The Musty Book

It had taken six months to unpack all the boxes but as they settled back in their new sofa with glasses of red wine they finally felt that this was their new home.

“Make sure you don’t leave a ring,” said his wife as he placed the glass on the leather arm.

He automatically picked up the glass and placed it on the floor. As he did so his hand brushed against the old book. He lifted it to his lap and opened the cover. It smelt of damp and the page was mottled with stains.

“What’s that?”

“I’m not sure. It was at the bottom of the last box we unpacked. I thought it must be yours.”

“Nope, nothing to do with me unless it was one of my grandmothers.” She took a sip of her wine and sighed. “Well we’ve done it, finally we’re unpacked,” She paused. “Do you mind if I put some music on?”

“Nope, you go ahead. I’m going to look at this book.” He turned the page and involuntarily sniffed his fingers. He smelt of the past. He grabbed his glass and took a long drink to rid himself of the stale aroma but the earthiness of the wine almost enhanced it.

He began to read.

Chapter One

He didn’t recognise the song but he knew that the music was making it difficult for him to read. It was just at the volume that pervaded your mind and prevented concentrated thought.

He paused. This was strange language for a book that was so old. He flicked back to cover sheet. ‘Printed in 1895’. He was surprised but it was probably just the prejudice of the present.

“Is the music too loud?” asked his wife.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, slightly frustrated at his inability to say what he was really thinking. He turned back to Chapter One and started reading again.

Chapter One

He didn’t recognise the song but he knew that the music was making it difficult for him to read. It was just at the volume that pervaded your mind and prevented concentrated thought.

“Is the music too loud?” asked his wife.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, slightly frustrated at his inability to say what he was really thinking.