Many artists lived in Greenwich Vil

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 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.
T h e L a s t
Leaf
Picture 8.1 (Source: wattpad.com)
“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 .”
(Adapted from The Last Leaf by O. Henry, 1907)