patriarch, a lanky, hulking beast of 550 pounds,had been detained. As soon as we stepped in, he loped up tothe bars of his cage and set off a full-throated snarl, ears
flatagainst his skull and round eyes fixed on Babu. The soundwas so loud and fierce it seemed to shake the whole cathouse. My knees started quaking. I got close to
Father seemed to pause and steadyhimself. Only Babu was indifferent
to the outburst and to thesearing stare that bored into him like a drill. He had a testedtrust in iron bars. Mahisha started
pacing to and fro againstthe limits
of his cage.
Father turned to us. “What animal is this?” he bellowedabove Mahisha’s
“It’s a tiger,” Ravi and I answered in unison, obedientlypointing out the blindingly obvious.
“Are tigers dangerous?””Yes, Father, tigers are dangerous.””Tigers are very dangerous,” Father shouted. “I want you
tounderstand that you are never – under any circumstances –to touch a tiger, to pet
a tiger, to put your hands through thebars of a cage, even to get close to a cage. Is that clear?
Nothing, thought Jon Snow, the same as me.
Halfway up the winding steps, he came upon Samwell Tarly, headed down. “Are you coming from the king?” Jon asked him.
“Maester Aemon sent me with a letter.”
“I see.” Some lords trusted their maesters to read their letters and convey the contents, but Stannis insisted on breaking the seals himself. “How did Stannis take it?”
“Not happily, by his face.” Sam dropped his voice to a whisper. “I am not supposed to speak of it.”
“Then don’t.” Jon wondered which of his father’s bannermen had refused King Stannis homage this time. He was quick enough to spread the word when Karhold
declared for him.
How are you and
stealing a cobra. He was a snake charmerwhose own snake had died. Both were saved: the cobra froma life of servitude and bad music, and the man from apossible death bite. We had to deal on occasion with stonethrowers,
who found the animals too placid and wanted areaction. And we had the lady whose sari was caught by alion. She spun like a yo-yo, choosing mortal
embarrassmentover mortal end. The thing was, it wasn’t even an accident.
She had leaned over, thrust her hand in the cage and wavedthe end of her sari in the lion’s face, with what intent wenever figured out. She was not injured;
there were manyfascinated men who came to her assistance. Her flusteredexplanation to Father was, “Whoever heard of a lion eating acotton
sari? I thought lions were carnivores.” Our worsttroublemakers were the visitors who gave food to the animals.
Despite our vigilance, Dr. Atal, the zoo veterinarian, co
uld tellby the number of animals with digestive disturbances which hadbeen the busy days at the zoo. He called “tidbit-itis” the casesof enteritis or gastritis due to too many carbohydrates,especially sugar. Sometimes we wished
people had stuck tosweets. People have a notion that animals can eat anythingwithout the least consequence to their health. Not so. One ofour
sloth bears became seriously ill with severe hemorrhagicenteritis after being given fish that had gone putrid by , a manwho was convinced he was doing a good deed.
Jon’s cloak hung on a peg by the door, his sword belt on another. He donned them both and made his way to the armory. The rug where Ghost slept was
empty, he saw. Two guardsmen stood inside the doors, clad in black cloaks and iron halfhelms, spears in their hands. “Will m’lord be wanting a tail?” asked Garse.
“I think I can find the King’s Tower by myself.” Jon hated having guards trailing after him everywhere he went. It made him feel
like a mother
BEIJING, Dec. 28 – Dec. 26, a picture of a female teacher kneeling on a lecture
stool to give lectures to students was forwarded in the circle of friends, and netizens praised the professionalism of the teacher’s adherence to the lecture
platform. It is reported that the female teacher, Zhang Shuhong, is an English teacher of the third experimental primary school in Ningling County. Because
of the soft tissue injury of her right foot, she can’t stand for long on the platform, but she also catches up with the children at the end of the day. She
is afraid of delaying the children’s class. So she decided to kneel down to give the children a lesson, and this kneeling is one month.
According to Dahe Daily News, it can be seen from the pictures that Ms. Zhang Shuhong was standing on the desk with one hand, explaining with one hand,
while kneeling on the bench. Zhang Shuhong said that her legs would soon be numb because she needed to kneel for a long time in class, but she did not
want to interrupt the enthusiasm of the children because she was very committed to the class, so she relied on her kneeling feet to alleviate her discomfort and maintain the continuity of the class.
