THE LIVING FLAME 


    Queenie lost patience as the boy hesitated. 
    "You have already brought the dark! Don't let the cold in also! Come and see my lover, my husband, my beautiful man."
    On tiptoe, the boy crossed the room. Inside there were familiar soft couches, a worn table, four mismatched wooden chairs, a curtained alcove. A fire burned low in the grate near the open kitchen door. Queenie swiveled the steel black hob over the flames and the kettle hissed softly , steaming gently.
    Then she drew the high curtain back on rattling links. Ernst looked at Will. A dark towel covered his midriff. The old man was blotched, purple and dark blue. Dried blood had congealed over numerous wounds. His face was swollen, discoloured, but to the boy's amazement he had died smiling, despite being in obvious pain.
Questioningly, Ernst looked at his aunt. "How could he smile?"
    "He would not renounce Jesus as Lord and Saviour, Son of God. So Jesus came and carried him home."
    The boy sank down on a chair. "Tell me why."


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