Một lời chúc nhân dịp Noel Tôi được tặng mẩu chuyện này nhân dịp sinh nhật, theo tôi thì nó giản dị mà ý nghĩa. Mà thôi, khỏi dài dòng nữa, các bạn hãy coi đây là món quà Noel dành cho tất cả mọi người nhé. --------- BA CHÚC CON ĐỦ Tôi chưa bao giờ nghĩ tôi phải mất nhiều thời gian của cuộc đời mình ở các sân bay đến thế. Tôi vừa thích vừa ghét việc đó. Tôi thích được ngắm nhiều người. Nhưng đó cũng là lý do tôi ghét: phải nhìn mọi người ?ochào? và ?otạm biệt?. Nó làm tôi xúc động đến phát mệt. Cho nên, mỗi khi gặp thử thách trong cuộc sống, tôi vẫn thường ra sân bay thành phố nhìn mọi người ?otạm biệt?. Để tôi thấy rằng mình vẫn hạnh phúc khi không phải nói lời chia tay với những người thân yêu. Nhìn mọi người cố níu kéo nhau, khóc, ... tôi cảm thấy mình còn có rất nhiều thứ quí giá. Những gia đình, những người yêu nhau cuối cùng phải xa cách, nhìn họ sải rộng cánh tay để nắm tay nhau, cho đến khi chỉ còn hai đầu ngón tay chạm vào nhau ... đó là những hình ảnh mãi nằm trong tâm trí tôi. Và tôi cũng học được nhiều điều từ những giây phút ?otạm biệt?. Có một lần, tôi nghe loáng thoáng tiếng hai cha con đang bên nhau những giây phút cuối cùng. Họ ôm nhau và người cha nói: ?oBa yêu con, Ba chúc con đủ?. Rồi người con gái đáp: ?oBa à, con cũng yêu ba lắm. Và con cũng chúc ba đủ.? Và cô gái đi, tôi thấy người cha cứ đứng nhìn theo, thấy ông ấy muốn và cần khóc. Tôi lại gần, nhưng rồi không muốn xen vào giây phút riêng tư của ông ấy nên không nói gì. Bỗng ông ấy quay sang chào tôi và: - Đã bao giờ anh nói tạm biệt với một người, và biết rằng mãi mãi không gặp nữa chưa? - Xin lỗi ông cho tôi hỏi, có phải ông vừa ?ovĩnh biệt? với con gái ông không? Tại sao vậy? - Tôi già rồi, mà con tôi sống cách tôi đến nửa vòng Trái đất - người cha nói - Thực tế, tôi biết lần sau con tôi quay về đây có thể tôi đã mất. - Khi tạm biệt con gái ông, tôi nghe ông nói: ?oba chúc con đủ?. Tôi có thể hỏi điều đó nghĩa là gì không? Người cha già mỉm cười: - Đó là lời chúc ?ogia truyền? của gia đình tôi, đã qua nhiều thế hệ rồi ?" Nói đoạn ông dừng lại, ngước nhìn cao như thể cố nhớ lại từng chi tiết, và ông cười tươi hơn ?" khi tôi nói ?oBa chúc con đủ?, tôi muốn chúc con gái tôi có cuộc sống đủ những điều tốt đẹp và duy trì được nó. Rồi ông lẩm nhẩm đọc: ?oBa chúc con đủ ánh mặt trời để giữ cho tâm hồn con trong sáng. Ba chúc con đủ những cơn mưa để biết yêu quí ánh mặt trời. Ba chúc con đủ hạnh phúc để giữ cho tinh thần con luôn sống. Ba chúc con đủ những nỗi đau để biết yêu quí cả những niềm vui nhỏ nhất. Ba chúc con đủ những gì con muốn để con có thể hài lòng. Ba chúc con đủ mất mát để con yêu quí những gì con có. Và ba chúc con đủ lời chào để có thể vượt qua được lời ?otạm biệt? cuối cùng". Ông khóc rồi quay lưng bước
Xin lỗi, tôi gửi nhầm. Lẽ ra bài này phải ở box Văn học, tôi không biết làm thế nào move sang bên kia được. Bác admin giúp với nhé. Thanks
Tôi vừa chuyển bác ạ, cảm ơn bài viết của bác nhé , chúc bác có một Noel vui vẻ Trí Tuệ Việt Nam Online, Tiến lên!
