داستانهای کوتاه انگلیسی همراه با ترجمه فارسی

[Mohamad]

داستان كوتاه نامه ای به خدا The letter to God

داستان كوتاه نامه ای به خدا

The letter to God

There was a man who worked for the Post Office whose job it was to process all the mail that had illegible addresses.One day, a letter came addressed in a shaky handwriting to God with no actual address. He thought he should open it to see what it was about. The letter read:

Dear God,
I am an 83 year old widow, living on a very small pension. Yesterday someone stole my purse. It had $100 in it, which was all the money i had until my next pension check. Next Sunday is Christmas, and I had invited two of my friends over for dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy food with. I have no family to turn to, and you are my only hope. Can you please help me?

Sincerely, Edna
The postal worker was touched. He showed the letter to all the other workers. Each one dug into his or her wallet and came up with a few dollars. By the time he made the rounds, he had collected $96, which they put into an envelope and sent to the woman.
The rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm glow thinking of Edna and the dinner she would be able to share with her friends.
Christmas came and went. A few days later, another letter came from the same old lady to God. All the workers gathered around while the letter was opened. It read:

Dear God,
How can I ever thank you enough for what you did for me? Because of your gift of love, I was able to fix a glorious dinner for my friends. We had a very nice day and I told my friends of your wonderful gift. By the way, there was $4 missing. I think it must have been those bastards at the Post Office.
مردی برای یک اداره پست کار می کرد که مسئول رسیدگی به نامه هایی که آدرس نا معلوم داشتند بود. يك روز متوجه نامه اي شد كه روي پاكت آن با خطي لرزان نوشته شده بود نامه‌ای به خدا !
با خودش فكر كرد بهتر است نامه را باز كرده و بخواند.در نامه اين طور نوشته شده بود:
خدای عزيزم بيوه زنی هشتادوسه ساله هستم كه زندگی ام با حقوق نا چيز باز نشستگی می‌گذرد. ديروز يك نفر كيف مرا كه صد دلار در آن بود دزديد.
اين تمام پولی بود كه تا پايان ماه بايد خرج می‌كردم. يكشنبه هفته ديگر عيد است و من دو نفر از دوستانم را برای شام دعوت كرده‌ام، اما بدون آن پول چيزی نمی‌توانم بخرم. هيچ كس را هم ندارم تا از او پول قرض بگيرم . تو ای خدای مهربان تنها اميد من هستی می تونی من كمك كنی؟
كارمند اداره پست خيلی تحت تاثير قرار گرفت و نامه را به ساير همكارانش نشان داد. نتيجه اين شد كه همه آنها جيب خود را جستجو كردند و هر كدام چند دلاري روی ميز گذاشتند. در پايان نودوشش دلار جمع شد و براي پيرزن فرستادند …
همه كارمندان اداره پست از اينكه توانسته بودند كار خوبي انجام دهند خوشحال بودند. عيد به پايان رسيد و چند روزي از اين ماجرا گذشت، تا اين كه نامه ديگري از آن پيرزن به اداره پست رسيد كه روي آن نوشته شده بود: نامه‌ای به خدا !
همه كارمندان جمع شدند تا نامه را باز كرده و بخوانند. مضمون نامه چنين بود :
خدای عزيزم، چگونه مي‌توانم از كاری كه برايم انجام دادی تشكر كنم. با لطف تو توانستم شامی ‌عالی برای دوستانم مهيا كرده و روز خوبی را با هم بگذرانيم. من به آنها گفتم كه چه هديه خوبی برايم فرستادی. البته چهار دلار آن كم بود كه مطمئنم كارمندان اداره پست آن را برداشته‌اند!

[Mohamad]

داستان شنل قرمزی به انگلیسی همراه با ترجمه فارسی

Little Red Riding Hood

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived in a village near the forest. Whenever she went out, the little girl wore a red riding cloak, so everyone in the village called her Little Red Riding Hood.
One morning, Little Red Riding Hood asked her mother if she could go to visit her grandmother as it had been awhile since they'd seen each other.

"That's a good idea," her mother said. So they packed a nice basket for Little Red Riding Hood to take to her grandmother.

روزي روزگار ، دختر كوچكي در دهكده اي نزديك جنگل زندگي مي كرد . دخترك هرگاه بيرون مي رفت يك شنل با كلاه قرمز به تن مي كرد ، براي همين مردم دهكده او را شنل قرمزي صدا مي كردند .

يك روز صبح شنل قرمزي از مادرش خواست كه اگر ممكن است به او اجازه دهد تا به ديدن مادر بزرگش برود چون خيلي وقت بود كه آنها همديگر را نديده بودند . مادرش گفت : فكر خوبي است . سپس آنها يك سبد زيبا از خوراكي درست كردند تا شنل قرمزي آنرا براي مادر بزرگش ببرد

When the basket was ready, the little girl put on her red cloak and kissed her mother goodbye.
"Remember, go straight to Grandma's house," her mother cautioned. "Don't dawdle along the way and please don't talk to strangers! The woods are dangerous."

"Don't worry, mommy," said Little Red Riding Hood, "I'll be careful."

وقتي سبد آماده شد ، دخترك شنل قرمزش را پوشيد و مادرش را بوسيد و از او خداحافظي كرد .
مادرش گفت : عزيزم يكراست خانه مادربرگ برو و وقتت را تلف نكن در ضمن با غريبه ها حرف نزن . در جنگل خطرهاي فراواني وجود دارد
شنل قرمزي گفت : مادرجون ، نگران نباش . من دقت مي كنم

But when Little Red Riding Hood noticed some lovely flowers in the woods, she forgot her promise to her mother. She picked a few, watched the butterflies flit about for awhile, listened to the frogs croaking and then picked a few more.
Little Red Riding Hood was enjoying the warm summer day so much, that she didn't notice a dark shadow approaching out of the forest behind her...

اما وقتي در جنگل ، چشم او به گلهاي زيبا و دوست داشتني افتاد ، نصيحتهاي مادرش را فراموش كرد .
او تعدادي گل چيد و به پرواز پروانه ها نگاه كرد و به صداي قورباغه ها گوش داد .
شنل قرمزي از اين روز گرم تابستاني خيلي لذت مي برد و متوجه نزديك شدن سايه سياهي كه پشت سرش بود ، نشد .

Suddenly, the wolf appeared beside her.
"What are you doing out here, little girl?" the wolf asked in a voice as friendly as he could muster.

"I'm on my way to see my Grandma who lives through the forest, near the brook," Little Red Riding Hood replied.

Then she realized how late she was and quickly excused herself, rushing down the path to her Grandma's house.

The wolf, in the meantime, took a shortcut...

ناگهان يك گرگ جلوي او ظاهر شد
گرگ با لحن مهرباني گفت : دختر كوچولو ، چيكار مي كني ؟
شنل قرمزي گفت : مي خواهم به ديدن مادر بزرگم بروم . او در ميان جنگل ، نزديك نهر زندگي مي كند
شنل قرمزي متوجه شد كه خيلي دير كرده است و از گشتن صرف نظر كرد و با عجله بطرف خانه مادربزرگ براه افتاد .
در همان وقت ، گرگ از راه ميان بر ...

