For the summer I’m going back to the series of pieces mythologizing my growing up in Cape Breton.
The Great Fire
we were awakened
but the resonant howl
of the harbour foghorn
deep endless
blasts so rapid they overlapped
away to the window I flew like a flash
the black of night was blacker
than the print in the red bible
no stars or moon to be seen
then
at the edge of my vision
I saw the flames
scatter sparks like leaves
into the sky
‘fire fire’
someone below was shouting
‘the great cathedral is aflame’
my father dashed out of house
men from other houses followed suit
‘fire fire
we must save the relics’
I had this terrifying image
of the Moose at the foot of the cross
melting into a golden puddle
at the feet of the blessed one
everyone in our village
gathered to watch and pray
as the firemen did their job
the choir spontaneously burst into song
singing ‘The Moose and The Saviour’
the hoses were attached to the hydrants
only a trickle of water appeared
this was also the hour
the fission plant
was flushing out the their flow valves
when contacted
they refused to stop
because if the flow valves
were not flushed
there would be hell to pay
we stood and watched
as our beloved
centuries old cathedral
paid the price of prosperity
while the acolytes
darted in and out of the flames
rescuing all they could
up and down the 10001 steps
like an army of ants
then from out of the smoke
the men from the Whistling Wood appeared
they danced around the fire
chanting
arms linked
the flames flickering & illuminating
their private parts
as a group they coiled up the steps
stopped
faced the flames
holding their flame framed privates
began to piss on the fire
the stench of their burning urine
made many vomit
the naked men
began to pelt the fire
with moose dung
the stench of the burning shit
made many vomit
the flames began to die down
in the steaming smother
of piss and moose shit
that oozed down the 10001 steps
the fire stopped
the naked men
vanished into the mist
the next day
when the water pressure returned
the fire department
hosed down the ashes
to wash it clean of the shit and piss
to reveal
no scorch marks
only glistening golden surfaces
the cathedral
was whole again
In Sydney we lived one street away from a fire station. We were occasionally awakened by sirens. There were a few big fires but none that we ever saw, unlike my hero. The worse, which happened after I left, was when Moxham Castle burned down – actually it was gutted by flame & then the brick shell collapsed. My experience of fires comes from movies.
This entry in the Village Stories pulls on many threads of the mythology: the choir, the moose, the 10001 steps. I recently saw a documentary on the Windsor Castle fire in which people were rushing in & out of galleries saving the art. They weren’t regarded as reckless but as heroes. Oh no not the Faberge egg collection!
I also had to take another poke at the fission plant and water. I have read of cases where, in some cities, the water pressure was so low thanks to ‘industry,’ fires couldn’t be put out – hence the invention flame suppressant foam. Yes I know fire engine pumpers supply the pressure but if there’s not enough water they are useless.
The praying & singing villagers make me think of those politicians who sent their thoughts & prayers at a time of crisis but that’s it until they tell people to be strong: i.e. don’t moan & bitch about your losses because we’ve done all we can by praying for you. Cheer up because your unhappy faces won’t make things better, neither will we.
I was happy to see a reappearance by the naked men of the Whistling Wood. They present a facet of male magic that isn’t destructive while at the same time isn’t pleasant. Often the things that rescue us have a cost one doesn’t expect. Like the dentist’s freezing – slurring & drooling for an hour is a cost. I also couldn’t resist that image of male private parts illuminated by the fire.
I love the way this ends with a miracle. The Villagers prayers were answered by the outcasts of the Whistling Wood. These men pissing on the cathedral have magically restored it.
Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee in Washington at 2018’s capfireslam.org – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet
