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The Confidence Game

by Pat Carr

    A girl athlete named Tobi worked very hard and became the best sportswoman in her team. But one day Brady came and joined the team. Brady could swim better than Tobi. What did Tobi do in the new situation? How would she overcome her jealousy and restore confidence in herself?

    My confidence started to disappear the day Angela Brady showed up at the pool for workout. I knew I was nervous. It was a race between Angela and me for the backstroke position on our team relay for National Championship.

    I hadn't even seen her swim yet, but the whole team knew she had been swimming for a famous club in California. We were just a small city team, only two years old. But we had a coach whose middle name was motivation. He'd motivated me into swimming three miles a day, and now I was actually in the running to compete at the Nationals. Or I was until Angela showed up.

    "Okay, girls, hit the water for an 800 meter freestyle warm-up!" barked Coach. Then he added in a more human voice, "Angela, why don't you try lane four today?"

    Lane four was the fast lane, my lane. I'd had to earn my place in that lane by swimming 400 meters in less than five minutes. Now all Angela had to do was jump in. It wasn't fair.

    I didn't think I could pretend friendliness, so I started the 800 before Angela hit the water. But I didn't even have time to settle into my pace when I felt the water agitating behind me. I stroked harder, but I could still feel someone closing in on me. I soon felt a light touch on my foot.

    In swim workouts, it's one of the rules that when a teammate taps your foot you move to the right to let that swimmer go ahead of you. My conscience told me to move over, but something stubborn kept my body in the middle of the lane.

    At the end of the 800, I glanced up and saw Coach staring at me. Realizing that he had seen me refuse to let Angela pass, I took a deep breath and ducked underwater.

    When the workout was over, everyone crowded around Angela, asking her if she knew any Olympic swimmers and stuff like that. I hurried toward my bike.

    "Hey, Tobi! Where are you going?" someone shouted. I didn't answer, just got on my bike and went away.

    It was like that for the next two weeks. During time trials Angela beat me and took my place as lane leader.

    I was miserable. And I was scared, too; scared that Angela was taking away my chance at the Nationals, a chance I had earned by a lot of hard work.

    I started to show up late so that I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. I even walked on the bottom of the pool and faked my stroke, a swimmer's cheating trick I'd never used before. It was easy to catch up to Angela that way.

    I'll admit I wasn't very happy with my actions. But my jealous feelings were like a current I couldn't swim against.

    The day before the Riverdale Meet, Coach called me over.

    "Tobi, I want to talk to you about sportsmanship," he began.

    "Sportswomanship, in this case, Coach," I quipped, hoping to distract him.

    "Okay, sportswomanship," he said, taking me seriously. "Or whatever you want to call it when one athlete accepts a better athlete in a spirit of friendly competition."

    "Maybe the so-called better athlete is not as good as everyone thinks," I mumbled.

    "Let's stop talking about this athlete and that athlete," he said softly, "and talk instead about Tobi and Angela. She has made better time than you, Tobi. And that is an objective fact, not something everyone thinks."

    He paused. I was silent.

    "The worst of it, Tobi, is that your attitude is hurting your performance. Do you know that your times have become worse in the last two weeks? Maybe showing up late and walking on the bottom have something to do with that," he said. My face felt as if it had been splashed with hot pink paint.

    "Do you have anything you want to say?" he asked. I shook my head. "That's all then, Tobi. I'll see you tomorrow at the Riverdale Meet."

    The next morning I was too nervous to eat my special breakfast of steak and eggs. This meet would decide who was going to Nationals.

    The early skies were still gray when I arrived at the Riverdale pool for the warm-up session. The other swimmers were screeching greetings at each other like a flock of gulls. I jumped into the water to cut off the sound and mechanically began my stroke. Half an hour later, the meet was about to start. I quickly searched the heat sheet for my name. Disappointed, I saw that I had just missed making it into the last, and fastest, qualifying heat. Angela's name, of course, was there. She'd taken my place just as she had at the trials.

    Better not to think about Angela at all, I told myself, recalling Coach's words. Better to concentrate on my own race. Carefully, I went over Coach's instructions in my mind, shutting out the crowd around me, swimming my race perfectly, over and over again in my head, always perfectly.

    "Would you like an orange?"

    Without looking I knew whose voice it was. "It's good for quick energy," continued Angela, holding the orange out to me.

    "No thanks," I said. "I've got all I need." I saw that she was about to sit down next to me, so I added, "I don't like to talk before a race."

    She nodded sympathetically. "I get uptight, too. The butterflies are free," she said with a nervous laugh.

    For a moment I felt a little better toward her, knowing that she was nervous, too. Then I remembered that she didn't have to worry.

    "You'll be an easy winner," I said.

    "You never know," she replied uncertainly.

    My heat was called. Up on the blocks I willed my muscles into obedience, alert for the starter's commands. At the gun, I cut into the top of the water smoothly.

    I swam exactly as I had been imagining it before the race, acting out the pictures in my mind. I felt the water stream past me, smooth, steady and swift. When I finished, I was certain I had done my best in that heat.

    Exhausted, I sat on the deck for several minutes, eyes closed, totally spent. I knew I was missing Angela's heat, but I was too tired to care.

    The sound of the announcer's voice came. I heard my name. I'd made it!

