THE WHORE OF MENSA

The Whore of Mensa
A Short Story by Woody Allen
From his book "Without Feathers", Random House, 1975

Estimated Online Reading Time: About 10 Minutes
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NOTE: Mensa is an organization for the very smart. This story is a humorous satire of hardboiled crime fiction, a literary style pioneered by Dashiell Hammett in the late 1920s and refined by Raymond Chandler beginning in the late 1930s. Hardboiled fiction, most commonly associated with detective stories, is distinguished by an unsentimental portrayal of crime, violence, and sex. From its earliest days, hardboiled fiction was published in and closely associated with so-called pulp magazines. Later, many hardboiled novels were published by houses specializing in paperback originals, also colloquially known as "pulps." Consequently, "pulp fiction" is often used as a synonym for hardboiled crime fiction. In the United States, the original hardboiled style has been emulated by innumerable writers.

THE CLIENT
One thing about being a private investigator, you've got to learn to go with your hunches. That's why when a quivering pat of butter named Word Babcock walked into my office and laid his cards on the table, I should have trusted the cold chill that shot up my spine.
"Kaiser?" he said. "Kaiser Lupowitz?" [his name is humorous because it pairs the German word for leader with a very Jewish name]
"That's what it says on my license," I owned up [admitted].
"You've got to help me. I'm being blackmailed. Please!" He was shaking like the lead singer in a rumba band. I pushed a glass across the desk top and a bottle of rye [whiskey] I keep handy for nonmedicinal purposes [ironic].
"Suppose you relax and tell me all about it."
"You ... you won't tell my wife?"
"Level with me [be honest], Word. I can't make any promises." He tried pouring a drink, but you could hear the clicking sound across the street, and most of the stuff wound up in his shoes.
"I'm a working guy," he said. "Mechanical maintenance. I build and service joy buzzers. You know - those little fun gimmicks that give people a shock when they shake hands?"
"So?"
"A lot of your executives like 'em. Particularly down on Wall Street."
"Get to the point."
"I'm on the road a lot. You know how it is - lonely. Oh, not what you're thinking. See, Kaiser, I'm basically an intellectual. Sure, a guy can meet all the bimbos he wants. But the really brainy women - they're not so easy to find on short notice."
"Keep talking."
"Well, I heard of this young girl. Eighteen years old. A Vassar student. For a price, she'll come over and discuss any subject – Proust [French writer], Yeats [Great Irish poet], anthropology. Exchange of ideas. You see what I'm driving at?"
"Not exactly."
"I mean my wife is great, don't get me wrong. But she won't discuss Pound [American poet] with me. Or Eliot [American poet]. I didn't know that when I married her. See, I need a woman who's mentally stimulating, Kaiser. And I'm willing to pay for it. I don't want an involvement - I want a quick intellectual experience, then I want the girl to leave. Christ, Kaiser, I'm a happily married man."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Six months. Whenever I have that craving, I call Flossie. She's a madam, with a Master's in Comparative Lit. She sends me over an intellectual, see?"
So he was one of those guys whose weakness was really bright women. I felt sorry for the poor sap. I figured there must be a lot of jokers in his position, who were starved for a little intellectual communication with the opposite sex and would pay through the nose for it.
"Now she's threatening to tell my wife," he said.
"Who is?"
"Flossie. They bugged the motel room. They got tapes of me discussing The Waste Land [long, ponderous poem by Elliot about the loss of meaning] and Styles of Radical Will [essays by Susan Sontag], and, well, really getting into some issues. They want ten grand or they go to Carla. Kaiser, you've got to help me! Carla would die if she knew she didn't turn me on up here." The old call-girl racket. I had heard rumors that the boys at headquarters were on to something involving a group of educated women, but so far they were stymied [unable to find a solution].
"Get Flossie on the phone for me."
"What?"
"I'll take your case, Word. But I get fifty dollars a day, plus expenses. You'll have to repair a lot of joy buzzers." "It won't be ten G's worth [G=grand or a $1000], I'm sure of that," he said with a grin, and picked up the phone and dialed a number. I took it from him and winked. I was beginning to like him.
THE SETUP
Seconds later, a silky voice answered, and I told her what was on my mind. "I understand you can help me set up an hour of good chat," I said.
"Sure, honey. What do you have in mind?"
"I'd like to discuss Melville [American Writer.]."
"Moby Dick or shorter novels?"
"What's the difference?"
"The price. That's all. Symbolism's extra."
"What'll it run me?"
"Fifty, maybe a hundred for Moby Dick. You want a comparative discussion - Melville and Hawthorne [Another American writer]? That could be arranged for a hundred."
"The dough's [money] fine," I told her and gave her the number of a room at the Plaza.
"You want a blonde or a brunette?"
"Surprise me," I said, and hung up.
"I shaved and grabbed some black coffee while I checked over the Monarch College Outline series. Hardly an hour had passed before there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and standing there was a young redhead who was packed into her slacks like two big scoops of vanilla ice cream.
"Hi, I'm Sherry." They really knew how to appeal to your fantasies. Long, straight hair, leather bag, silver earrings, no make-up. [why is this very funny?]
"I'm surprised you weren't stopped, walking into the hotel dressed like that," I said. "The house dick can usually spot an intellectual."
"A five-spot [$5] cools him."
"Shall we begin?" [why is the use of “shall” funny?] I said, motioning her to the couch. She lit a cigarette and got right to it. "I think we could start by approaching Billy Budd [novel] as Melville's justification of the ways of God to man, n'est-ce pas?"
"Interestingly, though, not in a Miltonian [English Epic poet] sense." I was bluffing. I wanted to see if she'd go for it.
"No. Paradise Lost lacked the substructure of pessimism." She said.
"Right, right. God, you're right," I murmured.
"I think Melville reaffirmed the virtues of innocence in a naive yet sophisticated sense - don't you agree?" I let her go on. She was barely nineteen years old, but already she had developed the hardened facility of the pseudo-intellectual. She rattled off her ideas glibly, but it was all mechanical. Whenever I offered an insight, she faked a response: "Oh yes, Kaiser. Yes, baby, that's deep. [their talk satirically parallels what?] A platonic comprehension of Christianity - why didn't I see it before?" We talked for about an hour and then she said she had to go. She stood up and I laid a C-note [$100] on her.
"Thanks, honey."
"There's plenty more where that came from."
"What are you trying to say?" I had piqued her curiosity. She sat down again.
"Suppose I wanted to have a party?" I said.
"Like, what kind of a party?"
"Suppose I wanted Noam Chomsky [American linguist] explained to me by two girls?"
"Oh, wow."
"If you'd rather forget it..."
"You'd have to speak with Flossie," she said. "It’ll cost you." Now was the time to tighten the screws [increase the pressure]. I flashed my private- investigator's badge and informed her it was a bust [an arrest].
"What!"
"I'm fuzz [police] , sugar, and discussing Melville for money is an 802. You can do time."
"You louse!"
"Better come clean [tell everything] , baby. Unless you want to tell your story down at Alfred Kazin's office, and I don't think he'd be too happy to hear it."
She began to cry. "Don't turn me in, Kaiser," she said. "I needed the money to complete my Master's. I've been turned down for a grant. Twice. Oh, Christ."
It all poured out - the whole story. Central Park West [rich area of New York] upbringing, Socialist summer camps, Brandeis [university for the wealthy] . She was every dame you saw waiting in line at the Elgin or the Thalia, or penciling the words 'Yes, very true' into the margin of some book on Kant [German philosopher] . Only somewhere along the line she had made a wrong turn.
"I needed cash. A girl friend said she knew a married guy whose wife wasn't very profound. He was into Blake [English poet] . She couldn't hack it [handle it] . I said sure, for a price I'd talk Blake with him. I was nervous at first. I faked a lot of it. He didn't care. My friend said there were others. Oh, I've been busted before. I got caught reading Commentary [journal promoting Jewish cultural interests and creative achievement in America] in a parked car, and I was once stopped and frisked [To search by passing the hands quickly over clothes or through pockets] at Tanglewood. Once more and I'm a three time loser."
"Then take me to Flossie."
She bit her lip and said, "The Hunter College Book Store is a front [a cover for some questionable behavior] ."
"Yes?"
"Like those bookie joints that have barbershops outside for show. You'll see."
I made a quick call to headquarters and then said to her, "Okay, sugar. You're off the hook [our of trouble] . But don't leave town."
"She tilted her face up toward mine gratefully. "I can get you photographs of Dwight Macdonald reading," she said.
"Some other time."
FLOSSIE'S
I walked into the Hunter College Book Store. The salesman, a young man with sensitive eyes, came up to me. "Can I help you?" he said.
"I'm looking for a special edition of Advertisements for Myself. I understand the author had several thousand gold-leaf copies printed up for friends."
"I'll have to check," he said. "We have a WATS line to Mailer's [American writer] house."
I fixed him with a look. "Sherry sent me," I said.
"Oh, in that case, go on back." he said. He pressed a button. A wall of books opened, and I walked like a lamb into that bustling pleasure palace known as Flossie's. Red flocked wallpaper and a Victorian [Victorians were noted for their lack of sexuality] decor set the tone. Pale, nervous girls with black-rimmed glasses and blunt-cut hair lolled around on sofas, riffling Penguin Classics [classic novels] provocatively. A blonde with a big smile winked at me, nodded toward a room upstairs, and said, "Wallace Stevens [American poet] , eh?" But it wasn't just intellectual experiences. They were peddling emotional ones, too. For fifty bucks, I learned, you could "relate without getting close." For a hundred, a girl would lend you her Bartok records, have dinner, and then let you watch while she had an anxiety attack. For one-fifty, you could listen to FM radio with twins. For three bills [$300] , you got the works: A thin Jewish brunette would pretend to pick you up at the Museum of Modern Art, let you read her master's, get you involved in a screaming quarrel at Elaine's over Freud's [father of pychoanalysis] conception of women, and then fake a suicide of your choosing - the perfect evening, for some guys. Nice racket. Great town, New York.
"Like what you see?" a voice said behind me. I turned and suddenly found myself standing face to face with the business end of a .38 [gun] . I'm a guy with a strong stomach, but this time it did a back flip. It was Flossie, all right. The voice was the same, but Flossie was a man. His face was hidden by a mask.
"You'll never believe this," he said, "but I don't even have a college degree. I was thrown out for low grades."
"Is that why you wear that mask?"
"I devised a complicated scheme to take over The New York Review of Books, but it meant I had to pass for Lionel Trilling [literary critic] . I went to Mexico for an operation. There's a doctor in Juarez who gives people Trilling's features - for a price. Something went wrong. I came out looking like Auden [English poet] , with Mary McCarthy's voice. That's when I started working the other side of the law [crime] ."
"Quickly, before he could tighten his finger on the trigger, I went into action. Heaving forward, I snapped my elbow across his jaw and grabbed the gun as he fell back. He hit the ground like a ton of bricks. He was still whimpering when the police showed up.
"Nice work, Kaiser," Sergeant Holmes said. "When we're through with this guy, the F.B.I. wants to have a talk with him. A little matter involving some gamblers and an annotated* copy of Dante's Inferno. Take him away, boys." Later that night, I looked up an old account of mine named Gloria. She was blond. She had graduated cum laude [high marks, but also a wicked pun] . The difference was she majored in physical education. It felt good.

