是这篇没错吧^^ 75年次 有印象这篇英文课文 Information Please When I was quite young my family had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished oak case fastened to the wall on the lower stair landing. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I even remember the number - 105. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Once she lifted me up to speak to my father, who was away on business. Magic! Then I discovered that somewhere inside that wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information Pease" and there was nothing she did not know. My mother could ask her for anybody's number; when our clock ran down, Information Please immediately supplied the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-receiver came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool-bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be much use crying because there was no one home to offer sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two, and a small, clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information." "I hurt my fingerrrr-" I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough, now that I had an audience. "Isn't your mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's home but me," I wept. "Are you bleeding?" "No," I replied. "I hit it with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open your icebox?" I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it on your finger. That will stop the hurt. Be careful when you use the ice pick," she admonished. "And don't cry. You'll be all right." After that, I called Information Please for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and my arithmetic, and she told me that my pet chipmunk - I had caught in the park just the day before - would eat fruit and nuts. And there was a little time that our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to comfort a child. But I was not consoled: why was it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to whole families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up, on the bottom of a cage? She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better. Another day I was at the telephone. "Information," said the now familiar voice. "How do you spell fix?" I asked. "Fix something? F-i-x." At that instant my sister, who took unholy joy in scaring me, jumped off the stairs at me with a shriek - "Yaaaaaaaaaa!" I fell off the stool, pulling the receiver out of the box by its roots. We were both terrified - Information Please was no longer there, and I was not at all sure that I hadn't hurt her when I pulled the receiver out. Minutes later there was a man on the porch. "I'm a telephone repairman," he said. "I was working down the street. And the operator said there might be some trouble at this number." He reached for the receiver in my hand. "What happened?" I told him. "Well, we can fix that in a minute or two." He opened the telephone box, exposing a mess of wires and coils, and fiddled with a small screwdriver. He jiggled the hook up and down a few times, then spoke into the phone. "Hi, this is Pete. Everything's under control at 105." He hung up, smiled, gave me a pat on the head and walked out the door. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Then, when I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston - and I missed my mentor acutely. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought to trying the tall, skinny new phone that sat on a small table in the hall. Yet, as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had when I knew that I could call Information Please and get the right answer. I appreciated now how very patient, understanding and kind she was to have wasted her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down at Seattle. I had about half and hour between plane connections, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now, happily matured by marriage and motherhood. Then really without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please." Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well: "Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you tell me, please, how to spell the word 'fix'?" There was a long pause. Then came the softly spoken answer. "I guess," said Information Please, "that your finger must have healed by now." I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during all that time...." "I wonder," she replied, "if you know how much you meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls. Silly, wasn't it?" It didn't seem silly, but I didn't say so. Instead, I told her how often I had thought of her over the years, and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister after the first semester was over. "Please do. Just ask for Sally." "Good-by, Sally." It sounded strange for Information Please to have a name. "If I run into any chipmunks, I'll tell them to eat fruit and nuts." "Do that," she said. "Well, take good care, good-by." Just three months later I was back again at the Seattle airport. A different voice answered, "Information," and I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" "Yes," I said. "An old friend." "Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally had only been working part-time in the last few years because she was ill. She died five weeks ago." But before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Villiard?" "Yes." "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down." "What was it?" I asked, almost knowing in advance what it would be. "Here it is, I'll read it - 'Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean.'" I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant. Anonymous _____________________________________________________________________________ 中译 小时候，父亲是我家附近最先装设电话机的人之一，我至今仍清晰记得那具钉在墙上，擦 拭得光可监人的旧盒子以及挂在盒子一边，闪闪发亮的听筒。 我个子小，构不着电话机，只是每当母亲对着它讲话时，我总是听得出神。後来我才发现 ，在那具神奇的装置，竟住着一个不可思议的人物，名叫"请接服务台"。她是个 无所不 知的万事通，不但能提供任何人的电话号码，还会准确报时。 某天，母亲外出访友，我和那具住着仙女的黑盒子，首次发生了接触。当时我正在地下室 的工作台旁玩耍，一不小心拿槌子打在自己的手指上。我痛得差点大声哭叫，却 因家中 并无他人可表同情而作罢。 我一边吸吮着肿胀的手指头，一边在屋内打转，最後走到楼梯口，一眼瞧见那电话机，赶 紧从客厅拖了一张凳子，爬上去取下听筒放在耳朵上。我朝刚好位在我头顶的 话筒叫喊 「请接服务台！」 只听得'喀'、'喀' 好不容易找到听众，我禁不住泪如雨下，对着话筒啜泣着说「我的手指受伤了。」 对方问：「你母亲不在家吗？」 我答道：「只有我! ! ! 一! 人在家，」我哭得更伤心了。 「有没有流血？」她又问。 我说：「没流血，但手指被槌子打到，很痛。」 「你能从冰箱里拿到冰块吗？」 我说可以。 「去取一小块冰来，把它按在你受伤的地方」，那声音又说。 从此之後，一遇麻烦我就拨'请接服务台'。她会告诉我费城的地理位置，帮我解数学题目 。我在公园里抓到一只花栗鼠，她教我用水果及坚果喂它。後来，我们家的宠物，金丝雀 贝蒂过逝了，我拨电话给'请接服务台'，告诉她这个恶耗。她听完，跟我说了些大人安慰 小孩的话，可是我仍然非常伤心。 我问她：「为何这样一只歌声美妙，且给我们家带来这麽多欢乐的小鸟，最後落得只剩一 堆羽毛呢？」 她一定是感受到了我的哀伤，因为这次她用严肃的语气回答说：「保罗，永远记住，牠还 可以在其他的世界里唱歌。」 我突然觉得舒服多了。 又有一天，我又打给'请接服务台'。 「服务台！」耳边响起那已变得很熟悉的声音， 「请问【FIX】怎麽拼？」我说。 上述事件发生在美国西北临太平洋的一个小镇。到我九岁时，我们虽举家迁居东北部的波 士顿市，我却一直非常! 怀! 念! 我! 的朋友。由於"请接服务台"是居住在老家的那个旧 木盒里，我从未想过要去使用那支放在新家客厅桌上的新话机。 後来年岁虽然渐长，幼时在电话机上的种种对话的记忆却历久弥新。每当心中产生困惑和 不安之时，我总会回想起我那位朋友往日赐予我的安全感，我终於能体会她花在我这位小 朋友身上的耐心、宽容和仁慈是何等可贵。 数年後某天，我乘飞机赴西岸就读大学，途经西雅图，趁约半小时的等机空档，我和当时 居住在那儿的姐姐通了个电话，之後几乎是不假思索，我又拨了另一个号码──老家小镇 的接线生，「请接服务台」我说。 奇蹟似的我又听到那熟悉、微细、却清晰的声音「服务台」 刹那间，毫无预备的我竟听见自己说，「能不能请你告诉我【FIX】如何拼？」 好长一阵寂静之後，传来那依然柔和的声音，「我想你的手指现在该痊癒了吧？」 我不禁兴奋的笑了出来。「真没料到你仍在这里工作」我说，「我想你大概无法了解，昔 日你对我的意义是如何重大。」 她回道：「我想你大概也无法了解在那段时日，你的电话，对我有多麽重要。我自己未曾 生育子女，所以经常盼望你打电话给我。」 我告诉她这些年来是如何的想念她，并问她以後若回来探望姊姊时，可否再打电话给她。 「你一定得再打给我。」她说：「我叫莎莉。」 三个月後，我再度回到西雅图。一个陌生的声音回答说：「服务台。」 我说：「请找莎莉。」 「你是她的朋友吗？」她说。 我回道：「是的，是非常老的朋友。」 「很抱歉，过去几年莎莉因为生病，所以一直在上兼职的班，她已在五个星期前去逝了。 」 在我即将挂上听筒之际，她说：「稍等一下，你说你叫保罗吗？」 「是的」 「莎莉有留言要我转告你，她把它写在一张小条子上，让我念给你听。她说：请告诉他， 我仍坚信还有其他的世界可让我们唱歌。他会懂我意思的。」 我谢过她，并挂上听筒。 是的，我的确明白莉莎的意思。有心或是无心的帮别人一个小忙，也许会占用自己一些的 时间、一些的心力，但是受到恩惠的人却会感谢你一辈子....... 所以，可以为别人服务不是一件很美好的事吗？ (引用自网路文章) --

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