19-8-26【英语美文】美国青少年优秀文学选 Miss Awful《那个超凶的代课老师》

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“Miss Awful” by Arthur Cavanaugh

Monday morning at school started off with perfect normalcy.  It began exactly like any other school morning.  It wasn't until they reached the third-grade classroom that they noticed. "Hey, what's going on?" Jimmy Moore demanded.  Instead of a cozy circle the desks and chairs had been rearranged in stiff, rigid rows. The point to Roger Clark wasn't that the desks had been rearranged. The point was, why?  As if in answer, he heard two hands clap behind him.  "What's this, what's this?" barked a stern, raspish voice.

She was tall and straight as a ruler, and was wearing an ancient tweed suit and a skirt that was nearly to the ankles.  She bore a plant in one arm and a book in the other. Her hair was gray, like a witch's, in a bun, and there was no question that she had witch's eyes. 

"I am Miss Orville.0-r-v-i-l-l-e," she spelled. She clasped her hands. "Prior to my retirement I taught boys and girls for forty-six years," she warned. "I am beyond trickery, so I advise you to try none.  You are to be in my charge until the return of your normal teacher, miss Wilson, however long that may be. Since I have no knowledge of your individual abilities, perhaps a look at the weekend homework will shed some light.  You have all completed it, I trust? Take out your notebooks, please.  At once, at once, I say."

“You call this chicken scrawl penmanship?”  R-r-rip! A page was torn out and thrust at its owner.  “Redo it at once, it assaults the intelligence.”  Then, moving on, “What is this maze of ill-spelled words!!”  Oh boy, Roger felt he was in for it for sure.  He opened his book bag.  It slid and, with a crash, fell to the floor.  Books, pencil case spilled out.  Baseball cards, water pistol, police whistle, kite string . . . “Ah," crowed Miss Awful, instantly at his desk. "We have come to play, have we?"   And she fixed her witch's gaze on him…

The third grade was the last class to exit from the building on Monday.  Mrs. Clark, Roger’s mother, noted that the children appeared strangely defeated. As for Roger, he quickly pulled his mother down the block in silence.  When enough distance had been gained, words erupted from him.  "No, we don't have a new teacher," he flared wildly. "We got awitchfor a new teacher. It's the truth. She's fromHansel and Gretel,the same horrible eyes -- and she steals toys. Miss Awful, that's her name. Come on, I've got to hurry home.  I don't have time to waste. I have so much homework to do!" 

On Tuesday, together with the other mothers, Nancy Reeves finally remembered where previously she had seen Miss Orville.  "I know who she is!” she said to Mrs. Clark. “Those old buildings near us on Hudson Street -- remember when they were torn down last year? Miss Orville was one of the tenants, She'd lived there for ages, and refused to budge until the landlord got a court order and deposited her on the sidewalk.  Her picture was in the papers.  Elderly retired schoolteacher . . . Poor old thing, evicted like that . . . I remember she couldn't keep any of the plants . . ."

Then it was Friday at St. Geoffrey's.  Before lunch, Miss Orville told the class, "I am happy to inform you that miss Wilson will be back on Monday. This afternoon will be my final session with you."  At lunch in the basement cafeteria, the third grade talked of nothing except how to get even with Miss Awful. “We could beat her up," Joey Lambert suggested.  “Better idea” said Bruce Reeves.  “We could go upstairs to the classroom before she gets back, and tie a string in front of the door.  She’d trip and break her neck.

“She’s old,” Roger protested.  “We can’t hurt her like that.  She’s too old.” “That dopey old plant she’s always fussing over,” piped Midge Fuller.  “We could rip off all the dopey leaves.  That’d show her.” Roger pushed back his chair and stood up from the table.  “We don’t want to do that,” he said, not understanding why he objected.  It was a feeling inside, he couldn’t explain… “Aw, let’s forget about it,” he said.  “Let’s call it quits.”

“Well, you’ve put in an industrious week, I daresay…” Miss Orville recommenced the class after lunch.  "To attend school is a privilege you must not mock.  It is a priceless gift.  If I have been severe with you this past week, it was for your benefit. The world needs good citizens --"

She stopped speaking. She was staring at the plant, which she had not noticed before.  The stalks twisted up bare and naked, where the leaves had been torn off. She turned and faced the class, and behind the spectacles her eyes were dim and faded.  "Whoever is responsible, I beg of you only to be sorry," she said.  When she returned to her desk, her back was straighter than ever, but it seemed to take her longer to cover the distance.

At the close of class that afternoon, miss Orville merely dismissed the boys and girls and did not leave her desk.  The children ran out, some in regret, some silent, others cheerful and scampering.  Only Roger stayed behind.  Miss Orville was emptying the desk of her possessions, books, pads, a folder of maps. Roger went to the desk.  He stood at the desk, rubbing his hand up and down his coat.  “Yes?” Miss Orville asked. Roger stood back, hands at his side, and lifted his head erectly. “Flower," he spelled. "F- l-o-w-e-r." He squared his shoulders and looked at Miss Orville's brimming eyes. "Castle," Roger spelled.  “C-a-s-t-l-e.” Then he walked from the room.

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