Mr. Smith’s New Nose

by Chris Rose

«Well, Mr. Smith, if you prefer a different type of nose, we have a large selection available.»
«I think this nose is a bit too small.»
«Small noses are very fashionable this year, Mr. Smith, very fashionable.»
«Do you think it suits me?» asked Mr. Smith.
«I think it looks very nice,» said the shop assistant.
«OK, I’ll take it!»
On the airbus home, Mr. Smith called his wife on his wristphone.
«Hello dear! Do you like my new nose?» Mrs. Smith looked at her husband’s new nose on the videophone monitor on the wall in the kitchen.
«I think it’s a bit too small, dear,» she said.
«Small noses are very fashionable this year,» replied Mr. Smith, «very fashionable.»
«It’s all so easy now,» thought Mr. Smith. «A hundred years ago, it was impossible to change your body. Or almost impossible – there was the old-fashioned ‘plastic surgery’, but it was expensive, painful and dangerous. Ugh! Now, thanks to our 22nd century genetic engineering, we can change our bodies when we want!»
He looked at his new small nose in the mirror, and thought about how fashionable he was. He was very happy with his new nose. The only problem now, he thought, was that he needed some new hair to go with his new nose.
He looked on the Internet for some new hair, but the Internet was so slow. Eventually he decided to go to Bodyco in person.
«Good morning, Mr. Smith,» said the Bodyco shop assistant. «How can I help you today?»
Mr. Smith remembered the robot shop assistant in the Bodyco shop a few years ago. The robot was friendlier and more efficient, but too many robots made too much unemployment, and the robot was replaced by a human.
«I’d like some new hair, please.»
«Certainly, Mr. Smith. What type of hair would you like? Short, blond hair goes well with a small nose. How about short, blond hair?»
Mr. Smith looked at his hair. It was old and grey. Yes, he thought, short and blond. When he was young he had short, blond hair. He wanted to look young again.
«Yes, I’ll have short blond hair please. Could it be a bit curly as well?»
«Curly?» asked the shop assistant.
«Yes, you know, curly – not straight!»
«Yes, Mr. Smith, I know what ‘curly’ means, but curly hair isn’t very fashionable this year.»
«Isn’t it?»
«No, it isn’t.»
«But I like curly hair!»
«Very well, Mr. Smith – short, blond, curly hair. Would you like anything else? We have a special offer on ears this week.»
«Ears?»
«Yes, Mr. Smith, the things you hear with.»
«I know what ears are! What type of ears are on offer?»
Mr. Smith went out of the shop with new short, blond, curly hair, and two new ears.
After this, his interest in his new body started to grow. In the next few weeks he bought new eyes (green, unusual but fashionable), new hands, new arms, new knees and new feet. Mrs. Smith was happy because Mr. Smith’s new feet didn’t smell as bad as his old feet.
His body was now completely different.
«Am I the same man I was a few weeks ago?» thought Mr. Smith. «I have a new nose, new hair, new ears, new eyes, hands, arms, knees and feet. But I have the same brain — so I think I’m the same man.» He thought he was the same man, but he wasn’t sure.
One morning, he woke up and his new nose didn’t work.
«What’s the matter?» asked Mrs. Smith
«My new nose doesn’t work – it’s blocked.»
«Maybe you’ve got a cold,» suggested Mrs. Smith.
«That’s impossible! This is a genetically engineered Bodyco nose! It doesn’t get colds!»
But it was true – the new nose did not work. It was blocked and Mr. Smith couldn’t smell anything.
He went back to the Bodyco shop.
«Good morning, Mr. Smith,» said the assistant. «What would you like today?»
«I want a new nose,» said Mr. Smith.
«You already want a new nose!» said the surprised shop assistant. «But you’ve only had this one for a month! Don’t worry, small noses are still fashionable!»
«No, you don’t understand,» said Mr. Smith. «I want a new nose because this one doesn’t work!»
«That’s impossible,» said the shop assistant. «You have a genetically engineered Bodyco nose. It can’t go wrong!»
«But it has gone wrong,» replied Mr. Smith. «It’s blocked and I can’t smell anything».
«What have you used your nose to do, Mr. Smith?» asked the shop assistant.
«What have I done with my nose? That’s a stupid question! I haven’t done anything unusual with my nose. I’ve used it to breathe and to smell, as usual!»
«If you have not used your nose correctly, Mr. Smith, it is possible that it will not work correctly.»
«That’s absurd!» shouted Mr. Smith. «I want my money back! I want a refund!»
«I’m afraid that we do not give refunds, Mr. Smith. There was no guarantee with this nose.»
Mr. Smith was so angry that he didn’t know what to say. He walked out of the shop, and didn’t say anything.
But now he had a big problem: a useless nose. Fashionable, yes. Useful, no.
Unfortunately, his problem started to grow. The next morning he woke up and found he couldn’t hear anything. Then his new blond hair went grey. Then his new knees didn’t move. Then he couldn’t see a thing with his unusual green eyes. His fingers fell off, one by one.
Eventually, Mrs. Smith put him in their aircar and flew to the Bodyco shop. She carried her husband into the shop, because now he couldn’t walk.
«Good morning Mr. Smith,» said the shop assistant. «What can I do for you today?»
«Mr. Smith wouldn’t like anything new at all today, thank you,» replied Mrs. Smith. «But he would like his old body back!»
«I’m afraid we don’t give refunds, Mrs. Smith.»
«I don’t want a refund,» explained Mrs. Smith. «I want my husband’s original body again! I liked it more than this new one!»
«I’m afraid that’s very difficult, Mrs. Smith,» said the shop assistant. «We are an environmentally-friendly company. All our old bodies are recycled.»
«But the new body parts that you sold him don’t work! What can he do now?»
«He could buy a reconditioned body.»
«What’s a ‘reconditioned’ body?»
«It’s an old body that has been modified.»
«Can I have a look at one?»
«Certainly.» The shop assistant spoke to his computer, and a reconditioned body appeared. It was a very familiar body. Mrs. Smith recognised the big nose and the grey hair.
«But that’s my husband!» shouted Mrs. Smith. «That’s the original Mr. Smith!»
«Yes, that’s right,» said the shop assistant. «We reconditioned Mr. Smith’s old body».
«Can he have his old body back then, please?»
«Certainly, Mrs. Smith. That’ll be 100,000 euros please»
«100,000 euros!» shouted Mrs. Smith. «That’s very expensive, isn’t it?»
«Mr. Smith has been reconditioned!»
Mr. Smith got his own body back, and Mrs. Smith flew him back home in the aircar.
«I’m myself again!» he shouted.
«Not exactly,» said Mrs. Smith. «You have been reconditioned.»
«What does ‘reconditioned’ mean?»
«Well,» said Mrs. Smith. «I think it means that you have a new brain!»
«I think that will be very useful,» said Mr. Smith.
«I think so too, dear» said Mrs. Smith.