The wolf, a little out of breath from running, arrived at Grandma's and knocked lightly at the door.
"Oh thank goodness dear! Come in, come in! I was worried sick that something had happened to you in the forest," said Grandma thinking that the knock was her granddaughter.

The wolf let himself in. Poor Granny did not have time to say another word, before the wolf gobbled her up!

گرگ دويد و به منزل مادر بزرگ رسيد و آهسته در زد
مادربزرگ تصور كرد ، كسي كه در مي زند ، نوه اش است . گفت : اوه عزيزم ! بيا تو . بيا تو . من نگران بودم كه اتفاقي در جنگل برايت رخ داده باشد
گرگ داخل شدو بطرف مادر بزرگ دويد .

مادربزرگ بيچاره دويد و داخل يك كمد شد و درش را بست . گرگ هركار كرد نتواست در كمد را باز كند .

The wolf let out a satisfied burp, and then poked through Granny's wardrobe to find a nightgown that he liked. He added a frilly sleeping cap, and for good measure, dabbed some of Granny's perfume behind his pointy ears.
A few minutes later, Red Riding Hood knocked on the door. The wolf jumped into bed and pulled the covers over his nose. "Who is it?" he called in a cackly voice.

"It's me, Little Red Riding Hood."

"Oh how lovely! Do come in, my dear," croaked the wolf.

When Little Red Riding Hood entered the little cottage, she could scarcely recognize her Grandmother.

گرگ صداي پاي شنل قرمزي را شنيد , به سمت تخت مادر بزرگ دويد لباس خواب مادربزرگ را بر تن كرد و كلاه خواب چين داري را به سر كرد
چند لحظه بعد ، شنل قرمزي در زد .
گرگ به رختخواب پريد و پتو را تا نوك دماغش بالا كشيد و با صدايي لرزان پرسيد : كيه ؟
شنل قرمزي گفت : منم
گرگ گفت : اوه چطوري عزيزم . بيا تو
وقتي شنل قرمزي وارد كلبه شد ، از ديدن مادربرزگش تعجب كرد

"Grandmother! Your voice sounds so odd. Is something the matter?" she asked.

"Oh, I just have touch of a cold," squeaked the wolf adding a cough at the end to prove the point.

"But Grandmother! What big ears you have," said Little Red Riding Hood as she edged closer to the bed.
"The better to hear you with, my dear," replied the wolf.

"But Grandmother! What big eyes you have," said Little Red Riding Hood.

"The better to see you with, my dear," replied the wolf.

"But Grandmother! What big teeth you have," said Little Red Riding Hood her voice quivering slightly.

"The better to eat you with, my dear," roared the wolf and he leapt out of the bed and began to chase the little girl.

شنل قرمزي پرسيد : مادر بزرگ چرا صداتون اينقدر كلفت شده آيا مشكلي پيش آمده ؟
گرگ ناقلا گفت : من كمي سرما خورده ام و در آخر حرفهايش چند سرفه كرد تا شنل قرمزي شك نكند
شنل قرمزي به تخت نزديكتر شد و گفت : اما مادربزرگ ! چه گوشهاي بزرگي داريد .
گرگ گفت : عزيزم با آن بهتر صداي تو را مي شنوم
شنل قرمزي گفت : اما مادربزرگ ! چه چشمهاي بزرگي داريد .
گرگ گفت : چه بهتر عزيزم با آن بهتر تو را مي بينيم
در حاليكه شنل قرمزي صدايش مي لرزيد گفت : اما مادربرزگ چه دندانهاي بزرگي داريد ؟
گرگ گفت : براي اينكه تو را بهتر بخورم عزيزم . گرگ از تخت بيرون پريد و دنبال شنل قرمزي دويد

Almost too late, Little Red Riding Hood realized that the person in the bed was not her Grandmother, but a hungry wolf.
She ran across the room and through the door, shouting, "Help! Wolf!" as loudly as she could.

A woodsman who was chopping logs nearby heard her cry and ran towards the cottage as fast as he could.

He grabbed the wolf and made him spit out the poor Grandmother who was a bit frazzled by the whole experience, but still in one piece.

شنل قرمزي خيلي دير متوجه شده بود ، آن شخصي كه در تخت بود مادربرزگش نيست بلكه يك گرگ گرسنه است .
او بطرف در دويد و با صداي بلند فرياد كشيد : كمك ! گرگ !
مرد جنگلباني كه آن نزديكي ها هيزم مي شكست صداي او را شنيد و تا آنجاي كه در توان داشت با سرعت بطرف كلبه دويد .
مادربزرگ وقتي صداي نوه اش را شنيد و فهميد او در خطر است از كمد بيرون آمد و ملحفه تخت را روي گرگ انداخت با يك چتر كه در داخل كمد گير آورده بود به سر گرگ كوبيد
در همين موقع جنگلبان رسيد و به مادر بزرگ كمك كرد و گرگ را اسير كردند

"Oh Grandma, I was so scared!" sobbed Little Red Riding Hood, "I'll never speak to strangers or dawdle in the forest again."
"There, there, child. You've learned an important lesson. Thank goodness you shouted loud enough for this kind woodsman to hear you!"

The woodsman knocked out the wolf and carried him deep into the forest where he wouldn't bother people any longer.

Little Red Riding Hood and her Grandmother had a nice lunch and a long chat.

شنل قرمزي بغل مادر بزرگش پريد و در حاليكه خوشحال بود گفت : اوه مادربزرگ من اشتباه كردم ديگر با هيچ غريبه اي صحبت نمي كنم .
جنگلبان گفت : شما بچه ها بايد اين نكته مهم را هيچوقت فراموش نكنيد .
مرد جنگلبان گرگ را از خانه بيرون آورد و به قسمتهاي دور جنگل برد ، جائيكه ديگر او نتواند كسي را اذيت كند .
شنل قرمزي و مادربزرگش يك ناهار خوشمزه خوردند و با هم حرف زدند .

[Mohamad]

داستان كوتاه مرد و پيله كرم ابريشم به فارسی و انگلیسی - Butterfly Story

small crack appeared on a cocoon. A man sat for hours and watched carefully the struggle of the butterfly to get out of that small crack of cocoon.

Then the butterfly stopped striving. It seemed that she was exhausted and couldn’t go on trying. The man decided to help the poor creature. He widened the crack by scissors. The butterfly came out of cocoon easily, but her body was tiny and her wings were wrinkled.

The ma continued watching the butterfly. He expected to see her wings become expanded to protect her body. But it didn’t happen! As a matter of fact, the butterfly had to crawl on the ground for the rest of her life, for she could never fly.

The kind man didn’t realize that God had arranged the limitation of cocoon and also the struggle for butterfly to get out of it, so that a certain fluid could be discharged from her body to enable her to fly afterward.

Sometimes struggling is the only thing we need to do. If God had provided us with an easy to live without any difficulties then we become paralyzed, couldn’t become strong and could not fly.

شكاف كوچكي بر روي پيله كرم ابريشمي ظلاهر شد. مردي ساعت ها با دقت به تلاش پروانه براي خارج شدن از پيله نگاه كرد. پروانه دست از تلاش برداشت. به نظر مي رسيد خسته شده و نمي تواند به تلاش هايش ادامه دهد. او تصميم گرفت به اين مخلوق كوچك كمك كند. با استفاده از قيچي شكاف را پهن تر كرد. پروانه به راحتي از پيله خارج شد ، اما بدنش كوچك و بال هايش چروكيده بود.مرد به پروانه همچنان زل زده بود . انتظار داشت پروانه براي محافظت از بدنش بال هايش را باز كند. اما اين طور نشد. در حقيقت پروانه مجبور بود باقي عمرش را روي زمين بخزد، و نمي توانست پرواز كند.

