the last leaf  Many artists  lived 

the last leaf
  Many artists  lived  in Greenwich Village  in New
York City. Sue and Johnsy, two artists also lived there in
a studio apartment. Their rooms were at the top of an
old building  in Greenwich Village.
  In November,  it was very cold and with  it a cold
unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia,
stalked the city, touching one here and there with his
icy fingers. The icy fingers of Pneumonia also touched
Johnsy. She was very  ill,  lying  in her bed and not moving
at all. A doctor visited her every day but Johnsy was not
getting better . One morning, the doctor spoke to Sue
outside  Johnsy's  room.

  “I can' t help her,” the doctor said. “She is very sad and has no desire to
live. Someone must make her happy again. What  is she  interested  in?”
“She  is an artist,” Sue  replied. “She wants  to paint a picture of bay of Naples.”
“Painting!” said  the doctor . “That won't help her!”
  Sue was distressed by  this news and didn't know what  to do  to help
Johnsy.  She went  into  the workroom  and  cried  and  then  she  swaggered  into
Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime. Johnsy  lay silently  in her
bed with her  face  towards the window. Sue stopped whistling,  thinking  Johnsy was
asleep.
  Sue arranged her board and began drawing to  illustrate a magazine story.
As Sue was sketching a figure of a hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound,
several  times  repeated. She went quickly  to  the bedside.
  Johnsy's eyes were open wide.  She was  looking out  the window and
counting  - counting backwards.
"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then
"eight" and "seven", almost  together .
  Sue  looked out of  the window wondering what was  there  to count? There
was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house
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.
"What  is  it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper . "They're falling faster now. Three days ago
there were almost a hundred. My head ached when I was counting them but now
it's easy. There goes another one. There are only  five  left now."
"Five what, dear? Tell me."
"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?"
"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn.
"What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? 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."
  Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor of the same
building.  He  was  sixty  years  old  and  had  always  dreamed  of  painting  a
masterpiece, but unfortunately till now he was not able to fulfill his dream. Sue
found Behrman in his dimly lighted apartment sitting in his chair . She told him of
Johnsy's condition. Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his
contempt and derision  for such  idiotic  imaginings.
  Johnsy was sleeping when  they went upstairs. Sue pulled  the shade down
to  the windowsill, 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.
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.
  "Pull  it up;  I want  to see," she ordered,  in a whisper . Wearily Sue obeyed.
"It  is  the  last one," said  Johnsy.  It will  fall  today, and  I shall die at  the same  time."
"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?" But  Johnsy did not answer .
The  leaf stayed on  the vine all day. That night,  there was more wind and  rain.
When it was light enough Johnsy commanded that the shade be raised. The ivy
leaf was still  there.
  "I've been a  foolish girl, Sue," said  Johnsy. “I wanted  to die but  the  last  leaf
stayed on the vine to teach me a lesson. Please bring me some soup now.” “You
know Sue, some day  I hope  to paint  the Bay of Naples."
  The doctor visited  the girls  in  the afternoon. “Take good care of your
friend,” he said. “She  is going  to get well. Now  I have  to go downstairs.  I have  to visit
Mr . Behrman. He has pneumonia  too.  I must send him  to  the hospital.”
  The  next  day  the  doctor  said  to  Sue:  "She's out  of  danger .  You won.
Nutrition and care now  - that's all." And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where
Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a woolen shoulder scarf. "I have something to tell
you, dear," she said. "Mr . Behrman died of pneumonia today 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  .”

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

lembar terakhir Banyak seniman tinggal di Greenwich Village di baru York City. Sue dan Johnsy, dua seniman juga tinggal di sana sebuah apartemen studio. Kamar mereka berada di bagian atas bangunan tua di Greenwich Village. Pada bulan November, itu sangat dingin dan dengan itu dingin orang asing yang gaib, yang dokter disebut Pneumonia, berjalan kota, menyentuh satu di sana-sini dengan jari-jari dingin. Jari-jari dingin radang paru-paru juga menyentuh Johnsy. Dia adalah sangat sakit, berbaring di tempat tidurnya dan tidak bergerak Sama sekali. Dokter mengunjunginya setiap hari tapi Johnsy tidak semakin baik. Suatu pagi, dokter berbicara kepada SueKamar di luar Johnsy. "Saya dapat ' t membantu dia," kata dokter. "Dia sangat menyedihkan dan tidak memiliki keinginan untuk hidup. Seseorang harus membuatnya bahagia lagi. Apa ia tertarik?""Dia adalah seorang seniman," menjawab Sue. "Dia ingin melukis gambar Teluk Napoli.""Lukisan!" kata dokter tersebut. "Itu tidak akan membantu dia!" Sue merasa tertekan oleh berita ini dan tidak tahu apa yang harus dilakukan untuk membantu Johnsy. Dia pergi ke ditemui diruang kerjanya dan menangis dan kemudian dia swaggered ke Johnsy's kamar dengan papan gambar Nya, bersiul ragtime. Johnsy berbaring diam-diam dalam dirinya tempat tidur dengan wajah ke arah jendela. Sue berhenti bersiul, berpikir Johnsy tertidur. Sue diatur papan nya dan mulai gambar untuk mengilustrasikan cerita majalah. Seperti Sue adalah sketsa sosok pahlawan, Idaho koboi, ia mendengar suara yang rendah, diulang beberapa kali. Dia pergi dengan cepat ke samping tempat tidur. Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backwards."Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together . Sue looked out of the window wondering what was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick housewas 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."What is it, dear?" asked Sue."Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper . "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. My head ached when I was counting them but now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now.""Five what, dear? Tell me.""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?""Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? 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." Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor of the same building. He was sixty years old and had always dreamed of painting a masterpiece, but unfortunately till now he was not able to fulfill his dream. Sue found Behrman in his dimly lighted apartment sitting in his chair . She told him of Johnsy's condition. Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings. Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the windowsill, 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.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. "Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper . Wearily Sue obeyed."It is the last one," said Johnsy. It will fall today, and I shall die at the same time.""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?" But Johnsy did not answer . The leaf stayed on the vine all day. That night, there was more wind and rain.When it was light enough Johnsy commanded that the shade be raised. The ivy leaf was still there. "I've been a foolish girl, Sue," said Johnsy. “I wanted to die but the last leaf stayed on the vine to teach me a lesson. Please bring me some soup now.” “You know Sue, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples." The doctor visited the girls in the afternoon. “Take good care of your friend,” he said. “She is going to get well. Now I have to go downstairs. I have to visit Mr . Behrman. He has pneumonia too. I must send him to the hospital.” The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger . You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all." And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a woolen shoulder scarf. "I have something to tell you, dear," she said. "Mr . Behrman died of pneumonia today 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 .”