Class XII Should Wizard Hit Mommy? - Phonetic Transcription of the Text

In the evenings and for Saturday naps	ɪn ði ˈiːvnɪŋz ænd fɔː ˈsætədeɪ næps
like today’s, Jack told his daughter Jo a	laɪk təˈdeɪz, ʤæk təʊld hɪz ˈdɔːtə ʤəʊ eɪ
story out of his head. This custom,	ˈstɔːri aʊt ɒv hɪz hɛd. ðɪs ˈkʌstəm,
begun when she was two, was itself now	bɪˈgʌn wɛn ʃiː wɒz tuː, wɒz ɪtˈsɛlf naʊ
nearly two years old, and his head felt	ˈnɪəli tuː jɪəz əʊld, ænd hɪz hɛd fɛlt
empty. Each new story was a slight	ˈɛmpti. iːʧ njuː ˈstɔːri wɒz ə slaɪt
variation of a basic tale: a small Who is Jo?	ˌveərɪˈeɪʃən ɒv ə ˈbeɪsɪk teɪl: ə smɔːl huː ɪz ʤəʊ?
How creature, usually named Roger	haʊ ˈkriːʧə, ˈjuːʒʊəli neɪmd ˈrəʊʤə
(Roger does she respond	(ˈrəʊʤə dʌz ʃiː rɪsˈpɒnd
Fish, Roger Squirrel, Roger Chipmunk),	fɪʃ, ˈrəʊʤə ˈskwɪrəl, ˈrəʊʤə ˈʧɪpmʌŋk),
had some problem and went with it to	hæd sʌm ˈprɒbləm ænd wɛnt wɪð ɪt tuː
the wise old owl. The owl told him to go	ðə waɪz əʊld aʊl. ði aʊl təʊld hɪm tuː gəʊ
to the wizard, and the wizard performed	tuː ðə ˈwɪzəd, ænd ðə ˈwɪzəd pəˈfɔːmd
a magic spell	ə ˈmæʤɪk spɛl
that solved the problem, demanding in payment	ðæt sɒlvd ðə ˈprɒbləm, dɪˈmɑːndɪŋ ɪn ˈpeɪmənt
a number of pennies greater	ə ˈnʌmbər ɒv ˈpɛnɪz ˈgreɪtə
than the number	ðæn ðə ˈnʌmbə
that Roger Creature had, but in the same breath	ðæt ˈrəʊʤə ˈkriːʧə hæd, bʌt ɪn ðə seɪm brɛθ
directing the animal to a place	dɪˈrɛktɪŋ ði ˈænɪməl tuː ə pleɪs
where the extra pennies	weə ði ˈɛkstrə ˈpɛnɪz
could be found. Then Roger was so happy	kʊd biː faʊnd. ðɛn ˈrəʊʤə wɒz səʊ ˈhæpi
he played many games with other creatures,	hiː pleɪd ˈmɛni geɪmz wɪð ˈʌðə ˈkriːʧəz,
and went home to his mother just in time	ænd wɛnt həʊm tuː hɪz ˈmʌðə ʤʌst ɪn taɪm
to hear the train whistle	tuː hɪə ðə treɪn ˈwɪsl
that brought his daddy home	ðæt brɔːt hɪz ˈdædi həʊm
from Boston. Jack described their supper,	frɒm ˈbɒstən. ʤæk dɪsˈkraɪbd ðeə ˈsʌpə,
and the story was over.	ænd ðə ˈstɔːri wɒz ˈəʊvə.
Working his way through this scheme	ˈwɜːkɪŋ hɪz weɪ θruː ðɪs skiːm
was especially fatiguing on Saturday,	wɒz ɪsˈpɛʃəli fəˈtiːgɪŋ ɒn ˈsætədeɪ,
because Jo never fell asleep	bɪˈkɒz ʤəʊ ˈnɛvə fɛl əˈsliːp
in naps any more,	ɪn næps ˈɛni mɔː,
and knowing this made	ænd ˈnəʊɪŋ ðɪs meɪd
the rite seem futile.	ðə raɪt siːm ˈfjuːtaɪl.
The little girl (not so little any more;	ðə ˈlɪtl gɜːl (nɒt səʊ ˈlɪtl ˈɛni mɔː;
the bumps her feet made	ðə bʌmps hɜː fiːt meɪd
under the covers were halfway down the bed,	ˈʌndə ðə ˈkʌvəz wɜː ˌhɑːfˈweɪ daʊn ðə bɛd,
their big double bed	ðeə bɪg ˈdʌbl bɛd
that they let her be in for naps	ðæt ðeɪ lɛt hɜː biː ɪn fɔː næps
and when she was sick)	ænd wɛn ʃiː wɒz sɪk)
had at last arranged herself,	hæd æt lɑːst əˈreɪnʤd hɜːˈsɛlf,
and from the way her fat face	ænd frɒm ðə weɪ hɜː fæt feɪs
deep in the pillow	diːp ɪn ðə ˈpɪləʊ
shone in the sunlight sifting through	ʃɒn ɪn ðə ˈsʌnlaɪt ˈsɪftɪŋ θruː
the drawn shades,	ðə drɔːn ʃeɪdz,
it did not seem fantastic	ɪt dɪd nɒt siːm fænˈtæstɪk
that some magic would occur,	ðæt sʌm ˈmæʤɪk wʊd əˈkɜː,
and she would take her nap	ænd ʃiː wʊd teɪk hɜː næp
like an infant of two.	laɪk ən ˈɪnfənt ɒv tuː.