مرد مهربان پي نبرد كه خدا محدوديت را براي پيله و تلاش براي خروج را براي پروانه بوجود آورده. به اين صورت كه مايع خاصي از بدنش ترشح مي شود كه او را قادر به پرواز مي كند.

بعضي اوقات تلاش و كوشش تنها چيزي است كه بايد انجام دهيم. اگر خدا آسودگي بدون هيچگونه سختي را براي ما مهيا كرده بود در اين صورت فلج مي شديم و نمي توانستيم نيرومند شويم و پرواز كنيم.

[Mohamad]

Miss Brill Summary دستان کوتاه ترجمه فارسی و بررسی و .. MISS BRILL

ALTHOUGH it was so brilliantly fine–the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques–Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting–from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again. She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes. "What has been happening to me?" said the sad little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown! . . . But the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn't at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind–a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came–when it was absolutely necessary . . . Little rogue! Yes, she really felt like that about it. Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that [Page 183] came from walking, she supposed. And when she breathed, something light and sad–no, not sad, exactly–something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.
There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than last Sunday. And the band sounded louder and ******er. That was because the Season had begun. For although the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it was never the same. It was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it didn't care how it played if there weren't any strangers present. Wasn't the conductor wearing a new coat, too? She was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music. Now there came a little "flutey" bit–very pretty!–a little chain of bright drops. She was sure it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her head and smiled.
Only two people shared her "special" seat: a fine old man in a velvet coat, his hands clasped over a huge carved walking-stick, and a big old woman, sitting upright, with a roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak. This was disappointing, for Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn't listen, at sitting in other people's lives just for a minute while they talked round her. [Page 184]
She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go soon. Last Sunday, too, hadn't been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife, he wearing a dreadful Panama hat and she button boots. And she'd gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good getting any; they'd be sure to break and they'd never keep on. And he'd been so patient. He'd suggested everything–gold rims, the kind that curve round your ears, little pads inside the bridge. No, nothing would please her. "They'll always be sliding down my nose!" Miss Brill had wanted to shake her.
The old people sat on a bench, still as statues. Never mind, there was always the crowd to watch. To and fro, in front of the flower beds and the band rotunda, the couples and groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of flowers from the old beggar who had his tray fixed to the railings. Little children ran among them, swooping and laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins, little girls, little French dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. And sometimes a tiny staggerer came suddenly rocking into the open from under the trees, stopped, stared, as suddenly sat down "flop," until its small high-stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed scolding to its rescue. Other people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly always the same, Sunday after Sunday, [Page 185] and–Miss Brill had often noticed–there was something funny about nearly all of them. They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as though they'd just come from dark little rooms or even–even cupboards!
Behind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down drooping, and through them just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with gold-veined clouds.
Tum-tum-tum tiddle-um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! blew the band.
Two young girls in red came by and two young soldiers in blue met them, and they laughed and paired and went off arm-in-arm. Two peasant women with funny straw hats passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured donkeys. A cold, pale nun hurried by. A beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy ran after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them away as if they'd been poisoned. Dear me! Miss Brill didn't know whether to admire that or not! And now an ermine toque and a gentleman in gray met just in front of her. He was tall, stiff, dignified, and she was wearing the ermine toque she'd bought when her hair was yellow. Now everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes, was the same colour as the shabby ermine, and her hand, in its cleaned glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny yellowish paw. Oh, she was so pleased to see him–delighted! She rather thought they were going [Page 186] to meet that afternoon. She described where she'd been–everywhere, here, there, along by the sea. The day was so charming–didn't he agree? And wouldn't he, perhaps? . . . But he shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep puff into her face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match away and walked on. The ermine toque was alone; she smiled more brightly than ever. But even the band seemed to know what she was feeling and played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat, "The Brute! The Brute!" over and over. What would she do? What was going to happen now? But as Miss Brill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as though she'd seen someone else, much nicer, just over there, and pattered away. And the band changed again and played more quickly, more ******ly than ever, and the old couple on Miss Brill's seat got up and marched away, and such a funny old man with long whiskers hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over by four girls walking a************.
Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved sitting here, watching it all! It was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could believe the sky at the back wasn't painted? But it wasn't till a little brown dog trotted on solemn and then slowly trotted off, like a little "theatre" dog, a little dog that had been drugged, that Miss Brill discovered what it was [Page 187] that made it so exciting. They were all on stage. They weren't only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. Even she had a part and came every Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn't been there; she was part of the performance after all. How strange she'd never thought of it like that before! And yet it explained why she made such point of starting from home at just the same time each week–so as not to be late for the performance–and it also explained why she had a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud. She was on the stage. She thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden. She had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched nose. If he'd been dead she mightn't have noticed for weeks; she wouldn't have minded. But suddenly he knew he was having the paper read to him by an actress! "An actress!" The old head lifted; two points of light quivered in the old eyes. "An actress–are ye?" And Miss Brill smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently; "Yes, I have been an actress for a long time."
The band had been having a rest. Now they started again. And what they played was warm, [Page 188] sunny, yet there was just a faint chill–a something, what was it?–not sadness–no, not sadness–a something that made you want to sing. The tune lifted, lifted, the light shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of them, all the whole company, would begin singing. The young ones, the laughing ones who were moving together, they would begin and the men's voices, very resolute and brave, would join them. And then she too, she too, and the others on the benches–they would come in with a kind of accompaniment–something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so beautiful–moving. . . . And Miss Brill's eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling at all the other members of the company. Yes, we understand, we understand, she thought–though what they understood she didn't know.
Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the old couple had been. They were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and heroine, of course, just arrived from his father's yacht. And still soundlessly singing, still with that trembling smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen.
"No, not now," said the girl. "Not here, I can't."
"But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?" asked the boy. "Why does she come here at all–who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at home?" [Page 189]
"It's her fu-ur which is so funny," giggled the girl. "It's exactly like a fried whiting."
"Ah, be off with you!" said the boy in an angry whisper. Then: "Tell me, ma petite chère–"
"No, not here," said the girl. "Not yet."
. . . . . . .
On her way home she usually bought a slice of honeycake at the baker's. It was her Sunday treat. Sometimes there was an almond in her slice, sometimes not. It made a great difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present–a surprise–something that might very well not have been there. She hurried on the almond Sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way.
But to-day she passed the baker's by, climbed the stairs, went into the little dark room–her room like a cupboard–and sat down on the red eiderdown. She sat there for a long time. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She unclasped the necklet quickly; quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying.

