by Simon Collings

Before you read:

Judging by the title, what are your anticipations concerning the text?

Manuel had passed the fish on his way up the road. It was eighteen to twenty inches long and its silvery scales were covered with dirt. The gill flaps opened like two gash wounds on the sides of its head as it thrashed helplessly in the gutter. Next to it a boy leaned against the railings, his rod and line dangling out over the floating garbage and the stream of brown, stinking waste which trickled from a pipe in the wall below. The boy wore a faded pair of football shorts. He was perhaps nine or ten years old, barefoot and grubby, and his skin was marked with insect bites.

The fish gasped, then made one last convulsive leap, throwing itself in the direction of the river, and landed on the pavement with a thud. There it lay motionless for a moment, exhausted no doubt by the effort. The boy looked down at it, turned and kicked it back into the gutter.

Manuel had not paid much attention to the fish as he was preoccupied. He had just been to look at an apartment and he was considering how he could afford the rent. Accommodation was hard to find in the city and a place like this didn't come up very often. The apartment he and his wife were currently living in was so small their six-year-old son had to live with his wife's parents during the week. They had been trying to move for two years. He took out a cigarette and leaned against the railing, looking down the street at the boy fishing.

Further along the quay two figures were approaching. He watched as they wandered slowly towards him. They looked to be in their early thirties and were obviously tourists. Americans he would guess. The woman had shoulder-length reddish hair and pale freckled skin. She was slim and athletic looking. Her partner was tall and flabby, his stomach protruding from under his T-shirt. He wore knee-length shorts, sunglasses and his long hair was tied in a pony tail. They came slowly along the dusty street of warehouses. Tourists were not uncommon in the city but they usually kept to the old port with its rococo churches and stately customs house, or took the organized cruises along the reef. It was rare to see them in this district and Manuel assumed they were lost.

'Look at the poor thing,' said the woman, stopping beside the fish, which lay where the boy had kicked it, probably now gasping its last breaths. She spoke with a lazy, nasal drawl. The boy had not turned around but he had noticed their presence. He stared fixedly across the glittering surface of the water towards the lines of washing in the narrow streets on the opposite bank, waiting for them to go.

'It ought to be thrown back,' the woman was saying. 'Do you think he wants it? ' She turned to her companion who shrugged. He looked nervous.

'I don't like the look of this neighborhood,' he said. 'I think we should get back. ' But the woman wasn't going to let it pass. She stood there looking from the fish to the boy and back again.

'You could try asking him,' the man said. The woman stepped around the fish and approached the boy, who was still looking out across the river. The child's body tensed as the woman came up to him.

'Do you know that fish is dying? ' Manuel heard her ask. The boy looked up at her blankly and then shook his head. 'Dy-ing,' she repeated, drawing out each syllable, but the boy remained dumb, uncomprehending. He fidgeted awkwardly with his feet.

'I don't think he understands,' said the woman to her partner. The man shrugged as if to say 'I told you we shouldn't get involved. ' She looked around for assistance and noticed Manuel watching her. She stared at him for a moment, taking in the cream-coloured linen suit, the shoes. She was obviously unsure what to make of him.

'Do you speak English? ' she asked, this time with a more respectful tone than she had used with the boy. Manuel said that he did but in a voice which gave her no reason to expect his help. She held his gaze for a few moments.

'Can you ask this boy what he means to do with the fish? It seems so cruel, it ought to be thrown back. ' He looked across at the boy and then at the woman. He wondered if he should tell her about the kind of life this boy led, about the squalid shacks down by the beach from where he had probably come that morning, about the parents struggling to make ends meet. Two days earlier he had read in the local paper about a fishing community a few miles up the coast which was being evicted to make way for a new hotel. The boy was watching them anxiously.

'Esta senhora quer saber o que você vai fazer com o peixe (Port.) This lady wants to know what you are going to do with the fish. ,' he said to the boy. He treated the boy gently, with consideration. The boy wiped a dirty hand across one eye and looked at Manuel.

'E para vender (Port.) It's for sale. ,' he responded.

'He intends to sell it,' he told the woman. He tried to make his answer sound final, as though that was the end of the matter. The woman hesitated, perhaps uncertain how to interpret the lack of encouragement in his voice. Manuel observed her confusion. Her eyes searched his face as though looking for some clue. Her companion shifted nervously behind her.

'Honey, I think we should go,' he said. But the woman ignored him. He shuffled uncomfortably. 'You know I really don't think you should interfere. '

'How much does the boy want for the fish? ' the woman asked. Manuel glanced at her companion with his stooped shoulders and useless bulk. The woman's determination amused him but he did not smile.