Her brother, Bobby, was two,	hɜː ˈbrʌðə, ˈbɒbi, wɒz tuː,
and already asleep	ænd ɔːlˈrɛdi əˈsliːp
with his bottle. Jack asked,	wɪð hɪz ˈbɒtl. ʤæk ɑːskt,
“Who shall the story be about today?”	“huː ʃæl ðə ˈstɔːri biː əˈbaʊt təˈdeɪ?”
“Roger...” Jo squeezed her eyes shut	“ˈrəʊʤə...” ʤəʊ skwiːzd hɜːr aɪz ʃʌt
and smiled to be thinking	ænd smaɪld tuː biː ˈθɪŋkɪŋ
she was thinking.	ʃiː wɒz ˈθɪŋkɪŋ.
Her eyes opened, her mother’s blue.	hɜːr aɪz ˈəʊpənd, hɜː ˈmʌðəz bluː.
“Skunk,” she said firmly.	“skʌŋk,” ʃiː sɛd ˈfɜːmli.
A new animal;	ə njuː ˈænɪməl;
they must talk about skunks	ðeɪ mʌst tɔːk əˈbaʊt skʌŋks
at nursery school.	æt ˈnɜːsəri skuːl.
Having a fresh hero momentarily	ˈhævɪŋ ə frɛʃ ˈhɪərəʊ ˈməʊməntərɪli
stirred Jack to creative enthusiasm.	stɜːd ʤæk tuː kri(ː)ˈeɪtɪv ɪnˈθjuːzɪæzm.
“All right,” he said.	“ɔːl raɪt,” hiː sɛd.
“Once upon a time,	“wʌns əˈpɒn ə taɪm,
in the deep dark woods,	ɪn ðə diːp dɑːk wʊdz,
there was a tiny little creature	ðeə wɒz ə ˈtaɪni ˈlɪtl ˈkriːʧə
by the name of Roger Skunk.	baɪ ðə neɪm ɒv ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk.
And he smelled very bad.”	ænd hiː smɛld ˈvɛri bæd.”
“Yes,” Jo said.	“jɛs,” ʤəʊ sɛd.
“He smelled so bad that none of	“hiː smɛld səʊ bæd ðæt nʌn ɒv
the other little woodland creatures	ði ˈʌðə ˈlɪtl ˈwʊdlənd ˈkriːʧəz
would play with him.”	wʊd pleɪ wɪð hɪm.”
Jo looked at him solemnly;	ʤəʊ lʊkt æt hɪm ˈsɒləmli;
she hadn’t foreseen this.	ʃiː ˈhædnt fɔːˈsiːn ðɪs.
“Whenever he would go out to play,”	“wɛnˈɛvə hiː wʊd gəʊ aʊt tuː pleɪ,”
Jack continued with zest,	ʤæk kənˈtɪnju(ː)d wɪð zɛst,
remembering certain humiliations	rɪˈmɛmbərɪŋ ˈsɜːtn hju(ː)ˌmɪlɪˈeɪʃənz
of his own childhood,	ɒv hɪz əʊn ˈʧaɪldhʊd,
“all of the other tiny animals would cry,	“ɔːl ɒv ði ˈʌðə ˈtaɪni ˈænɪməlz wʊd kraɪ,
“Uh-oh, here comes Roger Stinky Skunk,”	“ʌ-əʊ, hɪə kʌmz ˈrəʊʤə Stinky skʌŋk,”
and they would run away,	ænd ðeɪ wʊd rʌn əˈweɪ,
and Roger Skunk would stand there all alone,	ænd ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk wʊd stænd ðeər ɔːl əˈləʊn,
and two little round tears	ænd tuː ˈlɪtl raʊnd teəz
would fall from his eyes.”	wʊd fɔːl frɒm hɪz aɪz.”
The corners of Jo’s mouth drooped down	ðə ˈkɔːnəz ɒv ʤəʊz maʊθ druːpt daʊn
and her lower lip bent forward	ænd hɜː ˈləʊə lɪp bɛnt ˈfɔːwəd
as he traced	æz hiː treɪst
with a forefinger along the side of her nose	wɪð ə ˈfɔːˌfɪŋgər əˈlɒŋ ðə saɪd ɒv hɜː nəʊz
the course of one of Roger Skunk’s tears.	ðə kɔːs ɒv wʌn ɒv ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋks teəz.
“Won’t he see the owl?” she asked	“wəʊnt hiː siː ði aʊl?” ʃiː ɑːskt
in a high and faintly roughened voice.	ɪn ə haɪ ænd ˈfeɪntli ˈrʌfnd vɔɪs.
Sitting on the bed beside her,	ˈsɪtɪŋ ɒn ðə bɛd bɪˈsaɪd hɜː,
Jack felt the covers tug	ʤæk fɛlt ðə ˈkʌvəz tʌg
as her legs switched tensely.	æz hɜː lɛgz swɪʧt ˈtɛnsli.
