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<a href="http://facefa.com">جامعه مجازی</a>
<h1><a href="http://facefa.com">شبکه اجتماعی</a><strong>Cyberg Cyberg Cyberg</strong> <a href="http://coo.ir">ثبت دامنه</a><strong>Cyberg Cyberg Cyberg</strong></h1><h2><strong> </strong><strong> </strong></h2><h1> Cyberg Cyberg </h1><p><a href="http://cyberg.coo.ir"><strong>Cyberg</strong></a> <a href="http://www.coo.ir" >free domain</a>جامعه مجازی، شبکه اجتماعی، دوست یابی، دوستیابی، ثبت دامنه، ثبت دامین</p>
<UL><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-52.aspx" target="_blank">Teaching Skills</a><BR>
</p><p align="center"><strong><a target="_top" href="http://rds.yahoo.com/_ylt=A0WTefc4wyZKATUBmemjzbkF/SIG=129p8dhfe/EXP=1244140728/**http%3A//www.distinctgiftbaskets.com/images/teacher.jpg" id="aimgMain"><img height="235" width="250" src="http://www.distinctgiftbaskets.com/images/teacher.jpg" alt="View Image" style="margin-top: 11px; margin-left: 0px;" title="View Full Size Image" id="imageMain" /></a></strong></p>
<p align="left"> </p>
<p align="left"><strong>One Minute Preceptor</strong></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Get a commitment. (What do you think is going on?) </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Probe for supporting evidence. (Why do you think this?) </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Teach general principles. </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Reinforce what was done correctly and the effect it had. </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Correct mistakes. Explain what they did correctly, incorrectly, and how to improve for the next time.</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Additional Techniques</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Ask reflection questions: </div>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">What did you learn from seeing patients today? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">What troubled, surprised, moved, or inspired you today?</div></li></ul>
</li><li>
<div align="left">One Zebra using MINTS (Metabolic, Infections/Inflammatory, Neoplastic/Neurological, Toxic/Traumatic, Systemic)</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><strong>Feedback and Evaluation</strong> </p>
<p align="left">Performance appraisal are judgmental evaluation.
Feedback offers insight into what the person actually did as well as
the consequences of his/her actions. Highlighting the dissonance
between the intended results and the actual results, providing impetus
for change.</p>
<p align="left"><em>How to give feedback effectively</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Differentiate feedback from praise / positive reinforcement or counseling / career guidance with encouragement and empathy. </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Time feedback appropriately -- immediately after
critical incident or after short interval (emotions leveled, data
gathering, or formal time scheduled) </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Give descriptive rather than evaluative comments
(focus on the problem not the individual, e.g.: "We are having a
problem with patients being checked in late" vs. "You take too long to
check patients in." </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Clarify understanding the problem </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Specific data/concrete examples </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Ask for rephrasing of the concerns to verify understanding </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Encourage participation and creativity in identifying possible solutions. (In search of excellence) </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">After the feedback session, write down short summary
-- what was accomplished, what issues were discussed, and whether
future goals were established.</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>How to Gather Feedback Information</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Specify areas and criteria for evaluation </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Base the evaluation on direct and specific information </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Consider alternative sources of information </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Separate performance evaluation from assessment of potential pitfalls: </div>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Threat of control (suppress communications better to focus on problems not person) </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Neutrality and empathy (listen and follow up on
suggestion, e.g.: before and after points to make (plan/notes)
(comments on outcome)</div></li></ul>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Define the purpose of the session </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Ask questions to encourage a 2 way exchange </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Identify specific problem areas </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">List possible solutions (including fm/appraisee)</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><strong>RIME Evaluation Framework</strong> </p>
<p align="left"><em>Reporter</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Accurately gather and communicate clinical facts </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Requires basic skill and knowledge of what to look for </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Recognizes normal versus abnormal </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Confidence to identify and label new problems </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Consistency in "bedside" skills, sense of responsibility </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">These skills must be mastered to pass</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Interpreter</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Prioritize among problems identified in patients </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Offers differential diagnosis (at least three) </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Follow-up of tests and their interpretations </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Selecting clinical findings which support possible Dxs and applying test results to specific patients </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Transitions from "bystander" to active participant in patient care</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Manager</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Deciding when action needs to be taken </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Propose and select among at least three diagnostic and therapeutic options for the patient </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Take into account particular patient's circumstances and preferences </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Requires more confidence, knowledge, and judgment</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Educator</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Mastery of the basics </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Self-directed learning </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Reads deeply and shares new learning with others </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Defining important questions to research </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Takes drive, insight, skill, maturity, and confidence</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><strong>Planning Guide for Teaching Skill Lessons</strong> </p>
<p align="left"><em>Skill analysis</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Do you have a written checklist that describes in adequate detail the steps required for performing the procedure? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Is the list clear? Does it mirror the correct order
of activities when steps are sequential? Does it denote areas in which
students are likely to encounter difficulties? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Are discussion opportunities provided to be sure students understand each step and its importance?</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>The model of performance</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">How will you provide a model of performance which demonstrates accurate execution of the required skill? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Does the model of performance show all necessary details? Is it designed so students can comprehend the steps in the procedure? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Will there be adequate opportunities for students to observe the model? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">How will students be able to review portions of the model later in the lesson? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Will students be able to use the checklist of steps
against the model of effective performance to observe how each specific
step is carried out?</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Practice</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">How will students practice the required skill? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Is practice organized so that students can learn the
skill gradually? Are there opportunities for simulated practice on
models and peers prior to patient contact? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Are practice sessions conducted in groups small enough for all students to be actively engaged in learning?</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Supervision and evaluation</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">In what ways will students assess their own performance? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">What opportunities will students have to receive feedback on their performance? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Is final competence assessed by having each student perform the complete procedure without assistance? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Will additional supervised practice be available for students having difficulties? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">What activities will be designed (tests, discussions) to test knowledge not measure by performing the skill?</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Space and materials</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">What are the space requirements for the lesson? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">What equipment will be necessary? </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Is practice planned to ensure the best use of available space and equipment?</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><strong>Teaching Curriculum Development</strong> </p>
<p align="left"><em>Planning:</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Identify/state goals and objectives </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Select subject content </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Sequence subject content </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Allocate instructional time </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Identify resources and constraints </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Select instructional methods and materials </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Develop evaluation plan </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Assess student characteristics</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Development:</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Arrange course schedule </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Sequence learning experiences </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Prepare instructional materials </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Prepare lectures, labs, etc.</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Management:</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Lecture </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Lead seminars/discussions </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Conduct laboratory experiences </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Conduct clinical experiences </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Arrange for personalized instruction </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Refine teaching skills</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Evaluation:</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Assess student learning </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Assess teaching-learning process</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><strong>Lecture Skills</strong> </p>
<p align="left"><em>Organizing</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Specifies purposes of the lecture in introductions </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Sets ground rules for audience participation </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Relates the main body of information to the introductory purposes </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Makes clear transitions between different segments of the lecture </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Uses clear, relevant examples to illustrate main ideas </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Clarifies technical terminology </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Periodically summarizes most important points or ideas of the lecture </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Develops a conclusion related to the purposes and body of the lecture </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Cites appropriate authorities to support statements </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Presents divergent viewpoints for contrast and comparison </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Separates facts from opinions</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Delivery and Audio Visual Aids</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Speaks at suitable volume </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Speaks at suitable pace </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Varies rate, pitch, force of voice for emphasis </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Speaks in a conversational manner </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Uses eye contact (scans total audience) </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Uses a variety of facial expressions </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Uses hands and arms appropriately </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Moves purposefully </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Coordinates A-V aids to enhance understanding of the subject matter </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Uses A-V aids which are easily visible or audible</div></li></ul>
<p align="left"><em>Lecture Skills</em></p>
<ul><li>
<div align="left">Insert pauses/ask questions </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">Written copy? Tell them you'll pass it out later </div>
</li><li>
<div align="left">20 minute rule</div></li></ul>
<div class="postdesc"><a title="لینك ثابت" href="http://nova65.blogfa.com/post-1.aspx"><br /></a><span dir="rtl"><a onclick="javascript:window.open('comments/?blogid=nova65&postid=1&timezone=12642','blogfa_comments','status=yes,scrollbars=yes,toolbar=no,menubar=no,location=no ,width=500px,height=500px')" href="javascript:void(0)"></a></span></div>
</LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-51.aspx" target="_blank">Best Way to Teach English Grammar </a><BR><p align="center"><font color="#00ff00"><img height="389" width="374" src="http://i16.tinypic.com/8c2tc8h.jpg" style="width: 374px; height: 389px;" /></font></p>
<font color="#00ff00">The latest effective research-based reading textbooks teach<br />comprehension as a skill of the reader, but comprehension<br />depends equally on the quality of the writing. Good nonfiction<br />and most good fiction start with good grammar. The reader does<br />not need to know technical grammar; grammar is the responsibility <br />of the writer. Traditional phonics is designed to TEACH READING.<br />Literacy program researchers and teachers consider writing and its <br />accompanying grammar to be secondary.<br />The way in which teachers now teach writing is an example<br />of how standards-based curriculum impact teachers. Writing is<br />primarily a group project in which self-expression is emphasized.<br />Grammar is considered a restraint on expression. The opposite is true.<br />The best way to teach English grammar is not as rigid rules. In fact<br />grammar gives writers great latitude in emphasis and emotion while<br />giving clarity to the text for the reader. The parts of speech are mobile<br />and interchangeable, one part often acting as if it were another.<br />Sentences often contain phrases or clauses that act as a single<br />part of speech. Grammar is not static; it slowly but constantly changes<br />what is considered correct usage. The writer uses grammar<br />like a symphony conductor uses the orchestra.<br />The education of children in home school should include grammar<br />help, and the best way to teach English grammar is as a course with <br />coverage of, and reference to, multiple parts of speech. Good grammar <br />helps acceptance into higher education, and homeschooled<br />children can efficiently acquire good grammar through this book.<br />Grammar as a course is considered a necessity for ESL students.<br />Copious grammar help is offered by journals on teaching grammar to<br />English language learners for whom English is a second language. <br /><em>"The Write Way to Read" </em>content of Phase Nine:<br />Teach a complete grammar course, excluding over 100 grammar terms, <br />covering punctuation, capitalization, eight parts of speech, sentence <br />structure and function</font>
</LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-50.aspx" target="_blank">Synopses & Reviews Cartoon image of children</a><BR><div align="left" class="blurb_bq">
<center><img height="175" width="297" src="http://www.churchofstpeter.org/Graphics/Students.gif" alt="Cartoon image of children" /></center></div>
<div align="left" class="blurb_bq"> </div>
<div align="left" class="blurb_bq">This multipurpose guide for teachers
covers brain-friendly strategies for motivating and challenging even
the most resistant students. Learn why students lack motivation, the
effects of rewards on learning, as well as steps to bridge the
connection between multiple intelligences and student motivation. <p>Donna Walker Tileston's distinctive approach covers:</p> <p>The
roots of motivation: cognitive, metacognitive, and the self-system;
motivating students to begin a lesson or task: using novelty,
attention, climate, attitude, perception, importance, efficacy, and
more; motivating students to finish a task; on-task and off-task
behaviours; a model for developing motivation in the classroom; a model
for facilitating motivation; vocabulary pre-test, post-test, and summary</p></div>
<div align="left" class="blurb_bq">Synopsis:</div>
<div align="left" class="blurb_bq">The teacher's multipurpose guide to brain-friendly strategies for motivating and challenging even the most resistant students.</div>
<h4 align="left" class="ir synopsis">Synopsis:</h4>
<div align="left" class="blurb_bq">The innovative guide for classroom
teachers who want to use brain-friendly strategies to motivate,
challenge, and reward their students. </div>
<p align="left" class="blurb_bq">Intrinsic and extrinsic motivation
affect student attitudes and perceptions about learning and
achievement. Tileston's distinctive approach covers: The roots of
motivation: cognitive, metacognitive, and the self-system Motivating
students to begin a lesson or task: using novelty, attention, climate,
attitude, perception, importance, efficacy, and more Motivating
students to finish a task On-task and off-task behaviors A model for
developing motivation in the classroom A model for facilitating
motivation Vocabulary pre-test, post-test, and summary Bibliography and
index</p>
<h4 align="left" class="ir synopsis">Synopsis:</h4>
<div align="left" class="blurb_bq">"" </div>
<p align="left" class="blurb_bq">"Learn the steps teachers can take to motivate and challenge students!"""""