* Annotated = a literary work with critical commentary or explanatory notes. A little like this story.

BILL OF RIGHTS

[NOTE: There are currently 27 Amendments to the US Constitution. The Bill of Rights refers to the first 10 Amendments]

The United States Bill of Rights.
The Ten Original Amendments to the Constitution of the United States
Passed by Congress September 25, 1789
Ratified December 15, 1791


I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

II

A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.

III

No soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

IV

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

V

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use without just compensation.

VI

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the assistance of counsel for his defense.

VII

In suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury shall be otherwise re-examined in any court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.

VIII

Excessive bail shall not be required nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

IX

The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.

X

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.

A MODEST PROPOSAL

A Modest Proposal for preventing the children of poor people in
Ireland, from being a burden on their parents or country, and for
making them beneficial to the publick.

by Dr. Jonathan Swift, 1729


[NOTE: When Swift wrote this essay about the Irish poor, Ireland was ruled by England. Most lands in Ireland were owned by Rich Englishmen who often did not live in Ireland. The Irish were forced to live on small plots of land, and their condition was often miserable. Please note also that I have edited this essay to shorten it.]


It is a melancholy object to those, who walk through this great
town, or travel in the country, when they see the streets, the
roads and cabbin-doors crowded with beggars of the female sex,
followed by three, four, or six children, all in rags, and
importuning every passenger for an alms. These mothers instead of
being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to
employ all their time in stroling to beg sustenance for their
helpless infants who, as they grow up, either turn thieves for
want of work, or leave their dear native country, to fight for
the Pretender in Spain, or sell themselves to the Barbadoes.

I think it is agreed by all parties, that this prodigious number
of children in the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels of
their mothers, and frequently of their fathers, is in the present
deplorable state of the kingdom, a very great additional
grievance; and therefore whoever could find out a fair, cheap and
easy method of making these children sound and useful members of
the common-wealth, would deserve so well of the publick, as to
have his statue set up for a preserver of the nation.

