Page 14 - Ext. Listening Reading_Neat

Activity 6 Reading Short Stories
Select and read one of the three short stories provided below.
STORY 1: FOR MIKE
© Geoff Aird
The garden was overrun with wild grass
and tenacious weeds had pushed up
through the crazy paving. Apt
description, I thought as my view followed
the path on its meandering journey from
the back door to near the bottom of the
garden. It then branched into two then
set off again to surround the small
flourishing orange grove.
‘‘Hola! Beunos dias.’’ The old woman was
peering over the stone dyke wall and into
my garden.
‘‘Hola…..eh,…morning, Senora,’’ I replied
but she was already making her way to
the wicket gate, her grey shawl bobbing
along the top of the wall like a ship’s sail
on a distant horizon.
The fact that I barely spoke a word of
Spanish mattered not a jot to this woman.
I’d first met her a couple of days after I’d
moved in. She’d introduced herself when I
was cleaning the windows at the front of
the cottage. Then she appeared at the
stone dyke wall a few days later. I didn’t
know what she was saying but she
concluded each sentence by nodding her
head and smiling. Then the following day
she just strolled into the back garden
chattering away in Spanish! She was
carrying a wicker basket and walked up to
me whilst pointing at the orange trees and
said ‘‘Muchas de las naranjas, si.’’
‘‘Yes, eh…oranges, yes. Si Senora,’’ I had
replied. It was true. The trees were laden
with oranges and many of them had fallen
onto the wild grass underneath. She then
announced ‘‘Voy a hacerte una
mermelada!’’
I guessed the word marmalade was in
there so I had nodded vigorously and said
‘‘Yes of course you can. Yes.’’ With that
she’d strode down to the trees and began
filling the basket with oranges. Then with
a cheery wave she was away! Like she’d
known me for years! It didn’t seem to
matter that I was a complete stranger, a
10| Extensive Listening & Reading
foreigner in fact
who only took
up residence here
a few weeks
earlier.
I wonder what Ruth
would have made of it? I
had thought at the time. Ruth, my
beautiful wife had succumbed to breast
cancer six months earlier. Ruth was my
childhood sweetheart, lover, and soul
mate. She’d fought it of course, but then
she would. She was a fighter with a big
heart. But it became clear that she wasn’t
going to win this one. Ruth and I had
been born on the same day and she made
such an effort to hang on so we could
share our birthday together. It was hardly
a birthday bash. Just a few close friends
round, some nibbles and drinks but Ruth
was so drugged up that the occasion
seemed to slip by her in a haze.
The next day she had seemed surprisingly
chirpy and even suggested fish and chips
for tea from the chip shop in town. She’d
said ‘‘Cancer’s like pregnancy, Mike. You
develop strange cravings!’’ I had read this
as a good sign. Maybe her appetite was
returning? Maybe she was on the mend?
Later, as I was standing in the queue
waiting to be served I felt a growing feeling
of uneasiness. It had unsettled me. I’d
run out the shop and dashed home,
bursting through the front door and
calling out her name as I ran up the
stairs.
She lay across the bed. An empty bottle of
pills were on the bedside table, next to a
note. She didn’t want to fight anymore.
And she didn’t want the cancer to dictate
when she was going to die. Her note
ended with
So I’m choosing eternal sleep and will
dream of you constantly, my gorgeous,
wonderful husband, the love of my life. In
time it is my wish that you can move on.
Cancer, I couldn’t actually say the word
out loud. Watching her deteriorate and
suffer had nearly destroyed me. Cancer is
the ultimate parasite. It chooses a host