ANNOUNCER: And now, the weekly VOA Special English program of American stories.
Our
story today is called "A Municipal Report." It was written by O. Henry
and first published in nineteen-oh-four. Here is Shep ONeal with the
story.

STORYTELLE: It was raining as I got off the train
in Nashville, Tennessee -- a slow, gray rain. I was tired so I went
straight to my hotel.
A big, heavy man was walking up and down in
the hotel lobby. Something about the way he moved made me think of a
hungry dog looking for a bone. He had a big, fat, red face and a sleepy
expression in his eyes. He introduced himself as Wentworth Caswell --
Major Wentworth Caswell -- from "a fine southern family." Caswell
pulled me into the hotels barroom and yelled for a waiter. We ordered
drinks. While we drank, he talked continually about himself, his family,
his wife and her family. He said his wife was rich. He showed me a
handful of silver coins that he pulled from his coat pocket.
By this time, I had decided that I wanted no more of him. I said good night.
I
went up to my room and looked out the window. It was ten oclock but the
town was silent. "A nice quiet place," I said to myself as I got ready
for bed. Just an ordinary, sleepy southern town."
I was born in
the south myself. But I live in New York now. I write for a large
magazine. My boss had asked me to go to Nashville. The magazine had
received some stories and poems from a writer in Nashville, named Azalea
Adair. The editor liked her work very much. The publisher asked me to
get her to sign an agreement to write only for his magazine.
I
left the hotel at nine oclock the next morning to find Miss Adair. It
was still raining. As soon as I stepped outside I met Uncle Caesar. He
was a big, old black man with fuzzy gray hair.
Uncle Caesar was
wearing the strangest coat I had ever seen. It must have been a military
officers coat. It was very long and when it was new it had been gray.
But now rain, sun and age had made it a rainbow of colors. Only one of
the buttons was left. It was yellow and as big as a fifty cent coin.
Uncle
Caesar stood near a horse and carriage. He opened the carriage door and
said softly, "Step right in, sir. Ill take you anywhere in the city."
"I
want to go to eight-sixty-one Jasmine Street," I said, and I started to
climb into the carriage. But the old man stopped me. "Why do you want
to go there, sir? "
"What business is it of yours?" I said
angrily. Uncle Caesar relaxed and smiled. "Nothing, sir. But its a
lonely part of town. Just step in and Ill take you there right away."
Eight-sixty-one Jasmine Street had been a fine house once, but now it was old and dying. I got out of the carriage.
"That
will be two dollars, sir," Uncle Caesar said. I gave him two one-dollar
bills. As I handed them to him, I noticed that one had been torn in
half and fixed with a piece of blue paper. Also, the upper right hand
corner was missing.
Azalea Adair herself opened the door when I
knocked. She was about fifty years old. Her white hair was pulled back
from her small, tired face. She wore a pale yellow dress. It was old,
but very clean.
Azalea Adair led me into her living room. A damaged table, three chairs and an old red sofa were in the center of the floor.
Azalea
Adair and I sat down at the table and began to talk. I told her about
the magazines offer and she told me about herself. She was from an old
southern family. Her father had been a judge.
Azalea Adair told me
she had never traveled or even attended school. Her parents taught her
at home with private teachers. We finished our meeting. I promised to
return with the agreement the next day, and rose to leave.
At that
moment, someone knocked at the back door. Azalea Adair whispered a soft
apology and went to answer the caller. She came back a minute later
with bright eyes and pink cheeks. She looked ten years younger. "You
must have a cup of tea before you go," she said. She shook a little bell
on the table, and a small black girl about twelve years old ran into
the room.
Azalea Aair opened a tiny old purse and took out a
dollar bill. It had been fixed with a piece of blue paper and the upper
right hand corner was missing. It was the dollar I had given to Uncle
Caesar. "Go to Mr. Bakers store, Impy," she said, "and get me
twenty-five cents worth of tea and ten cents worth of sugar cakes. And
please hurry."
The child ran out of the room. We heard the back
door close. Then the girl screamed. Her cry mixed with a mans angry
voice. Azalea Adair stood up. Her face showed no emotion as she left the
room. I heard the mans rough voice and her gentle one. Then a door
slammed and she came back into the room.
"I am sorry, but I wont
be able to offer you any tea after all," she said. "It seems that Mr.
Baker has no more tea. Perhaps he will find some for our visit
tomorrow."
We said good-bye. I went back to my hotel.
Just
before dinner, Major Wentworth Caswell found me. It was impossible
to avoid him. He insisted on buying me a drink and pulled two one-dollar
bills from his pocket. Again I saw a torn dollar fixed with blue paper,
with a corner missing. It was the one I gave Uncle Caesar. How strange,
I thought. I wondered how Caswell got it.
Uncle Caesar was
waiting outside the hotel the next afternoon. He took me to Miss Adairs
house and agreed to wait there until we had finished our business.
Azalea
Adair did not look well. I explained the agreement to her. She signed
it. Then, as she started to rise from the table, Azalea Adair fainted
and fell to the floor. I picked her up and carried her to the old red
sofa. I ran to the door and yelled to Uncle Caesar for help. He ran down
the street. Five minutes later, he was back with a doctor.
The
doctor examined Miss Adair and turned to the old black driver. "Uncle
Caesar," he said, "run to my house and ask my wife for some milk and
some eggs. Hurry!"
Then the doctor turned to me. "She does not get
enough to eat," he said. "She has many friends who want to help her,
but she is proud. Misses Caswell will accept help only from that old
black man. He was once her familys slave."
"Misses Caswell." I said in surprise. "I thought she was Azalea Adair."
"She
was," the doctor answered, "until she married Wentworth Caswell twenty
years ago. But hes a hopeless drunk who takes even the small amount of
money that Uncle Caesar gives her."
After the doctor left I heard
Caesars voice in the other room. "Did he take all the money I gave you
yesterday, Miss Azalea?" "Yes, Caesar," I heard her answer softly. "He
took both dollars."
I went into the room and gave Azalea Adair
fifty dollars. I told her it was from the magazine. Then Uncle Caesar
drove me back to the hotel.
A few hours later, I went out for a
walk before dinner. A crowd of people were talking excitedly in front of
a store. I pushed my way into the store. Major Caswell was lying on the
floor. He was dead.
Someone had found his body on the street. He
had been killed in a fight. In fact, his hands were still closed into
tight fists. But as I stood near his body, Caswells right hand opened.
Something fell from it and rolled near my feet. I put my foot on it,
then picked it up and put it in my pocket.
People said they
believed a thief had killed him. They said Caswell had been showing
everyone that he had fifty dollars. But when he was found, he had no
money on him.
I left Nashville the next morning. As the train
crossed a river I took out of my pocket the object that had dropped from
Caswells dead hand. I threw it into the river below.
It was a button. A yellow button...the one from Uncle Caesars coat.
You
have just heard the story "A Municipal Report." It was written by O.
Henry and adapted for Special English by Dona de Sanctis. Your narrator
was Shep ONeal. This is Susan Clark. Join us again next time for
another American story on the Voice of America.

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