Paul Willard "true story". Old phone. Paul Willard
About fifteen years ago, friends from Brazil sent me a story that was so beautiful that I immediately, literally overnight, translated it into Russian, and soon this translation was published in the magazine "Foma". At that time we did not yet know the name of the author. But my translation went viral on the Internet and, as I have now discovered, was even anonymously published in a book for children in Minsk. However, over the years the Internet has developed so much that the author has finally been found. Moreover, it turned out that the version that was sent to me was by no means complete. Now I have translated the story to the end, and I would like to restore justice. Take your time, it really is good story. It perhaps explains why people die... I dedicate this translation to two very dear people - my father and my stepfather - who died last year, one after the other, in one week...
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Paul Willard
HELP PLEASE! Real story.
When I was little, my family had a telephone - one of the first in the area. I well remember a polished oak box attached to the wall next to the stairs. A shiny pipe hung at his side. I even remember our number - 105. I was too small to reach the phone, but I often listened in fascination as my mother spoke to him. One day she even lifted me up so that I could talk to my dad, who was always away on business. Magic! Over time, I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing creature - her name was “Information Please”, and there was no such thing in the world that she did not know.My mother could ask her for any phone number, and if our watch stopped, “Information Please” would tell us the exact time.
My first personal experience communication with this “pipe genie” took place one day when my mother went to visit the neighbors. While exploring the workbench in the basement, I accidentally hit my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there was no reason to cry, since there was no one at home who could feel sorry for me anyway. I walked around the house with my throbbing finger in my mouth and finally found myself near the stairs. Telephone!
I quickly ran into the living room for a small stool and dragged it onto the landing. I climbed up, picked up the phone and pressed it to my ear. “Inquiry Please,” I said into the horn, which was located just above my head. There were one or two clicks, and a thin, clear voice spoke into my ear: “Inquiry.” “I hit my ass...” I howled into the phone. The tears fell easily now that I had a listener. “Isn’t your mother at home?” - the question was asked. “No one is home, just me,” I sobbed. “Are you bleeding?” “No,” I answered. - “I hit my finger with a hammer and it hurts a lot.” - “Can you open your glacier?” - she asked. I replied that I could. “Then break off a small piece of ice and put it on your finger. This will take the pain away. Just be careful with the ice pick,” she warned me. - “And don’t cry, everything will be fine.”
After this incident, I called “Information Please” for any reason. I asked her to help me with geography, and she answered where Philadelphia was and where the Orinoco was - a mysterious river that I was going to explore when I became big. She was helping me do math and told me that the chipmunk I caught the day before in the park would eat fruits and nuts. Then Petey, our canary, died. I called Help Please and told her this heartbreaking news. She listened to me and said something that adults usually say to calm a child. But I was not consoled. Do birds really sing so beautifully and bring joy to a home, only to end their days as a lump of feathers at the bottom of a cage? She must have sensed my deep concern and so she said quietly, “Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.” Somehow I felt better.
Another time I called again: “Information please!” “Inquiry,” answered a familiar voice. “How do you spell the word ficus?” - I asked. And just at that moment my sister, who was experiencing some kind of unholy joy from frightening me in every possible way, jumped at me from the stairs with a wild banshee cry: “Ya-a-a-a-a-a-a!” I fell off the stool, uprooting the receiver from the telephone. We were both pretty frightened by what had happened - “Information Please” no longer responded, and I was not sure that I had not harmed her by breaking the phone. A few minutes later, a man knocked on our door. “I’m a telephone technician,” he told my sister and me. “I was working on your street when the operator told me that there might be some problems with this number.” Then he noticed the telephone receiver in my hands."What's happened?" I told him everything. “It’s okay, we’ll fix it in a couple of minutes.” He opened the phone case, revealing to the world a jumble of wires and coils, and fiddled a little with the cord from the handset, screwing it in with a screwdriver. Then he pulled the lever several times and spoke into the phone: “Hi, this is Pete. At 105 everything is ok in the room. The boy was scared by his sister, and he pulled the cord out of the box.” He hung up, smiled, shook my hand and walked out the door.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Later, when I was nine years old, we moved to Boston - across the country. I missed my friend a lot. But “Inquiry Please” belonged to that old wooden box in my old house, and for some reason it never occurred to me to try calling her on the tall, shiny telephone that sat on the table in the hall. Meanwhile, I grew up and became a teenager, but the memories of those childhood conversations never left me. Often in moments of doubt or bewilderment, I evoked in myself that feeling of serene calm that I had when I knew that at any moment I could call “Information Please” and get the right answer. I now appreciated how kind, patient and understanding she must have been to spend her time on a little boy.
