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"The Last Leaf" (la folia final) es un nara corta par O. Henry, prima publicada en 1907; traduida par Randy Hudson en 2013.

En un distrito peti a la ueste de Washington Square la stradas core demente e frati se en bandas peti nomida places o "locas". Esta "locas" ave angulos e curvas strana. Un de la stradas crusa se a un o du veses. Un artiste ia descovre un posiblia valuosa en esta strada. Suposa ce un colior con un fatura per pintas, paper e lona, en traversa esta via, ta encontra subita se a reveni, sin un sentim paiada sur la conta! In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
Donce, a Greenwich Village anticin e vea la persones de arte ia veni pronto, xercante fenetras norde e frontones de la sentenio des-oto e sutetos nederlandes e luas basa. Alora los ia importa alga tasones de stanio e un casolon per caldi o du de Avenue Ses, e ia deveni un "colonia". So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."
A la alta de un construida truncin de brice con tre niveles Sue e Jonsi ave se studio. "Jonsi" es familial per Joanna. Un es de Maine; la otra de California. Los ia encontra la un la otra a la menu fisada de un restorante aspirante a Strada Oto, e ia trova ce se preferes en arte, salada de xicoria, e mangas fronsida es tan acordante ce un studio juntada ia resulta. At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hote of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
Acel ia es en maio. En novembre un stranjer fria e nonvideda, ci la dotores nomi Pneumonia, xasa tra la colonia, tocante un person asi e ala con se ditos jelin. Sur la lado este esta ruinor gami egosa, colpante se vitimes en dudeses, ma se pedes pasea lenta tra la labirinto de "locas" streta e mososa. That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."
Sr Pneumonia no es lo cual on ta nomi un senior cavalorial. Un pico de un fem peti con sangue magrida par ventetas californian es apena un xasada justa per la vea despetada, roja de punio e corta de espira. An ma el colpa Jonsi; e la vitim reposa, apena movente, sur se leto con sceleto de fero pintida, en regarda tra la paneles de la peti fenetra nederlandes a la lado nondecorada de la casa de brice seguente. Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
A un matina la dotor ocupada invita Sue a en la coredor par un sil gris e pelosa. One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray eyebrow.
"El ave un probablia de — ta ce nos dise, un entre des." — el dise, en cuando el minimi secutente la mercurio en se termometre clinical. "E acel probablia es ce el ta desira vive. Esta modo cual persones ave de junta se a la lado de la funeror fa ce la colie farmasial intera aspeta fol. Tu dama peti ia deside ce el no va sani. Esce el ave alga intendes en se mente?" "She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. "And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-up on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"
"El — el ia desira pinti la baia de Napoli a alga dia." — Sue dise. "She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.
"Pinti? — Ba! Esce el ave alga intende en se mente cual merita du pensas — un om per esemplo?" "Paint? — bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?"
"Un om?" — Sue dise, con un sona nasal de un arpa iudi en se vose. "Esce un om merita — ma no, dotor, on ave no tal cosa." "A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth — but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
"Alora, acel es la debilia." — la dotor dise. "Me va fa tota cual siensa, cuanto lo filtri tra me laboras, pote reali. Ma a cuando me pasiente comensa conta la carones en se prosegue funeral, me sutrae 50 persentos de la potia remediante de medisines. Si tu va fa ce el fa an un demanda sur la modas de inverno de mangas de capa, me va promete a tu un probablia de un entre sinco per el, en loca de un entre des." "Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."
Pos cuando la dotor ia parti, Sue entra a la sala de labora e plora en un teleta japanes asta cuando lo pulpi. Alora el entra egosa a la sala de Jonsi con se plance de desinia, sibilante ragtaim. After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Jonsi reposa, creante apena un ondeta su la telones, con se fas turnada a la fenetra. Sue sesa sibila, credente ce el dormi. Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
El organiza se plance e comensa un desinia par pen per pituri un nara de jornal. Artistes joven debe pave se via a Arte par desinia pitures per naras de jornal cual autores joven scrive per pave se via a Leteratur. She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
En cuando Sue desinia un pantalon sofisticada de esibi de cavalo e un monoculo de la figur de la eroe, un cauboi de Idaho, el oia un sona basa, repeteda a alga veses. El vade rapida a la leto. As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
La oios de Jonsi es larga abrida. El regarda tra la fenetra e conta — conta a retro. Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.
"Des-du." — el dise, e poca plu tarda "des-un"; e alora "des", e "nove", e alora "oto" e "sete" cuasi en junta. "Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.
