine, with no greeting and no farewell: Thank you for your letter. I am glad you wrote; more glad than I can say. I did not expect to hear from you. l cannot say what is in my heart and anyway I do not think I have the right. So I will write a little to you about my life here It is quite a good place, better than the first one I went to. Most of our work is in the pine forests, cutting and stacking and planting and so forth. The men are not a bad bunch, though there are not many educated fellows among them. But some are allowed to go to the nearest big town – Buntleigh – to take courses. So you see, we are quite trusted. I go in on the bus to the hospital every Monday for treatment for a hand I injured on the way here. That is my day out, and I look forward to it. I will write no more now because I want this letter to catch this afternoon’s mail. But I hope and pray you will write again to me very soon. I thank you once more for your letter. I feel now that I have to write back. It’s almost like being trapped. In a way, I’d rather see him face to face. I can think of nothing that I can put in a letter. His letter is so like him in so many ways. So formal, so reserved. Why can’t he say what he really thinks for once? Just for once in his life. JULY 2 An inspiration hit me like a bomb in chapel this morning. I was sitting next to Cathy, imagining what it was going to be like in Tregonning and staying on their farm, when suddenly I remembered her saying how she got all her clothes and stuff for school in Buntleigh, because there were no big shops in Tregonning. Buntleigh was the nearest big town to my father. It was where he went for hospital treatment on his hand. I grabbed a pen and wrote Cathy a note in the back of the hymn book: Is there a bus from your place to Buntleigh? She answered: No, train from Tregonning. Could I go there while I’m staying with you? Yes, of course. Music: Pearl Jam "Wishlist" JULY 6 Well, I’m at Cathy’s place. Since we got here it’s been nonstop. This seems to be another one of those magical families where people are nice to each other, and friendly and kind and generous. I’m so glad I came here now! JULY 9 Well, it’s all arranged for me to go to Buntleigh if I want to. I feel pretty stupid writing notes to Cathy while I’m staying here but last night I wrote her a note just saying I’d like to go to Buntleigh on Monday on the train. "Do you want me to come?" Cathy asked, but I shook my head. I’d already thought about that. I hope she wasn’t offended, but she didn’t seem to be. "O.K. I’ll fix it," she said. "Dad has to go into Tregonning on Monday, he could give you a lift." JULY 11 Mr. Preshill drove me to Tregonning, bought my ticket for me, asked me if I was O.K. for cash, and told me about the return trains. I think he was a bit worried about me. It was a short journey – in one way, anyway – and I got there just after nine. Even from the station it was easy to pick out the hospital. I pushed open the big double doors and went in. The place was really crowded, even though there was a big waiting area. People looked at me curiously, or looked away pretending not to notice. Before I had walked more than three steps into the waiting room a sister came up to me which wasn’t quite in my plans. "Do you want to see a doctor?" she asked. I nodded. I figured the easiest thing would be to go along with that. "O.K," she said "fill in this form, please, and take it to the desk." That was easy enough. At the desk, they told me to sit down and they would call me when my turn came. I thought about the way my father had always worked so hard to make money so we could have things – but on the other hand I never got to see much of him, and he didn’t get any time to enjoy all the things that he was buying. The funny, sad, strange thing about it is that after all the disasters and hard hard times, the only person with whom I feel any real bond is my father. We’re alike in some ways, different in others. We both find it hard – impossible – to show our feelings. I’d been waiting so long that I was getting nervous that my name was going to be called, to see a doctor whom I had no reason to see. I’d seated myself in a corner from which I could see the main entrance clearly, but there were so many other entrances and exits that it was hard to keep track of everyone coming in and out. Then it all happened. The sister came out of the treatment area, for the hundredth time that morning, looking at a form in her hands, she lifted her head and opened her mouth. I heard my name ringing out across the crowded benches.I panicked and stood up. To my right, behind me, there was a flurry of amazed movement, from someone who had just come in a side door. I turned heavily, but knowing. "Marina!" he said. "Hello, Dad," I answered. Everything was still. My father, who never hugged, put his arms awkwardly around me. He felt bony and tight, but I knew this was hard for him. I held him as well as I could, wanting to say everything. We were both crying, I think. People were watching, and I was embarrassed, but I didn’t want to let him go. We’d come quite a way to have this hug: it looked like a long one. I cleared my throat and tried again: "I’ve got so much to tell you...." Music: Pearl Jam "Wishlist" Vocabularypathetic – patetisk, gripende/gripandechuck away – kaste pine forest – furuskog stack – stable and so forth – og så videre/og så vidare bunch – gjeng trap – fange i en felle/fange i ei felle chapel – kapell, kirke/kyrkje offend – fornærme fill in a form – fylle ut et skjema/fylle ut eit skjema bond – bånd/band main entrance – hovedinngang/hovudinngang exit – utgang keep track of – holde rede på/halde greie på flurry – nervøs uro After the programme1. What does her father write about life in the prison?2. How does she manage to meet her father? 3. What does Marina say that the two of them have in common? 4. Write Marina’s journal entry for July 12 when she’s back at Cathy’s place. What feelings and thoughts do you think are roaming in her? 5. What do you think went through her father’s mind when he unexpectedly met his daughter? Write the letter he wrote to her the day after their meeting. 6. Looking back on the process Marina went through from February until July 11, what do you think were the main factors contributing to her gradual recovery? |
31.10.2001 19:01 SO MUCH TO TELL YOU – part six 31.10.2001 19:00 SO MUCH TO TELL YOU – part five 31.10.2001 18:59 SO MUCH TO TELL YOU – part four 31.10.2001 18:58 SO MUCH TO TELL YOU – part three 31.10.2001 18:57 SO MUCH TO TELL YOU – part two 31.10.2001 18:56 SO MUCH TO TELL YOU – part one 31.10.2001 17:58 Urban Indians 31.10.2001 17:51 Powwow on the Reservation 31.10.2001 17:43 Ancestral Voices 28.08.2001 08:12 On the Information Highway |
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