[87818] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Diabetes Patient Speechless
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Dr Fix It)
Wed Aug 31 09:18:26 2016
Date: Wed, 31 Aug 2016 09:01:58 -0400
From: "Dr Fix It" <dr.fix.it@mayotteboutique.com>
To: <mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu>
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<title>Diabetes Patient Speechless</title> =20
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At the link below, we' re going to REVEAL to you
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<span class=3D"Apple-converted-space"> </span>
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erted-space"> </span>drugs DON' T work and how you have been LIED to =
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<p>Diabetes Patient Speechless<br /> Carl laughed and pushed back the tr=
iangular lock of hair with the edge of his hat. "Of course I don't. I =
ought to be thankful that this path hasn't been worn by--well, by friends w=
ith more pressing errands than your little Bohemian is likely to have."=
; He paused to give Alexandra his hand as she stepped over the stile. "=
;Are you the least bit disappointed in our coming together again?" he =
asked abruptly. "Is it the way you hoped it would be?" Alexandra =
smiled at this. "Only better. When I've thought about your coming, I'v=
e sometimes been a little afraid of it. You have lived where things move so=
fast, and everything is slow here; the people slowest of all. Our lives ar=
e like the years, all made up of weather and crops and cows. How you hated =
cows!" She shook her head and laughed to herself. "I didn't when =
we milked together. I walked up to the pasture corners this morning. I wond=
er whether I shall ever be able to tell you all that I was thinking about u=
p there. It's a strange thing, Alexandra; I find it easy to be frank with y=
ou about everything under the sun except--yourself!" "You are afr=
aid of hurting my feelings, perhaps." Alexandra looked at him thoughtf=
ully. "No, I'm afraid of giving you a shock. You've seen yourself for =
so long in the dull minds of the people about you, that if I were to tell y=
ou how you seem to me, it would startle you. But you must see that you asto=
nish me. You must feel when people admire you." Alexandra blushed and =
laughed with some confusion. "I felt that you were pleased with me, if=
you mean that." "And you've felt when other people were pleased =
with you?" he insisted. "Well, sometimes. The men in town, at the=
banks and the county offices, seem glad to see me. I think, myself, it is =
more pleasant to do business with people who are clean and healthy-looking,=
" she admitted blandly. Carl gave a little chuckle as he opened the Sh=
abatas' gate for her. "Oh, do you?" he asked dryly. There was no =
sign of life about the Shabatas' house except a big yellow cat, sunning its=
elf on the kitchen doorstep. Alexandra took the path that led to the orchar=
d. "She often sits there and sews. I didn't telephone her we were comi=
ng, because I didn't want her to go to work and bake cake and freeze ice-cr=
eam. She'll always make a party if you give her the least excuse. Do you re=
cognize the apple trees, Carl?" Linstrum looked about him. "I wis=
h I had a dollar for every bucket of water I've carried for those trees. Po=
or father, he was an easy man, but he was perfectly merciless when it came =
to watering the orchard." "That's one thing I like about Germans;=
they make an orchard grow if they can't make anything else. I'm so glad th=
ese trees belong to some one who takes comfort in them. When I rented this =
place, the tenants never kept the orchard up, and Emil and I used to come o=
ver and take care of it ourselves. It needs mowing now. There she is, down =
in the corner. Maria-a-a!" she called. A recumbent figure started up f=
rom the grass and came running toward them through the flickering screen of=
light and shade. "Look at her! Isn't she like a little brown rabbit?&=
quot; Alexandra laughed. Maria ran up panting and threw her arms about Alex=
andra. "Oh, I had begun to think you were not coming at all, maybe. I =
knew you were so busy. Yes, Emil told me about Mr. Linstrum being here. Won=
't you come up to the house?" "Why not sit down there in your cor=
