The Snow Lamp
Suri dragged her mitten along the top of the snow wall. The snow was crisp, like sugar on a cake. It squeaked under her boots. Behind her came Mo, slow as always, his shell dusted white. The lane lamps were just waking up, one by one. Suri's cheeks were cold. Her middle, under her coat, was warm. She stopped where the snow lay deepest and smoothest. "Here," she said. "Let's build a lamp out of snow."
Suri showed Mo with her hands. A ring of snowballs first. Then a smaller ring on top. Then smaller and smaller, until it closed over like an egg. A little lantern would go inside and shine through the white. Mo looked at the snow for a long moment. Then he pressed it flat and smooth with the bottom of his shell. "Pat it soft, Mo. Pat it slow," said Suri, and she began to roll.
She rolled fast, because she wanted to see it glowing. Her snowballs came out big and lumpy and loose. She stacked them in a wobbly ring. She leaned the next ring on top, quickly, before the first could think about it. The wall bulged. The wall leaned. Then the whole thing sighed and slumped into a heap, and a cold puff of snow went straight up Suri's sleeve.
Suri sat down in the heap. She laughed. The snow had gone down her collar too, and it melted there, cold and then warm. Mo came and sat beside her, breathing slowly through his nose. Lamplight lay in yellow stripes across the lane. Suri looked at the mess of lumps and the one smooth place where Mo's shell had pressed. She picked up a handful of snow and held it still in her mittens.
The snow grew warmer in her hands. When she squeezed it, it stuck. So she made the next ball small. She made it slowly. She turned it and pressed it and turned it again, until it was round as an apple. "Pat it soft, Mo. Pat it slow," she said. Mo breathed on the snow and pressed it flat for her. One by one, Suri set her small round snowballs in a ring on his smooth place.
The ring closed. Suri began the next one, leaning each ball a little inward. Her fingers went pink. Her nose went pink. The village got quieter, the way it does when snow is falling and nobody minds. Mo rolled the balls to her with his flipper, one at a time, never faster than she could use them. The ring went up. It bent over like a shoulder.
The last ball sat on top and the snow lamp was closed. It was small and round and full of shadow. Suri made a little door at the bottom with her hand. Then she slid her lantern inside, careful as carrying soup. The light spread through the walls. The snow turned gold. Every ball glowed a different soft colour, and the lumps where her fingers had pressed glowed brightest of all.
Suri leaned her back against Mo's shell. The snow lamp warmed the air just a little, just around their knees. Snowflakes drifted down and landed on the glowing dome and stayed. Across the lane, a window went orange. Somewhere a kettle began to whistle. "Pat it soft, Mo. Pat it slow," Suri whispered, mostly to the snow lamp, and the snow lamp went on shining without hurrying at all.
Later, Suri watched it from the window with a cup held in both hands. Mo lay against her feet, warm and heavy. The snow lamp glowed in the dark lane like a small golden egg. Suri's eyes grew slow. The little flame inside sank, and leaned, and went out, and the snow lamp turned blue and quiet under the falling snow. Suri's cup went down. Her head went down. The village held its breath and let it go.
