Audiobook Excerpt narrated by Cherry Jones

Ferris |

Audiobook excerpt narrated by Cherry Jones.

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Jones, Cherry: inaudible with her and reading to her from the Bible and also from a battered paperback copy of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. "I mean," said Ferris, "What do you think the ghost wants?"

"
I have absolutely no idea," said Charisse, "I am utterly baffled by all of it darling." Boomer was asleep on the rose patterned carpet by Charisse's bed. He was moving his paws, breathing heavily, dreaming of chasing something. The one time Boomer had actually managed to catch something, a baby squirrel, he had dropped it immediately and crept into the house with his tail between his legs, devastated by shame and regret. "His was a gentle soul." That was what Charisse said about Boomer. "His is a gentle soul."

"
Are you afraid of her?" Said Ferris. "Are you afraid of the ghost?"

"
When you've lived as long as I have," said Charisse, who was 73 years old, "You're not afraid of ghosts."

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What are you afraid of then?" Said Ferris, "Indignities," said Charisse. "I don't understand," said Ferris. "Isn't that wonderful?" Said Charisse. "I'm so pleased that you don't understand." It was late afternoon and Charisse was in bed. "Why are you still in bed?" Ask Ferris. "I don't feel well, darling. And that is all I want to say about that. I would ask you not to question me to death, as is your want." Ferris was Charisse's favorite person on the planet, no one denied it, not Charisse, not Ferris, not anybody in the whole household.

Charisse was the person who had caught Ferris when she entered the world, literally caught her. Charisse had been on her knees in the dirt of the fairground, and she had been the one who had seen Ferris first. She said she recognized her at first sight. "Welcome, darling." That is what she had said to Ferris and Ferris swore that she could remember it. Entering the world, seeing the blue sky, seeing Charisse's face smiling down at her. "It's a love story." Charisse said, whenever she told the story of Ferris being born. "But then every story is a love story or every good story is a love story."

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You can't possibly remember it," said Ferris's mother that evening. "I barely remember it. You know what your grandmother does? She dramatizes everything. No, she romanticizes everything. Going into labor on a patch of dirt at the fairground is not romantic, I can tell you that much. Hand me the sponge, will you?"

Ferris and her mother were at the kitchen table. Her mother was pasting green stamps into an S&H Green Stamps book. She was working on filling enough books to get a toaster oven. Ferris's mother was practical, she was a pragmatist, she taught high school math. "Attempting to teach math to a room full of teenagers on a daily basis leaves no room for romantic notions." Her mother often said, "I am a pragmatist through and through."

Was Ferris a pragmatist or a romantic? She didn't know, but sometimes right before she fell asleep, she saw a blue sky, the blue sky that she remembered from being born. And she saw Charisse smiling at her, her face lit up and beautiful. Ferris believed that she'd recognized Charisse as soon as she had laid eyes on her, just the same way she'd recognized Billy Jackson from the first day she took his hand. "Every story is a love story." Ferris said out loud to herself that night when she was in bed. The windows in her room were open, the crickets were singing. Boomer had thrown himself across her feet, he was snoring. It was hot, having a wooly mammoth draped across her feet, but Ferris was worried about Charisse not feeling well, and she was worried about the ghost. "What did she want? Why was she only appearing to Charisse?" And so Ferris was grateful to have Boomer there anchoring her.

This audio excerpt is provided by Books On Tape® / Listening Library.