A Selection from Capote's A Christmas Memory

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Allene Gossman

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Description

This is one of the stories which I read every year to my language arts students. The story showcases friendship between a woman in her sixties and a boy of seven. In reading to my students, I attempted to embed myself in the stories, trying not to read them but to tell them. I tried to absorb the feelings and emotions of characters to the point that they became my own; once done, the story mine to tell, cadence and inflection came naturally.

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Vocal Characteristics

Language

English

Voice Age

Middle Aged (35-54)

Transcript

Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
a lean Guardsmen reading a selection from Truman Capote's Ah, Christmas memory. Imagine the morning in late November, Ah, coming of winter morning more than 20 years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. Ah, great Black stove is its main feature, but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today, the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar. Ah, woman was shorn. White hair is standing at the kitchen window. She's wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless grey sweater over a summary calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen, but due to a long, youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable, not unlike Lincoln's craggy like that and tended by sun and wind. But it is delicate to finally boned, and her eyes are sherry colored and timid. Oh, my, she exclaims, her breast smoking the windowpane. It's fruitcake weather. The person to whom she is speaking is myself. I am seven. She is 60 something. We're cousins, very distant ones, and we have lived together well, as long as I can remember other people inhabit the house relatives and though they have power over us and frequently make us cry, were not on the whole too much aware of them. We are each other's best friend. She calls me Buddy in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend, the other buddy dot in the 18 eighties, when she was still a child. She is still a child. I knew it before I got out of bed, she says, turning away from the window with a purposeful excitement in her eyes. The courthouse bell sounded so cold and clear, and there were no birds singing. They've gone to warmer country. Yes, indeed. Ho, buddy, stop stuffing biscuit and fetch our buggy! Help me find my hat. We've 30 cakes to bake.