The fiction entitled "Salamander" that follows was orginally part of Fifty Pairs of Starlings. About this piece, Griner says:

"The piece, 'Salamander,' is in a somewhat rough form, but it came earlier in the book than 'Light From The Ice,' and involves most of the same characters. At first it seemed a crucial scene to me, but as I rewrote the book (one of several thorough revisions), I realized that it served merely as a pale forerunner for 'Light From The Ice,' having essentially the same dynamics and exploring the same dilemmas. So, quite happily, I cut it."

Enjoy "Salamander" below and check out a copy of The Southeast Review (Vol. 25.1) to read "Light from the Ice."

Coal tumbled into the furnace and Charles realized he’d heard the bulkhead doors creak open, the coalman’s heavy tread on the wooden stairs, his shovel scraping over the piled coal. His breath steamed in the chilly air and his nose and cheeks felt iced. He burrowed further under the covers and waited for the first gust of dusty warmth to come from the radiators, glad that it wasn’t a school morning, that he didn’t have to get out of bed, that he wasn’t the one shoveling. The ceiling was yellowing but blue light lingered in the corners and along the floor, and he tried to ignore the mild guilt that someone else had to do the work, pulling the comforter over his shoulders and rolling over.

When he woke again sunlight jeweled drops of water hanging from the eaves. Even before breakfast he scribbled Sam a note—Want to ride our bikes today?—and slipped into his father’s boots, so tall they came up to his knees. The cold shocked him; he’d expected heat from the sunlight, the smell of thawing earth, perhaps a warm southern breeze, but the thermometer was stuck at fifteen and his throat ached with every breath; riding might not be such a good idea after all. Still, the roads were clear and there was no wind—thin streams of white smoke drifted straight up from all the chimneys into the blue sky—and this was the first sunny day in weeks; it would be a shame to miss it.

The snow squeaked. Now and then he punched through a patch with a glazed surface and as he labored toward the back wall the snow in his boots began to melt. By the time he reached the crack in the wall between their yards, the hiding place for all their notes, he was sloshing in a half inch of icy water.

He was proud of the note, the firm, looping handwriting, the straight, evenly spaced lines. Like Nelson’s. He’d kept a piece of Nelson’s work beside him as he wrote, imitating the elegant script. She’d see the yellow paper and be impressed by his improved handwriting; whether or not she’d come was another question as she didn’t like the cold, but as he sat before the fire, massaging warmth back into his icy toes, he hoped the rare February sunshine would overcome her qualms about the frigid air.He was truing his spokes when Nelson appeared in the shed door. The light behind him made him seem monumental.

“Going for a ride?”

“Uh-huh.” Charles shifted, the concrete cold even through his coat and pants and wool underwear. “Want to come?”

“Sure.”

Charles fumbled with the wrench in surprise. Nelson never said yes unless he begged, and even then it was iffy; the two years between them might as well have been twenty. A snowball fight, a walk, a bike ride, anything to be outside on such a day, but Nelson had other friends, different interests. Charles had expected him not to want to go, though of course he couldn’t say that, fearing Nelson would never again accept an invitation. He laid the wrench in its assigned place in the tool kit, telling himself that it wouldn’t be bad, that Sam might not even come.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Nelson said. “Wait for me.”

Impatient, Charles bounced the bike frame back and forth between his thighs. Already his cheeks and chin were numb and the longer they waited the more likely it was Sam might be there. He was about to leave when Nelson returned, carrying a small whicker basket over his head like a waiter.

“A few things for a break. Russian tea, cookies. Enough for both of us.” He handed Charles the basket to hold while he went back for his own bike, returned and belted it on the rear fender, asked Charles to look at his front wheel.

“It’s not flat, is it?”

“Ride it a bit,” Charles said. “It’s hard to tell without your weight on it.” It didn’t seem to be, but he felt ashamed of his petulance and wanted to make up for it by a conscientious inspection.

“Okay,” Nelson said, making a loop past him. “Watch carefully.” Then he sped off, first out of the gate. “Slow poke!” he called back.

“You!” Charles said and struggled after him. By the time he caught him with Nelson Sam was there.

“Oh, hello,” she said, looking from Nelson to Charles, her surprise obvious. He tried raising his eyebrows to let her know it was a surprise to him, too, but succeeded only in pulling his wool hat down over his eyes. Still, her smile made him so happy he could only smile back; he didn’t trust his voice (not to shake).