'A senhora quer comprar o peixe. Quanto e? (Port.) This lady wants to buy the fish. How much is it? ' The boy named a price which was five times what he would have got for it locally. His expression was deadpan. Only a slight clenching of his right hand betrayed the tension he was probably feeling. Manuel told her the price, adopting the same tone of voice with which he had addressed her previously, but this time he could not help smiling. She seemed to interpret this as friendliness. She opened her purse and took out some money, peeling off a note of twice the value the boy had asked.

'Does he have any change? ' she asked.

Manuel translated. Again the boy's right hand twitched slightly but otherwise his face wore the same expression of innocence it had before. He shook his head. The woman hesitated for a moment and looked across at the fish. Then she held out the note to the boy who took it. She stooped down, picked the fish up carefully between forefinger and thumb and threw it into the river. Without looking at either Manuel or the boy she turned to her companion and they went on up the road together. The man produced a handkerchief and offered it to the woman to wipe her fingers but she refused it. They appeared to be arguing. The boy stood holding the note. His expression had hardly changed. Manuel watched the couple until they disappeared out of sight. They did not once look back. He lit another cigarette and returned to his former position against the railings.

The fish had not survived its lengthy time out of the water and was now floating amidst the debris a few feet out from the bank, washed in against the shore by the backward eddy of the current. The boy climbed over the railings and down onto a ledge just above the water line. He began dragging the dead fish towards him with a stick. When it was finally within reach he caught hold of it and tossed it up onto the road. As he clambered over the railings he grinned at Manuel. The boy gathered up his rod and the fish and set off up the street. Manuel watched him while he finished his cigarette. Then he threw the butt down into the dirty water and made his way back the way he had come.

by Evelyn Waugh

Before you read:

1) Find out essential facts about the author.

2) Judging by the title, what could the text be about?

(1) S. S. Glory of Greece the name of the ship.

Darling,

Well I said I would write and so I would have only goodness it was rough so I didn't. Now everything is a bit more all right so I will tell you. Well as you know the cruise started at Monte Carlo and when papa and all of us went to Victoria we found that the tickets didn't include the journey there so Goodness how furious he was and said he wouldn't go but Mum said of course we must go and we said that too only papa had changed all his money into Liri or Franks on account of foreigners being so dishonest but he kept a shilling for the porter at Dover being methodical so then he had to change it back again and that set him wrong all the way to Monte Carlo and he wouldn't get me and Bertie a sleeper and wouldn't sleep himself in his through being so angry Goodness how Sad.

Then everything was much more all right the purser called him Colonel and he likes his cabin so he took Bertie to the casino and he lost and Bertie won and I think Bertie got a bit plastered at least he made a noise going to bed he's in the next cabin as if he were being sick and that was before we sailed. Bertie has got some books on Baroque art on account of his being at Oxford.

Well the first day it was rough and I got up and felt odd in the bath and the soap wouldn't work on account of salt water you see and came into breakfast and there was a list of so many things including steak and onions and there was a corking young man who said we are the only ones down may I sit here and it was going beautifully and he had steak and onions but it was no good I had to go back to bed just when he was saying there was nothing he admired so much about a girl as her being a good sailor goodness how sad.

The thing is not to have a bath and to be very slow in all movements. So next day it was Naples and we saw some Bertie churches and then that bit that got blown up in an earthquake and a poor dog killed they have a plaster cast of him goodness how sad. Papa and Bertie saw some pictures we weren't allowed to see and Bill drew them for me afterwards and Miss P. tried to look too. I haven't told you about Bill and Miss P. have I? Well Bill is rather old but clean looking and I don't suppose he's very old not really I mean and he's had a very disillusionary life on account of his wife who he says I won't say a word against but she gave him the raspberry with a foreigner and that makes him hate foreigners. Miss P. is called Miss Phillips and is lousy she wears a yachting cap and is a bitch. And the way she makes up to the second officer is no one's business and it's clear to the meanest intelligence he hates her but it's part of the rules that all the sailors have to pretend to fancy the passengers. Who else is there? Well a lot of old ones. Papa is having a walk out with one called Lady Muriel who knew uncle Ned. And there is a honeymoon couple very embarrassing. And a clergyman and lots of families from the industrial north.

So Bertie sends his love too. Mum bought a shawl and an animal made of lava.

POSTCARD (1)

This is a picture of Taormina. Mum bought a shawl here. Very funny because Miss P. got left as she'd made chums only with second officer and he wasn't allowed ashore so when it came to getting into cars Miss P. had to pack in with a family from the industrial north.

(2) S. S. Glory of Greece

Darling,

Hope you got postcard from Sicily. The moral of that was not to make chums with sailors though who I've made a chum with is the purser who's different on account he leads a very cynical life with a gramophone in his cabin and as many cocktails as he likes and welsh rabbits sometimes and I said but do you pay for all these drinks but he said no so that's all right.