But my intention is very far from being confined to provide only
for the children of professed beggars: it is of a much greater
extent, and shall take in the whole number of infants at a
certain age, who are born of parents in effect as little able to
support them, as those who demand our charity in the streets…

…There is likewise another great advantage in my scheme, that it
will prevent those voluntary abortions, and that horrid practice
of women murdering their bastard children, alas! too frequent
among us, sacrificing the poor innocent babes, I doubt, more to
avoid the expence than the shame, which would move tears and pity
in the most savage and inhuman breast.

The number of souls in this kingdom being usually reckoned one
million and a half, of these I calculate there may be about two
hundred thousand couple whose wives are breeders; from which
number I subtract thirty thousand couple, who are able to
maintain their own children, (although I apprehend there cannot
be so many, under the present distresses of the kingdom) but this
being granted, there will remain an hundred and seventy thousand
breeders. I again subtract fifty thousand, for those women who
miscarry, or whose children die by accident or disease within the
year. There only remain an hundred and twenty thousand children
of poor parents annually born. The question therefore is, How
this number shall be reared, and provided for? …

…I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I
hope will not be liable to the least objection.

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance
in London, that a young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year
old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether
stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it
will equally serve in a fricasie, or a ragoust.

I do therefore humbly offer it to publick consideration, that of
the hundred and twenty thousand children, already computed,
twenty thousand may be reserved for breed, whereof only one
fourth part to be males; which is more than we allow to sheep,
black cattle, or swine, and my reason is, that these children are
seldom the fruits of marriage, a circumstance not much regarded
by our savages, therefore, one male will be sufficient to serve
four females. That the remaining hundred thousand may, at a year
old, be offered in sale to the persons of quality and fortune,
through the kingdom, always advising the mother to let them suck
plentifully in the last month, so as to render them plump, and
fat for a good table. A child will make two dishes at an
entertainment for friends, and when the family dines alone, the
fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned
with a little pepper or salt, will be very good boiled on the
fourth day, especially in winter…


…I grant this food will be somewhat dear, and therefore very
proper for landlords, who, as they have already devoured most of
the parents, seem to have the best title to the children.

Infant's flesh will be in season throughout the year, but more
plentiful in March, and a little before and after…

…I have already computed the charge of nursing a beggar's child
(in which list I reckon all cottagers, labourers, and four-fifths
of the farmers) to be about two shillings per annum, rags
included; and I believe no gentleman would repine to give ten
shillings for the carcass of a good fat child, which, as I have
said, will make four dishes of excellent nutritive meat, when he
hath only some particular friend, or his own family to dine with
him. Thus the squire will learn to be a good landlord, and grow
popular among his tenants, the mother will have eight shillings
neat profit, and be fit for work till she produces another child.

Those who are more thrifty (as I must confess the times require)
may flea the carcass; the skin of which, artificially dressed,
will make admirable gloves for ladies, and summer boots for fine
gentlemen.

As to our City of Dublin, shambles may be appointed for this
purpose, in the most convenient parts of it, and butchers we may
be assured will not be wanting; although I rather recommend
buying the children alive, and dressing them hot from the knife,
as we do roasting pigs.

A very worthy person, a true lover of his country, and whose
virtues I highly esteem, was lately pleased, in discoursing on
this matter, to offer a refinement upon my scheme. He said, that
many gentlemen of this kingdom, having of late destroyed their
deer, he conceived that the want of venison might be well
supply'd by the bodies of young lads and maidens [FOR HUNTING], not exceeding
fourteen years of age, nor under twelve; so great a number of
both sexes in every country being now ready to starve for want of
work and service…it is not improbable that some scrupulous people
might be apt to censure such a practice, (although indeed very
unjustly) as a little bordering upon cruelty, which, I confess,
hath always been with me the strongest objection against any
project, how well soever intended…


….I have too long digressed, and therefore shall return to my
subject. I think the advantages by the proposal which I have made
are obvious and many, as well as of the highest importance.

For first, as I have already observed, it would greatly lessen
the number of Papists [CATHOLICS], with whom we are yearly over-run, being
the principal breeders of the nation, as well as our most
dangerous enemies, and who stay at home on purpose with a design
to deliver the kingdom to the Pretender [, hoping to take their
advantage by the absence of so many good Protestants, who have
chosen rather to leave their country, than stay at home and pay
tithes against their conscience to an episcopal curate.

Secondly, The poorer tenants will have something valuable of
their own, which by law may be made liable to a distress, and
help to pay their landlord's rent, their corn and cattle being
already seized, and money a thing unknown.

Thirdly, Whereas the maintainance of an hundred thousand
children, from two years old, and upwards, cannot be computed at
less than ten shillings a piece per annum, the nation's stock
will be thereby encreased fifty thousand pounds per annum,
besides the profit of a new dish, introduced to the tables of all
gentlemen of fortune in the kingdom, who have any refinement in
taste. And the money will circulate among our selves, the goods
being entirely of our own growth and manufacture.

Fourthly, The constant breeders, besides the gain of eight
shillings sterling per annum by the sale of their children, will
be rid of the charge of maintaining them after the first year.

Fifthly, This food would likewise bring great custom to taverns,
where the vintners will certainly be so prudent as to procure the
best receipts for dressing it to perfection; and consequently
have their houses frequented by all the fine gentlemen, who
justly value themselves upon their knowledge in good eating; and
a skilful cook, who understands how to oblige his guests, will
contrive to make it as expensive as they please.

Sixthly, This would be a great inducement to marriage, which all
wise nations have either encouraged by rewards, or enforced by
laws and penalties. It would encrease the care and tenderness of
mothers towards their children, when they were sure of a
settlement for life to the poor babes, provided in some sort by
the publick, to their annual profit instead of expence. We should
soon see an honest emulation among the married women, which of
them could bring the fattest child to the market. Men would
become as fond of their wives, during the time of their
pregnancy, as they are now of their mares in foal, their cows in
calf, or sow when they are ready to farrow; nor offer to beat or
kick them (as is too frequent a practice) for fear of a
miscarriage.

Many other advantages might be enumerated. For instance, the
addition of some thousand carcasses in our exportation of
barrel'd beef: the propagation of swine's flesh, and improvement
in the art of making good bacon, so much wanted among us by the
great destruction of pigs, too frequent at our tables; which are
no way comparable in taste or magnificence to a well grown, fat
yearly child, which roasted whole will make a considerable figure
at a Lord Mayor's feast, or any other publick entertainment. But
this, and many others, I omit, being studious of brevity.

Supposing that one thousand families in this city, would be
constant customers for infants flesh, besides others who might
have it at merry meetings, particularly at weddings and
christenings, I compute that Dublin would take off annually about
twenty thousand carcasses; and the rest of the kingdom (where
probably they will be sold somewhat cheaper) the remaining eighty
thousand.