Miss Brill Summary | Detailed Summary

When Miss Brill sets out for her usual Sunday afternoon at the Jardins Publiques (Public Gardens), she notices a slight chill in the air. It is early fall, and she decides to bring out her favorite fur stole from its box. She shakes out the moth powder, combs out its fur, shines its unseeing eyes and contemplates gluing its nose firmly in place, as it appears to be loosening. Armed against the slight chill in the air with her "little rogue," as she calls it, she sets out. Her fur stole gives her great pleasure, and she almost wishes she could have "taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it." As she ponders her fur stole, she experiences a feeling that she will not allow herself to identify as sadness: "something gentle" in her bosom.
She reaches the Jardins Publiques, and settles herself in her "special" seat. She notes that there are many more people out than there were on the previous Sunday, and supposes that the "season" has officially begun. She also notices how the band plays so much better when there are more people around to listen to it, and how even the conductor of the band seems to be looking smarter than usual.
Miss Brill begins to take note of the people around her, as per her usual Sunday routine. There are only two other people sharing her "special" seat, a fine old man with a walking stick, and a large woman with knitting needles. She is disappointed that the two do not speak to each other, as she "had become really quite expert…at listening as though she didn't listen, at sitting in other people's lives just for a minute while they talked round her. " She recalls the couple that shared her seat the previous Sunday, how the woman had moaned incessantly to her husband about needing eyeglasses and how patient her husband had been in spite of her bad-tempered discourse.
She begins to look around her at the passers-by. She watches the poor man selling flowers, the young boys and girls playing together shyly, and the watchful mothers minding their children. Miss Brill notices then that the people sitting on the benches and chairs all had a similar quality: "They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as though they'd just come from dark little rooms or even-even cupboards!"
She continues to watch the people as they pass by her. She sees two girls meet their lovers and continue on their way. She sees a small child run to rescue some flowers a beautiful lady has dropped, and then she sees the beautiful lady throw them away once again, in front of the disappointed child. She sees an elderly woman in an ermine toque brushed off by a distinguished man in a gray suit. She shares the woman's annoyance for a moment and imagines that the band plays more slowly in commiseration.
It occurs to Miss Brill as the old couple sitting next to her rise to leave that they are all like actors in a play, acting on a stage, each with his or her own part to play. She reasons that if everyone around her is an actor in the play, then she too must have a small role. She rejoices in the fact that, if she did not show up faithfully each Sunday, then people would notice her absence and the play would not be complete. She suddenly understands why she feels compelled to come to the Jardins Publiques at exactly the same time every Sunday, "so as not to be late for the performance." She thinks how differently people in her everyday life might treat her if they realized that she was an "actress." She once again feels something she refuses to identify as sadness, calling it instead a desire to sing. Her eyes fill with tears as she feels again that she is part of a larger cast of actors, and that a mutual understanding bonds them, although she is not sure what it is they all understand.
A boy and girl sit down where the old couple had sat previously. They are obviously in love, and Miss Brill imagines that they are the hero and heroine of the play. She begins to listen to their conversation, as she usually does with those who share her "special" seat, only to find that they are talking about her. The girl is refusing the boy's advances, telling him that she "can't." He responds angrily, "But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there? Why does she come here at all-who wants her? Why doesn't she keep her silly old mug at home? " The girl laughingly responds that it is her fur stole that she finds to be so amusing, and compares it to "fried whiting."
At the end of Miss Brill's Sunday excursions to the Jardins Publiques, she usually treats herself to a slice of honeycake at the bakery on her way home, which she especially enjoys if there is an almond in her slice. On this particular Sunday however, she goes straight home. Her room now seems like a cupboard to her, and she sits down on the red eiderdown. She sits quietly for a long while, and then she quickly unclasps her fur stole, and without even looking at it returns it to its box, from which she had so lovingly removed it just that morning. As she puts the lid on the box, she thinks that she can hear something crying from inside.


Themes
“Miss Brill” presents an afternoon in the life of a middle-aged spinster. On her usual Sunday visit to the park, she imagines the she and the people in the park are characters in a play. Contributing to her good mood is the fact that she is wearing her prized fur stole. Anticipating the conversation of two strangers who sit down next to her, Miss Brill’s vivacious mood is shattered by the couple’s ridicule for her and her fur. She returns to her tiny apartment and places the fur back in its box, imagining that she hears it crying.
Alienation and Loneliness
Though Miss Brill does not reveal it in her thoughts, her behavior indicates that she is a lonely woman. She thinks of no family members during her Sunday outing, instead focusing on her few students and the elderly man to whom she reads the newspaper several times a week. Even her name, Miss Brill, suggests an isolating formality; with the absence of a first name, the reader is never introduced to her on a personal level. Her fantasy, in which she imagines the people in the park as characters in a play connected in some psychological and physical way to one another, reveals her loneliness in a creative way. Yet, her manufactured sense of connection to these strangers is shattered when she is insulted by the young couple that sit next to her on the bench. When her fantasy of playacting is crushed by the conversation of the romantic couple, she is shown to be alienated from her environment — estranged and apart from the others in the park, to whom she only imagined a connection. Symbolically, this sense of alienation is heightened at the end of the story when Miss Brill returns her fur to its box quickly and without looking at it. This action is in stark contrast to her playful conversation with it earlier in the day, when she called it her “little rogue.” The final action of the story completes the characterization of Miss Brill as an alienated and lonely individual when she believes that she hears her beloved fur crying as she returns it to its box, just as she herself has returned to her “room like a cupboard.”
Appearances and Reality
Through the stream-of-consciousness narrative in “Miss Brill,” Mansfield creates a story in which the stark contrast between appearances and reality are manifest through the thoughts of the main character. At the beginning of the story, Miss Brill is perturbed by the old couple sitting on the bench near her. Their silence makes eavesdropping on their lives difficult. Yet, she does not realize that their behavior echoes her own silent existence. Similarly, Miss Brill notices that the other people sitting on chairs in the park are “odd, silent, nearly all old” and “looked as though they’d just come from dark little rooms or even — even cupboards!” The irony that she is one of these odd people who lives in a cupboard is not recognized. She also notices an old woman wearing a fur hat, which she calls a “shabby ermine,” bought when the woman’s hair was yellow. When the woman raises her hand to her lips, Miss Brill compares it to a “tiny yellowish paw.” While making fun of this woman in her own mind, the comparisons between the “ermine toque” and her own appearance go unnoticed. Later, when Miss Brill’s imagination concocts the metaphor of the park visitors as actors in a play, she thinks of them as connected to her in a harmonious way: “we understand, we understand, she thought.” Yet, the attractive couple whom she imagines to be the hero and heroine of the play are revealed through their conversation to not be part of this “appearance” of a stage play. In the reality of their cruel comments, they are not “members of the company” who “understand.” This strong illusion of playacting Miss Brill has envisioned has been dismantled through the harsh words of the boy and girl. In reality, they think of her not as a fellow actress, but as a “stupid old thing” whose fur resembles a “fried whiting.” The play — a metaphor which produced a moment of epiphany for Miss Brill — has taken place only in her mind. Thus, this contrast between appearance and reality in “Miss Brill” further illustrates the story’s theme of alienation — the idea that Miss Brill is separated and estranged from her environment.
Topics for Further Study
· Explain how the narration of the story can be both third-person and stream-of-conscious-ness. How would the story be different if it had been written in first person? Do you think it would have been as successful?
· If the story was written today, where might it take place and how might Miss Brill be dressed?
· Mansfield stated that “One writes (one reason why is) because one does care so passionately that one must show it — one must declare one’s love.” Miss Brill is a character who desperately seeks love, but is incapable of giving or receiving it. What events in the story illustrate this?

