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TheLastLeaf1Atthetopofathree-storybrickbuilding,SueandJohnsyhadtheirstudio.JohnsywasfamiliarforJoanna.OnewasfromMaine;theotherfromCalifornia.TheyhadmetatacafeonEighthStreetandfoundtheirtastesinart,chicorysaladandbishopsleevessomuchintunethatthejointstudioresulted.在一幢三层砖楼的顶层，苏和约翰西辟了个画室。“约翰西”是乔安娜的昵称。她们一位来自缅因州，一位来自加利福尼亚。两人相遇在第八大街的一个咖啡馆，发现各自在艺术品味、菊苣色拉，以及灯笼袖等方面趣味相投，于是就有了这个两人画室。2ThatwasinMay.InNovemberacold,unseenstranger,whomthedoctorscalledPneumonia,stalkedaboutthedistrict,touchingonehereandtherewithhisicyfingers.Johnsywasamonghisvictims.Shelay,scarcelymovingonherbed,lookingthroughthesmallwindowattheblanksideofthenextbrickhouse.那是5月里的事。到了11月，一个医生称之为肺炎的阴森的隐形客闯入了这一地区，用它冰冷的手指东碰西触。约翰西也为其所害。她病倒了，躺在床上几乎一动不动，只能隔着小窗望着隔壁砖房那单调沉闷的侧墙。3OnemorningthebusydoctorinvitedSueintothehallwaywithabushy,grayeyebrow.一天上午，忙碌的医生扬了扬灰白的浓眉，示意苏来到过道。4Shehasonechanceinten,hesaid.Andthatchanceisforhertowanttolive.Yourlittleladyhasmadeuphermindthatshe'snotgoingtogetwell.Hassheanythingonhermind?“她只有一成希望，”他说。“那还得看她自己是不是想活下去。你这位女朋友已经下决心不想好了。她有什么心事吗？”5She--shewantedtopainttheBayofNaplessomeday,saidSue.“她――她想有一天能去画那不勒斯湾，”苏说。6Paint?--bosh!Hassheanythingonhermindworththinkingabouttwice--aman,forinstance?“画画？――得了。她有没有别的事值得她留恋的――比如说，一个男人？”7Aman?saidSue.Isamanworth--but,no,doctor;thereisnothingofthekind.“男人？”苏说。“难道一个男人就值得――可是，她没有啊，大夫，没有这码子事。”8Well,saidthedoctor.Iwilldoallthatsciencecanaccomplish.ButwhenevermypatientbeginstocountthecarriagesinherfuneralprocessionIsubtract50percentfromthecurativepowerofmedicines.AfterthedoctorhadgoneSuewentintotheworkroomandcried.ThenshemarchedintoJohnsy'sroomwithherdrawingboard,whistlingamerrytune.“好吧，”大夫说。“我会尽一切努力，只要是科学能做到的。可是，但凡病人开始计算她出殡的行列里有几辆马车的时候，我就要把医药的疗效减去一半。”大夫走后，苏去工作室哭了一场。随后她携着画板大步走进约翰西的房间，口里吹着轻快的口哨。9Johnsylay,scarcelymakingamovementunderthebedclothes,withherfacetowardthewindow.Shewaslookingoutandcounting--countingbackward.约翰西躺在被子下几乎一动不动，脸朝着窗。她望着窗外，数着数――倒数着数！10Twelve,shesaid,andalittlelatereleven;andthenten,andnine;andtheneightandseven,almosttogether.“12，”她数道，过了一会儿“11”，接着数“10”和“9”；再数“8”和“7”，几乎一口同时数下来。11Suelookedoutofthewindow.Whatwastheretocount?Therewasonlyabare,drearyyardtobeseen,andtheblanksideofthebrickhousetwentyfeetaway.Anold,oldivyvineclimbedhalfwayupthebrickwall.Thecoldbreathofautumnhadblownawayitsleaves,leavingitalmostbare.苏朝窗外望去。外面有什么好数的呢？外面只看到一个空荡荡的沉闷的院子，还有20英尺开外那砖房的侧墙，上面什么也没有。一棵古老的常青藤爬到半墙高。萧瑟秋风吹落了枝叶，藤上几乎光秃秃的。12Six,saidJohnsy,inalmostawhisper.They'refallingfasternow.Threedaysagotherewerealmostahundred.Itmademyheadachetocountthem.Butnowit'seasy.Theregoesanotherone.Thereareonlyfiveleftnow.