Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Putnam tradition by Sonya Dorman. It was an old
house not far from the coast, and had descended generation
by generation to the women of the Putnam family. Progress
literally went by it. A new four lane highway had
been built two hundred yards from the ancient lilacs at
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the doorstep. Long before that, in the time of Cecily
Putnam's husband, power lines had been run in and now
on cold nights the telephone wires sounded like a concert
of cellos, while inside what a sound like the breaking
of beetles. The grandmother Sicily moved to the walls and
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the grooves of tradition. Simone Putnam her granddaughter, Nina Putnam,
her great granddaughter. The unbroken succession of matriarchs continued. But
times the old woman thought that in Simone it was weakened,
and she looked at the four year o Nina a scance, waiting,
waiting for some good sign. Sometimes one of the Putnam
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women had given birth to a son who grew sickly
and died, or less often grew healthy and fled. The
husbands were usually strangers to the land, the house, and
the women, and spent a lifetime with the long lived
Putnam wives and died, leaving their strange signs telephone wires,
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electric lights, water pumps, brass plumbing. Sam Harris came and
married Simone, bringing with him an invasion of washer, dryer, toaster, mixer,
coffee master. Until the current poured through the walls of
the house with more vigor than the blood in the
old woman's veins. You don't approve of him, Simone said
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to her grandmother. It's his trade. Cecily Putnam answered, our
men have been carpenters, or farmers, or even schoolmasters, but
an engineer. Pewey. Simone was washing the dishes, gazing out
across the window sill, where two pink and white muac
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shells stood, to the tidy garden beyond where Nina was
engaged in her private games. She dried the dishes by
passing her hand once above each plate or glass, bringing
it to a dry sparkle. It saved whare on the
dish towels, and it amused her. Sam's not home very much,
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she said in a placating voice. She herself had grown
terrified since her marriage that she wouldn't be able to
bear the weight of her past. She felt its power
on her and couldn't carry it. Cecily had brought her
up after her father had disappeared and her mother had
died in an unexplained accident. Daily she saw the reflection
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of her failure in the face of her grandmother, who
seemed built of the same seasoned and secure wood as
the old Putnam house. Simone looked at her grandmother, whom
she loved, and became a mere vapor. He's not home
so much, Simone said. Her face was small, with a
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pointed chin, and she had golden red hair, which she
wore loose on her shoulders. Nina too had a small face,
but it was neither so pale nor so delicate as
her mother's. As if Sam's tougher substance had filled her
out and strengthened her bone structure. If it was true
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that she, Simone, was a weak link, then Sam's strength
might have poured into the child, and there would be
no more Putnam family and tradition. People don't change that easily,
the old woman said. But things Simone began. The china,
which had a history of five generations, slipped out of
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her hands and smashed Sam's toaster. Wouldn't toast or pop up.
Simone couldn't even use the telephone for fear of getting
a wrong number or no number at all. Things things,
her grandmother cried. It's blood that counts. If the blood
is strong enough, things dissolve. They're just garbage, all those
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things floating on the surface of our history. It's our
history that's deep, That's what counts. You're afraid of Sam,
the young woman accused. Not afraid of any man, Cecily said,
straightening her back. But I'm afraid for the child. Sam
has no family tradition, no depth, no talent, handed down
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and perfected a man with his head full of wheels
and wires. Simone loved him. She leaned on him and
grew about him, and he supported her tenderly. She wasn't
about to give him up for the sake of some
abstraction tradition. It's not abstract, her grandmother said, with spirit,
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it's in your blood. Or why don't you sweep the
floors the way other women do, the way Sam's mother must.
Simone had begun to clean the house while she was thinking,
moving her hand horizontally across the floor at the height
of her hip, and the dust was following the motion
of her hand and moving in a small sun brightened
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river toward the trash basket in the kitchen corner. Simone
raised her hand to her face to look at it,
and the river of dust rose like a serpent and
hung a foot below her hand. Yes, she agreed, At
least I can clean the house if I don't touch
the good china. And look where I'm going. Poohy, the
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old woman said again, angrily. Don't feel so sorry for yourself,
not for myself. Simone mumbled and looked again toward the garden,
where her daughter was doing something. Three stones and a
pie plate full of spring water. I do despair of Nina,
Cecily said, as she had said before. She's four and
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has no appearance, not even balance. She fell out of
the apple rose tree and couldn't even help herself. Suddenly,
the old woman thrust her face close to her granddaughter.
It was smooth, round and sweet as a young kernel
of corn. The eyes sunk down under the bushy gray
brows were cold and clear gray. Simone, the old woman said,
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you didn't lie to me. You did know she was
falling and couldn't get back in time to catch her.
A shudder passed through Simone's body. There was no blood
in her veins, only water, no marrow in her bones.
