МИНИСТЕРСТВО ОБРАЗОВАНИЯ И НАУКИ
ФЕДЕРАЛЬНОЕ АГЕНТСТВО ПО ОБРАЗОВАНИЮ
Государственное образовательное учреждение
высшего профессионального образования
ТЮМЕНСКИЙ ГОСУДАРСТВЕННЫЙ УНИВЕРСИТЕТ
КАФЕДРА ИНОСТРАННЫХ ЯЗЫКОВ ГУМАНИТАРНЫХ
Г.Н. Кукарская, В.М. Пахомова
Иностранный язык (английский язык)
DISPATCHES FROM THE EDGE
Методические указания по развитию навыков чтения и устной речи
для студентов гуманитарных специальностей
Тюменского государственного университета
УДК: 811.111 (075.8)
Г.Н. Кукарская, В.М. Пахомова. Английский язык. «DISPATCHES FROM THE EDGE»: Учебно-методическое пособие для студентов II-III курса очного отделения филологического отделения журналистики. Тюмень: Издательство Тюменского государственного университета, 2009, 47 стр.
Учебно-методическое пособие основано на репортажах известного американского корреспондента Андерсона Купера. Основная цель пособия – научить студентов читать и понимать оригинальную литературу по специальности «журналистика».
Данную работу рекомендуется использовать на занятиях в качестве домашнего чтения.
Рекомендовано к печати учебно-методической комиссией кафедры иностранных языков гуманитарных факультетов.
Одобрено учебно-методической секцией Ученого совета Тюменского государственного университета.
^ Л.В. Шилова, зав. кафедрой, доцент
РЕЦЕНЗЕНТЫ: Т.В. Кропчева, ст. преподаватель
Л.А. Ройтман, ст. преподаватель
© ГОУ ВПО Тюменский государственный университет, 2009
© Г.Н. Кукарская, В.М. Пахомова, 2009.
Read the text.
AT TIMES, WORKING in news is like playing a giant game of telephone. Someone reports something, and everyone else follows suit. The truth gets lost along the way.
“What about the kidnapped children?” a producer in New York asks.
“What kidnapped children?” I say.
“They claim lots of storm orphans are being kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” I ask.
“Everyone,” the producer responds. “It’s being reported all over the place.”
“We’ll look into it” I respond, which is usually the only way to end such a conversation.
Child trafficking is a major problem, especially in Southeast Asia, but when we start checking the kidnapping story being reported on other networks and papers, it seems slim on facts. It’s mostly just aid workers worrying that children separated from their parents by the disaster may get kidnapped. Part of the aid workers’ job is to get relief, and one way for them to do that is to raise red flags, warn of impending problems. Warnings, however, aren’t facts.
We’ve hired a Sri Lankan newspaper reporter named Chris to help us get around, and when I ask him about kidnappings, his eyes light up. “Oh, yes, it appears a very big problem,” he says, his British-accented English accompanied always with a peculiarly Sri Lankan shake of the head.
Chris shows us a headline on the front page of one of Sri Lanka’s daily
papers: two kids, rescued from waves, kidnapped by MAN ON MOTORCYCLE.
“There have been a lot of stories like that,” he says. “It’s all very dramatic stuff’
“Is it true?” I ask.
“I have no idea,” he says, “but it makes for a great headline.”
When we check with police, it turns out there have only been two complaints of child abductions filed with authorities, and neither of those cases has been confirmed. We decide to track down the story about the two kids kidnapped by the man on the motorcycle.
Sunera is seven, his sister Jinandari is five. They haven’t been seen in nearly two weeks.
“I believe that they’re alive,” their aunt tells us when we track her down in Colombo. She speaks in a whisper and clutches a photograph of Jinandari dressed as a ballerina.
Sunera and Jinandari were in a car with their parents when the tsunami hit. The wave swept them off the road, carrying their car like a piece of driftwood some three hundred yards into a water-filled ditch. It ended up submerged upside down underwater, not far from the Lighthouse Hotel and Spa, a strikingly modern waterfront hotel near Galle.
When we arrive, the place is packed. It somehow survived the storm, and is now filled with reporters. They’ve converted the parking lot into a satellite-feed point. When we finally locate the manager, Ananda de Silva, he tells me, quite confidently, that the children are dead.
“From our staff, three people came and tried to turn the car,” he tells me, pointing to the now dried-out ditch. “We couldn’t do it, but after about thirty minutes, we were able to get the girl and boy out.” The parents were dead, de Silva says, stuck in the car underwater. When they got Sunera out he was dead as well. Jinandari was unconscious.
“Her eyes were shut, her head like this,” de Silva says, flopping his head forward.
“The paper says the children were kidnapped by a man on a motorcycle,” I say, showing him the headline.