ترجمه کامل داستان

برگردان: ارژنگ درچه‌زاده

با اینکه هوا خیلی عالی بود - آسمان آبی با نقاط درشت نورانی و طلایی که مثل شراب سفید بر باغ ملی افشانده شده بودند- دوشیزه بریل خوشحال بود که توانسته بود تصمیمش را در مورد پوست خزش بگیرد. هوا ساکن بود، اما با دهان باز میشد خنکای ملایمی‌را حس کرد، مثل خنکای لیوان آب یخ قبل از اینکه جرعه ای از آن نوشیده شود، و گهگاهی برگی معلق در هوا می‌آمد، از یک جایی، از آسمان. دوشیزه بریل با دست خزش را لمس کرد. آخی! لمس دوباره آن خیلی لذت داشت. بعد از ظهر همان روز از جعبه درش آورده بود، گرد بید کش را از آن تکانده بود، ماهوت پاک کن بهش زده بود و دوباره به چشمان کوچک کم فروغ آن زندگی بخشیده بود. چشمان کوچک غمگین گفتند:"چه بر سر من آمده بود؟" اوه! چه شیرین بود که دوباره از بستر پرقوی قرمز او را دید می‌زدند. اما بینی اش، که از چیز سیاهی ساخته شده بود، اصلاً سر جایش سفت نبود. حتما یک طوری بهش ضربه خورده بود. عیبی ندارد! یک ذره موم آب بندی مشکی، موقعی که وقتش بشود، وقتی که خیلی لازم باشد.....شیطون کوچولو! آره، واقعا در موردش همین جور احساس می‌کرد. شیطون کوچولویی که دم خودش را درست در کنار گوش چپ او گاز میگرفت. خوب بود پیش تر هم آن را درآورده بود وروی دامنش نوازش کرده بود. در دست ها و بازویش احساس خارش کرد و با خود فکر کرد مال راه رفتن است. وقتی که نفس میکشید چیزی سبک و غمگین – نه! نه دقیقا غمگین!- به نظر می‌آمد که چیز لطیفی روی سینه اش حرکت میکند.

در آن بعد از ظهر جماعتی بیرون بودند، خیلی بیشتر از یکشنبه قبل. و گروه نوازندگان بشاش تر و بلند آواتر به نظر میرسید. دلیلش هم این بود که «فصل» آغاز شده بود. چون گروه نوازندگان در طول سال هر یکشنبه برنامه داشت، اما هیچ وقت خارج از فصل اینطور نبود. مثل کسی که تنها برای افراده خانواده اش می‌نوازد و اگر هیچ غریبه ای حاضر نباشد، اهمیتی ندارد که چطور بنوازد. کتی که رهبر ارکستر به تن داشت نو نبود؟ مطمئنا نو بود.او کف کفشش را به زمین کشید و مانند خروسی که بخواهد بخواند دست هایش را گشود، و نوازندگان که زیر کلاه فرنگی سبزرنگ نشسته بودند لپ های خود را باد کردند و به نت های موسیقی چشم دوختند. صدای فلوت مانندی بلند شد، خیلی زیبا! زنجیره کوچکی از قطعات شفاف. او مطمئن بود که که تکرار میشود. همین طور هم شد. سرش را بلند کرد و لبخند زد.

تنها دو نفر بر روی نیمکت «مخصوص»ش با او شریک شده بودند: پیر مرد ریزه ای با کت مخملی که دست هایش به دور عصای کنده کاری شده حلقه شده بود، و پیرزن چاقی که سیخ نشسته بود وحلقه بافتنی روی پیشبند گل دوزی شده اش قرار داشت. آن‌ها صحبت نمی‌کرند و این دوشیزه بریل را که همیشه مشتاق شنیدن گفتگو بود دلخور می‌کرد. با خود فکر کرد که چه مهارتی پیدا کرده در اینکه وانمود کند که گوش نمی‌کند و در ظرف یک دقیقه که مردم در کنارش صحبت می‌کنند در زندگی آن‌ها شریک شود.

از گوشه چشم نگاهی به زوج پیر انداخت. احتمالا به زودی از آنجا می‌رفتند. یکشنبه پیش هم به دلچسبی همیشه نبود. مردی انگلیسی که کلاه پانامای وحشتناکی به سر داشت و همسرش با چکمه دکمه دار. تمام مدت حرف خانم این بود که عینک لازم دارد، ولی هیچ عینکی را نمی‌پسندید. مطمئنا همه شان شکستنی بودند و هیچ یک درست سر جایش قرار نمی‌گرفت. و آقا خیلی صبر به خرج میداد. هر چیزی را که می‌توانست به خانم پیشنهاد کرد- قاب طلایی، مدلی که به دور گوش می‌پیچد، لایه نرمی‌که در پل عینک تعبیه شده یاشد. نه! هیچ چیز خانم را راضی نمیکرد. "عینک از روی دماغم می‌آید پایین!" دوشیزه بریل دیگر واقعا میخواست یک چیزی بهش بگوید.

زوج سالخورده روی نیمکت نشسته بودند و هنوزهم مثل مجسمه بودند. ولی عیبی نداشت، برای تماشا کردن همیشه جمعیتی وجود دارد. جلو باغچه گل کاری شده و گروه موسیقی، مردم زوج زوج و دسته دسته به این سو و آنسو جولان می‌دادند. می‌ایستادند که باهم حرف بزنند، سلام و احوال پرسی کنند یا از گدایی که سینی اش را به نرده ها نصب کرده بود دسته ای گل بخرند. در میان آن‌ها بچه های کوچک خندان می‌دویدند، پسر بچه ها با پاپیون های بزرگ سفید رنگ زیر چانه شان و دختر بچه ها، عروسک های کوچک فرانسوی، با لباس های توری و مخملی . و گاهی کوچولوی گیجی از زیر درختان به بیرون تلو تلو می‌خورد، می‌ایستاد، با تعجب نگاه می‌کرد تا درحالی که ناگهان" تلپی" زمین می‌خورد، مادر کوچک اندامش با گامهای بلند مثل مرغی جوان با اوقات تلخی وعجله به کمکش بیاید. بقیه مردم روی نیمکتها و صندلی های سبزرنگ نشسته بودند، اما همآن‌هایی بودند که تقریبا هر یکشنبه آنجا بودند. و دوشیزه بریل اغلب متوجه چیزهای جالبی در مورد تقریبا همه آن‌ها میشد. آن‌ها عجیب، ساکت و تقریبا همه پیر بودند و طوری نگاه میکردند که انگار تازه از اتاق های کوچک و تاریک یا حتی - حتی ازتوی گنجه ها- بیرون آمده اند.

پشت کلاه فرنگی، درخت های باریک با برگ های زردی که به پایین آویزان بودند و از میانشان خط دریا پیدا بود، و در فراسوی آن ها آسمان آبی و ابرهایی با رگه های طلایی.

گروه نوازندگان مینواخت: تام تام تام تادالام! تادالام! تام تیدی یام تام تا!

دو دختر جوان قرمزپوش از یک سو و دو سرباز جوان آبی پوش از سوی دیگر، به هم رسیدند. خنده کنان دست در دست هم انداختند و دور شدند.

