Prize Stories 2000: The O. Henry Awards (The O. Henry Prize Collection) - Softcover

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0385498772 ISBN 13: 9780385498777

Verlag: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2000

Inhaltsangabe

An Anchor Original

The 80th anniversary edition of "the nation's most prestigious awards for the short story."--The Atlantic Monthly

Established early in the last century as a memorial to O. Henry, throughout its history this annual collection has consistently offered a remarkable sampling of contemporary short stories. Each year stories are chosen from large and small literary magazines and a panel of distinguished writers is enlisted to award the top prizes. The result is a superb collection of twenty inventive, full-bodied stories representing the very best in American and Canadian fiction.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Larry Dark is the editor of four other anthologies, Literary Outtakes, The Literary Ghost, The Literary Lover, and The Literary Traveler. He lives in Montclair, New Jersey. Michael Cunningham is the author, most recently, of The Hours, which won the Pulitzer Prize and the 1999 PEN/Faulkner Award. He lives in New York City. Pam Houston is the author of Cowboys Are My Business and Waltzing the Cat. She teaches at the University of California, Davis and lives in Colorado. George Saunders is the author CivilWarLand in Bad Decline and Pastoralia.

Aus dem Klappentext

iginal

The 80th anniversary edition of "the nation's most prestigious awards for the short story."--The Atlantic Monthly

Established early in the last century as a memorial to O. Henry, throughout its history this annual collection has consistently offered a remarkable sampling of contemporary short stories. Each year stories are chosen from large and small literary magazines and a panel of distinguished writers is enlisted to award the top prizes. The result is a superb collection of twenty inventive, full-bodied stories representing the very best in American and Canadian fiction.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Excerpt

A Nurse's Story Peter Baida

From The Gettysburg Review

THE PAIN in Mary McDonald's bones is not the old pain that she knows well, but anew pain. Sitting in her room in the Booth-Tiessler Geriatric Center, on thethird floor, in the bulky chair by the window, Mary tries to measure this pain.She sits motionless, with a grave expression on her face, while the cheerlessgray sky on the other side of the window slowly fades toward evening.

Mary McDonald knows what this pain comes from. It comes from a cancer that beganin her colon and then spread to her liver and now has moved into her bones. MaryMcDonald has been a nurse for forty years, she has retained the full use of herfaculties, and she understands perfectly where this pain comes from and what itmeans.

"Union?" Eunice Barnacle says. "What do I want with a union?"

"Miss Barnacle," Mary McDonald says, looking at her from the chair by thewindow, "do you think you're paid what you're worth?"

Miss Barnacle is a lean, sharp-featured black woman in her middle twenties, witha straight nose, small teeth, wary eyes, and a straightforward manner, whojoined the staff at Booth-Tiessler about a month ago. "This place can't affordto pay me what I'm worth," she says.

"That's certainly what they want you to believe, Miss Barnacle. May I ask a nosyquestion?"

"I suppose."

"What do they pay you, Miss Barnacle?"

"That's my business."

"Eight-fifty per hour. Is that about right, Miss Barnacle?"

Miss Barnacle, in her white uniform, turns pale. She has paused with her hand onthe doorknob, looking over the neatly made bed to the chair where Mary McDonaldis sitting. Pearl gray light falls on a walker near the chair. Mary McDonald'shands are closed in her lap, over a green-and-gold quilt. Her face is solemn.

"Do you think this place knows what you're worth, Miss Barnacle?"

A good death. That's what everyone wants.

Mary McDonald still remembers, from her first year as a nurse, well over fortyyears ago, a little old woman named Ida Peterson, with a tumor in her neck nearthe carotid artery. The call bell at the nurses' station rang, and Mary McDonaldwalked down the hall, opened the door, and was struck squarely in the face bysomething warm, wet, and red.

Blood from a ruptured artery gushed out of Mrs. Peterson's tracheotomy opening,out of an ulcerated site on her neck, out of her nose, out of her mouth. Marywas stunned. She saw blood on the ceiling, on the floor, on the bed, on thewalls.

Mrs. Peterson had wanted to die a peaceful, dignified death, in the presence ofher husband. She had wanted to die a "natural" death. Now, as the life pouredout of her, she lifted her hand to wipe her nose and mouth. With wide eyes, shelooked at the blood on her hand.

Ida Peterson had wanted a natural death, in the presence of her husband, and shewas getting one, in the presence of Mary McDonald, a nurse she had known forfive minutes.