He waves his hand at the front page. “That is just rumor” de Silva says, insisting that he saw Suneras body handed over to Sri Lankan soldiers passing by in a truck. As for Jinandari, he says a man named Lal Hamasiri took her to the hospital on a motorbike,
Lal Hamasiri lives a short distance from the hotel. When we arrive, he is at first unwilling to speak, furious that local papers have made him out to be a kidnapper.
“I saw the child lying on the ground,” he finally tells us, beckoning us into his home, away from the prying eyes of suspicious neighbors. “I immediately picked her up and gave her mouth to mouth. She had some white foam on her lips.”
At the urging of the crowd, he flagged down a passing motorcycle and took the girl to a nearby hospital. “The body was a little warm, and I believe she had a slight pulse,” he says, but by the time they got to the emergency room, he was sure she was dead.
“I went up with the good intention of saving someone’s life but in return I got a very bad name, and everyone looks at me like I’m a criminal, like I’m a kidnapper.”
At the hospital, it quickly becomes obvious how a little girl can go missing. The emergency ward is washed away. Hospital beds sit abandoned in the courtyard, waterlogged papers and medical records litter the ground.
When we finally track down the hospital administrator, she confirms that Jinandari was dead when she arrived. Because the morgue here had been demolished by the tsunami, they transferred her to another hospital. Even if she had been alive when she was pulled out of the water, the travel time alone to and from the hospitals would have killed her.
We decide that the least we can do is try to find Jinandari’s body. Since we’ve come this far, it only seems right to see it through. When we reach the second hospital, we’re directed down a long corridor and into a large, sun-filled room. It’s the temporary morgue.
From outside, the room looks like an art gallery in New York’s East Village. Hundreds of small photos line the walls. At first it’s hard to tell what the photos show. You have to go up close, and even then it takes a moment for the images to snap into focus. They are pictures of the dead. More than a thousand of them. Everybody that was stored here, every corpse, had its photograph taken, in the hopes that someone might be able to identify it.
No one ever talks about what the water can do. It’s all here, however, color captured on film: the submersion, the struggle, the exhaustion, the fear. Water flooding into lungs, babies coughing and vomiting, hearts stopping, bodies convulsing, heads snapping back, startlingly white eyes popping from mud-smothered faces, tongues swelling into blackened balloons, necks bloating like those of giant toads, bones breaking, skulls crushing, teeth being ripped from heads, children from their mothers’ arms.
In movies, people drown peacefully, giving in to the pull of the water, taken by the tug of the tide. These pictures tell a different story. There is no dignity in drowning, no silent succumbing to the waters ebb and flow. It’s violent, and painful, a shock to the heart. Everyone drowns alone. Even in death, their corpses scream.
I’ve brought with me photos of Sunera and Jinandari—school portraits, the kind for which kids have to dress up, comb their hair, sit still. Each child smiles straight into the camera lens. I know Jinandari is somewhere on this wall of the dead, but staring at the pictures of the corpses, I know I’ll never find her. The bodies are too decomposed.
“We should go,” Charlie says, and I know he’s right, but I keep forcing myself to look at the photos, stare at each face. I figure it’s the least I can do.
Finally, we head out to find the mass grave, and reach it just as the sun is starting to set. There are no signs, just a swath of red clay stretching for hundreds of yards in a clearing in the woods. A bloodred slash in a forest of green, upturned earth as far as the eye can see.
Two women stand at the grave’s edge. They live just behind it, in a small clearing.
“Why did they have to dig the graves here?” one of the women asks. “Now the ghosts of the dead will haunt us at night.”
There are no headstones, no markers. The bodies are carried in by bulldozers and dumped into pits. New graves continue to be dug. No one knows for whom. The dead have no names.
To claim – заявлять
Kidnapped children – похищение детей
Trafficking – торговля (детьми)
Abduction – похищение
Driftwood – щепка
Ditch – яма
Rumor – слух
To vomit – тошнить
To snap – разламывать
To pop – широко раскрываться
To swell (swelled, swollen) – раздуваться
To bloat – раздуваться, пухнуть
To rip – отделяться
To drown – тонуть
To stretch – протянуться
To decompose – гнить, разлагаться
Swath – ряд, полоса
Corpse – труп
Find the English equivalents in the text.
Complete the sentences with the words below.
do tsunami line mass grave body camera
Match the words on the left with their definitions on the right.
Use the reported speech in the following sentences.
Translate the text from English into Russian beginning with the words “No one ever talks” till “mothers’ arms”.
Use the prompts and make up sentences about the “kidnapped children”.
Answer the questions:
Agree or disagree with the following statements. Give your reasons.
1. As a journalist, no matter how moved you feel, how respectful you are, part of your brain remains focused on how to capture the horror you see, how to package it, to present it to others.
