Entry #33

Light
by SzélsőFa


They were called lamps.
Grandma told me her great-grandmother told her so. They were fixed up inside, on the walls and on the ceiling of the lairs, called houses at that time.
But now comes the part that my friends laugh the most: these lamps had their own light even when it was dark outside.
I guess this is just some fancy stuff, a make-believe people say.

I don’t think I eat this up, because not even Grandma has ever seen such a thing.
But her great-grandmother did and her husband too – he saw that one huge lamp fixed on the sky. He got that disease then, or this is how the story goes.
Our family line was ready by then. That great-grandmother was pregnant and we are here because she, unlike her husband, was at a safe place.

Grandma said everything was toast for a long time. At first I didn’t understand, but she explained a word may have more than one meaning. It still sounds funny.

Now all the light we have comes from the Sun and the Moon.

The other evening we were sitting with Hikari beside the lake and saw two moons. One, fragile and thin on the water, one, solid and cold in the sky. I said she was both attractive and unattainable. Hikari said it only makes her more beautiful. He kissed me and talked about men walking on the surface of the Moon.

I love how he makes stories just to me.


(SzélsőFa is an English/Hungarian/English translator who regularly writes articles for monthly agricultural magazines and at times she wonders off to literary territories. She enjoys reading, writing and gardening.)