The Last Leaf 最后一片葉子
The Last Leaf 最后一片葉子
◎ O. Henry
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called “places”. These “places” make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
在華盛頓廣場西邊的一個小區(qū)里，街道橫七豎八地伸展開來，又分裂成一小條一小條的“胡同”。這些“胡同”稀奇古怪地繞來繞去，拐著彎子。一條街有時自己本身就交叉了不止一次。有一回，一個藝術(shù)家發(fā)現(xiàn)這條街有一種優(yōu)越性：如果有個收賬的跑到這條街上，來催要顏料、紙張和畫布的錢，他就會突然發(fā)現(xiàn)自己兩手空空地原路返回，一分錢的賬也沒有收回來！
So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a “colony”.
所以，不少畫家很快就來到這個古色古香的老格林尼治村來，尋找坐南朝北的窗戶、荷蘭式的閣樓，18世紀(jì)的尖頂山墻，以及低廉的房租。然后，他們又從第六街買來一些白蠟杯和一兩個火鍋，這里便成了“藝術(shù)區(qū)”。
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. “Johnsy” was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table of an Eighth Street “Delmonico’s”, and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
蘇和瓊西的工作室安置在一幢三層樓磚房的頂樓上。“瓊西”是喬安娜的昵稱。她倆一個來自緬因州，另一個來自加利福尼亞州。她們是在第八街的“臺爾蒙尼歌之家”吃份飯時遇上的，她們發(fā)現(xiàn)彼此對藝術(shù)、生菜色拉和時裝的品位愛好十分一致，便合租了那間工作室。
That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown “places”.
那是5月的事情。到了11月，一個冷酷的、看不見的、被醫(yī)生們稱為“肺炎”的不速之客，在藝術(shù)區(qū)里悄悄地游蕩，用它冰冷的手指這里碰一下那里碰一下。在廣場東邊，這個破壞者明目張膽地踏著大步，一下子就擊倒幾十個受害者，可是在迷宮一樣狹窄而布滿青苔的“胡同”里，它的腳步就慢了下來。
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
肺炎先生不是你們所說的一個行俠仗義的老紳士。一個被加利福尼亞州的西風(fēng)刮得漸失血色的弱女子，本來不應(yīng)該是這個有著紅拳頭的、呼吸急促的老家伙打擊的對象。但是，瓊西卻遭到了打擊；她躺在一張油漆過的鐵床上，幾乎一動也不動，凝望著小小的荷蘭式玻璃窗對面磚房的那一面空墻。
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow.
一天上午，那個忙碌的醫(yī)生揚了揚他那灰色的粗眉，把蘇叫到外邊的走廊上。
“She has one chance in—let us say, ten.” he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. “And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she’s not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?”
“我看，她的病只有十分之一的希望，”他一面把體溫計里的水銀柱甩下去，一面說，“這一份希望就是她想要活下去的念頭。有些人好像不愿意活下去——喜歡照顧殯儀館的生意，簡直讓整個醫(yī)藥界都無能為力。你的朋友斷定自己是不會痊愈的了。她是不是有什么心事呢？”
“She—she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day.” said Sue.
“她——她希望有一天能夠去畫那不勒斯的海灣。”蘇說。
“Paint?—bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice—a man for instance?”
“畫畫？——真是瞎扯！她腦子里有沒有什么值得她反復(fù)思考的心事——比如說，一個男人？”
“A man?” said Sue, with a jew’s-harp twang in her voice. “Is a man worth—but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.”
“男人？”蘇像吹口琴似的扯著嗓子說，“男人難道值得——不，醫(yī)生，沒有這樣的事。”
“Well, it is the weakness, then,” said the doctor, “I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 percent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten.”
“好吧。我將用全部的力量去治療她?？墒侨绻业牟∪碎_始算計會有多少輛馬車送她出殯，我就得把治療的效果減去百分之五十。如果你能想辦法讓她對冬季新款的大衣袖子感興趣而提出一兩個問題，那我就可以把醫(yī)好她的機會從十分之一提高到五分之一。”
After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy’s room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
醫(yī)生走后，蘇走進工作室里，把一條日本餐巾哭成一團。然后她手里拿著畫板，裝作精神抖擻的樣子走進瓊西的屋子，嘴里吹著爵士音樂調(diào)子。
Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
瓊西躺著，臉朝著窗口，被子底下的身體幾乎紋絲不動。蘇以為她睡著了，停止了吹口哨。
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to literature.