THE END

A Walk in Amnesia

by O’Henry

That morning my wife and I said our usual goodbyes. She left her second cup of tea, and she followed me to the front door. She did this every day. She took from my coat a hair which was not there, and she told me to be careful. She always did this. I closed the door, and she went back to her tea.

I am a lawyer and I work very hard. My friend, Doctor Volney, told me not to work so hard. ‘You’ll be ill,’ he said. ‘A lot of people who work too hard get very tired, and suddenly they forget who they are. They can’t remember anything. It’s called amnesia. You need a change and a rest.’

‘But I do rest,’ I replied. ‘On Thursday nights my wife and I play a game of cards, and on Sundays she reads me her weekly letter from her mother.’

That morning, when I was walking to work, I thought about Doctor Volney’s words. I was feeling very well, and pleased with life.

When I woke up, I was on a train and feeling very uncomfortable after a long sleep. I sat back in my seat and I tried to think. After a long time, I said to myself, ‘I must have a name!’ 1 looked in my pockets. No letter. No papers. Nothing with my name on. But I found three thousand dollars. ‘I must be someone,’ I thought.

The train was crowded with men who were all very friendly. One of them came and sat next to me. ‘Hi! My name’s R.P. Bolder — Bolder and Son, from Missouri. You’re going to the meeting in New York, of course? What’s your name?’

I had to reply to him, so I said quickly, ‘Edward Pinkhammer from Cornopolis, Kansas.’

He was reading a newspaper, but every few minutes he looked up from it, to talk to me. I understood from his conversation that he was a druggist, and he thought that I was a druggist, too.

‘Are all these men druggists?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they are,’ he answered. ‘Like us, they’re all going to the yearly meeting in New York.’

After a time, he held out his newspaper to me. ‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘Here’s another of those men who run away and then say that they have forgotten who they are. A man gets tired of his business and his family, and he wants to have a good time. He goes away somewhere and when they find him, he says that he doesn’t know who he is, and that he can’t remember anything.’

I took the paper and read this:

Denver, June 12th

Elwyn C. Bellford, an important lawyer in the town,

left home three days ago and has not come back. Just

before he left, he took out a lot of money from his

bank. Nobody has seen him since that day. He is a

quiet man who enjoys his work and is happily

married. But Mr Bellford works very hard, and it is
possible that he has amnesia.

‘But sometimes people do forget who they are, Mr Bolder,’ I said.

‘Oh, come on!’ Mr Bolder answered. ‘It’s not true, you know! These men just want something more exciting in their lives — another woman, perhaps. Something different.’

We arrived in New York at about ten o’clock at night. I took a taxi to a hotel, and I wrote the name, ‘Edward Pinkhammer’, in the hotel book. Suddenly I felt wild and happy — I was free. A man without a name can do anything.

The young man behind the desk at the hotel looked at me a little strangely. 1 had no suitcase.

‘I’m here for the Druggists’ Meeting,’ I said. ‘My suitcase is lost.’ I took out some money and gave it to him.

The next day I bought a suitcase and some clothes and I began to live the life of Edward Pinkhammer. I didn’t try to remember who or what I was.

The next few days in Manhattan were wonderful — the theatres, the gardens, the music, the restaurants,

the night life, the beautiful girls. And during this time I learned something very important — if you want to be happy, you must be free.

Sometimes I went to quiet, expensive restaurants with soft music. Sometimes I went on the river in boats full of noisy young men and their girlfriends. And then there was Broadway, with its theatres and bright lights.