</p><p align="left" class="blurb_bq">This slipcase collection of 10
compact volumes offers a complete training curriculum for teachers that
covers all required essentials for teacher induction, mentoring, and
support programs. The collection can be used for teacher certification
and re-certification programs, as well as for fast-track alternative
certification programs. Additional highlights embedded within each
individual volume include assessment pre-tests and post-tests;
resources; and content about urban learners, making this training
program ideal for preparing highly qualified teachers for today's
challenging classrooms, particularly in urban areas</p>
</LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-49.aspx" target="_blank"></a><BR><table width="100%" border="0"><tbody><tr><td><strong><img height="1" width="10" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></strong></td>
<td><strong><font size="5" color="#000000">Here's Buzzy sharing a flower.</font></strong></td>
<td><img height="1" width="5" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></td>
<td><img height="284" width="280" border="0" align="right" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/bf1.gif" /></td>
</tr>
<tr align="right">
<td colspan="4"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2"><em><font size="1">Monarch
butterfly</font></em><br />
<img height="50" width="1" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></font></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<table width="100%" border="0">
<tbody><tr>
<td width="63%"><img height="208" width="326" border="0" align="left" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/bf2.gif" /></td>
<td width="3%"><img height="1" width="5" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></td>
<td width="31%"><strong><font size="5" color="#000000"><strong>Did you save some for me?</strong></font></strong></td>
<td width="3%"><img height="1" width="10" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="4"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2"><em><font size="1">Anise
Swallowtail butterfly</font></em><br />
<img height="50" width="1" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></font></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<table width="100%" border="0">
<tbody><tr align="right">
<td colspan="4"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2"><em><font size="1">Eastern
Tailed Blue and Sara Orange Tip butterflies</font></em></font></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><strong><img height="1" width="10" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></strong></td>
<td><strong><font size="5"><strong>Yumm.<br />
You can never get too much of a good thing.</strong></font></strong></td>
<td><img height="1" width="5" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></td>
<td><img height="327" width="273" border="0" align="right" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/bf3.gif" /></td>
</tr>
<tr align="right">
<td colspan="4"><img height="50" width="1" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<table width="100%" border="0">
<tbody><tr>
<td width="47%"><img height="320" width="233" border="0" align="left" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/bf7.gif" /></td>
<td width="1%"><img height="1" width="5" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></td>
<td width="49%"><strong><font size="5" color="#000000">Except sometimes.</font></strong></td>
<td width="3%"><img height="1" width="10" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="4"><font face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2"><em> </em><br /><img height="50" width="1" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></font></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<table width="100%" border="0"><tbody><tr>
<td width="3%"><strong><img height="1" width="10" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></strong></td>
<td width="48%" align="right"><strong><font size="5">Rescued again.</font></strong></td>
<td width="1%"><img height="1" width="5" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/whtdot.gif" /></td>
<td width="48%"><img height="250" width="238" border="0" align="right" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/beebf/animbee3.gif" /></td>
</tr>
<tr align="right">
<td colspan="4"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>
</LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-48.aspx" target="_blank"></a><BR><br /><br />
<font size="7">B</font>uzzy's not like other bees. Other bees make lots of trips to gather their nectar.
<br clear="right" />
</p>
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<p>
<img hspace="15" height="151" width="225" vspace="10" border="0" align="left" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/daffodil.gif" />
<br /><br />
Here's Buzzy sipping from a daffodil.
<br clear="left" />
</p>
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<blockquote>
<p align="right">
<br /><br />
Tulips are sweet.
<img hspace="15" height="251" width="177" vspace="10" border="0" align="middle" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/tulip.gif" />
<br clear="right" />
</p>
</blockquote>
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<p>
<img hspace="15" height="325" width="216" vspace="10" border="0" align="left" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/hyacynth.gif" />
<br /><br /><br />
Mmm... Hyacinths are sweeter.
<br clear="left" />
</p>
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<p>
</p><blockquote>
<img hspace="15" height="301" width="268" vspace="10" border="0" align="right" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/moreroom.gif" />
<br /><br /><br />
Just one more flower.
</blockquote>
<br clear="right" />
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<p><img height="2" width="25" border="0" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/whtdot.gif" /></p>
<p>
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Uh-oh.
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Rescued again.
<img hspace="15" height="243" width="186" vspace="10" border="0" align="middle" src="http://www.magickeys.com/books/bee/rescued.gif" /></p></LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-47.aspx" target="_blank"></a><BR><table width="97%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" border="0" bgcolor="#eff8fc" align="center"><tbody><tr><td height="37" colspan="3"><div align="center">
<h2><strong>Chin</strong></h2>
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<p><font size="2">Edward Lear</font></p>
<p><font size="2"><u><br /></u></font></p>
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<td colspan="3"><br /><p><font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="2">There was a Young Lady whose chin,<br />
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Resembled the point of a pin;<br />
<br />
So she had it made sharp,<br />
<br />
And purchased a harp,<br />
<br />
And played several tunes with her chin.</font></p></td></tr></tbody></table>
</LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-46.aspx" target="_blank">The Metro</a><BR>
The discovery of a body in the Paris Metro early one morning was not
particularly unusual. That it was headless sent a frisson through the
sixth <em>arrondissement</em>, but the incident went unnoticed outside Paris.<p>Yet
there was clearly something strange about the case. It was hardly as
though the body had been decapitated to frustrate identification, for
it was fully clothed and none of the owner's personal effects had been
removed, save of course for his head. The Paris police soon tied up the
contents of the dead man's wallet with forensic evidence from the body.
Added to that, Madame Charente, the dead man's wife, could positively
identify the body in the most intimate ways. (She had already reported
her husband as missing.)</p><p>A few men were despatched to poke around
in the warm, dark tunnels on either side of Odéon station, where the
body had been found. Above ground another search was made, equally
fruitlessly, and to Inspector Dutruelle it looked as though the case
would linger on unsolved.</p><p>Two weeks later, four kilometres away
in the west, a headless body was found at Courcelles station, again in
the tunnel not far from the platform. As in the earlier case, the cause
of death was apparently the severing of the head, which appeared to
have been done with some precision. Again, the body was fully clothed
and easily identified, and nothing but the head had apparently been
removed.</p><p>"What can I tell these blessed reporters?" Inspector
Dutruelle said as he handed his wife the two sticks of bread he usually
bought on the way home. "They want answers for everything. And it's not
just the papers now, the politicians are getting worried too. I'm
reporting to the Préfet on this one."</p><p>"If there were instant answers for everything, <em>mon petit chou</em>,
they'd have no need of you," said Madame Dutruelle. "And where would
they be without you? Who cleared up that terrible Clichy case last
year, and the acid bath at Reuilly Diderot?"</p><p>The little <em>inspecteur divisionnaire-chef</em>
pulled in his stomach, puffed out his chest and rose to his full
height. A smile spread across his round face. In his smart dark suit
and gold-rimmed glasses you could have taken him for a provincial bank
manager rather than one of Paris's most successful policemen.</p><p>"Just think," he said wryly, "they were actually about to close the file on Dr Gomes before I took charge of the investigation."</p><p>"They're fools, all of them."</p><p>"All
the same, my dear, I don't know where to go on this one. There're no
leads. There's no apparent motive. And it's a bizarre pattern.
Assuming, of course, it is a pattern. We can't be sure of that until
there's been another."</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle did not have long to
wait for his pattern to emerge. A telephone call at half past five the
next morning dragged him from his bed.</p><p>"It's another one, sir," said the voice at the other end.</p><p>"Another what?"</p><p>"It's identical. Another headless corpse, just like the others - male, middle-aged, white."</p><p>"Where?" asked Inspector Dutruelle fumbling for a cigarette.</p><p>"Château Rouge."</p><p>"In the Metro?"</p><p>"Yes sir, just inside the tunnel. In the anti-suicide well between the tracks."</p><p>"Close the line - if you haven't already. I'll be with you soon. And don't move it, d'you hear?"</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle replaced the receiver with a sigh as his wife padded into the room.</p><p>"I hate these early morning cases," he muttered. He lit his cigarette.</p><p>"Have a coffee before you go. Another dead body will keep."</p><p>"But we've closed the line. And it's the other side of town, my dear. North Paris."</p><p>"All the same."</p><p>He
sat down heavily and watched his wife sullenly as she made the coffee.
Madame Dutruelle was a simple woman of forty-six whose long,
thin-lipped face was framed by stern grey hair. Her strong, practical
hands were country hands, and she had never got used to city life. She
lived for the day when she and her husband would retire to their home
village in Les Pyrenées. Inspector Dutruelle sighed to himself again.
Poor Agnes. She tried so hard to please him. How could she know that he
longed to be free of her? How could she possibly know of Vololona, the
young Malagasy he had met while on the Clichy case? For him it had been
love at first sight.</p><p>"And for me too, my darling," Vololona had
been quick to agree, her large brown eyes welling with tears as they
gazed at him through the smoke of the Chatte et Lapin where she worked,
"a veritable <em>coup de foudre</em>." She spoke French well, with a
Malagasy accent and huskiness that left you with a sense of mystery and
promise. Inspector Dutruelle was a happy man; but he was careful to
tell no-one except Monsieur Chébaut, his closest friend, about the
source of his happiness.</p><p>"I've never felt like this before,
Pierre. I'm captivated by her," he said one evening when he took
Monsieur Chébaut to see Vololona dancing.</p><p>It was a rare
experience, even for the jaded Monsieur Chébaut. In the frantic
coloured spotlights of the Chatte et Lapin Vololona danced solo and in
her vitality you sensed the wildness of Madagascar. Her black limbs
lashed the air to the music, which was raw and sensual.</p><p>"You
know, Pierre, in thirty years of marriage I was never unfaithful. Well,
you know that already. There was always my work, and the children, and
I was happy enough at home. It never occured to me to look at another
woman. But something happened when I met Vololona. She showed me how to
live. She showed me what real ecstasy is. Look at her, Pierre. Isn't
she the most exquisite thing you ever saw? And she adores me. She's
crazy about me. But why, I ask you? What can she see in me - three
times her age, pot-bellied, bald . . . married?"</p><p>Inspector
Dutruelle leaned back in his chair and swung around to look at the
other customers applauding Vololona from the shadows. He smiled proudly
to himself. He knew exactly what was on their minds. Life was strange,
he thought, and you could never tell. Some of them were young men, tall
and handsome and virile, yet none of them knew Vololona as he knew her.</p><p>Monsieur Chébaut finished his whisky.</p><p>"I
can see," he said, "that a man in your position might have certain
attractions for an immigrant without papers working in one of the more
dangerous quarters of Paris." Monsieur Chébaut was a lawyer.</p><p>"You're a cynic, Pierre."</p><p>"And after thirty years in the force you're not?"</p><p>"Personally, I believe her when she says she loves me. I just don't know why. Another whisky?"</p><p>"Well,
one thing's for sure, Régis, it can't go on like that. One way or
another things'll come to a head. But I must agree, she's exquisite all
right. Like an exquisite Venus fly-trap. And at the germane moment, you
know, those soft, succulent petals will close around you like a vice."</p><p>The normally placid Inspector was piqued by his friend's unreasonable attitude.</p><p>"How can you say that?" he snapped. "When you haven't even spoken to her."</p><p>"But
all women are the same, Régis. Don't you know that? You should be a
lawyer, then you'd know it. They can't help it, they're built that way.