Sue regarda con cura tra la fenetra. Cual es ala per conta? On ave sola un patio vacua e sombre per vide, e la lado nondecorada de la casa de brice a ses metres distante. Un vite de edera multe vea, nodosa e putrida a la radises, asende a alta duida de la mur de brice. La espira fria de autono ia colpa se folias de la vite asta cuando se ramos sceletal adere, cuasi nuda, a la brices desintegrante. Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
"Cual es lo, cara?" — Sue demanda. "What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Ses." — Jonsi dise cuasi a xuxa. "El cade plu rapida aora. Ante tre dias on ia ave cuasi sento. Lo ia fa ce me testa dole de conta los. Ma aora lo es fasil. Aora un otra vade. Sola sinco resta aora." "Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Sinco de cual, cara? Dise a tu Sudi." "Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie."
"Folias. Sur la vite de edera. Cuando la final cade, me debe parti ance. Me ia sabe acel tra tre dias. Esce la dotor no ia dise a tu?" "Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
"O, me ia oia nunca tal asurda." — Sue cexa, con despeta gloriosa. "Como folias vea de edera conserna tu sani? E tu ia ami tan acel vite, tu xica turbosa. No es un bobo. Alora, la dotor ia dise a me a esta matina ce tu probablia de sani pronto es — ta ce nos vide lo cual el ia dise esata — el ia dise la probablia es des contra un! Bon, acel es cuasi un probablia tan bon como nos ave en New York cuando nos monta la vagones de strada o pasea ante un strutur nova. Atenta prende aora alga bulion, e lasa Sudi a reveni a se desinia, afin el pote vende lo a la editor, e compra vino de Porto per se enfante malada, e costelas de porco per se mesma avar." "Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self."
"Tu no nesesa compra plu vino." — Jonsi dise, fisante se oios tra la fenetra. "Ala un otra parti. No, me no desira alga bulion. Sola cuatro resta. Me desira vide ce la final cade ante cuando lo deveni oscur. Alora me va parti ance." "You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."
"Jonsi, cara," — Sue dise, en curvi supra el — "esce tu promete ce tu manteni cluida tu oios, e no regarda tra la fenetra asta cuando me fini la labora? Me va debe presenta acel desinias a doman. Me nesesa la lus, si no me ta basi la cortina." "Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."
"Esce tu no ta pote desinia en la otra sala?" — Jonsi demanda fria. "Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"Me prefere es asi a lado de tu." — Sue dise. "En ajunta, me no vole ce tu continua regarda acel folias de edera bobo." "I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."
"Dise a me tan pronto como tu fini," — Jonsi dise, cluinte se oios, e reposante tan blanca e calma como un sculta cadeda — "car me vole vide ce la final cade. Me es fatigada de espeta. Me es fatigada de pensa. Me vole laxi me teni a cada cosa, e flota a su, a su, tan como un de acel povre folias fatigada." "Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
"Atenta dormi." — Sue dise. "Me debe clama Behrman a alta per es me model per la eremita-escavor vea. Me va asenti min ca un minuto. No atenta move asta cuando me reveni." "Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."
La vea Behrman es un pintor ci abita a la nivel de tera su los. El es de plu ca sesdes e ave un barba como la Moxe de Michelangelo cual pende risa de la testa de un satir, con la corpo de un turbosa. Behrman es un falor en arte. Tra cuatrodes anios el ia brandi la brosa sin deveni tan prosima a toca la orlo de la roba de se Mestresa. El es ja sempre a punto de pinti un obra mestral, ma ia comensa lo nunca. Tra alga anios el ia pinti no cosa esetante aora e alora un peso de comersia o anunsia. El gania un poca par servi como model a acel artistes joven en la colonia ci no pote paia la preso de un profesal. El bevi jin a suprapasa, e parla ancora de se obra mestral a veni. A otra consernas el es un om vea, ferose e peti, ci despeta la molia en cualcun, e ci conseti se como la can-gardor spesial per proteje la du artistes joven en la studio a supra. Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.
Sue trova Behrman en odori forte de bacas de juniper en se nido oscur luminada a su. En un angulo on vide la lona sin motif sur un cavaleta cual espeta ala tra dudes-sinco anios per reseta la linia prima de la obra mestral. El raconta a el la imajina de Jonsi, e como el teme ce vera el ta flota a via, tan lejera e frajil como un folia, cuando se teni minor sur la mundo ta debili. Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
La vea Behrman, con ce se oios roja flue evidente, cria se despeta e burla sur tal imajinas stupida. Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.
"Was!" — el cria en se pronunsia densa deutx. "Esce on ave persones en la mundo tan fol ce los ta mori car folias cade de un vite enfernal? Me no ia escuta de tal cosa. No, me no va posa como model per tu eremita-stupida fol. Perce tu lasa ce acel cosa bobo entra a la serebro de el? Ach, acel povre senioreta Jonsi." "Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy."
"El es multe malada e debil," — Sue dise — "e la febre ia fa ce se mente es morbosa e plen de imajinas strana. Bon, sr Behrman, si tu no vole posa per me, tu no debe. Ma me opina ce tu es un vea repulsante, un — un turbosa." "She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet."
