Tuesdays with Morrie-23

fumble:乱摸，笨拙地弄

shudder:战栗；发抖

intuitive:直觉的

recliner:躺椅

flirt:打情骂俏

commode:洗手间

nostril:鼻孔

scrub:擦洗

gown:长袍（指医生制服）

endure:忍受

bran:麦麸

puree:煮成浓汤或者酱

straw:吸管

sloppy:不拘小节的

perfectionist:完美主义者

decline:拒绝

crescent:嘴角上翘的

stiff:僵硬的

commitment:承诺

alligator:鳄鱼

murky:幽暗

swamp:沼泽

mild:轻微的

The TenthTuesday: We Talk About Marriage

Ibrought a visitor to meet Morrie. My wife.

Hehad been asking me since the first day I came. "When do I meetJanine?" "When are you bringing her?"

I'dalways had excuses until a few days earlier, when I called his house to see howhe was doing.

Ittook a while for Morrie to get to the receiver. And when he did, I could hearthe fumbling as someone held it to his ear. He could no longer lift a phone byhimself. "Hiiiiii," he gasped.

Youdoing okay, Coach?

Iheard him exhale. "Mitch . . . your coach . . . isn't having such a greatday . . .

Hissleeping time was getting worse. He needed oxygen almost nightly now, and his coughingspells had become frightening. One cough could last an hour, and he never knewifhe'd be able to stop. He always said he would die when the disease got hislungs. I shuddered when I thought how close death was.

I'llsee you on Tuesday, I said. You'll have a better day then.

"Mitch."

Yeah?

"Isyour wife there with you?" She was sitting next to me.

"Puther on. I want to hear her voice."

Now,I am married to a woman blessed with far more intuitive kindness than 1.Although she had never met Morrie, she took the phone -I would have shaken myhead and whispered, "I'm not here! I'm not here!"-and in a minute, shewas connecting with my old professor as if they'd known each other sincecollege. I sensed this, even though all I heard on my end was "Uh-huh . . .Mitch told me . . . oh, thank you . . .

Whenshe hung up, she said, "I'm coming next trip." And that was that.

Nowwe sat in his office, surrounding him in his recliner. Morrie, by his ownadmission, was a harmless flirt, and while he often had to stop for coughing, orto use the commode, he seemed to find new reserves of energy with Janine in theroom. He looked at photos from our wedding, which Janine had brought along.

"Youare from Detroit?" Morrie said. Yes, Janine said.

"Itaught in Detroit for one year, in the late forties. I remember a funny storyabout that."

Hestopped to blow his nose. When he fumbled with the tissue, I held it in placeand he blew weakly into it. I squeezed it lightly against his nostrils, then pulledit off, like a mother does to a child in a car seat.

"Thankyou, Mitch." He looked at Janine. "My helper, this one is."

Janinesmiled.

"Anyhow.My story. There were a bunch of sociologists at the university, and we used toplay poker with other staff members, including this guy who was a surgeon. Onenight, after the game, he said, 'Morrie, I want to come see you work.' I saidfine. So he came to one of my classes and watched me teach.

"Afterthe class was over he said, `All right, now, how would you like to see me work?I have an operation tonight.' I wanted to return the favor, so I said okay.

"Hetook me up to the hospital. He said, `Scrub down, put on a mask, and get into agown.' And next thing I knew, I was right next to him at the operating table.There was this woman, the patient, on the table, naked from the waist down. Andhe took a knife and went zip just like that! Well . . .

Morrielifted a finger and spun it around.

". . . I started to go like this. I'm about to faint. All the blood. Yech. Thenurse next to me said, `What's the matter, Doctor?' and I said, `I'm no damndoctor! Get me out of here!' "

Welaughed, and Morrie laughed, too, as hard as he could, with his limitedbreathing. It was the first time in weeks that I could recall him telling astory like this. How strange, I thought, that he nearly fainted once fromwatching someone else's illness, and now he was so able to endure his own.

Connieknocked on the door and said that Morrie's lunch was ready. It was not thecarrot soup and vegetable cakes and Greek pasta I had brought that morning fromBread and Circus. Although I tried to buy the softest of foods now, they werestill beyond Morrie's limited strength to chew and swallow. He was eating mostlyliquid supplements, with perhaps a bran muffin tossed in until it was mushy andeasily digested. Charlotte would puree almost everything in a blender now. Hewas taking food through a straw. I still shopped every week and walked in withbags to show him, but it was more for the look on his face than anything else.When I opened the refrigerator, I would see an overflow of containers. I guessI was hoping that one day we would go back to eating a real lunch together and Icould watch the sloppy way in which he talked while chewing, the food spillinghappily out of his mouth. This was a foolish hope.

"So. . . Janine," Morrie said. She smiled.

"Youare lovely. Give me your hand."

Shedid.

"Mitchsays that you're a professional singer." Yes, Janine said.

"Hesays you're great."

Oh,she laughed. No. He just says that.

Morrieraised his eyebrows. "Will you sing something for me?"

Now,I have heard people ask this of Janine for almost as long as I have known her.When people find out you sing for a living, they always say, "Singsomething for us." Shy about her talent, and a perfectionist aboutconditions, Janine never did. She would politely decline.

Which is what I expectednow.

Which is when she beganto sing:

"The very thoughtof you

and I forget to do

the little ordinarythings that everyone ought to do . . . "

Itwas a 193os standard, written by Ray Noble, and Janine sang it sweetly, lookingstraight at Morrie. I was amazed, once again, at his ability to draw emotionfrom people who otherwise kept it locked away. Morrie closed his eyes to absorbthe notes. As my wife's loving voice filled the room, a crescent smile appeared onhis face. And while his body was stiff as a sandbag, you could almost see himdancing inside it.

"I see your face inevery flower,

your eyes in starsabove,

it's just the thought ofyou,

the very thought of you,

my love . . . "

Whenshe finished, Morrie opened his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks. In allthe years I have listened to my wife sing, I never heard her the way he did atthat moment.

Marriage.Almost everyone I knew had a problem with it. Some had problems getting intoit, some had problems getting out. My generation seemed to struggle with thecommitment, as if it were an alligator from some murky swamp. I had gotten usedto attending weddings, congratulating the couple, and feeling only mildsurprise when I saw the groom a few years later sitting in a restaurant with ayounger woman whom he introduced as a friend. "You know, I'm separatedfrom so-and-so . . ." he would say.

Whydo we have such problems? I asked Morrie about this. Having waited seven yearsbefore I proposed to Janine, I wondered if people my age were being more carefulthan those who came before us, or simply more selfish?