lunes, 29 de noviembre de 2021

The Strangers That Came to Town - Ambrose Flack

The Strangers That Came to Town by Ambrose Flack

Recursos Educativos en Inglés - Stories in English

Cuentos clásicos en inglés

The Strangers That Came to Town - Ambrose Flack

The first of April came dark and stormy, with silver whips of lightning cracking open the lowering clouds that seemed to skim the treetops. My brother Tom and I, recovering from chest colds, tired of reading and listening to the radio, turned to the big living-room window of our house on Syringa Street.

"Here they come, Mother," cried Tom when a big truck drove up in the teeming rain and stopped in front of the empty cottage across the street. Mother hurried in from the kitchen and we three looked out. That truck, we knew, contained the Duvitch family and all their earthly possessions. Mr. Duvitch and the biggest boy carefully helped Mrs. Duvitch from the seat and walked her into the house, supporting her all the way. Another big boy, carrying a well-bundled baby, followed. A stream of young Duvitches, accompanied by a big brown houndlike dog, poured out of the back of the truck and stood in a huddle in the rain.

The barnyard sounds we heard escaped from two crates of hens the Duvitches had fetched along and from a burlap bag in which a small flock of ducks had been stowed. While the livestock made noises according to its kind, the Duvitches were quiet--almost solemn. They showed no elation at finding themselves in a new neighborhood and a very pretty neighborhood at that.

All afternoon Mother, Tom and myself had been watching out for them, with rather mixed emotions. For the Duvitches were immigrants and the first of their nationality to settle in our small smug town. Coming to our obscure part of the state a year before, they had moved into a rotting old farmhouse two miles north of town, long abandoned. After the slashing hurricane of mid-March, the moss-rotten dwelling looked like the house in the fairy tale that remained standing only because it did not know which way to fall and the Duvitches were forced to give it up.

"I wonder if Mrs. Duvitch is ill," murmured Mother, looking through the rain at the dreary street scene.

"She must be," said Tom. "I wonder if it'll be all right for Andy and me to help 'em move in their stuff."

This request, as Mother well knew, was not inspired by genuine feeling for the Duvitches but by curiosity and she shook her head. It was a strict family rule that any illness which kept us out of school would automatically keep us indoors.

But the Duvitches got along very well without help from us. As it turned out, they were old hands at moving. For years before coming to America they had been on the move, to escape starvation, separation, possible assassination. Every child capable of two-legged locomotion pitched in and helped carry the things from the truck. In no time at all, it seemed, the truck was empty and the Duvitches were shut up tight in their new home.

That was the signal for Mother to step into the kitchen. She returned swathed in her hooded raincoat, carrying a basket containing a vacuum jug of chicken soup, a baked tuna fish dish, steaming hot; a loaf of fresh bread and a chocolate cake. These she took to the house across the street and gave basket and all to the boy who answered her knock. It wasn't her plan to stop for a visit that day but to wait a week or so and call when the Duvitches were all settled.

The next day when the three of us--Mother, Tom and myself--were having lunch, we heard a faint tap at the back door. I answered it and there stood a pale dark-eyed boy, looking very solemn, holding our basket. It contained the empty vacuum jug, casserole dish and cake plate, all of which shone, and a tiny very shapely potted rose tree, in exquisite pink-tipped bud, the handsomest plant--and the only plant of its kind--ever seen in that neighborhood.

"I send them a few scraps of food," murmured Mother, a few seconds later, deeply touched, "and get this queenly gift!"

That was our last traffic with the Duvitch family for over two years. When Mother stopped to visit them a week after their coming, the little girl who opened the door a few inches said, "Mamma sick; she stay in bed today."

Mrs. Duvitch never crossed the street to our house and Mother, a rather formal woman, made no further attempts to see the family. But Father disagreed when she remarked that she thought the Duvitches probably wished to be left alone.

Syringa Street seemed to be a friendly street. It was a crooked maple-shady country lane that wound through the town without losing its charm. The sidewalk here and there was almost lost in weeds and the ditches, in places, were brightened by clumps of orange day lilies. Widely spaced cottages, some of them smothered in vines, only seemed to make the neighborhood more rural. There were brilliant flower gardens, vegetable plots, fruit trees--and a few henhouses.

The children, who enjoyed all the benefits of country life while actually living in town, were quite numerous. Behind the facades of the street's dwellings there was probably no more greed, envy, superstition or intolerance than lurked behind the doors of any average dwelling in any average American town. The cardinal virtues, no doubt, were all represented. Yes, Syringa Street seemed to be a friendly street.

But the Duvitches were marked people. They were the one struggling family in a prosperous community--and poverty, amid prosperity, is often embarrassing and irritating to the prosperous. They were considered unattractive physically. They were so meek! The Duvitches never fought back.

The women started in on Mrs. Duvitch because she "never showed her face." It is true, she was rarely if ever seen in the daytime, emerging from her dwelling only after dark in warm weather, to sit on the veranda, where she found privacy behind the ragged trumpet creeper. But this gave rise to the rumor that she was the victim of an obscure skin disease and that every morning she shook scales out of the bed sheet. (When my father heard that one, he went out to the pantry and mixed himself a tall drink.)

Mr. Duvitch, too, was classified as an untouchable. His job, a rather malodorous one, was with the local rendering plant as a laborer. It followed that the Syringa Street young, meeting him on the street, sometimes stopped their noses as they passed him by--a form of torment all the more acute when Mr. Duvitch had to share it with the children that happened to be with him.

Black hard luck seemed to be their lot. A few weeks after they moved to Syringa Street they suffered a tragedy they were all summer in recovering from--Mr. Duvitch lost two weeks' pay while gathering mushrooms in Tamarack Swamp. Inside of a year and a half, three Duvitch boys had lost, among them, by various mishaps, two fingers, one eye and an ear lobe. They were forever being cut up, bruised, mutilated by things falling, breaking, cracking and exploding.

A mild case of typhoid, mass cases of whooping cough and measles--all plagued the family within a year of their arrival. Their only bright spot here was Dr. Switzer, one of the town's kindliest souls. He declined to accept fees, but was several times seen leaving the Duvitch cottage, carrying off a handsome house plant and looking very pleased. The Duvitches' dog, Kasimar, acted just like the family to which he belonged--like one of the world's poorest canine relations. He seemed to be afraid of his own shadow and no one had ever heard him bark or growl.

Because they cast their eyes on the sidewalk as one passed them by and spoke only when spoken to, the young Duvitches, like their parents, were considered antisocial. They were regarded as born scavengers too, for they spent hours foraging in the town dump, where they often picked up their footgear, some of their pants and shirts and furnishings for the house as well. They went on country excursions to gather watercress, dandelion greens, mushrooms and wild berries; and the few apples and tomatoes they occasionally concealed under their blouses didn't make the farmers on whom they poached much poorer.

Tom and I raided tomato patches and robbed apple trees just for the fun of it. That first September four Duvitches--Irving, Benny, Abe and Esther--registered at the local grammar school. Mrs. Lovejoy, the principal, said they were bright, conscientious, pathetically eager but almost pathologically shy. Before she could put a stop to it, some of their classmates scoffed at the leaf, lard and black bread sandwiches they ate for lunch, huddled in one corner of the recreation room, dressed in their boiled-out ragpickers' clothes. After school they headed straight for home, never lingering on the playground.

Even the tradesmen to whom the Duvitches gave good money were either curt with them or downright rude. Mrs. Frithjof Kinsella, the proprietor of the general store and a big jolly Viking who could be heard two blocks away, extended credit to almost everybody in town and had a way of insulting her customers so heartily that they all loved her for it. The Duvitches, however, Mrs. Kinsella very carefully did not insult (a form of insult in itself) and neither did she extend them credit.

But Mother, remembering the potted rose tree, always had a friendly word and a smile for the young Duvitches when she saw them and a bone for Kasimar when he found courage to venture across the road. Father was the only man on Syringa Street who tipped his hat to sixteen-year-old Maria Duvitch, when he met her coming home from her piece-work job in Miller's Box Factory. It may have been that their European travail made it easy for them to endure such a trifle as humiliation in America.

"I think," said Father one fine Saturday morning in July two years after the Duvitches had come to Syringa Street, "that it would be very pleasant for Andy, Tom and myself to pitch our tent out at Durston's Pond and spend the night. We could fish and swim. That is," he added, "if Mother can spare us."

"I can spare you very well," Mother said cheerfully. She had a notion it did menfolk good to get away occasionally and in this instance the sacrifice came easily, because camp life was little to her liking.