I can think of no one objection, that will possibly be raised
against this proposal, unless it should be urged, that the number
of people will be thereby much lessened in the kingdom. This I
freely own, and 'twas indeed one principal design in offering it
to the world…

But, as to my self, having been wearied out for many years with
offering vain, idle, visionary thoughts, and at length utterly
despairing of success, I fortunately fell upon this proposal,
which, as it is wholly new, so it hath something solid and real,
of no expence and little trouble, full in our own power, and
whereby we can incur no danger in disobliging England. For this
kind of commodity will not bear exportation, and flesh being of
too tender a consistence, to admit a long continuance in salt,
although perhaps I could name a country, which would be glad to
eat up our whole nation without it.

I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the
least personal interest in endeavouring to promote this necessary
work, having no other motive than the publick good of my country,
by advancing our trade, providing for infants, relieving the
poor, and giving some pleasure to the rich. I have no children,
by which I can propose to get a single penny; the youngest being
nine years old, and my wife past child-bearing.


QUESTIONS

1. What is the problem that Swift introduces in paragraph 1?

2. In paragraph 2, Swift says that someone who could find a solution to this problem would be called what?

3. What is Swift's Proposal?

4. What is sarcasm? What might be one example of something sarcastic?

5. How does Swift’s friend “refine” the proposal? Why does Swift
disagree?

6. Briefly what are Swift’s 6 arguments for his proposal?

a.
b.
c.
d.
e.
f.

7. What does Swift’s proposal say about the condition of Ireland's poor?

8. What does it say about Swift’s social political status?

9. How do you think Swift really felt about this issue, and how does the SATIRE emphasize the problem?

Cheney, on Carrier, Sends Warning to Iran

By DAVID E. SANGER
Published: May 12, 2007

Vice President Dick Cheney used the deck of an American aircraft carrier just 150 miles off Iran’s coast as the backdrop yesterday to warn that the United States was prepared to use its naval power to keep Tehran from disrupting oil routes or “gaining nuclear weapons and dominating this region.”

[What did Cheney warn? There is an example of metonymy. What is it?]

Mr. Cheney said little new in his speech, delivered from the cavernous hangar bay of the John C. Stennis, one of the two carriers in the Persian Gulf. Each line had, in some form, been said before at various points in the four-year nuclear standoff with Iran, and during the increasingly tense arguments over whether Tehran is aiding insurgents in Iraq.

But Mr. Cheney stitched all of those warnings together, and the symbolism of sending the administration’s most famous hawk to deliver them so close to Iran’s coast was unmistakable. It also came just a week after Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice had talked briefly and inconclusively with Iran’s foreign minister, a step toward re-engagement with Iran that some in the administration have opposed.

[What does "hawk" mean here? And it does not mean a bird. Why do you think some in the Bush Administration do not want to engage with Iran? What does "stitch together" mean?]

Mr. Cheney’s sharp warnings appeared to be part of a two-track administration campaign to push back at Iran while leaving the door open to negotiations. It was almost exactly a year ago that the United States offered to negotiate with Iran as long as it first agreed to stop enriching uranium, a decision in which Mr. Cheney, participants said, was not a major player.

[Do you know the phrase "good cop, bad cop"? The writer suggests that the Bush Administration is using "good cop, bad cop" with the Iranians. What does that mean?]

Senior officials said Mr. Cheney’s speech was not circulated broadly in the government before it was delivered. A senior American diplomat added, “He still kind of runs by his own rules.”

[Who controls Cheney?]

The speech was reminiscent of Mr. Cheney’s speeches about Iraq in August 2002, which argued against sending weapons inspectors back into Iraq and laid bare the split within the administration over how to deal with Saddam Hussein. But the circumstances with Iran are quite different. American officials say that so many troops are tied up in Iraq, and Iran has so much power to cause disruption there and in the oil markets, that an attack on Iran’s nuclear facilities would be an enormous risk.

[Why would it be an "enormous risk" to attack Iran?]

“This is about saber-rattling, and power projection,” one senior State Department official said yesterday. “And who better to do it?”

When President Bush ordered the two carriers into the Persian Gulf last year, senior officials said it was part of an effort to gain some negotiating leverage. About the same time, American military personnel began capturing some Iranians in Iraq, and some are still being held there. American officials have also been pressing European banks and companies to avoid doing business with Iran, hoping to disrupt its efforts to recycle its oil profits.

[What is "negotiating leverage"?]

Oil seemed to be on Mr. Cheney’s mind yesterday when he told 3,500 to 4,000 members of the Stennis’s crew that Iran would not be permitted to choke off oil shipments.

[There is some wonderfully graphic, metaphorical language above. What is it?]

“With two carrier strike groups in the gulf, we’re sending clear messages to friends and adversaries alike,” he said, according to an official transcript of his remarks. “We’ll keep the sea lanes open. We’ll stand with our friends in opposing extremism and strategic threats. We’ll disrupt attacks on our own forces. We’ll continue bringing relief to those who suffer, and delivering justice to the enemies of freedom. And we’ll stand with others to prevent Iran from gaining nuclear weapons and dominating this region.”

Some Iran experts have questioned whether the threats delivered by administration officials help or hurt diplomacy with Iran.

[What do you think? Do Cheney's threats help or hurt dipolmacy?]

“The problem with the two-track policy is that the first track — coercion, sanctions, naval deployments — can undercut the results on the second track,” said Ray Takeyh, an Iran scholar at the Council of Foreign Relations.

“There are some in Tehran who will look at Cheney on that carrier and say that everything Rice is offering is not real,” he said.

He added, “This is a case where we are trying to get through negotiations what, so far, we couldn’t get through coercion.”

[What is the danger of Cheney's actions?]

Without question, symbols of coercion were part of the backdrop: Mr. Cheney spoke in front of five F/A-18 warplanes. While he never said so, it is clear to the Iranians that several of their major nuclear sites, including the uranium enrichment facility at Natanz, are within reach of the Navy’s weapons.

But mindful of the lasting imagery of President Bush on another carrier, there were no signs proclaiming success, much less “Mission Accomplished.” Instead, Mr. Cheney repeated his arguments about the danger of early withdrawal from Iraq, suggesting that it would empower Iran.

“This world can be messy and dangerous, but it’s a world made better by American power and American values,” he told the cheering crew. He then reached back to some language Mr. Bush had previously used to describe the goals of Al Qaeda — the word caliphate, which the president has avoided in recent times.

“Osama bin Laden and his lieutenants believe they can wear us down, break our will, force us out and make Iraq a safe haven for terror,” Mr. Cheney said. “They see Iraq as the center of a new caliphate, from which they can stir extremism and violence throughout the region, and eventually carry out devastating attacks against the United States and others.”