    I also heard Angela's name, but it was several minutes before I realized that my name had been called last. That meant my time had been better.

    Heading for the gym, where all the swimmers rest and wait for the heats to be called, I saw Angela sitting with her back against the wall alone. Her shoulders were rounded in a slump.

    It could be me, I whispered to myself. There's no worse anger than the kind you feel toward yourself when you've ruined something you care about. I knew how she felt, and I also knew there was no way I could make up for the way I had acted. But I just had to try.

    "I don't talk before races, but I do talk after them. Sometimes it helps," I said, knowing Angela had every right to tell me to go drown myself.

    "Talk if you want to," she murmured.

    "Well, I will, but I was hoping you'd talk, too."

    She hesitated, and I saw her trying to swallow. "I will as soon as I'm sure I'm not going to cry," she whispered.

    So I babbled on for a few minutes about the meet, some of the other swimmers, the team standings, anything. I knew it didn't matter what I said as long as I kept talking.

    All at once, Angela interrupted me. "I do this all the time," she burst out. "I do great at workouts, then comes a meet, and something happens; I just can't do it."

    "Maybe you don't know how to play the confidence game," I said. She looked at me suspiciously, but I went on. "How do you psych yourself up for a race?"

    "I don't exactly." She was twisting the ends of the towel. "I just try to block it out, not think about it."

    "What about during a race?"

    "I concentrate on not making mistakes."

    "Very negative methods," I commented.

    "What do you mean?"

    "Well, take my positive approach. First, I think about all the good things I've done in previous race. Then I plan my upcoming race carefully, going over each detail in my mind, picturing myself the perfect swimmer. Then when I'm in the water, I tell myself to do it again, only this time for real."

    "And you win," Angela added with a smile. Now I really felt badly, remembering how I had acted when Angela had done better than I in workouts.

    "Listen, I have an idea," I said. Maybe I could make it up to her. "You swim faster than me, right?" Angela looked doubtful.

    "Yes, you do, that's an objective fact," I insisted. "Now my idea is that you use me as a pacer in the backstroke final this afternoon."

    At first Angela wasn't sure, but I soon had her convinced, and we were planning our strategy when Coach showed up.

    "What's going on here?" He gave me an accusing look.

    "We've got it all settled," Angela spoke up. "Tobi and I are going to be a team from now on."

    "All right!" he said, giving us a smile usually reserved for winners.

    As Angela and I sat together on the ready bench, I had conflicting thoughts about helping her. What was I doing anyway? Handing her my relay position on a silver platter, that's what.

    I hadn't time to get worked up over it, though, because the whistle blew, and we stepped up to the blocks. At the sound of the gun I was into the water with barely a splash, skimming the surface like a water bug.

    As I reached the wall, I pretended all my strength was in my legs as I flipped and pushed off. Pull hard, hard, hard, I told myself, muscles aching from the effort. Then on the last lap, I concentrated on a single word. Win! I shot through the water and strained for the finish.

    Immediately, I looked to Angela's lane. She was there, but it was too close to tell who had won. She gave me the thumbs up sign, and I returned it.

    I stared at the electronic scoreboard. Usually it didn't take long for the times to appear, but now it remained blank for so long I was beginning to worry that a fuse had blown.

    Please, please let me be the winner, I whispered over and over. Finally, the winning times flashed on. Angela had won. I managed to give her a congratulatory hug.

    "I couldn't have done it without you, Tobi," she said.

    "You did it, girls!" Coach couldn't keep himself from shouting, he was so excited. "You've just raced yourself to the Nationals!"

    I had never felt so left out, so disappointed in my whole life. "Well, at least Angela has," I said, struggling to smile.

    Coach looked startled. "And you did, too, Tobi."

    What was he talking about? "I saw that Angela won the place on our relay team."

    "That's right, but you missed something. You both swam so fast that you made qualifying times for the individual backstroke event!"

    I was stunned. I had concentrated so hard on the relay place I hadn't even thought about the individual events.

    "So you'll both go to the Nationals!" Coach couldn't resist doing a couple of dance steps, and I was so ecstatic, I joined him. But a wet concrete swimming deck is not an ideal dance floor.

    "Look out!" yelled Angela, as we just missed falling into the water. "I don't want my partner to break a leg. We've got a long way to go before the 1980 Olympics."

    "What?" I gasped.

    "Just doing some positive mental rehearsing," she grinned.

    "A little confidence sure goes a long way," I said.

    Still, maybe that is something to think about!