He was pleased with this moment —	hiː wɒz pliːzd wɪð ðɪs ˈməʊmənt —
he was telling her something true,	hiː wɒz ˈtɛlɪŋ hɜː ˈsʌmθɪŋ truː,
something she must know —	ˈsʌmθɪŋ ʃiː mʌst nəʊ —
and had no wish to hurry on.	ænd hæd nəʊ wɪʃ tuː ˈhʌri ɒn.
But downstairs a chair scraped,	bʌt ˌdaʊnˈsteəz ə ʧeə skreɪpt,
and he realised he must get down	ænd hiː ˈrɪəlaɪzd hiː mʌst gɛt daʊn
to help Clare paint the living-room woodwork.	tuː hɛlp kleə peɪnt ðə ˈlɪvɪŋ-ruːm ˈwʊdwɜːk.
“Well, he walked along very sadly	“wɛl, hiː wɔːkt əˈlɒŋ ˈvɛri ˈsædli
and came to a very big tree,	ænd keɪm tuː ə ˈvɛri bɪg triː,
and in the tiptop of the tree	ænd ɪn ðə ˈtɪpˈtɒp ɒv ðə triː
was an enormous wise old owl.”	wɒz ən ɪˈnɔːməs waɪz əʊld aʊl.”
“Good.”	“gʊd.”
“Mr Owl,” Roger Skunk said,	“Mr aʊl,” ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk sɛd,
“all the other little animals run away from me	“ɔːl ði ˈʌðə ˈlɪtl ˈænɪməlz rʌn əˈweɪ frɒm miː
because I smell so bad.”	bɪˈkɒz aɪ smɛl səʊ bæd.”
“So you do,” the owl said.	“səʊ juː duː,” ði aʊl sɛd.
“Very, very bad.”	“ˈvɛri, ˈvɛri bæd.”
“What can I do?” Roger Skunk said,	“wɒt kæn aɪ duː?” ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk sɛd,
and he cried very hard.	ænd hiː kraɪd ˈvɛri hɑːd.
“The wizard, the wizard,”	“ðə ˈwɪzəd, ðə ˈwɪzəd,”
Jo shouted, and sat right up,	ʤəʊ ˈʃaʊtɪd, ænd sæt raɪt ʌp,
and a Little Golden Book spilled from the bed.	ænd ə ˈlɪtl ˈgəʊldən bʊk spɪld frɒm ðə bɛd.
“Now, Jo. Daddy’s telling the story.	“naʊ, ʤəʊ. ˈdædiz ˈtɛlɪŋ ðə ˈstɔːri.
Do you want to tell Daddy the story?”	duː juː wɒnt tuː tɛl ˈdædi ðə ˈstɔːri?”
“No. You me.”	“nəʊ. juː miː.”
“Then lie down and be sleepy.”	“ðɛn laɪ daʊn ænd biː ˈsliːpi.”
Her head relapsed onto the pillow	hɜː hɛd rɪˈlæpst ˈɒntʊ ðə ˈpɪləʊ
and she said,	ænd ʃiː sɛd,
“Out of your head.”	“aʊt ɒv jɔː hɛd.”
“Well. The owl thought and thought.	“wɛl. ði aʊl θɔːt ænd θɔːt.
At last he said, “Why don’t you go see the wizard?”	æt lɑːst hiː sɛd, “waɪ dəʊnt juː gəʊ siː ðə ˈwɪzəd?”
“Daddy?”	“ˈdædi?”
“What?”	“wɒt?”
“Are magic spells real?”	“ɑː ˈmæʤɪk spɛlz rɪəl?”
This was a new phase,	ðɪs wɒz ə njuː feɪz,
just this last month, a reality phase.	ʤʌst ðɪs lɑːst mʌnθ, ə ri(ː)ˈælɪti feɪz.
When he told her spiders eat bugs,	wɛn hiː təʊld hɜː ˈspaɪdəz iːt bʌgz,
she turned to her mother and asked,	ʃiː tɜːnd tuː hɜː ˈmʌðər ænd ɑːskt,
“Do they really?”	“duː ðeɪ ˈrɪəli?”
and when Clare told her	ænd wɛn kleə təʊld hɜː
God was in the sky	gɒd wɒz ɪn ðə skaɪ
and all around them,	ænd ɔːl əˈraʊnd ðɛm,
she turned with a sly yet eager smile,	ʃiː tɜːnd wɪð ə slaɪ jɛt ˈiːgə smaɪl,
“Is “They’re real in stories,”	“ɪz “ðeə rɪəl ɪn ˈstɔːriz,”
had made him miss a beat in	hæd meɪd hɪm mɪs ə biːt ɪn
“Go through the dark woods,	“gəʊ θruː ðə dɑːk wʊdz,
the swamp,	ðə swɒmp,
over the crick —”	ˈəʊvə ðə krɪk —”
“What’s a crick?”	“wɒts ə krɪk?”
A little river. “Over the crick,	ə ˈlɪtl ˈrɪvə. “ˈəʊvə ðə krɪk,
and there will be the wizard’s house.”	ænd ðeə wɪl biː ðə ˈwɪzədz haʊs.”