One afternoon I was going back into my hotel when a fat man came and stood in front of me.

‘Hello, Bellford!’ he cried loudly. ‘What are you doing in New York? Is Mrs B. with you?’

‘I’m sorry, but you’re making a mistake, sir,’ I said coldly. ‘My name is Pinkhammer. Please excuse me.’

The man moved away, in surprise, and I walked over to the desk. Behind me, the man said something about a telephone.

‘Give me my bill,’ I said to the man behind the desk, ‘and bring down my suitcase in half an hour.’

That afternoon I moved to a quiet little hotel on Fifth Avenue.

One afternoon, in one of my favourite restaurants on Broadway, I was going to my table when somebody pulled my arm.

‘Mr Bellford,’ a sweet voice cried.

I turned quickly and saw a woman who was sitting alone. She was about thirty and she had very beautiful eyes.

‘How can you walk past me like that?’ she said. ‘Didn’t you know me?’

I sat down at her table. Her hair was a beautiful red-gold colour.

‘Are you sure you know me?’ I asked.

‘No.’ She smiled. ‘I never really knew you.’

‘Well, my name is Edward Pinkhammer,’ I said, ‘and I’m from Kansas.’

‘So, you haven’t brought Mrs Bellford with you, then,’ she said, and she laughed. ‘You haven’t changed much in fifteen years, Elwyn.’

Her wonderful eyes looked carefully at my face.

‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘you haven’t forgotten. I told you that you could never forget.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I answered, ‘but that’s the trouble. I have forgotten. I’ve forgotten everything.’

She laughed. ‘Did you know that I married six months after you did? It was in all the newspapers.’

She was silent for a minute. Then she looked up at me again. ‘Tell me one thing, Elwyn,’ she said softly. ‘Since that night fifteen years ago, can you touch, smell, or look at white roses — and not think of me?’

‘I can only say that I don’t remember any of this,’ I said carefully. ‘I’m very sorry.’ I tried to look away from her.

She smiled and stood up to leave. Then she held out her hand to me, and I took it for a second. ‘Oh yes, you remember,’ she said, with a sweet, unhappy smile.

‘Goodbye, Elwyn Bellford.’

That night I went to the theatre and when I returned to my hotel, a quiet man in dark clothes was waiting for me.

‘Mr Pinkhammer,’ he said, ‘can I speak with you for a minute? There’s a room here.’

I followed him into a small room. A man and a woman were there. The woman was still beautiful, but her face was unhappy and tired. I liked everything about her. The man, who was about forty, came to meet me.

‘Bellford,’ he said, ‘I’m happy to see you again. I told you that you were working too hard. Now you can come home with us. You’ll soon be all right.’

‘My name’, I said, ‘is Edward Pinkhammer. I’ve never seen you before in my life.’

The woman cried out, ‘Oh, Elwyn! Elwyn! I’m your wife!’ She put her arms round me, but I pushed them away.

‘Oh, Doctor Volney! What is the matter with him?’ the woman cried.

‘Go to your room,’ the doctor said to her. ‘He’ll soon be well again.’

The woman left, and so did the man in the dark clothes. The man who was a doctor turned to me and said quietly, ‘Listen. Your name is not Edward Pinkhammer.’

‘I know that,’ I replied, ‘but a man must have a name. Why not Pinkhammer?’

‘Your name’, the doctor said, ‘is Elwyn Bellford. You are one of the best lawyers in Denver — and that woman is your wife.’

‘She’s a very fine woman,’ I said, after a minute. ‘I love the colour of her hair.’

‘She’s a very good wife,’ the doctor replied. ‘When you left two weeks ago, she was very unhappy. Then we had a telephone call from a man who saw you in a hotel here.’

‘I think I remember him,’ I said. ‘He called me «Bellford». Excuse me, but who are you?’

‘I’m Bobby Volney. I’ve been your friend for twenty years, and your doctor for fifteen years. Elwyn, try to remember.’

‘You say you’re a doctor,’ I said. ‘How can I get better? Does amnesia go slowly or suddenly?’

‘Sometimes slowly. Sometimes suddenly.’

‘Will you help me, Doctor Volney?’ I asked.

‘Old friend,’ he said, ‘I’ll do everything possible.’

‘Very well. And if you’re my doctor, you can’t tell anybody what I say.’

‘Of course not,’ Doctor Volney answered.

I stood up. There were some white roses on the table. I went over to the table, picked up the roses and threw them far out of the window. Then I sat down again.

‘I think it will be best, Bobby,’ I said, ‘to get better suddenly. I’m a little tired of it all now. Go and bring my wife Marian in now. But, oh, Doctor,’ I said with a happy smile. ‘Oh, my good old friend — it was wonderful!’

Lost Love

by Jan Carew

These things happened to me nearly ten years ago. I lived in a city, but the city was hot in summer. I wanted to see the country. I wanted to walk in the woods and see green trees.

I had a little red car and I had a map, too. I drove all night out into the country. I was happy in my car. We had a very good summer that year. The country was very pretty in the early morning. The sun was hot, and the sky was blue. I heard the birds in the trees.

And then my car stopped suddenly.