[Do you agree that if the U.S. leaves Iraq it will become a "new caliphate, from which they can stir extremism and violence throughout the region, and eventually carry out devastating attacks against the United States and others"?]

FREE LITERATURE AND NEW YORK TIMES

Hello everyone,

Here are three links which may be helpful. The first is Project Gutenberg. It contains more than 20,000 free books online with links to more than a 100,000 others. They are all open source, and you can legally download them. For example, I accessed all of Robert Frost’s Poems. If you have a flash drive, you can save a whole library’s worth of books and have it swinging around your neck as you stroll across campus.

http://www.gutenberg.org/wiki/Main_Page

Then next link is for Internet Archive. It is similar to Project Gutenberg and contains a wealth of information, including around 200,000 books and documents. For example, I was able to download all of Hemingway’s short stories.

http://www.archive.org/details/texts

The last link is longgggggg…but it is the free registration for the New York Times. Once you register, you can have them send the day’s headlines and whole host of other goodies directly to you everyday. Or not. You choose.

http://www.nytimes.com/glogin?URI=http://gk.nytimes.com/mem/gatekeeper.html&OQ=_rQ3D1Q26URIQ3DhttpQ3AQ2FQ2Fwww.nytimes.comQ2F2005Q2F10Q2F03Q2FbusinessQ2F03yahoo.htmlQ26OQ51Q3D_rQ513D2Q5126orefQ513DsloginQ26OPQ3D405df2ccQ512FauXiamr-Q517BTrrQ5126Q5124aQ5124Q515EQ515Eoa_Q515EaQ515EyaiQ513CQ517BQ513AVXQ517BQ517BaQ515EylQ5122errAeQ5126g,&OP=7dc8d6aQ2FQ3F@hVQ3FQ3EQ26HhCQ3CBQ3F)HFCaaQ3EIQ3Fau6Hh)HhQ3CQ3FpCHhQ3Ahhahuk)HF

The last thing: If you have a blog (which takes about 5 minutes to set up), you can post this wealth of info online to read. If you want to set up a blog, go to:

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I'll be glad to help if anyone is interested.

Happy reading,

David

OLD MAN AT THE BRIDGE

OLD MAN AT THE BRIDGE by Ernest Hemingway

1. What is the point of view of the story? That is, who tells the story?

2. What is this man’s job?

3. What is contact?

4. Who or what does the old man symbolize? Consider him generally, but also consider his age and his clothes, the fact that he is “without politics,” etc. Also, why does he repeat the phrase, "I was only taking care of animals."

5. Who or what does the narrator symbolize?

6. All of the following may be symbols. What do you think each symbolizes?

Cat

Pigeons

Goats (do you remember the word I taught you a couple of days ago?)

Bridge and river (Why doesn’t Hemingway say, “ The old man in the ditch or on the roadside”?)

The fact that it is Easter

7. Discuss the last sentence of the story. It is a good example of bitter*______________?

8. What is the theme of the story?


VOCABULARY

Spectacles
Pontoon bridge
Stagger
Spokes
Bridgehead
Cart
Shepherd
Herdsman
Rimmed
Artillery
Fork
Unquiet (also disquiet)
Blankly



*bit•ter (bĭt'ər)
adj., -er, -est.
1. Having or being a taste that is sharp, acrid, and unpleasant.
2. Causing a sharply unpleasant, painful, or stinging sensation; harsh: enveloped in bitter cold; a bitter wind.
3. Difficult or distasteful to accept, admit, or bear: the bitter truth; bitter sorrow.
4. Proceeding from or exhibiting strong animosity: a bitter struggle; bitter foes.
5. Resulting from or expressive of severe grief, anguish, or disappointment: cried bitter tears.
6. Marked by resentment or cynicism: “He was already a bitter elderly man with a gray face” (John Dos Passos).

IDIOM PARAGRAPH RACE

Paragraph Race

(1) “Zip your lip!” she said, “You don’t want to say anything which will upset him.”
(2) “OK, OK,” I answered, “It’s just such a let down. I was expecting a lot more.”
(3) “I know,” she replied, “But I think it’s better if we just let sleeping dogs lie. (4) Besides, who knows, maybe we are making a mountain out of mole hill. (5) It may not be as important as we think.”
(6) “OK, I’ve made up my mind,” I answered. (7) “I’m not going to say anything. (8) I’m going to live and let live. (9) But I still think he’s nuts, and one day he’s going to have to pay the piper.”

IDIOMS

1. a let-down: a disappointment; something that's very disappointing.

"It must've been quite a let-down not to be chosen for that job.
I know you really hoped you would get it."

2. Let sleeping dogs lie.: Don't cause problems by doing something when it isn't necessary.

"I know that what Julie said made you angry, but let sleeping dogs lie.
If you say or do anything, you'll only make things worse."

3. live from hand to mouth: survive on very little money; have only enough money
to pay for basic needs.

"Chuck and Alice are living from hand to mouth since Chuck lost his job."

4. live and let live: don't unnecessarily make things difficult;
do as you wish and let others do as they wish.

"I'm not going to criticize Alice's family just because their habits
are a little strange. My motto is 'Live and let live.'"

5. make a mountain out of a molehill: make something seem much more important than it really is.

"Calm down. There's really nothing to worry about.
You're making a mountain out of a molehill."

6. make up one's mind: decide what to do.

A: Where are you going on your vacation?
B: Maybe Canada, maybe Mexico. I can't make up my mind."

7. nuke: heat in a microwave.

"If your coffee's cold, just nuke it for about a minute."

8. nuts: crazy.

A: "Stuart says some really strange things sometimes."
B: "Sometimes? All the time! He's nuts!"

9. on the) cutting edge: using the most recent technology.

"The university's computer lab is (on the) cutting edge. It has
all the latest hardware and software."

10. over one's head: too difficult or complicated for someone to understand.

"This explanation of cgi scripting is over my head.
Can you explain it in a less technical way?"

11. pay the piper: face the consequences for something you've done.

"I stayed up too late tonight. Tomorrow I'll have to pay the piper."

12. pull someone's leg: tease someone by trying to make her/him believe something
that's exaggerated or untrue.

A: "Wow! Carl has done some really amazing things!"
B: "Don't believe everything he tells you. He was probably pulling your leg."

13. Zip your lip!: keep something secret; promise not to tell what has just been said.

"What I told you is really important, so zip your lip!"

THE SOFT BIGOTRY OF IRAQ

NOTE: Before you read this article, understand that it is an editorial. That is, it is the voice of the editors of the paper. The New York Times is generally believed to have a more left leaning editorial voice. That is to say, they generally have more sympathy with the Democratic Party's policy goals than with the Republican's.