Believe me, it can't go on without something happening."</p><p>Inspector
Dutruelle glowered at his old schoolfriend and said nothing. Monsieur
Chébaut could see he had touched a raw nerve. He grinned amicably and
leaned across to slap his friend playfully on the shoulder.</p><p>"Look Régis, all I'm saying is, be careful, you haven't got my experience."</p><p>Of
course, that was true. When it came to women few men had Monsieur
Chébaut's experience. Or his luck, for that matter. He was one of those
people who go through life insulated from difficulties. He crossed
roads without looking. He did not hurry for trains. He never reconciled
bank accounts. Tall, slim, with boyish good looks and thick, black,
wavy hair, he was the antithesis of Inspector Dutruelle.</p><p>"Look,
you've got two women involved, Régis," Monsieur Chébaut continued, "and
women aren't like us. Agnes isn't stupid. She must know something's
going on."</p><p>"She hasn't said anything," said the Inspector brusquely. He lit another Gauloise.</p><p>"Of course she hasn't. She's cleverer than you are. She intends to keep you."</p><p>"Mind
you," said Inspector Dutruelle grudgingly, "she has had some odd dreams
recently - so she says. About me and another woman. But anyway, she
just laughs and says she can't believe it."</p><p>"But Régis, you must know that what we say and what we think are seldom the same."</p><p>"Sometimes I wonder if I ought to tell her something, if only out of decency."</p><p>Monsieur Chébaut nearly choked on the fresh whisky he had just put to his lips.</p><p>"No," he cried with a passion that surprised the Inspector, "never, you must never tell her. <em>Écoute</em>
Régis, even if she did mention it, you must deny everything. Even if
she caught the two of you in the act, you must deny it. You can only
tell a woman there's another when you've definitively made up your mind
to leave her, and even then it may not be safe."</p><p>"So much for logic."</p><p>"It's
no use looking for logic in women, Régis. I told you, they're not like
men. In fact, I've come to the conclusion that they're not even the
same species as men. Men and women aren't like dog and bitch, they're
more like dog and cat. <em>C'est bizarre, non?</em> In any case, I do know you can't keep two women on the go without something happening. I don't know what, but something."</p><p>Now
the European press had picked the story up and the little Inspector did
not know how to deal with the international reporters who hung around
like flies outside the old stone walls of the Préfecture de police.
Their stories focussed on the bizarre nature of the killings, and the
idea that there were three severed heads somewhere in Paris
particularly excited them. They wanted constantly to know more. So of
course did Inspector Dutruelle.</p><p>"I assure you, gentlemen," he
told a press conference, "we are at least as anxious as you to recover
the missing parts. We are doing everything possible. You can tell your
readers that wherever they are, we'll find them."</p><p>"Can we have photographs of the victims for our readers?" asked one of the foreign reporters.</p><p>"So as we know which heads we're looking for," added a journalist from London.</p><p>It
was a joke that was not shared by the people of Paris. Suddenly the
normally carnival atmosphere of the Metro had evaporated. Buskers no
longer worked the coaches between stations. Puppeteers and jugglers no
longer entertained passengers with impromptu performances. Even the
beggars, who habitually hung around the crowded stations or made
impassioned speeches in the carriages, had gone. And the few passengers
who remained sat more long-faced than ever, or walked more hastily down
the long corridors between platforms.</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle
despaired of ever clearing the case up. His mind, already excited over
Vololona, was now in a turmoil. Vololona had suddenly, and tearfully,
announced that she was pregnant. Then, having accepted his financial
assistance to terminate the pregnancy - but refusing his offer to take
her to the clinic - she told him one day on the telephone: "I thought
you were going to ask me to marry you." Inspector Dutruelle was stunned.</p><p>"But you know I'm married, <em>ma chérie</em>," he said.</p><p>"I
thought you'd leave Agnes," she replied. "I wanted to be with you. I
wanted to share everything with you . . . my child . . . my life . . .
my bed." Inspector Dutruelle could hear her sobbing.</p><p>"But darling, we can still see each other."</p><p>"No, it's too painful. I love you too much."</p><p>Inspector
Dutruelle could not concentrate on his work at all. Day and night his
thoughts were on Vololona; he longed to be with her. If only Agnes
would leave him. And if only Vololona would be satisfied with what he
gave her already - the dinners, the presents, the apartment. Why did
women have to possess you? It seemed that the more you gave them the
more they took, until there was nothing left to give but yourself.
Perhaps Pierre was right after all, when you thought about it.</p><p>The
investigation into the Metro murders was proceeding dismally. Inspector
Dutruelle had no suspect, no leads, no motive. His superiors complained
about his lack of progress and the press ridiculed him without pity.
"It appears," commented <em>France-Soir</em>, "that the only thing
Inspector Dutruelle can tell us with certainty is that with each fresh
atrocity the Metro station name grows longer." The detectives under him
could not understand what had happened to their normally astute
Inspector, and they felt leaderless and demoralised. It was left to the
security police of the Metro to point out one rather obvious fact: that
the three stations where bodies had been found had one thing in common
- their lines intersected at Metro Barbes Rochechouart, and it seemed
that something might be learned by taking the Metro between them.</p><p>Inspector
Dutruelle did not like public transport, and he especially did not like
the Metro. It was cramped, smelly and claustrophobic at the best of
times, and in the summer it was hot. You stood on the very edge of the
platform just to feel the breeze as the blue and white trains pulled
into the station. It was years since the Inspector had used the Metro.</p><p>"I
can't take much more of this, Marc" he said to the young Detective
Constable who was travelling with him, "it's too hot. We'll get off at
the next stop."</p><p>"That's Barbes Rochechouart, sir. We can change there."</p><p>"No,
Marc. We can get out there. Someone else can take a sauna, I've had
enough. Anyway, we need to have a look around." Inspector Dutruelle
wiped his brow. He sounded irritable. "God knows what it's like
normally," he added.</p><p>When the train pulled in they took the exit for Boulevard de Rochechouart.</p><p>"At least we can get through now," said the Detective Constable as they walked up the passage towards the escalator.</p><p>"How d'you mean?" asked Inspector Dutruelle.</p><p>"Well,
normally this station's packed - beggars, passengers, buskers, hawkers,
plus all their tables and stalls. It's like a damn great fair and
market rolled into one. You can get anything here, from Eiffel Towers
to cabbages and potatoes - not to mention a spot of cannabis or heroin."</p><p>"Oh, yes," said Inspector Dutruelle, vaguely. "I remember." He passed a handkerchief across his brow again.</p><p>At
the turnstyles a man was handing out publicity cards and he thrust one
into Inspector Dutruelle's hand. Glancing down at it and squinting in
the bright sunlight, the Inspector read aloud: "'Professor Dhiakobli, <em>Grand Médium Voyant</em> can help you succeed rapidly in all areas of life . . .'"</p><p>He broke off in mid-sentence with a snort.</p><p>"What a lot of mumbo-jumbo! Headless chickens and voodoo magic."</p><p>"It
may be mumbo-jumbo to you, sir," said the Detective Constable with a
laugh, "but round here they take that sort of thing seriously. And not
only round here - after all, we use some of these techniques in the
police, don't we?"</p><p>"Oh really? Such as?"</p><p>"Well, graphology
for a start - you can hardly call basing a murder case on the size of
someone's handwriting scientific, can you sir? Or what about astrology
- employing people on the basis of the stars? Or numerology."</p><p>"Yes,
Marc," said Inspector Dutruelle, pushing the card into his top pocket,
"maybe you're right, and maybe when you're older you won't be so sure.
Now get on the blower and call the car."</p><p>The hot July turned to
hotter and more humid August. No more bodies were found in the
sweltering tunnels of the Metro, and the media, bored with the lack of
developments, left Inspector Dutruelle to his original obscurity.
Paris, deserted by its citizens in the yearly exodus to the coast, was
tolerable only to the tourists with backpacks who flocked to the cheap
hotels and began again to crowd the Metro. Then, in September, the
Parisiens came back and life returned to normal.</p><p>But Inspector
Dutruelle's passion for Vololona did not cool with the season. Vololona
had at last agreed to see him, occasionally; but she always managed
(with tears in her eyes) to deflect his more amorous advances. For
Inspector Dutruelle it was beneath him to observe that he continued to
pay the rent on her apartment, but he was growing increasingly
frustrated. The notion that she had another lover obsessed him, and in
the evenings he took to prowling the broad Boulevard de Clichy between
her apartment and the Chatte et Lapin. Sometimes he would stand for
hours watching her door, as locals strolled past with their dogs or sat
on the benches under the plane trees. Now, denied the one thing here he
wanted, the scene filled him with dismay. Money and music were in the
air. Lovers sipped coffee in the open and watched the whores in their
doorways. Pigeons fluttered as girls in tight mini-skirts hurried to
work. Tourists with their Deutschmarks arrived by the busload and the
touts in dark glasses worked hard to coax them into the expensive sex
shows and neon-lit video clubs. Somewhere deep below ran the Metro; but
Inspector Dutruelle had no more interest in that. His superiors had
given up hope of solving the Metro murders and had moved him on to
other things. Sometimes he would stay all night, leaving to the tinkle
of broken glass as workmen swept up after the night's revelries.
Occasionally he would see Vololona leave her apartment to buy
cigarettes, but he never once saw her on the arm of another man, or saw
a male visitor take the lift to the seventh floor.</p><p>One night,
late in October, he returned from the Boulevard de Clichy just after
midnight. Madame Dutruelle, having been told that her husband was
working on a case, and perhaps believing it, was already asleep. Had
she been awake she would surely have been surprised to see him throw
his jacket over a chair, for Inspector Dutruelle had always been
meticulous with his clothes, the sort of man who irons his shoelaces.
But the jacket missed and dropped to the floor. Muttering to himself,
the Inspector bent and picked it up, and as he did so something fell
from the top pocket. He gazed at it blankly for a moment. Then he
realised it was the card he had been given at the metro station, a
little the worse for having been once or twice to the cleaners, but
still legible. He picked it up and slowly started to read:</p><blockquote><p><small><strong>PROFESSOR DHIAKOBLI</strong><br /><em>Grand Médium Voyant</em>
can help you succeed rapidly in all areas of life: luck, love,
marriage, attraction of clients, examinations, sexual potency. If you
desire to make another love you or if your loved one has left with
another, this is his domain, you will be loved and your partner will
return. Prof. Dhiakobli will come behind you like a dog. He will create
between you a perfect rapport on the basis of love. All problems
resolved, even desperate cases. Every day from 9am to 9pm. Payment
after results.<br /><strong>13b, rue Beldamme, 75018 Paris<br />staircase B, 6th floor, door on left<br />Metro: Barbes Rochechouart</strong></small></p></blockquote><p>Inspector
Dutruelle stood in his socks and braces reading the card over and over
again. "All problems resolved . . ." It was preposterous. And yet, it
was tempting. What harm could there be in a little hocus pocus when
everything else had failed? After all, everyone knew that even the
police used clairvoyants when they were really up against it.</p><p>Rue Beldamme was a backstreet of tenement buildings in Paris's eighteenth <em>arrondissement</em>,
an area popular with immigrants from francophone Africa. It lay close
to the busy crossroads straddled by Metro Barbes Rochechouart.
Inspector Dutruelle parked in the next street and walked the rest of
the way, cursing because he had not brought his umbrella. The door to
number 13b was swinging in the wind, its dark paint peeling badly. He
stepped through into a narrow courtyard and found his way to the
sixth-floor door on which a brass plaque read: "Professor Dhiakobli <em>Spécialiste des travaux occultes</em>
Please ring". He stood there, breathing heavily from the stairs, and
before he could press the bell the door opened and a man appeared.</p><p>"Please
enter, my dear sir," said the man with an elegant wave of the hand and
exaggerated courtesy. "I am Dhiakobli. And I have the honour to meet .