A few years later, I headed out West for college, and my plane landed in Seattle along the way. I had half an hour or so between flights. I talked on the phone for about fifteen minutes with my sister, who now lived in this city and had noticeably softened thanks to marriage and motherhood. And then mechanically, without thinking what I was doing, I dialed the operator’s number in my hometown and asked: “Information please.” Supernaturally, I heard a thin, clear voice that I knew so well: “Inquiry.” I didn’t plan anything like this, but suddenly I asked: “How do you spell the word ficus?” There was a long silence, and then a soft answer came: “I assume your finger is completely healed?” I laughed. "So it's really you?" - I said. - “If you only knew how much you meant to me all this time!” “Do you know,” she asked in response, “how much your calls meant to me? I was really looking forward to them, because I never had children of my own. So stupid, isn't it? It didn’t seem stupid to me at all, but for some reason I didn’t answer her. Instead, I told her how often I had thought about her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I visited my sister at the end of the semester. “Of course, call,” she said. - “Just ask for Sally.” - “Goodbye, Sally!” - It was so strange to me that “Information Please” has a name... - “If I find another chipmunk, I will definitely tell him to eat fruits and nuts...” - “Yes, of course,” she answered. - “And I’m still waiting for you to go explore the Orinoco... Have a nice trip!”
Just three months later I found myself back in Seattle. Another voice answered: “Inquiry.” I asked Sally. "Are you her friend?" - they asked me. "Yes very old friend", I assured the girl. "I'm really sorry to tell you this," she said. “Sally has been working part-time for the past few years because she has been ill. She died five weeks ago." I was about to hang up, but she suddenly asked: “Wait, are you Paul by any chance?” - "Yes". - “You know, Sally left you a message - a note, in case you call. I’ll read it to you now.” I almost knew what I would hear. The note said: “Tell him I'm still sure there are other worlds to sing in. He'll understand what I meant."
I thanked the girl and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
139I was very young when a telephone appeared in our house - one of the first telephones in our city. Remember those big bulky boxes called machines?
I was still too short to reach the shiny receiver hanging on the wall, and I always watched in fascination as my parents talked on the phone.
Later I realized that inside this amazing tube there was a little man whose name was: Operator, Be Kind. And there was no such thing in the world that the little man did not know.
Operator, Be Kind, knew everything - from telephone numbers neighbors to the train schedule.
My first experience with this genie in a bottle was when I was alone at home and hit my finger with a hammer. There was no point in crying because there was no one at home to feel sorry for me. But the pain was severe. And then I put a chair against the telephone receiver hanging on the wall.
Operator, Please.
You know, I hit my finger... with a hammer.....
And then I cried because I had a listener.
Mom is at home? - asked the Operator, Be Kind.
There’s no one,” I muttered.
No, it just hurts a lot.
Is there ice in the house?
Can you open the ice chest?
“Put a piece of ice on your finger,” the voice advised.
After this incident, I called the Operator, Be Kind on any occasion. I asked her to help me do my homework and asked her what to feed the hamster.
One day, our canary died. I immediately called the Operator, Please, and told her this sad news. She tried to calm me down, but I was inconsolable and asked:
- Why should it be that a beautiful bird, which brought so much joy to our family with its singing, had to die and turn into a small lump covered with feathers lying at the bottom of the cage?
“Paul,” she said quietly, “Always remember: there are other worlds where you can sing.”
And I somehow immediately calmed down.
The next day I called as if nothing had happened and asked how to spell the word fix.
When I turned 9, we moved to another city. I missed the Operator, Be Kind and often thought about her, but that voice belonged to the old bulky telephone set in my previous home and I had no association with the shiny new telephone on the table in the hall.
