Fire, a true story. By Inez Louwagie

fire

Inez Louwagie

Fire a true story inez louwagie june 2020 For Gerard (1934-2018) With thanks to Charlotte, rona, Gunther, Noor, Sabine, Babs, Goedele, Kaat, Lucienne, NoĂŤl, Myriam, Steven en Didier, Johan, Inge, Yoko translation: Rona kennedy

zuidhuis, oostvleteren, belgium may 1977

The war is long over the fire has died down

and still, something is laying dormant deep inside

like a shadow

that suddenly catches fire

Yesterday, it was Flora Like a wild beast, she ran at my father She knocked him over and carried on walking as if nothing had happened His glasses were in pieces and blood was coming from his head

She must have needed that

Sometimes you just want to

break out

because, before you know it, it’s over

I know, you shouldn’t be angry, or shout Some things just have to be done Life is what it is

You learn to deal with it

short and grubby, like a children’s vest You get the measure of it

“Women aren’t what they used to be, like they were before the war” He often says that, my father.

hE is from before the war A man built to last, I heard someone say He likes building things with metal He puts on a big black mask and commands me to hold the steal rods against each other And then, everything is crackling and smoke, sudden light and white stripes everywhere My fingers get hot and glowing sparks hit my arms It scorches but I don’t make a sound I want to be one of those women, from before the war

Aah, our little communicant!

Go round with the hors d’oeuvres, love

But

there are these days

Hail Mary Full of Grace The Lord is with thee Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jezus Holy Mary, mother of God pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death Amen

Don’t pull a face you should be happy Get a move on uncle Roger is looking for you He wants to take a family photo

Days of wind and fire

I hate flowery dresses

Nobody sees it, it’s deep inside

It runs its course like something from before my time I know what needs to be done but I have to hurry, not be seen

It should look like an accident

a perfect accident

someone forgot to blow out the candles and suddenly the confessional was on fire

These things happen, sometimes Life is like that short and grubby like a children’s vest

You learn to deal with it

I was your age, when I first lit the fire, he says His eyes look straight through me, and dart far away, beyond the barn It was the end of August and the wheat was dry The flames spread across the field, gathering speed, all the way to there!

His huge hands cut the air, they paint thick clouds of smoke the barn stayed untouched, because the wind came from the other direction, he says and that it all went so fast, that no one saw anything

Only we know about this Just us alone

The wind is coming from the right direction today and no one notices that I’m gone