. . ?"</p><p>As Inspector Dutruelle had imagined, Professor Dhiakobli
was black. He had a short yet commanding figure, and was dressed in a
well tailored grey suit. A large, silk handkerchief fell from his top
pocket.</p><p>"For the moment," said Inspector Dutruelle, "my name is hardly important. I've only come in response to your advertisement."</p><p>"Monsieur
has perhaps some small problem with which I can help? A minor
indiscretion? Please be seated, sir, and let us talk about the matter."</p><p>Inspector
Dutruelle handed his coat and gloves to the Professor and sat in the
large, well upholstered chair to which he had been directed. Professor
Dhiakobli himself settled behind a large mahogany desk, on top of which
a chihuahua hardly bigger than a mouse was lounging, its wide, moist
eyes gazing disdainfully at the newcomer.</p><p>"Ah, I see that Zeus
approves of you," said the Professor, stroking the tiny dog with the
tips of his manicured fingers, his own unblinking eyes also fixed on
Inspector Dutruelle. "Poor Zeus, <em>mon petit papillon</em>, he is
devoted to me, but he must remain here whenever I leave France. And you
are fortunate, monsieur. It is only now that I return from Côte
d'Ivoire. It is my country you know, I return there for a few months
each summer. Paris in summer is so disagreeable, don't you agree?"</p><p>Professor
Dhiakobli glittered with success. The frames of his glasses, the heavy
bracelet on his right wrist and the watch on his left, the gem-studded
rings on his fingers - all were of gold. From his manner and cultured
French accent it was evident that he was an educated man. Around him
the large room was like a shrine. Heavy curtains excluded the daylight
(the only illumination was a small brass desklamp) and the dark, red
walls were festooned with spears, costumes, photographs and other
African memorabilia. There was a sweet smell in the air, and in one
corner of the room the feathers of a ceremonial African headgear lay
draped inappropriately over an enormous American refrigerator. You
could not help being struck by the incongruity of this bizarre scene in
the roughest quarter of Paris.</p><p>"As I say," began Inspector Dutruelle, ignoring the Professor's question, "I saw your card and I wondered just how you work."</p><p>"And may one enquire as to monsieur's little difficulty?"</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle cleared his throat and tried to adopt as nonchalant an air as he could.</p><p>"Well," - he coughed again - "first of all, I wondered what sort of things you can help people with."</p><p>The Professor's eyebrows rose.</p><p>"Anything,"
he said slowly, his smile revealing a set of large white teeth that
shone brilliantly in the dimness against his black skin. "My dear sir,
anything at all."</p><p>"And then, I wondered, how do you operate? That's to say, what exactly do you do . . . and how do you charge?"</p><p>"Ah monsieur, let us not talk of money. First I must learn just how I can help you. And for that a consultation is in order."</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle shifted in his seat.</p><p>"And what would a consultation involve? What does it . . . cost?"</p><p>Professor Dhiakobli wrung his hands and shrugged amicably.</p><p>"<em>Mon cher monsieur</em>,
I do understand how distasteful it is to you to discuss so vulgar a
matter as money. I too recoil at the mere thought of it. It has been my
mission in life to help those who have suffered misfortune. And if some
donate a small token of their gratitude, who am I to refuse their
offering? They pay according to their means, to assist those who have
little to offer. But for a preliminary consultation, monsieur, a
nominal sum, as a mark of good faith, is usually in order. For a
gentleman of your obvious standing, a trifle, a mere two hundred
francs. And let me assure you, monsieur, of my absolute discretion.
Nothing you may choose to tell me will go beyond these walls." He
paused. Then he threw out his hands and added with a grin: "They have
the sanctity of the confessional."</p><p>"I'm glad to hear it," said the Inspector.</p><p>"But monsieur still has the advantage of me . . ." continued Professor Dhiakobli.</p><p>Inspector
Dutruelle decided that he had nothing to lose by talking. He adopted
the name of Monsieur Mazodier, a Parisien wine merchant, and began to
tell the Professor of the dilemma that was tearing at his soul. He told
him of the young Malagasy girl he had met while entertaining clients;
of their instant and passionate love for one another; of her sudden
irrational refusal any longer to give herself to him; and of the wife
he now knew he should never have married but whom he had not the heart
to leave. Monsieur Mazodier was at his wits' end and now even his
business was suffering. He feared that if he did not find a resolution
to his problem he might do something that he or others would regret.
The Professor listened intently, asking appropriate questions at
appropriate moments. Finally Inspector Dutruelle said: "Well, Professor
Dhiakobli, I think that's all I can tell you. I don't think I can tell
you any more. From what I have told you, do you believe you can help
me?"</p><p>For a long time there was silence. The Professor appeared to
be in another world. He stared at Inspector Dutruelle, but seemed to be
looking through him.</p><p>"My dear Monsieur Mazodier," he said at
last, very slowly, almost mechanically, "the story you have told me is
most poignant. Each of us has a hidden corner in his life, a <em>jardin secret</em>.
Yet it is rare indeed for men to come to me with problems such as
yours. Perhaps it is natural that most of my lovelorn clients should be
women. At the mercy of their complex physical structure, is it any
wonder that women are such emotional creatures? I help them find their
lost ones, their partners of many years, to recreate again the rapport
of their youth. You will understand that it is not easy. But this is my
work. My domain."</p><p>"So you can't help me?" said Inspector Dutruelle, adding despondently: "Perhaps what I really need is a head-shrink."</p><p>The Professor gave a start. Again, for a long time he did not answer. Then his teeth flashed in the dimness.</p><p>"<em>Écoutez</em>
monsieur, this is my work, my domain," he repeated. "Certainly I can
help you. But you must understand that it will not be easy. It calls
for a special ceremony. In the first place, you are married, and I
shall be required to work my influence on not one but two women. In the
second, we are both men of the world, monsieur, and you will not be
offended if I remark upon the extreme disparity in your ages. And
finally, it is clear to me that this young girl has chained your heart
with her magic. You know, the magic of Madagascar is very strong. No,
monsieur, it will not be easy. Enduring love cannot be bought with
money alone. Sometimes . . ." He hesitated and looked Inspector
Dutruelle straight in the eye, his own eyes suddenly cold and vacant.
"Sometimes," he said, "we must make sacrifices."</p><p>"What sort of sacrifices?" asked Inspector Dutruelle dully.</p><p>"Oh,
my dear sir, you must leave that to me. But one cannot make an omelette
without breaking eggs." His cold eyes remained fixed on the Inspector
and he spoke in a monotone without pausing for breath. "You must not
concern yourself with technicalities, monsieur. Your mind must be fixed
on the future, on the life you have dreamed of. You must envisage your
wife - happy in the arms of another. You must picture the fragile young
child you so yearn for . . . secure in your arms . . . sharing your
life . . . your days . . . your nights. The perfect solution to all
your problems. Is it not worth a considerable sum?"</p><p>"It certainly would be worth a lot . . ." Inspector Dutruelle muttered as the Professor's words came to life in his mind.</p><p>"Shall we say thirty thousand francs?"</p><p>"I'm sorry?" muttered the Inspector.</p><p>"Let's
say fifteen thousand before and fifteen afterwards," the Professor went
on as though his visitor had not spoken. "Do you see, monsieur, how
confident I am of success?"</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle did not reply. He
was confused. He had not expected the Professor to be so blunt, or to
propose quite so generous a token. But it did not seem to matter. After
all, what was thirty thousand francs to achieve what he craved so
desperately? And, in any case, at worst it was only fifteen thousand.</p><p>The Professor's eyes were still fixed on Inspector Dutruelle.</p><p>"Of
course, monsieur, I have faith in your gratitude. I know that you will
not forget, in your delight, that what I have done, I can undo. And
now, monsieur, you must not allow me to detain you further. We have
much work to do. In eight days you will return with photographs and
details of Madame Mazodier and the Malagasy. And with some little
articles of clothing, something close to their thoughts, say a scarf or
a hat. You can arrange this?"</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle nodded blankly.</p><p>"Excellent,
monsieur. I must know them in every detail - if I am to have a
spiritual tête-à-tête with each of them. So, in fifteen days, you will
return for the ceremony. It will take place beyond those curtains, in
the space reserved for the ancestral spirits. Nobody but I and my
assistants may enter there, but nevertheless it is imperative that you
be present on the day. It must be at dawn, and you must come without
fail - the ceremony cannot be deferred. Can you manage six in the
morning, shall we say Monday the sixteenth?"</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle
did not sleep well on the night of the fifteenth of December. At four
o'clock in the morning he got out of bed. Though his wife stirred she
did not wake. He showered and dressed. His nerves were on edge as he
fiddled around in the kitchen, boiling water for his coffee. He drank
two cups, strong and black, but he looked helplessly at the croissants
he had spread clumsily with jam. He lit a Gauloise and paced the room.
Then he pulled the windows open and leaned on the railing, finishing
his cigarette. Below him the courtyard was dark and silent, and above
him the sky was black. But away in the east, through the open end of
the court, a violet hue was creeping over Paris. He glanced at his
watch. It was a quarter past five and time to fetch the car. It would
seem strange, leaving at that time of the morning without an official
car and driver. He wondered what the concierge would make of it all -
she was bound to be polishing the brasses by the time he reached the
ground floor. He gave a shiver and pushed the windows shut.</p><p>Then
he put the keys of the Renault in his coat pocket and checked that he
had everything. He looked into the bedroom. Gently, he drew the duvet
back and looked at his wife as she slept, her arms clasped about her
knees. He leaned over and touched his lips to her cheek. Then he closed
the bedroom door silently behind him, switched the lights off in the
living room and kitchen, and opened the front door. As he did so the
telephone rang. It startled him and he cursed aloud. He closed the
front door again and hurried to answer the phone so that his wife
should not wake.</p><p>"Inspector Dutruelle?" said the voice at the other end.</p><p>"Yes, what is it?"</p><p>"Sorry to disturb you at this time of the morning, <em>Monsieur l'Inspecteur</em>. It's the Préfecture."</p><p>"Never
mind the time," said Inspector Dutruelle with as much irritation as his
whispering voice could convey. "I'm off duty today."</p><p>"Well,
that's the point, Inspector. The Préfet's ordered us to call you
specially. He appreciates you're not on duty, but he wants you anyway."</p><p>"It's quite impossible."</p><p>"I'm afraid he insists, sir."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"He insists you come on duty immediately, sir. We're sending a car round for you."</p><p>"Yes, yes, I understand, but why?"</p><p>"It's the Metro again, sir."</p><p>"The Metro?"</p><p>"Yes, sir. They've found another corpse on the line, decapitated again."</p><p>Inspector
Dutruelle did not reply. He was cursing to himself. He was cursing the
Préfet, the police, this homicidal maniac, his wife. Why today? Why
ever today?</p><p>"Sir? Hello sir? The car'll be with you in five minutes."</p><p>"Yes, all right. I'll be ready in five minutes."</p><p>The
big black Citroen was soon speeding away from Rue Dauphine and heading
north across Pont Neuf. Inspector Dutruelle looked at the winter mists
rising from the Seine. His dreams, it seemed, were evaporating just as
surely.</p><p>"You'd better brief me on this as quick as you can," he
said wearily to the Detective Sergeant he had found waiting for him in
the car. "Where was the body found?"</p><p>"Barbes Rochechouart, sir."</p><p>A cold shiver passed through the Inspector.</p><p>"I presume it's the same as the others?" he asked.</p><p>"Well,
in as much as there's nothing to go on, it's the same, sir. Otherwise
it couldn't be more different. For a start, we've just heard they've
found two of them now. And this time they're women. One white, in her
forties, and one black. A young black girl - still in her teens, by the
look of things."</p><p>But Inspector Dutruelle was not listening. He
was staring blankly through the glass to his right, and as they turned
at Place du Châtelet the empty streets were no more than a cold, grey
blur to him. The car swung onto the broad Boulevard de Sébastopol and
accelerated northwards to cover the three kilometres to Metro Barbes
Rochechouart. It was the route he should have been taking in his own
car.</p><p>Outside the station, now closed to passengers, people were
standing around under the street lights with their collars up.