(2,043 words)                TOP

课文一

信心游戏

帕特·卡尔

　　一位名叫托比的女孩非常努力，后来成为队里最优秀的运动员。但是有一天布兰迪来到了队中。她游得比托比还要好。托比在新情况中该怎么办？她是如何克服自身的嫉妒心理而重新恢复自信的呢？

　　那一天，当安吉拉·布兰迪出现在游泳池边，准备参加赛前集训时，我便开始丧失自信了。我知道我非常紧张，因为我和安吉拉中的一个将参加我们队在全国锦标赛接力赛中的仰泳。

　　我没见过她游泳，但是全队都知道她为加利福尼亚一家知名俱乐部效力，而我们只是一个建队仅仅两年的市级小队。但是我们有一位姓名中带有“激励”一词的教练。在他的激励下，我每天游三英里，目前很有希望参加全国比赛。或者说，在安吉拉出现之前，我曾很有希望。

　　“好的，姑娘们，先游800米自由泳热身！”教练吼道。然后他又用颇具人情味的声音说，“安吉拉，你今天干吗不试试第四道呢？”

　　第四道是快道，也是我的道。我曾经以5分钟不到的时间游完四百米才赢得使用此道的权利，而现在安吉拉所要做的仅仅是纵身一跳。真是太不公平了。

　　我觉得我无法伪装友好，就先安吉拉入水，开始游我的800米。可是还没等我调整好节奏，水就开始在我身后翻腾不止。我拼命地打水，然而仍能感觉到有人不断向我逼近。很快有人轻轻碰了一下我的脚。 

　　游泳集训中有一项规定，那就是当队友触碰你的脚时，你应该靠右让她超过去。我的良心在叫我靠右，可是一种莫名的倔强却使我停在泳道的中央。

　　800米游完后，我抬起头，看见教练在盯着我。我意识到教练已经看到刚才我没给安吉拉让道的那一幕，就深吸了一口气，然后潜到水底。

　　集训结束后，大家都围住安吉位，七嘴八舌地问她一些是否认识参加过奥运会的游泳运动员之类的问题，我却匆忙向自行车走去。

　　“嗨，托比！你到那儿去？”有人喊道。我一言不发，骑上自行车，扬长而去。

　　接下来的两个星期，情况一直如此。在时间测试中安吉拉战胜了我，取代了我泳道领手的位置。

　　我难受极了，同时又感到了一种恐惧。我害怕安吉拉正在夺走我参加全国比赛的机会，那可是我用无数辛劳换来的啊。

　　我开始迟到，以避免与他人交谈。我甚至在池底走却假装在游——这是我以前从未用过的一种欺骗伎俩——这样我很容易便能跟上安吉拉。

　　我承认我对自己的此番行为并不感到开心，可是我的嫉妒心却如同一股激流，我已无力抗拒。

　　在里维代尔运动会的前一天，教练把我叫了过去。

　　“托比，我想和你谈谈体育精神的问题，”他发话了。
　　“对我而言，应该说是女子体育精神，教练，”我开玩笑道，希望引开他的注意。
　　“是的，女子体育精神，”他严肃地说，“随你叫它什么。总之，它意味着赛输时能以友谊比赛的胸怀接收获胜者。”

　　“也许那所谓的获胜者并不像大家想象得那么好，”我咕哝了一句。 

　　“我们不要谈获胜者未获胜者了，好不好？”他语气柔和地说，“我们就谈谈托比和安吉拉吧。她游得比你快，托比，这是客观事实，不是大家想象的事。”

　　他停了一下，我沉默不语。

　　“托比，最糟糕的是你的态度已严重影响了你的成绩。你知道这两周来你的成绩一直在下滑吗？这也许与迟到和在水里走有关，”他说。顿时，我感到脸上象是被人泼满了粉红色的热涂料。 

　　“你想说些什么吗？”他问我。我摇了摇头。“那好吧，托比，明天运动会上见”

　　第二天一早，我紧张得连特意准备的牛排和鸡蛋也吃不下。这次运动会将决定谁能参加全国比赛。

　　当我一大早来到里维代尔游泳池参加热身时，天色还是灰蒙蒙的。其它的运动员象一群海鸥一样尖叫着互致问候。为图个清静，我跃入水中，然后开始机械地游动。半小时后，比赛即将开始。我迅速浏览了一下分组名单，寻找我的名字。令我万分沮丧的是，我没能分在最后一组，也就是最快的考核组，当然安吉拉的名字稳居其中——与测试中一样，她取代了我的位置。

　　我回想起教练的话，心中暗暗地告诉自己，别再想安吉拉了，集中精神参加比赛吧。我仔细回味着教练的指导，把其他人完全抛在脑后。我在想象中技艺完美地游着，一遍又一遍，，每次都游得至臻完美。

　　“吃个桔子吗？”

　　不用看我也知道这是谁的声音。“桔子能增强体力，”安吉拉说着，把桔子递了过来。

　　“噢，不，谢谢”我说，“我体力已经很充沛了。”看到她要在我身旁坐下，我又说了一句，“我不喜欢比赛前和人说话。”