دو زن روستایی با کلاههای حصیری بامزه، پیشاپیش الاغ های دودی رنگشان، با گام های سنگین رد شدند. راهبه رنگ پریده و نچسبی با عجله گذشت.

زن زیبایی رسید و دسته بنفشه هایش از دستش افتاد، پسر کوچکی دنبالش دوید تا بنفشه ها را به او بدهد، اما زن زیبا آن‌ها را گرفت و انگار که زهرآلود باشند، انداختشان دور. حیف! دوشیزه بریل نمیدانست که کار خوبی بود یا نه. و حالا زنی با کلاه بی لبه از خزقاقم و آقایی خاکستری پوش درست جلو او به هم رسیدند. مرد، بلند قد و جدی و باوقار بود و خانم کلاه بی لبه قاقم را زمانی خریده بود که موهایش بور بودند. حالا دیگر همه چیزش: کلاه، مو، چهره و حتی چشمانش به همان رنگ ژنده قاقمی‌بودند، و دستش را که با دستکش تمیزش بالا آورد و به لب مالید، پنجه ای حقیر و زرد گونه یود. و چقدر هم از دیدن مرد خوشحال و خرسند شد. از قبل به فکرش رسیده بود که در آن بعد از ظهر به ملاقات یکدیگر نائل می‌شوند. از جاهایی که رفته بود تعریف کرد – اینجا، آنجا، تا کنار دریا، همه جا. آیا مرد هم موافق بود که روز دلپذیری است یا نه؟ و آیا مایل بود که....؟ اما مرد سرش را تکان داد، سیگاری روشن کرد و بازدم عمیقی از دود آن را به صورت خانم فوت کرد وحتی با این که زن هنوز داشت صحبت میکرد و میخندید، کبریت را دور انداخت و به راه خود ادامه داد. حالا کلاه قاقمی‌تنها بود؛ لبخندی زد دلپذیر ترازهمیشه. اما به نظر می‌رسید که حتی گروه نوازندگان هم احساس او را درک می‌کرد و ملایم تر و مهربانانه مینواخت. طبل داشت پشت سر هم این طور میزد: " سنگ دل! سنگ دل!". حالا زن چه کارمیکرد؟ بعد ازآن چه می‌شد؟ دوشیزه بریل دراین فکرها بود، که کلاه قاقمی‌برگشت و دستش را بالا آورد و انگار که درست در آن طرف کس خیلی خوب تر دیگری را دیده باشد ، به سرعت دور شد. گروه نوازندگان دوباره آهنگ را تغیییر داد و تندتر و شادتر از همیشه نواخت. زوج سالخورده از نیمکت دوشیزه بریل بلند شدند و قدم زنان رفتند. پیرمرد مضحکی با ریش تنک و بلند چنان هماهنگ با موسیقی می‌لنگید و می‌رفت که نزدیک بود با چهار دختری که شانه به شانه هم حرکت میکردند برخورد کند.

اوه، چه جذاب بود! چقدر برایش لذت بخش بود! چقدر دوست داشت که اینجا بنشیند و همه چیز را تماشا کند! مثل نمایش بود. دقیقا مثل نمایش بود. چه کسی میتوانست باور کند که در پشت صحنه آسمان نقاشی نشده باشد؟ یک سگ کوچک قهوه ای، مثل سگهای کوچک تئاتری که تخدیر شده باشند، داشت موقرانه یورتمه میرفت. و دوشیزه بریل این را که دید تازه فهمید که همین بود که همه چیز را اینطور شگفت انگیز کرده بود. همه اینها بر روی صحنه نمایش بودند. آن‌ها تنها تماشاگر و ناظر نبودند، آن‌ها خودشان بازیگر بودند. حتی خود دوشیزه بریل هم هر یکشنبه نقشی را بر عهده داشت. بی شک اگر یک روز نمی‌آمد کسی متوجه غیبتش میشد.

هر چه باشد، او هم بخشی از نمایش بود. چقدرعجیب که تا حالا این طوری فکر نکرده بود! در واقع به همین دلیل بود که هر هفته در همین ساعت از خانه به راه می‌افتاد تا با تاخیر در صحنه نمایش حاضر نشود و برای همین بود که هر هفته با احساس شرم و ناراحتی برای شاگردان انگلیسی اس تعریف می‌کرد که بعد از ظهر یکشنبه گذشته را چطور گذرانده است. پس اینطور! دوشیزه بریل با صدای تقریبا بلند خندید. او روی صحنه نمایش بود. یاد پیرمرد علیلی افتاد که چهار بعد از ظهر در هفته برایش - در حالی که در باغ خواب بود - روزنامه میخواند. او به سر نحیفش روی بالش پنبه ای، چشمان گود افتاده اش، دهان باز و دماغ بلند و باریکش کاملا عادت کرده بود. اگر پیرمرد می‌مرد او تا چند هفته نمی‌فهمید و توجهش جلب نمی‌شد! ولی پیرمرد ناگهان متوجه شد که کسی که برایش روزنامه میخواند یک بازیگر است. "بازیگر!" کله پیر از روی بالش بلند شد، دو نقطه نور در چشمان پیرش لرزیدند. " تو بازیگر هستی؟" و دوشیزه بریل روزنامه را صاف کرد انگار که متن نمایش اوست و به نرمی‌گفت: "بله، من خیلی وقته که بازیگر هستم."

گروه نوازندگان در حال استراحت بود. حالا دوباره مشغول شدند. چیزی که مینواختند گرم و آفتابی بود، اما یک جور سردی ملایمی‌هم در آن بود. این چه میتوانست باشد؟ اندوه نبود – نه اندوه نبود – چیزی بود که باعث می‌شد احساس کنی می‌خواهی آواز بخوانی. طنین بالاتر و بالاتر می‌رفت، نور می‌تابید و دوشیزه بریل حس کرد که الان یکدفعه تمام آن ها، همه بازیگران، مشغول خواندن خواهند شد. اول جوان ها، آن هایی که با هم راه می‌رفتند و می‌خندیدند، شروع خواهند کرد و بعد صدای دلیرانه و مصمم مردان هم به آنان خواهد پیوست. و بعد خود دوشیزه بریل هم ، خود او هم، و بقیه که روی نیمکت ها نشسته بودند هم با آن‌ها همراه خواهند شد. تم ضعیفی که خیلی کم بالا و پایین می‌شد، چیزی بسیار زیبا – هیجان آور....چشمان دوشیزه بریل پر از اشک شد و با لبخند به دیگر هم آوازان نگاه کرد. با خود فکر کرد: ما درک می‌کنیم، ما درک می‌کنیم – در حالی که نمی‌دانست بقیه چه چیزی درک می‌کنند.

در همین لحظه دختر و پسری رسیدند و در جایی نشستند که پیشتر زوج پیر نشسته بودند. آن‌ها لباس های زیبایی به تن داشتند و عاشق هم بودند. این قهرمان و شیردختر، حتما تازه از قایق پدر پسر پیاده شده بودند. و دوشیزه بریل، همچنان که بی صدا آواز می‌خواند، با همان تبسم لرزان آماده گوش دادن شد.

دختر گفت:"نه، الان نه ... اینجا نه، نمی‌تونم."