It is reported that Zhang Shuhong, 42 years old, suffered from cervical spondylotic myelopathy in her early years. Although she had undergone
surgery, her lower body nerves were damaged, her legs were inconvenient to walk, and her feet twisted accidentally. Zhang Shuhong felt that she was in
the key period of the exam. So Zhang Shuhong felt that she could not drop the chain for the children. So she decided to stick to it until the children were sent
to the examination room. In this way, Zhang Shuhong did not miss a lesson. Even though she stood on the platform very hard, the students persuaded her
to go home and rest three or five times, she refused to, and she just
accompanied the children down this difficult journey. In the meantime, teachers and children because of understanding Zhang Shuhong’s difficulties,
as long as they see her up and down the stairs, they are fighting to help her. Every time before class, the students also scramble to get her books and bags. At noon, the students will help her to cook. In this regard, Zhang Shuhong
lesson. After the examination, the leader let her rest at home, but thinking that the students will soon face the final review, Zhang Shuhong was not at
ease, so she could not stay at home, and returned to school in less than a week.
In this regard, some netizens said that “this is a model for teachers, worthy of respect”; others said,
ihope this teacher will recover soon,
good people have good rewards,
her students can get good grades,
is the greatest reward for teachers.”
20 But if Mrs. Pollzoff was doing anything forbidden by the laws of the
United States, she gave no sign of it during the hours which followed.
Her glasses swept the water as they had every other day, and if she
noticed the ships, large or small, plowing through them, she was
remarkably successful in keeping the fact to herself. Except for her
usual directions regarding the course they were to follow, she said
nothing more; and at noon she signified her desire to return to land.
She requested that they come down on the southern part of New
Jersey, but here she merely led the way to a restaurant
where she ordered lunch for both of them.
Seated across from her, Roberta noted that she might be about
thirty-five years old, and her mouth, which was rather large, was
set firmly, like a mask. Without consulting her companion, she
ordered an excellent meal, and after the first course was set before
them, her face relaxed somewhat, as if she
suddenly realized her duties as a hostess.
saidMamaji. “The water, having crossed all of Paris, came in foulenough.
Then people at the pool made it utterly disgusting.” Inconspiratorial
whispers, with shocking details to back up hisclaim, he assured us that
the French had very low standardsof personal hygiene. “Deligny was
bad enough. Bain Royal,another latrine on the Seine, was worse. At
least at Delignythey scooped out the dead fish.” Nevertheless, an
Olympic poolis an Olympic pool, touched by immortal glory. Though it
That is how I got my name when I entered this world, alast, welcome
addition to my family, three years after Ravi:
Piscine Molitor Patel.
“You are an excellent pilot, Miss Langwell,” she remarked. There was a musical quality
to her voice, as if she might sing a21 good contralto, and when her
eyes softened it gave her features an expression of real charm.
Mamaji spoke of
a fond smile.
“You are not so fed up on Mrs. Pollzoff that you want to
get away from us all, are you?” he demanded.
“No, of course not, but I was wondering what his plan was
and what happened to it, if anything,” Roberta answered.
“Glad to hear you do not want to leave. Gosh, to lose our only
girl sky-pilot would be—unthinkable; but, come to think of it, Howe
came to the house to see Dad one day last week, perhaps they are
getting it fixed up for you to take on the job. I heard the Old Man
say the Federal representative would be at the office today, so
perhaps you’ll get some information. Here we are.” They reached
the plane and Roberta climbed into the seat beside the pilot’s,
adjusted straps and parachute, while the young man gave his
machine15 a thorough looking-over then took his own place.
I still smart a little at the slight. When you’ve suffered agreat deal in
life, each additional pain is both unbearable andtrifling. My life is like
a memento mori painting from Europeanart: there is always a grinning
skull at my side to remind meof the folly of human ambition. I mock
this skull. I look at itand I say, “You’ve got the wrong fellow. You may
not believein life, but I don’t believe in death. Move on!”
The skullsnickers and moves ever closer, but that doesn’t surprise me.
The reason death sticks so closely to life isn’t biologicalnecessity – it’s envy.
Life is so beautiful that death has fallen inlove with it, a jealous,
possessive love that grabs at what it can.
But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two ofno importance,
and gloom is but the passing shadow of acloud. The pink boy also got the
nod from the RhodesScholarship committee. I love him and I hope his time
atOxford was a rich experience. If Lakshmi, goddess of
wealth,one day favours me bountifully, Oxford is
fifth on the list
ofcities I would like
to visit before
I pass on, after
God?””Yes.””That’s a tall order.””Not so tall that you can’t reach.”My waiter appeared.
I hesitated for a moment. I orderedtwo coffees. We introduced ourselves.
His name was FrancisAdirubasamy. “Please tell me your story,” I said.
“You must pay proper attention,” he replied.
“I will.” I brought out pen and notepad.
