Lamp Peddler, part 3

Martin returned home but was in no hurry to repair her lamp, for he wasn’t anxious to make the switch again. He set it on his mantle where he looked at it every day and thought of her. The winter was hard that year and he stayed home for a good stretch of time with nothing to occupy his life but thoughts of his customers in their homes, and the lamps he had brought into their lives. He thought mostly of her and reluctantly, just to fill the time, began working on her lamp. The chimney was completely black with soot, it was without oil and the wick was brittle from lack of use. He wondered how she thought it of any value and wondered why she hadn’t thrown it out. He polished it carefully, discovering the base was gilded with pure gold. He found it to be a sturdy lamp, designed to be functional and reliable. He replaced the wick and filled the base with the finest oil. The chimney alone took a whole day to clean, but he discovered the glass to be of the finest quality, without bubble or flaw and perfectly symmetrical. Certainly it had been made by a master craftsman. He struck a match to the wick, put the chimney in place, and set it back on the mantle. It was exquisite. Its light filled every corner of his room and illuminated something in the very center of his being. He felt alive. It had been quite some time since he had felt such joy, such peace. He knew why she had kept the lamp, there was a power in it. He didn’t understand it, but he felt it.

Martin kept her lamp a full year before he could muster the courage to take it back to her, for he had come to believe it was the very lamp that suited his needs. He was sorry that it did not belong to him; he was sorrier still that he would need to take back the lamp that had suited her so well. But he knew no other way, for she was too selfless to accept it without payment.

Before seeking her out at the little cottage, he stopped at the inn of her village and inquired after her.

“Oh, you’re talking about Mary! What a lady she is, very well-respected and loved in these parts. Why, you must’ve known her before she got the lamp, back when she lived with that ogre. You wouldn’t even recognize her now. They say it was that lamp that did it. She got a new lamp a while back from some peddler that came through town. She’d been close to death before he came, but began to recover when she got that new lamp. Like I said, you wouldn’t even recognize her. That Mary, great lady, she is.”

Martin was stunned. He had no idea what Mary had been through. An ogre. That explained why she stayed on the porch, when the custom is to receive peddlers into your home and offer them refreshment. That also explained the condition of lamp, for ogres despise light since it illuminates the truth about who they are. Then Martin grew uneasy, there were too many unanswered questions: where was the ogre now, how much does he know about the lamp and where it came from? Was the other lamp hers or his?

“Oh, no, what have I done?” Martin began to despair; it was never wise to mess with an ogre, particularly in the private matters within an ogre’s home.

He had been reluctant to tell the Maker about any of this, for customarily a peddler does not give away his wares, nor trade them in. He felt guilty for keeping her lamp for such a long time and guilty for wanting it for himself. Yet he felt more guilty at the thought of having to take away the special lamp that he knew of a surety was custom-made for Mary. Now to discover that an ogre was involved… Martin had no choice but to visit the Maker and find out what to do.

He took the old lamp with him to see the Maker. Tears were already in his eyes as he entered and without saying anything, he set the lamp on the workbench, and as the Maker looked up, Martin started to cry. The Maker took Martin in his arms and said nothing while he cried, then calmed. Then the Maker, looking at the lamp Martin brought, said, “You’ve found Mary!”

Martin, a puzzled look on his face, gazed into the Maker’s eyes, “You know Mary?”

“Of course I know Mary; I know my lamps, and I know who they belong to. This was the very first lamp you sold, remember?”

Martin searched his memory, “The young girl; it was to be a gift for her husband. Was the girl really Mary?”

“Yes, you DO remember. Now, tell me about her.” Martin recounted all that had happened then the Maker asked, “What have you learned about lamps over these many years?”

Martin recounted all that the Maker had taught him and then the Maker asked, “Tell me why you gave the lamp to Mary.”

“Because… because I knew it was made especially for her; she was supposed to have it. She wanted it, no, she needed it. She loved it so, I honestly wanted her to have it more than anything else in the world. I would have done anything for her to have that lamp.

“Why?”

Martin hung his head, he could barely speak the words, as though it were wrong to feel what was in his heart. “Because I love her.”

The Maker slowly nodded in understanding, then asked, “Knowing what you know about her life before the lamp, and loving her as you do, can you think of any reason why having the lamp could be considered a bad thing?”

Martin thought about that, and then, as though thinking out loud, he said, “It illuminated the truth for her, which gave her choices… it saved her life… “

“Are you sorry that she has the lamp, that things have turned out the way they have?”

Martin slowly shook his head as tears filled his eyes, “Why didn’t I sell her that lamp that first day I saw her?”

The Maker reminded him, “You were very young and inexperienced then, and she was not looking for one for herself; in fact, she has never considered herself. You remember how uncomfortable she was accepting the lamp that she loved so much, the one made especially for her. She would accept it only when you suggested a trade, and only temporarily.”

Martin started to cry again, “How can I take it away from her now? I can’t do it. I want her to have it more than ever.”

The Maker smiled, “Mary is healing; she is learning to think of herself, learning to respect her needs and wants. I think in time, and under the right circumstances she will accept it from you. What are you going to do about this lamp, the one she bought from you those many years ago?”

“It means so much to me, I can’t explain it. Is it because it is hers? Is it because of what it has done for me, how it makes me feel, alive, hopeful, excited? I know I have to give it back, it’s just that…”

“She does own it, it was purchased for her husband, but remember that it was made specifically for someone and every lamp eventually finds its way to the right person. Search your heart to find who that might be.”

Martin smiled, for he knew. There was a way for him to keep the lamp he cherished, he would share it with the woman who owned it, the woman he loved. He would be Mary’s husband. And that would be the right circumstance for Mary to accept her lamp from him. In time…

Martin said, “I will never be ready to become a lamp maker, will I.”

“Oh, Martin,” said the Maker, “You have only one thing left to understand, and I think you do already, you just don’t realize it. Tell me, Martin, what is light made of?”

Martin thought for a minute, then a smile swept across his face. He looked the Maker right in the eyes and said, “Love!”

EPILOGUE: The story does not end here, but continues to this day, and, in due time, as love stories always go, one day will read “and they lived happily ever after.”