As a teenager, I also did not forget about her: the memory of the security that these dialogues gave me helped me in moments of bewilderment and confusion.
As an adult, I was able to appreciate how much patience and tact she showed when talking with the baby.
A few years after graduating from college, I was passing through my hometown. I only had half an hour before connecting to a plane.
Without thinking, I went to the pay phone and dialed the number:
Can you tell me how to spell the word fix?
First there is a long pause. Then came the answer, calm and soft, as always:
“I think your finger has already healed by now.”
I laughed:
- Oh, it's really you! I wonder if you realized how much our conversations meant to me!
“I’m wondering,” she said, “if you knew how much your calls meant to me.” I never had children and your calls were such a joy to me.
And then I told her how often I had thought about her all these years and asked if we could see each other when I came to the city again.
“Of course,” she replied, “Just call and ask Sally.”
Three months later I was again passing through this city.
Operator.
I asked to see Sally.
Yes, a very old friend,” I replied.
I'm very sorry, but Sally died a few weeks ago.
Before I could hang up, she said:
Wait a minute. Is your name Paul?
If so, Sally left a note for you in case you called... May I read it to you? So... the note says:
» Remind him that there are other worlds in which to sing. He will understand."
I thanked her and hung up.
Paul Willard "Be Kind"
I was very young when a telephone appeared in our house - one of the first telephones in our city. Remember those big bulky box-like devices?
I was still too short to reach the shiny receiver hanging on the wall, and I always watched in fascination as my parents talked on the phone.
Later I realized that inside this amazing tube there was a little man whose name was: Operator, Be Kind. And there was no such thing in the world that the little man did not know.
Operator, Be Kind, knew everything - from the neighbors’ phone numbers to the train schedule.
My first experience with this genie in a bottle was when I was alone at home and hit my finger with a hammer. There was no point in crying because there was no one at home to feel sorry for me. But the pain was severe. And then I put a chair against the telephone receiver hanging on the wall.
-Operator, Please.
- I'm listening.
-You know, I hit my finger... with a hammer.....
And then I cried because I had a listener.
-Mom is at home? - asked the Operator, Be Kind.
“There’s no one,” I muttered.
“Is there blood?” asked the voice.
-No, it just hurts a lot.
-Is there ice in the house?
-Yes.
-Can you open the ice chest?
-Yes.
“Put a piece of ice on your finger,” the voice advised.
After this incident, I called the Operator, Please be kind on any occasion. I asked her to help me do my homework and asked her what to feed the hamster.
One day, our canary died. I immediately called the Operator, Please, and told her this sad news. She tried to calm me down, but I was inconsolable and asked:
- Why should it be that a beautiful bird, which brought so much joy to our family with its singing, had to die and turn into a small lump covered with feathers lying at the bottom of the cage?
“Paul,” she said quietly, “Always remember: there are other worlds where you can sing.”
And I somehow immediately calmed down.
The next day I called as if nothing had happened and asked how to spell the word fix.
When I turned 9, we moved to another city. I missed the Operator, Be Kind and thought about her often, but that voice belonged to the old bulky telephone set in my old house and was in no way associated with the shiny new telephone on the table in the hall.
As a teenager, I also did not forget about her: the memory of the security that these dialogues gave me helped me in moments of bewilderment and confusion.
As an adult, I was able to appreciate how much patience and tact she showed when talking with the baby.
A few years after graduating from college, I was passing through my hometown. I only had half an hour before my plane connection.
Without thinking, I went to the pay phone and dialed the number:
Surprisingly, her voice, so familiar, answered. And then I asked:
-Can you tell me how to spell the word fix?
First there is a long pause. Then came the answer, calm and soft, as always:
- I think your finger has already healed by this time. I laughed:
- Oh, it's really you! I wonder if you realized how much our conversations meant to me!
“I’m wondering,” she said, “if you knew how much your calls meant to me.” I never had children and your calls were such a joy to me.
And then I told her how often I had thought about her all these years and asked if we could see each other when I came to the city again.
“Of course,” she replied, “Just call and ask Sally.”