‘What’s wrong?’ I thought. ‘Oh dear, I haven’t got any petrol. Now I’ll have to walk. I’ll have to find a town and buy some petrol. But where am I?’

I looked at the map. I wasn’t near a town. I was lost in the country.

And then I saw the girl. She walked down the road, with flowers in her hand. She wore a long dress, and her hair was long, too. It was long and black, and it shone in the sun. She was very pretty. I wanted to speak to her, so I got out of the car.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’m lost. Where am I?’

She looked afraid, so I spoke quietly.

‘I haven’t got any petrol,’ I said. ‘Where can I find some?’

Her blue eyes looked at me, and she smiled.

‘She’s a very pretty girl!’ I thought.

‘I do not know,’ she said. ‘Come with me to the village. Perhaps we can help you.’

I went with her happily, and we walked a long way.

‘There isn’t a village on the map,’ I thought. ‘Perhaps it’s a very small village.’

There was a village, and it was old and pretty. The houses were black and white and very small. There were a lot of animals. The girl stopped at a house and smiled at me. ‘Come in, please,’ she said.

I went in. The house was very clean, but it was strange, too. There was a fire and some food above it. I felt hungry then.

‘That’s strange,’ I thought. ‘They cook their food over a wood fire! Perhaps they have no money.’

I met her father and mother, and I liked them. They were nice people, but their clothes were strange.

‘Sit down,’ said the old man. ‘Are you thirsty after your walk?’

He gave me a drink, and I said, ‘Thank you.’ But the drink was strange, too. It was dark brown and very strong. I didn’t understand. But I was happy there.

I asked about petrol, but the old man didn’t understand.

‘Petrol?’ he asked. ‘What is that?’

‘This is strange,’ I thought. Then I asked, ‘Do you walk everywhere?’

The old man smiled. ‘Oh, no, we use horses,’ he said.

‘Horses!’ I thought. ‘Horses are very slow. Why don’t they have cars?’

But I didn’t say that to the old man.

I felt happy there. I stayed all day, and I ate dinner with them that evening. Then the girl and I went out into the garden. The girl’s name was Mary.

‘This is nice,’ she said. ‘We like having visitors. We do not see many people here.’

We spoke happily. She was very beautiful. But after a time, she began to talk quietly, and her face was sad.

‘I cannot tell you,’ she said. ‘You are only a visitor here. We have to say goodbye tonight. You have to go now.’

I didn’t understand. I loved her. I knew that. And I wanted to help her. Why did 1 have to go? But Mary said again in a sad voice, ‘You have to go. It is dangerous here.’

So I said, ‘I’ll go to the next town and find some petrol. Then I’ll come back.’

She didn’t speak.

‘I love you, Mary,’ I said. ‘And I’ll come back to you. You won’t stop me.’

She said goodbye to me at the door. Her face was very sad, and I was sad, too. I didn’t want to go.

It was midnight. The night was very dark, but I walked and walked. I was very tired when I saw the lights of a town. I found some petrol, and then I asked the name of the village. But the man at the garage gave me a strange look.

‘What village?’ he asked.

I told him about the village. I told him about the old houses and the people with strange clothes.

Again he gave me a strange look. He thought, and then he said, ‘There was a village there, but it isn’t there now. There are stories about it — strange stories.’

‘What do people say about it?’ I asked.

He didn’t want to tell me, but then he said, ‘There was a big fire in the village. Everybody died. There aren’t any people or houses there now.’

‘How did it happen?’ I asked. ‘And why?’

‘Oliver Cromwell killed them; he said. ‘He was angry with the villagers because they helped the king in the war.’

‘This isn’t right,’ I thought. ‘That war happened 350 years ago!’

Then I remembered the strange clothes, the long hair, the food over the fire, and the old houses. And I remembered, too, about the horses.

‘But I don’t understand,’ I cried. ‘I saw the people and the village. I spoke to some people there!’

The man looked quickly at me, and then he spoke.

‘There’s an interesting story about the village. For one day every ten years, it lives again – but only for one day. Then it goes away again for another ten years. On that one day, you can find the village. But you have to leave before morning, or you will never leave.

‘Can this be right?’ I thought. Perhaps it was. Mary said, ‘You have to go.’ She loved me, but she said, «We have to say goodbye.’ She was afraid for me. ‘Now I understand,’ I thought.

I went back to the village, but it wasn’t there. I looked again and again, but I couldn’t find it. I saw only flowers and trees. I heard only the sound of the birds and the wind. I was very sad. I sat down on the ground and cried.

I will never forget that day. I remember Mary, and I will always love her.

Now, I only have to wait two months. The village will come back again. On the right day, I will go back. I will find her again, my love with the long, black hair. And this time, I will not leave before morning. I will stay with her.

A Dog and Three Dollars

by Mark Twain

I have always believed that a man must be honest. «Never ask for money you have not earned», I always said.

Now I shall tell you a story which will show you how honest I have always been all my life.

A few days ago at my friend’s house I met General Miles. General Miles was a nice man and we became great friends very quickly.

«Did you live in Washington in 1867?» the general asked me.

«Yes, I did,» I answered.

«How could it happen that we did not meet then?» said General Miles.

«General», said I. «We could not meet then. You forget that you were already a great general then, and I was a poor young writer whom nobody knew and whose books nobody read. You do not remember me, I thought, but we met once in Washington at that time.»