“Tell me, have you been to the botanical garden?” heasked.
“I went yesterday.””Didyou notice the toy train tracks?””Yes, I did.””A train
still runs on Sundays for the amusement of thechildren. But it used to run
twice an hour every day. Didyou take note of the names of the stations?””One
is called Roseville. It’s right next to the rosegarden.””That’s right. And the
other?””I don’t remember.””The sign was taken down. The other station was
oncecalled Zootown. The toy train had two stops: Roseville andZootown.
Once upon a time there was a zoo in thePondicherry Botanical Garden.”He
went on. I took notes, the elements of the story. “Youmust talk to him,”
he said, of the main character. “I knewhim very, very well. He’s a grown man now.
So upon his return to Apple he made killing the Macintosh clones a priority.
When a new version of the Mac operating system shipped in July 1997,
weeks after he had helped oust Amelio, Jobs did not allow the clone makers
to upgrade to it. The head of Power Computing, Stephen “King” Kahng,
organized pro-cloning protests when Jobs appeared at Boston Macworld that
August and publicly warned that the Macintosh OS would die if Jobs declined
to keep licensing it out. “If the platform goes closed, it is over,”
Kahng said. “
Closed is the
kiss of death.”
Here’s to the Crazy OnesLee Clow, the creative director at Chiat/Day
who had done the great “1984” ad for the launch of the Macintosh, was
driving in Los Angeles in early July 1997 when his car phone rang.
It was Jobs. “Hi, Lee, this is Steve,” he said. “Guess what? Amelio just
resigned. Can you come up here?”
Apple was going through a review to select a new agency, and Jobs was
not impressed by what he had seen. So he wanted Clow and his firm, by
then called TBWAChiatDay, to compete for the business. “We have to
prove that Apple is still alive,” Jobs said, “and that it still
stands for something special.”
Clow said that he didn’t pitch for accounts. “You know our work,” he said.
But Jobs begged him. It would be hard to reject all the others that were
making pitches, including BBDO and Arnold Worldwide, and bring back
“an old crony,” as Jobs put it. Clow agreed to fly up to Cupertino with
something they could show. Recounting the scene years later, Jobs started to cry.
This chokes me up, this really chokes me up. It was so clear that Lee loved
Apple so much. Here was the best guy in advertising. And he hadn’t pitched
in ten years. Yet here he was, and he was pitching his heart out, because he
loved Apple as much as we did. He and his team had come up with this
brilliant idea, “Think Different.” And it was ten times better than anything
the other agencies showed. It choked me up, and it still makes me cry to
think about it, both the fact that Lee cared so much and also how brilliant his
“Think Different” idea was. Every once in a while, I find myself in the presence
of purity—purity of spirit and love—and I always cry. It always just reaches in
and grabs me. That was one of those moments. There was a purity about that
I will never forget. I cried in my office as
he was showing
me the idea, and
I still cry when
I think about it.
It had taken Microsoft a few years to replicate Macintosh’s graphical user interface,
but by 1990 it had come out with Windows 3.0, which began the company’s march
to dominance in the desktop market. Windows 95, which was released in 1995,
became the most successful operating system ever, and Macintosh sales began
to collapse. “Microsoft simply ripped off what other people did,” Jobs later said.
“Apple deserved it. After I left, it didn’t invent anything new. The
Mac hardly improved. It was a sitting duck for Microsoft.”
His frustration with Apple was evident when he gave a talk to a Stanford Business
School club at the home of a student, who asked him to sign a Macintosh keyboard.
Jobs agreed to do so if he could remove the keys that had been added to the
Mac after he left. He pulled out his car keys and pried off the four arrow cursor keys,
which he had once banned, as well as the top row of F1, F2, F3 . . . function keys.
“I’m changing the world one keyboard at a time,” he deadpanned.
Then he signed the mutilated keyboard.
During his 1995 Christmas vacation in Kona Village, Hawaii, Jobs went walking along
the beach with his friend Larry Ellison, the irrepressible Oracle chairman. They discussed
making a takeover bid for Apple and restoring Jobs as its head. Ellison said he could
line up $3 billion in financing: “I will buy Apple, you will get 25% of it right away for
being CEO, and we can restore it to its past glory.” But Jobs demurred. “I decided
I’m not a hostile-takeover kind of guy,” he explained. “If they had asked
me to come back, it might have been different.”
