文稿为热心网友Eva Huang的全文听写稿，其中可能有不准确之处。
Now the Special English Programme, American Stories.
(Music)
Our story today is called Charles. It was writen by Shirley Jackson. Here is Kay Glant.
(Music)
The day my son Lori started going to school, he began wearing blue jeans with a belt. I watched him leave with an older girl who lived next door. I clearly saw that this was the end of period in my life.
My sweet voice baby had suddenly changed. He was now a little man who was too full of himself to say goodbye to his mother. My son came home the same way. He shut the front door hard, threw his hat on floor and shouted: "Isn't anybody here?"
At lunch, he spoke roughly to his father.
"How was the school today?" I asked.
"Oh, all right." He said.
His father asked if he had learned anything. Lori looked at his father coldly. He said he had learnt nothing.
"The teacher punished a boy though." Lori said with his mouth full of bread and butter. "What did he do?" I asked, "Who was it?"
Lori thought for a minute.
"It was Charles." He siad, "Charles was bad. The teacher hit him and made him stand in the corner. He was very bad."
"What did he do?" I asked again.
But Lori slid off his chair, took a cookie and left. While his father was still saying: "See here, young man."
The next day, Lori said at lunch: "Well, Charles was bad again today. Today, Charles hit the teacher."
"Good heavens." I said, "I surpose he got punished again."
"He sure did." Lori said.
"Why did Charles hit the teacher?" I asked.
"Because she tried to make him use red paints. Charles wanted to use green paints. So he hit her. Then she hit him on the buttn and said nobody should play with him. But everybody did."
The third day, Wednesday, Charles hit a little girl on the head with a piece of wood. The teacher made him remain inside all during play time.
Thursday, Charles had to stay in the corner during story time because he kept beating his feet on the floor.
Friday, Charles was punished again because he threw a piece of chalk from the blackboard.
I said to my husband that perhaps school was not so good for Lori after all. He could be a rough boy. And this Charles sounded like such a bad influence.
"It will be alright." My husband said, "There are sure to be people like Charles in the world. Lori might as well meet them now and later."
The second week, Lori came home full of news. "Charles." He shouted as he came up the hill.
I was waiting on the front steps. "Charles." Lori shouted all the way up the hill. "Charles was bad again." "Come right in." I said as soon as he came close enough, "Lunch is waiting."
"Hello, Pap, your mop." He said to his father as he came into the door.
"You know what Charles did. Charles shouted so loudly in school, they sent a boy from another class to tell the teacher to make Charles keep quiet. And so Charles had to stay after school. All children stayed to watch him."
"What did he do then?" I asked.
"He just sat there." Lori said, climbing into his chair and table.
"What does Charles look like?" My husband asked Lori, "What is his other's name?"
"He is bigger than me." Lori said, "And he does not have any rubber shoes to wear when it rains. And he does not wear a jacket."
Monday night was the first parent-teacher's meeting, I wanted to go. I wanted very much to meet Charles's mother, but I had stayed at home because the baby was sick.
On Tuesday, Lori said suddenly: "Our teacher had a friend come to see her in school today."
"Charles' mother?" My husband and I asked at the same time.
"Nah." He said, "It was a man who made us do exercises. We had touched our toes like this." Lori showed how.
"Charles did not do the exercises."
"Didn't Charles want to do exercised?" I said.
"Nah." Lori said, "Charles was so bad to the teacher's friend. But he would not let Charles do the exercises."
"Bad again." I said.
"He kicked the teacher's friend." Lori said, "The teacher's friend told Charles to touch his toes like I just did and Charles kicked him."
"What are they going to about Charles you surpose?" Lori's father asked him.
Lori could not say. "Do a model school, I guess." He answered.
Nothing special happened on Wednesday and Thursday. Charles shouted during story hour and hit a boy in the stomach and made him cry.
On Friday Charles stayed after school again. So did all the other children.
With the third week of school, the world of Charles had become a part of our family.
The baby was being a Charles when he filled his wagon full of mud and pulled it through the house.
Even my husband when he accidently pushed his ash tray off the table, he said, "Emm, looks like Charles."
During the third and forth weeks, it looked as if Charles had been reformed.
Lori reported unhappily: "That Charles was so good today that the teacher gave him an apple."
"What?" I said and my husband added carefully: "You mean Charles?"
"Charles." Lori said, "He passed out the paints to the children, then he collected the books. The teacher said he was a helper."
"What happened?" I said, "I could not believe it."
"He was a helper. That's all." Lori said.
"Can this be true about Charles?" I asked my husband that night, "Can something like this happen?"
"Wait and see." My husband said, "When you have Charles to deal with, this will mean only a ploting."
He seemed to be wrong. For all a week, Charles was the teacher's helper. Each day he passed things out and picked thing up. No one had to stay after school.
"The parent-teacher's meeting is being held again next week." I told my husband one evening, "I am going to find Charles' mother there. I will ask her what happened to Charles. I would like to know. I would like to know myself."
On Friday that week, things were back to normal.
"You know what Charles did today?" Lori said in a voice full of excitement and wonder.
"He told a little girl to say a bad word and she said it. And the teacher washed our her mouth with soap. Charles laughed."
"What word? His father unwisely.
Lori said: "I will have to whisper to you. It's very bad."
He got down off his chair and went around to his father. His father bended his head down and Lori whispered joyfully. His father's eyes widened.
"Did Charles tell a little girl to say that?"
"He said two times." Lori said, "Charles told her to say it two times."
Monday morning, Charles said a bad word three or four times. He got his mouth washed out with soap each time.
That evening, my husband came to the door with me as I started out for the parent-teacher's meeting.
"Invite Charles' mother over for a cup of tea after the meeting." He said, "I want to get a look at her."
"If only she is there." I said with a prayer.
"She will be there." My husband said, "I do not see how they get
hold the parent-teacher's meeting without her."
At the meeting, I sat looking at all the women's faces, I tried to discover which one hid the secrets of Charles. None of them seemed tiring enough to be Charles' mother.
No one stood up, made excuses for the way her son had been acted.
No one talked about Charles.
After the meeting, I found Lori's teacher.
"I have wanted to meet you." I said, "I am Lori's mother." "Oh, we are... we are so interested in Lori." She said, "We had a little trouble with him the first week or so, but now he is a fine little helper, most of time, anyway, Lori usually learns to obey and cooperate very quickly."
I said: "I surpose this time was Charles' influence."
"Charles?" The teacher asked.
"Yes." I said laughing, "You must have your hands full in class with Charles."
"Charles." She said, "We do not have any Charles in the class."
You have just heard the American Story Charles. It was writen by Shirly Jackson.
Your narrator was Kay Glant. The Voice of America invites you to listen again next week at this time for another American Story told in Special English. This is Susan Cluck.