A Kindling of Kindness

In 1994 I was a moody pre-teen. Preferring to be alone in my bedroom with a video game. Christmas especially.

But this year would be different.

I don't know how, but somehow I sensed something happening downstairs. I took off my headphones and listened.

It was still early evening, but dad had turned off the record player and my uncle was no longer reading out the quiz from the newspaper.

Their voices were murmurs, echoing off glass. Like they were right up against the front window, curtains raised.

What were they looking at?

I threw aside my tangle of pillows and blankets and lumbered downstairs.

Mum turned to me, astonished. But not by me.

"Number 18. It's on fire."

She made a gap and I looked out. Across the road, the downstairs windows of number 18 – a mirror of our own – were breathing fire. A blanket of flame wrapped the glass panes.

I scanned the street and in the orange-trembling footpath on our side, I saw the family, now forced onto the street, freezing and huddled, their eyes bright with the flames of their home burning down.

They had only moved in a couple of months earlier. They were German. This was unusual for our small town. Indian, sure. Chinese, of course. But German? It was very exotic.

They had two kids, much younger than me, and I saw them now, held in their parents' dual embrace, against the chill of a Christmas Eve they would never forget.

"We should invite them in," said my mother. Everyone agreed. Seconds later I felt the cold enter the front door as my father went out.

I watched their discussion on the street, and soon the German family were following my father back to our door. All except their father. He didn't come. From that short distance, I could see the conflict in his face, unable to protect his home from the heat or his family from the cold.

The young boy and girl were shepherded towards the fireplace. My mother only and always lit the log fire for Christmas. Too much trouble the rest of the year. But today it served its purpose, as a warm embrace, a welcome manger.

My father made a call on the landline. When it answered he said the single word, "Fire."

My family fussed, made space on the sofa, fetched mugs with warm Ribena, and mulled wine for the mum. She thanked everyone in perfect English. Only the formality of her gratitude seemed at all foreign.

The kids stood quietly, now draped in blankets, in the front window, watching their father who was still standing on the pavement. They were composed, not distressed. All the activity and attention seemed to hold off the reality of their situation.

I didn't know how to be with these kids. They were maybe 4 or 5 years old. I didn't have siblings. I never hung out with younger children. To me, they were strays suddenly welcomed as guests. I wanted to go back to my Nintendo.

Then the boy turned to me.

"I lit the candles. It is my fault."

I don't know why he told me. Perhaps I was the one staring most intently at him. But as he said these words, tears fell from his eyes, and I realised the boy fully understood the totality of what was happening.

His mother quickly kneeled and hugged him firmly.

"Nein, nein, Schatz. Es ist nicht deine Schuld..." No, no, darling. It's not your fault.

As she hugged him, she turned to us.

"It is an old tradition in Germany. We put candles on the Christmas tree. But the trees here, they have no flame retardant sprayed on them."

She pulled her daughter in and held them both closely.

"Schatzen, mach dir keine Sorgen, alles wird gut." Don't worry, it'll be all right.

The boy pressed his face to his mother's neck. I was grateful when the front door opened and their father came inside.

"Hallo everybody, I'm Jost. You've met Lili and Thomas, and my wife Evelin." I both cringed at and admired his forced jollity. "Thank you very much for your kind hospitality."

My parents muttered about just being good neighbours, no bother... Then Jost turned to me.

"And thank you, Addison, for being such a gentlemen and being so kind and welcoming to Thomas."

Thomas silently wiped snot from his nose.

I realised that Thomas had only a few months earlier lost a home, his first home. Now this new one was also being taken from him.

Jost took the boy's hand and gently tugged him towards me.

"Addison, your father said you have a videogame. I wonder if you might show Thomas. I think he would be very interested."

Jost held out Thomas' hand for me to take.

His easy trust and confidence in a stranger he had never met before was astonishing to me. I found myself carried along by his buoyant warmth.

So I took Thomas up to play Nintendo.

The Neumanns stayed with us through Christmas Day and Boxing Day. The fire brigade stopped the fire before it spread, but the house was uninhabitable. They were able to grab clothes and essentials, but they would be living elsewhere for a months.

But that Christmas Eve changed my life.

Twenty years later, I stood at the altar with my now wife, Lili. No one minded that the best man had to cross the aisle, from his family's side to my side.

Because Thomas was not just my best man. He was my best friend.

Written for Vocal's Tales of Hearth Challenge