Thursday, April 01, 2010

Distress Call

Harold's hearing was astonishing.

While he was generally deaf to the concept of hints for birthday presents, unheeding of the call of a crying child (as an 'involved' father he could tell the difference between genuine distress, attention seeking, and full nappies) and oblivious to the parched gags of a demon desperate for tea, he could nevertheless hear the distress call of a book at over a hundred yards.

He could distinguish between the ripping of a page, the taking up of damp from a puddle, and the satisfied hiss of a fungus spore making a landing on a cotton flocked cover.

"It's a gift," he would say, handing Lucy to a complete stranger while he brushed the dust from a discarded Agatha Christie.

8 comments:

aims said...

I'm wondering what label that 'gift' would go under?

Leatherdykeuk said...

Not one noted by the X-men

DJ Kirkby said...

I am Harold. Fact.

Leatherdykeuk said...

You have a talent, dear lady :)

stephanie said...

We all have one, a gift. This is a precious one, I would think.

Leatherdykeuk said...

He certainly loves his books!

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