A puppy’s small black head appeared from the milk crate strapped to her handlebars. “No, Alice,” she said. “You stay down for the ride.”

“When’d you get her?” Nelson pulled off his glove to stroke her head.

“Him. Last week.”

He rolled onto his back, letting Nelson rub his white belly. A border collie.

“Why ‘Alice’?”

“I expected a girl and I already had the name.”

“Let’s go to Projansky’s,” Nelson said.

“Projansky’s?” Charles said. “I thought we’d go along the canal.” His voice squeaked and he felt the rims of his ears flush, but no one else seemed to notice. Nelson had grabbed the puppy and tucked it into his coat, and now he was racing off, Sam in pursuit.

Charles eyes teared as he picked up speed, blurring the pavement, and the air was so cold it hurt his lungs, but he couldn’t help taking huge gulps of it. Winter had been a succession of gray, snowy days with a nearly inevitable burst of sunshine before dusk that was all the more depressing for its brevity. Charles understood the phenomenon: winds sweeping across Lake Ontario picked up the relatively warm water and turned it into clouds and snow, obscuring the sun, which, as it neared the western horizon, dropped beneath the clouds long enough to send its slanting rays over the bleak landscape, but understanding it didn’t make it any easier to withstand. Only the possibility of days like this one did.Salt rimed the pavement. Highland curved and sloped downhill, and all three whooped and laughed as they sped down it. Few cars were out, but in front of the school Dwight Sage and some other boys were having a snowball fight; brick around the shining windows splattered with snowballs. Nelson yelled something to them as they passed and Dwight waved. When Charles came nearer he whipped around and threw a snowball; it exploded against his spokes and Charles wobbled and nearly fell. Over his shoulder he saw Dwight pointing and laughing and was glad he hadn’t.

By the time they reached the road to Projansky’s, Charles’ knuckles ached inside his gloves. He sheltered from the wind behind a massive Elm. “It’s a lot colder than I thought,” he said, tucking his hands under his armpits to warm them.

“That’s why I brought this.” Nelson tapped the whicker basket.

They wheeled their bikes down the road three abreast but the path to the pond was narrow and Charles had to drop behind; Nelson and Sam walked side by side, bicycles to the outside, shoulders bumping when one or the other stumbled on the heavy snow.

The path opened out between purple brambles almost at the edge of the ice. Sam leaned her bike against a tree; once he had the basket free, Nelson dropped his in the snow. Charles stood his upright against a fence post.

Sam moved along the shore, looking out over the ice.

“You won’t be able to see the fish,” Charles said. “The ice isn’t clear enough.” Mrs. Projansky had had the pond dug years before, for her Koi. All winter the fish lay on the bottom beneath the ice, waiting for it to thaw.

“It’s not that. I’m looking for something. My bracelet. I lost it last year.”

“In the reeds? They’re closer to the dock.”

“On the other side. Paulie did, really.”

Her brother.

“How?” Nelson asked.

“A fishing lure. He said the Koi were stupid fish and would try to eat it. They’d eat anything. He wanted to catch one, but when he cast he got it stuck in a tree.”

Nelson unscrewed the thermos top and steam curled out around his face. He poured the extra cup full and gave it to Sam, keeping the other for himself. Charles knew better than to ask but still he wondered; what was he supposed to drink from?

“Cookies?” Nelson handed her the plate. When he’d poured off most of the tea he gave Charles the thermos. “Sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to drink from this.”

“There it is!” Sam said, heading toward the ice. She stumbled on the uneven snow by the shore and fell sprawled on the ice, the tea miraculously unspilled, sliding before her on the ice. Charles ran toward her.

Nelson almost fell over, laughing. “Very good,” he said when he’d stopped. “You’ll get high marks from the judges for that move.”

“I’m all right,” she said, standing quickly. Her face was red and Charles made a show of not looking at it while he slapped snow from the back of her jacket, hoping she’d notice his gallantry.

He was about to tell her not to be embarrassed, that Nelson shouldn’t have laughed, when she looked down at her snow-covered front and began to laugh herself.

“I suppose I did look silly.”

She beat the snow from her coat and Charles bent to retrieve her tea.