She packed a hamper of food, Tom and I fetched a tent from the attic and Father looked over his fishing tackle. An hour after lunch we were driving through rolling farm country out to Durston's Pond, four miles north of town.

We often had the serene little lake all to ourselves but on our arrival that afternoon we found half a dozen male Duvitches in possession. They had been fishing for several hours, casting from the shore, dropping their lines over the wooden bridge that spanned Cat Creek where it flowed into the pond and trolling for bass from a flat-bottomed rowboat.

Tom and I, Philistines like our friends, ignored the Duvitch boys but Father went up to Mr. Duvitch, who was fishing from the shore, and put out his hand.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Duvitch! It's nice to see you and the boys here. What a beautiful day! Are Mrs. Duvitch and the girls all well?"

Mr. Duvitch was a little fellow, a lean starveling of a man with watery blue eyes and a kicked-about look. Gratitude for being agreeably noticed showed in his mosquito-bitten face as he took Father's hand and his tremulous smile showed broken teeth.

"I know the mosquitoes are biting," Father went on pleasantly, "but are the fish?"

Proudly, oh, so proudly, Mr. Duvitch exhibited the catch that would probably feed his family for the better part of a week: a fine mess of bass, perch and sunfish, all of them alive, as far as I could see, and swimming around in the oaken washtub in which they had been dropped. Father gave Mr. Duvitch hearty congratulations and said we couldn't hope to do as well but that we'd try.

We three pitched the tent on a little knoll over the pond, and then Father, with a happy sigh, lay down on the blanket for a nap in the sun. Tom and I played a game of chew-the-peg on the grassy bank above the water and, later on, made several trips to the tent, for the camera, the field glasses, the sun lotion.

On a trip for a cold drink from the vacuum jug and to fetch towels and soap, we stopped to look again at the Duvitches' catch of fish.

Mr. Duvitch and the boys had moved away and were fishing in a small arm of the pond below us. None of them seemed visible. Tom and I, our glances meeting over the big cake of soap in my hand, were similarly and wickedly inspired--the thing was irresistible. We held a brief whispering conversation; and then, egged on by him and quite willing on my own, I played a shameful trick on the Duvitches, the memory of which will come back to the end of my days to plague me. Without considering further, I dropped the cake of soap into the tub of fish.

"Let's go," whispered Tom after we had watched the soap sink to the bottom.

We swam out to the raft, diving and frolicking in the deep water. After a while the Duvitches, calling it a day, assembled at a spot on the shore below our tent, happy in the knowledge of a good catch to take home.

In a little while Tom and I could hear their muffled exclamations of disbelief and dismay. Father woke up and joined our neighbors in a conclave, looking down at the tub of fish near his feet. After a few moments he produced the whistle he carried on all our country excursions and blew it piercingly three times, the proclamation of emergency. This meant that Tom and I must come at once.

Looking as guilty as we felt, we swam in and joined the group gathering around the tub. In the midst of our stricken neighbors stood Father, holding the half-melted cake of soap in his palm silently but accusingly, for the fish had perished miserably in the soapy water and were unfit to eat. Not only had Tom and I snatched precious food from their mouths but we had brazenly advertised the contempt in which we held them.

Father's eyes were narrow slits of blue fire in his white face. I had never seen him so angry. One look at Tom and me told him everything. Words would have been superfluous and my brother and I bowed our heads in acknowledgment of our guilt.

"You will begin," Father said in a voice I didn't recognize, "by saying you're sorry."

Our stunned neighbor wiped his blinking eyes as he listened to our mumbled words, which Father made us repeat when they were inaudible. But there was no hostility, no animosity toward us in the man and it was obvious also that he considered himself too humble to receive an apology, finding it, like most of life's troubles, a mockery to be endured without protest. His sons showed no resentment, either, only a kind of resignation in their minds, which carried almost atavistic memories of century-old oppression by country barons and landed gentry.

One-eyed Manny Duvitch, as it turned out, had told Father he had seen me drop something in the tub of fish (before he learned that it had been a cake of soap). Now he looked guiltier than Tom and I. Because he had been the witness and accuser, it was as if he considered himself to be the troublemaker, deserving the punishment. The two real culprits were the young lords of the ruling manor, with unlimited license, exempt from chastisement. To Manny, the fortunate, the well-to-do, were also the privileged.

"Do you realize," said Father coldly, looking from Tom to me, "that in certain primitive communities the sort of stunt you've pulled would be punishable by death?"

Tom and I did not reply.

"Turn over the tub," said Father abruptly, addressing us as if we were strangers.

We turned it over. The gray soapy water ran away in bubbly rivulets, disappearing in the coarse mat of turf, and the poisoned fish lay exposed on the grass--quiet, strangled, open-mouthed--and somehow looking as if they were mutely protesting their horrid unnatural fate.

"Count the fish," Father ordered us, his voice like steel.

Tom and I got down on our knees.

"How many are there?" demanded Father.

"Sixty-one," I said.

"How many bass?"

"Twelve."

Father handed Mr. Duvitch two dollars, the price of a day's rental of the r owboat. Then, looking both the avenging angel and executioner, he ordered Tom and me, with our tackle and bait, off the land we had disgraced--into exile, out on Durston's Pond.

"And you are not to come back," he gave out in the same steely tones, "until you've caught sixty-one fish to repay Mr. Duvitch. See to it that among them you bring in at least a dozen bass."

Father stepped up to the tent on the knoll to fetch our shirts and dungarees. These he rolled into a tight ball and shot like a bolt into the rowboat. He then turned his back to us and, thus disowned, Tom and I lost no time in rowing out on the pond. Father's decisions, even with Mother present, were never reversed and swift execution, from which there was no appeal, followed his sentences.

Out in the middle of the big pond we dropped anchor, threaded our steel rods and, baiting our hooks, began to fish. I knew that if it took us all summer to catch them, we dared not set foot ashore without sixty-one fish. Almost at once Tom pulled in a good- sized bass and ten minutes later two yellow perch were added to our string. The crestfallen Duvitches went home. Father threw himself on the blanket, furiously smoking a cigar. That was about four in the afternoon.

Oh, the mosquitoes! They were bad enough at the time, and while the light held, but after we had been fishing for three hours and had caught eight fish, they swarmed out of the swampland surrounding the pond in legions. After an hour of it we wanted to leap overboard. They got in our ears, our noses, our eyes, even in our mouths, and nestling in our hair, they bit through to our scalps. I remembered tales of Indian prisoners in Alaska, turned loose on the tundra by their captors, where they died of the mosquitoes in two hours. Several times we slipped over the side of the boat, immersing ourselves in the water to escape the bloodthirsty clouds.

The night dragged on while the whining swarms grew thicker.

"Andy, what time is it?"

"Ten o'clock, Tom."

"Is that all?" Tom groaned and pulled in another bass and killed six or eight mosquitoes in one slap. Two hours passed and midnight was ghostly on Durston's Pond. The moon, bright as day, sailed high in the purple sky, dimming the starfire, casting a great white shaft of quivering radiance on the water, but it was all hideous. The big yellow disk sank in a gauzy cloudbank, then disappeared for good and the stars shone out with renewed splendor.

"Andy, what time is it?"

"Two o'clock, Tom."

The treetops whispered as if in conspiracy against us. Owls hooted--mockingly we thought--and bats circled over our heads, making us feel thoroughly alone. Our only solace was the campfire Father kept burning near the tent, which flared like a beacon of light in the dark. We went on fishing as our tormentors bit and sang. Each hour was an eternity of frenzy and I fairly panted for the light of dawn to come, but even now I cannot decide which was worse, that night with the mosquitoes on Durston's Pond or the following day in the blistering heat.

"Andy--"

"It's four o'clock, Tom, and we've got sixteen fish."

Dawn came but even I, a highly impressionable youngster of seventeen, did not enjoy that calm effulgent majesty of daybreak. A long stretch on Durston's Pond, under the July sun, still faced us.

The rising sun was red, casting glimmering circles of rose-colored light on the windless surface of the pond. The mosquitoes thinned, the fish continued to bite. But as we fished the sun mounted steadily and by eleven it had fulfilled its awful prophecy and became a ball of fire in the cloudless skies. Tom and I began to bake in the heat waves that shimmered over the pond and we were steamed in the scalding vapory mist.

"I wish it was night again, Andy," groaned Tom after sweating out two hours of it. "This is worse than the mosquitoes."