And that’s the way Roger Skunk went,	ænd ðæts ðə weɪ ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk wɛnt,
and pretty soon he came to	ænd ˈprɪti suːn hiː keɪm tuː
a little white house,	ə ˈlɪtl waɪt haʊs,
and he rapped on the door.”	ænd hiː ræpt ɒn ðə dɔː.”
Jack rapped on the window sill,	ʤæk ræpt ɒn ðə ˈwɪndəʊ sɪl,
and under the covers Jo’s tall figure	ænd ˈʌndə ðə ˈkʌvəz ʤəʊz tɔːl ˈfɪgə
clenched in an infantile thrill.	klɛnʧt ɪn ən ˈɪnfəntaɪl θrɪl.
“And then a tiny little old man came out,	“ænd ðɛn ə ˈtaɪni ˈlɪtl əʊld mæn keɪm aʊt,
with a long white beard	wɪð ə lɒŋ waɪt bɪəd
and a pointed blue hat,	ænd ə ˈpɔɪntɪd bluː hæt,
and said, “Eh? Whatzis? Whatcher want?	ænd sɛd, “eɪ? Whatzis? Whatcher wɒnt?
You smell awful.”	juː smɛl ˈɔːfʊl.”
The wizard’s voice was	ðə ˈwɪzədz vɔɪs wɒz
one of Jack’s own favourite effects;	wʌn ɒv ʤæks əʊn ˈfeɪvərɪt ɪˈfɛkts;
he did it by scrunching up his face	hiː dɪd ɪt baɪ ˈskrʌnʧɪŋ ʌp hɪz feɪs
and somehow whining through his eyes,	ænd ˈsʌmhaʊ ˈwaɪnɪŋ θruː hɪz aɪz,
which felt for the interval rheumy.	wɪʧ fɛlt fɔː ði ˈɪntəvəl rheumy.
He felt being an old man suited him.	hiː fɛlt ˈbiːɪŋ ən əʊld mæn ˈsjuːtɪd hɪm.
“I know it,” Roger Skunk said,	“aɪ nəʊ ɪt,” ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk sɛd,
“and all the little animals run away from me.	“ænd ɔːl ðə ˈlɪtl ˈænɪməlz rʌn əˈweɪ frɒm miː.
The enormous wise owl said	ði ɪˈnɔːməs waɪz aʊl sɛd
you could help me.”	juː kʊd hɛlp miː.”
“Eh? Well, maybe. Come on in.	“eɪ? wɛl, ˈmeɪbiː. kʌm ɒn ɪn.
Don’t get too close.”	dəʊnt gɛt tuː kləʊs.”
Now, inside, Jo, there were all	naʊ, ɪnˈsaɪd, ʤəʊ, ðeə wɜːr ɔːl
these magic things,	ðiːz ˈmæʤɪk θɪŋz,
all jumbled together in a big dusty heap,	ɔːl ˈʤʌmbld təˈgɛðər ɪn ə bɪg ˈdʌsti hiːp,
because the wizard did not have	bɪˈkɒz ðə ˈwɪzəd dɪd nɒt hæv
any cleaning lady.”	ˈɛni ˈkliːnɪŋ ˈleɪdi.”
“Why?”	“waɪ?”
“Why? Because he was a wizard,	“waɪ? bɪˈkɒz hiː wɒz ə ˈwɪzəd,
and a very old man.”	ænd ə ˈvɛri əʊld mæn.”
“Will he die?”	“wɪl hiː daɪ?”
“No. Wizards don’t die. Well,	“nəʊ. ˈwɪzədz dəʊnt daɪ. wɛl,
he rummaged around and found	hiː ˈrʌmɪʤd əˈraʊnd ænd faʊnd
an old stick called a magic wand	ən əʊld stɪk kɔːld ə ˈmæʤɪk wɒnd
and asked Roger Skunk	ænd ɑːskt ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk
what he wanted to smell like.	wɒt hiː ˈwɒntɪd tuː smɛl laɪk.
Roger thought and thought and said,	ˈrəʊʤə θɔːt ænd θɔːt ænd sɛd,
“Roses.”	“ˈrəʊzɪz.”
“Yes. Good,” Jo said smugly.	“jɛs. gʊd,” ʤəʊ sɛd ˈsmʌgli.
Jack fixed her with a trance like gaze	ʤæk fɪkst hɜː wɪð ə trɑːns laɪk geɪz
and chanted in the wizard’s	ænd ˈʧɑːntɪd ɪn ðə ˈwɪzədz
elderly irritable voice:	ˈɛldəli ˈɪrɪtəbl vɔɪs:
“Abracadabry, hocus-poo, Roger Skunk,	“Abracadabry, ˈhəʊkəs-puː, ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk,
how do you do, Roses, boses, pull an ear,	haʊ duː juː duː, ˈrəʊzɪz, boses, pʊl ən ɪə,
Roger Skunk, you never fear:	ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk, juː ˈnɛvə fɪə:
Bingo!”	ˈbɪŋgəʊ!”
