次の文章を読んで、下の問いに答えなさい。
I chose the specialty of surgery because of Matron, that steady presence during my adolescence. “What is the hardest thing you can possibly do?” she asked when I went to her for advice. I squirmed, “Why must I do what is hardest?” She said, “Because, Marion, you are an instrument of God. Don’t leave the instrument sitting in its case. Play! Leave no part of your instrument unexplored. (A) Why settle for ‘Three Blind Mice’ when you can play the ‘Gloria’?”
“But, Matron, I can’t dream of playing Bach, the ‘Gloria’ ...,” I protested. I’d never played any kind of instrument. I couldn’t read music. “Not Bach’s ‘Gloria.’ Yours!” she said, “Your ‘Gloria’ lives within you.”
(1) I was temperamentally better suited to a cognitive discipline, to an introspective field –– internal medicine, or perhaps psychiatry. The sight of the operating theater made me sweat. The idea of holding a surgical knife caused pain in my stomach. Surgery was the most difficult thing I could imagine. And so I became a surgeon.
Thirty years later, I am not known for speed, or technical genius. Say I adopt the style and technique that suits the patient and the particular situation and I’ll consider that high praise. (2) I get encouragement from my fellow physicians who come to me when they themselves must suffer the knife. They know Marion Stone will be as involved after the surgery as before and during. They know I have no use for sayings such as “When in doubt, cut it out” or “Why wait when you can operate” other than for how reliably they reveal the shallowest intellects in our field. My father, for whose skills as a surgeon I have the deepest respect, says, “The operation with the best outcome is the one you decide not to do.” Knowing when not to operate, knowing when to call for the assistance of a surgeon of my father’s caliber –– that kind of “brilliance” goes unheralded.
On one occasion with a patient in grave peril, I begged my father to operate. He stood silent at the bedside. In his taut expression I saw complete concentration. With utmost care he weighed one option against another. At last, he shook his head, and turned away. I followed. “Dr. Stone,” I said, using his title though I longed to cry out, Father! “An operation is his only chance,” I said. In my heart I knew the chance was infinitesimally small, and the first whiff of anesthesia might end it all. My father put his hand on my shoulder. He spoke to me gently, “Marion, remember (B) you shall not operate on the day of a patient’s death.” 【450 words】
1 下線をほどこした部分(1), (2)を和訳しなさい。
2 下線をほどこした部分(A), (B)の意味に最も近い文をそれぞれ以下の1～4の中から選び、その番号を書きなさい。
(A)
1 Don’t play “Three Blind Mice” because it is much more difficult than the “Gloria.”
2 Don’t play “Three Blind Mice” because it is not so famous as the “Gloria.”
3 If the “Gloria” is your favorite piece of music, then you need not practice “Three Blind Mice.”
4 If you are good enough to play a difficult piece of music, don’t be satisfied with an easier one.
(B)
1 After a patient dies, don’t perform an operation because you must pay respect to the dead.
2 After a patient dies, you must not perform an operation because it is a bad day for a surgeon.
3 After a patient dies, you must not perform an operation because you are very exhausted.
4 You must decide not to perform an operation when you know for sure that a patient will die.