　　她同情地点了点头，“我也紧张极了。蝶泳自由，”她说道，又紧张地笑了一下。

　　知道她也很紧张，我突然对她有了一点好感。但是我又想起来她根本用不着担心。 

　　“你会很容易取胜的，”我说。　

　　“难说，”她没有把握地应答了一声。

　　我的组开始叫名字了。站在起跳台上，我集中意志，号令全身的肌肉进入备战状态，两耳则警觉地等待着发令员的指示。枪声一响，我劈波入水。

　　我游得好极了，和我赛前脑海中所预想的画面一模一样。我感觉到水在我身旁流动，是那样平滑、舒缓、迅速。到达终点时，我确信自己已经发挥出了最佳水平。

　　我在台上坐了几分钟，双眼紧闭，精疲力尽。我知道安吉拉已经在比赛了，但我已没力气去关注。

　　广播响了，我听到播音员读到了我的名字，我赢了！

　　我也听到了安吉拉的名字。过了几分钟后，我才意识到我的名字是最后一个读到的。这意味着我的成绩更好一些。

　　我来到体育馆休息并等待叫组。在这里，我看见安吉拉独自背靠着墙坐着。她的双肩耷拉着。

　　这样的可能是我，我轻声对自己说。再没有任何事比毁了自己在乎的东西更让人恼怒的了。我了解她的感受，我也清楚我无法弥补自己过去的所作所为，但我不得不试一试。

　　“我赛前不说话，可赛后是说话的。有时这也挺管用。”我说道，虽然我知道安吉拉有一百个权利叫我滚开。

　　“想说就说吧。”她喃喃说道。

　　“好，那我说了，不过我希望你也说说。”
　　她迟疑了一下，我看出她在努力不让泪水流出来。“我能不哭的时候再说，”她低声说。

　　随后的几分钟里我喋喋不休地谈论运动会，运动员，泳队名气等等。我也知道，我说什么都无关紧要，只要我在讲话就好。

　　突然，安吉拉打断了我，“我总是这样，”她倾诉道：“集训时我表现很好，一开运动会，就出事了：我就是游不好。” 

　　“也许是你不知道怎样玩信心游戏，”我说。她满腹狐疑地看着我，但我兀自说下去，“比赛前你是怎样调节心理的？”

　　“我不知道，”她拧着毛巾的两头。“我只是努力把它挡在门外，不去想它。”

　　“比赛中呢？”

　　“我全心全意避免犯错。”
　　“方法不当。”我评论道。
　　“什么意思？”

　　“好吧，听听我的好办法。首先，我把自己以前比赛中的优良表现想一遍。然后认真计划好要参加的比赛，在脑中设计每一个细节，把自己想象成一个绝顶高手。之后当我入水时，我要自己把想到过的再做一遍，只不过这一次是真的。” 

　　“然后你就赢了，”安吉拉微笑着补充了一句。这一刻，我真的感觉很糟。我又回想起以前集训中安吉拉赢我时我的表现。

　　“听着，我有个主意，”我说。也许，我能助她一臂之力。“你游得比我好，对不对？”安吉拉满脸怀疑。
　　“是的，你游得比我好，这是客观事实，”我执意地说下去，“我的主意是，你在今天下午的仰泳决赛中把我当作定速度的人去追。”
　　安吉拉先是将信将疑，但我很快说服了她。我们正忙着设计战略时，教练来了。

    “在这儿干什么呢？”他责备地看了我一眼。
　　“我们搞定了，”安吉拉大声说：“我和托比从现在起要通力合作。”

　　“太好了！”他说。他的脸上漾起了平时只对胜利者才肯露出的微笑。

　　我和安吉拉一同坐在待发席上，我心里对于帮助她有些矛盾不安，我到底在干什么？把我的接力位置拱手相让，就是这样。

　　我已经没有时间再多想了，哨声响起来，我们登上了起跳台。枪声一响，我便应声入水，甚至没有溅出水花来。我飞快地游动着，就象一只水虫一样。


　　完成翻身、触壁、推进这一串动作时， 我假想着全身的力气都已集聚腿部。使劲游，使劲游，使劲游，我暗暗告诉自己，浑身肌肉都因用力而酸痛不已。在游最后一程时，我集中心思在一个字上，赢！我冲过水浪，奋力向终点游去。

　　我立刻转头向安吉拉的泳道望去。她也到了，可是时间差很小，使人无法判断谁是胜者。她向我举起了大拇指，我也举了举大拇指。
　　我盯着电子记分屏。通常成绩显示是很快的，可是这一次过去了很久，它的上面却仍然一片空白，我真有点怀疑是不是保险丝爆了。

　　求你了，求你让我赢吧，我一遍又一遍地低语。终于，比赛成绩亮了出来，是安吉拉赢了。我控制着自己的情绪，给了她一个拥抱以表祝贺。

　　“托比，没有你我是不会成功的。”她说。
　　“好样的，姑娘们！”教练禁不住大叫了起来，他很激动。“你们闯进了全国比赛！”

　　我一生中从未感觉过如此失落，如此沮丧。“嗯，至少安吉拉闯进去了。”我说着，努力要挤出一丝笑容。

　　教练显得很吃惊。“还有你啊，托比！”
　　他在说什么？“我看见是安吉拉赢得了参加接力赛的资格。”
　　“是的，不错。不过有一点你没看到。你们俩人游得都很快，都有资格参加个人仰泳比赛。”

　　我呆住了。我一门心思想的全都是接力赛，意忘了还有个人赛这回事。

　　“所以你们双双闯入了全国比赛！”教练忍不住舞了几步，我欣喜若狂，和他一起跳了起来。可是湿漉漉的游泳平台并不适合在上面翩翩起舞。

　　我们差点掉进水里。“当心！”安吉拉叫道：“我可不想我的同伴摔断了腿。在1980年奥运会之前，我们会有很多事要做。” 

　　“什么？”我喘着气问。　

　　“只是做一些积极的心理调试。”她笑着说。

　　“一点点自信确实能帮我们走很长的路呢！”我说。
　　是的，这也许正是值得我们考虑的事情。

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Text 2

My Way to Success

by Nadja

    From the day I signed up for the Naumburg Competition5, everything changed. I had made a decision to start again, to save my life, and that meant a 360-degree turnaround.