"At least we won't get any infections from our bites, Tom," I said feebly. "The sun's cauterizing them."

"We might get sunstrokes, though. We're liable to, without our hats. But I don't care if I do. I'd rather be unconscious."

Tom was only fifteen and I think he hated me that day. I, the older, should have been his protector against participation in crime, not his accomplice. I wanted to row him in, then come back to finish the business alone, but there on the green Eden-like shore stood Father, stationed there barring the way.

Tom and I weighed our hooks down to the deep cold water. We caught two more bass and half a dozen sunfish.

By one o'clock groups of people gathered on the shore, for word of the drama that was being enacted on Durston's Pond had spread through the town. Some of the visitors praised Father for his stern discipline; others berated him. He went right on reading his magazine and smoking his cigar, as indifferent to their praise as he was to their criticism.

Local fishermen who knew the lake and something about the angling ability of the average youngster made gloomy estimates as to the possible length of our exile on the water. A few had us fishing until the snow flew. They made bets too. Would Tom and I have the guts to stick it out? Most of the bets were against us.

But we sat there in the rowboat, without food, through the hottest day of the summer.

No breeze stirred. No cloud obscured the sun. Even the bird life of the swamp, usually a medley of song, was silent and dead. Tom was drooping visibly in the glare and I tried hard not to look at his scorched face.

Between three and four we dropped lines in a school of yellow perch and pulled up no less than twenty. The bass continued to bite in the deep black holes off the swamp, which bristled with tree trunks. Benumbed, half-blinded, moving like automatons, Tom and I geared ourselves for the home stretch.

When the sun, dropping low, had lost its fury and the hard blue enamel of the sky began to pale, I pulled up the thirteenth bass, which was our sixty first fish.

Turned lobster-red, fairly devoured, famished and drooping from lack of sleep, we put together our rods and with our remaining strength rowed to where Father was waiting. He received us coolly, making no comment on our condition. At once he asked to see the fish and we held them up by the strings.

"Count them," he said. Obviously we would receive permission to land only when we had produced the required number, which was the price of our freedom.

"Sixty-one," said Tom.

"Including thirteen bass," I added.

"Very good," said Father in businesslike tones. "We will now restore to Mr. Duvitch his rightful property."

Tom and I took care not to play the part of triumphant heroes, even of redeemed sinners--that would not have suited our parent. Certainly, in appearance, we were more condemned than redeemed. But when we tottered out of the rowboat something in me was quietly rejoicing. I guessed that Father was secretly proud of our fortitude and I realized, too, that all through the night he had suffered with us.

We walked through the crowd of visitors on the lake shore, climbed into the car and silently drove to the Duvitch cottage. Mrs. Duvitch and the children were not visible but we found Mr. Duvitch sitting on the porch.

When he saw Tom and me and we silently handed him the strings of fish, he gulped and swallowed hard. For a moment he could not speak. Then, in a voice that was raw with emotion, he protested that he had not wished us to suffer so. Suppose we had fallen overboard in the dark?

"Will you shake hands with the boys?" asked Father.

Instead, Mr. Duvitch broke down. My brother and I did not know where to look and during those moments we suffered more acutely than we had suffered in the clouds of mosquitoes and under the broiling sun. After our neighbor had composed himself, he seized our hands and bowed his head over them. There was something Biblical in the man's gesture. Anyway, it was my greatest lesson in humility.

When Mother, who had heard about our exile on the pond from a neighbor, saw us she burst into tears. She tried to embrace us but we drew back painfully. While she was rubbing salves and ointments on our seared backs and necks, somebody knocked at the kitchen door and Father opened it to find Mrs. Duvitch standing there--the first time she had crossed the street to our house.

In her pale swaying hand Mrs. Duvitch held a porcelain teacup, ornamented with pink rosebuds and golden leaves--a relic from the old country and, as it turned out, her most cherished possession.

Her voice, thin and wispy from fright and shock, was difficult to follow. But we gathered that she had brought the teacup over as a peace offering and as a plea for our forgiveness to her family for the living purgatory, no matter whose fault, through which my brother and I had passed.

When Mother declined the teacup and assured Mrs. Duvitch that she would not have it otherwise with Tom and me, our neighbor, unable to find her tongue, made a little eloquent sign with her hands that was for thanks and that looked like a silent blessing. She quietly turned and went away; and again I felt that I had witnessed a profound moment.

Mother continued her ministrations to Tom and me and put us to bed. Despite our skin, which stuck to sheet and pillowcase, we slept like creatures drugged.

"It is high time," Tom and I heard Father say calmly, sanely, to Mother around noon next day when we woke up, "for this senseless feeling against the Duvitches to stop and I'm willing to do still more to stop it. Tonight we are having supper with them. I've just seen Mr. Duvitch and he remarked that since Andy and Tom caught the fish, he'd feel better if we all shared in them. I suggested a fish-fry picnic supper and with a few hints from me, and some encouragement, he invited us over. It may be an ordeal but we ought to be able to bear it."

We walked across the street at six o'clock, not knowing what to expect. All the Duvitches, dressed in their Sunday best, bright and flushed and shining as we had never seen them, received us at the door as if we had been royalty. They looked at Tom and me and delicately looked away--I shuddered when I thought of what my brother and I would have had to endure had this been any other family.

Instead of a wretched abode we found a scantily furnished home that shone with cleanliness and smelled of spicy garden pinks. In its almost barren simplicity there was something comely. A few of the stands, chairs and tables had the intimate quality of what is fashioned by the human hand. These, together with odds and ends the family had brought from the old country and others resurrected from the town dump and mended, painted, waxed and polished, made for a kind of native household harmony.

The house plants (no window was without several) delighted Mother. Mrs. Duvitch was raising little orange and lemon trees from seed and experimenting with a pineapple plant growing in a butter tub.

At once we were conscious of a remarkable difference in the demeanor of the family. The children, thrilled by their first party, by the family's first recognition in this country, kept showing their pleasure in wide delighted smiles. I couldn't believe they were the same timid downcast youngsters one met on the street and saw in school; they seemed to have been touched by a wand. The Duvitches' home was their castle: sustained and animated by the security of its four walls, shut away from a world of contempt and hostility, they were complete human beings. In their own house their true personalities emerged.

As the host Mr. Duvitch was a man we were seeing for the first time. Overjoyed to have neighbors in his house, he was so full of himself that I was conscious of an invisible stature in him which made him seem quite as tall as Father. He beamed and feasted his eyes on us. Saying very little, he managed to make us feel a great deal and he constantly sought his wife's eyes with glances of delight over the wonder of what was happening.

David, the oldest boy, helped his father serve a bottle of homemade blackberry wine. We ate fried fish and good food of the American picnic variety at a long plank table set out in the back yard under an apple tree. The young Duvitches passed things politely, never helping themselves first, and their thanks upon receiving a dish were almost ceremonial. They waited patiently for their plates and ate every scrap of food.

Father kept the conversation going. His every word was listened to, every childish eye riveted on him while he spoke.

Tom and I, fascinated by the family's metamorphosis, almost forgot about our blisters and our stings. As father told stories and jokes, we discovered that the Duvitches had a gift for gaiety, for laughter, all but extinguished but still capable of resurrection. They were merry people who had suffered too much. How strange to see the boys and girls throw back their heads and laugh when Father said something that was funny, but not terribly funny.

After supper we were ushered to the open summer kitchen, the coolest room in the house, for entertainment. David played folk songs on his accordion. Mr. Duvitch turned out to be an amateur ventriloquist; he made the dog Kasimar talk Polish, the cat Jan talk Russian and a doll named Sophia, talk English. Mrs. Duvitch read aloud to us, translating as she went along, a letter her mother had received from the great actress Modjeska, whom her family had known long ago.

I could tell that the Duvitches were a great revelation to Father and that he had enjoyed the evening tremendously.

"To think," he murmured as if talking to himself, while we were crossing the street, "that they should turn out to be gentle people of cultivation and accomplishment. Looked down on and ignored by their inferiors!"

I like to believe that the oil paintings of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and Thomas Jefferson, which hung in our living room, helped to establish the Duvitches in our community. Even the fountain tinkling in the lily pool in our garden might have helped. In that town, oil paintings and flowing fountains were the symbols of wealth and aristocracy. Only a few mansions on Sycamore Hill were adorned with such.

Because our home was graced with these symbols, we had always been classified with the town's great, which gave us such prestige in the neighborhood that people often followed our lead. Obviously the Duvitches were important in Father's eyes, shown by the rigorous sentence he had imposed on Tom and me for our misuse of them. Added to that, we had recognized the family by taking a meal with them in their own house.

