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 Harness your cart to a star.
That summer had been the most torrid one I can remember. Every summer, unfailingly, the town was burnt by thousands of little fires which developed here and there, without warning, because of bad luck and because sometimes human stupidity can reach indescribable levels. And soon those little fires began to spread quickly, the dried vegetation became a perfect fuel and the wind did the rest.
The suburbs were constantly threatened by the flames. Sometimes the smoke was so intense that covered the sky of the city. Over the smoky mantle there was the paradise; under hell.
There had been thousands of summers like that one, and in a certain sense it was like we were used to it. And then that summer came.
And we lost our house.
The firemen had already put in state of alert the neighborhood, but nobody thought there could be a real danger, every summer it was the same story.
We heard the sirens coming. I was writing a letter to Sharon. She was my best friend and was spending a year in England to study there. We had decided to keep in touch with letters and after a few weeks I started liking it.
I stood up from the desk I was sitting at and looked out of the window: our neighbors, the Jasons, were all outside and some volunteers were running from house to house to make the people go out. My mum had to be gone out in the garden to see what was happening. When she got in she didn't even close the door behind her, I only heard her saying: "Alya, come downstairs immediately, the fire is coming towards our quarter!"
In a split second I was petrified: how could it be? It surely had to be a safety measure in the case the fire got too near. I didn't take my mother's order seriously and went on looking outside. I didn't see it immediately. I guess I didn't even feel it, perhaps it mixed up with the torrid climate of that period. The Jasons' house started catching fire.
"For God's sake, Alya, do you want to come down? Everything's about to go on fire here!"
My mother burst in my room, her face twisted. I just couldn't believe it...
But then the firemen arrived and obliged me to go out of my room, out of my house.
I can still remember the last look I gave to all my things, to my little world... in a few moments everything would be destroyed. The pictures, the books, the CDs, my diary, all my drawings and my poems, the letter I was writing to Sharon...
God, how could it be true?
I thought I shouted when the firemen pushed me down the stairs.
We just had enough time to go outside and our house caught fire. Nothing, we were able to save nothing.
I clearly see the flames catching my room and then I couldn't see anymore because my eyes were full of tears.
Weeks later the news still broadcasted the tragedy: if the authorities and the families had taken more seriously the danger of the fire, the houses would have been evacuated in time. I had lost a house and memories; some had even lost their lives there.
Some relatives from Melbourne gave hospitality to me and my family. My father knew it while he was at work and wasn't less shocked than we were.
In a few days we're moving to our new house; this time we're living in the city. My mother doesn't want to live in the suburbs anymore.
The pain of those days is still alive inside of me. I came back to our old house some time later the fire had been extinguished. I couldn't go in my room, but I looked at it for the last time, the very last time.
I thought I had lost a part of me with that house. I had lived there since I was born and in my room I had created what I called "my little and magic world". In that room I kept all the things which were important and dear to me. Every morning I went out of my room to go to school and the only thing that helped me to stand those long and solitary hours of classes was the awareness of going back home, among the things I loved, my dreams and "true" life.
I thought that the fire not only had burnt my house, but also everything I loved, everything that gave me the force to believe in a better future.
It's almost one in the morning, and I have to go to bed soon, but having the bed on the porch has surely its advantages!
The light of the full moon illuminate the paper I'm writing on. Today, a year later that terrible accident I've started writing again on my diary. I thought I didn't want to do it anymore because I couldn't bear losing it again.
But, as far as we know, I was wrong.
It was a fire that destroyed my house, but it could have been an earthquake, a tornado, a flood, an eruption of a volcano or anything else, I would have lost everything anyway. Or better, I haven't lost everything, I could have lost more than it. And, at the end, all I lost I can have it again, thanks God. Because the source hadn't been burnt by the fire. It was me who was going to kill it after the tragedy.
But now I'm here, and I'm still full of hope. Maybe it was not only the room which infused it into me. Perhaps it is the people I love and who are near me. It is my dreams which can't be destroyed if I don't want to. And it is the love I keep for this life which is so difficult, but still mine.
Harness your cart to a star.
Lose everything.
And realize that in reality you haven't lost anything.
Your star is still up there. The cart is in your hands. And you are still alive.
Story Info
- Story written by Lara and translated from the Italian by Marta, 2002
- * Title inspired by a R. W. Emerson's quotation
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