ner? Carl wants to see the orchard. He kept all these trees alive for years=
, watering them with his own back." Marie turned to Carl. "Then I=
'm thankful to you, Mr. Linstrum. We'd never have bought the place if it ha=
dn't been for this orchard, and then I wouldn't have had Alexandra, either.=
" She gave Alexandra's arm a little squeeze as she walked beside her. =
"How nice your dress smells, Alexandra; you put rosemary leaves in you=
r chest, like I told you." She led them to the northwest corner of the=
orchard, sheltered on one side by a thick mulberry hedge and bordered on t=
he other by a wheatfield, just beginning to yellow. In this corner the grou=
nd dipped a little, and the blue-grass, which the weeds had driven out in t=
he upper part of the orchard, grew thick and luxuriant. Wild roses were fla=
ming in the tufts of bunchgrass along the fence. Under a white mulberry tre=
e there was an old wagon-seat. Beside it lay a book and a workbasket. "=
;You must have the seat, Alexandra. The grass would stain your dress,"=
the hostess insisted. She dropped down on the ground at Alexandra's side a=
nd tucked her feet under her. Carl sat at a little distance from the two wo=
men, his back to the wheatfield, and watched them. Alexandra took off her s=
hade-hat and threw it on the ground. Marie picked it up and played with the=
white ribbons, twisting them about her brown fingers as she talked. They m=
ade a pretty picture in the strong sunlight, the leafy pattern surrounding =
them like a net; the Swedish woman so white and gold, kindly and amused, bu=
t armored in calm, and the alert brown one, her full lips parted, points of=
yellow light dancing in her eyes as she laughed and chattered. Carl had ne=
ver forgotten little Marie Tovesky's eyes, and he was glad to have an oppor=
tunity to study them. The brown iris, he found, was curiously slashed with =
yellow, the color of sunflower honey, or of old amber. In each eye one of t=
hese streaks must have been larger than the others, for the effect was that=
of two dancing points of light, two little yellow bubbles, such as rise in=
a glass of champagne. Sometimes they seemed like the sparks from a forge. =
She seemed so easily excited, to kindle with a fierce little flame if one b=
ut breathed upon her. "What a waste," Carl reflected. "She o=
ught to be doing all that for a sweetheart. How awkwardly things come about=
!" It was not very long before Marie sprang up out of the grass again.=
"Wait a moment. I want to show you something." She ran away and =
disappeared behind the low-growing apple trees. "What a charming creat=
ure," Carl murmured. "I don't wonder that her husband is jealous.=
But can't she walk? does she always run?" Alexandra nodded. "Alw=
ays. I don't see many people, but I don't believe there are many like her, =
anywhere." Marie came back with a branch she had broken from an aprico=
t tree, laden with pale yellow, pink-cheeked fruit. She dropped it beside C=
arl. "Did you plant those, too? They are such beautiful little trees.&=
quot; Carl fingered the blue-green leaves, porous like blotting-paper and s=
haped like birch leaves, hung on waxen red stems. "Yes, I think I did.=
Are these the circus trees, Alexandra?" "Shall I tell her about =
them?" Alexandra asked. "Sit down like a good girl, Marie, and do=
n't ruin my poor hat, and I'll tell you a story. A long time ago, when Carl=
and I were, say, sixteen and twelve, a circus came to Hanover and we went =
to town in our wagon, with Lou and Oscar, to see the parade. We hadn't mone=
y enough to go to the circus. We followed the parade out to the circus grou=
nds and hung around until the show began and the crowd went inside the tent=
Then Lou was afraid we looked foolish standing outside in the pasture, so=
we went back to Hanover feeling very sad. There was a man in the streets s=
elling apricots, and we had never seen any before. He had driven down from =
somewhere up in the French country, and he was selling them twenty-five cen=
ts a peck. We had a little money our fathers had given us for candy, and I =
bought two pecks and Carl bought one. They cheered us a good deal, and we s=
aved all the seeds and planted them. Up to the time Carl went away, they ha=
dn't borne at all." "And now he's come back to eat them," cr=