Inspector Dutruelle got out of the car. He hesitated. He glanced
towards Rue Beldamme (just a stone's throw away across the bleak
Boulevard de Rochechouart) where the Professor would be waiting for
him. He shrugged and went down the station steps.</p><p>Underground, on
the number four line, there was an air of gloom. Both bodies lay where
they had been spotted by the first train-drivers through that morning.
Inspector Dutruelle looked impassively at the first one. It was the
body of a middle-aged woman, quite unexceptional, coarse and wiry, like
his wife.</p><p>"She's forty-seven, <em>Monsieur l'Inspecteur</em>," said somebody beside him. "French. Name of Madame Catherine Dubur. Not like the other one."</p><p>"The other one?" said the Inspector blankly.</p><p>"I told you in the car, sir," said the Detective Sergeant at his ear, "there's two of them."</p><p>"You'd better show me."</p><p>They
strolled in their overcoats to the other end of the platform and went
down the little steps that led to the track. A uniformed policeman
pulled back the blanket that covered the second body, which lay on its
back. Inspector Dutruelle stared dispassionately at the stiff, black
limbs that stuck out awkwardly across the railway lines. Suddenly he
shuddered in alarm. Even in the dim lights of the train that was pulled
up beyond you could see the resemblance to Vololona.</p><p>"Identity?" he asked. He tried to control his voice.</p><p>"We
don't know, sir - this is all we found," said a policeman, handing him
a tattered greetings card. Inside, in large, green handwriting, were
the words: "Happy Nineteenth Birthday, from Everyone in Antananarivo."</p><p>"D'you think she's Malagasy, sir?" asked the policeman. The Inspector shrugged his shoulders, then held out an open hand.</p><p>"Your torch, please," he said.</p><p>He
played its beam over the body, up and down the long, slender legs,
across the clothes. At least he did not recognise the clothes. Yet the
body's size, its build, its colour, everything pointed to Vololona. He
bent down and flashed the light onto the fingers of the left hand and
laughed weakly to himself as he saw the tawdry rings that glinted back
at him. He stood up in relief. That was certainly not Vololona. Yet it
was uncanny how this body reminded him of her - and the other of Agnes,
for that matter. Even the ages were the same.</p><p>He smoked as he
stood staring at the headless corpse. He could not understand. Was the
magic of Madagascar really so strong that now he saw Vololona
everywhere? And what of Agnes? How would Professor Dhiakobli explain
that? How could he explain it, when you came to think of it? When you
came to think of it, he had explained very little. He had been happy
enough to take the money, and free enough with his words - all those
grandiose notions of mission and sacrifice and spiritual tête-à-têtes .
. .</p><p>Inspector Dutruelle gasped.</p><p>"The devil," he muttered to himself. Suddenly he understood everything.</p><p>"The what, sir?" said somebody beside him.</p><p>"Never
mind," he answered quietly, putting his hand to his breast pocket. His
heart had started to pound with a sense of danger and his head suddenly
ached with questions. He took out his cigarette case and lit another
Gauloise. Through its curling blue smoke, back-lit by the lights of the
train, the black limbs were splayed out in a grotesque dance, while
beside him men's voices were thrumming in his ear. Why was there no
time to think, to extricate himself from this nightmare? He cursed
himself. How could he have been so stupid? He cursed his wife and
Vololona. And Professor Dhiakobli. What madness had driven him to this?
Then he cursed himself again, and turned abruptly to one of the men
babbling at his side.</p><p>"What time is it?"</p><p>"Six-fifteen, sir."</p><p>For a moment, he hesitated. Then he called for the Detective Sergeant who was with the photographer at the other body.</p><p>"<em>Écoute</em> Guy, when he's got his pictures they can move the bodies and fix things up," he said. "Now get me the Préfet."</p><p>The
Préfet was beside himself with rage at this further disturbance to his
sleep, and he exploded with indignation when Inspector Dutruelle
offered his resignation.</p><p>"Are you insane, man? You're in the middle of an investigation!"</p><p>"The investigation is over, <em>Monsieur le Préfet</em>."</p><p>"So, you have the killer at last!"</p><p>"In fifteen minutes, monsieur, in fifteen minutes."</p><p>"Then why in the name of God are you asking to be relieved from duty?"</p><p>"<em>Monsieur le Préfet</em>,
my position is impossible. On this occasion it was I that paid the
killer," he answered calmly as he took another cigarette from his
silver cigarette case.</p><p><br /></p><p>دیجیتال ◊ دوربین ◊ دوربین دیجیتال ◊ طرح توجیهی ◊ کریستال ◊ نوت بوک ◊ لپ
تاپ ◊ لیزر ◊ نوشابه ◊ نوشابه پرکنی ◊ دوغ ◊ ماءالشعیر ◊ پرکن ◊ گرانول ◊
گوگل ◊ رایگان ◊ مجانی ◊ دانلود ◊ موسیقی ◊ تحصیل ◊ کارشناسی ◊ کاردانی ◊
کارشناسی ارشد ◊ دکترا ◊ رب گوجه فرنگی ◊ لیسانس ◊ آلمانی ◊ انگلیسی ◊
فرانسه ◊ ترکی ◊ فارسی ◊ آذربایجانی ◊ Belt Weigher ◊ Dynamic weighing ◊
Belt scale ◊ ایفا صنعت ◊ دیجی کالا ◊ فروشگاه ◊ فروشگاه ساز ◊ گل سازی ◊
آشپزی ◊ شمع سازی ◊ اپیلا لیزر ◊ یکبار مصرف ◊ ماساژ صورت ◊ آرایش صورت ◊
شنیون مو ◊ فر زدن مو ◊ رنگ کردن ◊ بدنسازی بانوان ◊ شیرینی پزی ◊ شکلات ◊
آموزش نقاشی ◊ فرفورژه ◊ رقص ایروبیک ◊ خیاطی ◊ ژورنال لباس ◊ موبر ◊
پرورش گل ◊ DVD ◊ VCD ◊ بچینگ ◊ پودر لاستیک ◊ بی سیم ◊ سونی ◊ اریکسون ◊
نوکیا ◊ سونی اریکسون ◊ موتورولا ◊ ال جی ◊ سامسونگ ◊ تزئینات ◊ اسپانیایی
◊ دوبی ◊ ترکیه ◊ آذربایجان ◊ باکو ◊ مشهد ◊ تور خارجی ◊ تور داخلی ◊ آلت
تناسلی ◊ آناتومی ◊ بدن انسان ◊ موسیقی اصیل ◊ گرانیت ◊ مرمریت ◊ اسب ◊
یادمان ◊ تورهای سیاحتی ◊ گردشگری ◊ گردش ◊ پتو ◊ نساجی ◊ پتوی مسافرتی ◊
پتوی سفری ◊ روفرشی ◊ پتو تبلیغاتی ◊ پتو قالیچه ◊ مداد روزنامه ای ◊ مداد
◊ روزنامه ◊ پیتزا ◊ کارتن ◊ کارتن سازی ◊ جعبه سازی ◊ سنسور ◊ عطر ◊
ادکلن ◊ هلی کوپتر ◊ هواپیما ◊ تله متری ◊ تله کنترل ◊ آپارتمان ◊ وام
بانکی ◊ نوت بوک ◊ پاناسونیک ◊ لیزر رایانه ◊ توزین ◊ گردو شکن ◊ بادام
شکن ◊ موبایل ◊ تلفن همراه ◊ اطلس بدن ◊ اطلس جهان ◊ سلفون ◊ نایلون ◊
متالیز ◊ کلیشه ◊ زینک ◊ چاپ ◊ چاپ دیجیتال ◊ نور پردازی ◊ کیک ◊ بیسکویت
◊ کلوچه ◊ فلزکاری ◊ فرزکاری ◊ برک پرس ◊ فرزکاری سنگین ◊ رنگ
الکترواستاتیک ◊ رنگ مایع کوره ای ◊ خط شتشوی پاششی ◊ ورق بری ◊ گیوتین ◊
قالب های فورچ ◊ رنگ پودری ◊ بچینگ پلانت ◊ مترو ◊ سوتین ◊ لباس زیر ◊
قرابیه ◊ ریس و نوقا ◊ قرابیه نارگیلی ◊ گز اصفهان ◊ سوهان قم ◊ قطاب یزد
◊ قرابیه تبریز ◊ تابلو کلیپ مذهبی و مرثیه کلیپ تصویری کلیپ صوتی خنده
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EfficientDynamics Concept (کلیک 2069) عکس های دیدنی از طرج جدید BMW
بنام S6 (کلیک 2108) عکس های جذاب از گل های دیدنی و زیبا(کلیک 3829) عکس
ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (سری چهارم آلبوم عشق)(کلیک 9371) عکس
ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (سری سوم تصاویر عشق)(کلیک 7175) عکس
های دیدنی و توریستی ازعجیب ترین اماکن مهم ساخته شده توسط بشر (سری
دوم)(کلیک 3749) عکس ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (کلیک 7467) عکس
های دیدنی و توریستی ازعجیب ترین اماکن مهم ساخته شده توسط بشر (سری
اول)(کلیک 2796) عکس های دیدنی و جذاب از ساخت اشکال و مجسمه های بزرگ با
استفاده از میوه ها !(کلیک 2836) عکس های دیدنی از ایجاد اشکال ادمک با
استفاده از پوست پرتغال !(کلیک 2689) دور دنیا با تبیان - عکس های دیدنی
از مناظر اطراف معبد چیانگ کای در تایوان که توریتسهای بسیاری را به سمت
خود کشانده است(کلیک 2950) دور دنیا با تبیان - تصاویر دیدنی از اهرام
ثلاثه مصر - بنا های شگفت انگیز فراعنه مصر (کلیک 2848) تصویری خوف انگیز
از آسمان سیاه دره مرگ (کلیک 230) تولید مثل و تشکیلات کندوی زنبور عسل
(کلیک 209) آیا می دانید قوانین مورفی منشا نظامی دارد؟ (کلیک 159) موفقیت
پژوهشگران ایرانی در شناسایی ترکیب گیاهی جدید ضد مالاریا (کلیک 213) بُرج
مسکونی به ارتفاع 3.2 کیلومتر! (کلیک 1446) حافظه لپ تاپ خود را افزایش
دهید (کلیک 362) اطلاعاتی درباره باکتریها (کلیک 306) Spam چیست ؟ (کلیک
336) اسرار 6 عدد حاکم بر جهان (کلیک 914) فیزیک و ورزش (کلیک 353) کاربرد
مثلث در موسیقی (کلیک 288) اینترنت بین سیاره ای ! رویایی فراتر از جهان
ما (کلیک 227) نگاهی به علم نجوم و ریاضیات در اسلام (کلیک 264) اعصاب
سمپاتیک و پاراسمپاتیک (کلیک 114) می دانید که هوش هم انواع مختلفی دارد؟
(کلیک 346) بیش فعالی در بزرگسالان !(کلیک 127) مزایای جویدن آدامس (کلیک
151) بهداشت مواد غذایی در تابستان(کلیک 95) پماد ها بهترین داروی زانو
درد(کلیک 117) خوردن صبحانه کامل مانع از چاقی میشود(کلیک 112) گذاری
تغذیه ای ضرورتی که باید به آن پرداخت(کلیک 105) کشف نقطه ضعف ویروس تبخال
برای درمان موثرتر(کلیک 145) مداوای طبیعی یبوست(کلیک 123) هل؛ مقوی سیستم
هضم غذا و خوشبوکننده دهان است(کلیک 139) ارتباط گرسنگی و شادی!(کلیک 122)
اگر می خواهید لاغر شوید،آرام غذا بخورید(کلیک 180) امان از دست این پشه
ها در این روزهای گرم تابستان!(کلیک 295) ساخت چسب تماسی دارویی در
ایران(کلیک 99) موها درباره ی سلامتی شما چه می گویند؟(کلیک 190) دانمارک
شادترین کشور دنیا است(کلیک 157) عکس های دیدنی عاشقانه , محبت و گل -سری
پنجم (LOVE)(کلیک 8200) منتخب عکس های هنرمندانه از عکاسان حرفه ای
جهان(کلیک 3927) تصاویر دیدنی از حیات وحش آفریقا از دید برترین عکاسان
جهان (کلیک 2950) تصاویر مدل دیگری از ماشین BMW بنام X5
EfficientDynamics Concept (کلیک 2069) عکس های دیدنی از طرج جدید BMW
بنام S6 (کلیک 2108) عکس های جذاب از گل های دیدنی و زیبا(کلیک 3829) عکس
ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (سری چهارم آلبوم عشق)(کلیک 9371) عکس
ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (سری سوم تصاویر عشق)(کلیک 7175) عکس
های دیدنی و توریستی ازعجیب ترین اماکن مهم ساخته شده توسط بشر (سری
دوم)(کلیک 3749) عکس ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (کلیک 7467) عکس
های دیدنی و توریستی ازعجیب ترین اماکن مهم ساخته شده توسط بشر (سری
