[文章] Information Please
這是我當年念高中時英文課本上的一篇課文，當時是大學聯考時代，我們用的是統一
的公訂版本－－國立編譯館主編的高中英文課本；我認為這是我學生時代讀過最美的
一篇英文文章，念過後久久不忘，把它分享上來，英文難度不會很深（連我現在都還
看得懂，不過很多單字真的忘記了 -.-）；不知道現在的高中英文課本中是否還有節
選本篇文章，沒看過的人，看這篇文章也可以訓練一下英文能力唷．．^^ 至於一些
老人們可能會有印象，或許會勾起一些學生時代的美好回憶．．．
你兒時遇過這麼一個人嗎？ 如果有，那可能足以令你一生懷念．．
好愛這篇文章．．：）
高級中學 英文 第六冊 第五課 （後來的課本改編至第五冊，第四課）
中華民國八十六年改編本七版
ＩＮＦＯＲＭＡＴＩＯＮ ＰＬＥＡＳＥ
When I was quite young my family had one of the first telephones in our
neighborhood. I remember well the polished oak case fastened to the wall on
the lower stair landing. The shiny receiver hung on the number－105. I was
too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when
my mother talked to it. Once she lifted me up to speak to my father, who was
away on business. Magic!
Then I discovered that somewhere inside that wonderful device lived an
amazing person－her name was“Information Please”and there was nothing
she did not know. My mother could ask her for anybody's number；when our
clock ran down, Information Please immediately supplied the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-receiver came one
day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the
tool-bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain
was terrible, but there didn't seem to be much use crying because there
was no one home to offer sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my
throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone！
Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the
landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver and held it to my ear.“
Infromation Please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two, and a small, clear voice spoke into my ear.“
Information.”
“Ｉ hurt my fingerrrr－”I wailed into the phone. The tears came
readily enough, now that I had an audience.
“Isn't your mother home？”came the question.
“Nobody's home but me,”I wept.
“Are you bleeding？”
“No,”I replied.“I hit it with the hammer and it hurts.”
“Can you open your icebox？”I said I could.“Then chip off a little
piece of ice and hold it on your finger. That will stop the hurt. Be
careful when you use the ice pick,”she admonished.“And don't cry. You'll
be all right.”
After that, I called Information Please for everything. I asked her
for help with my geography and my arithmetic, and she told me that my pet
chipmunk－I had caught in the park just the day before－would eat fruit
and nuts. ＊
And there was a time that our pet canary died. I called Information
Please and told her the story. She listene, then said the usual things
grown-ups say to a comfort child. But I was not consoled：why was it
that birds should sing so beautiflly and bring joy to whole families,
only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up, on the bottom of a cage
？
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly,“Paul,
always remember there are other worlds to sing in.”
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was at the telephone.“Information,”said the now the
familiar voice.
“How do you spell fix？”I asked.
“Fix something？ F-i-x”
At that instant my sister, who took unholy joy in scaring me, jumped off
the stairs at me with a shriek－“Yaaaaaaaaaa！”I fell off the stool,
pulling the receiver out of the box by its roots. We were both terrified－
Information Please was no longer there, and I was not at all sure that I
hadn't hurt her when I pulled the receiver out.
Minutes later there was a man on the porch.“I'm a telephone repairman,”
he said.“I was working down the street. And the operator said there might
be some trouble at this number.”He reached for the receiver in my hand.
“What happened？”
I told him.
“Well, we can fix that in a minute or two.”He opened the telephone
box, exposing a mess of wires and coils, and fiddled for a while with the
end of the receiver cord, tightening things with a small screwdriver. He
jiggled a hook up and down a few times, then spoke into the phone.“Hi,
this is Pete. Everything's under control at 105.” ＄
He hung up, smiled, gave me a pat on the head and walked out the door.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Then when
I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston－and I missed
my mentor acutely. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back
home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, skinny new phone that
sat on a small table in the hall.
Yet, as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations
never really left me； often in moments of doubt and perplexity. I would
recall the serene sense of security I had when I knew that I could call
Information Please and get the right answer. I appreciated now how very
patient, understanding and kind she was to have wasted her time on a little
boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down at Seattle.
I had about half an hour between plane connections, and I spent 15 minutes
or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now, happily matured by
marriage and motherhood. Then really without thinking what I was doing, I
dialed my hometown operator and said,“Information Please.”
Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well：“
Information.”
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying,“Could you tell me,
please, how to spell the word 'fix'？”
There was a long pause. Then came the softly spoken answer.“I guess,”
said Information Please,“that your finger must have healed by now.”
I laughed.“So it's really still you,”I said.“I wonder if you have any
idea how much you meant to me during all that 100 time...”
“I wonder,”she replied,“if you know how much you meant to me？ I never
had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls. Silly, wasn't
it？”
It didn't seem silly, but I didn't say so. Instead, I told her how often
I had thought of her over the years, and I asked if I could call her again
when I came back to visit my sister after the first semester was over.
“Please do. Just ask for Sally.”
“Good-by, Sally.”It sounded strange for Information Please to have a
name.“If I run into any chipmunks, I'll tell them to eat fruit and nuts.”
“Do that,”she said.“Well, take good care, good-by.”※ Just three
months I was back again at the Seattle airport. A different voice answered,
“Information,”and I asked for Sally.
“Are you a friend？”
“Yes,”I said.“An old friend.”
“Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally had only been working part-time
in the last few years because she was ill. She died five weeks ago.”But
before I could hang up, she said,“Wait a minute. Did you say your name was
Villiard？”
“Yes.”
“Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down.”
“What was it？”I asked, almost knowing in advance what it would be.
“Here it is, I'll read it－‘Tell him I still say there are other worlds
to sing in. He'll know what I mean.’”
I thanked her and hang up. I did know what Sally meant.
Anonymous
＊ 新版本為 I ask for help with my geography and she told me where
Philadelphia was, and the Orinoco－the romantic river I was going to
explore when I grew up. She helped me with my arithmetic, and she told
me that the pet chipmunk－I had caught him in the park just the day
before－would eat fruit and nuts.
＄ 新版本多了 the kid's sister scared him and he pulled the cord out of
the box.
※ 此處有另一版本為：
“Do that,” she said.“And I expect one of these days you'll be off for the
Orinoco. Well, good-bye.”
＠ 新版本這裡是 －by Paul Villiard
Reprinted with permission from the June 1966 Reader's
Digest
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◆ From: 219.71.228.164
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