ied Marie, nodding at Carl. "That IS a good story. I can remember you =
a little, Mr. Linstrum. I used to see you in Hanover sometimes, when Uncle =
Joe took me to town. I remember you because you were always buying pencils =
and tubes of paint at the drug store. Once, when my uncle left me at the st=
ore, you drew a lot of little birds and flowers for me on a piece of wrappi=
ng-paper. I kept them for a long while. I thought you were very romantic be=
cause you could draw and had such black eyes." Carl smiled. "Yes,=
I remember that time. Your uncle bought you some kind of a mechanical toy,=
a Turkish lady sitting on an ottoman and smoking a hookah, wasn't it? And =
she turned her head backwards and forwards." "Oh, yes! Wasn't she=
splendid! I knew well enough I ought not to tell Uncle Joe I wanted it, fo=
r he had just come back from the saloon and was feeling good. You remember =
how he laughed? She tickled him, too. But when we got home, my aunt scolded=
him for buying toys when she needed so many things. We wound our lady up e=
very night, and when she began to move her head my aunt used to laugh as ha=
rd as any of us. It was a music-box, you know, and the Turkish lady played =
a tune while she smoked. That was how she made you feel so jolly. As I reme=
mber her, she was lovely, and had a gold crescent on her turban." Half=
an hour later, as they were leaving the house, Carl and Alexandra were met=
in the path by a strapping fellow in overalls and a blue shirt. He was bre=
athing hard, as if he had been running, and was muttering to himself. Marie=
ran forward, and, taking him by the arm, gave him a little push toward her=
guests. "Frank, this is Mr. Linstrum." Frank took off his broad =
straw hat and nodded to Alexandra. When he spoke to Carl, he showed a fine =
set of white teeth. He was burned a dull red down to his neckband, and ther=
e was a heavy three-days' stubble on his face. Even in his agitation he was=
handsome, but he looked a rash and violent man. Barely saluting the caller=
s, he turned at once to his wife and began, in an outraged tone, "I ha=
ve to leave my team to drive the old woman Hiller's hogs out-a my wheat. I =
go to take dat old woman to de court if she ain't careful, I tell you!"=
; His wife spoke soothingly. "But, Frank, she has only her lame boy to=
help her. She does the best she can." Alexandra looked at the excited=
man and offered a suggestion. "Why don't you go over there some after=
noon and hog-tight her fences? You'd save time for yourself in the end.&quo=
t; Frank's neck stiffened. "Not-a-much, I won't. I keep my hogs home. =
Other peoples can do like me. See? If that Louis can mend shoes, he can men=
d fence." "Maybe," said Alexandra placidly; "but I've f=
ound it sometimes pays to mend other people's fences. Good-bye, Marie. Come=
to see me soon." Alexandra walked firmly down the path and Carl follo=
wed her. Frank went into the house and threw himself on the sofa, his face =
to the wall, his clenched fist on his hip. Marie, having seen her guests of=
f, came in and put her hand coaxingly on his shoulder. "Poor Frank! Yo=
u've run until you've made your head ache, now haven't you? Let me make you=
some coffee." "What else am I to do?" he cried hotly in Boh=
emian. "Am I to let any old woman's hogs root up my wheat? Is that wha=
t I work myself to death for?" "Don't worry about it, Frank. I'll=
speak to Mrs. Hiller again. But, really, she almost cried last time they g=
ot out, she was so sorry." Frank bounced over on his other side. "=
;That's it; you always side with them against me. They all know it. Anybody=
here feels free to borrow the mower and break it, or turn their hogs in on=
me. They know you won't care!" Marie hurried away to make his coffee.=
When she came back, he was fast asleep. She sat down and looked at him for=
a long while, very thoughtfully. When the kitchen clock struck six she wen=
t out to get supper, closing the door gently behind her. She was always sor=
ry for Frank when he worked himself into one of these rages, and she was so=
rry to have him rough and quarrelsome with his neighbors. She was perfectly=
aware that the neighbors had a good deal to put up with, and that they bor=
e with Frank for her sake. VII Marie's father, Albert Tovesky, was one of t=
he more intelligent Bohemians who came West in the early seventies. He sett=