اول)(کلیک 2796) عکس های دیدنی و جذاب از ساخت اشکال و مجسمه های بزرگ با
استفاده از میوه ها !(کلیک 2836) عکس های دیدنی از ایجاد اشکال ادمک با
استفاده از پوست پرتغال !(کلیک 2689) دور دنیا با تبیان - عکس های دیدنی
از مناظر اطراف معبد چیانگ کای در تایوان که توریتسهای بسیاری را به سمت
خود کشانده است(کلیک 2950) دور دنیا با تبیان - تصاویر دیدنی از اهرام
ثلاثه مصر - بنا های شگفت انگیز فراعنه مصر (کلیک 2848) تصویری خوف انگیز
از آسمان سیاه دره مرگ (کلیک 230) تولید مثل و تشکیلات کندوی زنبور عسل
(کلیک 209) آیا می دانید قوانین مورفی منشا نظامی دارد؟ (کلیک 159) موفقیت
پژوهشگران ایرانی در شناسایی ترکیب گیاهی جدید ضد مالاریا (کلیک 213) بُرج
مسکونی به ارتفاع 3.2 کیلومتر! (کلیک 1446) حافظه لپ تاپ خود را افزایش
دهید (کلیک 362) اطلاعاتی درباره باکتریها (کلیک 306) Spam چیست ؟ (کلیک
336) اسرار 6 عدد حاکم بر جهان (کلیک 914) فیزیک و ورزش (کلیک 353) کاربرد
مثلث در موسیقی (کلیک 288) اینترنت بین سیاره ای ! رویایی فراتر از جهان
ما (کلیک 227) نگاهی به علم نجوم و ریاضیات در اسلام (کلیک 264) اعصاب
سمپاتیک و پاراسمپاتیک (کلیک 114) می دانید که هوش هم انواع مختلفی دارد؟
(کلیک 346) بیش فعالی در بزرگسالان !(کلیک 127) مزایای جویدن آدامس (کلیک
151) بهداشت مواد غذایی در تابستان(کلیک 95) پماد ها بهترین داروی زانو
درد(کلیک 117) خوردن صبحانه کامل مانع از چاقی میشود(کلیک 112) گذاری
تغذیه ای ضرورتی که باید به آن پرداخت(کلیک 105) کشف نقطه ضعف ویروس تبخال
برای درمان موثرتر(کلیک 145) مداوای طبیعی یبوست(کلیک 123) هل؛ مقوی سیستم
هضم غذا و خوشبوکننده دهان است(کلیک 139) ارتباط گرسنگی و شادی!(کلیک 122)
اگر می خواهید لاغر شوید،آرام غذا بخورید(کلیک 180) امان از دست این پشه
ها در این روزهای گرم تابستان!(کلیک 295) ساخت چسب تماسی دارویی در
ایران(کلیک 99) موها درباره ی سلامتی شما چه می گویند؟(کلیک 190) دانمارک
شادترین کشور دنیا است(کلیک 157) عکس های دیدنی عاشقانه , محبت و گل -سری
پنجم (LOVE)(کلیک 8200) منتخب عکس های هنرمندانه از عکاسان حرفه ای
جهان(کلیک 3927) تصاویر دیدنی از حیات وحش آفریقا از دید برترین عکاسان
جهان (کلیک 2950) تصاویر مدل دیگری از ماشین BMW بنام X5
EfficientDynamics Concept (کلیک 2069) عکس های دیدنی از طرج جدید BMW
بنام S6 (کلیک 2108) عکس های جذاب از گل های دیدنی و زیبا(کلیک 3829) عکس
ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (سری چهارم آلبوم عشق)(کلیک 9371) عکس
ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (سریعشق)(کلیک 7175) عکس های دیدنی و
توریستی ازعجیب ترین اماکن مهم ساخته شده توسط بشر (سری دوم)(کلیک 3749)
عکس ها و تصاویر عاشقانه و دوست داشتنی (کلیک 7467) عکس های دیدنی و
توریستی ازعجیب ترین اماکن مهم ساخته شده توسط بشر (سری اول)(کلیک 2796)
عکس های دیدنی و جذاب از ساخت اشکال و مجسمه های بزرگ با استفاده از میوه
ها !(کلیک 2836) عکس های دیدنی از ایجاد اشکال ادمک با استفاده از پوست
پرتغال !(کلیک 2689) دور دنیا با تبیان - عکس های دیدنی از مناظر اطراف
معبد چیانگ کای در تایوان که توریتسهای بسیاری را به سمت خود کشانده
است(کلیک 2950) دور دنیا با تبیان - تصاویر دیدنی از اهرام ثلاثه مصر -
بنا های شگفت انگیز فراعنه مصر (کلیک 2848) بفل کردن رئیس جمهور بوسیله یک
خانم - 193 بازدید باز شدن گره روسری یک خانم در برنامه زنده تلویزیونی -
142 بازدید لحظه به لحظه تا تولد یک جوجه تیغی - 74 بازدید از ۱۴ غذای
معجزه گر غافل نشوید - 51 بازدید تصویری بسیار زیبا که از کنار هم قرار
دادن چند تصویر کوچک درست شده است - 50 بازدید طنز- فواید قطع برق - 38
بازدید غلیان احساسات یک الاغ! - 37 بازدید خانم ها….آقایان…..هویت وشخصیت
خود را بشناسید - 36 بازدید ایرانیان مشهور مقیم آمریکا - 36 بازدید مثلث
برمودا - 35 بازدید برترینهای سی دی لوازم زیور آلات مجله و کتاب فیلم و
کارتن نرم افزار موبایل کتاب الکترونیک نرم افزار کاربردی مالی و اداری
موسیقی بازی و سرگرمی نرم افزار کامپیوتر آموزش زبان نرم افزار آموزشی
آنتی ویروس اریکسون آنتی ویروس دیگرگوشی ها آنتی ویروس سامسونگ آنتی ویروس
موتورولا آنتی ویروس نوکیا بازی موبایل بازی جاوا بازی دیگر گوشی ها بازی
سامسونگ بازی سونی اریکسون بازی موتورولا بازی نوکیا بررسی تخصصی موبایل
دیگر گوشی ها سامسونگ سونی اریکسون موتورولا نوکیا برنامه موبایل برنامه
جاوا برنامه دیگر گوشی ها برنامه سامسونگ برنامه سونی اریکسون برنامه
موتورولا برنامه نوکیا تم موبایل تم دیگر گوشی ها تم سامسونگ تم سونی
اریکسون تم موتورولا تم نوکیا دیگر مطالب اخبار سایت اخبار موبایل عمومی
قالب وبلاگ قیمت موبایل مقالات موبایلآموزش موبایل ترفند موبایل کتاب
الکترونیک موبایل کد مخفی موبایل مولتی مدیا موبایل زنگ موبایل عکس اس ام
اس موبایل محافط صفحه موبایل والپیپر موبایل کلیپ موبایل ترفند انتقال
اعتبار از یک سیم کارت به یک سیم کارت دیگر ایرانسل بازی The Oregon Trail
جاوا بررسی تخصصی نوکیا 7610 | nokia 7610 بازی Worm's World Party 51 233
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بررسی تخصصی نوکیا N81.8GB بررسی تخصصی نوکیا 6600 | nokia 6600 قالب
موبایل برای بلاگفا دیوان حافظ Hafez v2.0 جاوا رمز گذاری بر روی فایل ها
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Calendar 2 Full جاوا تم دریاچه طلایی برای سونی اریکسون آهنگ زنگ پلنگ
صورتی برای موبایل نقشه ایران برای موبایل جاوا SMSای برای تمام فصول
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</LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-45.aspx" target="_blank">The Chapel</a><BR>She was walking lazily, for the fierce April sun was directly
overhead. Her umbrella blocked its rays but nothing blocked the heat -
the sort of raw, wild heat that crushes you with its energy. A few
buffalo were tethered under coconuts, browsing the parched verges.
Occasionally a car went past, leaving its treads in the melting pitch
like the wake of a ship at sea. Otherwise it was quiet, and she saw
no-one.</p><p>In her long white Sunday dress you might have taken
Ginnie Narine for fourteen or fifteen. In fact she was twelve, a happy,
uncomplicated child with a nature as open as the red hibiscus that
decorated her black, waist-length hair. Generations earlier her family
had come to Trinidad from India as overseers on the sugar plantations.
Her father had had some success through buying and clearing land around
Rio Cristalino and planting it with coffee.</p><p>On the dusty verge
twenty yards ahead of Ginnie a car pulled up. She had noticed it cruise
by once before but she did not recognize it and could not make out the
driver through its dark windows, themselves as black as its gleaming
paintwork. As she walked past it, the driver's glass started to open.</p><p>"Hello, Ginnie," she heard behind her.</p><p>She
paused and turned. A slight colour rose beneath her dusky skin. Ravi
Kirjani was tall and lean, and always well-dressed. His black eyes and
large, white teeth flashed in the sunlight as he spoke. Everyone in Rio
Cristalino knew Ravi. Ginnie often heard her unmarried sisters talk
ruefully of him, of how, if only their father were alive and they still
had land, one of them might marry him. And then they would squabble
over who it might be and laugh at Ginnie because she was too simple for
any man to want.</p><p>"How do you know my name, Ravi?" she asked with a thrill.</p><p>"How do you know mine?"</p><p>"Everyone knows your name. You're Mr Kirjani's son."</p><p>"Right. And where're you going Ginnie?"</p><p>She hesitated and looked down at the ground again.</p><p>"To chapel," she said with a faint smile.</p><p>"But
Ginnie, good Hindus go to the temple." His rich, cultured voice was
gently mocking as he added with a laugh: "Or maybe the temple pundits
aren't your taste in colour."</p><p>She blushed more deeply at the
reference to Father Olivier. She did not know how to reply. It was true
that she liked the young French priest, with his funny accent and blue
eyes, but she had been going to the Catholic chapel for months before
he arrived. She loved its cheerful hymns, and its simple creed of one
god - so different from those miserable Hindu gods who squabbled with
each other like her sisters at home. But, added to that, the vulgarity
of Ravi's remark bewildered her because his family were known for their
breeding. People always said that Ravi would be a man of honour, like
his father.</p><p>Ravi looked suddenly grave. His dark skin seemed even
darker. It may be that he regretted his words. Possibly he saw the
confusion in Ginnie's wide brown eyes. In any case, he did not wait for
an answer.</p><p>"Can I offer you a lift to chapel - in my twenty-first
birthday present?" he asked, putting his sunglasses back on. She
noticed how thick their frames were. Real gold, she thought, like the
big, fat watch on his wrist.</p><p>"It's a Mercedes, from Papa. Do you like it?" he added nonchalantly.</p><p>From
the shade of her umbrella Ginnie peered up at a small lone cloud that
hung motionless above them. The sun was beating down mercilessly and
there was an urge in the air and an overpowering sense of growth. With
a handkerchief she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Ravi gave a tug
at his collar.</p><p>"It's air-conditioned, Ginnie. And you won't be late for chapel," he continued, reading her mind.</p><p>But
chapel must have been the last thing on Ravi's mind when Ginnie, after
a moment's hesitation, accepted his offer. For he drove her instead to
a quiet sugar field outside town and there, with the Mercedes concealed
among the sugar canes, he introduced himself into her. Ginnie was in a
daze. Young as she was, she barely understood what was happening to
her. The beat of calypso filled her ears and the sugar canes towered
over her as the cold draught from the air-conditioner played against
her knees. Afterwards, clutching the ragged flower that had been torn
from her hair, she lay among the tall, sweet-smelling canes and sobbed
until the brief tropical twilight turned to starry night.</p><p>But she told no-one, not even Father Olivier.</p><hr width="7" /><p>Two
weeks later the little market town of Rio Cristalino was alive with
gossip. Ravi Kirjani had been promised the hand of Sunita Moorpalani.
