第14章TheLastLeaf

第14章thelastleaf

inalittledistrictwestofwashingtonsquarethestreetshaveruncrazyandbrokenthemselvesintosmallstripscalled"places."these"places"makestrangeanglesandcurves.onestreetcrossesitselfatimeortwo.anartistoncediscoveredavaluablepossibilityinthisstreet.supposeacollectorwithabillforpaints,paperandcanvasshould,intraversingthisroute,suddenlymeethimselfcomingback,withoutacenthavingbeenpaidonaccount!

so,toquaintoldgreenwichvillagetheartpeoplesooncameprowling,huntingfornorthwindowsandeighteenth-centurygablesanddutchatticsandlowrents.thentheyimportedsomepewtermugsandachafingdishortwofromsixthavenue,andbecamea"colony."

atthetopofasquatty,three-storybricksueandjohnsyhadtheirstudio."johnsy"wasfamiliarforjoanna.onewasfrommaine;theotherfromcalifornia.theyhadmetatthetabled'h^oteofaneighthstreet"delmonico's,"andfoundtheirtastesinart,chicorysaladandbishopsleevessocongenialthatthejointstudioresulted.

thatwasinmay.innovemberacold,unseenstranger,whomthedoctorscalledpneumonia,stalkedaboutthecolony,touchingonehereandtherewithhisicyfingers.overontheeastsidethisravagerstrodeboldly,smitinghisvictimsbyscores,buthisfeettrodslowlythroughthemazeofthenarrowandmoss-grown"places."

mr.pneumoniawasnotwhatyouwouldcallachivalricoldgentleman.amiteofalittlewomanwithbloodthinnedbycaliforniazephyrswashardlyfairgameforthered-fisted,short-breathedoldduffer.butjohnsyhesmote;andshelay,scarcelymoving,onherpaintedironbedstead,lookingthroughthesmalldutchwindowpanesattheblanksideofthenextbrickhouse.

onemorningthebusydoctorinvitedsueintothehallwaywithay,greyeyebrow.

"shehasonechancein—letussay,ten,"hesaid,asheshookdownthemercuryinhisclinicalthermometer."andthatchanceisforhertowanttolive.thiswaypeoplehaveoflining-uponthesideoftheundertakermakestheentirepharmacopoeialooksilly.yourlittleladyhasmadeuphermindthatshe'snotgoingtogetwell.hassheanythingonhermind?"

"she—shewantedtopaintthebayofnaplessomeday,"saidsue.

"paint?—bosh!hassheanythingonhermindworththinkingabonttwice—aman,forinstance?"

"aman?"saidsue,withajew-harptwanginhervoice."isamanworth—but,no,doctor;thereisnothingofthekind."

"well,itistheweakness,then,"saidthedoctor."iwilldoallthatscience,sofarasitmayfilterthroughmyefforts,canaccomplish.butwhenevermypatientbeginstocountthecarriagesinherfuneralprocessionisubtract50percentfromthecurativepowerofmedicines.ifyouwillgethertoaskonequestionaboutthenewwinterstylesincloaksleevesiwillpromiseyouaone-in-fivechanceforher,insteadofoneinten."

afterthedoctorhadgonesuewentintotheworkroomandcriedajapanesenapkintoapulp.thensheeredintojohnsy'sroomwithherdrawingboard,whistlingragtime.

johnsylay,scarcelymakingarippleunderthebedclothes,withherfacetowardthewindow.suestoppedwhistling,thinkingshewasasleep.

shearrangedherboardandbeganapen-and-inkdrawingtoillustrateamagazinestory.youngartistsmustpavetheirwaytoartbydrawingpicturesformagazinestoriesthatyoungauthorswritetopavetheirwaytoliterature.

assuewassketchingapairofeleganthorseshowridingtrousersandamonocleonthefigureofthehero,anidahocowboy,sheheardalowsound,severaltimesrepeated.shewentquicklytothebedside.

johnsy'seyeswereopenwide.shewaslookingoutthewindowandcounting—countingbackward.

