Child of the Light Read Online Free Page B

lowered himself onto the two-by-four, dropped deftly, and sprang to his feet.
    "Give me that." Erich took the dog. He kissed the puppy on the nose and held the animal up at eye level to admire it. "The pup doesn't like the dark," he said. "Why didn't you light the candle?"
    "Haven't had a chance," Sol said, choosing to ignore Erich's supposed knowledge of the workings of puppies' minds.
    Served Erich right if he had to wait! Who did he think he was, treating everything like a military operation, with each of them allotted specific, immutable tasks--assigned by Erich, of course.
    Scowling, Sol grabbed the jar of matches from the shelf they had fashioned by attaching the bottom of a cardboard box to coat-hanger wire and jamming the ends into cracks between the mildewed bricks. The candle on the shelf was burned down to a wick and melted wax. Beneath the shelf hung a sailor's bag containing such treasures as some of Sol's books and his extra harmonica, the gunsight Erich had found, the dried frog Erich had put in Ursula Müller's hair. From the bag Sol reluctantly retrieved the glass-encased Yahrzeit candle he had hoped never to use.
    It took five matches before one of them yielded a flame. When he finally got the candle lit, it guttered and flickered. He had not wanted to bring it down here in the first place; a Yahrzeit candle was only meant to be used to commemorate the anniversary of the death of a close family member. That was its purpose. That, and that alone; to burn until there was no more candle. To mourn the dead. But because it was encased in a glass holder and fatter than an ordinary candle, Erich insisted it was far more practical for their purposes than the skinny Christmas candles at his house. True, a single Yahrzeit candle burned for a whole night and day--but Sol, for one, had no intention of being down here that long.
    He stared beyond the small circle of light he had created, into the sewer's nether realms where anything could be lurking. He could not see the walls or the sewer's other entrance, which was a padlocked grate that led into the furrier's sub-basement.
    "Erich?"
    "What!"
    "I--" Solomon, about to share his feelings about the darkness, changed his mind. "Will the puppy be all right here?"
    "Why shouldn't he be?" Erich stooped and righted one of the packing crates. He lined it with the blanket and set the puppy inside. "We'll stuff some old rags in the grates so if he whines no one will hear. We'll visit him every day." He stroked the puppy's head. The dog was standing with its forepaws on the edge of the box, its tiny tail wagging. "Won't we, boy!"
    "What if we can't get down to see him every day or if our papas see--"
    "They won't be able to see anything. We'll put the boxes back over the grate." Erich pursed his lips and made little kissy sounds in front of the dog. "He'll be a real scrapper when he grows up. Like me. Right, Bull?" He scratched the puppy under the chin. "Better bring our own collar with you next time we come down."
    "If we're staying down here for a while, we'd better close the grate," Sol said, conceding the argument. "If one of our papas comes down to the cellar--"
    "I guess you're right." Erich stopped playing with the puppy. "Give me a boost."
    Solomon braced himself and cupped his hands in readiness. He was not enjoying himself. The Yahrzeit candle bothered him, Erich's attitude bothered him, and he felt bad about leaving the puppy alone in the sewer. The candle would go out eventually and the little thing would be scared. Hungry, too. What if they came back and found it dead and stiff and covered with mildew?
    Eyeing the open drain like an acrobat about to somersault toward an oncoming trapeze bar, Erich placed one foot in Sol's hands and hoisted himself onto the two-by-four. With Sol holding his legs to steady him, he poked his head and shoulders through the hole in the cellar floor. Then, snaking his hand through, he patted around for the crowbar.
    "Whatever you do, don't