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1、Unit 5 Fourteen StepsHal Manwaring1 They say a cat has nine lives,1 and I am inclined to think that possible since I am now living my third life and Im not even a cat. My first life began on a clear, cold day in November 1934, when I arrived as the sixth of eight children of a farming family. My fat
2、her died when I was 15, and we had a hard struggle to make a living. As the children grew up, they married, leaving only one sister and myself to support and care for Mother, who became paralyzed in her last years and died while still in her 60s. My sister married soon after, and I followed her exam
3、ple within the year. 2 This was when I began to enjoy my first life. I was very happy, in excellent health, and quite a good athlete. My wife and I became the parents of two lovely girls. I had a good job in San Jose and a beautiful home up the peninsula in San Carlos. Life was a pleasant dream. The
4、n the dream ended. I became afflicted with a slowly progressive disease of the motor nerves, affecting first my right arm and leg, and then my other side. Thus began my second life 3 In spite of my disease I still drove to and from work each day, with the aid of special equipment installed in my car
5、. And I managed to keep my health and optimism, to a degree, because of 14 steps. 4 Crazy? Not at all. Our home was a split-level affair with 14 steps leading up from the garage to the kitchen door. Those steps were a gauge of life. They were my yardstick, my challenge to continue living. I felt tha
6、t if the day arrived when I was unable to lift one foot up one step and then drag the other painfully after it repeating the process 14 times until, utterly spent, I would be through I could then admit defeat and lie down and die.2 So I kept on working, kept on climbing those steps. And time passed.
7、 The girls went to college and were happily married, and my wife and I were alone in our beautiful home with the 14 steps.5 You might think that here walked a man of courage and strength. Not so. Here hobbled a bitterly disillusioned cripple, a man who held on to his sanity and his wife and his home
8、 and his job because of 14 miserable steps leading up to the back door from his garage.3 As I became older, I became more disillusioned and frustrated.6 Then on a dark night in August, 1971, I began my third life. It was raining when I started home that night; gusty winds and slashing rain beat down
9、 on the car as I drove slowly down one of the less-traveled roads.4 Suddenly the steering wheel jerked in my hands and the car swerved violently to the right. In the same instant I heard the dreaded bang of a blowout. I fought the car to stop on the rain-slick shoulder of the road and sat there as t
10、he enormity of the situation swept over me.5 It was impossible for me to change that tire! Utterly impossible! A thought that a passing motorist might stop was dismissed at once. Why should anyone? I knew I wouldnt! Then I remembered that a short distance up a little side road was a house. I started
11、 the engine and thumped slowly along, keeping well over on the shoulder until I came to the dirt road, where I turned in thankfully. Lighted windows welcomed me to the house and I pulled into the driveway and honked the horn.7 The door opened and a little girl stood there, peering at me. I rolled do
12、wn the window and called out that I had a flat tire and needed someone to change it for me because I had a crutch and couldnt do it myself. She went into the house and a moment later came out bundled in raincoat and hat, followed by a man who called a cheerful greeting. I sat there comfortable and d
13、ry, and felt a bit sorry for the man and the little girl working so hard in the storm. Well, I would pay them for it. The rain seemed to be slackening a bit now, and I rolled down the window all the way to watch. It seemed to me that they were awfully slow and I was beginning to become impatient. I
14、heard the clank of metal from the back of the car and the little girls voice came clearly to me. “Heres the jack-handle, Grandpa.” She was answered by the murmur of the mans lower voice and the slow tilting of the car as it was jacked up.6 There followed a long interval of noises, jolts and low conv
15、ersation from the back of the car, but finally it was done. I felt the car bump as the jack was removed, and I heard the slam of the truck lid, and then they were standing at my car window.8 He was an old man, stooped and frail-looking under his slicker. The little girl was about eight or ten, I jud
16、ged, with a merry face and a wide smile as she looked up at me. He said, “This is a bad night for car trouble, but youre all set now.” “Thanks,” I said. “How much do I owe you?” He shook his head. “Nothing. Cynthia told me you were a cripple on crutches. Glad to be of help. I know youd do the same for me. Theres no charge, friend.” I held out a five-dollar bill. “No! I like to pay my way.” He made no effort to take it and the l
