Fire Fire Read Online Free Page A

burst into the room with a blare of light.
    Then . . .
    . . . squeezed voiceless giggles . . .
    â€˜ Kss kss kss kss kss kss! ’
    â€˜Hey, Mr !’
    â€˜Shhhhh!’
    â€˜We’ll shhhhhh if you tell the story.’
    â€˜Tell the story, Ursa, tell the story.’
    THE THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF
    Once upon a time there were three billy goats, one little, one middling and one big. They lived in a field by a stream over which there was a bridge. On the other side of the river the grass was green and speckled with flowers. The tall trees gave shelter from the sun and rain. On their side the grass was dry and stalky, coarse and sparse, and they only got soya beans and wheatgerm for dinner. There was no shelter. They longed to cross over that bridge. But under the bridge there lived a troll who ate goats.
    Gulp! Just like that . . .
    The Three Billy Goats Gruff reigned in the kids’ room that second summer. It then ticked away in the hearts of the children like a clock in a crocodile’s belly.
    Goats are courageous , Siegfried wrote, much later, in his goat diary.
    They all played violin, viola or cello. They restored the auditorium and three little studios to deal with the cacophony. The house thrived on the discord and the heated competition for practice rooms. It looked like an ancient rat’s nest with bears trying to fit in it.
    By the time most of the children were teenagers, the place was littered with defunct half- and three-quarter size violins, broken bows, discarded strings. The floor around the good piano was thick and sticky with resin. Pa and Acantia spared no expense on musical instruments and once Ursula and Gotthilf were playing Mozart sonatas, they had instruments of fine make and exquisite tone: concert performance instruments. From six o’clock in the morning the house was filled with sound and fury, Sturm und Drang . Two pianos but few pianists, two cellos and cello players, numerous violins and two to three violin players, two viola players, one double bass player. A few of them dabbled in woodwind, brass and percussion.
    They sang before meals. Acantia insisted on it. Dona Nobis Pacem and Ehre Sei Gott in four-part harmony. Siegfried quietly sang Goat for Gott .

    Arno was born in the middle of the night. One night he wasn’t there, and the next morning he was, all red and ugly and bundled in a clean white blanket no one had seen before. A doctor came round to see Acantia and told her to stop having babies at home. He came out of Acantia’s room shaking his head.
    â€˜What sort of people are you?’ he said in the kitchen to Pa, obviously cross. Pa shuffled, looked around and didn’t answer. The doctor wiped a patch of the table with his hankie and had begun to write prescriptions when Acantia burst into the room in an unfamiliar new nightie, looking pale and small. Ursula had a sick feeling in her stomach. Acantia was crying.
    â€˜I know you! I know your kind! Get out!’ She pointed a finger at the door with such sizzling expulsion in her eyes that most of the kids slunk out from various exits. The doctor sighed, handed Pa the prescriptions and walked towards the door.
    Acantia snatched the prescriptions from Pa’s hands. ‘Toxins!
    He would try to get the child’s own father to feed me toxins, oh yes!’ She shredded them and threw the pieces at the doctor’s back.
    The doctor hesitated a moment, then kept going. ‘I’ll send the district nurse,’ he called angrily as he got into his car.
    Ursula watched him go, much cheered. Don’t bother sending your evil handmaiden, craven quack. We will make short shrift of her . She swished her rapier. Dispatched!
    After he had left, Acantia stood for a long time wrapped by Pa’s huge arms. Gotthilf was the only one left in the room. Acantia’s and Pa’s faces were turned from him, closeted together in a soft humming space made by Pa’s shoulders and her long dark