她架好畫板，開始給雜志里的故事畫一張鋼筆插圖。年輕的畫家為了鋪平通向藝術(shù)的道路，不得不給雜志里的故事畫插圖，而年輕的作家們不得不給雜志寫小說以開辟通向文學(xué)的道路。
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
蘇正在給故事主人公——一個愛達(dá)荷州牧人身上畫一條在馬匹展覽會上穿的時髦馬褲和一片單眼鏡時，忽然聽到一個重復(fù)了好幾次的低微的聲音。她快步走到床邊。
Johnsy’s eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting—counting backward.
瓊西的眼睛睜得很大。她望著窗外，數(shù)著數(shù)——倒著數(shù)的。
“Twelve.” she said, and little later “eleven”; and then “ten.” and “nine”; and then “eight” and “seven”, almost together.
“十二”她數(shù)道，一會又說“十一”，然后是“十”和“九”，接著幾乎同時數(shù)著“8”和“7”。
Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
蘇關(guān)切地看了看窗外。那兒有什么可數(shù)的呢？只有一個空蕩陰暗的院子，二十英尺以外還有一所磚房的空墻。一棵老極了的常春藤，枯萎的根糾結(jié)在一塊兒，枝干爬到了半墻高。秋天的寒風(fēng)已經(jīng)把藤上的葉子全都吹掉了，幾乎只有光禿的枝條還纏附在這斷壁殘垣上。
“What is it, dear?” asked Sue.
“什么呀，親愛的？”蘇問道。
“Six.” said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. “They’re falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it’s easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.”
“六”瓊西幾乎用耳語低聲說道。“它們現(xiàn)在越落越快了。三天前還有差不多一百片。我數(shù)得頭都疼了。但現(xiàn)在好數(shù)了。又掉了一片。只剩下五片了。”
“Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.”
“五片什么呀，親愛的。告訴你的蘇娣吧。”
“Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I’ve known that for three days. Didn’t the doctor tell you?”
“葉子。常春藤上的。等到最后一片葉子掉下來，我也就得走了。這件事我三天前就知道了。難道醫(yī)生沒有告訴你？”
“Oh, I never heard of such nonsense,” complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. “What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don’t be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were—let’s see exactly what he said—he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that’s almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self.”
“哼，我從來沒聽過這種胡話。”蘇十分不以為然地抱怨道。“那些破常春藤葉子和你的病好不好有什么關(guān)系？你以前不是很喜歡這棵樹嗎？你這個頑皮的姑娘。不要說傻話了。瞧，醫(yī)生今天早晨還告訴我，說你迅速痊愈的機會是——讓我一字不變地照他的話說吧——他說有九成把握！噢，那簡直是不錯的比例啊就像我們在紐約坐電車或者走過一座新樓房的機會一樣。喝點肉湯吧，讓蘇娣回去畫她的畫，好把它賣給編輯先生，換了錢來給她的病孩子買點紅葡萄酒，再給她自己買點豬排解解饞吧。”
“You needn’t get any more wine.” said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. “There goes another. No, I don’t want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I’ll go, too.”
“你不用再買酒了。”瓊西說著，眼睛繼續(xù)盯著窗外，“又落了一片。不，我不想喝什么肉湯。只剩下四片了。我想在天黑之前等著看那最后一片葉子掉下去。然后我也要去了。”
“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue, bending over her, “will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by tomorrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.”
“瓊西，親愛的，”蘇彎下身子對她說，“你能不能答應(yīng)我，閉上眼睛，不要瞧窗外，等我畫完，好嗎？明天我必須交出這些插圖。我需要光線，否則我就拉下窗簾了。”
“Couldn’t you draw in the other room?” asked Johnsy, coldly.
“你不能到那間屋子里去畫嗎？”瓊西冷冷地問道。
“I’d rather be here by you.” said Sue. “Beside, I don’t want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves.”
“我愿意待在你跟前，”蘇說，“再說，我也不想讓你老盯著那些常春藤葉子。”
“Tell me as soon as you have finished,” said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, “because I want to see the last one fall. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.”
“你一畫完就趕緊叫我。”瓊西說著，便閉上了眼睛。她臉色蒼白，一動不動地躺在床上，就像是座跌倒在地上的雕像。“因為我想看那最后一片葉子掉下來。我等得不耐煩了，也想得不耐煩了。我想擺脫一切，飄下去，飄下去，像一片可憐的、疲倦的葉子那樣。”
“Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I’ll not be gone a minute. Don’t try to move till I come back.”