Editorial
The Soft Bigotry of Iraq
The New York Times
Published: May 7, 2007
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/07/opinion/07mon1.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

Whether out of blind loyalty or blind denial, most Congressional Republicans are prepared to back up President Bush’s veto of the Iraq spending bill. It is now essential that the revised version not back away from demanding that Iraq’s prime minister, Nuri Kamal al-Maliki, finally deliver on the crucial national reconciliation measures he has spent the last year dodging. And it must make clear that American support for his failures — and Mr. Bush’s — is fast waning.

[Why did President Bush veto the Iraq spending Bill? The New York Times suggests that there are two reasons the Republicans are still supporting Mr. Bush. What are they? And what is "national reconciliation"?]

What Mr. Maliki needs to do to slow Iraq’s bloodletting is no mystery. Iraq’s security forces must stop siding with the Shiite militias. Iraq’s oil revenue must be apportioned fairly. Anti-Baathist laws now used to deny Sunni Arabs employment and political opportunities must be rewritten to target only those responsible for the crimes of the Saddam Hussein era.

[How many things does the New York Times say that Mr. Maliki needs to do slow the Bloodletting? Do you think any of these would help? Why or why not?]

Without these steps, Mr. Maliki and his allies cannot even minimally claim to be a real national government. With them, there is at least a chance that Iraqis can muster the strength to contain the chaos when, as is inevitable, American forces begin to leave. Mr. Bush acknowledges that these benchmarks are important. Yet he refuses to insist, or let Congress insist, that Baghdad achieve them or face real consequences. Each time Baghdad fails a test, Mr. Bush lowers his requirements and postpones his target dates — the kind of destructive denial Mr. Bush called, in another context, the soft bigotry of low expectations.

[Was does the New York Times say is "inevitable"? Do you agree? What is a benchmark? This is a difficult question, but what is the "soft bigotry of low expectations"?]

Consider the Baghdad security drive. Last week, The Washington Post reported that Mr. Maliki’s office had helped instigate the firing of senior Iraqi security officers who moved aggressively against a powerful Shiite militia. After betting so many American lives, the combat readiness of the United States Army and his own remaining credibility on this bloody push to secure the capital, it is a mystery why Mr. Bush would allow the Iraqi leader to undermine it.

[What is undermining Mr. Bush's credibility?]

Then there is the endless soap opera that is one day supposed to produce a fair share-out of Iraqi oil revenues. The Bush administration prematurely popped champagne corks in February when Mr. Maliki’s cabinet agreed on a preliminary draft. Now, in May, there is no share-out, no legislation and even the preliminary agreement is starting to unravel. The leading Sunni Arab party in Mr. Maliki’s cabinet is now threatening to withdraw its ministers, declaring that it has “lost hope” that the Iraqi leader will deal seriously with Sunni concerns.

[What is the metaphorical languange in this paragraph? What is happening, or rather not happening, with the Iraqi oil revenues?]

Mr. Bush, by contrast, sees “signs of hope” in the Baghdad security situation, urges Americans to give his failed policies more time and seems offended that Congress wants to impose accountability on Baghdad and the White House.

[How are the Democrats trying to "impose accountability"? There is at least one excellent example of metonymy in the above paragraph. What is it?]

The final version of the spending bill should include explicit benchmarks and timetables for the Iraqis, even if Mr. Bush won’t let Congress back them up with a clear timetable for America’s withdrawal. If Mr. Maliki and Mr. Bush still don’t get it, Congress will have to enact new means of enforcement, and back that up with a veto-proof majority.

[What does it mean "not to get it"? In the opinion of the New York Times what must happen "If Mr. Maliki and Mr. Bush still don't get it"? What does a "veto-proof majority" mean? And finally (and this is a big question), what do you think is going to happen in Iraq?]

THE LOTTERY

The Lottery

by SHIRLEY JACKSON


The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and the bank, around ten o'clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 2th. but in this village, where there were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten o'clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for noon dinner.

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix-- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"--eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.

Soon the men began to gather, Surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother's grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.

The lottery was conducted--as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program--by Mr. Summers. who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. "Little late today, folks." The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three- legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything's being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued. had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers' coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves's barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were the lists to make up--of heads of families. heads of households in each family. members of each household in each family. There was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory. tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans. with one hand resting carelessly on the black box. he seemed very proper and important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. "Clean forgot what day it was," she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly. "Thought my old man was out back stacking wood," Mrs. Hutchinson went on. "and then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running." She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, "You're in time, though. They're still talking away up there."

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said. in voices just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, "Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson," and "Bill, she made it after all." Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. "Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie." Mrs. Hutchinson said. grinning, "Wouldn't have me leave m'dishes in the sink, now, would you. Joe?," and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson's arrival.

"Well, now." Mr. Summers said soberly, "guess we better get started, get this over with, so's we can go back to work. Anybody ain't here?"

"Dunbar." several people said. "Dunbar. Dunbar."

Mr. Summers consulted his list. "Clyde Dunbar." he said. "That's right. He's broke his leg, hasn't he? Who's drawing for him?"

"Me. I guess," a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. "Wife draws for her husband." Mr. Summers said. "Don't you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?" Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.

"Horace's not but sixteen vet." Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. "Guess I gotta fill in for the old man this year."

"Right." Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, "Watson boy drawing this year?"

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. "Here," he said. "I m drawing for my mother and me." He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said thin#s like "Good fellow, lack." and "Glad to see your mother's got a man to do it."

"Well," Mr. Summers said, "guess that's everyone. Old Man Warner make it?"

"Here," a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded.

A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. "All ready?" he called. "Now, I'll read the names--heads of families first--and the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?"

The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most of them were quiet. wetting their lips. not looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, "Adams." A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. "Hi. Steve." Mr. Summers said. and Mr. Adams said. "Hi. Joe." They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he stood a little apart from his family. not looking down at his hand.

"Allen." Mr. Summers said. "Anderson.... Bentham."

"Seems like there's no time at all between lotteries any more." Mrs. Delacroix said to Mrs. Graves in the back row.

"Seems like we got through with the last one only last week."

"Time sure goes fast.-- Mrs. Graves said.

"Clark.... Delacroix"

"There goes my old man." Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband went forward.

"Dunbar," Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the women said. "Go on. Janey," and another said, "There she goes."

"We're next." Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers in their large hand. turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.

"Harburt.... Hutchinson."

"Get up there, Bill," Mrs. Hutchinson said. and the people near her laughed.

"Jones."

"They do say," Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, "that over in the north village they're talking of giving up the lottery."

Old Man Warner snorted. "Pack of crazy fools," he said. "Listening to the young folks, nothing's good enough for them. Next thing you know, they'll be wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a saying about 'Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.' First thing you know, we'd all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There's always been a lottery," he added petulantly. "Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody."