led in Omaha and became a leader and adviser among his people there. Marie =
was his youngest child, by a second wife, and was the apple of his eye. She=
was barely sixteen, and was in the graduating class of the Omaha High Scho=
ol, when Frank Shabata arrived from the old country and set all the Bohemia=
n girls in a flutter. He was easily the buck of the beer-gardens, and on Su=
nday he was a sight to see, with his silk hat and tucked shirt and blue fro=
ck-coat, wearing gloves and carrying a little wisp of a yellow cane. He was=
tall and fair, with splendid teeth and close-cropped yellow curls, and he =
wore a slightly disdainful expression, proper for a young man with high con=
nections, whose mother had a big farm in the Elbe valley. There was often a=
n interesting discontent in his blue eyes, and every Bohemian girl he met i=
magined herself the cause of that unsatisfied expression. He had a way of d=
rawing out his cambric handkerchief slowly, by one corner, from his breast-=
pocket, that was melancholy and romantic in the extreme. He took a little f=
light with each of the more eligible Bohemian girls, but it was when he was=
with little Marie Tovesky that he drew his handkerchief out most slowly, a=
nd, after he had lit a fresh cigar, dropped the match most despairingly. An=
y one could see, with half an eye, that his proud heart was bleeding for so=
mebody. One Sunday, late in the summer after Marie's graduation, she met Fr=
ank at a Bohemian picnic down the river and went rowing with him all the af=
ternoon. When she got home that evening she went straight to her father's r=
oom and told him that she was engaged to Shabata. Old Tovesky was having a =
comfortable pipe before he went to bed. When he heard his daughter's announ=
cement, he first prudently corked his beer bottle and then leaped to his fe=
et and had a turn of temper. He characterized Frank Shabata by a Bohemian e=
xpression which is the equivalent of stuffed shirt. "Why don't he go t=
o work like the rest of us did? His farm in the Elbe valley, indeed! Ain't =
he got plenty brothers and sisters? It's his mother's farm, and why don't h=
e stay at home and help her? Haven't I seen his mother out in the morning a=
t five o'clock with her ladle and her big bucket on wheels, putting liquid =
manure on the cabbages? Don't I know the look of old Eva Shabata's hands? L=
ike an old horse's hoofs they are--and this fellow wearing gloves and rings=
! Engaged, indeed! You aren't fit to be out of school, and that's what's th=
e matter with you. I will send you off to the Sisters of the Sacred Heart i=
n St. Louis, and they will teach you some sense, ~I~ guess!" According=
ly, the very next week, Albert Tovesky took his daughter, pale and tearful,=
down the river to the convent. But the way to make Frank want anything was=
to tell him he couldn't have it. He managed to have an interview with Mari=
e before she went away, and whereas he had been only half in love with her =
before, he now persuaded himself that he would not stop at anything. Marie =
took with her to the convent, under the canvas lining of her trunk, the res=
ults of a laborious and satisfying morning on Frank's part; no less than a =
dozen photographs of himself, taken in a dozen different love-lorn attitude=
s. There was a little round photograph for her watch-case, photographs for =
her wall and dresser, and even long narrow ones to be used as bookmarks. Mo=
re than once the handsome gentleman was torn to pieces before the French cl=
ass by an indignant nun. Marie pined in the convent for a year, until her e=
ighteenth birthday was passed. Then she met Frank Shabata in the Union Stat=
ion in St. Louis and ran away with him. Old Tovesky forgave his daughter be=
cause there was nothing else to do, and bought her a farm in the country th=
at she had loved so well as a child. Since then her story had been a part o=
f the history of the Divide. She and Frank had been living there for five y=
ears when Carl Linstrum came back to pay his long deferred visit to Alexand=
ra. Frank had, on the whole, done better than one might have expected. He h=
ad flung himself at the soil with savage energy. Once a year he went to Has=
tings or to Omaha, on a spree. He stayed away for a week or two, and then c=
