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1、unit 1The PermitI think the building must have been used as a farmers winter store；Ifound piles of forgotten dried chestnuts and grain in rotting barrels.Itried the chestnuts but they tasted sour and sharp,and some of them hadsmall teeth-marks in their dark,peeling skins.Paulo said he would bringme
2、food,but that was three days ago.Yesterday,I heard a car engine getting closer,and climbed up to hidein the rafters of the patched roof,but the Guardia Civil men just looked inquickly through the smashed windows and broken doors before they left.I clung to the dusty wooden rafter,feeling it creak an
3、d bend under myweight,and tried to make no noise.My arms and legs grew numb,thenbegan to tremble,and I longed to move,but I waited until I heard thepolicemen drive off.I know that Paulo would not have told them about me.And I know that they will return.When we began the final part of ourjourney,we w
4、ere warned that the police patrol the land around hereregularly.They are always searching for us,or others like us；the coastof Morocco and the Presidio of Ceuta are only ten miles away across theStraits.That is how I got here：squeezed in with fifteen other men in ashallow boat meant for eight,with t
5、he cold waves reaching over the sidesand the night deep and black as a tomb.I have never been more scared.Iprayed all the way across,and thought about my family.I told myself,over and over,that I was doing it for them.That trip took almost all of mymoney.All of the money I had saved back home in Ecu
6、ador,all of themoney I had worked for on the way.The boatmen left us on a beach in themiddle of the night.We lost sight of them but we could still hear theirsmall engine across the waves.Six of us started walking inland but theothers waited for the contact,the friends of the boatmen,as they hadbeen
7、told,and met the Guardia Civil instead.We were lucky we met Paulo.We found the town and waited until thefirst bar opened；I went in alone while the others hid in the orchardnearby.When I asked for coffee,the young barman looked at me andnodded.He made the coffee,then disappeared into the back room.Co
8、ldand without strength,I wrapped my hands around the warm cup,notcaring whether the barman had called the police,not caring about thenext moment,just about the present.But the man had called Paulo,who came and helped us.Paulo isalways smiling,always happy.He is from Seville,a busy city of manypeople
9、,and he knows many people.Paulo found work for us.I made goodmoney on the farms.I picked cabbages,and cauliflowers,and artichokesand broccoli.I picked great round yellow squashes that smelled of richperfume when you broke them.The farmers hired us by the day,andwere content.The local people will not
10、 work for the wages we are paid.But there were many farms,and many crops to be picked.We werewelcomed.I shared a small clean house in the town with seven other workers.We had journeyed from Ecuador,Colombia,Venezuela,even Argentina.Paulo found the house for us-he knew the landlord and arranged a goo
11、dprice.We lived well,with enough food and sometimes wine.I earnedmore in a week than I could in three months back home,if there had beenwork to do there.I sent most of the money that was left to my wife andparents,and wrote many letters to them.Then the government changedthe rules,so that we needed
12、work permits.I queued with hundreds of other workers outside the Ayuntamiento,waiting for the application forms.We sat on the stone benches beneaththe trees in the Plala and read the forms.Some of the other workers arefrom small villages and towns,and cannot read as well as I can,so Iexplained to th
13、em that the government wanted our birth certificates,driving licences,passports and many other documents.Many of theworkers had perhaps one or two of these documents,but most had none.I helped the others complete the forms and we gave them to the clerk inthe Ayuntamiento.He looked at our documents,s
14、tamped the forms manytimes and told us that they would be sent to Madrid,and our permitswould be returned in two or three months.If the forms were approved.We had to wait.Even Paulo and his friends could not help us.The first month was not too bad,as most of the farmers continued touse us；their crop
15、s were rich and heavy,waiting to be picked.Then somemen from Madrid visited all of the farms,and maybe half of the farmersstopped using us.The farmers told us that they were sorry,and webelieved them.So the second month was worse：few of the farmers would use us,and those that did paid very poor wage
16、s.We shared what we had,and ateonce a day：rice,pasta,bread,cheap food that would fill our stomachs.We began to stare at each other,and wonder which of us would find work.There were fights in the morning,between different groups of workers,when the farms1 foremen came to the Pla?a to choose who would
17、 workthat day.But still we had some hope.We lost the house in the third month,as we had no money for rent.We were able to get some food from the charity kitchens around the town,and the church,but we found always a long queue and very little food.Wetook our bags and blankets and slept in the fields.
