Through the window I saw Jacob cross the street and rush up the stairs. It was raining with such a biblical fury that there was a hard wall of water between us, and yet I could still make out a troubled look on his face.
Before I could react Jacob kicked open the door and entered. He looked nearly drowned. He leaned towards me, and I thought he was going to whisper something in my ear, but instead he pulled me to him and held me tightly in his arms. I felt oddly dazzled by the spontaneity of his gesture. The water off his coat soaked through my blouse, and once he had kissed me and pulled away, I looked like someone had directed the full force of a garden hose at my chest.
“I’m sorry,” Jacob said. “I’ve ruined you.”
“I dry very quickly.”
My mother emerged from the kitchen carrying a vodka in orange juice, her preferred evening drink.
“Barbara!” Jacob said to my mother. “Be a pal and fix me one of those.”
“Susan, are you having a drink?” My soaking-wet handsome husband seemed to be a bundle of life this evening.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“But you would,” he said. “Things happen you don’t plan on.”
“Are you all right?”
“Never better,” he said, but his voice didn’t convince me. “Barbara, we want two of what you are having.”
So my mother returned to the cabinet where the vodka was kept and began mixing the drinks. She had moved in with us at our Andheri East residence only an year back, after the death of my father. Living all alone in a seven-room house at seventy, proved a bit too lonely for her. She sold the sprawling house in Koregaon Park, Pune at a throwaway price, but money had never meant much to Barbara.
Jacob hung up his coat on the porch, where it could drip without consequence, and I put the chicken on the table. Steve, our thirteen-year old son shuffled into the kitchen.
“Chicken are shot full of hormones,” he declared with the all-encompassing teenage authority.
“Everything is a health hazard if you look at it that way.” Jacob put a piece of chicken on Steve’s plate. “You never really know what’s good for you or what’s bad for you. You never know what’s going to get you until it’s too late.”
I put down my fork. My mother and son put down their forks. We all stared at Jacob. “What in the world happened today?”
Jacob contemplated, chewed, reflected some more. “Nothing much.”
“May I be excused?” Steve said to no one in particular.
“Stay put,” Jacob said. “I was going to wait until later. I was going to tell Susan first.”
“Tell Susan what?” my mother said.
We all looked at Jacob.
“I lost my job,” he said.
“Fired?” my mother said.
Jacob rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “Fired sounds very personal. This wasn’t personal. You see, it was everyone, really – almost everyone. Last week a huge chain bought the departmental store I worked in. In my worst-case scenario I imagined a pay cut or even a transfer. Turns out, my fears hadn’t even been close to the actual nightmare that unfolded.
“We’re going to have to sell the house, aren’t we?” Steve said. “I’m going to have to go to government school.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that right now,” Jacob said.
Steve’s eyes welled up with tears. The teenage audacity gave way to childhood insecurity. My mother stood up and came over to him. “We should let your parents talk.” She put her arm around him and together they left the room.
Jacob picked up his glass and went to fix himself another drink. “This big group of corporates started calling people into office, and one by one they’re going in: Jai, Reena and Melissa – ”
“They fired Melissa? Her kid is fighting leukemia. This is awful.”
“It was every body, but you’re not going to worry,” he said.
“You seem to be taking it well.” My voice was kind.
Jacob leaned over and took my hand. He kissed my fingers. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea how I’m taking it. I think I’m in shock.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “We would figure this out. We have figured out plenty of things before this.”
The morning was a different story. Panic had gradually overtaken the optimism of the previous night. Jacob was staring straight up at the ceiling, his pupils dilated wide, his fists closed so tight that his knuckles appeared a bloodless white.
“Bad night?” I said quietly.
“We are in big, big trouble,” he whispered. “I have to find a job.”
“You’ll find a job,” I said, trying to comfort both of us. I put my hand on top of his white knuckles. “You need to relax. Take some time, think about yourself for a change. When you’re ready, there’s going to be a great job for you.”
Jacob slipped one arm beneath me and sighed. “You’re very benevolent for a woman whose husband is unemployed.”
Jacob kissed me, and for a moment I had a distinct feeling that the mood in the bedroom was about to shift, but then the phone rang. He sat straight up, his clenched knuckles becoming whiter. “What if it’s the store?” he said. “What if they changed their mind?”
“Jacob, it’s not the departmental store.” Whoever it was, was calling too early. It wasn’t even seven o’clock in the morning. I reached for the phone. The call was for Barbara.