ame home and worked like a demon. He did work; if he felt sorry for himself=
, that was his own affair. VIII On the evening of the day of Alexandra's ca=
ll at the Shabatas', a heavy rain set in. Frank sat up until a late hour re=
ading the Sunday newspapers. One of the Goulds was getting a divorce, and F=
rank took it as a personal affront. In printing the story of the young man'=
s marital troubles, the knowing editor gave a sufficiently colored account =
of his career, stating the amount of his income and the manner in which he =
was supposed to spend it. Frank read English slowly, and the more he read a=
bout this divorce case, the angrier he grew. At last he threw down the page=
with a snort. He turned to his farm-hand who was reading the other half of=
the paper. "By God! if I have that young feller in de hayfield once, =
I show him someting. Listen here what he do wit his money." And Frank =
began the catalogue of the young man's reputed extravagances. Marie sighed.=
She thought it hard that the Goulds, for whom she had nothing but good wil=
l, should make her so much trouble. She hated to see the Sunday newspapers =
come into the house. Frank was always reading about the doings of rich peop=
le and feeling outraged. He had an inexhaustible stock of stories about the=
ir crimes and follies, how they bribed the courts and shot down their butle=
rs with impunity whenever they chose. Frank and Lou Bergson had very simila=
r ideas, and they were two of the political agitators of the county. The ne=
xt morning broke clear and brilliant, but Frank said the ground was too wet=
to plough, so he took the cart and drove over to Sainte-Agnes to spend the=
day at Moses Marcel's saloon. After he was gone, Marie went out to the bac=
k porch to begin her butter-making. A brisk wind had come up and was drivin=
g puffy white clouds across the sky. The orchard was sparkling and rippling=
in the sun. Marie stood looking toward it wistfully, her hand on the lid o=
f the churn, when she heard a sharp ring in the air, the merry sound of the=
whetstone on the scythe. That invitation decided her. She ran into the hou=
se, put on a short skirt and a pair of her husband's boots, caught up a tin=
pail and started for the orchard. Emil had already begun work and was mowi=
ng vigorously. When he saw her coming, he stopped and wiped his brow. His y=
ellow canvas leggings and khaki trousers were splashed to the knees. "=
Don't let me disturb you, Emil. I'm going to pick cherries. Isn't everythin=
g beautiful after the rain? Oh, but I'm glad to get this place mowed! When =
I heard it raining in the night, I thought maybe you would come and do it f=
or me to-day. The wind wakened me. Didn't it blow dreadfully? Just smell th=
e wild roses! They are always so spicy after a rain. We never had so many o=
f them in here before. I suppose it's the wet season. Will you have to cut =
them, too?" "If I cut the grass, I will," Emil said teasingl=
y. "What's the matter with you? What makes you so flighty?" "=
;Am I flighty? I suppose that's the wet season, too, then. It's exciting to=
see everything growing so fast,--and to get the grass cut! Please leave th=
e roses till last, if you must cut them. Oh, I don't mean all of them, I me=
an that low place down by my tree, where there are so many. Aren't you spla=
shed! Look at the spider-webs all over the grass. Good-bye. I'll call you i=
f I see a snake." She tripped away and Emil stood looking after her. I=
n a few moments he heard the cherries dropping smartly into the pail, and h=
e began to swing his scythe with that long, even stroke that few American b=
oys ever learn. Marie picked cherries and sang softly to herself, stripping=
one glittering branch after another, shivering when she caught a shower of=
raindrops on her neck and hair. And Emil mowed his way slowly down toward =
the cherry trees. That summer the rains had been so many and opportune that=
it was almost more than Shabata and his man could do to keep up with the c=
orn; the orchard was a neglected wilderness. All sorts of weeds and herbs a=
nd flowers had grown up there; splotches of wild larkspur, pale green-and-w=
hite spikes of hoarhound, plantations of wild cotton, tangles of foxtail an=
d wild wheat. South of the apricot trees, cornering on the wheatfield, was =
Frank's alfalfa, where myriads of white and yellow butterflies were always =
