Chapter 6.1 - Mastering Fire

Rumbling thunderbolts ripped through the sky, giant ropes of electricity dancing their wild dances, guided by celestial rhythms unknown to mortal souls. The storm had started suddenly, as they often did around here, fired up by the hot air which could no longer hold its burden of water. In the middle of this racket from on high Claire’s grandfather ran frantically through the house closing doors and windows and making sure everybody was indoors.

Claire followed him closely, trying to help him out with his task while secretly harboring guilt over the fact that she enjoyed this giant light show, noise and all. Thunderstorms had always mesmerized Claire with their profligate use of energy and their display of sheer power. Like it happens with many of nature’s mysteries, there was no rhyme or reason for this uproar, none that would yield to human sense, but there was no need for one. This awe inspiring rush of energy was simply nature’s way to breathe a sigh of relief.

A blazing flash of lightning blasted through the windows, followed by a booming thunder, after which everything went dark.

“Oh, great! The power is out,” Grandfather frowned, walking to the mud room to get his rain boots.

“What are you doing?” Grandmother jumped immediately.

“I’m going to power up the generator.”

“You’re not going out in this weather!” Grandmother replied appalled. 

He changed his mind and sat down in his chair while Claire and her grandmother were feeling their way through cupboards and drawers trying to find candles in the dark. 

“Did you find them?” Grandfather asked. The impatience in his voice revealed his displeasure with a situation that relegated him to the role of a spectator.

“Yes,” Grandmother said.

A scattering sound followed by an unfocused glimmer pinpointed her position in the room; the glimmer turned into a little teardrop of light which flickered for a second and then grew more confident and steadied itself into a poised undulating motion. 

A second teardrop of light emerged, and then a third, as polished silver candlesticks found their way out of the back of the cupboard and got placed on display. 

“It looks like we’re having dinner by candle light tonight,” Grandmother commented.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” said Grandfather. “I like to see what I’m eating if that’s all the same to you. Is it still coming down?”

The rain continued its steady rapping on the porch. Grandfather sighed.

They stood there together in silence listening to the sounds of the rain, trying to perceive a change in its rhythm. Eventually Grandfather’s patience wore out. He stood up.

“It’s still raining,” Grandmother attempted to protest while he mumbled something unintelligible on his way to the mud room. He shuffled the shoe rack trying to find his rain boots and got out, slamming the door behind him.

“He never listens,” Grandmother shook her head in disapproval, walking to the window to follow his movements outside.

In the middle of this little domestic drama Claire felt like a voyeur, awkward that she couldn’t give this unforeseen situation its due of fuss and irritation like any normal human being would. Instead she followed fascinated the flickering dance of the candle flame atop its pillar of wax, mesmerized by its swirling motion which looked completely random to an unfocused gaze, but was not. Her eyes reached deeper into the tiny teardrop, into its unmistakable color, same as the sun’s, same as that of molten metal, the color that creation reserved only for those things which give out warmth and light. Claire breathed in that color with all her being, grateful for its gift of energy, even in this humble form.

Everything in the room was submerged in shadow, everything but the candle light and Claire’s blissful smile illumined by it. She stood a little too close to the fire and a tiny glow was starting to flush her cheeks, tinting them to match the color of the flame.

Grandmother looked at her, slightly puzzled by this inner light which seemed to be powered by something inside her granddaughter. It had stayed hidden until now, waiting for its moment to emerge. She smiled, pleased, and leaned back in her chair.

“Don’t stay so close to the fire, bebelle, you’re going to singe your hair,” she joked, then looked out the window again to check on the progress with the generator. The rain was starting to wane.

Light blasted out, seemingly from everywhere, flooding the room with a brightness that made them both squint. 

“Ah, finally,” Grandmother commented with relief and walked briskly to the kitchen to get dinner ready. It was already late.

Claire hesitated a moment before putting out the candles, with a tinge of guilt that she had to extinguish the very essence that imparted on her the gifts of warmth and light, two things which sustain human life without asking for anything in return. She thought about blowing out the candles, but it felt like an insult to the spirit of fire, so she licked her fingers and slowly closed them around the light instead.