35.000 people are dead in Sri–Lanka. Their bodies have already been found. Another 5.000 people have simply vanished.
2. Every report is the same: in calculable loss, unspeakable pain.
Write an article about losses in Sri–Lanka (100 – 150 words).
Read the text.
IN EVERY TRAGEDY, people search for miracles, signs that sustain them even when surrounded by death. We’ve been in Sri Lanka for more than a week when Chris, our interpreter, tells us about a small church in the town of Matera.
“Very strange comings and goings,” he says, clearly excited. “Levitating statues, miracles even.”
The church is named after a five-hundred-year-old relic, Our Lady of Matera, a finely carved figure of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus that has stood in an alcove near the altar for as long as anyone can remember.
When the first wave struck, Father Charles Hewawasam was at the altar, preparing communion for some one hundred parishioners seated on simple wooden benches inside. The choir in the balcony had just begun to sing the first few lines of a hymn, “While Shepards Watched.”
Father Charles didn’t see the wave. He remembers hearing a crash, which he thought was a traffic accident on a nearby street. Seconds later, he was swimming in water. There were screams, and bodies, cars floating in the nave, chunks of stone and wood. Everything smelled of the sea.
“I remember three bodies floating near the altar,” Father Charles tells me when we arrive at the church. He is in his early thirties with black hair combed neatly and parted on one side. He still limps slightly from an injury to his leg, and speaks soft British-accented English, looking you straight in the eye when he talks.
Father Charles introduces us to a nine-year-old boy named Dimaker, who was standing in the balcony when the water swept over the congregation beneath him. Dimaker sang in the choir, and was still holding his hymnal when he says he saw the statue of Our Lady of Matera rise from its pedestal in the alcove and leave the church. “She was not taken by the water,” Dimaker explains, motioning with his hands to show how the statue seemed to levitate. “She went on her own. It was a miracle”
Twenty people died in the church that morning. Some were killed by the initial impact; others drowned trying to escape. Father Charles didn’t notice that the statue was gone until later that day, when Dimaker told him what he’d seen.
“I believe she went out to sea to be with the people, her children,” Father Charles tells me. “She went with the people and she carried Jesus. She had the same struggle as the other people.”
For three mornings after the tsunami, Father Charles tells me, he went to the ocean’s edge and prayed for the return of the statue. “We need you,” he’d say out loud. “You have to come back.”
Each day, he attended to the burials of his parishioners and looked after the needs of the wounded. Several people from his congregation were missing, and parts of the church had been badly damaged. Father Charles believed he couldn’t complete his mission without Our Lady by his side.
“We’ve much work to do,” he said on the second morning after the tsunami, as he stood praying on the shore. “You have to come back.”
At night in his simple room on church grounds, he prayed for the people of Matera, but each morning he’d return to the beach.
It was on the third day after the tsunami that Father Charles says his prayers were answered. That morning, as he stood on the shore, he implored the statue to return.
“My goodness, you have to come today,” he said. “You can’t wait anymore.”
A few hours later a child came to the church and spoke with one of the deacons. He’d found something lying in bushes about a mile from the shrine. It was the statue, intact. Even the delicate gold crown on baby Jesus’s head had remained in place.
When Father Charles was summoned, he could barely contain himself, so sure was he that it was the work of God.
Nearly two weeks later, when I talk with him, we stand on the beach in the spot where he prayed each morning. His white cassock flutters in the breeze, and he clutches a black rosary in his hand. He is more convinced than ever that God has watched over Matera.
“Lives are lost, and we are still looking for so many people,” he says. “For the statue to come back, it’s a miracle. I think these people who’ve died have sacrificed for a better cause. Our country was divided politically and along ethnic lines, and now we don’t think about divisions. When I do the burials, when I visit the mortuaries, and I see all the bodies together, just the same, without any clothes, it shows whatever the faith, whatever the culture, the color, we are all human in the end.”
The statue of Our Lady of Matera was taken to the bishop’s office, where it will be stored until the church is repaired. The day the statue is returned, Father Charles and his parishioners intend to walk through the streets of Matera with it. A procession of survivors, showing Our Lady that their faith is still alive.
To sustain – поддерживать
Relic – мощи
Comings and goings – странные явления
Carved – вырезанный
Сhunk – кусок
To implore – умолять
To summon – вызывать
Choir – хор
Impact – воздействие
To levitate – парить
Alcove – ниша
Communion – обедня, месса
Parishioner – прихожанин
Congregation – приход
Deacon – дьякон
Hymnal – сборник церковных гимнов
To pray – молиться
Bishop – епископ
Find the English equivalents in the text.
Complete the sentences with the words below.
Burials Pedestal Mission Water Interpreter Balcony Floating Altar
Match the words on the left with their equivalents on the right.