He paused as a rapt expression	hiː pɔːzd æz ə ræpt ɪksˈprɛʃən
widened out from his daughter’s nostrils,	ˈwaɪdnd aʊt frɒm hɪz ˈdɔːtəz ˈnɒstrɪlz,
forcing her eyebrows up	ˈfɔːsɪŋ hɜːr ˈaɪbraʊz ʌp
and her lower lip down	ænd hɜː ˈləʊə lɪp daʊn
in a wide noiseless grin,	ɪn ə waɪd ˈnɔɪzlɪs grɪn,
an expression in which Jack was startled	ən ɪksˈprɛʃən ɪn wɪʧ ʤæk wɒz ˈstɑːtld
to recognise his wife feigning pleasure	tuː ˈrɛkəgnaɪz hɪz waɪf ˈfeɪnɪŋ ˈplɛʒə
at cocktail parties.	æt ˈkɒkteɪl ˈpɑːtiz.
“And all of a sudden,” he whispered,	“ænd ɔːl ɒv ə ˈsʌdn,” hiː ˈwɪspəd,
“the whole inside of the wizard’s house	“ðə həʊl ɪnˈsaɪd ɒv ðə ˈwɪzədz haʊs
was full of the smell of — roses! ‘Roses!’	wɒz fʊl ɒv ðə smɛl ɒv — ˈrəʊzɪz! ˈrəʊzɪz!’
Roger Fish cried.	ˈrəʊʤə fɪʃ kraɪd.
And the wizard said, very cranky,	ænd ðə ˈwɪzəd sɛd, ˈvɛri ˈkræŋki,
“That’ll be seven pennies.”	“ˈðætl biː ˈsɛvn ˈpɛnɪz.”
“Daddy.”	“ˈdædi.”
“What?”	“wɒt?”
“Roger Skunk. You said Roger Fish.”	“ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk. juː sɛd ˈrəʊʤə fɪʃ.”
“Yes. Skunk.”	“jɛs. skʌŋk.”
“You said Roger Fish. Wasn’t that silly?”	“juː sɛd ˈrəʊʤə fɪʃ. wɒznt ðæt ˈsɪli?”
“Very silly of your stupid old daddy.	“ˈvɛri ˈsɪli ɒv jɔː ˈstjuːpɪd əʊld ˈdædi.
Where was I? Well,	weə wɒz aɪ? wɛl,
you know about the pennies.”	juː nəʊ əˈbaʊt ðə ˈpɛnɪz.”
“Say it.”	“seɪ ɪt.”
“O.K. Roger Skunk said,	“əʊ.keɪ. ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk sɛd,
‘But all I have is four pennies,’	bʌt ɔːl aɪ hæv ɪz fɔː ˈpɛnɪz,’
and he began to cry.”	ænd hiː bɪˈgæn tuː kraɪ.”
Jo made the crying face again,	ʤəʊ meɪd ðə ˈkraɪɪŋ feɪs əˈgɛn,
but this time without a trace of sincerity.	bʌt ðɪs taɪm wɪˈðaʊt ə treɪs ɒv sɪnˈsɛrɪti.
This annoyed Jack.	ðɪs əˈnɔɪd ʤæk.
Downstairs some more furniture rumbled.	ˌdaʊnˈsteəz sʌm mɔː ˈfɜːnɪʧə ˈrʌmbld.
Clare shouldn’t move heavy things;	kleə ʃʊdnt muːv ˈhɛvi θɪŋz;
she was six months pregnant.	ʃiː wɒz sɪks mʌnθs ˈprɛgnənt.
It would be their third.	ɪt wʊd biː ðeə θɜːd.
“So the wizard said,	“səʊ ðə ˈwɪzəd sɛd,
‘Oh, very well. Go to the end of the lane	əʊ, ˈvɛri wɛl. gəʊ tuː ði ɛnd ɒv ðə leɪn
and turn around three times	ænd tɜːn əˈraʊnd θriː taɪmz
and look down the magic well	ænd lʊk daʊn ðə ˈmæʤɪk wɛl
and there you will find three pennies.	ænd ðeə juː wɪl faɪnd θriː ˈpɛnɪz.
Hurry up.’	ˈhʌri ʌp.’
So Roger Skunk went to the end of the lane	səʊ ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk wɛnt tuː ði ɛnd ɒv ðə leɪn
and turned around three times	ænd tɜːnd əˈraʊnd θriː taɪmz
and there in the magic well were three pennies!	ænd ðeər ɪn ðə ˈmæʤɪk wɛl wɜː θriː ˈpɛnɪz!
So he took them back to the wizard	səʊ hiː tʊk ðɛm bæk tuː ðə ˈwɪzəd
and was very happy	ænd wɒz ˈvɛri ˈhæpi
and ran out into the woods	ænd ræn aʊt ˈɪntuː ðə wʊdz
and all the other little animals gathered	ænd ɔːl ði ˈʌðə ˈlɪtl ˈænɪməlz ˈgæðəd
around him because he smelled so good.	əˈraʊnd hɪm bɪˈkɒz hiː smɛld səʊ gʊd.
And they played tag, baseball, football,	ænd ðeɪ pleɪd tæg, ˈbeɪsbɔːl, ˈfʊtbɔːl,
basketball, lacrosse, hockey, soccer,	ˈbɑːskɪtˌbɔːl, ləˈkrɒs, ˈhɒki, ˈsɒkə,
and pick-up-sticks.”	ænd pɪk-ʌp-stɪks.”
“What’s pick-up-sticks?”	“wɒts pɪk-ʌp-stɪks?”
“It’s a game you play with sticks.”	“ɪts ə geɪm juː pleɪ wɪð stɪks.”
