[87918] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Four Things Happen Before A Heart Attack
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Heart Attack Fighter)
Thu Sep 1 19:38:40 2016
Date: Thu, 1 Sep 2016 19:35:02 -0400
From: "Heart Attack Fighter" <heart.attack.fighter@fullpotentials.stream>
To: <mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu>
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<title>Four Things Happen Before A Heart Attack</title>=20
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<p><strong>There are 4 things that happen right before you DIE of a heart=
attack. You can take your pick which will cause you to suffer the most.</s=
trong></p>=20
<p>But what I can tell you for sure is, you do NOT want to feel the pain =
of any of them.</p>=20
<p>They are excruciatingly painful.</p>=20
<p>They are terrifying.</p>=20
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<p>Four Things Happen Before A Heart Attack<br /> " Oh, you' ll see=
! I' m sure it was to have sons like Emil, and to give them a chance, that =
father left the old country. It' s curious, too; on the outside Emil is jus=
t like an American boy,--he graduated from the State University in June, yo=
u know,--but underneath he is more Swedish than any of us. Sometimes he is =
so like father that he frightens me; he is so violent in his feelings like =
that." " Is he going to farm here with you?" " He shall=
do whatever he wants to," Alexandra declared warmly. " He is goi=
ng to have a chance, a whole chance; that' s what I' ve worked for. Sometim=
es he talks about studying law, and sometimes, just lately, he' s been talk=
ing about going out into the sand hills and taking up more land. He has his=
sad times, like father. But I hope he won' t do that. We have land enough,=
at last!" Alexandra laughed. " How about Lou and Oscar? They' ve=
done well, haven' t they?" " Yes, very well; but they are differ=
ent, and now that they have farms of their own I do not see so much of them=
We divided the land equally when Lou married. They have their own way of =
doing things, and they do not altogether like my way, I am afraid. Perhaps =
they think me too independent. But I have had to think for myself a good ma=
ny years and am not likely to change. On the whole, though, we take as much=
comfort in each other as most brothers and sisters do. And I am very fond =
of Lou' s oldest daughter." " I think I liked the old Lou and Osc=
ar better, and they probably feel the same about me. I even, if you can kee=
p a secret," --Carl leaned forward and touched her arm, smiling,--&quo=
t; I even think I liked the old country better. This is all very splendid i=
n its way, but there was something about this country when it was a wild ol=
d beast that has haunted me all these years. Now, when I come back to all t=
his milk and honey, I feel like the old German song, ' Wo bist du, wo bist =
du, mein geliebtest Land?' -- Do you ever feel like that, I wonder?" &=
quot; Yes, sometimes, when I think about father and mother and those who ar=
e gone; so many of our old neighbors." Alexandra paused and looked up =
thoughtfully at the stars. " We can remember the graveyard when it was=
wild prairie, Carl, and now--" " And now the old story has begun=
to write itself over there," said Carl softly. " Isn' t it queer=
: there are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating thems=
elves as fiercely as if they had never happened before; like the larks in t=
his country, that have been singing the same five notes over for thousands =
of years." " Oh, yes! The young people, they live so hard. And ye=
t I sometimes envy them. There is my little neighbor, now; the people who b=
ought your old place. I wouldn' t have sold it to any one else, but I was a=
lways fond of that girl. You must remember her, little Marie Tovesky, from =
Omaha, who used to visit here? When she was eighteen she ran away from the =
convent school and got married, crazy child! She came out here a bride, wit=
h her father and husband. He had nothing, and the old man was willing to bu=
y them a place and set them up. Your farm took her fancy, and I was glad to=
have her so near me. I' ve never been sorry, either. I even try to get alo=
ng with Frank on her account." " Is Frank her husband?" &quo=
t; Yes. He' s one of these wild fellows. Most Bohemians are good-natured, b=
ut Frank thinks we don' t appreciate him here, I guess. He' s jealous about=
everything, his farm and his horses and his pretty wife. Everybody likes h=
er, just the same as when she was little. Sometimes I go up to the Catholic=
church with Emil, and it' s funny to see Marie standing there laughing and=
shaking hands with people, looking so excited and gay, with Frank sulking =
behind her as if he could eat everybody alive. Frank' s not a bad neighbor,=
but to get on with him you' ve got to make a fuss over him and act as if y=
ou thought he was a very important person all the time, and different from =
other people. I find it hard to keep that up from one year' s end to anothe=
r." " I shouldn' t think you' d be very successful at that kind o=