“There it is!” she said, pointing across the pond.

The silver bracelet hung from a willow branch overhanging the pond, flashing in the sunlight when the breeze turned it. Above it was a red and white bobber.

“I’ll get it,” Nelson said.

He put down his tea and stripped off his jacket. A few steps out, the ice creaked beneath his boots, a cracks shooting out across the ice like lightning. Sam caught her breath, then he giggled, urging him on. Charles stood as close to her as he dared. She noticed him and smiled, and moved a step closer to Nelson. The ice cracked again, stopping his forward process, and as he looked down a another series of cracks spreading out beneath him, Charles said, “Don’t, Nelson. It’ll break.”

Sam turned to him. “Don’t worry. If he goes in it’ll only be up to his shins.”

She was right, of course, the pond on that side was shallow, and Charles felt like a fool. Before he had time to recover, Alice jumped from his basket and went skidding out on the ice, pirouetting a full turn on all fours when he tried to stop. Disoriented by the slide, he shook his head and took off straight for the end of the dock, sitting and leaning back, front legs stiff, when he realized he couldn’t stop. He slammed nose first into it, then slid beyond it, out of sight.

Charles couldn’t help laughing.

“Do you think that’s funny?” Sam said.

Charles blushed. “No,” he said, and raised a hand, meaning to explain, to tell her it was his habitual reaction to pain, but she looked so angry he didn’t bother trying.

Invisible beyond the dock, the dog began to moan, then yelp.

“He’s hurt!” Sam said, and took a step toward it.

“I’ll get him,” Charles said and started out over the ice. He’d done it instinctively, but once begun he realized it had been a smart thing to do. He could redeem himself in her eyes, and not be overshadowed by Nelson.
Alice’s yelping reached a higher note, increased in urgency.

“Where are you, Alice?” Charles said. “I’m coming.”

“Be careful,” Sam said. “It might not support you.”

“Don’t worry. It hasn’t thawed in over a week.”

But the truth was he wasn’t sure. Just in case, he angled toward the dock, meaning to shuffle out next to it. The water wouldn’t be above his shoulders there. He was nearing the end of it, one hand reaching out for a rubber bumper, when the ice gave way beneath him and he plunged in up to his waist.

“I’m all right!” he said, before either Nelson or Sam could speak; he didn’t want to appear in trouble but the truth was the cold had shocked him and if he’d been alone he would have screamed. He punched loose a few weaker parts of ice, trying not to move much, as bobbing made the water rise to his chest, and when he was done sloshed toward a solider rim.

Alice’s yelping grew worse.

“Do you want me to get her?” Sam said.

“No, I’m fine, really.” He leaned forward on a patch of charcoal colored ice—evidently the pewter color had been a sign of thinness—and inched himself forward, pulling himself out by the palms of his hands, the water sucking at him like something alive as he struggled free.

When he was sure the ice was solid he stood. Water drained from his coat and pants into his boots, overflowed behind him. As soon as it touched ice some of it began to freeze.

“Hurry, Charles. You’ll get sick.”

Her tone was motherly, and he didn’t like it. “I see him,” he said. “He’s all right.” Alice was behind the dock leaning back on his haunches, extended tongue stuck to an iron support. The tongue was so thin it looked like a length of wire; Charles hadn’t known puppies’ tongues had such dimensions.

“Easy, boy,” he said, hoping to calm it, but for some reason the sound of his voice made the dog scrabble that much harder. When it lost its footing and fell to the side his tongue twisted and he yelped even louder.

“Charles!” He heard the fear in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s all right. You’ll see.”

He shuffled forward, afraid of falling himself, and when close enough bent and grabbed Alice by the scruff of the neck. He carried him closer to the iron, as pulling back like that would only make the pain worse, squatted, and began rubbing the bar with his glove, hoping the frictional warmth would free Alice; from behind him he heard the indistinct voices of Nelson and Sam, Nelson’s steady, Sam’s concerned. Nelson’s was growing louder, which meant he must be coming back with the bracelet. He hurried, feeling his pants freezing and not wanting the rescue of Alice to be upstaged.

Alice struggled to get his claws into the ice again. “Easy now,” Charles said, and massaged his shoulders, still rubbing the pipe to warm it. At least he’d stopped his piteous wailing. After a few more seconds Charles pinched his glove under his armpit and took it off, then rubbed the iron with his bare hand; it was warm enough now that his own skin didn’t stick, and his body heat would make the warming go faster.