I remember it very well. I was poor then and very often I did not have money even for my bread. I had a friend. He was a poor writer too. We lived together. We did everything together: worked, read books, went for walks together. And when we were hungry, we were both hungry. Once we were in need of three dollars. I don’t remember why we needed these three dollars so much, but I remember well that we had to have the money by the evening.

«We must get these three dollars,» said my friend. «I shall try to get the money, but you must also try.»

I went out of the house, but I did not know where to go and how to get the three dollars. For an hour I was walking along the streets of Washington and was very tired. At last I came to a big hotel. «I shall go in and have a rest,» I thought.

I went into the hall of the hotel and sat down on a sofa. I was sitting there when a beautiful small dog ran into the hall. It was looking for somebody. The dog was nice and I had nothing to do, so I called it and began to play with it.

I was playing with the dog, when a man came into the hall. He wore a beautiful uniform and I knew at once that he was General Miles. I knew him by his pictures in the newspapers. «What a beautiful dog!» said he. «Is it your dog?»

I did not have time to answer him when he said, «Do you want to sell it?»

«Three dollars», I answered at once.

«Three dollars?» he asked. «But that is very little. I can give you fifty dollars for it.»

«No, no. I only want three dollars.»

«Well, it is your dog. If you want three dollars for it, I shall be glad to buy your dog.»

General Miles paid me three dollars, took the dog and went up to his room.

Ten minutes later an old man came into the hall. He looked round the hall. I could see that he was looking for something.

«Are you looking for a dog, sir?» I asked.

«Oh, yes! Have you seen it?» said the man.

«Your dog was here a few minutes ago and I saw how it went away with a man,» I said. «If you want, I shall try to find it for you.»

The man was very happy and asked me to help him.

«I shall be glad to help you, but it will take some of my time and…»

«I am ready to pay you for your time,» cried the man. «How much do you want for it?»

«Three dollars,» answered I.

«Three dollars?» said the man. «But it is a very good dog. I shall pay you ten dollars if you find it for me.»

«No sir, I want three dollars and not a dollar more,» said I.

Then I went up to General Miles’s room. The General was playing with his new dog.» I came here to take the dog back», said I.

«But it is not your dog now — I have bought it. I have paid you three dollars for it,» said the General.

«I shall give you back your three dollars, but I must take the dog back», answered I. «But you have sold it to me, it is my dog now.»

«I could not sell it to you, sir, because it was not my dog.»

«Still you have sold it to me for three dollars.» «How could I sell it to you when it was not my dog? You asked me how much I wanted for the dog, and I said that I wanted three dollars. But I never told you that it was my dog.»

General Miles was very angry now.

«Give me back my three dollars and take the dog,» he shouted. When I brought the dog back to its master, he was very happy and paid me three dollars with joy. I was happy too because I had the money, and I felt I earned it.

Now you can see why I say that honesty is the best policy and that a man must never take anything that he has not earned.

The Shoebox

A man and woman had been married for more than 60 years. They had shared everything. They had talked about everything. They had kept no secrets from each other except that the little: old woman had a shoebox in the top of her closet that she had cautioned her husband never to open or ask her about.

For all of these years, he had never thought about the box, but one day the little old woman got very sick and the doctor said she would not recover.

In trying to sort out their affairs, the little old man took down the shoebox and took it to his wife’s bedside. She agreed that it was time that he should know what was in the box. When he opened it, he found two knitted dolls and a stack of money totaling $95,000.

He asked her about the contents.

‘When we were to be married,’ she said, ‘ my grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and knit a doll.’

The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two precious dolls were in the box. She had only been angry with him two times in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with happiness.

‘Honey,’ he said, ‘that explains the dolls, but what about all of this money?

Where did it come from?’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘that’s the money I made from selling the dolls.’

Mistaken Identity

by Mark Twain

Years ago I arrived one day at Salamanca, New York, where I was to change trains and take the sleeper. There were crowds of people on the platform, and they were all trying to get into the long sleeper train which was already packed. I asked the young man in the booking-office if I could have a sleeping-berth and he answered: «No.» I went off and asked another local official if I could have some poor little corner somewhere in a sleeping-car, but he interrupted me angrily saying, «No, you can’t, every corner is full. Now, don’t bother me any more,» and he turned his back and walked off. I felt so hurt that I said to my companion, «If these people knew who I was, they…»1 But my companion stopped me there,— «Don’t talk such nonsense, we’ll have to put up with this,» he said, «If they knew who you were, do you think it would help you to get a vacant seat1 in a train which has no vacant seats in it?»
This did not improve my condition at all, but just then I noticed that the porter of a sleeping-car had his eye on me. I saw the expression of his face suddenly change. He whispered to the uniformed conductor, pointing to me, and I realized I was being talked about. Then the conductor came forward, his face all politeness.
«Can I be of any service to you?» he asked. «Do you want a place in a sleeping-car?»
«Yes,» I said, «I’ll be grateful to you if you can give me a place, anything will do.»
«We have nothing left except the big family compartment,» he continued, «with two berths and a couple of armchairs in it, but it is entirely at your disposal. Here, Tom, take these suitcases aboard!»
Then he touched his hat, and we moved along.3 I was eager to say a few words to my companion, but I changed my mind. The porter made us comfortable in the compartment, and then said, with many bows and smiles:
«Now, is there anything you want, sir? Because you can have just anything you want.»
«Can I have some hot water?» I asked.
«Yes, sir, I’ll get it myself.»
«Good! Now, that lamp is hung too high above the berth. Can I have a better lamp fixed just at the head of my bed below the luggage rack, so that I can read comfortably?»
«Yes, sir. The lamp you want is just being fixed in the next compartment. I’ll get it from there and fix it here. It’ll burn all night. Yes, sir, you can ask for anything you want, the whole railroad will be turned inside out to please you.» And he disappeared.
I smiled at my companion, and said:
«Well, what do you say now? Didn’t their attitude change the moment they understood I was Mark Twain? You see the result, don’t you?» My companion did not answer. So I added, «Don’t you like the way you are being served? And all for the same fare.»
As I was saying this, the porter’s smiling face appeared in the doorway and this speech followed:
«Oh, sir, I recognized you the minute I set my eyes on you. I told the conductor so.»
«Is that so, my boy?» I said handing him a good tip. «Who am I?»
«Mr McCleilan, Mayor of New York», he said and disappeared again.

