Prodd

It was the same shrill tortured weeping that had led Prodd to him in the darkening wood a year ago.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

He caught Prodd's gaze for half a breath in those disturbing eyes and knew as well that saying it would pain Prodd more than a little.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

Prodd was pounding stones under it with the end of a pick-handle.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

He worked well; Prodd used to say that whatever anyone might think, that boy was a farmer before his accident.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

"Don't you like it here?" said Prodd, not wanting to say that at all.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

When he was finished he and Prodd cleaned up the kitchen and took the bassinet and burned it, along with the carefully sewn diapers made out of old sheets and piled in the linen closet and the new oval enamel bath pan and the celluloid rattle and the blue felt booties with the white puff-balls in their clear cellophane box.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

He found out exactly what Prodd wanted-things that Prodd himself did not know.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

Smiling, Prodd came out of Jack's room and closed the door.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

Well past midday and just before they had the corn all cut, Prodd disappeared into the house.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953

It was transmitted clear and clean, complete, but as a thought only, and he sensed instantly that a thought sent this way had no impact whatever on Prodd, though the farmer strained to receive what he was trying to convey.

More Than Human Sturgeon, Theodore, 1918-1985 1953