Ray

RAY

Aunt Alice lived in a house painted purple. There was no real colour
inside the house, it was always too dark. Only murky shapes. Lots of
hard edged shapes. I was always banging into them and ending up with
bruises the colour of her front door. Every room was like a basement,
musty, damp and piled full of junk.

Tall wands of wax stood atop the various piles. Each candle acting as a
lighthouse to steer you through the domestic hazards. Aunt Alice didn't
have electricity. She said it was too vulgar.

The parlour was stuffed with secondhand furniture and over packed boxes
spewing out papers and bric-a-brac. Sometimes George strayed in. It was
his assault course. He'd jump from one level to the next and then
launch himself onto the thick velvet curtains and climb to the highest
point, squatting on top of the pelmet.

A slit of light fell across the parlour like a sword. It came from
where the curtains didn't meet. As the day crept along the sun beamed
in and you could see the dust of a thousand years dance. We would see
George flickering across the room in strips. I would imagine the sun
zapping him like a ray gun and up he'd swirl with all the other
particles, spiralling in the sunshine. My sister would never go near
it. I told her it could a burn a hole through your palm. I demonstrated
with a magnifiying glass and burnt the carpet.

I know that's where I got the bug. My fascination with light grew out
of Aunt Alice's fascination with darkness. In the playground I would
grab Tom's specs and crouch down with a piece of paper to catch the
rays. Holding the glasses the right way round would be as good as using
a magnifying glass. The crucial bit was the aim, you had to get the
angle right and the nearer the glass was to the target the more
powerful the light was. It was the waiting that was exciting. Watching
the tiny rainbow ring brand the paper. Seeing it discolour and then
smelling the smoke as it trailed out. Then up it would go in flames and
I'd have to drop it. Sometimes I zapped ants. They'd just disappear.
Split back to atoms. Back to dust.

I wanted to study light and its effects. But I would've had to take too
many exams. A levels, degree, then postgrad research. It takes at least
six years to start specialising. I told them I new all there was to
know, I'd had an interest since childhood. It didn't count for
anything. Formal qualifications that's what you need they told me.They
use lasers everywhere now.

I pick up glass from scrapyards. Old headlights are good. Parts from
the big artics are best. And I don't always need the sun. I've rigged
up spotlights in the garage and managed to get a 5mm beam keep its
intensity for 7 feet, and ignite a solid object. It's not about
destroying things, setting things on fire. That's not the point. It's
the power of the light. It's beautiful when you catch that energy and
transform it.

Anyway it doesn't happen all the time. The hills were really dry that
year. They blamed it on hikers. From a distance it looks like a
scorched tablecloth. A singed patch amongst the green and brown
squares.

The day the house burnt down I wasn't at work. I know I could have put
it out. I'd have saved her. The guys on the watch said it was a tinder
box. All that rubbish made it go up like a bomb. They reckon the cat
knocked a candle over. I hope he didn't knock a glass over.