The man who could ignite stars

There were many things He couldn't do. Too many, perhaps. But He knew how to ignite stars. For even the brightest and the most beautiful stars burn out sometimes, and if people came out one evening and saw no stars in the sky, it would have made them sad. And He was very good at igniting stars, that was his consolation. It was a job someone had to do. Somebody had to freeze their fingers off while searching for burnt out stars in the clouds of icy space dust; somebody had to gain burns while lighting these stars up anew with the hot sparks taken off other, younger stars, the ones that were still burning. Alas, it was a difficult job, with little free time, and for many long years he was forced to put up with not being able to do other things- the smaller, less important things that most people could do. But one day, when the stars seemed to behave, he decided to take a day off.
And so He came down to Earth and took a walk over the soft grass lawn of the City Park. He looked at the sky one more time, just to make sure- and the stars winked at him, encouraging. And then he relaxed, and kept on walking- and after a few more steps, he suddenly saw Her.
“Your beauty shines brighter than the morning star,” He said. “You are more beautiful than all the stars of the universe.”
She was surprised. No man had ever told Her such things before. “You’re hot” some of them said. “You're sexy,” said others. And one man, the most romantic of them all, promised to take Her with him to a tropical island in the faraway sea…
“You are more beautiful than all the stars of the universe,” He repeated. And she did not have the heart to tell him that it was not so.
The small house on the outskirts of the city seemed like the most wonderful palace to Him, for they were there together and it was good…
“Do you want me to tell you about the stars?” he whispered. “The Fomalhaut is small and dishevelled, like a furry orange kitten. The Vega is bluish and burning, like a shard of heated ice. The Sirius is three stars woven together, like the braids in your hair… But you are more beautiful than all the stars…”
“Keep talking,” she begged, grasping the ends of his fingers- hot like the tongues of a flame. “Please keep talking”.
“I will tell you about all the stars, big and small, the ones with long beautiful names and the ones that are only known by their numbers in the catalogs… But you are more beautiful than the stars…”
“Tell me more…”
“The Polaris, the North Star, told me about travels and travelers, about the thunder of the stormy sea waves and the whistle of the Arctic winds…You will never be bored with me by your side, you will never be sad. Just stay with me, because you are more beautiful than the stars…”
“Tell me more…”
“The Altair and the Hamal told me of scribes and generals, of the mysteries of the Orient, of forgotten arts and of ancient sciences… You will never be hurt when I am by your side, you will never be lonely. Just stay with me, because you are more beautiful than the stars…”
She sighed, struggling to break free from the magic chains of his words. And then She asked Him:
“And what can you do?"
He winced, but did not despair.
“Look into the window," He said.
A moment- and a star ignited in the empty darkness. It was so far away that it seemed like a mere white dot, but He knew that it was the most beautiful star in the sky (even though in His eyes its beauty could not rival Hers). A thousand planets rotated around it in an amazing, impossible dance, and on each of these planets colorful gardens blossomed, and emerald seas whispered, and a trillion birds whistled, and saphire blue rivers flew through the golden sands…
“A star in the sky,” She said. “So tiny… I think it wasn’t there before, but I can’t be sure… But what can you DO?”
And he had no answer.
“But how will we live?” She wondered aloud. “In this old house that doesn’t even have a stove… And you cannot do anything, nothing at all…”
“I will learn!” He almost shouted. ”I promise! I will learn to do everything, trust me!”
And She trusted Him.
He doesn't ignite stars anymore. He learned to do many things. He is now a famous astronomer, and He earns good money. Sometimes in the evenings, when He comes out to the balcony to smoke a cigarette, He feels sad for a moment, and He is afraid to look up at the sky. But the sky is still full of stars. Others keep them burning now, and they do it well.
He says He is happy, and people believe Him. Every morning, while His wife is still asleep, He quietly goes to the kitchen and turns on the stove. It isn’t a gas stove, nor is it electrical. Two tiny stars burn in it, a white one and a red one; they were His wedding gift to Her. The white one hisses like an angry cat and sometimes shoots out sparks of hot plasma. It is very hot and can boil a pot of water in a minute and a half. The red one is warm, quiet and fluffy, like a lightbulb wrapped in red cotton- perfect for heating up yesterday’s soup from the fridge.

He is happy. And that is what scares Him the most.

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