Mrs. Peterson's blue, terrified eyes looked into Mary McDonald's eyes for thefull fifteen minutes it took her to bleed to death. Her hand gripped Mary'shand. Mary did nothing. Her orders were to allow Mrs. Peterson to die a naturaldeath.

Mary had never before seen an arterial bleed. She still remembers the splash ofblood on her face when she stepped into Mrs. Peterson's room. She stillremembers how long it took Mrs. Peterson to die. You wouldn't think that alittle woman could have so much blood in her.

"They tell me you were some good nurse," Eunice Barnacle says, taking Mary'sblood pressure.

"I'm still a good nurse," Mary McDonald says.

"They tell me you helped start the nurses' union, over at the hospital."

"Who tells you?"

"Mrs. Pierce."

"Ah."

"Mrs. Pierce says those were the days."

"Maybe they were."

Eunice loosens the blood pressure cup from Mary's arm. "Mrs. McDonald?"

"Yes?"

"That union—" Eunice hesitates, looking at the floor.

"What about it?" Mary says.

"You think it helped you?"

Booth's Landing is an unpretentious town with a population of nearly ninethousand, located among gently rolling hills on the east side of the HudsonRiver, fifty miles north of New York City. In every generation, for as long asanyone can remember, the Booths and the Tiesslers have been the town's leadingfamilies. The Booth family descends from the town's founder, Josiah Booth, amerchant of the Revolutionary War period whom local historians describe as aminiature version of John Jacob Astor. The Tiessler family descends from KlausTiessler, an immigrant from Heidelberg who in 1851 founded a factory that makessilverware.

"A nice town," people who live in Booth's Landing say. "A nice place to bring upa family." That's how Mary McDonald has always felt, and that's what she hasalways said when people ask her about the place.

In every generation, for as long as anyone can remember, one member of the Boothfamily has run the town's bank, and one member of the Tiessler family has runthe silverware factory. The town also supports one movie theater, two sportinggoods stores, two opticians, three auto repair shops, one synagogue, and ninechurches. Most of the people who die in Booth's Landing were born there. Manyhave died with Mary McDonald holding their hands.

Oh, not so many, Mary thinks, pursing her lips. Not that she has kept count. Whywould anyone keep count?

You can do worse than to live and die in a place like Booth's Landing. The airis fresh. The streets are clean and safe. The leading families have paid steadyattention to their civic and philanthropic responsibilities. If you're sick inBooth's Landing, you go to the Booth-Tiessler Community Hospital. If you want tosee live entertainment, you buy tickets for the latest show at theBooth-Tiessler Center for the Performing Arts. If you can no longer take care ofyourself, you arrange to have yourself deposited in the Booth-Tiessler GeriatricCenter.

At the Booth-Tiessler Community College, nearly fifty years ago, Mary McDonaldfulfilled the requirements for her nursing degree. Now, sitting by her window onthe third floor in the Geriatric Center, looking over the cherry tree in theyard below toward the river, with the odor of overcooked turnips floating upfrom the kitchen on the first floor, she finds her mind drifting over her life,back and forth, here and there, like a bird that hops from place to place on atree with many branches.

"I've never been a troublemaker."

That was what Mary McDonald said to Clarice Hunter when Clarice asked her tohelp form a nurses' union at the Booth-Tiessler Community Hospital in 1965.

"Hon," Clarice Hunter said, "do you know what the nurses get paid in New YorkCity?"

"I don't live in New York City," Mary said.

"You know what the nurses get paid in Tarrytown?"

"I don't live in Tarrytown."

"It's only ten minutes drive."

"Okay. What do they get paid in Tarrytown?"

Clarice told her.

"Holy moly," Mary McDonald said.

"Will you help me?" Clarice said.

"Clarice, don't pester me."

"You call this pestering?"

Mary did not answer.

"What's the problem, Mary?"

"I'm not a big believer in unions."

"Being a doormat—is that what you believe in?"

Mary pursed her lips.

"It's your Catholic upbringing," Clarice said.

"What about it?"

"Mary, they programmed you. They programmed you to bow down to authority."

No doubt about that, Mary thought. Call me Bended Knee.

"Mary, your help would mean a lot to us."

"I've never been a troublemaker."

Continues...

Excerpted from Prize Storiesby Larry Dark Copyright © 2000 by Larry Dark. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2000
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0385498772
• ISBN 13: 9780385498777
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 432
• Herausgeber: Dark Larry
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Purmerul LTD; https://strengholt.nl/en/; ; 22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9; Plovdiv; Bulgarien