People, often persuaded to accept what we accepted, to believe what we believed, began to think the Duvitches must really count, after all. Most of our neighbors decided that if they were good enough for a highly educated man like Father (the only college graduate on Syringa Street), they were good enough for them. The galvanized community began to look upon things in a different light and it soon became the fashion to give the Duvitches the favorable nod.

Mother invited Mrs. Duvitch to a tea party, where her delicate manners, and the fine needlework which engaged her, won the approval of the local housewives who were present. On hot days our neighbor asked one of her big boys to carry the pineapple plant (which Mother had advertised well) into the back yard; and since botanical rarities were irresistible in that town of gardens, people were soon stopping by the fence for a look at the tropical specimen.

After a while Mrs. Duvitch found courage to ask these people into her house and, if Mr. Duvitch was at home, he told the visitors stories about life in the old country. It was then that the neighborhood learned about the family's European past.

The children ceased stopping their noses when Mr. Duvitch passed them by and it wasn't long before the young Duvitches were able to enjoy outside companionship when they found time to play. They blossomed out in school and they were soon shining in school plays and festivals. Even Kasimar began to take on the ways of an American dog, daring to bark and growl on occasion.

Nathan Duvitch, who was seventeen, could throw and hit a baseball as far as anybody his age in town. When I learned this, and let it be known, he was asked to join one of the local ball clubs. David, invited to play his accordion at a country dance, turned out to be a magician with the instrument and ended up being one of the community's most popular players. Mrs. Frithjof Kinsella gave One-eyed Manny an after-school job in her store and later on told Mother he was worth three boys put together.

The community presently had reason to be grateful for Mrs. Duvitch's presence. It turned out that she had a great gift for nursing, and no fear of death, no fear of disease, contagious or otherwise. In times of severe illness Dr. Switzer often suggested that she be sent for--her own girls could take over at home. There were almost no nurses in town and the nearest hospital was over a hundred miles away. When Mrs. Duvitch quietly slipped into a sickroom, she never failed to bring along a sedative influence, a kind of sanity. After an hour or two of her serene presence, the patient was calmed and comforted and the family reassured.

People began to turn to the Duvitches in all kinds of trouble. A boy who got in a bad scrape, a bitter family quarrel, a baby who had come into the world deformed--the elder Duvitches, with their old-world wisdom and gift for accepting the inevitable, could sit by the hour and argue gently and convincingly against disgrace, false pride, grief, fear.

Most surprising of all, Mr. Duvitch, in one respect, turned out to be characteristically American. One Saturday afternoon when my ball team was playing Nathan's, Father met him in the local ball park.

"Chust like de American boy," Mr. Duvitch exploded when Nathan made a timely hit that drove in two runs. Our neighbor choked with pride and went on: "Nathan's battering averich three hunnert tventy-sevened!"

On a cold snowy afternoon in winter Mr. Duvitch stopped at our house and presented Father (who had enormous hands, much bigger than any of the Duvitches') with a handsome pair of leather mittens, lined with fur, which had a slightly acrid ashy odor. "No doubt one of the boys resurrected them from a heap of ashes in the dump," remarked Father, drawing on the mittens, which fitted perfectly. "Why should I value them any the less? Who would have dreamed that the Duvitches would have so much more to offer us than we have to offer them?"

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The Poor Relation's Story - Charles Dickens

The Poor Relation's Story by Charles Dickens

Recursos Educativos en Inglés - Stories in English

Cuentos clásicos en inglés

The Poor Relation's Story - Charles Dickens (1812-1870)

He was very reluctant to take precedence of so many respected members of the family, by beginning the round of stories they were to relate as they sat in a goodly circle by the Christmas fire; and he modestly suggested that it would be more correct if "John our esteemed host" (whose health he begged to drink) would have the kindness to begin. For as to himself, he said, he was so little used to lead the way that really--But as they all cried out here, that he must begin, and agreed with one voice that he might, could, would, and should begin, he left off rubbing his hands, and took his legs out from under his armchair, and did begin.

I have no doubt (said the poor relation) that I shall surprise the assembled members of our family, and particularly John our esteemed host to whom we are so much indebted for the great hospitality with which he has this day entertained us, by the confession I am going to make. But, if you do me the honour to be surprised at anything that falls from a person so unimportant in the family as I am, I can only say that I shall be scrupulously accurate in all I relate.

I am not what I am supposed to be. I am quite another thing. Perhaps before I go further, I had better glance at what I AM supposed to be.

It is supposed, unless I mistake--the assembled members of our family will correct me if I do, which is very likely (here the poor relation looked mildly about him for contradiction); that I am nobody's enemy but my own. That I never met with any particular success in anything. That I failed in business because I was unbusiness-like and credulous--in not being prepared for the interested designs of my partner. That I failed in love, because I was ridiculously trustful--in thinking it impossible that Christiana could deceive me. That I failed in my expectations from my uncle Chill, on account of not being as sharp as he could have wished in worldly matters. That, through life, I have been rather put upon and disappointed in a general way. That I am at present a bachelor of between fifty-nine and sixty years of age, living on a limited income in the form of a quarterly allowance, to which I see that John our esteemed host wishes me to make no further allusion.

The supposition as to my present pursuits and habits is to the following effect.

I live in a lodging in the Clapham Road--a very clean back room, in a very respectable house--where I am expected not to be at home in the day-time, unless poorly; and which I usually leave in the morning at nine o'clock, on pretence of going to business. I take my breakfast--my roll and butter, and my half-pint of coffee--at the old-established coffee-shop near Westminster Bridge; and then I go into the City--I don't know why--and sit in Garraway's Coffee House, and on 'Change, and walk about, and look into a few offices and counting-houses where some of my relations or acquaintance are so good as to tolerate me, and where I stand by the fire if the weather happens to be cold. I get through the day in this way until five o'clock, and then I dine: at a cost, on the average, of one and threepence. Having still a little money to spend on my evening's entertainment, I look into the old-established coffee-shop as I go home, and take my cup of tea, and perhaps my bit of toast. So, as the large hand of the clock makes its way round to the morning hour again, I make my way round to the Clapham Road again, and go to bed when I get to my lodging--fire being expensive, and being objected to by the family on account of its giving trouble and making a dirt.

Sometimes, one of my relations or acquaintances is so obliging as to ask me to dinner. Those are holiday occasions, and then I generally walk in the Park. I am a solitary man, and seldom walk with anybody. Not that I am avoided because I am shabby; for I am not at all shabby, having always a very good suit of black on (or rather Oxford mixture, which has the appearance of black and wears much better); but I have got into a habit of speaking low, and being rather silent, and my spirits are not high, and I am sensible that I am not an attractive companion.

The only exception to this general rule is the child of my first cousin, Little Frank. I have a particular affection for that child, and he takes very kindly to me. He is a diffident boy by nature; and in a crowd he is soon run over, as I may say, and forgotten. He and I, however, get on exceedingly well. I have a fancy that the poor child will in time succeed to my peculiar position in the family. We talk but little; still, we understand each other. We walk about, hand in hand; and without much speaking he knows what I mean, and I know what he means. When he was very little indeed, I used to take him to the windows of the toy-shops, and show him the toys inside. It is surprising how soon he found out that I would have made him a great many presents if I had been in circumstances to do it.

Little Frank and I go and look at the outside of the Monument--he is very fond of the Monument--and at the Bridges, and at all the sights that are free. On two of my birthdays, we have dined on e-la-mode beef, and gone at half-price to the play, and been deeply interested. I was once walking with him in Lombard Street, which we often visit on account of my having mentioned to him that there are great riches there--he is very fond of Lombard Street--when a gentleman said to me as he passed by, "Sir, your little son has dropped his glove." I assure you, if you will excuse my remarking on so trivial a circumstance, this accidental mention of the child as mine, quite touched my heart and brought the foolish tears into my eyes.

When Little Frank is sent to school in the country, I shall be very much at a loss what to do with myself, but I have the intention of walking down there once a month and seeing him on a half holiday. I am told he will then be at play upon the Heath; and if my visits should be objected to, as unsettling the child, I can see him from a distance without his seeing me, and walk back again. His mother comes of a highly genteel family, and rather disapproves, I am aware, of our being too much together. I know that I am not calculated to improve his retiring disposition; but I think he would miss me beyond the feeling of the moment if we were wholly separated.