f thing, Alexandra." Carl seemed to find the idea amusing. " Well=
," said Alexandra firmly, " I do the best I can, on Marie' s acco=
unt. She has it hard enough, anyway. She' s too young and pretty for this s=
ort of life. We' re all ever so much older and slower. But she' s the kind =
that won' t be downed easily. She' ll work all day and go to a Bohemian wed=
ding and dance all night, and drive the hay wagon for a cross man next morn=
ing. I could stay by a job, but I never had the go in me that she has, when=
I was going my best. I' ll have to take you over to see her to-morrow.&quo=
t; Carl dropped the end of his cigar softly among the castor beans and sigh=
ed. " Yes, I suppose I must see the old place. I' m cowardly about thi=
ngs that remind me of myself. It took courage to come at all, Alexandra. I =
wouldn' t have, if I hadn' t wanted to see you very, very much." Alexa=
ndra looked at him with her calm, deliberate eyes. " Why do you dread =
things like that, Carl?" she asked earnestly. " Why are you dissa=
tisfied with yourself?" Her visitor winced. " How direct you are,=
Alexandra! Just like you used to be. Do I give myself away so quickly? Wel=
l, you see, for one thing, there' s nothing to look forward to in my profes=
sion. Wood-engraving is the only thing I care about, and that had gone out =
before I began. Everything' s cheap metal work nowadays, touching up misera=
ble photographs, forcing up poor drawings, and spoiling good ones. I' m abs=
olutely sick of it all." Carl frowned. " Alexandra, all the way o=
ut from New York I' ve been planning how I could deceive you and make you t=
hink me a very enviable fellow, and here I am telling you the truth the fir=
st night. I waste a lot of time pretending to people, and the joke of it is=
, I don' t think I ever deceive any one. There are too many of my kind; peo=
ple know us on sight." Carl paused. Alexandra pushed her hair back fro=
m her brow with a puzzled, thoughtful gesture. " You see," he wen=
t on calmly, " measured by your standards here, I' m a failure. I coul=
dn' t buy even one of your cornfields. I' ve enjoyed a great many things, b=
ut I' ve got nothing to show for it all." " But you show for it y=
ourself, Carl. I' d rather have had your freedom than my land." Carl s=
hook his head mournfully. " Freedom so often means that one isn' t nee=
ded anywhere. Here you are an individual, you have a background of your own=
, you would be missed. But off there in the cities there are thousands of r=
olling stones like me. We are all alike; we have no ties, we know nobody, w=
e own nothing. When one of us dies, they scarcely know where to bury him. O=
ur landlady and the delicatessen man are our mourners, and we leave nothing=
behind us but a frock-coat and a fiddle, or an easel, or a typewriter, or =
whatever tool we got our living by. All we have ever managed to do is to pa=
y our rent, the exorbitant rent that one has to pay for a few square feet o=
f space near the heart of things. We have no house, no place, no people of =
our own. We live in the streets, in the parks, in the theatres. We sit in r=
estaurants and concert halls and look about at the hundreds of our own kind=
and shudder." Alexandra was silent. She sat looking at the silver spo=
t the moon made on the surface of the pond down in the pasture. He knew tha=
t she understood what he meant. At last she said slowly, " And yet I w=
ould rather have Emil grow up like that than like his two brothers. We pay =
a high rent, too, though we pay differently. We grow hard and heavy here. W=
e don' t move lightly and easily as you do, and our minds get stiff. If the=
world were no wider than my cornfields, if there were not something beside=
this, I wouldn' t feel that it was much worth while to work. No, I would r=
ather have Emil like you than like them. I felt that as soon as you came.&q=
uot; " I wonder why you feel like that?" Carl mused. " I don=
' t know. Perhaps I am like Carrie Jensen, the sister of one of my hired me=
n. She had never been out of the cornfields, and a few years ago she got de=
spondent and said life was just the same thing over and over, and she didn'=
t see the use of it. After she had tried to kill herself once or twice, he=
r folks got worried and sent her over to Iowa to visit some relations. Ever=
since she' s come back she' s been perfectly cheerful, and she says she' s=
contented to live and work in a world that' s so big and interesting. She =
said that anything as big as the bridges over the Platte and the Missouri r=
econciled her. And it' s what goes on in the world that reconciles me."=
; V Alexandra did not find time to go to her neighbor' s the next day, nor =
the next. It was a busy season on the farm, with the corn-plowing going on,=
and even Emil was in the field with a team and cultivator. Carl went about=
over the farms with Alexandra in the morning, and in the afternoon and eve=
ning they found a great deal to talk about. Emil, for all his track practic=
e, did not stand up under farmwork very well, and by night he was too tired=
to talk or even to practise on his cornet. On Wednesday morning Carl got u=