  I kept on practicing. An enormous amount of work had to be done in two months. I went from not practicing at all to thirteen hours a day.

    I spent two weeks just playing scales. If I thought I sounded bad before, now I sounded worse than awful.

    At the time I lived on 72nd Street, close to West End Avenue. I had an apartment with a window the size of a shoebox. I didn't do my laundry. I left my apartment only to walk to Juilliard─and not on Broadway like everyone else. I walked up Amsterdam Avenue because I didn't want to see anybody, didn't want to run into anybody, didn't want anyone to ask what I was doing.

    I stopped going to classes and became a hermit. I even talked Miss DeLay into giving my lesson at night.

    My eating habits were awful. I lived on fried sausages, a pint of peanut butter/chocolate ice cream, and a gallon of Coca-Cola every day. That's all I ate for eight weeks.

    I was nuts. I was completely obsessed with getting back into shape, with doing well in this competition. If I could, people would know I was still on earth. Not to count me out; to stop asking, "Whatever happened to Nadja?"

    The last week before the Naumburg auditions, I couldn't touch the violin. I had worked and worked and worked and worked and then I just couldn't work anymore

    I certainly could have used it. I wasn't as prepared as I should have been. But I simply had to say, "Nadja, you've dedicated yourself to this thing. Ready or not, do your best."

    Fifty violinists from around the world auditioned for the competition on May 25, 26, and 27, 1981. Those that made it past the preliminaries11 would go on to the semifinals. Those that passed that stage would go to the finals. In years past, one violinist was chosen as winner and two received second and third place.

    On May 26, the day of my audition, I went to the Merkin Concert Hall at 67th Street and Broadway. I waited, played for twenty minutes, and went home. I couldn't tell whether the preliminary judges were impressed or not. I'd find out the next evening.

    Maybe subconsciously I was trying to keep busy; that night, when I fried the sausages, I accidentally set my apartment on fire. I grabbed my cat and my violin, and ran out the door. The fire was put out, but everything in my place was wrecked.

    Fortunately, the phone was okay and on the evening of May 27, I had the news from Lucy Rowan Mann of Naumburg. Thirteen of us had made it.

    Talk about mixed emotions. I was thrilled to be among the thirteen; a group that included established violinists, some of whom had already made records. But it also meant I had to play the next day in the semifinals of the competition.

    Everyone entering the competition had been given two lists of concertos. One was a list of standard repertory pieces. The other list was twentieth-century repertory. For our big competition piece, we were to choose from each list and play a movement from one in the semifinals, and a movement from the other in the finals─if we made it that far.

    From the standard repertory list, I chose the Tchaikovsky Concerto. I had been playing the Tchaik for three years, so it was a good piece for me.

    From the twentieth-century list, I chose the Prokofiev G minor Concerto. I had never played it onstage before.

    My goal had been just passing the auditions, but now my thought pattern began to change. If I wanted a sliver of a chance of advancing again, my brain said, "Play your strong piece first."

    Logically, I should play the Tchaikovsky in the semifinals just to make it to the next stage. Who cared if that left me with a piece I probably wouldn't play as well in the finals of the competition? It'd be a miracle to get that far.

    There wouldn't be more than seven violinists chosen for the final round, and if I were in the top seven of an international group, that was plenty good enough.

    The semifinals were held on May 28 in Merkin Concert Hall. You were to play for thirty minutes: your big piece first, then the judges would ask to hear another.

    There was a panel of eight judges. They had a piece of paper with my choices of the Tchaikovsky and the Prokofiev in front of them. "Which would you like to play?" they asked.

    I said meekly, "Prokofiev."

    My brain and all the logic in the world had said, "Play your strong piece." My heart said, "Go for it all. Play your weak piece now, save Tchaikovsky for the finals."

    Maybe I don't listen to logic so easily after all.

    My good friend, the pianist Sandra Rivers, had been chosen as accompanist14 for the competition. She knew I was nervous. There had been a very short time to prepare; I was sure there'd be memory slips, that I'd blank out in the middle and the judges would throw me out. My hands were like ice.

    The first eight measures of the Prokofiev don't have accompaniment. The violin starts the piece alone. So I started playing.

    I got through the first movement and Sandra said later my face was as white as snow. She said I was so tense, I was beyond shaking. Just a solid brick.

    It was the best I'd ever played it. No memory slips at all. Technically, musically, it was there.

    I finished it thinking, "Have I sold my soul for this? Is the devil going to visit me at midnight? How come it went so well?"

    I didn't know why, but often I do my best under the worst of circumstances. I don't know if it's guts or a determination not to disappoint people. Who knows what it is, but it came through for me, and I thank God for that.

    As the first movement ended, the judges said, "Thank you." Then they asked for the Carmen Fantasy.

    I turned and asked Sandy for an A, to retune, and later she said the blood was just rushing back into my face.
    I whispered, "Sandy, I made it. I did it."

    "Yeah," she whispered back, kiddingly, "too bad you didn't screw up. Maybe next time."

    At that point I didn't care if I did make the finals because I had played the Prokofiev so well. I was so proud of myself for coming through.