Three months later I was again passing through this city. Another, unfamiliar voice answered me:
-Operator.
I asked to see Sally.
-Are you her friend? - asked the voice.
“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.
-I'm very sorry, but Sally died a few weeks ago.
Before I could hang up, she said:
-Wait a minute. Is your name Paul?
-Yes
-If so, Sally left a note for you in case you call... May I read it to you? So... the note says:
"Remind him that there are other worlds to sing in. He'll understand. I thanked her and hung up."
OlyaO
I thank you, Andrey.
For the story.
By the way, I was thinking of putting this story on the parables website, but to do this I need to redo it so that the text fits the parable format. And I don’t know if I have the right to do this with an author’s work?
OlyaO
You suggested this story for reading, and I am very grateful to you. Here.
OlyaO
Yakushev wrote: By the way, I was thinking of putting this story on the site of parables, but for this I need to redo it so that the text fits the format of the parable. And I don’t know if I have the right to do this with an author’s work?
Giving the form of a parable to a story is not a problem for you, Andrey.
But with regard to the question of authorship, I think all parables are based on stories, some from life, others from literature, which are also transferred from life. At the same time it is enough
cite the work and author. I think so.
friend_horatio
and I’m generally against everything being written in the same style.
Parables, like life, should be bright and varied, and not boringly monotonous.
friend_horatio wrote: I’m generally against everything being written in the same style.
Parables, like life, should be bright and varied, and not boringly monotonous.
parables in different styles they are remembered better, but people still retell and rewrite them in their own way.
Hello, Evgeniya!
Glad to see you on the forum!
You see, I also love different parables, but still, they should be parables and not philosophical or sentimental stories. The parable just has its own format. And if the story does not fit this format, then it is no longer a parable. And indeed, there are many wonderful stories that are still not parables in the classical sense.
I put this story here because I like it. But I can’t put it on the parable.ru website, because it’s still not a parable.
I was very young when a telephone appeared in our house - one of the first telephones in our city. Remember those big bulky boxes - devices?
I was still too short to reach the shiny receiver hanging on the wall, and I always watched in fascination as my parents talked on the phone.
Later I realized that inside this amazing tube there was a little man whose name was: Operator, Be Kind. And there was no such thing in the world that the little man did not know.
The operator, Be Kind, knew everything - from the neighbors' phone numbers to the train schedule.
My first experience with this genie in a bottle was when I was alone at home and hit my finger with a hammer. There was no point in crying because there was no one at home to feel sorry for me. But the pain was severe. And then I put a chair against the telephone receiver hanging on the wall.
-Operator, Please.
- I'm listening.
-You know, I hit my finger... with a hammer.....
And then I cried because I had a listener.
-Mom is at home? - asked the Operator, Be Kind.
“There’s no one,” I muttered.
“Is there blood?” asked the voice.
-No, it just hurts a lot.
-Is there ice in the house?
-Yes.
-Can you open the ice chest?
-Yes.
“Put a piece of ice on your finger,” the voice advised.
After this incident, I called the Operator, Be Kind on any occasion. I asked her to help me do my homework and asked her what to feed the hamster.
One day, our canary died. I immediately called the Operator, Please, and told her this sad news. She tried to calm me down, but I was inconsolable and asked:
- Why should it be that a beautiful bird, which brought so much joy to our family with its singing, had to die and turn into a small lump covered with feathers lying at the bottom of the cage?
“Paul,” she said quietly, “Always remember: there are other worlds where you can sing.”
And I somehow immediately calmed down.
The next day I called as if nothing had happened and asked how to spell the word fix.
When I turned 9, we moved to another city. I missed the Operator, Be Kind and thought about her often, but that voice belonged to the old bulky telephone set in my old house and was in no way associated with the shiny new telephone on the table in the hall.
As a teenager, I also did not forget about her: the memory of the security that these dialogues gave me helped me in moments of bewilderment and confusion.
As an adult, I was able to appreciate how much patience and tact she showed when talking with the baby.
A few years after graduating from college, I was passing through my hometown. I only had half an hour before connecting to a plane.
