The Sympathetic Universe Part 21

Photo by Markus Spiske on

Angel watched Eloy chop wood from a few hundred yards away. What could he possibly have planned? There was no way to light anything here. “Hey,” she shouted, “What are you doing?” The small figure of Eloy looked around confused, then shouted back at her from the distance, “chopping firewood!”

“How are you going to light it?”

Eloy paused. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find a way.”

Angel nodded. He had received a lighter directly from his god, unless there was some other way to get something like that. Certainly she couldn’t have him burning the cabin down. Didn’t he say something about being protected from fire? Did he think he was going to be virtuous by rescuing them from a fire he set? Setting aside all the other failures in this reasoning, surely he didn’t think that a fire rescue would be so easy without his god’s direct assistance.

Angel stood in the corner with her arms crossed, watching Eloy withdraw his lunch from the refrigerator, taking uncomfortable glances back at her as he did so. “Hey, Angel,” he asked as he withdrew a sloppy joe from his red lunch tupperware and took a bite, “is there a problem, officer?”

Angel’s eyes narrowed, and Eloy rolled his own eyes and put the rest of his sloppy joe back into the tupperware. He reached into the refrigerator with his free hand and passed Angel another lunch. She accepted it and held it, continuing to glare.

After lunch, Angel watched Eloy from a distance as he collected tinder. At supper she was in the kitchen again, this time before Eloy. She stood in the corner while he scrunched his eyes next to the fridge. “What are you thinking about?” Angel asked.

“Supper.” Eloy answered.

“What kind of supper?” Angel pressed.

“A delicious one. It will blow your mind. If you don’t mind, I’m trying to concentrate.”

Angel was quiet. Eloy crossed his fingers and reached to open the refrigerator. He pulled out a blue supper tupperware, and peeled it back. He pressed his lips together in frustration. He pulled out another one and popped off the top. His brow furrowed. On the third tupperware his face lit up. Angel stepped forward as Eloy withdrew the smallest blowtorch she had ever seen. He only had time to turn and let his grin of triumph fall away as Angel leapt to tackle him to the ground.

“Let go of the blowtorch.” said Angel, pinning Eloy to the ground, his arm behind his back.

“Ahh! Ow, ow ow, Angel, you’re hurting me!”

“Let go of the blowtorch,” Angel repeated.

“What is your problem!?” Eloy whined, and Angel pulled his arm further to the wrong side of his body.

When he finally released his prize, Angel took it. “I’m in charge of everything to do with fire.”

Eloy crawled to the corner and cradled his arm. “All right, Fire Marshall Ramirez. Fine. I wanted it to be a surprise, but may I have permission to make a campfire tonight?”

Angel tried to keep the surprise from her face. That was all he wanted to do? “With supervision,” she said.

“Humility,” Eloy mumbled.

“What was that?” Angel asked.

“Grace. Ok, that sounds good. If you feel more comfortable managing the fire, that’s fine. Thanks for not actually breaking my arm.” Eloy bared his teeth in an overwrought smile.

That evening, Angel brought Eliza who was, of all things, a boy scout. She assured both of them that in 2019 this was something that could happen. She showed Angel and Eloy how to set a perimeter for a fire. They cleared a ten-foot perimeter around a flat area a little ways away from the cabin. Then they used a shovel from the supply shed and dug a pit in the dirt about a foot deep. They constructed a wall of stones around the pit, and they were done. Eloy asked Eliza if it was ok if he did it on his own from here. Angel was impressed with how well he was managing his wounded pride. It was obviously a great effort. Angel leaned against a tree and watched him mumble some kind of mantra to himself as he worked. Once Eloy had built a small tent of twigs and sticks, Angel held out the blowtorch.

That night, flickering firelight lit the faces of the campers. Eloy grabbed Destiny by the back of her shirt and pulled her away from the fire when she got too close. Gabriel grinned and said “We had this in my time.” He looked at Eliza for approval on his English, and she smiled at him and nodded. Angel held the blowtorch in her hands, thinking about how to keep something so dangerous safe in a cabin with no locks. Around eight-o-clock Eliza time, Eloy left the fire and went back into the cabin. He returned with two black tupperwares speckled with yellow stars. “Did you know,” he asked, “that a nighttime snack is a meal of the day?”

Eloy opened the first tupperware to reveal graham crackers, and the second had Hershey’s chocolate bars and Jet-Puffed marshmallows. Eloy helped Destiny roast her marshmallow and Eliza helped Gabriel, although once he had the concept he did not require further supervision. Eloy showed Destiny how to stack several marshmallows on the same stick for maximum marshmallowy goodness, her eyes wide with wonder. When the fire died low and everyone had sticky fingers and smiles on their faces, Eliza told Eloy it had been a great idea. Eloy shrugged and made a face that said, “well, I don’t like to brag.” Destiny suggested they eat s’mores every night and for every meal. When Eloy tried to tell her that they would have s’mores frequently, but they had to eat other food, too, Destiny insisted. Then she started crying and Eliza, her self-designated caretaker, moved to pick her up to take her to bed, but Eloy said he’d do it, and did.

Angel took the bucket of water she’d kept next to her the whole time and held it above the fire. “Does anybody mind?” she asked. “Don’t worry, Angel, I’ll do it.” said Eliza. Angel put the bucket in front of her and moved to leave. She had bruised her shoulder tackling Eloy and was exhausted. In her bed she resolved to keep the blowtorch on her person at all times, but she didn’t know what she could do if someone summoned another one. She might have to hang out in the kitchen every day at mealtimes, then again for the late evening snack. The prospect did not thrill her. She struggled to think of a strategy that could keep everyone safe without being such a drain on her time, but her thoughts grew more sluggish until finally she fell asleep.

By Sam Munk

Science fiction and Fantasy author with a focus on philosophical inquiry and character-driven drama.

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