ENL 505 - Stylistics
Truman Capote Assignment
A man hurried around to
the back of the house. He was mumbling loudly, incoherently. It was probably a
Sunday because the old man was home and not working -van in the driveway.
“Jack, Jack, they did it, they’re coming for me!” he yelled as he pounded the back door. He was skinny for a grown man and had a bump the size of a marble sticking out from his temple that looked like it could be popped with a needle. The old man stopped him rushing in from the back door and forced him to sit out on the deck. The man screamed in fear but worry wore his face for some other reason. The kids dared not go out onto the deck but one of them sat beneath an open window and listened from the parents’ bedroom.
“They stuck a radio in my ass and they know my thoughts Jack!”
The old man just rubbed his chin stubble like he usually did, as if nothing much had changed.
The child listened from the bedroom as the man raved on and on while the old man nodded here and there. The things the man said scared the child. His breathless sped-up talking about being captured and overtaken and transported made the child believe it. But the old man just listened, a rub of the chin, a nod.
They went out behind the garage and the child could no longer hear them. The child thought he’d heard the man say something about looking in his ass as they walked out there. Must have been out there five minutes or longer.
“You gotta take me to the hospital Jack! They gotta take it out!” His shirt was off now and he was screaming, sounding more panicked than before. He was grotesquely skinny; his ribs and clavicles wanted to break the skin and the mid-day sun drenched him with sweat.
With every scream and curse word, the child became more afraid. The man would stand up and point a relentless finger at his father then sit back down as quickly then yell and blame again so the child worried the man was going to go after his father. But the old man just sat quietly, didn’t even say anything, just listened. Then the man looked off to the left and had a conversation as if someone else was there asking him questions.
The boy listened and fidgeted his fingers in and out of his mouth and waited; he couldn’t understand why his father wouldn’t take him away or make him go away. Why wasn’t his father afraid? He was on the verge of tears when his mother discovered him and shooed him from the room. “Don’t worry about it,” she’d said.
The man’s screaming and ramblings came through the open windows of the house. The older brothers just watched tv. In the boy’s head the words rattled like pennies shaking in a tin can: coming for me, know my thoughts, captured, Jack!
“What’s Dad gonna do?” he asked. Neither brother paid him any mind. Mom had retreated to the kitchen to drink vodka from a coffee cup and read a romance novel. No one was there to answer his questions or explain how the radio in the man’s ass helped them hear his thoughts. A radio produces sound. From the tiny living room he watched his mother flip the pages and take out her dentures from time to time as the wails and hollers from the deck bounced off the grubby house next door, through the futile, torn window screen, right into his ear.
“Jack, Jack, they did it, they’re coming for me!” he yelled as he pounded the back door. He was skinny for a grown man and had a bump the size of a marble sticking out from his temple that looked like it could be popped with a needle. The old man stopped him rushing in from the back door and forced him to sit out on the deck. The man screamed in fear but worry wore his face for some other reason. The kids dared not go out onto the deck but one of them sat beneath an open window and listened from the parents’ bedroom.
“They stuck a radio in my ass and they know my thoughts Jack!”
The old man just rubbed his chin stubble like he usually did, as if nothing much had changed.
The child listened from the bedroom as the man raved on and on while the old man nodded here and there. The things the man said scared the child. His breathless sped-up talking about being captured and overtaken and transported made the child believe it. But the old man just listened, a rub of the chin, a nod.
They went out behind the garage and the child could no longer hear them. The child thought he’d heard the man say something about looking in his ass as they walked out there. Must have been out there five minutes or longer.
“You gotta take me to the hospital Jack! They gotta take it out!” His shirt was off now and he was screaming, sounding more panicked than before. He was grotesquely skinny; his ribs and clavicles wanted to break the skin and the mid-day sun drenched him with sweat.
With every scream and curse word, the child became more afraid. The man would stand up and point a relentless finger at his father then sit back down as quickly then yell and blame again so the child worried the man was going to go after his father. But the old man just sat quietly, didn’t even say anything, just listened. Then the man looked off to the left and had a conversation as if someone else was there asking him questions.
The boy listened and fidgeted his fingers in and out of his mouth and waited; he couldn’t understand why his father wouldn’t take him away or make him go away. Why wasn’t his father afraid? He was on the verge of tears when his mother discovered him and shooed him from the room. “Don’t worry about it,” she’d said.
The man’s screaming and ramblings came through the open windows of the house. The older brothers just watched tv. In the boy’s head the words rattled like pennies shaking in a tin can: coming for me, know my thoughts, captured, Jack!
“What’s Dad gonna do?” he asked. Neither brother paid him any mind. Mom had retreated to the kitchen to drink vodka from a coffee cup and read a romance novel. No one was there to answer his questions or explain how the radio in the man’s ass helped them hear his thoughts. A radio produces sound. From the tiny living room he watched his mother flip the pages and take out her dentures from time to time as the wails and hollers from the deck bounced off the grubby house next door, through the futile, torn window screen, right into his ear.
What’s Dad gonna do?
***
Word Count: 606
Write: For this assignment, take a brief piece
(500-750) you have written and revise/ write in the style of the featured
author. In other words, revise so as to mimic the style
of the featured author. You can, as well, compose a brand new
piece in this style.
Featured author: Truman
Capote
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