Icy Sparks by Gwyn Hyman Rubio Read Free Book Online

repeat world , it would grow larger and larger. Soon it would expand and extend itself from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Like an enormous parasite, it would live in my body, change into a breathing, thriving, eating world , and devour me. So I had to say it. Saying world would diminish its power. Pay homage to the word , my thoughts told me, and the world will be satiated .
    Yet after the whiskey seared my throat, I couldn’t speak. My mouth burned, and every word that crept to my lips went up in flames. Try as I might, I could only whimper softly. My grandfather, hearing my groans, picked me up and carried me upstairs.
    In my attic bedroom, the white wooden beams sloped down to embrace me. The tidy yellow iron bed cradled me, and I felt safe. With one broad sweep, Patanni turned back my quilt and put me in bed. Sitting on the brown braided rug beside me, he stroked my head. I smelled the hot, dark odor of whiskey on his mouth. Over and over, he brought his hand through my hair, combing it back, caressing my temple where the world dwelled. “Sugar,” he whispered, “don’t you worry. Your grandma and me love you. Won’t nothing ever change that.”
    I made a gurgling noise and brought my fingertips to my mouth.
    â€œBurned, didn’t it?” he asked.
    I nodded.
    â€œI’m sorry. There weren’t nothing else we could do.”
    I gurgled again, shivered violently, and snuggled down under the covers.
    â€œIcy, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what brought this on,” he said.
    I tried to answer, but he shushed me.
    â€œGood girl,” he said, still rubbing my head.
    I heard the faint clatter of pans downstairs. Then Matanni’s tiny feet tapped up the steps. A cup rattled against a saucer, and I saw her round belly and thin legs silhouetted in the doorway. “I got hot milk for you,” she said, tiptoeing toward the bed.
    Patanni put his hand under my neck, lifted my head, and fluffed up my pillow. “This child’s trembling,” he said as he took the cup.
    Matanni touched my forehead. “Why, Virgil, she’s running fever! We got us a case of influenza.”
    â€œIn this hot July?” Patanni said.
    â€œStranger things have happened,” she said. Matanni scurried to the door and stood there. “Don’t you worry, Icy,” she finally said. “You’ll be well in no time. I promise.” Like a hummingbird, she flitted down the stairs. Before I could swallow my first mouthful of milk, I heard the medicine chest creak twice. Once more she was beside me. “Open your mouth,” she ordered, dropping two aspirin on my tongue. “Now swallow.”
    â€œWith some milk,” Patanni said, putting the cup to my lips.
    â€œScoot down.” Matanni pulled up the quilt and tucked it under my chin. “Rest now,” she said, and kissed my cheek.
    â€œSweet dreams,” my grandfather said, setting the cup and saucer on the floor. “We love you,” he whispered, squeezing my shoulder.
    Then both headed down the narrow stairs, leaving me alone in the twilight.

    T hat night in my bed, I flew with the fever. God, I felt, was giving me a taste of what was in store for me. Fly right, I kept hearing my grandfather say. So I tried to fly right. I’d open my arms and legs, thrust them out, then bring them back to my sides. Over and over, burning with sweat, I did this, leaving yellow-stained angels on the sheets.
    When Matanni touched me, she yelped. Patanni carried up buckets of springwater. Matanni soaked dish towels in the cold water and washed my body, hoping to cool me off, but the water evaporated as soon as it touched my skin.
    For three days, I burned. With the heat of a thousand forest fires, I flamed. Like the woodstove, stoked and roaring, I cooked. I was bacon sizzling. When moths brushed against my skin, their wings frizzled. I blazed with Satan’s fury and grew red-hot