The Doll

by Jan Carew

Mr Brown lived near the centre of town, but his small house had a garden. Mr Brown liked his garden very much. It had a lot of flowers and they were pretty in summer — red, blue and yellow. Mr Brown liked sitting there in the evenings and at weekends.

But he had to work, too. Mr Brown worked in an office. It wasn’t near his house, so he often went to work on the bus. He came home on the bus, too.

Mr Brown was a lonely man. He didn’t have many friends, and he didn’t talk to many people. And so he was sad and often bored.

One very hot day, Mr Brown walked home. He didn’t want to go on the bus that day. He wanted a walk in the warm sun. In one street there was a small shop. Mr Brown looked in the window.

There were very old things in the window, and Mr Brown liked old things. He went into the shop.

‘Good afternoon,’ said the man in the shop.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Can I look round the shop?’

‘Please do.’

Mr Brown looked at the things in the shop. He saw an old doll with a sad face. It wasn’t a pretty face, but Mr Brown liked it. The doll was a little old man with white hair and black clothes.

Mr Brown thought, ‘Perhaps the doll is lonely, too.’

He asked, ‘How much do you want for this old doll?’

The man thought. ‘Oh, that. Three pounds,’ he said.

Mr Brown wanted the doll. Why? He didn’t know. But he wanted it. Three pounds was a lot of money for an old doll, but Mr Brown paid it. He went out with the doll in his hand.

He looked at its face. ‘Is it smiling?’ he wondered. ‘No,’ he thought. ‘It’s only a doll.’ He said to it, ‘I’m going to take you home,’

The doll didn’t answer – it was only a doll. So why did Mr Brown speak to it? Because he was lonely. He put it in his case with his papers from the office.

Mr Brown was tired now, so he got on the bus. The man came for Mr Brown’s money and Mr Brown bought a ticket.

Suddenly, somebody on the bus spoke. ‘Go away!’ said the person. ‘You stupid man. Go away!’

Everybody on the bus looked at Mr Brown. ‘Did he say that?’ they wondered.

The ticket man was angry with Mr Brown. ‘Why did he say that?’ he wondered. He gave Mr Brown a ticket and went away. He didn’t like Mr Brown.

When Mr Brown got home, he was very tired. ‘Who spoke on the bus?’ he wondered. He didn’t know. He took the doll out of his case and looked at it.

It was only a doll. It wasn’t very pretty. It was quite ugly but it had a smile on its face. ‘That’s strange,’ thought Mr Brown. He put the doll on the table and had his dinner.

Mr Brown wasn’t very hungry, so he only ate some bread and butter. Then he went to bed and slept. He forgot the doll. It was on the table.

Morning came, and the sun shone into the room. Mr Brown opened his eyes. There was something on his bed. ‘What is it?’ he wondered.

He looked, and he saw the doll. ‘But I left it on the table. It can’t walk — it’s only a doll,’ Mr Brown didn’t understand it. It was very strange.

Mr Brown went to the front door. ‘Are there any letters for me?’ he wondered.

Yes, there were three with his name and address. But what was this? The letters were open! Who opened them? Mr Brown didn’t know.

Mr Brown ate his breakfast. Then he went to the bus stop and waited. His bus came and stopped for him. Mr Brown got on with his case and sat down.

There were a lot of people on the bus, and one old woman couldn’t sit down. Her face was tired, and Mr Brown was a kind man. He stood up for her, and she sat down.

Then suddenly, somebody spoke. ‘You stupid old thing!’

The woman turned and looked at Mr Brown. She was very angry. Mr Brown’s face went red. Then he remembered the doll.

He got off the bus. He couldn’t understand it. ‘That doll’s at home,’ he thought. ‘Or is it?’

Mr Brown opened his case and looked inside. The doll was there, with a big smile on its ugly face!

He put the doll down on the street and left it there. Then he went to work. ‘That’s the end of that doll,’ he thought. ‘Good!’