Like the Kirjanis, the Moorpalanis were an established Indian family,
one of the wealthiest in the Caribbean. But while the Kirjanis were
diplomats, the Moorpalanis were a commercial family. They had made
their fortune in retailing long before the collapse in oil prices had
emptied their customers' pockets; and now Moorpalani stores were
scattered throughout Trinidad and some of the other islands. Prudently,
they had diversified into banking and insurance, and as a result their
influence was felt at the highest level. It was a benevolent influence,
of course, never abused, for people always said the Moorpalanis were a
respectable family, and well above reproach. They had houses in
Port-of-Spain, Tobago and Barbados, as well as in England and India,
but their main residence was a magnificent, sprawling, colonial-style
mansion just to the north of Rio Cristalino. The arranged marriage
would be the social event of the following year.</p><p>When Ginnie
heard of Ravi's engagement the loathing she had conceived for him grew
into a sort of numb hatred. She was soon haunted by a longing to repay
that heartless, arrogant brute. She would give anything to humiliate
him, to see that leering, conceited grin wiped from his face. But
outwardly she was unmoved. On weekdays she went to school and on
Sundays she went still to Father Olivier's afternoon service.</p><p>"Girl,
you sure does have a lot to confess to that whitie," her mother would
say to her each time she came home late from chapel.</p><p>"He's not a whitie, he's a man of God."</p><p>"That's as may be, child, but don't forget he does be a man first."</p><hr width="7" /><p>The months passed and she did not see Ravi again.</p><p>And
then it rained. All through August the rain hardly stopped. It rattled
persistently on the galvanized roofs until you thought you would go mad
with the noise. And if it stopped the air was as sticky as treacle and
you prayed for it to rain again.</p><p>Then one day in October, towards
the end of the wet season, when Ginnie's family were celebrating her
only brother's eighteenth birthday, something happened that she had
been dreading for weeks. She was lying in the hammock on the balcony,
playing with her six-year old nephew Pinni.</p><p>Suddenly, Pinni cried out: "Ginnie, why are you so fat?"</p><p>Throughout
the little frame house all celebration stopped. On the balcony curious
eyes were turned upon Ginnie. And you could see what the boy meant.</p><p>"Gods
have mercy on you, Virginia! Watch the shape of your belly," cried Mrs
Narine, exploding with indignation and pulling her daughter indoors,
away from the prying neighbours' ears. Her voice was loud and hard and
there was a blackness in her eyes like the blackness of the skies
before thunder. How could she have been so blind? She cursed herself
for it and harsh questions burst from her lips.</p><p>"How does you
bring such shame upon us, girl? What worthless layabouts does you throw
yourself upon? What man'll have you now? No decent man, that does be
sure. And why does you blacken your father's name like this, at your
age? The man as didn't even live to see you born. Thank the gods he
didn't have to know of this. You sure got some explaining to your
precious man of God, child."</p><p>At last her words were exhausted and
she sat down heavily, her weak heart pounding dangerously and her chest
heaving from the exertion of her outburst.</p><p>Then Ginnie told her
mother of the afternoon that Ravi Kirjani had raped her. There was a
long silence after that and all you could hear was Mrs Narine wheezing.
When at last she spoke, her words were heavy and disjointed.</p><p>"If anybody have to get damnation that Kirjani boy'll get it," she said.</p><p>Ginnie's sisters were awestruck.</p><p>"Shall we take her over to the health centre, Ma?" asked Indra. "The midwife comes today."</p><p>"Is you crazy, girl? You all does know how that woman does run she mouth like a duck's bottom. You all leave this to me."</p><hr width="7" /><p>That
night Mrs Narine took her young daughter to see Doctor Khan, an old
friend of her husband whose discretion she could count on.</p><p>There was no doubt about it. The child was pregnant.</p><p>"And what can us do, Dr Khan?" asked Mrs Narine.</p><p>"Marry her off, quick as you can," the lean old doctor replied bluntly.</p><p>Mrs Narine scoffed.</p><p>"Who would take her now, Doctor? I does beg you. There's nothing? Nothing you can do for us?"</p><p>A
welcome breeze came through the slats of the surgery windows. Outside
you could hear the shrill, persistent sound of cicadas, while
mosquitoes crowded at the screens, attracted by the bare bulb over the
simple desk. Dr Khan sighed and peered over the frames of his glasses.
Then he lowered his voice and spoke wearily, like a man who has said
the same thing many times.</p><p>"I might arrange something for the
baby once it's born. But it must be born, my dear. Your daughter is
slimly built. She's young, a child herself. To you she looks barely
three months pregnant. Don't fool yourself, if the dates she's given us
are correct, in three months she'll be full term. Anything now would be
too, too messy."</p><p>"And if it's born," asked Mrs Narine falteringly, "if it's born, what does happen then?"</p><p>"No, Ma, I want it anyway, I want to keep it," said Ginnie quietly.</p><p>"Don't be a fool, child."</p><p>"It's my baby. Ma. I want to have it. I want to keep it."</p><p>"And who's to look after you, and pay for the baby? Even if that Kirjani does agrees to pay, who does you hope to marry?"</p><p>"I'll marry, don't worry."</p><p>"You'll marry! You does be a fool. Who will you marry?"</p><p>"Kirjani, Ma. I's going to marry Ravi Kirjani."</p><p>Doctor Khan gave a chuckle.</p><p>"So,
your daughter is not such a fool as you think," he said. "I told you to
marry her off. And the Kirjani boy's worth a try. What does she have to
lose? She's too, too clever!"</p><p>So Ravi Kirjani was confronted with
the pregnant Ginnie and reminded of that Sunday afternoon in the dry
season when the canes were ready for harvesting. To the surprise of the
Narines he did not argue at all. He offered at once to marry Ginnie. It
may be that for him it was a welcome opportunity to escape a connubial
arrangement for which he had little appetite. Though Sunita Moorpalani
indisputably had background, nobody ever pretended that she had looks.
Or possibly he foresaw awkward police questions that might have been
difficult to answer once the fruit of his desire saw the light of day.
Mrs Narine was staggered. Even Ginnie was surprised at how little
resistance he put up.</p><p>"Perhaps," she thought with a wry smile, "he's not really so bad."</p><hr width="7" /><p>Whatever
his reasons, you had to admit Ravi acted honourably. And so did the
jilted Moorpalani family. If privately they felt their humiliation
keenly, publicly they bore it with composure, and people were amazed
that they remained on speaking terms with the man who had insulted one
of their women and broken her heart.</p><p>Sunita's five brothers even
invited Ravi to spend a day with them at their seaside villa in Mayaro.
And as Ravi had been a friend of the family all his life he saw no
reason to refuse.</p><p>The Moorpalani brothers chose a Tuesday for the
outing - there was little point, they said, in going at the weekend
when the working people littered the beach - and one of their
LandRovers for the twenty mile drive from Rio Cristalino. They were in
high spirits and joked with Ravi while their servants stowed cold
chicken and salad beneath the rear bench seats and packed the iceboxes
with beer and puncheon rum. Then they scanned the sky for clouds and
congratulated themselves on choosing such a fine day. Suraj, the oldest
brother, looked at his watch and his feet shifted uneasily as he said:</p><p>"It's time to hit the road."</p><p>His brothers gave a laugh and clambered on board. It was an odd, sardonic laugh.</p><p>The
hardtop LandRover cruised through Rio Cristalino to the cross roads at
the town centre. Already the market traders were pitching their
roadside stalls and erecting great canvas umbrellas to shield them from
sun or rain. The promise of commerce was in the air and the traders
looked about expectantly as they loaded their stalls with fresh mangos
or put the finishing touches to displays of giant melons whose fleshy
pink innards glistened succulently under cellophane.</p><p>The
LandRover turned east towards Mayaro and moments later was passing the
cemetery on the edge of town. The road to the coast was busy with
traffic in both directions still carrying produce to market, and the
frequent bends and potholes made the journey slow. At last, on an
uphill straight about six miles from Mayaro, the LandRover was able to
pick up speed. Its ribbed tyres beat on the reflector studs like a
drumroll and the early morning sun flashed through the coconut palms.
Suddenly a terrible thing happened. The rear door of the LandRover
swung open and Ravi Kirjani tumbled out, falling helplessly beneath the
wheels of a heavily laden truck.</p><hr width="7" /><p>At the inquest the
coroner acknowledged that the nature and extent of Ravi's injuries made
it impossible to determine whether he was killed instantly by the fall
or subsequently by the truck. But it was clear at least, he felt, that
Ravi had been alive when he fell from the LandRover. The verdict was
death due to misadventure.</p><p>Three days later Ravi's remains were
cremated according to Hindu rights. As usual, a crush of people from
all over Trinidad - distant relatives, old classmates, anyone claiming
even the most tenuous connection with the dead man - came to mourn at
the riverside pyre outside Mayaro. Some of them were convinced that
they could see in Ravi's death the hands of the gods - and they pointed
for evidence to the grey sky and the unseasonal rain. But the flames
defied the rain and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. A few
spoke darkly of murder. Did not the Moorpalanis have a compelling
motive? And not by chance did they have the opportunity, and the means.
But mostly they agreed that it was a tragic accident. It made little
difference that it was a Moorpalani truck that had finished Ravi off.
Moorpalani trucks were everywhere.</p><p>Then they watched as the ashes were thrown into the muddy Otoire River, soon to be lost in the warm waters of the Atlantic.</p><p>"Anyway,"
said one old mourner with a shrug, "who are we to ask questions? The
police closed their files on the case before the boy was cold." And he
shook the last of the rain from his umbrella and slapped impatiently at
a mosquito.</p><hr width="7" /><p>You might have thought that the shock
of Ravi's death would have induced in Ginnie a premature delivery. But
quite the reverse. She attended the inquest and she mourned at the
funeral. The expected date came and went. Six more weeks elapsed before
Ginnie, by now thirteen, gave birth to a son at the public maternity
hospital in San Fernando. When they saw the baby, the nurses glanced
anxiously at each other. Then they took him away without letting Ginnie
see him.</p><p>Eventually they returned with one of the doctors, a big
Creole, who assumed his most unruffled bedside manner to reassure
Ginnie that the baby was well.</p><p>"It's true he's a little pasty, my
dear," he said as a nurse placed the baby in Ginnie's arms, "but, you
see, that'll be the late delivery. And don't forget, you're very young
. . . and you've both had a rough time. Wait a day . . . three days . .