fluttering above the purple blossoms. When Emil reached the lower corner by=
the hedge, Marie was sitting under her white mulberry tree, the pailful of=
cherries beside her, looking off at the gentle, tireless swelling of the w=
heat. "Emil," she said suddenly--he was mowing quietly about unde=
r the tree so as not to disturb her--"what religion did the Swedes hav=
e away back, before they were Christians?" Emil paused and straightene=
d his back. "I don't know. About like the Germans', wasn't it?" M=
arie went on as if she had not heard him. "The Bohemians, you know, we=
re tree worshipers before the missionaries came. Father says the people in =
the mountains still do queer things, sometimes,--they believe that trees br=
ing good or bad luck." Emil looked superior. "Do they? Well, whic=
h are the lucky trees? I'd like to know." "I don't know all of th=
em, but I know lindens are. The old people in the mountains plant lindens t=
o purify the forest, and to do away with the spells that come from the old =
trees they say have lasted from heathen times. I'm a good Catholic, but I t=
hink I could get along with caring for trees, if I hadn't anything else.&qu=
ot; "That's a poor saying," said Emil, stooping over to wipe his =
hands in the wet grass. "Why is it? If I feel that way, I feel that wa=
y. I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to liv=
e than other things do. I feel as if this tree knows everything I ever thin=
k of when I sit here. When I come back to it, I never have to remind it of =
anything; I begin just where I left off." Emil had nothing to say to t=
his. He reached up among the branches and began to pick the sweet, insipid =
fruit,--long ivory-colored berries, tipped with faint pink, like white cora=
l, that fall to the ground unheeded all summer through. He dropped a handfu=
l into her lap. "Do you like Mr. Linstrum?" Marie asked suddenly.=
"Yes. Don't you?" "Oh, ever so much; only he seems kind of =
staid and school-teachery. But, of course, he is older than Frank, even. I'=
m sure I don't want to live to be more than thirty, do you? Do you think Al=
exandra likes him very much?" "I suppose so. They were old friend=
s." "Oh, Emil, you know what I mean!" Marie tossed her head =
impatiently. "Does she really care about him? When she used to tell me=
about him, I always wondered whether she wasn't a little in love with him.=
" "Who, Alexandra?" Emil laughed and thrust his hands into h=
is trousers pockets. "Alexandra's never been in love, you crazy!"=
He laughed again. "She wouldn't know how to go about it. The idea!&qu=
ot; Marie shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, you don't know Alexandra as wel=
l as you think you do! If you had any eyes, you would see that she is very =
fond of him. It would serve you all right if she walked off with Carl. I li=
ke him because he appreciates her more than you do." Emil frowned. &qu=
ot;What are you talking about, Marie? Alexandra's all right. She and I have=
always been good friends. What more do you want? I like to talk to Carl ab=
out New York and what a fellow can do there." "Oh, Emil! Surely y=
ou are not thinking of going off there?" "Why not? I must go some=
where, mustn't I?" The young man took up his scythe and leaned on it. =
"Would you rather I went off in the sand hills and lived like Ivar?&qu=
ot; Marie's face fell under his brooding gaze. She looked down at his wet l=
eggings. "I'm sure Alexandra hopes you will stay on here," she mu=
rmured. "Then Alexandra will be disappointed," the young man said=
roughly. "What do I want to hang around here for? Alexandra can run t=
he farm all right, without me. I don't want to stand around and look on. I =
want to be doing something on my own account." "That's so," =
Marie sighed. "There are so many, many things you can do. Almost anyth=
ing you choose." "And there are so many, many things I can't do.&=
quot; Emil echoed her tone sarcastically. "Sometimes I don't want to d=
o anything at all, and sometimes I want to pull the four corners of the Div=
ide together,"--he threw out his arm and brought it back with a jerk,-=
-"so, like a table-cloth. I get tired of seeing men and horses going u=
p and down, up and down."</p>=20
</div>=20
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