پسر پرسید: "آخه چرا؟ به خاطر اون پیر احمق که اون ته نشسته؟ ... اصلاً برا چی میاد اینجا؟ کی اونو اینجا می‌خواد؟ چرا اون قیافه پیر احمقانه شو تو خونه نگه نمی‌داره؟"

دختر با خنده گفت:" خزززززش چقدر خنده داره! درست مثل ماهی سرخ شده می‌مونه."

پسر با پچ پچ غضب آلودی گفت: "اه! برو پی کارت" بعد گفت" ma petite chère(کوچولوی عزیزمن)، بگو که ..."

دختر گفت:" نه، اینجا نه، هنوز نه."

دوشیزه بریل همیشه سر راهش به خانه یک قطعه کیک عسلی از نانوایی می‌خرید. این سور چرانی یکشنبه هایش بود. گاهی در کیکش بادام هم بود، گاهی هم نبود. و این برایش خیلی فرق می‌کرد. بادام اگر بود برایش مثل این بود که دارد بک جور هدیه کوچک، یک مژدگانی به خانه می‌برد، چیزی که خوب ممکن بود در خانه نباشد. در یکشنبه های بادام دار به شتاب و با زنده دلی، کبریتی زیر کتری روشن میکرد.
اما امروز از نانوایی گذشت، از پله ها بالا رفت و داخل اتاق کوچک تاریک شد- اتاقش که مثل گنجه بود – و روی بستر پرقوی قرمز نشست. مدت زیادی همان جا نشست. جعبه ای که پوست خز از آن درآمده بود روی تخت بود. تند و تند گره ی بند آن را از گردن باز کرد و به سرعت، بدون آن که نگاهش کند، آن را توی جعبه گذاشت. ولی وقتی که چفت جعبه را بست احساس کرد صدای گریه چیزی را می‌شنود.

[Mohamad]

Miss Williams was a teacher, and there were thirty small children in her class. They were nice children, and Miss Williams liked all of them, but they often lost clothes

It was winter, and the weather was very cold. The children's mothers always sent them to school with warm coats and hats and gloves. The children came into the classroom in the morning and took off their coats, hats and gloves. They put their coats and hats on hooks on the wall, and they put their gloves in the pockets of their coats

Last Tuesday Miss Williams found two small blue gloves on the floor in the evening, and in the morning she said to the children, 'Whose gloves are these?', but no one answered

Then she looked at Dick. 'Haven't you got blue gloves, Dick?' she asked him

'Yes, miss,' he answered, 'but those can't be mine. I've lost mine'



خانم ويليامز يك معلم بود، و سي كودك در كلاسش بودند. آن*ها بچه*هاي خوبي بودند، و خانم ويليامز همه*ي آن*ها را دوست داشت، اما آن ها اغلب لباس ها ي خود را گم مي كردند.

زمستان بود، و هوا خيلي سرد بود. مادر بچه ها هميشه آنها را با كت گرم و كلاه و دستكش به مدرسه مي فرستادند. بچه ها صبح داخل كلاس مي آمدند و كت، كلاه و دستكش هايشان در مي آوردند. آن ها كت و كلاهشان را روي چوب لباسي كه بر روي ديوار بود مي*گذاشتند، و دستكش ها را نيز در جيب كتشان مي ذاشتند.

سه شنبه گذشته هنگام غروب خانم ويليامز يك جفت دستكش كوچك آبي بر روي زمين پيدا كرد، و صبح روز بعد به بچه ها گفت، اين دستكش چه كسي است؟ اما كسي جوابي نداد.

در آن هنگام به ديك نگاه كرد و از او پرسيد. ديك، دستكش هاي تو آبي نيستند؟

او پاسخ داد. بله، خانم ولي اين ها نمي تونند براي من باشند. چون من براي خودمو گم كردم.

[Mohamad]

GIFTS FOR MOTHER


Four brothers left home for college, and they became successful doctors and lawyers and prospered. Some years later, they chatted after having dinner together. They discussed the gifts that they were able to give to their elderly mother, who lived far away in another city.
The first said, “I had a big house built for Mama. The second said, “I had a hundred thousand dollar theater built in the house. The third said, “I had my Mercedes dealer deliver her an SL600 with a chauffeur. The fourth said, “Listen to this. You know how Mama loved reading the Bible and you know she can’t read it anymore because she can’t see very well. I met this monk who told me about a parrot that can recite the entire Bible. It took 20 monks 12 years to teach him. I had to pledge them $100,000 a year for 20 years to the church, but it was worth it. Mama just has to name the chapter and verse and the parrot will recite it.” The other brothers were impressed.
After the holidays Mama sent out her Thank You notes. She wrote: Dear Milton, the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room, but I have to clean the whole house. Thanks anyway.
Dear Mike, you gave me an expensive theater with Dolby sound, it could hold 50 people, but all my friends are dead, I’ve lost my hearing and I’m nearly blind. I’ll never use it. But thank you for the gesture just the same.
Dear Marvin, I am too old to travel. I stay home, I have my groceries delivered, so I never use the Mercedes … and the driver you hired is a big jerk. But the thought was good. Thanks.
Dearest Melvin, you were the only son to have the good sense to give a little thought to your gift. The chicken was delicious. Thank you.”


چهار برادر ، خانه شان را به قصد تحصیل ترک کردند و دکتر،قاضی و آدمهای موفقی شدند. چند سال بعد،آنها بعد از شامی که باهم داشتند حرف زدند.اونا درمورد هدایایی که تونستن به مادر پیرشون که دور از اونها در شهر دیگه ای زندگی می کرد ،صحبت کردن.
اولی گفت: من خونه بزرگی برای مادرم ساختم . دومی گفت: من تماشاخانه(سالن تئاتر) یکصد هزار دلاری در خانه ساختم. سومی گفت : من ماشین مرسدسی با راننده کرایه کردم که مادرم به سفر بره.
چهارمی گفت: گوش کنید، همتون می دونید که مادر چقدر خوندن کتاب مقدس رو دوست داره، و میدونین که نمی تونه هیچ چیزی رو خوب بخونه چون جشماش نمیتونه خوب ببینه . شماها میدونید که مادر چقدر خوندن کتاب مقدس را دوست داشت و میدونین هیچ وقت نمی تونه بخونه ، چون چشماش خوب نمی بینه. من ، راهبی رو دیدم که به من گفت یه طوطی هست که میتونه تمام کتاب مقدس رو حفظ بخونه . این طوطی با کمک بیست راهب و در طول دوازده سال اینو یاد گرفت. من ناچارا تعهد کردم به مدت بیست سال و هر سال صد هزار دلار به کلیسا بپردازم. مادر فقط باید اسم فصل ها و آیه ها رو بگه و طوطی از حفظ براش می خونه. برادرای دیگه تحت تاثیر قرار گرفتن.
پس از ایام تعطیل، مادر یادداشت تشکری فرستاد. اون نوشت: میلتون عزیز، خونه ای که برام ساختی خیلی بزرگه .من فقط تو یک اتاق زندگی می کنم ولی مجبورم تمام خونه رو تمییز کنم.به هر حال ممنونم.
مایک عزیز،تو به من تماشاخانه ای گرونقیمت با صدای دالبی دادی.اون ،میتونه پنجاه نفرو جا بده ولی من همه دوستامو از دست دادم ، من شنوایییم رو از دست دادم و تقریبا ناشنوام .هیچ وقت از اون استفاده نمی کنم ولی از این کارت ممنونم.
ماروین عزیز، من خیلی پیرم که به سفر برم.من تو خونه می مونم ،مغازه بقالی ام رو دارم پس هیچ وقت از مرسدس استفاده نمی کنم. راننده ای که کرایه کردی یه احمق واقعیه. اما فکرت خوب بود ممنونم
ملوین عزیزترینم، تو تنها پسری بودی که درک داشتی که کمی فکر بابت هدیه ات بکنی. جوجه خوشمزه بود. ممنونم.