“6”，约翰西数着，声音几乎听不出来。“现在叶子掉落得快多了。三天前差不多还有100片。数得我头都疼。可现在容易了。又掉了一片。这下子只剩5片了。”13Fivewhat,dear?“5片什么，亲爱的？”14Leaves.Ontheivyvine.WhenthelastonefallsImustgo,too.I'veknownthatforthreedays.Didn'tthedoctortellyou?“叶子。常青藤上的叶子。等最后一片叶子掉了，我也就得走了。三天前我就知道会这样。大夫没跟你说吗？”15Oh,Ineverheardofsuchnonsense.Whathaveoldivyleavestodowithyourgettingwell?Don'tbesosilly.Why,thedoctortoldmethismorningthatyourchancesforgettingwellrealsoonweretentoone!Trytotakesomesoupnow,andletSudiegoandbuyportwineforhersickchild.“噢，我从没听说过这种胡说八道。常青藤叶子跟你病好不好有什么关系？别这么傻。对了，大夫上午跟我说，你的病十有八九就快好了。快喝些汤，让苏迪给她生病的孩子去买些波尔图葡萄酒来。”16Youneedn'tgetanymorewine,saidJohnsy,keepinghereyesfixedoutthewindow.Theregoesanother.No,Idon'twantanysoup.Thatleavesjustfour.Iwanttoseethelastonefallbeforeitgetsdark.ThenI'llgo,too.I'mtiredofwaiting.I'mtiredofthinking.Iwanttoturnloosemyholdoneverything,andgosailingdown,down,justlikeoneofthosepoor,tiredleaves.“你不用再去买酒了，”约翰西说道，两眼一直盯着窗外。“又掉了一片。不，我不想喝汤。这一下只剩下4片了。我要在天黑前看到最后一片叶子掉落。那时我也就跟着走了。我都等腻了。也想腻了。我只想撇开一切,飘然而去，就像那边一片可怜的疲倦的叶子。”17Trytosleep,saidSue.ImustcallBehrmanuptobemymodelfortheoldminer.I'llnotbegoneaminute.“快睡吧，”苏说。“我得叫贝尔曼上楼来给我当老矿工模特儿。我去去就来。”18OldBehrmanwasapainterwholivedonthegroundfloorbeneaththem.Hewaspastsixtyandhadalongwhitebeardcurlingdownoverhischest.Despitelookingthepart,Behrmanwasafailureinart.Forfortyyearshehadbeenalwaysabouttopaintamasterpiece,buthadneveryetbegunit.Heearnedalittlebyservingasamodeltothoseyoungartistswhocouldnotpaythepriceofaprofessional.Hedrankgintoexcess,andstilltalkedofhiscomingmasterpiece.Fortheresthewasafiercelittleoldman,whomockedterriblyatsoftnessinanyone,andwhoregardedhimselfasguarddogtothetwoyoungartistsinthestudioabove.老贝尔曼是住在两人楼下底层的一个画家。他已年过六旬，银白色蜷曲的长髯披挂胸前。贝尔曼看上去挺像艺术家，但在艺术上却没有什么成就。40年来他一直想创作一幅传世之作，却始终没能动手。他给那些请不起职业模特的青年画家当模特挣点小钱。他没节制地喝酒，谈论着他那即将问世的不朽之作。要说其他方面，他是个好斗的小老头，要是谁表现出一点软弱，他便大肆嘲笑，并把自己看成是楼上画室里两位年轻艺术家的看护人。19SuefoundBehrmansmellingstronglyofgininhisdimlylightedstudiobelow.Inonecornerwasablankcanvasonaneaselthathadbeenwaitingtherefortwenty-fiveyearstoreceivethefirstlineofthemasterpiece.ShetoldhimofJohnsy'sfancy,andhowshefearedshewould,indeed,lightandfragileasaleafherself,floataway,whenherslightholdupontheworldgrewweaker.OldBehrman,withhisredeyesplainlystreaming,shoutedhiscontemptforsuchfoolishimaginings.苏在楼下光线暗淡的画室里找到了贝尔曼，他满身酒味刺鼻。屋子一角的画架上支着一张从未落过笔的画布，在那儿搁了25年，等着一幅杰作的起笔。苏把约翰西的怪念头跟他说了，并说约翰西本身就像一片叶子又瘦又弱，她害怕要是她那本已脆弱的生存意志再软下去的话，真的会凋零飘落。老贝尔曼双眼通红，显然是泪涟涟的，他大声叫嚷着说他蔑视这种傻念头。20What!hecried.Aretherepeopleintheworldfoolishenought