Jacob waited and waited, but there was no call for him, nor any job. Things started getting really desperate. The mortgage repayment and the car loan installment got delayed for the first time.
One night after dinner the mood was especially despondent. My mother stood up to leave, but paused at the edge of the table to give a hard look to the set of candles standing in the center. She turned her gaze from one corner of the room to the other. There were candles on the mantelpiece, atop the refrigerator, in the alcove, lining the windowsill. Beautiful candles in vibrant colours surrounded us. All created by me, so lovingly.
Barbara’s gaze finally settled on my perturbed face. “Susan, you should stop waiting for Jacob to land a job and start thinking about getting one yourself. You should go into the candle making business. That’s something you could do.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I said lightly. “It’s a lovely thought, but it’s crazy. Candles aren’t big enough to pull us out of this mess.”
Barbara smiled at me. She had absolute confidence in what she was saying. “Take a look at these candles and tell me who wouldn’t like to buy them.”
She looked at me hard, until I realised that she was not being rhetorical. I had to admit the candles were good, in fact, the very best.
“So what do I do? Put a sign up that says ‘Candles Sold Here’? I don’t know anything about business.”
“Listen, there are a lot of small stores in this area besides the ones owned by big chains,” spoke Jacob joining in the conversation. “Additionally, we can contact the classy boutiques.”
With Jacob’s backing, I knew I was going to save my family through the sheer melting power of my double broilers.
“I think if you have a job that you really love to do, you’re ahead of ninety-nine per cent of the competition,” said my mother sitting down again. “Candle making may not be big business, but people buy fancy candles all the time, and they pay good money for them. Who knows, with Christmas just round the corner, you may hit the jackpot.”
“Having worked for a big departmental store I know a lot of people in this line,” said Jacob animatedly. “I, therefore, will take marketing. I’ll make a few phone calls and put together a list.”
My mother stood up again. “So what about packaging?”
“Packaging?” blurted out Jacob.
“Well, you aren’t just going to show up at the stores holding a bunch of candles, are you? You need something that makes a statement, something they’ll remember you by. I’ll make some nice boxes. Nothing expensive. I’ll be in charge of presentation.”
“Good,” I said, and smiled. “Then we’re in business.
The thought of making candles morning, noon and night filled my heart with infinite joy. I stayed up half the night poring over candle-making literature stashed away in the attic room. I made notes on Hand Dipped Candles, Canning Jar Candles, Stained Candles, Hurricane Candles, Foamed Candles, Anniversary Candles and the Ruff and Buff variety.
Even my trip to the craft-store the next morning to get the supplies was done with real enthusiasm. I piled my cart full of wax slabs, colours, scents, molds and mold accessories (wick, lead, clay), two double broilers, temperature gauges and stearic acid. Next I visited a thrift store to buy canning jars and wire ribbon. I bought a nice autumn-scented potpourri and added some orange slices I’d dried in my food dehydrator along with cinnamon sticks.
I found myself smiling at everyone in the market. ‘I’m starting my own business!’ I wanted to croon to them. I set up shop in the vacant basement and launched into the business of candle making.
I set the double broilers on the stoves and started melting the wax slabs. As the raw wax melted, I brought the temperature to 180 degrees Fahrenheit, adding stearic acid, colours and scents one after the other. When the wax was ready I poured it slowly and carefully in the cleaned and silicon sprayed molds. One by one I inserted the wicks from the bottom and tied them to sticks across the top and sealed the hole in the bottom with clay.
I went on molding, dipping, rolling, fusing, layering and sculpting. I hand painted some, embedded beads in others. By the time Steve came home from school, I had amassed fifty candles in different stages of completion.
“What’s going on?” Steve said. He put down his backpack and squinted at my masterpieces. “Have you lost your mind? Do you really think we need any more candles around the house?”
I straightened my back and exhaled exasperatedly. “I’m trying to start a little business. I thought that maybe I could sell candles.”
Steve leaned over to take a second look at my creation. “You want to be a candle maker?”
“Bad idea,” I said. I was tired.
“I think it’s a great idea,” he said.
I wiped my hands off on the apron tied around my waist. “You really think so?”
“Mom, you’re going to be a huge success. You’ll make so much money, you can set up a factory and get into big time candle making.”
How I wished I had an iota of Steve’s confidence and bravado. He so rarely showed any enthusiasm about anything that when he did, he practically lit up the room.
“What’s your company called?”
“Company?”
“Well, you have to have a name, don’t you? I mean, you’re going to have business cards, right?”
