Half a Gift After Robert Zaks

I was ten years old then, and my brother Nick was fourteen. For both of us this purchase of gift for our mother on Mother’s Day was an occasion of excitement and great importance.

Our mother worked from early morning till late at night, cooking, buying, washing and looking after us in illness.

“What are you going to give her”, asked Father.

“We’re going to give her separate presents”, I announced importantly.

Nick and I discussed what to buy. We became involved in a competition of taste.

“Let’s not tell each other what we’re getting”, said Nick.

After careful deliberation I bought for my mother a comb decorated with little shiny stones that could even be mistaken for diamonds.. Nick came back from the store with a pleased look. He liked my gift very much and wouldn’t tell me about his. He only said: “I’ve picked a certain moment when I’ll give my gift”.

The next morning Nick kept me close and when mother got ready to wash the floor Nick nodded to me and we ran to get our gifts.

When I came back, Mother was, as usual, on her knees, wearily scrubbing the floor. It was the job she hated most of all in the world.

Then Nick returned with his present, and Mother sat back on her heels, staring unbelievingly at the gift. Her face went pale with disappointment as she looked at the new scrubbing pail with the fresh mop in it.

“A Mother’s Day gift of a scrubbing pail”, her voice almost broke.

Tears sprang to Nick’s eyes. Without a word he picked up the scrubbing pail and mop and blindly ran down the stairs. I put the comb in my pocket and ran after him. He was crying and I felt so bad I began to cry, too.

On the way down we met Father. Nick could not talk, so I explained.

“It’s a fine gift. A wonderful gift”.

We all went upstairs where Mother was still scrubbing the floor. Without a word Father soaked the puddle of dirty water with the mop and showed us how to use it.

“You didn’t let Nick finish”, he said to Mother. “Part of his gift was that he was going to wash the floor from now on.” He looked at Nick. “Isn’t that so, Nick?”

With a blush of shame Nick understood the lesson. “Yes, yes”, he said in a low eager tone.

“Ah, a woman can become so stupid”. She kissed Nick and he felt better. Then she turned to me: “What I your gift?” asked Father. Nick looked at me and paled. I felt the comb in my pocket. The comb with shining stones would make the scrubbing pail, again, like a scrubbing pail.

“Half the scrubbing pail”, I said and Nick looked at me with love in his eyes.

A Piece of Steak After Jack London

When Tom King finished his poor supper he felt that he was still hungry. He alone had eaten that evening. The two children had been sent to bed early without supper. His wife had eaten nothing either.

Tom King was a professional boxer. Boxing was a business with him. People came to watch boxing matches and they paid money to see boxers knocking each other out. The winner took the prize.

Tom had often been a winner. But it was when he was younger. Now he was forty and he felt how hard it became to knock out his partner in the ring. He had no illusions about his future and he was sorry that he hadn’t learned a trade in due time. When he was about to leave the room Lizzy said:”Good luck, Tom. You must beat him”.

“Yes, if I win, I’ll get thirty pounds. If I lose, I’ll get nothing- not even a penny for me to get home. Good-bye, Lizzy.”

As he walked to the club he remembered is better days. Those had been times!

That night Tom King had to fight against Sandal from New Zealand. Sandal had everything to win the match. He was young, strong and tireless.

When Tom came to the club, a crowd of fans was waiting outside the door. Inside, on the way to the dressing- room, he met the secretary, a young man, who shook his hand.

“How do you feel, Tom?” he asked.

“Fit as a fiddle”, King answered.

The audience applauded when Tom and Sandal appeared on the ring. They shook hands and immediately the fight started.

The first rounds were a success for Tom. He knew how top fight the young boxers like Sandal. In the ninth round King struck three blows and each time Sandal fell on the floor. And each time the referee counted the ninth second before Sandal got up.

He had one advantage over Tom: it was his youth against Tom’s experience. In the eleventh round Tom felt he was weakening quickly. And with a bitter feeling he remembered the piece of steak he had not eaten before the fight. Tom saw the danger. Sandal’s blows were becoming harder and harder. Suddenly Tom felt a sharp pain. When he opened his eyes, he was in his corner. The audience was shouting and applauding Sandal. Tom had lost the mach.

When Tom went out into the street he remembered his wife who was waiting for him. He would have to tell her he had lost. That was harder than any knock-out. He sat down on a bench and cried.