Without thinking, I went to the pay phone and dialed the number:
Surprisingly, her voice, so familiar, answered. And then I asked:
-Can you tell me how to spell the word fix?
First there is a long pause. Then came the answer, calm and soft, as always:
- I think your finger has already healed by this time.
I laughed:
- Oh, it's really you! I wonder if you realized how much our conversations meant to me!
“I’m wondering,” she said, “if you knew how much your calls meant to me.” I never had children and your calls were such a joy to me.
And then I told her how often I had thought about her all these years and asked if we could see each other when I came to the city again.
“Of course,” she replied, “Just call and ask Sally.”
Three months later I was again passing through this city.
Another, unfamiliar voice answered me:
-Operator.
I asked to see Sally.
-Are you her friend? - asked the voice.
“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.
-I'm very sorry, but Sally died a few weeks ago.
Well, I was passing by on completely different business, but I was so impressed by this glorious story that I immediately grabbed it!
Original taken from wildmale in Old Telephone. Paul Willard.
I really love stories like this:
I was very young when a telephone appeared in our house - one of the first telephones in our city. Remember those big bulky box-like devices?
I was still too short to reach the shiny receiver hanging on the wall, and I always watched in fascination as my parents talked on the phone.
Later I realized that inside this amazing tube there was a little man whose name was: Operator, Be Kind. And there was no such thing in the world that the little man did not know.
The operator, Be Kind, knew everything - from the neighbors’ phone numbers to the train schedule.
My first experience with this genie in a bottle was when I was alone at home and hit my finger with a hammer. There was no point in crying because there was no one at home to feel sorry for me. But the pain was severe. And then I put a chair against the telephone receiver hanging on the wall.
- Operator, Please.
- I’m listening.
- You know, I hit my finger... with a hammer.....
And then I cried because I had a listener.
- Mom is at home? - asked the Operator, Be Kind.
“There’s no one,” I muttered.
- Is there blood? - asked the voice.
- No, it just hurts a lot.
— Is there ice in the house?
- Yes.
-Can you open the ice chest?
- Yes.
“Put a piece of ice on your finger,” the voice advised.
After this incident, I called the Operator, Please be kind on any occasion. I asked her to help me do my homework and asked her what to feed the hamster.
One day, our canary died. I immediately called the Operator, Please, and told her this sad news. She tried to calm me down, but I was inconsolable and asked:
- Why should it be that the beautiful bird, which brought so much joy to our family with its singing, had to die and turn into a small lump covered with feathers lying at the bottom of the cage?
“Paul,” she said quietly, “always remember: there are other worlds where you can sing.”
And somehow I immediately calmed down.
The next day I called as if nothing had happened and asked how to spell the word fix.
When I turned 9, we moved to another city. I missed the Operator, Be Kind and thought about her often, but that voice belonged to the old bulky telephone set in my old house and was in no way associated with the shiny new telephone on the table in the hall.
As a teenager, I also did not forget about her: the memory of the security that these dialogues gave me helped me in moments of bewilderment and confusion.
As an adult, I was able to appreciate how much patience and tact she showed when talking with the baby.
A few years after graduating from college, I was passing through my hometown. I only had half an hour before my plane connection.
Without thinking, I went to the pay phone and dialed the number:
— Can you tell me how to spell the word fix?
First there is a long pause. Then came the answer, calm and soft, as always:
“I think your finger has already healed by now.”
I laughed:
- Oh, it's really you! I wonder if you realized how much our conversations meant to me!
“I was wondering,” she said, “if you knew how much your calls meant to me.” I never had children and your calls were such a joy to me.
And then I told her how often I had thought about her all these years and asked if we could see each other when I came to the city again.
“Of course,” she replied. - Just call and ask for Sally.
Three months later I was again passing through this city.
Another, unfamiliar voice answered me:
- Operator.
I asked to see Sally.
Before I could hang up, she said:
- Wait a minute. Is your name Paul?
- Yes
- If so, then Sally left a note for you in case you call... May I read it to you? So... the note says:
“Remind him that there are other worlds in which to sing. He will understand."
I thanked her and hung up.
translation by Evgeniy Goratz aka