. his eyes'll turn, he'll soon have a healthy colour."</p><p>Ginnie
looked into her son's blue eyes and kissed them, and in doing so a
tremendous feeling of tiredness suddenly came over her. They were so
very, very blue, so like Father Olivier's. She sighed at the irony of
it all, the waste of it all. Was the Creole doctor really so stupid?
Surely he knew as well as she did that the pallid looks could never go.</p>
</LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-44.aspx" target="_blank"> The Winepress</a><BR>"You don't have to be French to enjoy a decent red wine," Charles
Jousselin de Gruse used to tell his foreign guests whenever he
entertained them in Paris. "But you do have to be French to recognize
one," he would add with a laugh.</p><p>After a lifetime in the French
diplomatic corps, the Count de Gruse lived with his wife in an elegant
townhouse on Quai Voltaire. He was a likeable man, cultivated of
course, with a well deserved reputation as a generous host and an
amusing raconteur.</p><p>This evening's guests were all European and
all equally convinced that immigration was at the root of Europe's
problems. Charles de Gruse said nothing. He had always concealed his
contempt for such ideas. And, in any case, he had never much cared for
these particular guests.</p><p>The first of the red Bordeaux was being served with the veal, and one of the guests turned to de Gruse.</p><p>"Come
on, Charles, it's simple arithmetic. Nothing to do with race or colour.
You must've had bags of experience of this sort of thing. What d'you
say?"</p><p>"Yes, General. Bags!"</p><p>Without another word, de Gruse
picked up his glass and introduced his bulbous, winey nose. After a
moment he looked up with watery eyes.</p><p>"A truly full-bodied Bordeaux," he said warmly, "a wine among wines."</p><p>The
four guests held their glasses to the light and studied their blood-red
contents. They all agreed that it was the best wine they had ever
tasted.</p><hr width="7" /><p>One by one the little white lights along
the Seine were coming on, and from the first-floor windows you could
see the brightly lit <em>bateaux-mouches</em> passing through the arches of the Pont du Carrousel. The party moved on to a dish of game served with a more vigorous claret.</p><p>"Can
you imagine," asked de Gruse, as the claret was poured, "that there are
people who actually serve wines they know nothing about?"</p><p>"Really?" said one of the guests, a German politician.</p><p>"Personally, before I uncork a bottle I like to know what's in it."</p><p>"But how? How can anyone be sure?"</p><p>"I
like to hunt around the vineyards. Take this place I used to visit in
Bordeaux. I got to know the winegrower there personally. That's the way
to know what you're drinking."</p><p>"A matter of pedigree, Charles," said the other politician.</p><p>"This
fellow," continued de Gruse as though the Dutchman had not spoken,
"always gave you the story behind his wines. One of them was the most
extraordinary story I ever heard. We were tasting, in his winery, and
we came to a cask that made him frown. He asked if I agreed with him
that red Bordeaux was the best wine in the world. Of course, I agreed.
Then he made the strangest statement.</p><p>"'The wine in this cask,'
he said, and there were tears in his eyes, 'is the best vintage in the
world. But it started its life far from the country where it was
grown.'"</p><p>De Gruse paused to check that his guests were being served.</p><p>"Well?" said the Dutchman.</p><p>De Gruse and his wife exchanged glances.</p><p>"Do tell them, <em>mon chéri</em>," she said.</p><p>De
Gruse leaned forwards, took another sip of wine, and dabbed his lips
with the corner of his napkin. This is the story he told them.</p><hr width="7" /><p>At
the age of twenty-one, Pierre - that was the name he gave the
winegrower - had been sent by his father to spend some time with his
uncle in Madagascar. Within two weeks he had fallen for a local girl
called Faniry, or "Desire" in Malagasy. You could not blame him. At
seventeen she was ravishing. In the Malagasy sunlight her skin was
golden. Her black, waist-length hair, which hung straight beside her
cheeks, framed large, fathomless eyes. It was a genuine <em>coup de foudre</em>,
for both of them. Within five months they were married. Faniry had no
family, but Pierre's parents came out from France for the wedding, even
though they did not strictly approve of it, and for three years the
young couple lived very happily on the island of Madagascar. Then, one
day, a telegram came from France. Pierre's parents and his only brother
had been killed in a car crash. Pierre took the next flight home to
attend the funeral and manage the vineyard left by his father.</p><p>Faniry
followed two weeks later. Pierre was grief-stricken, but with Faniry he
settled down to running the vineyard. His family, and the lazy, idyllic
days under a tropical sun, were gone forever. But he was very happily
married, and he was very well-off. Perhaps, he reasoned, life in
Bordeaux would not be so bad.</p><p>But he was wrong. It soon became
obvious that Faniry was jealous. In Madagascar she had no match. In
France she was jealous of everyone. Of the maids. Of the secretary.
Even of the peasant girls who picked the grapes and giggled at her
funny accent. She convinced herself that Pierre made love to each of
them in turn.</p><p>She started with insinuations, simple, artless ones
that Pierre hardly even recognized. Then she tried blunt accusation in
the privacy of their bedroom. When he denied that, she resorted to
violent, humiliating denouncements in the kitchens, the winery, the
plantations. The angel that Pierre had married in Madagascar had become
a termagant, blinded by jealousy. Nothing he did or said could help.
Often, she would refuse to speak for a week or more, and when at last
she spoke it would only be to scream yet more abuse or swear again her
intention to leave him. By the third vine-harvest it was obvious to
everyone that they loathed each other.</p><p>One Friday evening, Pierre
was down in the winery, working on a new electric winepress. He was
alone. The grape-pickers had left. Suddenly the door opened and Faniry
entered, excessively made up. She walked straight up to Pierre, flung
her arms around his neck, and pressed herself against him. Even above
the fumes from the pressed grapes he could smell that she had been
drinking.</p><p>"Darling," she sighed, "what shall we do?"</p><p>He badly wanted her, but all the past insults and humiliating scenes welled up inside him. He pushed her away.</p><p>"But, darling, I'm going to have a baby."</p><p>"Don't be absurd. Go to bed! You're drunk. And take that paint off. It makes you look like a tart."</p><p>Faniry's
face blackened, and she threw herself at him with new accusations. He
had never cared for her. He cared only about sex. He was obsessed with
it. And with white women. But the women in France, the white women,
they were the tarts, and he was welcome to them. She snatched a knife
from the wall and lunged at him with it. She was in tears, but it took
all his strength to keep the knife from his throat. Eventually he
pushed her off, and she stumbled towards the winepress. Pierre stood,
breathing heavily, as the screw of the press caught at her hair and
dragged her in. She screamed, struggling to free herself. The screw bit
slowly into her shoulder and she screamed again. Then she fainted,
though whether from the pain or the fumes he was not sure. He looked
away until a sickening sound told him it was over. Then he raised his
arm and switched the current off.</p><hr width="7" /><p>The guests shuddered visibly and de Gruse paused in his story.</p><p>"Well,
I won't go into the details at table," he said. "Pierre fed the rest of
the body into the press and tidied up. Then he went up to the house,
had a bath, ate a meal, and went to bed. The next day, he told everyone
Faniry had finally left him and gone back to Madagascar. No-one was
surprised."</p><p>He paused again. His guests sat motionless, their eyes turned towards him.</p><p>"Of
course," he continued, "Sixty-five was a bad year for red Bordeaux.
Except for Pierre's. That was the extraordinary thing. It won award
after award, and nobody could understand why."</p><p>The general's wife cleared her throat.</p><p>"But, surely," she said, "you didn't taste it?"</p><p>"No, I didn't taste it, though Pierre did assure me his wife had lent the wine an incomparable aroma."</p><p>"And you didn't, er, buy any?" asked the general.</p><p>"How could I refuse? It isn't every day that one finds such a pedigree."</p><p>There
was a long silence. The Dutchman shifted awkwardly in his seat, his
glass poised midway between the table and his open lips. The other
guests looked around uneasily at each other. They did not understand.</p><p>"But look here, Gruse," said the general at last, "you don't mean to tell me we're drinking this damned woman now, d'you?"</p><p>De Gruse gazed impassively at the Englishman.</p><p>"Heaven forbid, General," he said slowly. "Everyone knows that the best vintage should always come first."</p>
</LI><LI><a href="http://cyberg.blogfa.com/post-43.aspx" target="_blank">TIPS FOR TEACHERS OF ENGLISH </a><BR><P align=left>Here are some tips to help you on your teaching experience</P>
<P align=left><STRONG>Dress right</STRONG>. Jeans, sneakers, and just-out-of-bed hair may be okay for teachers in the U.S., but in many parts of the world, a neat appearance counts far more than credentials. In Korea dark clothes lend an air of authority. Red is to be avoided at all costs. In Morocco female teachers don’t wear pants, sleeveless blouses, or short skirts.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Behave appropriately.</STRONG> When it asked 250 students at the Sichuan Institute of Foreign Languages in China what they liked and disliked about native speaker English teachers, the students’ main gripe was the informality of foreign teachers, who often seem to undermine their own authority by acting in undignified ways. In the U.S. teachers go on a first-name basis with students, sit on their desks, sip coffee, and even bounce off the walls without causing student discomfort or losing prestige. But these behaviors don’t export well.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Don’t worry if students seem unresponsive at first.</STRONG> Americans are used to participatory classrooms with plenty of teacher-student dialogue. Elsewhere, students are often trained to be silent, good listeners, and memorizers. It’s disconcerting to stand in front of a sea of blank faces, but expecting it reduces the shock. Introduce new concepts, such as discussion and role-play gradually. You’ll be surprised at how students will come to embrace the change.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Choose topics carefully</STRONG>. There are still many countries in the world where people are hesitant to voice opinions because of a fear of reprisal. If you’re conducting a classroom debate, remember that there’s a distaste for Western-style argumentation in Middle-Eastern societies, and in Japan it’s offensive for an individual to urge others to accept his opinion.<BR>Certain topics may be taboo for cultural reasons: Most Americans don’t want to discuss their salaries or religious beliefs; Japanese may be disinclined to talk about their inner feelings; the French think questions about their family life are rude.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Don’t ask, “Do you understand?”</STRONG> In China and Japan, students will nod yes, even if they’re totally lost, in an attempt to save face for the teacher. Even in a country as far west as Turkey, yes often means no.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Avoid singling students out. </STRONG>Our society fosters a competitive individualism which is clearly manifested in our classrooms. American students are not shy about displaying their knowledge. In classrooms outside the U.S., however, showing solidarity with classmates and conforming to the status quo is often more important than looking good for the teacher. In Turkey and Montenegro students told me they disliked volunteering answers too often because it made them look like show-offs and attracted the evil eye of envy. If you want to play a game, make the competition among groups rather than among individuals. If you need to discipline a student, do so in private.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Be aware of cross-cultural communication styles.</STRONG> French students appreciate wit. Venezuelan students like boisterous rapid-fire exchanges. In Japan, where debate is not as valued as in the U.S., students appreciate long pauses in discussions and silent “think time” after you ask a question. “Hollow drums make the most noise” goes a Japanese proverb, and Japanese students are uncomfortable blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. American teachers, who are uncomfortable with silence, tend to anticipate the student’s words or repeat their original question—both irritating interruptions for the Japanese student.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Present a rationale for what you do in class.</STRONG> Your pedagogy is going to be very different from what students are used to. They’ll conform much more eagerly to new classroom content and procedures if they understand the benefits.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Expect the best of your students</STRONG>. They’ll be serious about learning English because their economic advancement often depends upon mastering it.</P>
<P align=left><STRONG> Relax and enjoy yourself.</STRONG> Happiness in the classroom is contagious</P></LI></UL> </div>
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