When I die in the Clapham Road, I shall not leave much more in this world than I shall take out of it; but, I happen to have a miniature of a bright-faced boy, with a curling head, and an open shirt-frill waving down his bosom (my mother had it taken for me, but I can't believe that it was ever like), which will be worth nothing to sell, and which I shall beg may he given to Frank. I have written my dear boy a little letter with it, in which I have told him that I felt very sorry to part from him, though bound to confess that I knew no reason why I should remain here. I have given him some short advice, the best in my power, to take warning of the consequences of being nobody's enemy but his own; and I have endeavoured to comfort him for what I fear he will consider a bereavement, by pointing out to him, that I was only a superfluous something to every one but him; and that having by some means failed to find a place in this great assembly, I am better out of it.

Such (said the poor relation, clearing his throat and beginning to speak a little louder) is the general impression about me. Now, it is a remarkable circumstance which forms the aim and purpose of my story, that this is all wrong. This is not my life, and these are not my habits. I do not even live in the Clapham Road. Comparatively speaking, I am very seldom there. I reside, mostly, in a--I am almost ashamed to say the word, it sounds so full of pretension--in a Castle. I do not mean that it is an old baronial habitation, but still it is a building always known to every one by the name of a Castle. In it, I preserve the particulars of my history; they run thus:

It was when I first took John Spatter (who had been my clerk) into partnership, and when I was still a young man of not more than five- and-twenty, residing in the house of my uncle Chill, from whom I had considerable expectations, that I ventured to propose to Christiana. I had loved Christiana a long time. She was very beautiful, and very winning in all respects. I rather mistrusted her widowed mother, who I feared was of a plotting and mercenary turn of mind; but, I thought as well of her as I could, for Christiana's sake. I never had loved any one but Christiana, and she had been all the world, and far more than all the world, to me, from our childhood!

Christiana accepted me with her mother's consent, and I was rendered very happy indeed. My life at my uncle Chill's was of a spare dull kind, and my garret chamber was as dull, and bare, and cold, as an upper prison room in some stern northern fortress. But, having Christiana's love, I wanted nothing upon earth. I would not have changed my lot with any human being.

Avarice was, unhappily, my uncle Chill's master-vice. Though he was rich, he pinched, and scraped, and clutched, and lived miserably. As Christiana had no fortune, I was for some time a little fearful of confessing our engagement to him; but, at length I wrote him a letter, saying how it all truly was. I put it into his hand one night, on going to bed.

As I came down-stairs next morning, shivering in the cold December air; colder in my uncle's unwarmed house than in the street, where the winter sun did sometimes shine, and which was at all events enlivened by cheerful faces and voices passing along; I carried a heavy heart towards the long, low breakfast-room in which my uncle sat. It was a large room with a small fire, and there was a great bay window in it which the rain had marked in the night as if with the tears of houseless people. It stared upon a raw yard, with a cracked stone pavement, and some rusted iron railings half uprooted, whence an ugly out-building that had once been a dissecting-room (in the time of the great surgeon who had mortgaged the house to my uncle), stared at it.

We rose so early always, that at that time of the year we breakfasted by candle-light. When I went into the room, my uncle was so contracted by the cold, and so huddled together in his chair behind the one dim candle, that I did not see him until I was close to the table.

As I held out my hand to him, he caught up his stick (being infirm, he always walked about the house with a stick), and made a blow at me, and said, "You fool!"

"Uncle," I returned, "I didn't expect you to be so angry as this." Nor had I expected it, though he was a hard and angry old man.

"You didn't expect!" said he; "when did you ever expect? When did you ever calculate, or look forward, you contemptible dog?"

"These are hard words, uncle!"

"Hard words? Feathers, to pelt such an idiot as you with," said he. "Here! Betsy Snap! Look at him!"

Betsy Snap was a withered, hard-favoured, yellow old woman--our only domestic--always employed, at this time of the morning, in rubbing my uncle's legs. As my uncle adjured her to look at me, he put his lean grip on the crown of her head, she kneeling beside him, and turned her face towards me. An involuntary thought connecting them both with the Dissecting Room, as it must often have been in the surgeon's time, passed across my mind in the midst of my anxiety.

"Look at the snivelling milksop!" said my uncle. "Look at the baby! This is the gentleman who, people say, is nobody's enemy but his own. This is the gentleman who can't say no. This is the gentleman who was making such large profits in his business that he must needs take a partner, t'other day. This is the gentleman who is going to marry a wife without a penny, and who falls into the hands of Jezabels who are speculating on my death!"

I knew, now, how great my uncle's rage was; for nothing short of his being almost beside himself would have induced him to utter that concluding word, which he held in such repugnance that it was never spoken or hinted at before him on any account.

"On my death," he repeated, as if he were defying me by defying his own abhorrence of the word. "On my death--death--Death! But I'll spoil the speculation. Eat your last under this roof, you feeble wretch, and may it choke you!"

You may suppose that I had not much appetite for the breakfast to which I was bidden in these terms; but, I took my accustomed seat. I saw that I was repudiated henceforth by my uncle; still I could bear that very well, possessing Christiana's heart.

He emptied his basin of bread and milk as usual, only that he took it on his knees with his chair turned away from the table where I sat. When he had done, he carefully snuffed out the candle; and the cold, slate-coloured, miserable day looked in upon us.

"Now, Mr. Michael," said he, "before we part, I should like to have a word with these ladies in your presence."

"As you will, sir," I returned; "but you deceive yourself, and wrong us, cruelly, if you suppose that there is any feeling at stake in this contract but pure, disinterested, faithful love."

To this, he only replied, "You lie!" and not one other word.

We went, through half-thawed snow and half-frozen rain, to the house where Christiana and her mother lived. My uncle knew them very well. They were sitting at their breakfast, and were surprised to see us at that hour.

"Your servant, ma'am," said my uncle to the mother. "You divine the purpose of my visit, I dare say, ma'am. I understand there is a world of pure, disinterested, faithful love cooped up here. I am happy to bring it all it wants, to make it complete. I bring you your son-in-law, ma'am--and you, your husband, miss. The gentleman is a perfect stranger to me, but I wish him joy of his wise bargain."

He snarled at me as he went out, and I never saw him again.

It is altogether a mistake (continued the poor relation) to suppose that my dear Christiana, over-persuaded and influenced by her mother, married a rich man, the dirt from whose carriage wheels is often, in these changed times, thrown upon me as she rides by. No, no. She married me.

The way we came to be married rather sooner than we intended, was this. I took a frugal lodging and was saving and planning for her sake, when, one day, she spoke to me with great earnestness, and said:

"My dear Michael, I have given you my heart. I have said that I loved you, and I have pledged myself to be your wife. I am as much yours through all changes of good and evil as if we had been married on the day when such words passed between us. I know you well, and know that if we should be separated and our union broken off, your whole life would be shadowed, and all that might, even now, be stronger in your character for the conflict with the world would then be weakened to the shadow of what it is!"

"God help me, Christiana!" said I. "You speak the truth."

"Michael!" said she, putting her hand in mine, in all maidenly devotion, "let us keep apart no longer. It is but for me to say that I can live contented upon such means as you have, and I well know you are happy. I say so from my heart. Strive no more alone; let us strive together. My dear Michael, it is not right that I should keep secret from you what you do not suspect, but what distresses my whole life. My mother: without considering that what you have lost, you have lost for me, and on the assurance of my faith: sets her heart on riches, and urges another suit upon me, to my misery. I cannot bear this, for to bear it is to be untrue to you. I would rather share your struggles than look on. I want no better home than you can give me. I know that you will aspire and labour with a higher courage if I am wholly yours, and let it be so when you will!"

I was blest indeed, that day, and a new world opened to me. We were married in a very little while, and I took my wife to our happy home. That was the beginning of the residence I have spoken of; the Castle we have ever since inhabited together, dates from that time. All our children have been born in it. Our first child--now married--was a little girl, whom we called Christiana. Her son is so like Little Frank, that I hardly know which is which.

The current impression as to my partner's dealings with me is also quite erroneous. He did not begin to treat me coldly, as a poor simpleton, when my uncle and I so fatally quarrelled; nor did he afterwards gradually possess himself of our business and edge me out. On the contrary, he behaved to me with the utmost good faith and honour.

Matters between us took this turn:- On the day of my separation from my uncle, and even before the arrival at our counting-house of my trunks (which he sent after me, NOT carriage paid), I went down to our room of business, on our little wharf, overlooking the river; and there I told John Spatter what had happened. John did not say, in reply, that rich old relatives were palpable facts, and that love and sentiment were moonshine and fiction. He addressed me thus:

"Michael," said John, "we were at school together, and I generally had the knack of getting on better than you, and making a higher reputation."