“Like the wizard’s magic wand?”	“laɪk ðə ˈwɪzədz ˈmæʤɪk wɒnd?”
“Kind of. And they played games	“kaɪnd ɒv. ænd ðeɪ pleɪd geɪmz
and laughed all afternoon and	ænd lɑːft ɔːl ˈɑːftəˈnuːn ænd
then it began to get dark	ðɛn ɪt bɪˈgæn tuː gɛt dɑːk
and they all ran home to their mommies.”	ænd ðeɪ ɔːl ræn həʊm tuː ðeə ˈmɒmiz.”
Jo was starting to fuss with her hands	ʤəʊ wɒz ˈstɑːtɪŋ tuː fʌs wɪð hɜː hændz
and look out of the window,	ænd lʊk aʊt ɒv ðə ˈwɪndəʊ,
at the crack of day that showed	æt ðə kræk ɒv deɪ ðæt ʃəʊd
under the shade.	ˈʌndə ðə ʃeɪd.
She thought the story was all over.	ʃiː θɔːt ðə ˈstɔːri wɒz ɔːl ˈəʊvə.
Jack didn’t like women	ʤæk dɪdnt laɪk ˈwɪmɪn
when they took anything for granted;	wɛn ðeɪ tʊk ˈɛnɪθɪŋ fɔː ˈgrɑːntɪd;
he liked them apprehensive,	hiː laɪkt ðɛm ˌæprɪˈhɛnsɪv,
hanging on his words.	ˈhæŋɪŋ ɒn hɪz wɜːdz.
“Now, Jo, are you listening?”	“naʊ, ʤəʊ, ɑː juː ˈlɪsnɪŋ?”
“Yes.”	“jɛs.”
“Because this is very interesting.	“bɪˈkɒz ðɪs ɪz ˈvɛri ˈɪntrɪstɪŋ.
Roger Skunk’s mommy said,	ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋks ˈmɒmi sɛd,
‘What’s that awful smell?’	wɒts ðæt ˈɔːfʊl smɛl?’
“Wha-at?”	“Wha-æt?”
“And, Roger Skunk said,	“ænd, ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk sɛd,
‘It’s me, Mommy. I smell like roses.’	ɪts miː, ˈmɒmi. aɪ smɛl laɪk ˈrəʊzɪz.’
And she said,	ænd ʃiː sɛd,
‘Who made you smell like that?’	huː meɪd juː smɛl laɪk ðæt?’
And he said, ‘The wizard,’	ænd hiː sɛd, ðə ˈwɪzəd,’
and she said, ‘Well, of all the nerve.	ænd ʃiː sɛd, wɛl, ɒv ɔːl ðə nɜːv.
You come with me	juː kʌm wɪð miː
and we’re going right back	ænd wɪə ˈgəʊɪŋ raɪt bæk
to that very awful wizard.”	tuː ðæt ˈvɛri ˈɔːfʊl ˈwɪzəd.”
Jo sat up, her hands dabbling in the air	ʤəʊ sæt ʌp, hɜː hændz ˈdæblɪŋ ɪn ði eə
with genuine fright. “But Daddy,	wɪð ˈʤɛnjʊɪn fraɪt. “bʌt ˈdædi,
then he said about	ðɛn hiː sɛd əˈbaʊt
the other little animals run away!”	ði ˈʌðə ˈlɪtl ˈænɪməlz rʌn əˈweɪ!”
Her hands skittered off, into the underbrush.	hɜː hændz ˈskɪtəd ɒf, ˈɪntuː ði ˈʌndəbrʌʃ.
“All right. He said, ‘But Mommy,	“ɔːl raɪt. hiː sɛd, bʌt ˈmɒmi,
all the other little animals run away,’	ɔːl ði ˈʌðə ˈlɪtl ˈænɪməlz rʌn əˈweɪ,’
and she said, ‘I don’t care.	ænd ʃiː sɛd, aɪ dəʊnt keə.
You smelled the way a little skunk	juː smɛld ðə weɪ ə ˈlɪtl skʌŋk
should have and I’m going to take you	ʃʊd hæv ænd aɪm ˈgəʊɪŋ tuː teɪk juː
right back to that wizard,’	raɪt bæk tuː ðæt ˈwɪzəd,’
and she took an umbrella	ænd ʃiː tʊk ən ʌmˈbrɛlə
and went back with Roger Skunk	ænd wɛnt bæk wɪð ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk
and hit that wizard right over the head.”	ænd hɪt ðæt ˈwɪzəd raɪt ˈəʊvə ðə hɛd.”
“No,” Jo said,	“nəʊ,” ʤəʊ sɛd,
and put her hand out to touch his lips,	ænd pʊt hɜː hænd aʊt tuː tʌʧ hɪz lɪps,
yet even in her agitation did not quite dare	jɛt ˈiːvən ɪn hɜːr ˌæʤɪˈteɪʃ(ə)n dɪd nɒt kwaɪt deə
to stop the source of truth.	tuː stɒp ðə sɔːs ɒv truːθ.
Inspiration came to her.	ˌɪnspəˈreɪʃən keɪm tuː hɜː.
