Five Firemen Carried Me Out, and Not One Will Put Me Down novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: First Run

The sap ran the third Saturday of February, and by two in the morning the sugarhouse was so full of steam I could not see the roof.

The evaporator roared in the middle of the room, a long steel pan on a brick arch with the fire going under it.

Wood stood stacked to the rafters on three walls.

It smelled of smoke and hot maple, sweet enough to taste in my throat.

I sat on a sheepskin on the long bench by the woodpile in Normand's flannel shirt and his dead father's boots, and watched him work.

He wore suspenders over a union suit, with the sleeves pushed to his elbows.

His forearms were corded and thick, and covered in red-brown hair.

He drew off a ladle of syrup and held it to the light.

"Done," he said.

"Come see."

I came.

He carried the ladle to the back door and opened it on the night.

A tin pan of clean snow sat on the step.

He poured a thin line of syrup over it in a long loop, and it went stiff and gold on the white.

"Sugar on snow," he said.

"Pick it up."

I picked up the ribbon of taffy with my fingers.

It was chewy and warm and sweet, with the cold of the snow still in it.

I closed my eyes.

"Oh, that's good."

"Here."

He tore off another piece and held it to my lips.

I took it from his fingers with my teeth and licked the sweetness off his thumb.

He went completely still.

"Normand," I said.

"Yes."

"I'm going to eat the rest of this off you."

His eyes closed.

"Jo," he said, strangled.

"I don't know what I did to deserve."

"You made syrup," I said.

"Take off the suspenders."

He took off the suspenders.

He peeled the union suit down to his waist, and the chest I had seen in the shower rose and fell in the firelight.

I put my palm flat in the middle of it.

His heart was going hard, and the heat came off him in waves.

I led him to the bench by the hand and sat him down on the sheepskin.

I stood between his knees.

I was nearly his height this way, with my head level with his chin.

"Hold out your hand," I said.

He held it out.

I poured the rest of the cooled syrup from the ladle into his palm.

It ran in a gold ribbon between his fingers.

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