    I needed a shot in the arm; that afternoon I got evicted. While I was at Merkin, my moped had blown up. For my landlord, that was the last straw.

    What good news. I was completely broke and didn't have the next month's rent anyway. The landlord wanted me out that day. I said, "Please, can I have two days. I might get into the finals, can I please go through this first?"

    I talked him into it, and got back to my place in time for the phone call.     "Congratulations, Nadja," they said. "You have made the finals."

    I had achieved the ridiculously unlikely, and I had saved my best piece. Yet part of me was sorry. I wanted it to be over already. In the three days from the preliminaries to the semifinals, I lost eight pounds. I was so tired of the pressure.

    There was a fellow who advanced to the finals with me, an old, good friend since Pre-College. Competition against friends is inevitable in music, but I never saw competition push a friendship out the window so quickly. By the day of the finals, I hated him and he hated me. Pressure was that intense.

    The finals were held on May 29 at Carnegie Hall and open to the public. I was the fourth violinist of the morning, then there was a lunch break, and three more violinists in the afternoon.

    I played my Tchaikovsky, Saint-Sa‘ns's Havanaise, and Ravel's Tzigane for the judges: managers, famous violinists, teachers, and critics. I went on stage at five past eleven and finished at noon. Those fifty-five minutes seemed like three days.

   I was so relieved when I finished playing; I was finished! It's impossible to say how happy I was to see the dressing room. I went out for lunch with my friends. It was like coming back from the grave. We laughed and joked and watched TV.

    As I returned to Carnegie Hall to hear the other violinists, I realized I'd made a big mistake: they might ask for recalls. A recall is when they can't decide between two people and they want you to play again. It's been done; it's done all the time in competitions. No way was I in shape to go onstage and play again.

    In the late afternoon, the competition was over. Everybody had finished playing. Quite luckily─no recalls.

    The judges deliberated for an hour. The tension in the air was unbelievable. All the violinists were sitting with their little circle of friends. I had my few friends around me, but no one was saying much now.

    Finally, the Naumburg Foundation president Robert Mann came on stage.

    "It's always so difficult to choose ..." he began.

   "Every year we hold this competition," Robert Mann said. "And in the past, we've awarded three prizes. This year we've elected to only have one prize, the first prize."

    My heart sank. Nothing for me. Not even Miss Congeniality.

    "We have found," Mann went on, "that second place usually brings great dismay to the artist because they feel like a loser. We don't want anyone here to feel like a loser. Every finalist will receive five hundred dollars except the winner, who will receive three thousand dollars."

    And then he repeated how difficult it was to choose, how well everyone had played ... dah, dah, dah.

    I was looking down at the floor.

    "The winner is ..."

    And he said my name.

    A friend next to me said, "Nadja, I think you won!"

    I went numb. My friends pulled me up and pointed me toward the stage. It was a long walk because I had slipped into a seat in the back. Sitting up in front was my old friend. I would have to walk right past him and I was dreading it, but before I could, he got up and stopped me.

    He threw his arms around me and I threw my arms around him. I kept telling him how sorry I was. I was holding him and started to cry, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I didn't want to lose, but I really didn't want him to lose either. And he was holding me and saying, "Don't be sorry. I'm so proud of you." It was over, and we would be friends again.

    I took my bow, then ran to Juilliard. Ten blocks uptown, one block west, to give Miss DeLay the news. She could be proud of me now, too.

    Suddenly, everything was clear. Playing the violin is what I'd do with my life. Heaven handed me a prize: "You've been through a lot, kid. Here's an international competition."

    Everything had changed when I prepared for the Naumburg, and now everything changed again. I made my first recording. Between September 1981 and May 1982, I played a hundred concerts in America, made one trip to Europe, then two months of summer festivals. And people asked me back.

    There was a great deal of anxiety playing in Europe for the first time. But I was able to rely on my self-confidence to pull me through.

   Self-confidence onstage doesn't mean a lack of nerves backstage. The stakes had increased. This wasn't practice anymore, this was my life. I'd stare into a dressing-room mirror and say, "Nadja, people have bought tickets, hired baby-sitters, you've got to calm down; go out there and prove yourself."

    Every night I'd prove myself again. My life work had truly begun.

(2,054 words)                     TOP

课文二

我的成功之路

娜德佳

　　从我报名参加诺姆伯格比赛的那一天起，一切都发生了变化。我下定决心重新开始，拯救我自己，这也就意味着我的生活要发生360°大转弯。

　　我不停地练习。两个月内我要做大量的事情。我从毫不练习一下子跳跃到一天练习13个小时。

　　我先花两个星期专门练习音阶。如果我觉得我以前拉得不好，那现在的感觉只会更糟。

　　当时我住在72号街，紧靠西区大街。我那套公寓的窗户只有一个鞋盒那么大。我从不洗衣服。只有到朱利亚德那边儿去时，我才走出公寓——但我不象其他人那样取道百老汇大街。我会走阿姆斯特丹大街，因为我不想看见任何人，不想撞见任何人，也不想任何人问我的现状。