“快睡吧，”蘇說道，“我得叫貝爾曼上樓來，給我當(dāng)那個隱居的老礦工的模特兒。我一會兒就回來的。不要動，等我回來。”
Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michel- angelo’s Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress’s robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.
老貝爾曼是住在樓下一層的一個畫家。他年過六十，有一把像米開朗琪羅的摩西雕像那樣的胡子，這胡子長在一個像半人半獸的森林之神的頭顱上，又卷曲地垂蕩在小鬼似的身軀上。貝爾曼是個失敗的畫家。他操了四十年的畫筆，還遠(yuǎn)沒有摸著藝術(shù)女神的衣裙。他老是說就要創(chuàng)作一幅杰作了，可到現(xiàn)在還沒有動筆。幾年來，他除了偶爾畫點商業(yè)廣告之類的玩意兒，什么也沒有畫過。他給藝術(shù)區(qū)里窮得雇不起職業(yè)模特兒的年輕畫家們當(dāng)模特兒，掙一點錢。他喝酒毫無節(jié)制，還時常談?wù)撍嫷哪欠茏?。除此以外，他是一個暴躁的小老頭兒，十分瞧不起別人的溫情，卻認(rèn)為自己是專門保護樓上畫室里那兩個年輕女畫家的一只看家狗。
Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy’s fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
蘇在樓下他那間朦朧暗淡的斗室里找到了滿嘴酒氣的貝爾曼。一幅空白的畫布繃在畫架上，擺在角落里，在那兒擱了二十五年等著杰作誕生，可連一根線條還沒等著。蘇把瓊西的胡思亂想告訴了他，還說她害怕瓊西真的柔弱得像一片葉子一樣，對這個世界的留戀越來越微弱，恐怕真會飄走了。
Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.
老貝爾曼雙眼通紅，顯然在迎風(fēng)流淚，他十分輕蔑地嗤笑這種白癡。
“Vass!” he cried. “Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Johnsy.”
“什么！”他喊道，“世界上還真會有人蠢到因為那該死的常春藤葉子落掉就想死？我從來沒有聽說過這種怪事。不，我才不給你那隱居的礦工糊涂蟲當(dāng)模特兒呢。你干嗎讓她胡思亂想？唉，可憐的瓊西小姐。”
“She is very ill and weak,” said Sue, “and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn’t. But I think you are a horrid old—old flibbertigibbet.”
“她病得很厲害，很虛弱，”蘇說，“發(fā)高燒發(fā)得她神經(jīng)錯亂，滿腦子都是古怪的想法。好，貝爾曼先生，你不愿意給我當(dāng)模特兒就算了，我看你是個討厭的老——老唆鬼。”
“You are just like a woman!” yelled Behrman. “Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come with you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so good as Miss Johnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! Yes.”
“你簡直太婆婆媽媽了！”貝爾曼喊道，“誰說我不愿意當(dāng)模特兒？走，我和你一塊去。我不是講了半天愿意給你當(dāng)模特兒嗎？老天爺，瓊西小姐這么好的姑娘真不應(yīng)該躺在這種地方生病?？傆幸惶?，我要畫一幅杰作，我們就可以都搬出去了。一定的！”
Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.
他們上樓以后，瓊西正在睡覺。蘇把窗簾拉下，一直遮住窗臺，示意貝爾曼到隔壁的屋子去。他們在那里提心吊膽地凝視著窗外那棵常春藤。然后彼此看了一眼，啞然無語。寒冷的雨夾雜著雪花下個不停。貝爾曼穿著他那藍(lán)色的舊襯衣，坐在一把翻過來充當(dāng)巖石的鐵壺上，扮作隱居的礦工。
When Sue awoke from an hour’s sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
第二天早晨，當(dāng)蘇從一個小時的睡眠中醒來時，看見瓊西無神的眼睛睜得大大的，注視著拉下的綠窗簾。
“Pull it up; I want to see.” she ordered, in a whisper.
“把窗簾拉起來，我要看。”她低聲命令道。
Wearily Sue obeyed.
疲倦的蘇照辦了。
But, lo! After the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground.
然而，看呀！經(jīng)過了漫長一夜的狂風(fēng)暴雨，磚墻上還掛著一藤葉。它是常春藤上最后一片葉子了?？拷o部仍然是深綠色，可是鋸齒形的葉子邊緣已經(jīng)枯萎發(fā)黃，它傲然掛在一根離地二十多英尺的藤枝上。
“It is the last one.” said Johnsy. “I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.”