They were empty and porous as of bird's. Even the
roots of her hair were weak, and now the sweat
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was starting out of her scalp as she faced her
grandmother and saw the bristling shape of seven generations of
Putnam women behind her. You lied, the old woman said,
You didn't know she was falling. Simone was a vapor,
a mere froth, blowing away on the first breeze. My
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poor dear, the old woman said, in a gentle voice,
But how could you marry some one like Sam. Don't
you know what will happen. He'll dissolve us our history,
our talents, our pride. Nina is nothing but an ordinary
little child. She's a good child, Simone said, trying not
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to be angry. She wanted her child to be loved,
to be strong. Nina isn't a common child, she said,
with her head bent. She's very bright. A man with
his head full of wheels, who's at home with electricity
and wires. The old woman went on, We've had them before,
but never allowed them to dominate us. My own husband
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was such a man but he was only allowed to
make token gestures, such as having the power lines put in.
He never understood how they worked. She lowered her voice
to a whisper. Your Sam understands. I've heard him talk
to the water pump. That's why you're afraid of him,
Simone said, Not because I'm weak and he might take
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something away from me, but because he's strong and he
might give us something. Then everything would change, and you're
afraid of that. Nina might be our change. She pointed
toward the garden, following the white line of her granddaughter's finger.
Cecily looked out into the garden and saw Nina turn
toward them, as though she knew they were angry. The
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child pointed with one finger directly at them. In the house,
there was a sharp crackle, and something of a brilliant
and vibrating blue leapt between the outstretched fingers of mother
and daw and flew up like a bird to the
power lines above Mommy. Nina called Simone's heart nearly broke
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with wonder and fright. Her grandmother contemptuously passed through the
kitchen door and emerged on the step outside, but Simone
opened the door and left it open behind her. What
was that, she asked Nina. Was it a blue bird?
Don't be silly, Nina said. She picked up the pie
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plate and brought it toward them. Cecily's face was white
and translucent. One hand went to her throat as the
child approached. Brim full of crackling blue fire with a
fluctuating heart of yellow. The pie plate came toward them,
held between Nina's small, dusty hands, Nina grinned at them.
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I stole it out of the wires, she said. Simone
thought she would faint with a mixture of joy and fear.
Put it back, she whispered, Please put it back, Oh mommy,
Nina said, beginning to whine. Not now, not right away.
I just got it. I've done it lots of times.
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The pie plate crackled and hissed in the steady, small hands.
Simone could feel the old woman's shocked silence behind her.
You mustn't carry it in a pie plate. It's dangerous,
Simone said to her child, but she could see Nina
was in no danger. How often have you done this?
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She could feel her skirt and her hair billow with electricity.
Lots of times. You don't like it, do you? She
became teasing and roguish when she looked most like Sam. Suddenly,
she threw back her head and opened her mouth, and,
tilting up the pie plate, she drank it empty. Her
reddish gold hair sprung out in crackling rays around her face,
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Her eyes flashed, and sparks flew out between her teeth.
Before she closed her mouth, Nina, the old woman cried
and began to crumple, falling slowly against Simone in a
complete faint. Simone caught her in trembling hands and lowered
her gently. She said to her daughter, you mustn't do
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that in front of Grandie. You're a bad child. You
knew it would scare her, And to herself she said,
I must stop babbling. The child knows on being silly.
Oh isn't it wonderful? Isn't it awful? Oh? Sam, how
I love you. Daddy said it would scare you. Nina admitted,
that's why I never showed you before. Her hair was
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softly falling into place again, and she was gazing curiously
at her great grandmother lying on the doorstep. It did
scare me, Simone said, I'm not used to it, darling,
but don't keep it secret any more. Is Grandie asleep,
Simone said hastily. Oh, yes, she's taking a nap. She
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is old, you know, and likes to take naps. It's
not a nap, Nina said, leaning over and patting the
old woman's cheeks. I think she's having a bad dream.
Simone carried her grandmother into the house. If that old,
tired heart had jumped and floundered like her own, there
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must be some damage done to it. If anything happened
to her grandmother, the world would end, Simone thought, and
was furious with Nina and at the same time full
of joy for her. Cecily Putnam opened her eyes widely,
and Simone said, it does change, you see, But it's
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in the family after all. The old woman sat upright quickly.
That wicked child, she exclaimed, to come and frighten us
like that. She ought to be spanked. She got up
with great strength and rushed out to the garden. Nina,
she called imperiously. The child picked up one of the
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small stones from the pie plate, now full of spring water,
and came to her great grandmother. I'll make something for you, Grandie,
she said seriously. She put the stone in the palm
of her hand and breathed on it, and then held
out her hand and offered the diamond. It's lovely, Thank you,
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the old woman said with dignity, and put her hand
on the child's head. Let's go for a walk and
I'll show you how to grow rose apples. That's more
becoming to a young lady. You slept on the step. Oh,
I'm old and I like to take little naps, Cecily answered.
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Simone saw them disappear among the apple rose trees, side
by side. She was still trembling, but gradually as she
passed her hand back and forth, and the dust followed,
moving in a sparkling river toward the trash basket. Simone
stopped trembling and began to smile with the natural pride
of a Putnam woman. End of the Putnam Tradition by
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Sonya Dorman