"You had, John," I returned.

"Although" said John, "I borrowed your books and lost them; borrowed your pocket-money, and never repaid it; got you to buy my damaged knives at a higher price than I had given for them new; and to own to the windows that I had broken."

"All not worth mentioning, John Spatter," said I, "but certainly true."

"When you were first established in this infant business, which promises to thrive so well," pursued John, "I came to you, in my search for almost any employment, and you made me your clerk."

"Still not worth mentioning, my dear John Spatter," said I; "still, equally true."

"And finding that I had a good head for business, and that I was really useful to the business, you did not like to retain me in that capacity, and thought it an act of justice soon to make me your partner."

"Still less worth mentioning than any of those other little circumstances you have recalled, John Spatter," said I; "for I was, and am, sensible of your merits and my deficiencies."

"Now, my good friend," said John, drawing my arm through his, as he had had a habit of doing at school; while two vessels outside the windows of our counting-house--which were shaped like the stern windows of a ship--went lightly down the river with the tide, as John and I might then be sailing away in company, and in trust and confidence, on our voyage of life; "let there, under these friendly circumstances, be a right understanding between us. You are too easy, Michael. You are nobody's enemy but your own. If I were to give you that damaging character among our connexion, with a shrug, and a shake of the head, and a sigh; and if I were further to abuse the trust you place in me--"

"But you never will abuse it at all, John," I observed.

"Never!" said he; "but I am putting a case--I say, and if I were further to abuse that trust by keeping this piece of our common affairs in the dark, and this other piece in the light, and again this other piece in the twilight, and so on, I should strengthen my strength, and weaken your weakness, day by day, until at last I found myself on the high road to fortune, and you left behind on some bare common, a hopeless number of miles out of the way."

"Exactly so," said I.

"To prevent this, Michael," said John Spatter, "or the remotest chance of this, there must be perfect openness between us. Nothing must be concealed, and we must have but one interest."

"My dear John Spatter," I assured him, "that is precisely what I mean."

"And when you are too easy," pursued John, his face glowing with friendship, "you must allow me to prevent that imperfection in your nature from being taken advantage of, by any one; you must not expect me to humour it--"

"My dear John Spatter," I interrupted, "I DON'T expect you to humour it. I want to correct it."

"And I, too," said John.

"Exactly so!" cried I. "We both have the same end in view; and, honourably seeking it, and fully trusting one another, and having but one interest, ours will be a prosperous and happy partnership."

"I am sure of it!" returned John Spatter. And we shook hands most affectionately.

I took John home to my Castle, and we had a very happy day. Our partnership throve well. My friend and partner supplied what I wanted, as I had foreseen that he would, and by improving both the business and myself, amply acknowledged any little rise in life to which I had helped him.

I am not (said the poor relation, looking at the fire as he slowly rubbed his hands) very rich, for I never cared to be that; but I have enough, and am above all moderate wants and anxieties. My Castle is not a splendid place, but it is very comfortable, and it has a warm and cheerful air, and is quite a picture of Home.

Our eldest girl, who is very like her mother, married John Spatter's eldest son. Our two families are closely united in other ties of attachment. It is very pleasant of an evening, when we are all assembled together--which frequently happens--and when John and I talk over old times, and the one interest there has always been between us.

I really do not know, in my Castle, what loneliness is. Some of our children or grandchildren are always about it, and the young voices of my descendants are delightful--O, how delightful!--to me to hear. My dearest and most devoted wife, ever faithful, ever loving, ever helpful and sustaining and consoling, is the priceless blessing of my house; from whom all its other blessings spring. We are rather a musical family, and when Christiana sees me, at any time, a little weary or depressed, she steals to the piano and sings a gentle air she used to sing when we were first betrothed. So weak a man am I, that I cannot bear to hear it from any other source. They played it once, at the Theatre, when I was there with Little Frank; and the child said wondering, "Cousin Michael, whose hot tears are these that have fallen on my hand!"

Such is my Castle, and such are the real particulars of my life therein preserved. I often take Little Frank home there. He is very welcome to my grandchildren, and they play together. At this time of the year--the Christmas and New Year time--I am seldom out of my Castle. For, the associations of the season seem to hold me there, and the precepts of the season seem to teach me that it is well to be there.

"And the Castle is--" observed a grave, kind voice among the company.

"Yes. My Castle," said the poor relation, shaking his head as he still looked at the fire, "is in the Air. John our esteemed host suggests its situation accurately. My Castle is in the Air! I have done. Will you be so good as to pass the story?"

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Ep 130: Nuestros mejores consejos para practicar inglés SOLO!

 

Siempre surge la pregunta en conversaciones con estudiantes y personas en general que desean aprender inglés, Como practicar inglés si nadie a mi alrededor habla inglés y no tengo a nadie con quien practicar? Bueno, el día de hoy te compartiremos nuestros mejores tips para practicar inglés solo. 

 Excelente tema esté especialmente para los que aprenden inglés fuera de un país de habla inglesa, la verdad es que practicar ingles solo no es tan divertido y puede llevar a la desmotivación pero, con la tecnología que contamos ahora hay muchas formas de practicar inglés solo y de forma divertida.


 Learning is not a spectator sport. – D. Blocher

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Que aprenderás en este episodio?

Los mejores consejo para practicar inglés solo.


Recursos:

En esta guia vas a encontrar el vocabulario
básico esencial que necesitas saber para
empezar a hablar ingles. Los temas están
organizados para equiparte con el
vocabulario que necesitas para ir desde
saludar en ingles, ir de compras, adquirir
servicios, comer en un restaurante o lidiar
con las autoridades en inglés.


Espero que esta guia te brinde la ayuda que
necesita para empezar a hablar ingles.
Esta guía es creada, diseñada y revisada por
Starlin santos y Thomas Martínez, quienes
son los fundadores de englishwayrd, un
sistema de aprendizaje de ingles en linea.

Nuestras consejos: Resumen.


Starlin: El primer tip para practicar ingles solo, es hablar contigo mismo, si, habla ingles solo, crea conversaciones internas en inglés sobre situaciones cotidianas, por ejemplo, quieres aprender el vocabulario sobre cómo ordenar comida en ingles, imaginate que estas en un restaurante, que dirias cuando llega el mesero? Como pides tu comida favorita, piensa en eso y haz conversaciones contigo mismo, admito que es algo que hacía cuando aprendía inglés y aún hago cuando quiero practicar palabras nuevas o memorizar expresiones.  Esta es una técnica súper útil si no tenías a nadie que hable inglés para practicar inglés. Usa tu creatividad. 

Thomas: Esta técnica de hablar contigo mismo me parece muy creativa e interesante y admito que de forma inconsciente la he usado y la recomiendo.  Una técnica que a mi me funciono para practicar ingles solo fue la de ver películas en inglés con o sin subtítulos, no solo veía las películas si no que anotaba los diálogos y las palabras desconocidas, busca el significado y luego leía esos diálogos y palabras en voz alta hasta aprenderlas. Te sugiero que hagas lo mismo!

Starlin: Me gusta mucho esa idea, ver películas y más si te gustan son un excelente recurso para practicar inglés por tu cuenta. Otro  tip para ti es una técnica que use por mucho tiempo en mi proceso de aprendizaje y es el shadowing, esta técnica se basa en repetir e imitar la forma de hablar de un hablante nativo. Los pasos para hacerlo son los siguientes:

1. Selecciona un vídeo más o menos 20 minutos o audición de alguna temática de tu interés e imprime la transcripción. 

2. Lee la transcripción un par de veces a fin de familiarizarte con el tema. 

3. Grábate mientras realizas una primera lectura en voz alta de la transcripción.

4. Escucha la audición y/o visualiza el vídeo mientras lees la transcripción en voz baja. Presta especial atención a aquellas palabras que te resulten más difíciles de pronunciar y coloca un puntito sobre la sílaba que contenga el estrés -golpe de voz-. Fíjate también en la entonación, las pausas y los cambios en la modulación de la voz.

5. Vuelve a escuchar la audición / vídeo y repite en voz alta de manera simultánea lo que escuchas. Repite este paso las veces que necesites.

6. Grábate mientras realizas una segunda lectura en voz alta de la transcripción y compara el resultado con la primera grabación. ¿Notas alguna diferencia?