18、Then the weatherbecame cold and we slept where we could,huddled together,in oldforgotten buildings and alleys.Sometimes I dreamed of my family and myhome,and when I awoke I wished the dream could continue.The people of the town stared at us from the sides of their eyes asthey passed us.They clenched
19、 their hands and muttered,and some ofthem spat on the pavement.A few of us were attacked and beaten in thedark,and driven from the parks and streets.All of the time,the Policetold us to move on,move on.It is the end of the third month when it happens.The farmers hire coaches and send them into the P
20、la?a Colom.Fromfour oclock in the morning we wait in shuffling silence,hands pusheddeep into pockets,our hats pulled down tight against the cold and thewatching policemen.By the time the coaches arrive there are hundreds of workerswaiting in the darkness.We press forward as the doors open.Theforemen
21、 stand on the bottom steps of the coaches and ask,Who has thepermit?1*The men with permits hold them up and are allowed onto thecoaches.Some of the workers are from the countries in Europe and do no needpermits,so they are allowed on when they show their passports.I gofrom coach to coach until I see
22、 a group of Chileans,who I know have nopermits,climb aboard a waiting coach.The leader of their group speaksfirst with the foreman and shakes his hand,then they are taken on.I standbefore the foreman.“You have the permit?n he asks me.He is broad and stout,and fillsthe doorway of the coach.His fat ne
23、ck spills from the upturned collar ofhis leather jacket.His hair is shaven close to his head.I explain to himthat my application was rejected but I have tried again.Come back when you have a permit,n he tells me.He frowns as hepulls on his cigarette and looks down the avenue to where the policemenar
24、e watching the coaches.I explain to him that that I am a hard worker,that I have eaten only once in three days,that I am desperate to work andsend money to my family.He looks at the policemen,who have started walking along thepavement beside the coaches,and he scowls at me and says,Go toMadrid and t
25、ell them.”The Chileans are laughing and pointing at me through the coachwindows.The foreman flicks his half-finished cigarette into the gutter by myfoot and I punch him in the stomach.He folds over with a small cry.The policemen look at us and I begin to run,away from the Pla?a,away from the coaches
26、,into the dark side streets and avenues.I hearloud running steps close behind me,and the roar of car engines.Theshuttered buildings reflect the blue lights.I slide my body into the shadows of a shops back door,behind twotall metal bins that stink of rotting meat and urine.I gasp,and each breathburns
27、.My heart hammers against my chest.I wait for a long time until the sounds of the cars and people fade.Iwalk slowly to the end of the alley and look out,but the streets areempty.I have run almost to the river；I can hear it rushing in the darknessbeneath me.My right hand feels cold.I look down,in the
28、 yellow light of a streetlamp,and see my hand still clenched into a fist.It looks like the hand ofanother person,not part of me.A short blade,no longer than my thumb,sticks out from the fist.The blade,my fist,and my sleeve are all staineddark red.Paulo gave me the knife when I picked artichokes on t
29、he farms.Theshort thick blade is very sharp,made for slicing through the plants*thickstalks.I scrambled down to the banks of the river and threw the knife intothe night.I heard it splash far away.The river touched my feet.I reacheddown and washed my sleeve and hand,although the water was so cold,lik
30、e ice,that my hand became numb.Then I walked back up to the street.I found some of the other workers hiding in the deserted warehousewe had found.One of them went to find Paulo,who came and told meabout the old farm buildings near to the coast road.Paulo was not smiling.I waited until darkness befor
31、e I followed the road out of the town,throwing myself into the ditch if I heard a car approaching.The weather has been clear and I have seen the coast of Moroccoevery day.Across the blue sea flecked with sun,the land is a strip of darkbrown and grey,and looks close enough for me to touch.Maybe I cou
32、ldfind an old tractor tyre tube around the farm and float across the Straits?Or maybe I could walk along the shore and steal a boat?I do not want to become a thief.I am an honest man who wants onlyto work and support his family.But what can I do?I will wait here for Paulo and listen to him.He will t
33、ell me what to dofor the best.I know that he will help me.unit2Timeless photographsI love to look at old photographs in the album（影 集）.My father had a bigbox of pictures in the cabinet and some of the pictures go way back to the1890*8.The women dressed with such dignity and had style back then.My Da