“I don’t have business cards.”
“I’ll make the cards on the computer, but first you need to decide on a catchy name.”
I looked around the basement for inspiration. “Candles by Susan?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “You need something that just hits you. Then everybody will remember you. What about Candle Lady!” he cried.
“It’s very classical.” I replied happily.
“Then, that’s what the company will be called. It’s hip, it’s catchy, it’s unforgettable, and it’s you. Candle Lady.”
That night Jacob and I lay down beside each other in the bed, not talking about candles and not talking about jobs. We rolled towards each other and kissed in the dark, sweetly, chastely. No matter what happened, there was always that kiss at the end of the day, and I wondered what it would be like to go to sleep without it.
When I woke up, it was four o’ clock in the morning, but I knew that I was finished sleeping for the night. I watched Jacob for a while. I thought of our marriage and the birth of Steve, and I loved him.
I picked up my bathrobe and headed to the basement. All the candles from the day before were standing in neat rows. They looked so beautiful, bright and full of promise. I would make another batch today, and then I would send them all to the stores.
Steve walked in around eight and made a brief inspection of the candles. “Nobody out there makes better candles than you.” He held out his hand and gave me a thick stack of small cards.
The Candle Lady
Designer Candles by Susan Smith
Beneath that was our address and phone number and Steve’s e-mail identity. I touched the little cards with the tip of my finger. “Oh, Steve. They’re so beautiful.” I had never had a card in my life. I was getting a little teary, and Steve held up his hand to indicate that these were only business cards and I should pull it together.
“I really am going to be late for school if I don’t leave right now.” He leaned forward to give me the briefest of kisses on the cheek. “You’re going to do great.” He waved to me and rushed up the basement stairs.
At one o’ clock my mother descended the basement stairs looking exhausted and triumphant. In her hands she held a box the likes of which I had never seen before.
“You made that?”
“I made it twenty times.” She set it down on the table beside the candles. It was lightly padded and covered in a pale blue, crepe-silk with a darker blue tapestry on the lid margins. The top was transparent and there was a covered button fixed to it. It looked artistic, professional, and extremely classy.
I picked up the box and turned it over. It was perfect and I told her so.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’m planning on making hundreds of those.”
“And look at the cards Steve made.”
My mother took a card and smiled. “I’ll pin them on top of the boxes with studded hatpins.”
Jacob came down cradling the boxes carefully in his arms. My mother and I nestled five different candles inside each box. When it was done, I hugged them both. My husband and my mother had supported me, at exactly the moment I needed them.
Jacob loaded the candles into the station wagon and pulled out of the driveway. I waved to him with a heart full of confidence. I had made something that I loved. It was the best work I had ever done.
The hours ticked by. The sky had clouded over, and it started to sprinkle. I must have dozed off on the sofa because I didn’t here Jacob get back.
“Ten stores, ten orders!” Jacob kissed me full on the lips, lifting me off the sofa in one smooth motion.
I felt dizzy, but I didn’t know if it was from sleep or pleasure. “How many candles the first week?”
“Um, let me see.” Jacob tapped the papers with his fingertip. “One hundred and fifty boxes of candles this week. They all want you to call them back too. They need to talk about some special Christmas designs.”
“And money?”
Jacob raised his eyebrow at me. “Seven thousand seven hundred and fifty rupees, gross. And that’s just the beginning.”
“I don’t have a plan.” I said. “I don’t have the raw material. I don’t have enough molds. I’m going to need more broilers. Where are we going to put extra stoves?” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. A little voice in my head whispered, “You’ll manage, because you love your job.”
When we got into bed that night, I put my head on Jacob’s shoulder. “Big surprise,” I said.
“No surprise at all,” he said. “Once I saw all those candles, I knew there would be no stopping you.”
“I am no businesswoman.”
Jacob kissed the top of my head. “Candle Lady, you’re just going to be great.”
Things got better and busier for the Smiths. Soon it was Christmas. At the special family dinner, the aroma rising from the turkey cooked by Jacob, competed with that of Susan’s candles. Barbara closed her eyes and said a prayer.
“At this table, where we join for food and fellowship, we reaffirm our belief in honesty, hard work and will of God. We thank almighty for his mercy in keeping us together. We pray for strength to accept life as it unfolds and courage to keep our faith, because nothing is really lost if faith, hope and love are retained. On this happy occasion we celebrate this family’s resilience and good fortune. Let us, in all humility, implore the blessings of Lord for all. Amen!”
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