So we have three days at sea which the clergyman said is a good thing as it makes us all friendly but it hasn't made me friendly with Miss P. who won't leave poor Bill alone not taking any more chances of being left alone when she goes ashore. The purser says there's always someone like her on board in fact he says that about everyone except me who he says quite rightly is different goodness how decent.

So there are deck games they are hell. And the day before we reach Haifa there is to be a fancy dress dance. Papa is very good at the deck games especially one called shuffle board and eats more than he does in London but I daresay its all right. You have to hire dresses for the ball from the barber I mean we do not you. Miss P. has brought her own. So I've thought of a very clever thing at least the purser suggested it and that is to wear the clothes of one of the sailors I tried his on and looked a treat. Poor Miss P.

Bertie is madly unpopular, he won't play any of the games and being plastered the other night too and tried to climb down a ventilator and the second officer pulled him out and the old ones at the captains table look askance at him. New word that. Literary yes? No?

POSTCARD (2)

This is a photograph of the Holy land and the famous sea of Galilee. It is all very Eastern with camels. I have a lot to tell you about the ball and will write very soon. Papa went off for the day with Lady M. and came back saying enchanting woman Knows the world.

(3) S. S. Glory of Greece

Darling,

Well the Ball. We had to come in to dinner in our clothes and everyone clapped as we came downstairs. So I was pretty late on account of not being able to make up my mind whether to wear the hat and in the end did and looked a corker. Well it was rather a faint clap for me so when I looked about there were about twenty girls and some women all dressed like me so how cynical the purser turns out to be. Bertie looked horribly dull as an apache. Mum and Papa were sweet. Miss P. had a ballet dress from the Russian ballet which couldn't have been more unsuitable so we had champagne for dinner and were jolly and they threw paper streamers and I threw mine before it was unrolled and hit Miss P. on the nose. Ha ha. So feeling matey I said to the steward isn't this fun and he said yes for them who haven't got to clear it up goodness how Sad.

Well of course Bertie was plastered and went a bit far particularly in what he said to Lady M. then he sat in the cynical purser's cabin in the dark and cried so Bill and I found him and Bill gave him some drinks and what do you think he went off with Miss P. and we didn't see either of them again it only shows into what degradation the Demon Drink can drag you him I mean.

Will send a postcard of Sphinx.

POSTCARD (3)

This is the Sphinx. Goodness how Sad.

POSTCARD (4)

This is temple of someone. Darling I can't wait to tell you I'm engaged to Arthur. Bertie thinks Egyptian art is very inartistic.

POSTCARD (5)

This is Tutankhamen's very famous Tomb. Bertie says it is vulgar and is engaged to Miss P. so he's not one to speak and I call her Mabel now. Goodness how Sad. Bill won't speak to Bertie Robert wont speak to me Papa and Lady M. seem to have had a row there was a man with a snake in a bag also a little boy who told my fortune which was very prosperous Mum bought a shawl.

POSTCARD (6)

Saw this Mosque today. Robert is engaged to a new girl called something or other who is lousy.

(4) S. S. Glory of Greece

Darling,

Well so we all came back from Egypt pretty excited and the cynical purser said what news and I said news well I'm engaged to Arthur and Bertie is engaged to Miss P. and she is called Mabel now which is hardest of all to bear I said and Robert to a lousy girl and Papa has had a row with Lady M. and Bill has had a row with Bertie and Robert's lousy girl was awful to me and Arthur was sweet but the cynical purser wasn't a bit surprised on account he said people always get engaged and have quarrels on the Egyptian trip every cruise so I said I wasn't in the habit of getting engaged lightly thank you and he said I wasn't apparently in the habit of going to Egypt so I won't speak to him again nor will Arthur.

All love.

(5) S. S. Glory of Greece

Sweet,

This is Algiers not very eastern in fact full of frogs. So it is all off with Arthur but who I am engaged to is Robert which is much better for all concerned. Robert and I drove about all day in the Botanic gardens. Bertie got plastered and had a row with Mabel - Miss P. again. Mum bought a shawl.

Love.

POSTCARD (7)

I forget what I said in my last letter but if I mentioned a lousy man called Robert you can take it as unsaid. This is still Algiers and Papa ate dubious oysters but is all right. Bertie went to a house full of tarts when he was plastered.

POSTCARD (8)

So now we are back I kissed Arthur but won't speak to Robert and he cried not Robert I mean Arthur so then Bertie apologized to most of the people he'd insulted but Miss P. walked away pretending not to hear. Goodness how sad.

Comprehension

by Irwin Shaw

Before you read:

1) Find out essential facts about the author.

2) What qualities are essential if one wants to become a film star? Have they changed over the last decades?