Mr Brown worked well all day. After work, he walked to the bus stop. But what was that? The doll was at the bus stop! Mr Brown saw the white hair and the black clothes, and he saw the smile, too. ‘What’s happening?’ he wondered. ‘It’s waiting for me! It isn’t only a doll. But what is it?’

He turned and ran away from the bus stop. Then he walked home. He had to walk three kilometres to his house. He was very tired.

Mr Brown sat down in a chair and went to sleep. He slept for an hour.

Suddenly, there was a big noise in another room – CRASH! SMASH! Mr Brown opened his eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ he wondered. He went into the other room.

The doll was there again. It sat on the table and looked at him. Mr Brown’s cups and plates were all on the floor.

‘It isn’t only a doll,’ Mr Brown thought. ‘And it isn’t a friend. This is difficult. What can I do?’

He took the doll into the garden and buried it in the ground.

‘That really is the end of you,’ said Mr Brown. ‘You’re under the ground now. You won’t get out of there.’

Next day, Mr Brown went to work on the bus. He didn’t have the doll now and nobody spoke. He worked hard, and he was happy.

Mr Brown came home again that night. He watched television. ‘This is good,’ he thought.

At eleven o’clock he went to bed. The house was dark and quiet.

But an hour later, there was a sudden noise in the night. Mr Brown sat up in bed. He was cold and afraid. ‘What was that noise?’ he wondered.

The noise was at the back door. Mr Brown was afraid, but he opened the door. It was the doll again!

It was dirty from the ground, but it looked at Mr Brown and smiled. It was a cold smile, and Mr Brown was very afraid.

He looked at the doll and said, ‘Go away! Please! Go away!’

The doll didn’t speak – it only smiled again. Mr Brown was very angry now. He took the doll into the garden again. He found some wood, and he made a big fire. He lit the fire. Then he put the doll on the top.

‘Now die!’ said Mr Brown. ‘It’s different this time. This will be the end of you.’ And Mr Brown smiled. The fire was hot and red.

The fire got bigger – and bigger. Suddenly there was a loud cry, and people ran out of their houses. ‘What’s wrong?’ they shouted.

‘There’s a big fire in Mr Brown’s garden,’ somebody said. ‘Look!’

And there was a big fire.

The people looked round the house and garden. They couldn’t find Mr Brown. But on the ground near the fire, there was a doll with white hair and black clothes. It wasn’t a pretty doll. And there was a smile on its face.

The Charm

by Jan Carew

‘He’s a brave man,’ people say about me. ‘He’s never afraid.’

They are wrong. I wasn’t always a brave man, and at times I was afraid — very afraid.

I am an important man now. I have an important job. People know me and like me. They don’t know that I wasn’t always brave. I will tell you the story.

I was a very shy young man. I didn’t like talking to other young men; I was afraid. ‘They’ll laugh at me,’ I thought.

Women were worse. I never spoke to them; I was always afraid of them.

I try to help shy people now. I never laugh at them, because I remember that time. I was very unhappy then.

Then there was a war between my country and another country. I had to be a soldier. Me! I was always afraid, but I had to be a soldier! And it was very dangerous.

I was afraid. The other soldiers didn’t talk about it, but they knew. ‘They’re laughing at me,’ I thought. ‘They aren’t afraid.’ I was wrong, but I didn’t know that. I felt very bad.

One day, I was in the town. I had two days holiday, away from the other soldiers. I wasn’t with friends; I didn’t have any friends. I was very unhappy. I walked slowly past some shops.

An old man stood by the road. There weren’t many cars on it.

‘Why doesn’t he walk across the road?’ I thought. ‘Is he afraid?’

I went near him, and then I saw his eyes. ‘Oh,’ I thought. ‘Now I know. He can’t see! He wants to go across, but he can’t go without help.’

Other people walked quickly past him. They had to go to work, or to their homes. They didn’t help him; they didn’t have time.

But I had time — a lot of time. ‘I’m not doing anything,’ I thought. ‘Why can’t I help him? I won’t be afraid of him.’

I took the old man’s arm, and I helped him across the road.

‘Thank you!’ he said. His hand felt my coat. ‘This is a soldier’s coat,’ he said. ‘Are you a soldier?’

‘Yes.’

Perhaps I said it in a sad voice. The old man put a hand in his jacket. He took something out and gave it to me.

‘Take this,’ he said. ‘It will help you. Wear it, and you’ll be all right. Nothing bad will happen to you.’

He walked away, and I looked at the thing in my hand. It was a small charm — pretty, but strange.

‘It’s a girl’s thing,’ I thought, and I put it in my coat.

The next day we went to war. I was afraid — very afraid — but I remembered the charm in my coat. ‘Perhaps the charm will help me,’ I thought, so I took it with me.

Suddenly I wasn’t afraid. Why? I didn’t know. Was it the charm?

It was bad that day. Men died all round me. ‘Perhaps I’ll die next,’ I thought. But I wasn’t afraid!

Our leader was a brave man. He was in front of us, and we followed him. Suddenly he was down. He fell to the ground and didn’t move. The other soldiers stopped. They were afraid.

I thought, ‘Perhaps our leader isn’t dead. I’ll go and see.’