“這是最后一片葉子。”瓊西說道，“我以為它昨晚一定會落掉的。我聽見風(fēng)聲的。今天，它一定會落掉，我也會一同死去。”
“Dear, dear!” said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, “think of me, if you won’t think of yourself. What would I do?”
“親愛的，”蘇把疲憊的臉龐挨近枕頭，對她說，“你不肯為自己著想，也得為我想想啊。我可怎么辦呢？”
But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.
但瓊西沒有回答。一個靈魂正在準(zhǔn)備走上那神秘的、遙遠(yuǎn)的死亡之途，這是世界上最凄涼的情景了。那些把她和友誼及大地聯(lián)結(jié)起來的約束關(guān)系逐漸放開后，她這種狂想越來越強烈了。
The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.
白天總算熬過去了，甚至在暮色中她們還能看見那片孤零零的藤葉依附在靠墻的枝上。后來，隨著夜幕降臨，又是北風(fēng)大作，暴雨依舊不停地拍打著窗子，雨水從低矮的荷蘭式屋檐上流瀉下來。
When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
天剛蒙蒙亮，瓊西就毫不留情地吩咐拉起窗簾來。
The ivy leaf was still there.
那片藤葉仍然在那里。
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.
瓊西躺在床上，長久地望著它。然后她招呼正在煤氣爐上給她煮雞湯的蘇。
“I’ve been a bad girl, Sudie.” said Johnsy. “Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and—no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook.”
“我是一個壞女孩子，蘇娣，”瓊西說，“天意讓那片最后的藤葉留在那里，以顯示我有多么邪惡。想死是有罪過的。你現(xiàn)在就給我拿點雞湯來，再拿點摻葡萄酒的牛奶來，再——不，先給我一面小鏡子，再把枕頭墊高一點，我要坐起來看你做飯。”
And hour later she said:
過了一個鐘頭，她說：
“Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples.”
“蘇娣，我希望有一天能去畫那不勒斯的海灣。”
The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.
下午醫(yī)生來了，他走的時候，蘇找了個借口跑到走廊上。
“Even chances.” said the doctor, taking Sue’s thin, shaking hand.
“現(xiàn)在有五成希望。”醫(yī)生一面說，一面握住蘇纖細(xì)顫抖的手。
“With good nursing you’ll win.” And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is—some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital today to be made more comfortable.
“好好護理你就會成功的?，F(xiàn)在我得去看樓下另一個病人。他的名字叫貝爾曼——聽說也是個畫家。也是肺炎。他年紀(jì)太大，身體又弱，這次病得很重。他是沒有希望了，今天要把他送到醫(yī)院里，讓他更舒服一點。”
The next day the doctor said to Sue: “She’s out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now — that’s all.”
第二天，醫(yī)生對蘇說：“她已經(jīng)脫離危險了。你成功了?，F(xiàn)在只剩下營養(yǎng)和護理了。”
And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woolen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
這天下午，蘇跑到瓊西的床前，瓊西正躺著，安詳?shù)鼐幙椫粭l毫無用處的深藍(lán)色毛線披肩。蘇用一只胳臂連枕頭帶人一把抱住了她。
“I have something to tell you, white mouse.” she said. “Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn’t imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and—look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn’t you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it’s Behrman’s masterpiece—he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell.”
“我有件事要告訴你，小家伙，”她說，“貝爾曼先生今天在醫(yī)院里患肺炎去世了。他只病了兩天。頭一天早晨，管理員發(fā)現(xiàn)他在自己那間房里痛得動彈不了。他的鞋子和衣服全都濕透了，冰涼冰涼的。他們無法想象在那個凄風(fēng)苦雨的夜晚，他究竟去了哪里。后來他們發(fā)現(xiàn)一盞沒有熄滅的燈，一把挪動過地方的梯子，幾支扔得滿地的畫筆，還有一塊調(diào)色板，上面涂抹著綠色和黃色的顏料，還有——親愛的，瞧瞧窗子外面，瞧瞧墻上那最后一片藤葉。難道你沒有想過，為什么風(fēng)刮得那樣厲害，它卻從來不搖一搖、動一動嗎？唉，親愛的，這片葉子才是貝爾曼的杰作——就是在最后一片葉子掉下來的晚上，他把它畫在那里的。”
