Amerikali roman ve kisa oyku yazari Ann Beattie'nin dogum gunu (8 Eylul 1947)
“O soguk geceyi hatirliyorum. Bir yigin kutuk getiriyordun ve kollarini alcalttiginda bir sincap atlayivermisti. 'Burada ne yaptigini dusunuyorsun' demistin ve o oturma odasina kacmisti. Sanki evi cok iyi biliyormuscasina kutuphaneye dogru gitti ve on kapinin onunde durdu. Bir siirin konusu disinda hic kimse buna inanmayacakti. Evdeki ilk haftamiz kazilar yaparak ve duvar kagidinin altindaki duvar kagitlari gibi evin gizemlerini bularak gecmisti. Mutfakta Ping-Pong toplari buyuklugundeki mor uzumlerle suslenmis altin beyazi sarmasik kafesi vardi. Duvarlari sariya boyadigimizda, alt kisimda geriye kalan uzumleri dusundum ve asmanin bazi bitkilerin gelistikce bir ceyleri ittigi gibi ayrildigini hayal ettim. Buyuk kar geldiginde senin yolu temizlemen gerekmisti, sapkani bulamayinca benden basina bir havlu sarmami istemistin. O beyaz havluyla karlarin cilgin krali gibiydin. Insanlar bizim birlikte olup sehirden ayrilip kirsal kesime gelmemiz fikrini sevmislerdi. Bircok insan bizi ziyaret etmisti ve somine onlarin sanki sasirtici hikayeler anlatmak istemelerini sagliyordu : Dondurma kamyonunun kapisi acildiginda kapinin sag kosesinde duran cocugun uzerine yigilan yuzlerce tatli donmus sular. Sahilde duran adamin parlayan kumlari seyrederken, daha parlak gordugu bir yerde egilip elmas bir yuzuk bulmasi. Acaba onlardan biri olacagimizi dusundukleri icin mi boyle sasirtici hikayeler anlatiyorlardi? Ama bunun ise yaramayacagini tahmin edebilmislerdi. Bu bir cocuga caydanlik ve fincan vermek kadar umitsizceydi. Cayirda dizlerimize kadar kara battigimiz geceyi hatirliyor musun? Butun beyazligi hizla donduren ruzgar icin gokyuzune bakiyorduk. Sanki dunya ters duz oluyormus gibi gorunurdu. Kocaman Queen Anne cicekleriyle dolu tarlaya bakardik. Sonra araba farlari sonerdi, yeni dusen karlara dogru gidecek olan ilk bizim arabamizdi. Araba dis dunyadan aciga cikmis gibi gorunurdu."
"I remember the cold night you brought in a pile of logs and a chipmunk jumped off as you lowered your arms. "What do you think you're doing in here?" you said, as it ran through the living room. It went through the library and stopped at the front door as though it had knew the house well. This would be difficult for anyone to believe, except perhaps as the subject of a poem. Our first week in the house was spent scraping, finding some of the house's secrets, like wallpaper under wallpaper. In the kitchen, a pattern of white-gold trellises supported purple grapes as big and round as ping-pong balls. When we painted the walls yellow, I thought of the bits of grape that remained underneath and imagined the vine popping though, the way some plants can tenaciously push through anything. The day of the big snow , when you had to shovel the walk and couldn't find your cap and asked me how to wind a towel so that it would stay on your head-you, in the white towel turban, like a crazy king of snow. People liked the idea of our being together, leaving the city for the country. So many people visited, and the fireplace made all of them want to tell amazing stories; the child who happened to be standing on the right corner when the door of the ice cream truck came open and hundreds of popsicles crashed out; the man standing on the beach, sand sparkling in the sun, one bit glinting more than the rest, stooping to find a diamond ring. Did they talk about amazing things because they thought we'd turn into one of them? Now I think they probably guessed it wouldn't work. It was as hopeless as giving a child a matched cup and saucer. Remember the night out on the lawn, knee deep in snow, chins pointed at the sky as the wind whirled down all that whiteness? It seemed that the world had been turned upside down, and we were looking into an enormous field of Queen Anne's lace. Later, headlights off, our car was the first to ride through the newly fallen snow. The world outside the car looked solarized."
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