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137
In A Burst
Of Light
M
y
F
ather
O
nce
T
old
M
e
that I was worth nothing. I would become
nothing. A few weeks later, I found myself in Medellin, scouring the
dirty streets for money as the sharp, icy breeze slowly seeped into my
lungs. You are cold,
darling
. Abigman in a black coat pulledme up and
put his warm coat around my shoulders. He took my hand and kissed
it. I never felt so cherished.
Come with me, he said.
And I did.
That was how El Padre found me. I followed him home and I was
plunged into darkness. But slowly, flames began to flicker around me.
I could hear the drip, drip, dripping of water, which made me thirsty.
When El Padre finished lighting the candles, the room looked like an
iglesia
, a basilica. My father took Natalya to one, and she came home
and told me all about it. The candles, she said. The candles were
mounted on every wall, every table. And there was a man. A man on
the wall with arms outstretched, like this. She showed me. I did not
see a man here except for El Padre. He looked at me, and I noticed
there was no colour in his eyes. In the blackness, I could see the
reflecting flashes of candlelight. I stayed in that room, watching the
flames dance every night after he lit them. When he came home
each night, he licked his finger, and squeezed out a single flame.
Every night. The next evening, that candle would stand, untouched.
One by one, the candles became neglected. I did not know why he
did this. Maybe it was a game. Back then, I liked games. On the final
night, when only one candle flickered, alight with hope, El Padre
came home. He stood me up, and looked at me.
There were over five hundred candles in this room, he told me.
Yes.
You have spent over five hundred nights in my care.
I am grateful.
Tonight there is one candle left.
I looked at him, smiling. He took the candle off the wall and
walked up to me.
Now you can pay me back what you owe.
W
hen
I W
ake
, I am lying on the mat once again. The damp smell of
sweat permeates my senses. I stare at the roof, imagining the day a
man, a hero, will come and rescue me, like in the fairy tales Mama
used to tell me. A handsome man. A brave hero. My hand slides
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