Ahora se que esta técnica la inventó Alexander Arguelles, un lingüista estadounidense. 

Thomas: Wao, me encanta ese dato y la técnica del shadowing es algo que recomiendo que apliques para obtener un acento más suave al oído. Me lo recomendaron varias veces y te pasaré el mismo dato, ¡piensa en inglés! Así tal cual, quizás sea algo descabellado como hablar solo, pero esta es una buena manera para poner tu cerebro a trabajar. Al principio puede que tu cerebro se rehuse y comience a pensar de forma natural en español. Estés o no ocupado, siempre habrá un pensamiento activo dentro de ti, cámbialo al inglés y de esa manera aprenderás poco a poco.


Únete a una comunidad con tus mismo intereses y practica tu inglés.

Desde los inicios de los tiempos los seres humanos hemos necesitado la comunidad para fortalecernos y crecer juntos y eso no ha cambiado, el ser humano es un ser social y la socialización en torno a un tema de interés común te ayudara a aprender mas rápido, es por esto que te recomiendo que busques una comunidad con tus mismos intereses para que puedas practicar tu inglés, socializar, aprender y compartir lo que sabes, eso de verdad que ayuda mucho.

En EnglishwayRD creemos que la comunidad es importante para el aprendizaje y por eso tenemos nuestro club de inglés en Whatsapp. Únete y comparte y aprende en comunidad.


Conoce a los presentadores del podcast

Starlin santos

Co-fundador de englishwayrd, host del podcast englishwayrd. Profesor de ingles con mas de 5 años de experiencia en la enseñanza del idioma inglés. TEFL certified.

Thomas martinez

Co-fundador de englishwayrd, host del podcast englishwayrd. Profesor de inglés certificado con 4 años de experiencia en la enseñanza del idioma ingles y mas de 1o años en el aprendizaje de inglés. TEFL certified.


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Curiosities about Christmas that most people don't know

Curiosities about Christmas that most people don't know

Christmas is a universal celebration in which the whole world stops to celebrate the most magical night of the year. Although it is the same holiday, traditions change from culture to culture, giving Christmas different nuances in different countries. In this article, we have collected 15 curiosities about the holiday from around the world that will introduce you to different cultures and customs that you probably didn't know about.

In Sweden, Father Christmas is slightly different from the rest of the world. His name is Tomte, he is as small as an elf and he walks around with his goat Yule.

In Norway, as is the tradition, on 24 December all the brooms and tools used to clean the house are hidden. This is because it is said that at night evil witches come and steal all the brooms from the houses.

In the Czech Republic, there is a Christmas tradition that single women, with the door behind them, throw a shoe backwards. If it falls with the tip facing the door, it means that the woman will find love within the year.

The Statue of Liberty is perhaps the greatest Christmas present in history! It was given by the French to the United States on 25 December as a sign of friendship between the two peoples.

In Germany and Austria, there is the evil equivalent of St Nicholas. It is a demon called Krampus who has the task of punishing bad children; in some cities, during popular parades, some people wear the mask of these demons.

In the United States, in the state of Washington, there is a Christmas town called Leavensworth. With less than 2,000 inhabitants, this place is a perfect reproduction of a Bavarian village that transforms into a huge Christmas market during the Christmas season.

The Euphorbia Pulcherrima, or more commonly known as the Christmas star, is a plant native to Mexico that can grow up to 4 metres. In ancient times, the Aztecs used it to obtain red pigments.

In Ukraine, spider webs are used for decoration because they are believed to bring good luck.

The longest Christmas lunch is probably eaten in Poland, where the tradition is to have 12 courses, one for each apostle.

In Serbia, presents are unwrapped two weeks before Christmas Eve. Children during this period "kidnap and bind" mothers and demand a ransom which is usually repaid in gifts.

In Spain, the nativity scene is an important tradition; in Catalonia, the figure of the "caganer", i.e. a shepherd who does his business, is one of the figurines. He is considered a good luck charm in Spanish culture.

In South Africa, the traditional holiday dish is fried insects.

In Brazil, it is believed that "Papi Noel" comes from Greenland, and for this reason, when he arrives in Brazil, he wears only silk clothes because of the high temperature.

In Japan, Christmas is very different from the way we know it. It is much more like Valentine's Day where everyone exchanges gifts and the tradition is to eat fried chicken preferably from the KFC fast food chain.

In the United States, Christmas decorations are loved by everyone, so real competitions are held.

These Christmas-themed curiosities are sure to amaze at lunch with the family!

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Christmas fruit cakes recipe

Christmas fruit cakes Recipe

Cooking recipes - Desserts - How to make Christmas fruit cakes?

Ingredients :

  • 2 cups currants
  • 2 cups candied citrus peel mix
  • 1 1/2 cups coarsely chopped candied pineapple
  • 1 1/2 cups candied red cherries, halved
  • 1 1/2 cups sultanas
  • 1 cup dark rum or brandy
  • 2 cups flour
  • 2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
  • 1 pinch of salt
  • 3/4 cup softened butter
  • 1 cup packed brown sugar
  • 1/3 cup strawberry jam
  • 2 tablespoons molasses
  • 5 eggs
  • 1 1/2 cups chopped walnuts

Preparation :

In a large bowl, combine currants, citrus peel, pineapple, cherries, sultanas and 3/4 cup (180 ml) rum. Cover and let stand at room temperature for 24 hours (stirring occasionally).

In a bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, allspice, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt. Add 1/2 cup (125 ml) of the dry ingredients to the macerated candied fruit and mix. In a separate bowl, using an electric mixer, beat butter with brown sugar, jam and molasses until fluffy. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, then stir in the remaining dry ingredients all at once until the batter is smooth. Add the candied fruit mixture and nuts and mix. Pour batter into a 13" x 9" (33 cm x 23 cm) parchment-lined cake pan and smooth the top.

Place a cake pan filled halfway with water on the bottom rack of a preheated 300ºF (150ºC) oven. Place the cake on the middle rack and bake for 1 hour. Loosely cover the top of the cake with foil and bake for 45 to 60 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the centre of the cake comes out clean but slightly sticky. Place the pan on a wire rack and let cool completely.

Unmould the cake and remove the parchment paper. Using a double layer of cheesecloth, cut out a 16-inch (40 cm) square and dip in the remaining rum. Wrap the cake in the rum-soaked cheesecloth, then in plastic wrap and finally in aluminum foil. Refrigerate for 1 month. (The cake will keep for up to 3 months in the refrigerator).

When ready to give, cut the cake into 6 bars.

A good tip

For a gourmet version: before wrapping the cake, you can top it with a thin layer of marzipan and then cream cheese icing.

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Pistachio and cranberry biscotti recipe

Pistachio and cranberry biscotti Recipe

Cooking recipes - Desserts - How to make Pistachio and cranberry biscotti?

Ingredients :

  • 1/2 cup softened butter
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 2 1/2 cups flour
  • 2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1 cup unsalted pistachios
  • 1 cup dried cranberries
  • 1 egg white
  • 1 teaspoon water
  • 10 oz chopped white chocolate, melted

Preparation :

In a large bowl, beat butter with sugar until fluffy. Beat in eggs, one at a time, then vanilla. In another bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture, in two batches, and mix until the batter is smooth. Add pistachios and cranberries and mix.

Separate the dough into two portions. On a lightly floured surface, shape each portion into a 12-inch (30 cm) long roll. Place rolls of dough on a large parchment-lined baking sheet, spaced 2 inches (5 cm) apart and flatten slightly. In a small bowl, whisk egg white with water. Brush the tops of the rolls with the mixture.

Bake in preheated 325ºF (160ºC) oven for 30 minutes or until rolls are firm and lightly browned. Remove the baking sheet to a wire rack and let rest for 10 minutes. Place rolls on cutting board. Using a serrated knife, cut on the bias into 1/2-inch (1 cm) thick slices. Place slices vertically on baking sheet, spacing them 1/2 inch (1 cm) apart. Continue baking in preheated 300ºF (150ºC) oven for 35 minutes or until biscotti are almost dry. Remove biscotti to a wire rack and cool completely.

Dip one end of each biscotti into melted chocolate (let excess drip off). Place biscotti on wax paper-lined baking sheet. Refrigerate for 20 minutes or until chocolate is set (Biscotti will keep for up to 1 week at room temperature or up to 1 month in the freezer).

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domingo, 28 de noviembre de 2021

Biscuit dough truffles recipe

Biscuit dough truffles Recipe

Cooking recipes - Desserts - How to make Biscuit dough truffles?