By 1996 Apple’s share of the market had fallen to 4% from a high of 16% in the late
1980s. Michael Spindler, the German-born chief of Apple’s European operations who
had replaced Sculley as CEO in 1993, tried to sell the company to Sun, IBM, and
Hewlett-Packard. That failed, and he was ousted in February 1996 and replaced by
Gil Amelio, a research engineer who was CEO of National Semiconductor. During his
first year the company lost $1 billion, and the stock price,
which had been $70 in 1991, fell to
$14, even as the tech
bubble was pushing
other stocks into
It was dark and Merry could see nothing as he lay
on the ground rolled in a blanket; yet though the night was airless and windless, all about him hidden trees were sighing softly. He lifted his head. Then he heard it again: a sound like faint drums in the wooded hills and mountain-steps. The throb would cease suddenly and then be taken up again at some other point, now nearer, now further off. He wondered if the watchmen had heard it.
He could not see them, but he knew that all round him were the companies of the Rohirrim. He could smell the horses in the dark, and could hear their shiftings and their soft stamping on the needle-covered ground. The host was bivouacked in the pine-woods that clustered about Eilenach Beacon, a tall hill standing up from the long ridges of the Drúadan Forest that lay beside the great road in East Anórien.
Tired as he was Merry could not sleep. He had ridden now for four days on end, and the ever-deepening gloom had slowly weighed down his heart. He began to wonder why he had been so eager to come, when he had been given every excuse, even his lord’s command, to stay behind. He wondered, too, if the old King knew that he had been disobeyed and was angry. Perhaps not. There seemed to be some understanding between Dernhelm and Elfhelm, the Marshal who commanded the éored in which they were riding. He and all his men ignored Merry and pretended not to hear if he spoke. He might have been just another bag that Dernhelm was carrying. Dernhelm was no comfort: he never spoke to anyone. Merry felt small, unwanted, and lonely. Now the time was anxious, and the host was in peril. They were less than a day’s ride from the out-walls of Minas Tirith that encircled the townlands. Scouts had been sent ahead. Some had not returned. Others hastening back had reported that the road was held in force against them. A host of the enemy was encamped upon it, three miles west of Amon D?n, and some strength of men was already thrusting along the road and was no more than three leagues away. Orcs were roving in the hills and woods along the roadside. The king and ?omer held council in the watches of the night.
Merry wanted somebody to talk to, and he thought of Pippin. But that only increased his restlessness. Poor Pippin, shut up in the great city of stone, lonely and afraid. Merry wished he was a tall Rider like ?omer and could blow a horn or something and go galloping to his rescue. He sat up, listening to the drums that were beating again, now nearer at hand. Presently he heard voices speaking low, and he saw dim half-shrouded lanterns passing through the trees. Men nearby began to move uncertainly in the dark.
A tall figure loomed up and stumbled over him,
cursing the tree-roots. He recognized the voice of the Marshal, Elfhelm.
‘I am not a tree-root, Sir,’ he said, ‘nor a bag,
but a bruised hobbit.
The least you can do in amends is to tell me what is afoot.’
If Jobs was prepping for conciliation, it didn’t show in the choice of
movie he wanted to see with Murray that night. He picked Patton,
the epic of the never-surrender general. But he had lent his copy of
the tape to his father, who had once ferried troops for the general,
so he drove to his childhood home with Murray to retrieve it. His
parents weren’t there, and he didn’t have a key. They walked around
the back, checked for unlocked doors or windows, and finally gave up.
The video store didn’t have a copy of Patton in stock, so in the end
he had to settle for watching the 1983 film
adaptation of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal.
Sunday, May 26: As planned, Jobs and Sculley met in back of the Stanford
campus on Sunday afternoon and walked for several hours amid the rolling
hills and horse pastures. Jobs reiterated his plea that he should have an
operational role at Apple. This time Sculley stood firm. It won’t work, he
kept saying. Sculley urged him to take the role of being a product visionary
with a lab of his own, but Jobs rejected this as making him into a mere
“figurehead.” Defying all connection to reality, he countered with the proposal
that Sculley give up control of the entire company to him. “Why don’t you
become chairman and I’ll become president and chief executive officer?”
he suggested. Sculley was struck by how earnest he seemed.
“Steve, that doesn’t make any sense,” Sculley replied. Jobs then proposed
that they split the duties of running the company, with him handling the
product side and Sculley handling marketing and business. But the board
had not only emboldened Sculley, it had ordered him to bring Jobs to heel.
“One person has got to run the company,” he replied.
“I’ve got the support and you don’t.”
On his way home, Jobs stopped at Mike Markkula’s house. He wasn’t
there, so Jobs left a message asking him to come to dinner the
following evening. He would also invite the core of loyalists from his
Macintosh team. He hoped that
they could persuade
Markkula of the folly
of siding with Sculley.