I went to him. The fighting was worse now, but I wasn’t afraid. ‘I’ve got the charm with me,’ I thought. I’ll be all right.’

I brought our leader back to a better place, and then I looked at him. He was very white and ill, but he wasn’t dead. His eyes opened, and he smiled at me.

He spoke — not easily, but I heard him. ‘Go in front!’ he said. ‘The men will follow you.’

The men followed me, and we fought well that day.

After that, I was fine. Later, I was a leader, too. The men were happy and followed me. People didn’t laugh at me then.

‘But is it right?’ I thought, ‘I’m not very brave. It’s only the charm.’

I didn’t tell people about the charm. I had friends for the first time, and I was happy.

One day we had to take an important bridge. There were a lot of soldiers on it, and they had big guns. The country was open, without any trees. It was very dangerous, and my men were afraid.

‘We’re going to die,’ they said.

‘Listen,’ I told them.’I’ll go first, and we’ll run very quickly to the bridge. Don’t be afraid. They can’t kill us all. Follow me, and we’ll take that bridge.’

I put my hand in my coat. But the charm wasn’t there!

‘What am I going to do?’ I thought.’I can’t be brave without the charm.’

I looked at the faces of my men. They weren’t afraid now.

I thought, ‘My words have helped them. They aren’t afraid now. They’re waiting for me. They’ll follow me everywhere. I’m their leader, and I can’t be afraid.’

I shouted: ‘Let’s go!’

We ran. We got to the bridge. We lost some men, but we got there! And we took the bridge!

I will never forget that day. I learnt something then about brave men. Brave men are afraid, too. But that doesn’t stop them.

I will also remember that old man with the charm. ‘It will help you,’ he said.

He was right. I learnt to be brave without it.

I was a young man then, and now I am old.

I am a brave man, people think.

And, yes — they are right. I am.

A Magic Ring

Once upon a time there lived a young farmer. He worked very hard but was very poor. One day when he was far from home in the forest, an old woman looking like a peasant came up to him and said, «I know you work very hard, and all for nothing. I will give you a magic ring! It will make you rich, and your work won’t be in vain. When you turn the ring on your finger and say what you wish to have, you’ll have it at once! But there is only one wish in the ring, so think carefully before you wish.»
The astonished farmer took the ring given to him by the peasant woman, and went home. In evening he came to a big city. There he went to a merchant and showed him the magic ring. When the merchant heard the astonishing story, he thought of a plan. He invited the farmer to stay in his house for the night. At night he came up to the sleeping peasant, carefully took the ring off the man’s finger, and put on another ring, which looked exactly like the one he had taken off.
In the morning when the farmer had gone away, the merchant ran into his shop, shut the door, and said while turning the ring on his finger, «I wish to have a hundred thousand pieces of gold.» And down they came, on his head, shoulders, and arms, like a rain of gold! The frightened merchant tried to get out of the shop, but in vain. In a few minutes he was dead.
When the farmer returned home, he showed the ring to his wife. «Take a look at this ring,» he said. «It’s a magic ring! It will make us happy.”
The astonished woman could hardly say a word «Let’s try. Maybe the ring will bring us more land,» she said at last.
“We must be careful about our wish. Don’t forget there’s only one thing that we may ask for,» he explained. «Let’s better work hard for another year, and we’ll have more land.”
So they worked as hard as they could and got enough money to buy the land they wished to have. «What happy people we are!» said the farmer.
“I don’t understand you,» answered his wife angrily. «There’s nothing in the world that we can’t have, and still we spend days and nights working as hard as before, because you don’t want to use your magic ring!”
Thirty, then forty years had gone by. The farmer and his wife had grown old. Their hair became as white as snow. They were happy and had everything they wanted. Their ring was still there. Although it was not a magic ring, it had made them happy. For you see, my dear friends, a poor thing in good hands is better than a fine thing in bad hands.

The Stonecutter

Once upon a time there was a stone cutter. The stone cutter lived in a land where a life of privilege meant being powerful. Looking at his life he decided that he was unsatisfied with the way things were and so he set out to become the most powerful thing in the land.

Looking around his land he wondered to himself what is it to be powerful. Looking up he saw the Sun shining down on all the land. «The Sun must be the most powerful thing that there is, for it shines down on all things, and all things grow from it’s touch.» So he became the Sun.

Days later, as he shone his power down on the inhabitants of the land, there came a cloud which passed beneath him obstructing his brilliance. Frustrated he realized that the Sun was not the most powerful thing in the land, if a simple cloud could interrupt his greatness. So he became a cloud, in fact, he became the most powerful storm that the world had ever seen.

And so he blew his rain and lightning, and resounded with thunder all over the land, demonstrating that he was the most powerful. Until one day he came across a boulder.

Down and down he poured and his thunder roared, lightning flashed and filled the sky, striking the ground near the boulder. His winds blew and blew and blew, and yet, despite all his efforts, he could not budge the boulder.

Frustrated again, he realized that the storm was not the most powerful thing in the land, rather it must be the boulder. So he became the boulder.

For days he sat, unmovable, and impassive, demonstrating his power, until one day, a stone cutter came and chiseled him to bits.

The moral of the story is: sometimes the most important thing to remember is that you have everything you need already, right inside of you. Power is an illusion.