"twelve,"shesaid,andalittlelater"eleven";andthen"ten,"and"nine";andthen"eight"and"seven",almosttogether.

suelookedsolicitouslyoutthewindow.whatwastheretocount?therewasonlyabare,drearyyardtobeseen,andtheblanksideofthebrickhousetwentyfeet,away.anold,oldivyvine,gnarledanddecayedattheroots,climbedhalfwayupthebrickwall.thecoldbreathofautumnhadstrickenitsleavesfromthevineuntilitsskeletonbranchesclung,almostbare,tothecrumblingbricks.

"whatisit,dear?"askedsue.

"six,"saidjohnsy,inalmostawhisper."they'refallingfasternow.threedaysagotherewerealmostahundred.itmademyheadachetocountthem.butnowit'seasy.theregoesanotherone.thereareonlyfiveleftnow."

"fivewhat,dear.tellyoursudie."

"leaves.ontheivyvine.whenthelastonefallsimustgotoo.i'veknownthatforthreedays.didn'tthedoctortellyou?"

"oh,ineverheardofsuchnonsense,"complainedsue,withmagnificentscorn."whathaveoldivyleavestodowithyourgetringwell?andyouusedtolovethatvineso,younaughtygirl.don'tbeagoosey.why,thedoctortoldmethismorningthatyourchancesforgettingwellrealsoonwere—let'sseeexactlywhathesaid—hesaidthechancesweretentoone!why,that'salmostasgoodachanceaswehaveinnewyorkwhenwerideonthestreetcarsorwalkpastanewbuilding.trytotakesomebrothnow,andletsudiegobacktoherdrawing,soshecanselltheeditormanwithit,andbuyportwineforhersickchild,andporkchopsforhergreedyself."

"youneedn'tgetanymorewine,"saidjohnsy,keepinghereyesfixedoutthewindow."theregoesanother.no,idon'twantanybroth.thatleavesjustfour.iwanttoseethelastonefallbeforeitgetsdark.theni'llgo,too."

"johnsy,dear,"saidsue,bendingoverher,"willyoupromisemetokeepyoureyesclosed,andnotlookoutthewindowuntiliamdoneworking?imusthandthosedrawingsinbytomorrow.ineedthelight,oriwoulddrawtheshadedown."

"couldn'tyoudrawintheotherroom?"askedjohnsy,coldly.

"i'dratherbeherebyyou,"saidsue."besidesidon'twantyoutokeeplookingatthosesillyivyleaves."

"tellmeassoonasyouhavefinished,"saidjohnsy,closinghereyes,andlyingwhiteandstillasafallenstatue,"becauseiwanttoseethelastonefall.i'mtiredofwaiting.i'mtiredofthinking.iwenttoturnloosemyholdoneverything,andgosailingdoves,down,justlikeoneofthosepoor,tiredleaves."

"trytosleep,"saidsue."imustcallbehrmanuptobemymodelfortheoldhermitminer.i'llnotbegoneaminute.don'ttrytomove,tilicomeback."

oldbehrmanwasapainterwholivedonthegroundfloorbeneaththem.hewaspastsixtyandhadamichaelangelo'smosesbeardcurlingdownfromtheheadofasatyralongthebodyofanimp.behrmanwasafailureinart.fortyyearshehadwieldedthebrushwithoutgettingnearenoughtotouchthehemofhismistress'srobe.hehadbeenalwaysabouttopaintamasterpiece,buthadneveryetbegunit.forseveralyearshehadpaintednothingexceptnowandthenadaubinthelineofcommerceoradvertising.heearnedalittlebyservingasamodeltothoseyoungartistsinthecolonywhocouldnotpaythepriceofaprofessional.hedrankgintoexcess,andstilltalkedofhiscomingmasterpiece.fortheresthewasafiercelittleoldman,whoscoffedterriblyatsoftnessinanyone,andwhoregardedhimselfasespecialmastiff-in-waitingtoprotectthetwoyoungartistsinthestudioabove.

suefoundbehrmansmellingstronglyofjuniperberriesinhisdimlylighteddenbelow.inonecornerwasablankcanvasonaneaselthathadbeenwaitingtherefortwenty-fiveyearstoreceivethefirstlineofthemasterpiece.shetoldhimofjohnsy'sfancy,andhowshefearedshewould,indeed,lightandfragileasaleafherself,floatawaywhenherslightholdupontheworldgrewweaker.

oldbehrman,withhisredeyes,plainlystreaming,shoutedhiscontemptandderisionforsuchidioticimaginings.

