A Storm of Fire and Glass

It was a stormy night- one of those where the ground seems to tremble with each crack of thunder- but my great-grandmother and I were seated together on the sofa in the calm warmth of a dancing fire.

Suddenly, my great-grandmother broke the silence with a pensive comment. “I remember a storm as powerful as this one,” she said, “but it wasn’t made up of thunder and lightning, but of fire and broken glass.”

Immediately she had awoken my interest, and I asked her to tell me more.

She readjusted herself on the cushions and began.

“When I was a young girl, I had a secret boyfriend.”

I gasped. I had never considered my great-grandmother as the type of person who has secret boyfriends.

“Why was it a secret?” I asked, curious.

“During that time, and I suppose still today, rich families didn’t mix with poor families. Usually, everyone kept in their own circle and ignored the rest. It was for that reason that my father and the father of my boyfriend, Eugenio, didn’t want us to go out together.” She threw me a devious look and said, “But we did it anyways!”

I laughed, surprised at this new side of my grandmother. Then I asked, “But what does your secret boyfriend have to do with the storm?”

“Well, I went out with Eugenio during the Second World War. It was an age of fear and fighting for so many people, but Eugenio and I found happiness within each other. The only concern we had was being found out by our parents. Eugenio’s father, Leonardo, was always driving me away whenever he saw me near his son, and he even went so far as to threaten my father’s business. He was a powerful man, so he could do that sort of thing.

“Then, there came a night of absolute fear for everyone in my town: the Germans had arrived. We’d heard rumors of how they had caused terror and destruction in neighboring cities, how they had set churches and stores on fire, seizing houses and raping the women inside.

“When we heard the commotion I ran to look out the window. I could see fire burning on the horizon and I could make out the silhouettes of soldiers through the smoke, coming nearer and nearer to our house.

“My mother herded my little sister and I into the kitchen and hid us beneath the table, then ran from room to room, checking to be sure all the windows and doors were locked. Meanwhile, my father had positioned himself in the entryway, a hunting rifle aimed at the front door and his face hardened, resolute. The sounds of people shouting and doors being beaten down grew ever closer, until I recognized the voices of our neighbors. Our house would be next. My sister and I looked at each other out of fear and stayed silent.

“Suddenly, I realized that there was a familiar face looking through our back window. It was Leonardo. I whispered it to my father and his expression was taken over by confusion. This man had always been our enemy; what did he want with us now?

“I could hear my parents whispering back and forth. Leonardo had always wanted to hurt our family. But the Germans would hurt us much more. Leonardo might be there needing help. He might be there to offer help. My mother insisted that we let him in to find out.

“Leonardo and my father spoke for several minutes in low, hushed tones, and my mother interjected a comment here and there. I watched my father’s face and could tell that he wasn’t happy about the decision, but he looked at my sister and I for a moment, and nodded his head.

“Leonardo then came and knelt to look at us under the kitchen table. He told us that we needed to go with him, that we should hurry, and that everything was going to be okay. I hesitated, distrusting. He had never wanted to help me before. The only thing he had ever wanted to do was hurt me. But my parents had accepted his offer, whatever that was, so after a moment I took my sister’s hand and we crawled out.

“Leonardo stood. He was wearing his long black trench coat, the one he wore during winter, and had worn while chasing me away many times. He opened it and pulled my sister and I close, closing it in front of us so that we were concealed underneath. He must have looked like a very strange, fat man. It was like this that we began our journey, trying to match each other’s steps as we shuffled out of the house and into the alley.

“There was a small hole a few inches above my eye level, so I walked on tip toes and peered out. As we passed a store on fire I heard crunching and looked down to see broken glass and porcelain. We only moved when there were no soldiers to see us, staying close to the burning structures so we could hide in their smoke and shadows.

“We walked for so long that my feet and thighs began to ache. I felt the terrain change under me and looked down to see that we were now walking over grass. We walked for twice as long over the grass as we had over the rubble in the city, until finally Leonardo stopped and we could hear a door opening. We shuffled inside, heard the door close, and Leonardo opened his jacket.

“It was wonderful to breathe fresh air again, and I didn’t even mind that it smelled of dung. We were in a small, dark barn. There were no animals inside, but the smell shouted that there had been, recently.

“The door opened behind us, and I turned to see Eugenio entering with an armful of blankets, which he set down next to several baskets full of food, water, and wine. Leonardo explained to us quickly that we were to stay right here. He would be back as soon as he could with our mother, and he would do his best to retrieve our father as well. He said this place could be our refuge for as long as we needed it.

“I looked at him, trying unsuccessfully to comprehend what was happening. This wasn’t the man I had always known. He was different.

“We spent the next four months in that barn. Eugenio came to us every day, bringing more supplies and the news of what was happening outside. He would stay and spend the afternoons with me, until he was due home to help with chores. Neither of our fathers tried to keep us apart.

“Finally Eugenio brought us news that we could come out; the war had ended. My mother immediately convinced my father to send us to America, where we could have a safer, brighter future. We left six months later, and I haven’t seen Eugenio or his father since.”

My great-grandmother sighed. “Even now I still wonder: what was Leonardo’s reason for helping us, especially when he’d always hated us so much? I had always thought of him as a monster, but when other monsters came, he became our savior. Whatever the reason was, the fact is that without his help my family and I might not have survived that night.”

I sat for a minute, not knowing quite what to say after such a story. Finally I said, “I’m thankful for Leonardo.”

My great-grandmother looked through the window to the storm roaring outside and answered, “Me too.”