“There you go, see? It’ll soon be over.”

And it was. The tongue snapped free and Alice stumbled backward against his legs. When he righted himself he began licking Charles’ hand in gratitude, the tongue bloody and rough.

“Got him!” Charles called out, and stood with Alice tucked under his arm. Now he was licking Charles’s chin.

Across the ice Nelson was whacking at a limb with a stick, Sam beside him; at last the bracelet fell glittering to the ice, followed by a red and white bobber. Nelson and Sam scrambled after them.

“Thank you,” she said. She stood and refastened it and when she had it on she hugged him, longer than necessary, Charles thought. Shuffling toward them, he watched Nelson pocket the bobber.After they’d put their bikes in the shed, a concrete floor, straw in one corner, dark because of the three sides without windows, he brought in some wood, dropping two of the logs when a spider he’d crawled onto his neck and then his face, so hard they dented the pine floor. That would make Father angry if he saw it, but he seemed not to have heard—when Charles listened he heard only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway—and he picked them up and stacked the pile in the log holder, then drew a bath. He stood shivering on the cold tiles while the steaming water filled the porcelain tub, which had been so cold to the touch. He waited as long as he could watching the water pour into the tub—his brother, Jean’s father, older, had let him go first—and at last he stepped over the high side and into the water, ankle deep though he could have sat, prolonging his exposure to the cold exponentially, until at last he was shivering so badly in the dark high-ceilinged room his testicles were migrating into his body and he feared he would fall and he plunged his body into the enveloping, scalding water.

His toes clenched on the cold floor. He came from the bathroom wrapped in a large towel, shivering, toes clenching on the cold floor, and went to the kitchen. Cold chicken with its own jelly sprinkled with salt; he couldn’t wait to eat it. But Father called him into the other room where he’d started the fire and from his voice he couldn’t tell whether or not he was angry. Perhaps he’d seen the dented floor and was going to ask him about it, or perhaps he was waiting for him to tell him about it first. In which case, if he didn’t, Charles was going to be in even bigger trouble; Father never liked having to chisel out confessions from them. Or perhaps he wanted to know about the dog.

“Yes, Father?”

“Come here.” He looked away from the fire to meet his eye.

Not the floor, then, he thought. But what? Had he not stacked the wood properly in the fireplace, was it not burning well? No, the flames shot up to the damper.

“Hurry,” Father said, motioning him closer.

His arm around Charles’s shoulder was an unusually affectionate gesture. He pointed out a log half consumed by flames. “See on the end of it, a salamander?”

Charles didn’t at first, the pulsing flames made it invisible, then he did, a small orange and gray creature the size of a nail, clinging to the end of the log and looking down as if staring into the flames.

“It’s very rare to see one. The Greeks used to believe that its skin was fireproof, that it could withstand the hottest flame. They made clothes from asbestos and called the fabric salamander skin.”

Then, as he watched it, the small four-toed feet moving as the amphibian ducked and swayed, Father struck his ear, so hard his eyes teared. He put his hand to the side of his head and looked at Father in surprise.

“Here,” he said, putting his arm around him again. “I don’t strike you because I’m angry, but so you’ll always remember this.” From his pocket he produced a gold coin. He still had it somewhere, or he did until very recently. Perhaps in all the moving, it got lost. “And I do this,” Father said, “so you’ll know how the old superstitions worked. They thought that because the salamander, like the one you see here”—and now when he looked again, the salamander was gone, but Father seemed not to notice—“often hibernate in wood, and get woken by the flames. So the Greeks thought them fire animals, impervious to it.”

Father’s goal worked. He always remembered the day and the salamander, but the day had had unattended consequences, as well. Ever after, he was unable to escape the feeling that as soon as his sensibilities were excited for a good reason, he was bound to suffer an unexpected blow. It made him wary of enjoying things too much, of letting his expectations get too high, because of the fear that a type of cosmic comeuppance awaited just outside the confines of his joy. He never spoke about it with Nelson, but he was certain Nelson grew up harboring the same restricted sense of happiness, the belief that something would harm the things—the people—he loved the most, and so it caused him to be constrained.