"vass!"hecried."isderepeopleindeworldmitderfoolishnesstodiebecauseleafsdeydropofffromaconfoundedvine?ihafnotheardofsuchathing.no,iwillnotboseasamodelforyourfoolhermit-dunderhead.vydoyouallowdotsillypusinesstocomeinderprainofher?ach,dotpoorlittlemissjohnsy."

"sheisveryillandweak,"saidsue,"andthefeverhaslefthermindmorbidandfullofstrangefancies.verywell,mr.behrman,ifyoudonotcaretoposeforme,youneedn't.butithinkyouareahorridold—oldflibbertigibbet."

"youarejustlikeawoman!"yelledbehrman."whosaidiwillnotbose?goon.icomemityou.forhalfanhourihafpeentryingtosaydotiamreadytobose.gott!disisnotanyblaceinwhichonesogootasmissyohnsyshallliesick.somedayivillbaintamasterpiece,andveshallallgoaway.gott!yes."

johnsywassleepingwhentheywentupstairs.suepulledtheshadedowntothewindow-sill,andmotionedbehrmanintotheotherroom.intheretheypeeredoutthewindowfearfullyattheivyvine.thentheylookedateachotherforamomentwithoutspeaking.apersistent,coldrainwasfalling,mingledwithsnow.behrman,inhisoldblueshirt,tookhisseatasthehermit-mineronanupturnedkettleforarock.

whensueawokefromanhour'ssleepthenextmorningshefoundjohnsywithdull,wide-openeyesstaringatthedrawngreenshade.

"pullitup;iwanttosee,"sheordered,inawhisper.

wearilysueobeyed.

but,lo!afterthebeatingrainandfiercegustsofwindthathadenduredthroughthelivelongnight,thereyetstoodoutagainstthebrickwalloneivyleaf.itwasthelastonthevine.stilldarkgreennearitsstem,butwithitsserratededgestintedwiththeyellowofdissolutionanddecay,ithnngbravelyfromabranchsometwentyfeetabovetheground.

"itisthelastone,"saidjohnsy."ithoughtitwonldsurelyfallduringthenight.iheardthewind.itwillfalltoday,andishalldieatthesametime."

"dear,dear!"saidsue,leaningherwornfacedowntothepillow,"thinkofme,ifyouwon'tthinkofyourself.whatwouldido?"

butjohnsydidnotanswer.thelonesomestthingintheworldisasoulwhenitismakingreadytogoonitsmysterious,farjourney.thefancyseemedtopossesshermorestronglyasonebyonethetiesthatboundhertofriendshipandtoearthwereloosed.

thedayworeaway,andeventhroughthetwilighttheycouldseetheloneivyleafclingingtoitsstemagainstthewall.andthen,withthecomingofthenightthenorthwindwasagainloosed,whiletherainstillbeatagainstthewindowsandpattereddownfromthelowdutcheaves.

whenitwaslightenoughjohnsy,themerciless,commandedthattheshadeberaised.

theivyleafwasstillthere.

johnsylayforalongtimelookingatit.andthenshecalledtosue,whowasstirringherchickenbrothoverthegasstove.

"i'vebeenabadgirl,sudie,"saidjohnsy."somethinghasmadethatlastleafstaytheretoshowmehowwickediwas.itisasintowanttodie.youmaybringmealittlebrothnow,andsomemilkwithalittleportinit,and—no;bringmeahand-mirrorfirst,andthenpacksomepillowsaboutme,andiwillsitupandwatchyoucook."

anhourlatershesaid.