"Some places have already quit lotteries." Mrs. Adams said.

"Nothing but trouble in that," Old Man Warner said stoutly. "Pack of young fools."

"Martin." And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. "Overdyke.... Percy."

"I wish they'd hurry," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. "I wish they'd hurry."

"They're almost through," her son said.

"You get ready to run tell Dad," Mrs. Dunbar said.

Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a slip from the box. Then he called, "Warner."

"Seventy-seventh year I been in the lottery," Old Man Warner said as he went through the crowd. "Seventy-seventh time."

"Watson" The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, "Don't be nervous, Jack," and Mr. Summers said, "Take your time, son."

"Zanini."

After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his slip of paper in the air, said, "All right, fellows." For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. "Who is it?," "Who's got it?," "Is it the Dunbars?," "Is it the Watsons?" Then the voices began to say, "It's Hutchinson. It's Bill," "Bill Hutchinson's got it."

"Go tell your father," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.

People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly. Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. "You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn't fair!"

"Be a good sport, Tessie." Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, "All of us took the same chance."

"Shut up, Tessie," Bill Hutchinson said.

"Well, everyone," Mr. Summers said, "that was done pretty fast, and now we've got to be hurrying a little more to get done in time." He consulted his next list. "Bill," he said, "you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?"

"There's Don and Eva," Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. "Make them take their chance!"

"Daughters draw with their husbands' families, Tessie," Mr. Summers said gently. "You know that as well as anyone else."

"It wasn't fair," Tessie said.

"I guess not, Joe." Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. "My daughter draws with her husband's family; that's only fair. And I've got no other family except the kids."

"Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it's you," Mr. Summers said in explanation, "and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that's you, too. Right?"

"Right," Bill Hutchinson said.

"How many kids, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked formally.

"Three," Bill Hutchinson said.

"There's Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me."

"All right, then," Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you got their tickets back?"

Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. "Put them in the box, then," Mr. Summers directed. "Take Bill's and put it in."

"I think we ought to start over," Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. "I tell you it wasn't fair. You didn't give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that."

Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box. and he dropped all the papers but those onto the ground. where the breeze caught them and lifted them off.

"Listen, everybody," Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.

"Ready, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked. and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his wife and children. nodded.

"Remember," Mr. Summers said. "take the slips and keep them folded until each person has taken one. Harry, you help little Dave." Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. "Take a paper out of the box, Davy." Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. "Take just one paper." Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you hold it for him." Mr. Graves took the child's hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.

"Nancy next," Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box "Bill, Jr.," Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. "Tessie," Mr. Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly. and then set her lips and went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.

"Bill," Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around, bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.

The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, "I hope it's not Nancy," and the sound of the whisper reached the edges of the crowd.

"It's not the way it used to be." Old Man Warner said clearly. "People ain't the way they used to be."

"All right," Mr. Summers said. "Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave's."

Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as he held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr.. opened theirs at the same time. and both beamed and laughed. turning around to the crowd and holding their slips of paper above their heads.

"Tessie," Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.

"It's Tessie," Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. "Show us her paper. Bill."

Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a stir in the crowd.

"All right, folks." Mr. Summers said. "Let's finish quickly."

Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had come out of the box Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. "Come on," she said. "Hurry up."

Mr. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said. gasping for breath. "I can't run at all. You'll have to go ahead and I'll catch up with you."

The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson few pebbles.

Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. "It isn't fair," she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, "Come on, come on, everyone." Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside him.

"It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

QUESTIONS

1. What is the tone at the beginning of the story?
2. How are the men depicted in the beginning of the story?
3. How are the women depicted in the beginning of the story?
4. How do the villagers treat the black box?
5. Why did Mr. Summers use paper slips instead of wooden chips in the lottery.
6. How is the lottery different than what it used to be?
7. How was the lottery conducted?
8. What was Mrs. Hutchinson doing before she came to the town meeting? Does this have any significance?
9. Who is Old Man Warner? What attitude does he represent?
10. "Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon." What meanings can be derived from this?
11. Why do the people do the lottery?
12. Why does Mrs. Hutchinson keep saying that it isn't fair?
13. Who is Davy Hutchinson? Does he represent more than just a child?
14. Were you surprised by the ending of the story? If not, at what point did you know what was going to happen? How does Jackson foreshadow the ending?
15. This story was published in 1948. Are there any cultural or historical events that Jackson might be commenting on here? Is this JUST a story about this particular time and place, or is she trying to say something important about human nature?

A SLANDER

A Slander

by ANTON CHEKHOV


SERGE KAPITONICH AHINEEV, the writing master, was marrying his daughter to the teacher of history and geography. The wedding festivities were going off most successfully. In the drawing room there was singing, playing, and dancing. Waiters hired from the club were flitting distractedly about the rooms, dressed in black swallowtails and dirty white ties. There was a continual hubub and din of conversation. Sitting side by side on the sofa, the teacher of mathematics, the French teacher, and the junior assessor of taxes were talking hurriedly and interrupting one another as they described to the guests cases of persons being buried alive, and gave their opinions on spiritualism. None of them believed in spiritualism, but all admitted that there were many things in this world which would always be beyond the mind of man. In the next room the literature master was explaining to the visitors the cases in which a sentry has the right to fire on passers-by. The subjects, as you perceive, were alarming, but very agreeable. Persons whose social position precluded them from entering were looking in at the windows from the yard.

Just at midnight the master of the house went into the kitchen to see whether everything was ready for supper. The kitchen from floor to ceiling was filled with fumes composed of goose, duck, and many other odors. On two tables the accessories, the drinks and light refreshments, were set out in artistic disorder. The cook, Marfa, a red-faced woman whose figure was like a barrel with a belt around it, was bustling about the tables.

"Show me the sturgeon, Marfa," said Ahineev, rubbing his hands and licking his lips. "What a perfume! I could eat up the whole kitchen. Come, show me the sturgeon."

Marfa went up to one of the benches and cautiously lifted a piece of greasy newspaper. Under the paper on an immense dish there reposed a huge sturgeon, masked in jelly and decorated with capers, olives, and carrots. Ahineev gazed at the sturgeon and gasped. His face beamed, he turned his eyes up. He bent down and with his lips emitted the sound of an ungreased wheel. After standing a moment he snapped his fingers with delight and once more smacked his lips.

"Ah-ah! the sound of a passionate kiss. . . . Who is it you're kissing out there, little Marfa?" came a voice from the next room, and in the doorway there appeared the cropped head of the assistant usher, Vankin. "Who is it? A-a-h! . . . Delighted to meet you! Sergei Kapitonich! You're a fine grandfather, I must say!"

"I'm not kissing," said Ahineev in confusion. "Who told you so, you fool? I was only . . . I smacked my lips . . . in reference to . . . as an indication of. . . pleasure . . . at the sight of the fish."