[Mohamad]

THE APPLE TREE


Peter climbed the wall to reach the apples that were growing on the apple tree on the other side of the wall. He picked half-a-dozen and hid them in his pockets

As he was jumping down again he slipped and fell. The fruit in his pockets was squashed. He did not hurt himself, but he could not eat the apples either

He ran home and quickly washed his trousers before his mother would find out what had happened

درخت سیب

پيتر از ديوار براي دسترسي به سيب هايي كه روي درخت آن طرف ديوار روييده بودند بالا رفت. او نيم جين چيد و در جيبش مخفي كرد.

هنگامي كه مي*خواست دوباره پايين بيايد پايش سر خورد و افتاد. ميوه در جيبش له شد. او به خودش صدمه نزد، اما هرگز نتوانست سيب*ها را بخورد.

او دويد خانه و قبل از اينكه مادرش بفهمد چه اتفاقي افتاده است به سرعت شلوارش را شست.

[Mohamad]

George was sixty years old, and he was ill. He was always tired, and his face was always very red. He did not like doctors, but last month his wife said to him, 'don’t be stupid, George. Go and see Doctor Brown.
George said, 'No,' but last week he was worse, and he went to the doctor.
Dr Brown examined him and then said to him, 'You drink too much. Stop drinking whisky, and drink milk.'
George liked whisky, and he did not like milk. 'I'm not a baby!' he always said to his wife.
Now he looked at Dr Brown and said, 'But drinking milk is dangerous, doctor’.
The doctor laughed and said, 'Dangerous? How can drinking milk be dangerous?’
'Well, doctor,' George said, 'it killed one of my best friends last year.'
The doctor laughed again and said, 'How did it do that?'
'The cow fell on him,' George said.



جرج شصت ساله و مريض بود. او هميشه خسته بود، و صورت او هميشه قرمز بود. او از دكترها خوشش نمي*آمد، اما ماه گذشته همسرش به او گفت: احمق نشو، جرج. و برو پيش دكتر بروان.
جرج گفت: نه. اما هفته*ي گذشته او بدتر شد و به دكتر رفت.
دكتر بروان او را معاينه كرد و به وي گفت: شما خيلي مي*نوشيد. ديگر ويسكي ننوشيد، و شير بنوشيد.
جرج ويسكي دوست داشت و شير دوست نداشت. او هميشه به همسرش مي*گفت: من بچه نيستم!.
حالا به دكتر بروان نگاه كرد و گفت: اما دكتر، خوردن شير خطرناك است.
دكتر خنديد و گفت: خطرناك؟ خوردن شير چگونه مي*تونه خطرناك باشه؟
جرج گفت: درسته، دكتر، سال گذشته يكي از بهترين دوستانِ منو كشت.
دكتر دوباره خنديد و گفت: چطوري؟ (چطوري اين كارو كرد)
جرج گفت: گاو افتاد روي اون.

[Mohamad]

Destiny

During a momentous battle, a Japanese general decided to attack even though his army was greatly outnumbered. He was confident they would win, but his men were filled with doubt.

On the way to the battle, they stopped at a religious shrine. After praying with the men, the general took out a coin and said, "I shall now toss this coin. If it is heads, we shall win. If it is tails we shall lose."

"Destiny will now reveal itself."

He threw the coin into the air and all watched intently as it landed. It was heads. The soldiers were so overjoyed and filled with confidence that they vigorously attacked the enemy and were victorious.

After the battle. a lieutenant remarked to the general, "No one can change destiny."

"Quite right," the general replied as he showed the lieutenant the coin, which had heads on both sides



سرنوشت
در طول نبردی مهم و سرنوشت ساز ژنرالی ژاپنی تصمیم گرفت با وجود سربازان بسیار زیادش حمله کند. مطمئن بود که پیروز می شوند اما سربازانش تردید داشتندو دودل بودند.

در مسیر میدان نبرد در معبدی مقدس توقف کردند. بعد از فریضه دعا که همراه سربازانش انجام شد ژنرال سکه ای در آورد و گفت:" سکه را به هوا پرتاب خواهم کرد اگر رو آمد، می بریم اما اگر شیر بیاید شکست خواهیم خورد".

"سرنوشت خود مشخص خواهد کرد".

سکه را به هوا پرتاب کرد و همگی مشتاقانه تماشا کردند تا وقتی که بر روی زمین افتاد. رو بود. سربازان از فرط شادی از خود بی خود شدند و کاملا اطمینان پیدا کردند و با قدرت به دشمن حمله کردند و پیروز شدند.

بعد از جنگ ستوانی به ژنرال گفت: "سرنوشت را نتوان تغییر داد(انتخاب کرد با یک سکه)"

ژنرال در حالی که سکه ای که دو طرف آن رو بود را به ستوان نشان می داد جواب داد:" کاملا حق با شماست".

[Mohamad]

The year is 1853, and the palace is California. People are coming to California from many countries. They are looking for gold. They think that they are going to get
rich. Levi Strauss is one of these people .He’s twenty-four years old, and he too want to get rich .He is from Germany. He has cloth from Germany to make tents for the gold miners

A man asks him: What are you going to do with that cloth

Strauss answers: I’m going to make tents

The man says: I don’t need a tent, but I want a strong pair of pants. Look at my pants they’re full of holes

Levi makes a pair of pants from the strong cloth. The man is happy with the pants. They’re a big success. Soon everyone wants a pair of pants just like the man’s pair. Levi makes one more, ten more hundreds more thousands more. That’s the history of your jeans


سال 1853 مردم از برخی کشورها به کالیفرنیا می آمدند.آنها به دنبال طلا میگشتند.آنها به پولدار شدن فکر میکردند.لیوای استروس یکی از آنها بود.او 24 سال داشت و آلمانی تبار بود و نیز مانند بقیه به دنبال پولدار شدن و کشف طلا...

او پارچه ای از کشور آلمان برای ساخت چادر (خیمه گاه) در معدن طلا با خود آورده بود.

مردی از او پرسید: میخواهی با این پارچه چه کار کنی؟

او گفت: میخواهم چادر (خیمه گاه) بسازم.

مرد گفت: من به چادر نیاز ندارم اما من یک شلوار خیلی مقاوم لازم دارم!

شلوار من رو نگاه کن.پر از سوراخ است!

لیوای استروس شلواری از آن پارچه ی مقاوم ساخت.آن مرد بابت شلوار خوشحال شد. آنها به یک موفقیت بزرگ دست پیدا کردند.به زودی تک تک مردم خواستار شلواری فقط با جنس آن پارچه ی آلمانی شدند! لیوای از آن شلوار ده ها ، صد ها و هزار ها ساخت. و این بود داستان ساخت و پیدایش شلوار جین شما!