My father, without the slightest doubt, was the most marvellous and exciting father any boy ever had. Here is a picture of him.
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You might think, if you didn't know him well, that he was a stern andserious man. He wasn't. He was actually a wildly funny person. What made himappear so serious was the fact that he never smiled with his mouth. He did it allwith his eyes. He had brilliant blue eyes and when he thought of somethingfunny, his eyes would flash and if you looked carefully, you could actually see atiny little golden spark dancing in the middle of each eye. But the mouth nevermoved.
I was glad my father was an eye-smiler. It meant he never gave me a fakesmile, because it's impossible to make your eyes twinkle if you aren't feelingtwinkly yourself. A mouth-smile is different. You can fake a mouth-smile anytime you want, simply by moving your lips. I've also learned that a real mouthsmile always has an eye-smile to go with it, so watch out, I say, when someonesmiles at you with his mouth but the eyes stay the same. It's sure to be bogus.
My father was not what you would call an educated man and I doubt if hehad read twenty books in his life. But he was a marvellous story-teller. He usedto make up a bedtime story for me every single night, and the best ones wereturned into serials and went on for many nights running.
One of them, which must have gone on for at least fifty nights, was aboutan enormous fellow called The Big Friendly Giant, or The BFG for short. TheBFG was three times as tall as an ordinary man and his hands were as big aswheelbarrows. He lived in a vast underground cavern not far from our fillingstation and he only came out into the open when it was dark. Inside the cavernhe had a powder-factory where he made more than a hundred different kinds ofmagic powder.
Occasionally, as he told his stories, my father would stride up and downwaving his arms and waggling his fingers. But mostly he would sit close to meon the edge of my bunk and speak very softly.
'The Big Friendly Giant makes his magic powders out of the dreams thatchildren dream when they are asleep,' he said.
'How?' I asked. 'Tell me how, Dad.
'Dreams, my love, are very mysterious things. They float around in thenight air like little clouds, searching for sleeping people.'
'Can you see them?' I asked.
'Nobody can see them.'
'Then how does The Big Friendly Giant catch them?'
'Ah,' my father said. 'That is the interesting part. A dream, you see, as itgoes drifting through the night air, makes a tiny little buzzing-humming sound, asound so soft and low it is impossible for ordinary people to hear it. But TheBFG can hear it easily. His sense of hearing is absolutely fantastic'.
I loved the far intent look on my father's face when he was telling a story.His face was pale and still and distant, unconscious of everything around him.'The BFG', he said, 'can hear the tread of a ladybird's footsteps as she walks across a leaf. He can hear the whisperings of ants as they scurry around inthe soil talking to one another. He can hear the sudden shrill cry of pain a treegives out when a woodman cuts into it with an axe. Ah yes, my darling, there isa whole world of sound around us that we cannot hear because our ears aresimply not sensitive enough.'