The ingredients of the Biscuit dough truffles :

  • 1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
  • 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 1/4 cup packed brown sugar
  • 2 cups flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 300 mL sweetened condensed milk
  • 1 cup miniature chocolate chips
  • 8 oz. coarsely chopped bittersweet chocolate

The steps of Biscuit dough truffles :

In a bowl, using an electric mixer, beat 1/2 cup (125 mL) butter, brown sugar and vanilla until smooth and creamy. Beat in flour and salt on low speed, alternating with condensed milk. Add the chocolate chips and mix with a wooden spoon.

Shape biscuit dough into balls about 3/4" (2 cm) in diameter. Place balls on a parchment-lined biscuit sheet. Freeze for 30 minutes or until firm (balls will keep for up to 1 week in refrigerator and up to 1 month in freezer).

Meanwhile, in a metal bowl set over a pan of hot but not boiling water, melt the chopped chocolate and remaining butter, stirring until smooth. Remove the pan from the heat.

Line another baking sheet with parchment paper. Using 2 forks, dip the cold biscuit dough balls one by one into the melted chocolate so that they are well coated (let the excess chocolate run off). Place the truffles on the baking sheet. Refrigerate for 30 minutes or until chocolate has hardened.

Pour the remaining melted chocolate into a small resealable bag (Ziploc type). Seal the bag and make a small hole in one of the bottom corners. Gently squeeze the bag and drizzle the chocolate over the truffles.

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Cyber Monday shopping tips

Cyber monday 2021, ciber, descuentos, ofertas, Amazon, discounts, offers, deals

Are you already shopping today for Black Friday? Make sure you put some money aside for next Monday, because you can still get huge discounts during Cyber Monday 2021. This is probably the favourite online shopping day for many bargain hunters, but unfortunately also for cybercriminals. We give you some tips on how to shop safely online during Cyber Monday.

What is Cyber Monday?

Cyber Monday is the online retailers' answer to Black Friday. In the past, Black Friday was only available in physical shops. Online retailers decided to make the following Monday their big discount day. Today, the difference is rather small, as on Black Friday and Cyber Monday you can shop online at competitive prices.

As the name suggests, Cyber Monday falls on a Monday each time. This year it falls on Monday 29 November. You can easily do this calculation for the following years as well: Thanksgiving always falls on the fourth Thursday in November, the next day is Black Friday and the following Monday is Cyber Monday. As with Black Friday, you can get particularly good deals on electronics or clothing. ⇒ The best Cyber Monday offers

Peak day for discounts and cyber criminals

Unfortunately, Cyber Monday, like Black Friday, is not only a peak day for bargain hunters. Cyber criminals are also on the prowl and want a piece of the action. The number of fraudulent websites and cases of financial phishing therefore often increases at the start of the sales period. With phishing, hackers try to get your personal information, passwords and even bank details in order to steal money. For example, they create fake pages of well-known retailers and fake payment systems, which can lead to online shoppers being tricked into losing a lot of money.

Tips for safe online shopping during Cyber Monday:

  1. Secure your computer: surf on a secure internet connection (so no public networks) and always install the latest versions of your operating system, web browser and anti-virus software.
  2. Use strong passwords: Create a unique and complex password for each website or online shop that is difficult for cybercriminals to discover.
  3. Buy from sites you know: order from online shops you usually use, that you know and can therefore trust.
  4. Don't open unreliable emails: many retailers send out a newsletter with their discounts during Cyber Monday. Is the email full of errors or do the emails contain suspicious characters? Delete it immediately and don't click on the links.
  5. Make sure you can pay safely: In a secure online shop and secure payment area, the URL always starts with "https" and a closed padlock. Is it just "http"? Then your data is not sent securely and you cannot pay safely.
  6. Use a secure payment method: pay for your purchases with a secure payment method such as credit card, Paypal, Payconiq, Klarna, bank transfer or ordinary debit card. Beware of payment services such as Western Union or Moneygram, which are often used by fraudsters.
  7. Tip: Credit card (and Paypal) payments often include (online) purchase insurance, which protects you against damage, loss, theft and non-delivery of the product you have purchased. Sometimes there is also insurance against fraud. Some banks also offer cashback credit cards that allow you to get part of the purchase price back.

Amazon is the marketplace with the highest sales record on Black Friday and Cyber Monday since 2017.

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Hanukkah: Meaning and rituals of the Jewish festival of lights

How to wish a happy Hanukkah? When is Hanukkah served?

"HAPPY HANUKKAH". This year, the Hanukkah festival of lights begins before December. Date, wishes, prayers or even the meaning of the "miracle of the vial of oil".

This year, Hanukkah, also known as the "Jewish festival of lights", runs from Sunday 28 November (evening) to Monday 6 December. This is because this celebration lasts eight days. Its date varies every year, because the Jewish calendar is based on the Moon, as opposed to the Sun in the Latin calendar. The programme of Jewish liturgy during this interlude includes songs and blessings, food fried in oil and, above all, the traditional Jewish candlestick. Called the "menorah", it has nine branches. On each night of the eight days, believers light one of them (the first one is lit on the eve of the first full day of Hanukkah, which is the evening of 28 November this year). By lighting up the menorah a little more each day, the followers of Judaism commemorate what they consider to be "the miracle of lights".

When is Hanukkah?

The Jewish celebration of Hanukkah takes place over eight days, from the 25th of Kislev to the 2nd of Tebeth in the Hebrew calendar. Generally, this festive period corresponds to one week of December in the Gregorian calendar currently used in our countries, and is not far from St Nicholas' Day on 6 December. As Hanukkah takes place in winter shortly before Christmas, it has often been seen as the "Advent of Israel", contextualises the French Jewish-Israeli poet Claude Vigée in the book "Un panier de houblon". The first candle of Hanukkah is lit on the eve of 25 Kislev. A central candleholder then lights the lights of the eight other branches, one day at a time.

When is Hanukkah 2021?

In 2021, Hanukkah begins on Sunday 28 November and lasts until Monday 6 December. The celebration therefore takes place several months after Yom Kippur, or Day of Atonement, which is considered by believers to be the "holiest of Jewish holidays" and will be celebrated in 2021 on 15 and 16 September. In 2016, the Jewish Festival of Lights began on Christmas Eve, a Saturday, in the middle of Shabbat.

What is the meaning and origin of Hanukkah?

Symbolically, the gradual lighting of the traditional candlestick or the making of oil dishes (latkes, potato cakes, and other doughnuts) for Hanukkah commemorate the "miracle of the oil jar". For believers in Judaism, this miracle took place 23 centuries ago, after the Jews re-dedicated the Temple of Israel. The Jews had just recovered the temple after an unexpected victory over the Greek-Syrian troops of Antiochus Epiphanes, who sought to subdue them. In the Judaic story, a small vial found far away from the temple is used to light the place of worship for eight days in exchange for a normal one.

Hanukkah Prayer

During Hanukkah, the usual liturgy does not give rise to an additional prayer service: without a holy character and not a holiday apart from Israel, this festival is not linked to any prayer ritual indicated in the Bible. It is said to be rabbinical and not biblical. However, several readings are added to the ordinary liturgy, varying over time, to signal that Hanukkah is taking place. In the synagogue, special prayers are recited, such as Al Hanissim, a blessing that is part of the Amida, the morning service prayer, but also the Birkat Hamazon, the Jewish post-meal prayer; the Hallel, which is read every day in its entirety, as a form of praise and thanksgiving, and is used on joyous Jewish holidays; or the reading of specific passages from the Torah, such as the one on the sacrifices made at the time of the inauguration of the Temple. The Temple had just been returned to the Jews after they regained their independence from the Greeks in the second century BC.

Happy Hanukkah

How do you wish for a happy Hanukkah? To wish each other a happy Hanukkah, the faithful usually say "Hag Sameah" or "Hanukkah Sameah". And if you want to take it a step further, give your friend or boyfriend a menorah celebrating Hanukkah, the inexpensive traditional candlestick, and the candles that go with it. Making doughnuts with mint tea is also a great way to celebrate the Festival of Lights. But don't panic: for each 'edition' of these festivities, you have eight days to give a Hanukkah surprise to any loved ones that may be involved...

When is Hanukkah 2022?

The Jewish festival of Hanukkah in the coming years will take place on very different dates. In 2022: from Sunday 18 December to Monday 26 December; in 2023: from Thursday 7 December to Friday 15 December; in 2024: from Wednesday 25 December to Thursday 2 January.

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