34、d would linger around his precious box of photographs and tell mestories about each photo and every one.It was one of those moments thatyou could not really appreciate when you were young.It is only after hewas long gone that I can look back and say thanks for taking the time toshow me a tiny window
35、 into the world of people who really did know howto live.I found a few of my aunts in their fashionable outfits by an old Cadillacpretending to drink whisky.Many of the photographs were taken inConey Island and Capecold.I especially love the photographs of thebathing beauties and their swimsuits.The
36、 suits are quite modest bytodays standards but the young women didnt seem to care.They werestaying at such places as Newport Beach and Cape Cod having the time oftheir lives running in and out of the tide.One photograph had a vendor（小 贩）selling dogs（热 狗）by a coaster（轮 船）at Coney Island-a youngerpict
37、ure of my mother with here brown hair and blue eyes eager to go onboard with my Dad.He looked a bit frightened in the picture as I couldsee he was holding on tightly to the bar to the coaster,his black hairflying in the breeze.I smile when I look at that picture because it is hardto imagine anyones
38、Dad ever being a kid.He looked like he was having agreat time probably because he was with my mother.She is smiling in thepicture and wearing a white blouse（女 衬 衫）.blue shorts and tennis shoes.She is quite a looker（美 女）,1 can see why my Dad liked her so much.I dig down to the bottom of the box and s
39、ee two large photographs.One isdated 1900 and the other one is dated 1997-a recent picture that lookssimilar to the older one.The older picture looks familiar because it istaken in the same place-the summer home.I will describe the older photograph as very interesting in the style ofdress and exactl
40、y where the people are sitting.They are posed outsidethe cottage by a small tree that is still there today.A woman is sitting ina rocking chair,with here black hair pulled up in a bun（脑 后 的 女 髻）.She isnot smiling but looking away from the camera and wearing a long blackdress.Another woman is wearing
41、 a white blouse with a necktie（领 结）anda long black skirt.Her hair is also long and blonder（金 黄 色 的）but pulledback in a bun.There are two men on either side of a wooden table.Bothmen appear older and are dressed in hats and suits and ties,trousers andSunday shoes.Neither is smiling.（I have the distin
42、ct feeling that thewomen are their wives and it is Sunday.）they probably are hungry fortheir roast beef and potatoes,but that is just my guess.There is a youngboy,probably about 13 in the photograph,He is wearing a white blouse,black shorts,long black socks and tan sports shoes.He is petting a black
43、dog that is sitting on top of the round wooden table.The boy is bendingdown and he isnt smiling either.It must have been hot outside and heprobably wants to go for a swim with the dog.The water is just belowthem and he is probably wondering why he has to take this stupid pictureall dressed up on a S
44、unday.I notice that the color of my cabin was quite different in 1900 and it wasmuch smaller.The color was green,with white railings（栏 杆）around theporch and steps leading down to the patio（院 子）.That is where thepicture of this Smart Family was taken.The family appears rather stiff inthe photo but I
45、am sure that they had a good laugh after the Sunday dinnerwas served.The second larger photograph is of my own family about 1997.It is alsoin black and white.We didnt wear any older clothes but used our ownclothes.The tree in the background has grown to enormous heights andis still standing.The step
46、s leading down to Mousam Lake have crackedand are in awful need of repair.Believe it or not,we still own the oldwooden table and all of the rocking chairs owned by the Smart Family.Idid a search of the Smart Family and they were originally fromPortsmouth（木 卜 茨 茅 斯）.At least five other families owned
47、 my cottagebefore my father bought it in 1950 for three thousand dollars.Thecottage comes with thirteen acres of land that I still own along with myseven brothers and sisters.It was passed on to me when my mother died.We have formed the Camp Fund to pay the taxes and preserve our legacy.It is a beau
48、tiful cabin on a prime spot on Mousam Lake.I was not herewhen this photo was taken and it hangs in the living-room of the cabin.Many visitors comment on it and think it is quite amazing to have a housefor so long.The history of the house is interesting to view fromphotographs.Around the table are my
49、 brother Bob just wearing a casualshirt and shorts(smiling),Annie wearing a T-Shirt and shorts.Mikewearing a white shirt and long nylon trousers not smiling,Mary,whom Icouldnt tell what she was wearing,my Mom,her white hair and herbeautiful blue eyes and smile,was wearing a peach blouse and slacks,m
50、yDad wasnt alive for this photo,he died in 1986.Lastly in the picture ismy brother John,wearing a white vest,trousers and suspenders.Heslicked(使 光 滑、顺 滑)back his black hair for the photo to appear in theperiod style.He wasnt smiling either.The only difference is that mycottage is painted brown with