　　我不再去上学，完全变成了一个隐士。我甚至说服了德雷小姐，把上课时间改到夜间。

　　我的饮食习惯糟透了。每天我吃的只是烤香肠、一品脱花生酱或巧克力冰淇淋，外加一加仑可口可乐。我就这样吃了八个星期。

　　我快疯狂了。我一心只想调整好状态，只想在比赛中取得佳绩。如果我真能如愿以偿，人们便会知道我仍然活在世上，不会凡事都把我撇在外，也不会再问，“娜德佳那儿还是一切如旧？”

　　诺姆伯格试听会前一个星期，我连碰都不能再碰一下小提琴。我一直在练习、练习、练习、再练习，现在我反而无法再练了。

　　我当然可以去拉一拉。我准备得还不够充分。但是我只能对自己说，“娜德佳，你已经为此竭尽全力了。准备好也罢， 没准备好也罢，拿出你的最佳状态。”

　　来自世界各地的50名小提琴手参加了于1981年5月25、26、27三天举行的试听会。预赛通过的人便可以进入半决赛，胜出者进入决赛。在以往的比赛中，只取一名优胜者，另取两名分列二、三名。

　　5月26号那天，该我去参加试听了。我来到位于67号街和百老汇大街交口的莫金音乐厅。先是等待，然后演奏了20分钟，接着回家。我自己也无法说清楚给预赛评委留下的印象如何。结果是第二天晚上才知晓的。

　　可能潜意识里我是想尽量让自己忙碌一些——那天晚上煎香肠时，我不慎把公寓烧着了。我抓起我的猫和小提琴，便冲出门外。火被扑灭了，但房子里的东西全毁了。

 
　　幸运的是电话没有烧毁，5月20日夜晚，我接到了诺姆柏格比赛工作人员露西·罗万·麦恩的电话通知，包括我在内的13名选手入选了。

　　让我来谈一谈我当时错综复杂的感觉吧。我为成为13个中的一员而欣喜若狂，要知道这些人中有卓有成就的小提琴手，有些人已经出过唱片。不过，入选也意味着我第二天要参加半决赛。

　　每位入围的选手都被发给两组曲目。一组是常规曲目，另一组是20世纪曲目。我们必须两组各选一曲，作为大赛演奏曲目。如果在半决赛中演奏A曲乐段，在决赛中就要演奏B曲乐段——如果你能闯入决赛的话。 

　　我从常规曲目中挑选了柴柯夫斯基的协奏曲。三年来我一直在演奏他的作品，因此这一曲对我很有利。

　　20世纪曲目我选的是小普鲁克费耶夫·G的协奏曲。我以前从未在舞台上演奏过这支曲子。

　　我的目标本来只是通过试听，可现在我的思维方式发生了转变。我的大脑在说：如果我只是想要一点点机会向前挺进的话，“先演奏你的强项吧”。

　　从逻辑上讲，在半决赛中我应该演奏柴柯夫斯基的作品，以求进入下一轮比赛。要是我在决赛中只剩一首我不能同样完美地演奏的曲子，谁顾得上这呢？闯入决赛本身就会是奇迹。

　　入围决赛的人数不会超过七个人，如果我在一场国际赛事中位居前七名，就已经是够好的了。

　　半决赛于5月28日在莫金音乐厅举行。每位选手要演奏30分钟的时间；先是你选的那一主曲，然后评委们会提出再听一曲。

 　　一共有八位评委。他们面前放着我的两个选择，柴柯夫斯基和普鲁克费耶夫。“你演奏哪一个？”他们问。 

　　我怯怯地说，“普鲁克耶夫。”

　　我的大脑和全世界的逻辑都告诉我：“演奏你的强项。”我的心则说：“要全胜而归。现在演奏弱项，把柴柯夫斯基留到决赛吧。”

　　也许我向来不肯轻易听命于逻辑吧。

　　我的好朋友，钢琴手莎拉·里维斯，被选来当我的伴奏。她知道我很紧张。毕竟准备的时间很短。我确信我会记错乐章，会在演奏中途停下，什么都记不起，然后被评委们扔出门去。这时，我的手冰冷冰冷的。 

　　普鲁克耶夫的前八节没有伴奏，是以小提琴独奏开始。于是我开始拉了起来。

　　我拉完了第一乐章。听莎拉后来告诉我，我当时的脸惨白如雪。她说我太紧张，根本就不会发抖了。整个人就是一块硬砖头。 

　　我发挥了最佳水平。没有记错任何东西。技术性也好，音乐性也好，我的演奏都很到位。

　　演奏结束时我甚至在想，“难道我为此出卖了灵魂吗？魔鬼会不会在半夜来抓我？怎么会一切如此顺利呢？”

　　我也不明白为什么会这样，但是我总是在最恶劣的情况下表现最好。我也不清楚这是勇气使然还是出于不令他人失望的决心。天知道这是什么，可是我毕竟闯过来了，感谢上帝。

　　第一段结束时，评委们说了声“谢谢”，然后要求我演奏卡门狂想曲。

　　我转过身，请莎拉调为A调。后来莎拉说，我的脸上开始恢复了血色。

　　我低声说，“姗迪，我成功了，我成功了。”
　　“是啊，”她顽皮地轻声回答道，“你没有搞砸，真是太糟了。等下次吧。”