Truyện hay lắm bác Paladin. Chỉ một lời chúc, người cha cũng nói đủ những điều cần nói với đứa con của mình. Và chỉ một câu chuyện mà bác kể cũng đủ để những người khác biết yêu cuộc sống hơn. Chúc các bác Nôen vui vẻ ! Sutumom
Cám ơn bác Paladin nhé. Chắc truyện này của O.Henry nhiều bác đã đọc rồi, nhưng tôi vẫn giới thiệu với các bác nhân dịp Christmas. Truyện này đọc cảm động lắm, hi hic. The Gift of the Magi One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim. There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie." "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade. "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. "Give it to me quick," said Della. Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. "If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?" At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty." The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. "Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you." "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?" Jim looked about the room curiously. "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?" Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. "Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first." White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. "Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on." The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
Hì hì, cũng là một lời chúc nhân dịp Giáng Sinh: LIFE As I was walking down life's highway many years ago I came upon a sign that read Heavens Grocery Store. When I got a little closer the doors swung open wide And when I came to myself I was standing inside. I saw a host of angels. They were standing everywhere One handed me a basket and said "My child, shop with care." Everything a human needed was in that grocery store, And what you could not carry you could come back for more. First I got some Patience. Love was in that same row. Further down was Understanding, you need that everywhere you go. I got a box or two of Wisdom and Faith a bag or two. And Charity, of course I would need some of that, too. I couldn't miss the Holy Ghost, It was all over the place. And then some Strength and Courage to help me run this race. My basket was getting full but I remembered I needed Grace, And then I chose Salvation for Salvation was for free So I tried to get enough of that to do for you and me. Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill, For I thought I had everything to do the Masters will. As I went up the aisle I saw Prayer and put that in, For I knew when I stepped outside I would run into sin. Peace and Joy were plentiful, the last things on the shelf. Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself. Then I said to the angel "Now how much do I owe?" He smiled and said "Just take them everywhere you go." Again I asked "Really now, How much do I owe?" "My child " he said, "God paid your bill a long, long time ago" This poem has been sent to you with love for good luck. It originated in the Netherlands and has been around the world 9 times. The luck has now come to you and you will receive good luck in the mail within six days of receiving this letter providing you send it out to someone else. Do not send money as this message has no price. Do not keep this letter but send it on to someone who needs good luck. Of course good luck is just another way of saying blessings. Send five copies within 90 hours of reading this and see what happens in six days. Xin mùa thu chiếc lá làm thuyền...
Truyện này của O. Henry tôi có đọc rồi, nhưng mà bằng bản tiếng Việt. Lâu rồi nên cũng không nhớ rõ, cảm ơn username nhé. Tôi cũng muốn đọc lại truyện ... gì nhỉ ... hình như là "Cánh cửa màu xanh" hay gần giống như thế, username có thể giúp tôi được không? Bản tiếng Anh càng tốt. Thỉnh thoảng bạn post lên một vài tác phẩm nổi tiếng bằng tiếng Anh (truyện ngắn thôi, mà không post truyện tiếng Pháp thì tốt, hìhì) để mọi người cùng thưởng thức nhé. Đọc bản gốc tiếng Anh này hơi mệt nhưng có nhiều cái hay hay, thưởng thức văn học theo đúng bản gốc mà vẫn cảm nhận được đầy đủ giá trị về cả nội dung và nghệ thuật của nó quả là con đường chông gai. Hì, tôi cũng muốn tập dần để hiểu văn hoá phương Tây kỹ hơn một chút. Mà bác nào có kinh nghiệm đọc truyện tiếng Anh thì chia sẻ chút xíu cho anh em đỡ vất vả. Chứ cứ như tôi đọc Harry Potter thì vèo vèo có khi một ngày một đêm là hết quyển 4 - dày cộp - nhưng cuối cùng cũng chỉ thoả mãn sự tò mò, theo đuổi những tình tiết ly kỳ hấp dẫn mà chẳng nhớ tác giả có sử dụng nghệ thuật gì, trong đầu cũng chẳng còn đọng lại âm hưởng nào cả. Tomorrow never dies
