O. Henry’s last story, an unfinished draft of which was found on Henry’s dusty desk after his death. It was completed with sketches by the editor of Cosmopolitan magazine and published in September 1910. A story “Dream” from world literature.
I had a dream.
The Dream was O. Henry’s final story, and it was never completed. In fact, O. Henry stopped writing it in the middle of a sentence. Fortunately, O. Henry left behind an outline of how he intended the story to play out, so we are able to at least know the direction things were going when the story abruptly ends. This lesson will first look at the half of the story that O. Henry wrote, and then will describe what we know about what he had intended for the second half. A story “Dream” from world literature
Often, psychologists and scientists, through hypotheses and speculations, try to explain the strange dreams we see in the sleep of the twin sister of death, what are they?
The purpose of this story is not to shed light on the unsolved question. It’s just the executioner’s dream come true. One of the most striking features of our dreams is that what takes place over months or years, happens in minutes or moments in a dream.
Murray was sitting in his cell in the death row section of the prison. The bright light of an electric arc lamp hanging from the ceiling in the corridor fell on his desk, on which an ant was crawling restlessly on the white paper. In fact, Murray blocked his way with an envelope. Murray was scheduled to be executed by electric chair tonight at eight o’clock. He smiled and looked at the anxious ant, the most intelligent creature among the insects. After Murray arrived at the penitentiary, seven more people were sentenced to death and he saw three prisoners taken to the gallows. One of them had gone mad from the shock and thus was fighting the guards. As a wolf struggles for freedom after being caught in a trap. The other was a little less crazy. He was praying loudly. While the third was a weak man. He was scared and fainted. He was carried away on a board. Today was scheduled for Murray’s execution. He was to be put in the electric chair at eight o’clock at night. He was confused as to how he would face these moments of execution both outwardly and inwardly. The prison had two rows of cells. In front of Murray was Bonifacio’s cell. He was Italian. He had killed his fiancee and two policemen who had come to arrest him. Murray had played checkers with him for hours. He used to tell tricks to his unseen opponent in the corridor by making a sound. He heard Bonifacio’s hoarse voice. He was saying in a chanting manner, “Hey! The teacher is dead! how are you feeling Good, yes?”
The prison had two rows of cells. In front of Murray was Bonifacio’s cell. He was Italian. He had killed his fiancee and two policemen who had come to arrest him. Murray had played checkers with him for hours. He used to tell tricks to his unseen opponent in the corridor by making a sound. He heard Bonifacio’s hoarse voice. He was saying in a chanting manner, “Hey! The teacher is dead! how are you feeling “Good, yes?”
“Very well, Bonifacio!” Murray said confidently and lifted the ant crawling across the table by the envelope and dropped it carefully onto the stone floor.
“It should be like this, dead teacher! People like us must die like men. My date is next week. Brilliant! The teacher is dead! Remember, I have won the last game against you. Maybe someday we will meet again and play again. I don’t know, but maybe, where we are being sent, we have to speak as loud as this corridor of hell.” Bonifacio’s stern philosophy and thunderous laughter warmed Murray’s heart, but he knew that Bonifacio still had a week to live.
After some time, the residents of the prison heard the distinctive sound of iron bolts coming out and the gate opening at the end of the corridor. Then three men stepped up to Murray’s cell and unlocked it. Two of them were prison guards. The third was Murray’s neighbour and childhood friend Leon, but now the Reverend Leonard Whiston.
“I have received permission to take the place of the prison priest,” he said, taking Murray’s hand and shaking it warmly. A small Bible was visible in his left hand, in which he had marked a page with his index finger.
Murre smiled slowly and started arranging the two or three books and pens lying on the table. Then he wanted to speak, but no suitable words came to mind.
The prisoners in the dungeon called this corridor eighty-five feet long and twenty-eight feet wide, Lombulin, meaning “the gate of hell.” The guardian of this gate was a giant, gaunt but kind-hearted man. He took out a small bottle of whiskey from his pocket and handed it to Murray, saying: “This is the usual thing and is only for those who want to refresh themselves, no need to be afraid. You won’t get used to it.”
Murray took a sip from the bottle. The guard said: “Just a little tonic and everything is smooth as silk.”
They continued down the aisle. Murray’s fellow prisoners realized that it was eight o’clock, the time for Murray’s execution. Harchand was a separate world beyond the Lumbulian world, but convicts there quickly learned how to compensate for the loss of one or more of the five senses.
There were several classes of criminals in Lumbulin. The man who kills openly, who kills his enemy or pursuer, who is carried away by old enmity or the passion of a fight, and despises men as rats, spiders, and snakes.
As Murray walked down the aisle between two guards, only three of the seven inmates said goodbye to Murray. The first was Bonifacio, the second was Marvin who killed the jailer while trying to break the prison and the third was a rail robber named Bassett who killed an express messenger for not raising his hand above his head. The other four were quietly hiding in their own cells. No doubt today they were feeling their indiscretions in Lambulian society all the more keenly.
Murray was surprised at his calmness and indifference. There were about twenty people in the execution room. Prison officials, newspaper reporters and onlookers who……(incomplete)
Here, in the middle of this sentence, the terrible hand of sudden death overtakes O’Henry and interrupts his final story. Henry planned to write this story in a completely different style from his previous stories. He wanted to start a new series. He said, “I want to show people that I can write something new.” I mean a story that presents a straightforward dramatic plot in a way that is close to my real concept of story writing.” Before starting the story, he also briefly outlined what he would How do you intend to write it?
Dead… guilty of the brutal murder of his beloved… motivated by jealousy… facing the death penalty… at first calm and indifferent to all appearances and his fate… but as he approaches the electric chair… all seems real to him. …he is stunned…the whole scene of the death chamber…witnesses…spectators…the preparations for the execution become a reality for him…the thought comes to his mind…some terrible mistake has been made. Why is he being made to sit on a chair? What crime has he committed? Moments later, as the leather straps of the chair are being untied, another vision appears before his mind’s eye. A small cottage can be seen in the corner of which the sun is shining. He sees a woman and a child. Talks to them. He knows that she is his wife and child and this cottage is his home.
He thinks, it was a mistake, a terrible misunderstanding, the trial, the death sentence, the execution by the electric chair… it was all a dream. He hugs his wife and loves the baby. Yes, this is the real life full of happiness… It was a dream… But suddenly the chair is electrocuted at the signal of the jail warden.
The dream that Murray had, was the wrong dream.
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