“Then the wizard hit her on the head	“ðɛn ðə ˈwɪzəd hɪt hɜːr ɒn ðə hɛd
and did not change that little skunk back.”	ænd dɪd nɒt ʧeɪnʤ ðæt ˈlɪtl skʌŋk bæk.”
“No,” he said. “The wizard said ‘O.K.’	“nəʊ,” hiː sɛd. “ðə ˈwɪzəd sɛd əʊ.keɪ.’
and Roger Skunk did not smell	ænd ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk dɪd nɒt smɛl
of roses any more.	ɒv ˈrəʊzɪz ˈɛni mɔː.
He smelled very bad again.”	hiː smɛld ˈvɛri bæd əˈgɛn.”
“But the other little amum — oh! — amum — ”	“bʌt ði ˈʌðə ˈlɪtl amum — əʊ! — amum — ”
“Joanne. It’s Daddy’s story.	“ʤəʊˈæn. ɪts ˈdædiz ˈstɔːri.
Shall Daddy not tell you any more stories?”	ʃæl ˈdædi nɒt tɛl juː ˈɛni mɔː ˈstɔːriz?”
Her broad face looked at him	hɜː brɔːd feɪs lʊkt æt hɪm
through sifted light, astounded.	θruː ˈsɪftɪd laɪt, əsˈtaʊndɪd.
“This is what happened, then.	“ðɪs ɪz wɒt ˈhæpənd, ðɛn.
Roger Skunk and his mommy went home	ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk ænd hɪz ˈmɒmi wɛnt həʊm
and they heard Woo-oo, woooo-oo	ænd ðeɪ hɜːd wuː-oo, woooo-oo
and it was the choo-choo train	ænd ɪt wɒz ðə choo-choo treɪn
bringing Daddy Skunk home from Boston.	ˈbrɪŋɪŋ ˈdædi skʌŋk həʊm frɒm ˈbɒstən.
And they had lima beans, celery, liver,	ænd ðeɪ hæd ˈliːmə biːnz, ˈsɛləri, ˈlɪvə,
mashed potatoes,	mæʃt pəˈteɪtəʊz,
and Pie-Oh-My for dessert.	ænd paɪ-əʊ-maɪ fɔː dɪˈzɜːt.
And when Roger Skunk was in bed	ænd wɛn ˈrəʊʤə skʌŋk wɒz ɪn bɛd
Mommy Skunk came up	ˈmɒmi skʌŋk keɪm ʌp
and hugged him	ænd hʌgd hɪm
and said he smelled	ænd sɛd hiː smɛld
like her little baby skunk again	laɪk hɜː ˈlɪtl ˈbeɪbi skʌŋk əˈgɛn
and she loved him very much.	ænd ʃiː lʌvd hɪm ˈvɛri mʌʧ.
And that’s the end of the story.”	ænd ðæts ði ɛnd ɒv ðə ˈstɔːri.”
“But Daddy.”	“bʌt ˈdædi.”
“What?”	“wɒt?”
“Then did the other little animals	“ðɛn dɪd ði ˈʌðə ˈlɪtl ˈænɪməlz
run away?”	rʌn əˈweɪ?”
“No, because eventually they got	“nəʊ, bɪˈkɒz ɪˈvɛnʧəli ðeɪ gɒt
used to the way he was	juːzd tuː ðə weɪ hiː wɒz
and did not mind it at all.”	ænd dɪd nɒt maɪnd ɪt æt ɔːl.”
“What’s evenshiladee?”	“wɒts evenshiladee?”
“In a little while.”	“ɪn ə ˈlɪtl waɪl.”
“That was a stupid mommy.”	“ðæt wɒz ə ˈstjuːpɪd ˈmɒmi.”
“It was not,” he said with rare emphasis,	“ɪt wɒz nɒt,” hiː sɛd wɪð reər ˈɛmfəsɪs,
and believed,	ænd bɪˈliːvd,
from her expression,	frɒm hɜːr ɪksˈprɛʃən,
that she realised he was defending	ðæt ʃiː ˈrɪəlaɪzd hiː wɒz dɪˈfɛndɪŋ
his own mother to her,	hɪz əʊn ˈmʌðə tuː hɜː,
or something as odd.	ɔː ˈsʌmθɪŋ æz ɒd.
“Now I want you to put your big heavy head	“naʊ aɪ wɒnt juː tuː pʊt jɔː bɪg ˈhɛvi hɛd
in the pillow and have a good long nap.”	ɪn ðə ˈpɪləʊ ænd hæv ə gʊd lɒŋ næp.”
He adjusted the shade so not even	hiː əˈʤʌstɪd ðə ʃeɪd səʊ nɒt ˈiːvən
a crack of day showed,	ə kræk ɒv deɪ ʃəʊd,
and tiptoed to the door,	ænd ˈtɪptəʊd tuː ðə dɔː,
in the pretense that she was already asleep.	ɪn ðə prɪˈtɛns ðæt ʃiː wɒz ɔːlˈrɛdi əˈsliːp.
But when he turned,	bʌt wɛn hiː tɜːnd,
she was crouching on top of the covers	ʃiː wɒz ˈkraʊʧɪŋ ɒn tɒp ɒv ðə ˈkʌvəz
and staring at him.	ænd ˈsteərɪŋ æt hɪm.
