I lived, up to the time of the illness that took away my sight and hearing, in a tiny house made up of a large square room and a small one. My father built such a house when he married my mother. It was completely covered with climbing roses, vines and honeysuckles. It was the favourite place of humming-birds and bees. It was called "Ivy Green" because the house and the trees and fences were covered with beautiful English ivy. Its old-fashioned garden was the paradise (乐园) of my childhood.
These happy days did not last long. One brief spring with wonderful songs, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn of gold and red flowers, all left their gifts at the feet of a cheerful child. Then, in the cold month of an early spring, came the illness which closed my eyes and ears. It hurt my stomach and brain terribly, and the doctor thought I could not live on. Early one morning, however, the fever left me as suddenly as it had come. There was great joy in the family that morning, but no one, not even the doctor, knew that I should never see or hear again.
I cannot remember what happened during the first months after my illness. I only know that I sat on my mother's legs or touched her dress as she went about her housework. Soon I felt the need of some communication with others and began to make simple signs. A shake of the head meant "No" and a nod, "Yes", a pull meant "Come" and a push, "Go". Indeed, I was thankful to her loving wisdom all that was bright and good in my long night. Slowly, I got used to the silence and darkness around me and forgot that it had ever been different, until she came —my teacher — who was to set my spirit free.
But during the first nineteen months of my life, I had caught glimpses (一瞥) of broad, green fields, a bright sky, trees and flowers which the darkness that followed could not totally be swept out.
①I caught glimpses of broad, green fields and a bright sky.
②A teacher came into my life.
③My stomach and brain were badly hurt.
④I got used to the life without sounds and light.