p before it was light, and stole downstairs and out of the kitchen door jus=
t as old Ivar was making his morning ablutions at the pump. Carl nodded to =
him and hurried up the draw, past the garden, and into the pasture where th=
e milking cows used to be kept. The dawn in the east looked like the light =
from some great fire that was burning under the edge of the world. The colo=
r was reflected in the globules of dew that sheathed the short gray pasture=
grass. Carl walked rapidly until he came to the crest of the second hill, =
where the Bergson pasture joined the one that had belonged to his father. T=
here he sat down and waited for the sun to rise. It was just there that he =
and Alexandra used to do their milking together, he on his side of the fenc=
e, she on hers. He could remember exactly how she looked when she came over=
the close-cropped grass, her skirts pinned up, her head bare, a bright tin=
pail in either hand, and the milky light of the early morning all about he=
r. Even as a boy he used to feel, when he saw her coming with her free step=
, her upright head and calm shoulders, that she looked as if she had walked=
straight out of the morning itself. Since then, when he had happened to se=
e the sun come up in the country or on the water, he had often remembered t=
he young Swedish girl and her milking pails. Carl sat musing until the sun =
leaped above the prairie, and in the grass about him all the small creature=
s of day began to tune their tiny instruments. Birds and insects without nu=
mber began to chirp, to twitter, to snap and whistle, to make all manner of=
fresh shrill noises. The pasture was flooded with light; every clump of ir=
onweed and snow-on-the-mountain threw a long shadow, and the golden light s=
eemed to be rippling through the curly grass like the tide racing in. He cr=
ossed the fence into the pasture that was now the Shabatas' and continued h=
is walk toward the pond. He had not gone far, however, when he discovered t=
hat he was not the only person abroad. In the draw below, his gun in his ha=
nds, was Emil, advancing cautiously, with a young woman beside him. They we=
re moving softly, keeping close together, and Carl knew that they expected =
to find ducks on the pond. At the moment when they came in sight of the bri=
ght spot of water, he heard a whirr of wings and the ducks shot up into the=
air. There was a sharp crack from the gun, and five of the birds fell to t=
he ground. Emil and his companion laughed delightedly, and Emil ran to pick=
them up. When he came back, dangling the ducks by their feet, Marie held h=
er apron and he dropped them into it. As she stood looking down at them, he=
r face changed. She took up one of the birds, a rumpled ball of feathers wi=
th the blood dripping slowly from its mouth, and looked at the live color t=
hat still burned on its plumage. As she let it fall, she cried in distress,=
" Oh, Emil, why did you?" " I like that!" the boy excl=
aimed indignantly. " Why, Marie, you asked me to come yourself." =
" :Yes, yes, I know," she said tearfully, " but I didn' t th=
ink. I hate to see them when they are first shot. They were having such a g=
ood time, and we' ve spoiled it all for them." Emil gave a rather sore=
laugh. " I should say we had! I' m not going hunting with you any mor=
e. You' re as bad as Ivar. Here, let me take them." He snatched the du=
cks out of her apron. " Don' t be cross, Emil. Only--Ivar' s right abo=
ut wild things. They' re too happy to kill. You can tell just how they felt=
when they flew up. They were scared, but they didn' t really think anythin=
g could hurt them. No, we won' t do that any more." " All right,&=
quot; Emil assented. " I' m sorry I made you feel bad." As he loo=
ked down into her tearful eyes, there was a curious, sharp young bitterness=
in his own. Carl watched them as they moved slowly down the draw. They had=
not seen him at all. He had not overheard much of their dialogue, but he f=
elt the import of it. It made him, somehow, unreasonably mournful to find t=
wo young things abroad in the pasture in the early morning. He decided that=
he needed his breakfast. VI At dinner that day Alexandra said she thought =
they must really manage to go over to the Shabatas' that afternoon. " =
It' s not often I let three days go by without seeing Marie. She will think=
I have forsaken her, now that my old friend has come back." After the=
men had gone back to work, Alexandra put on a white dress and her sun-hat,=
and she and Carl set forth across the fields. " You see we have kept =
up the old path, Carl. It has been so nice for me to feel that there was a =
friend at the other end of it again." Carl smiled a little ruefully. &=
quot; All the same, I hope it hasn' t been QUITE the same." Alexandra =
looked at him with surprise. " Why, no, of course not. Not the same. S=
he could not very well take your place, if that' s what you mean. I' m frie=
ndly with all my neighbors, I hope. But Marie is really a companion, some o=
ne I can talk to quite frankly. You wouldn' t want me to be more lonely tha=
n I have been, would you?" </p>=20
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