SAL
The fire took a while to catch, but once it did it was a fierce little thing, small and bright in the ring of stones. Sal and Mr Merkel had gathered the branches of fallen acacias and used sage for kindling, so it smelled of sage singed with the sweet decay of dead wood. Periodically a burst of sparks erupted and floated skyward.
Sal had never seen a campfire before, so he’d never felt the glow of heat on his face while night chilled his back. It was as if he were straddling two worlds, one hot and light and alive, the other cool and dark and breathless. The in-between would have felt like this, he imagined, that place where you could talk to the dead and tell the living what they said, had he been able to go there when Mr Merkel asked him to. He shivered, and drew closer to the flam
