Seville

Prologue

The ball of candle wax is still small; he began it only last year.

Gnarled and knobbly, it sits in his quivering palm. Suddenly he grabs it between tiny thumb and forefinger and thrusts it out in front of him, expectantly. Hopefully.

The young boy senses the intensity of darkness, despite the tailored lighting all around.

Perhaps it is the lateness of the hour or the daunting solemnity of the occasion that adds to the sensation.

Even though the people surrounding him appear far from solemn and he’s not yet quite sure what this particular night is all about.

He has heard there is magic in the very air.

Yet he desires one thing only. More, he is certain, than he has ever desired anything in his life. Not that he ever looks back. Or even forward. There is only now.

And here it comes.

The biggest candle he has ever seen, slowly dripping its own scalding essence as it moves down through the dark, sultry air towards his outstretched hand. The flame almost frying his fingers. He can see only the eyes of his benefactor; all else is hidden.

More wax glides towards him, adding to his store, to last year’s solidified bounty. If some of it drops onto his sweaty hand, sizzling the skin, so what? Provided the aggregation justifies the pain.

Maybe this year he will beat the rivals in his classroom.

Maybe this time will be his triumph.

It is going to be a very special week.