"Tell that to the marines!" The intrusive face vanished, wearing a broad grin.

Ahineev flushed.

"Hang it!" he thought, "the beast will go now and talk scandal. He'll disgrace me to all the town, the brute."

Ahineev went timidly into the drawing room and looked stealthily round for Vankin. Vankin was standing by the piano, and, bending down with a jaunty air, was whispering something to the inspector's sister-in-law, who was laughing.

"Talking about me!" thought Ahineev. "About me, blast him! And she believes it . . . believes it! She laughs! Mercy on us! No, I can't let it pass . . . I can't. I must do something to prevent his being believed. . . . I'll speak to them all, and he'll be shown up for a fool and a gossip."

Ahineev scratched his head, and still overcome with embarrassment, went up to the French teacher.

"I've just been in the kitchen to see after the supper," he said to the Frenchman. "I know you are fond of fish, and I've a sturgeon, my dear fellow, beyond everything! A yard and a half long! Ha, ha, ha! And, by the way . . . I was just forgetting. . . . In the kitchen just now, with that sturgeon . . . quite a little story! I went into the kitchen just now and wanted to look at the supper dishes. I looked at the sturgeon and I smacked my lips with relish . . . at the piquancy of it. And at the very moment that fool Vankin came in and said: . . . 'Ha, ha, ha! . . . So you're kissing here!' Kissing Marfa, the cook! What a thing to imagine, silly fool! The woman is a perfect fright, like all the beasts put together, and he talks about kissing! Queer fish!"

"Who's a queer fish?" asked the mathematics teacher, coming up.

"Why he, over there--Vankin! I went into the kitchen . . ."

And he told the story of Vankin. ". . . He amused me, queer fish! I'd rather kiss a dog than Marfa, if you ask me," added Ahineev. He looked round and saw behind him the junior assessor of taxes.

"We were talking of Vankin," he said. "Queer fish, he is! He went into the kitchen, saw me beside Marfa, and began inventing all sorts of silly stories. 'Why are you kissing?' he says. He must have had a drop too much. 'And I'd rather kiss a turkeycock than Marfa,' I said, 'And I've a wife of my own, you fool,' said I. He did amuse me!"

"Who amused you?" asked the priest who taught Scripture in the school, going up to Ahineev.

"Vankin. I was standing in the kitchen, you know, looking at the sturgeon. . . ."

And so on. Within half an hour or so all the guests knew the incident of the sturgeon and Vankin.

"Let him tell away now!" thought Ahineev, rubbing his hands. "Let him! He'll begin telling his story and they'll say to him at once, 'Enough of your improbable nonsense, you fool, we know all about it!"

And Ahineev was so relieved that in his joy he drank four glasses too many. After escorting the young people to their room, he went to bed and slept like an innocent babe, and next day he thought no more of the incident with the sturgeon. But, alas! man proposes, but God disposes. An evil tongue did its evil work, and Ahineev's strategy was of no avail. Just a week later--to be precise, on Wednesday after the third lesson--when Ahineev was standing in the middle of the teacher's room, holding forth on the vicious propensities of a boy called Visekin, the headmaster went up to him and drew him aside:

"Look here, Sergei Kapitonich," said the headmaster, "you must excuse me. . . . It's not my business; but all the same I must make you realize. . . . It's my duty. You see, there are rumors that you are romancing with that . . . cook. . . . It's nothing to do with me, but . . . flirt with her, kiss her . . . as you please, but don't let it be so public, please. I entreat you! Don't forget that you're a schoolmaster."

Ahineev turned cold and faint. He went home like a man stung by a whole swarm of bees, like a man scalded with boiling water. As he walked home, it seemed to him that the whole town was looking at him as though he were smeared with pitch. At home fresh trouble awaited him.

"Why aren't you gobbling up your food as usual?" his wife asked him at dinner. "What are you so pensive about? Brooding over your amours? Pining for your Marfa? I know all about it, Mohammedan! Kind friends have opened my eyes! O-o-o! . . . you savage !"

And she slapped him in the face. He got up from the table, not feeling the earth under his feet, and without his hat or coat, made his way to Vankin. He found him at home.

"You scoundrel!" he addressed him. "Why have you covered me with mud before all the town? Why did you set this slander going about me?"

"What slander? What are you talking about?"

"Who was it gossiped of my kissing Marfa? Wasn't it you? Tell me that. Wasn't it you, you brigand?"

Vankin blinked and twitched in every fiber of his battered countenance, raised his eyes to the icon and articulated, "God blast me! Strike me blind and lay me out, if I said a single word about you! May I be left without house and home, may I be stricken with worse than cholera!"

Vankin's sincerity did not admit of doubt. It was evidently not he who was the author of the slander.

"But who, then, who?" Ahineev wondered, going over all his acquaintances in his mind and beating himself on the breast. "Who, then?"


QUESTIONS

1. What does Marfa, the cook, look like?
2. Why does Sergei Aniheev smack his lips? What does it sound like. There are at least 2 things it sounded like. Find both.
3. What joke does Vankin make?
4. What does the principal say to Serge?
5. Who actually spreads the slander?
6. What makes this play a good example of irony?
7. How would you describe Serge Ahineev?

IDIOMS

1. in over one's head: in a situation that is too much / too difficult for one to manage.

"Do you have time to help me? I thought I could do this myself,
but I'm afraid I'm in over my head. I just can't handle things alone."

2. inside out: with the inner part on the outside and the outer part on the inside.

"Why are you wearing your tee shirt inside out?"

3. in the black: profitable; not showing a financial loss.

"What did you do to increase profit and eliminate losses?
We've been in the black for two months in a row."

4. in the red: unprofitable; showing a financial loss.

"We have to do something to increase profit and decrease losses.
We've been in the red for two months in a row."

5. jump all over someone: severely criticize / find fault with someone.

A: "What's wrong with Joe?"
B: "He's feeling bad because his boss jumped all over him this morning."

6. jump the gun: do something before it's time to do it.

A: "How did Marsha know about the party? It was supposed to be a surprise."

B: "Chuck jumped the gun. Without thinking, he said, 'I'm bringing the cake at your party;
I hope you like it!"

7. jump to conclusions: decide something too quickly and without thinking about it or considering all the facts.

A: "Angela just doesn't like me. She won't even say hello."
B: "You're jumping to conclusions. Actually, she's very shy."

8. keep one's chin up: remain brave and confident in a difficult situation;
don't despair or worry too much.

"I know that things have been difficult for you recently,
but keep your chin up. Everything will be better soon."

9. keep one's nose to the grindstone: stay diligent; steadily work hard,
without breaks or an uneven pace.

"If I keep my nose to the grindstone, I should be finished by the end of the day."