She was not spectacular-looking, but she seemed to shine with springtime health. She was small, blond, with a neat-brushed head and deep-blue eyes, and her movements were plain and unaffected, and as she talked her eyes did not flicker hungrily over the room. She had a slender throat that rose out of the high collar of her dress, and her mouth, which had only a light touch of lipstick on it, seemed almost childish and delicately gay. She gave the impression of being frail, innocent, and very young.

When, like almost every pretty girl around the theatre, she was offered a screen test, she worked hard on it and was not displeased with the result when she saw it on the screen. The man who had arranged the test and who sat in the projection room with her when it was shown, was impressed, too. But he was an old man who had been in the business a long time and he had seen many pretty and talented girls.

“Very good," he said, “very good, indeed, Miss Hunt." He had a soft, polite voice and courtly manners, and he was used to discouraging hungry young people in the gentlest, most assuaging way. “But there would be objections on the Coast the Pacific coast of North America. to the present nose. ”

“What? ” Carol asked, surprised and a little hurt. She was proud of her nose and thought in some ways it was her best feature. It was quite long and a little arched, with tense, nervous-looking nostrils, and an artistic young man who had been attached to her had once told her it was like the noses of the great English beauties of the portraits of the eighteenth century. By a trifle, a shadow, it seemed to deviate to one side, but one had to study her face to realize this, and the slight irregularity gave, she was sure, an added note of interest to her face. “What's wrong with the nose? ” she asked.

“It's a little long for film, my dear," the old man said gently, “and you and I know, don't we, that it is not plumb straight. It is a lovely nose, and one you could be proud of all the days of your life," the old man went on, smiling, honeying the harsh, official, impersonal truth with his own sweet-tempered, but personal and therefore finally valueless truth, “but the American public is not quite used to seeing young girls on film with noses of that particular quality. ”

“I could name you six stars,” Carol said stubbornly, “with noses a lot funnier-looking than mine. ”

The old man smiled and shrugged, “Of course, my dear," he said. “But they are stars. They are personalities. The public accepts a personality all in one lump. If you were a star, we would assign publicity men to write poems to your nose. In a little while, it would be a priceless asset. When an unknown girl came into the office, we would say, `Look, she has the Hunt nose. Let's hire her at once. '”

He smiled at her again, and she couldn't help smiling back, warmed, even at the moment of disappointment, by his absurd, gentle manner.

“Well,” she said, getting up, “you've been very kind. ”

But the old man did not rise. He sat in the big leather chair, his hand absently touching the controls of the box that communicated with the operator in the projection booth, staring thoughtfully at her, doing the job he was paid to do. “Of course," he said, “something could be done. ”

“What do you mean? ” Carol asked.

“Noses," the old man said, “while works of God, are susceptible to the intervention of man. ”

Now Carol saw he was embarrassed by what he was forced by his position to say, and was using this high-flown and rhetorical fashion of speaking to show her he was embarrassed. She was certain there were very few actors or actresses who could embarrass this hard, gentle old man, and she was flattered by it.

“A plastic surgeon,” the old man was saying, “a little snip here, a little scraping of bone there, and in three weeks you could almost be guaranteed a nose that would meet with anyone's approval. ”

“You mean," Carol said, “in three weeks I could have the standard, regulation-issue starlet's nose. ”

The old man smiled sadly. “More or less," he said.

“And what would you do then? ”

“I would sign you to a contract," the old man said, “and I would predict quite a promising future for you on the Coast. ”

Quite, carol noticed. Quite a promising. He refuses to lie, even in his predictions. Almost as if the old man had put it into words, she could sense the images that were going through his head. The pretty girl on a contract, with her acceptable bobbed nose, being used for bathing-suit publicity stills, small parts, perhaps after a while for unimportant leads in unimportant pictures, for two, three, four years, then being let out to make room for other, newer, more acceptable pretty girls.

“No, thank you,” Carol said, “I'm terribly attached to my present crooked long nose. ”

The old man stood up now, nodding, as though he was pleased, on his own, if not on the company's account, by her decision. “For the stage,” he said, “it is faultless. Better than faultless. ”

“I'm going to confess something,” Carol said candidly, more open with this old man than she had permitted herself to be with anyone else in the city. “The only reason I'm up here is that if you make a name for yourself in the movies, it's easier to go where you want to go in the theatre. I've planned myself for the stage. ”

The old man stared at her, rewarding her candour with surprise, then approval. “So much the better for the stage,” he said gallantly. “I'll call you again. ”

“When? ” Carol asked.

“When you're a great star," he said lightly, “to offer you all the money in the world to work for us. ”

He put out his hand, and Carol shook it. He held her hand in both his for a moment, his face saddened, mischievous, regretful, touched by the memory of all the lovely, ambitious, courageous girls he had seen in the last thirty years. “Isn't it hell? ” he said, grinning, patting her hand in his rosy hands.