Unwritten Tales

I am distracted as I pull books from shelves, wipe fine dust from their jackets with the back of my sleeve; every book tells a story, a tale quite separate from the one writ within its covers.

Babar the Elephants describes sitting at my paternal grandmother’s knee on a farm far away, listening as she read, wondering that none of the elephants I’d ever seen ever wore suits or bore luggage in their trunks.

Dr Seuss rattles with rhymes that we chanted then giggled as we demanded Green Eggs and Ham for breakfast.

A dozen books on Irish mythology, gifted by my maternal Granny in a bid to stick some proper identity to a barefooted wild child with hair as pale as straw and skin the colour of toast. A dozen more to describe lives in India where she lived, and which she loved.

And hundreds gifted to my children by Mum. Hundreds. Whole collections by the same author, whomever was current favourite – Michael Morpurgo, Jacqueline Wilson, Anthony Horowitz – books to illustrate a newly adopted hobby – sewing, cooking, playing the guitar. I want to cry when I pluck these from shelves and stare as their titles swim. I want to cry for lost years, for babies grown up, for a home once filled with noise and energy and now full of silence.

And I want to weep for the bitter irony that my beautiful mother bestowed upon my children her love of words and reading only to lose the same to illness.

I heap piles of the children’s clothes onto the floor and whatsapp images, ‘what do you want?’ I ask. There is halfhearted interest.

Days later, I photograph the bookshelves, ‘let me know what you want me to keep’, I ask. There is an immediate outcry, ‘not the books’, wails Amelia, ‘anything but the books’.

And I know what she means. I will dust them off and pack them up.

For their stories.

For the ones we cannot read.

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2 Responses to “Unwritten Tales”

  1. Ad dy Says:

    Rings so many bells with me too. My “study” is groaning with books.

  2. leilani weatherington Says:

    We had us a “500-year flood” here not too long ago and the public library in one small town got washed way. I have a hard time letting go of books, but felt able to part with some of them, which will eventually live in the new library.

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