　　那时我并不在乎是否能进入决赛，因为我演奏得太好了。我为自己能闯过来而感到自豪。

　　我真需要在我胳臂上来一针——当天下午房东要将我扫地出门。我远在莫金参加比赛的时候，我的摩托自行车爆了胎。对于我的房东而言，这真让他忍无可忍。

　　真是个好消息！我身无分文，本来也没钱交下个月的房租。房东命我当天就搬出去。我说，“求求你，再宽限我两天的时间。我可能会进入决赛的。请容我先把这件事做完，好吗？”

　　我说服了他，回到公寓，正好接到电话。“祝贺你，娜德佳，”他们说，“你进入决赛了。”

　　我实现了那根本不可能实现的目标，而且我还把最擅长的曲子留到了最后。不过我又有些感到难过。我真希望比赛到此已经结束。从预赛到半决赛的三天内，我一下瘦掉了八磅。我现在已经对压力感到十分厌倦。

　　有一个男孩子和我一同闯入了决赛。我们上大学前就是好朋友。与朋友在比赛中角逐，是学音乐的人不可避免的现象，但是我从未见过这样快就把友谊推到崩溃边缘的竞争。到决赛那天时，我已经恨他入骨，他也恨我。压力就是那么大。

　　决赛于5月29日在卡尼基音乐厅举行，而且对公众开放。我上午第四个出场，然后是午餐休息，下午还有三位选手的表演。

　　我演奏的是柴柯夫斯基的协奏曲、圣桑的哈瓦那斯、以及拉维尔的特兹卡尼。评委中有经纪人、著名的小提琴家、教师，还有批评家。11点5分我登上了台，正午时演奏完毕。这45分钟仿佛就象三天一样长。

　　结束时，我长长地舒了一口气。终于结束了！我无法描绘当我看到更衣室时那种喜悦的心情。我与朋友们一道出去共进午餐。我象刚从坟墓里钻出来一样。我们笑呀，乐呀，互相开玩笑取乐，然后又看电视。

　　我回到卡尼基音乐厅去听其他选手演奏时，突然意识到我犯了一个大错误：他们可能会叫回头。叫回头是指他们在两名选手中无法作出选择的时候，会让你再演奏一下。过去有过这样的情况。竞赛中经常这样做。而以我现在的状态根本没法再登台演出。

　　临近傍晚的时候，比赛结束了。每位选手都演奏完了，幸运的是——没有叫回头。

　　评委们商榷了一个小时。气氛异常紧张。所有的参赛选手都与自己的朋友们坐在一起。我为数不多的几个朋友都在近旁，但此时谁也不说什么话。

　　最后，诺姆伯格基金会主席罗伯特·麦恩走上了台。
　　“要想作出选择总是很难……”他开始说道。
　　“我们每年都举办这样的比赛，”罗伯特·麦恩说，“过去，我们是发三个奖。今年我们决定只保留一个奖，也就是一等奖。”
　　我的心一沉。完了，没我的份了，甚至连最受欢迎奖也拿不到了。

　　“我们发现，”麦恩继续说下去，“二等奖总是给艺术家带来一种沮丧之感，因为他们感觉自己象个失败者。我们不想让任何人有这种感觉。每一位入围决赛的选手都将获得500美元的奖金，当然获胜者除外，获胜者的奖金为3000美元。”

　　然后他又重复了一遍选择是何等的难，每位选手的表现何等优秀……等等，等等，等等。
　　我低头看着地板。
　　“获胜者是……”
　　他说的是我的名字。
　　我旁边的朋友说，“娜德佳，我想是你赢了！”

　　我呆在那里。朋友们把我拽起来，指着舞台。这条路真长，因为我是躲在后排的一个座位上。我的老朋友坐在前排。我很害怕，但我必须从他的身边走过去。然而没等我走过，他站了起来，拦住了我。

　　他拥抱着我，我也用双臂抱住他。我嘴里不停地念叨者我对他的歉意。我拥着他，哭了起来，不停地说：“对不起，对不起，对不起。”我不想失败，但也非常不想让他失败。他搂着我说，“不要说对不起。我为你骄傲。”一切都过去了，我们将再续友谊。

　　我辞别了大家，然后向朱丽亚德街奔去。向城里方向跑过十个街区，再向西跑过一个街区，我要把这个消息告诉德雷小姐。她也会为我而感到骄傲的。
　　霎时，一切都变得澄明。拉小提琴将是我一生的事业。上天赐给我一个奖：“孩子，你闯过了很多关。现在来参加一场国际比赛吧。”

　　在我为诺姆伯格比赛作准备的时候，生活中一切都发生了变化。现在一切又都在改变。我录制了第一张唱片。从1981年9月到1982年的5月间，我总共在美国演出了一百场音乐会，去了一趟欧洲，然后又做了两个月的夏日庆典演出。人们纷纷请我回去再次演出。

　　在欧洲首演时我焦虑万分，但我还是设法依靠自己的自信心而顺利闯了过去。

　　舞台上的自信并不意味着在后台就胆小懦弱。幕已经拉了起来。这已经不是在练习，这就是我的生活。我盯着化妆室里的镜子，对自己说：“娜德佳，人们买了票，家里雇好了保姆照看孩子，好来看你演出。你必须镇静。走出去，证明你自己吧。”

　　每天晚上我都会这样证明自己。我毕生的事业就此真正开始了。

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