"Tu es esata como un fem!" — Behrman cria. "Ci ia dise ce me no va posa? Vade. Me veni con tu. Tra un dui de ora me ia atenta dise ce me es preparada per posa. Gott! Asi no es un loca en cual un tan bon como srta Jonsi ta debe reposa malada. A alga dia me va pinti un obra mestral, e tota de nos va parti. Gott! Si." "You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."
Jonsi es dorminte cuando los asende. Sue basi la cortina a la cornisa, e gida Behrman par sinias a la otra sala. Ala los regarda temosa tra la fenetra a la vite de edera. Alora los regarda la un la otra tra un momento sin parla. Un pluve fria e persistente cade, miscada con neva. Behrman, en se camisa vea e blu, senta se como la eremita-escavor sur un caldera inversada per un roca. Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.
Cuando Sue velia de un ora de dormi a la matina prosima, el trova ce Jonsi regarda fisada con oios nonagu e tota abrida a la cortina verde basida. When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
"Alti lo; me vole vide." — el esije xuxante. "Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
Fatigada Sue obedi. Wearily Sue obeyed.
Ma vide! Pos la pluve batente e soflones savaje de venta cual ia ostina tra la note intera, on ave ancora sur la mur de brice un folia de edera. Lo es la final sur la vite. Ancora oscur verde a prosima de se talo, con ce se bordas sierin es tinjeda con la jala de disolve e dejenera, lo pende brava de la ramo a sirca ses metres supra la tera. But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground.
"Lo es la final." — Jonsi dise. "Me ia pensa ce serta lo va cade tra la note. Me ia oia la venta. Lo va cade oji, e me va mori a la mesma ves." "It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time."
"Cara, cara!" — Sue dise, curvinte se fas fatigada a su a la cuxin — "Pensa de me, si tu no va pensa de tu mesma. Cual me ta fa?" "Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"
Ma Jonsi no responde. La cosa la plu solitar en tota la mundo es un spirito cuando lo prepara parti a se viaja misteriosa e distante. La imajina pare posesente el plu forte en cuando la lias cual fisa el a amia e a tera es laxida en serie. But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.
La dia gasta, e an tra la lus final los pote vide ce la sola folia de edera adere a se talo sur la mur. E alora, con la veni de la note la venta norde es denova relasada, en cuando la pluve ancora bate contra la fenetra e tape de la estendes nederlandes basa. The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.
Cuando on ave sufisinte lus, Jonsi la sever esije ce la cortina es altida. When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
La folia de edera es ancora ala. The ivy leaf was still there.
Jonsi reposa longa en regarda lo. E alora el clama a Sue, ci jira se bulion de gal a la stufa de gas. Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.
"Me ia es un xica mal, Sudi." — Jonsi dise. "Alga cosa fa ce acel folia final resta ala per mostra a me lo como mal me ia es. Lo es un peca ce on desira mori. Tu pote trae a me un poca de bulion aora, e alga lete con un poca de oporto en lo, e — no, trae a me un miror de mano a prima, e alora foli alga cuxines sirca me, e me va leva a senta e va regarda ce tu coce." "I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."
Pos un ora el dise — An hour later she said:
"Sudi, a alga dia me espera pinti la baia de Napoli." "Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
La dotor veni a la posmedia, e Sue ave un escusa per entra a la coredor en cuando el parti. The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.
"Probablia egal." — la dotor dise, prendente la mano secutente de Sue en se propre. "Con bon cura tu va gania. E aora me debe vide un otra caso de me a su. Behrman, es se nom — alga tipo de artiste, me crede. Pneumonia ance. El es un om vea e debil, e la ataca es acuta. On ave no espera per el; ma el vade oji a la ospital afin el deveni plu comfortada." "Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."
A la dia prosima la dotor dise a Sue. "El es ultra peril. Tu ia gania. Nuri e cura aora — acel va sufisi." The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."
E a acel posmedia Sue veni a la leto do Jonsi reposa, en tricota contente un tela de spala de lana, multe blu e multe nonusosa, e pone un braso sirca el, an con cuxines. And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
"Me ave un cosa per raconta a tu, mus blanca." — el dise. "Sr Behrman ia mori oji de pneumonia en la ospital. El ia es malada tra mera du dias. La mantenor ia trova el a la matina de la dia prima en se sala a su, sin defende par dole. Se sapatos e vestes ia es tota moiada e jelin fria. On no ia pote imajina do el ia es en un note tan asustante. E alora los ia trova un lampa, ancora luminada, e un scala cual ia es tirada de se loca, e alga brosas sperdeda, e un paleta con colores verde e jala miscada sur lo, e — regarda tra la fenetra, cara, a la folia final sur la mur. Esce tu no ia vole sabe perce nunca lo ia bateta o move en la venta? A me cara, lo es la obra mestral de Behrman — el ia pinti lo ala a la note cuando la folia final ia cade." "I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and — look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."

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