“Hey. Get under the covers	“heɪ. gɛt ˈʌndə ðə ˈkʌvəz
and fall faaast asleep. Bobby’s asleep.”	ænd fɔːl faaast əˈsliːp. ˈbɒbiz əˈsliːp.”
She stood up	ʃiː stʊd ʌp
and bounced gingerly on the springs.	ænd baʊnst ˈʤɪnʤəli ɒn ðə sprɪŋz.
“Daddy.”	“ˈdædi.”
“What?”	“wɒt?”
“Tomorrow, I want you to tell me the story	“təˈmɒrəʊ, aɪ wɒnt juː tuː tɛl miː ðə ˈstɔːri
that that wizard took that magic wand	ðæt ðæt ˈwɪzəd tʊk ðæt ˈmæʤɪk wɒnd
and hit that mommy” —	ænd hɪt ðæt ˈmɒmi” —
her plump arms chopped forcefully —	hɜː plʌmp ɑːmz ʧɒpt ˈfɔːsfʊli —
“right over the head.”	“raɪt ˈəʊvə ðə hɛd.”
“No. That’s not the story.	“nəʊ. ðæts nɒt ðə ˈstɔːri.
The point is	ðə pɔɪnt ɪz
that the little skunk loved his mommy	ðæt ðə ˈlɪtl skʌŋk lʌvd hɪz ˈmɒmi
more than he loved all the other little animals	mɔː ðæn hiː lʌvd ɔːl ði ˈʌðə ˈlɪtl ˈænɪməlz
and she knew what was right.”	ænd ʃiː njuː wɒt wɒz raɪt.”
“No. Tomorrow you say he hit that mommy.	“nəʊ. təˈmɒrəʊ juː seɪ hiː hɪt ðæt ˈmɒmi.
Do it.”	duː ɪt.”
She kicked her legs up	ʃiː kɪkt hɜː lɛgz ʌp
and sat down on the bed with a great heave	ænd sæt daʊn ɒn ðə bɛd wɪð ə greɪt hiːv
and complaint of springs,	ænd kəmˈpleɪnt ɒv sprɪŋz,
as she had done hundreds of times before,	æz ʃiː hæd dʌn ˈhʌndrədz ɒv taɪmz bɪˈfɔː,
except that this time she did not laugh.	ɪkˈsɛpt ðæt ðɪs taɪm ʃiː dɪd nɒt lɑːf.
“Say it, Daddy.”	“seɪ ɪt, ˈdædi.”
“Well, we’ll see. Now at least have a rest.	“wɛl, wiːl siː. naʊ æt liːst hæv ə rɛst.
Stay on the bed. You’re a good girl.”	steɪ ɒn ðə bɛd. jʊər ə gʊd gɜːl.”
He closed the door and went downstairs.	hiː kləʊzd ðə dɔːr ænd wɛnt ˌdaʊnˈsteəz.
Clare had spread the newspapers	kleə hæd sprɛd ðə ˈnjuːzˌpeɪpəz
and opened the paint can and,	ænd ˈəʊpənd ðə peɪnt kæn ænd,
wearing an old shirt of his	ˈweərɪŋ ən əʊld ʃɜːt ɒv hɪz
on top of her maternity smock,	ɒn tɒp ɒv hɜː məˈtɜːnɪti smɒk,
was stroking the chair rail with a dipped brush.	wɒz ˈstrəʊkɪŋ ðə ʧeə reɪl wɪð ə dɪpt brʌʃ.
Above him footsteps vibrated and he called,	əˈbʌv hɪm ˈfʊtstɛps vaɪˈbreɪtɪd ænd hiː kɔːld,
“Joanne! Shall I come up there and spank you?”	“ʤəʊˈæn! ʃæl aɪ kʌm ʌp ðeər ænd spæŋk juː?”
The footsteps hesitated.	ðə ˈfʊtstɛps ˈhɛzɪteɪtɪd.
“That was a long story,” Clare said.	“ðæt wɒz ə lɒŋ ˈstɔːri,” kleə sɛd.
“The poor kid,” he answered,	“ðə pʊə kɪd,” hiː ˈɑːnsəd,
and with utter weariness	ænd wɪð ˈʌtə ˈwɪərɪnɪs
watched his wife labour. The woodwork,	wɒʧt hɪz waɪf ˈleɪbə. ðə ˈwʊdwɜːk,
a cage of moldings and rails	ə keɪʤ ɒv ˈməʊldɪŋz ænd reɪlz
and baseboards all around them,	ænd ˈbeɪsbɔːdz ɔːl əˈraʊnd ðɛm,
was half old tan and half new ivory	wɒz hɑːf əʊld tæn ænd hɑːf njuː ˈaɪvəri
and he felt caught in an ugly middle position,	ænd hiː fɛlt kɔːt ɪn ən ˈʌgli ˈmɪdl pəˈzɪʃən,
and though he as well felt his wife’s presence	ænd ðəʊ hiː æz wɛl fɛlt hɪz waɪfs ˈprɛzns
in the cage with him,	ɪn ðə keɪʤ wɪð hɪm,
he did not want to speak with her,	hiː dɪd nɒt wɒnt tuː spiːk wɪð hɜː,
work with her, touch her, anything.	wɜːk wɪð hɜː, tʌʧ hɜː, ˈɛnɪθɪŋ.