Read Online Night on Fire by Ronald Kidd - Free Book Online

bucks as a paperboy before moving on to his true calling, star pitcher for the Detroit Tigers. He reached into the bag, grabbed a rolled-up newspaper, and sent it spinning toward the porch, where it landed with a plop in front of Grant.
    â€œNice shot,” called Grant, and Arthur nodded.
    Grant opened the paper and scanned the front page. He looked off into the distance, then down at his camera, which he was carrying with him as usual.
    â€œI’m going to be a news photographer,” he said.
    â€œWhen did you decide this?” I asked.
    â€œI guess I’ve always known. I’ll tell stories with pictures, the way my father does with words. I’ll show what’s good and what’s hurtful. I’ll fight for justice. I’ll make people think.”
    I imagined Grant at City Hall, snapping photos of the mayor, with his sleeves rolled up and a hat pushed back on his head. In the hat was a card that said Press . I had to admit, he looked good.
    â€œSpeaking of pictures,” I said, “what about that other one?”
    â€œWhich one?”
    â€œYou know, me at the bus station. Could you develop it?”
    â€œI suppose so. I need to do some work in the darkroom.”
    â€œCould I come with you?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “If you want.”
    It was a little room at the back of the house where Grant developed and printed his photos. Grant’s dad had helped him cover the window and any cracks around the door so no light would enter. When we went in, Grant switched on a lamp and showed me some equipment. On a table there were trays that he called baths and a large metal device attached to a pole, which was an enlarger.
    Closing the door behind us, Grant turned off the lamp and flipped a switch, and the room turned red. He explained that you can use red light when developing black-and-white photos because it helps you see but doesn’t hurt the pictures. I watched while he developed and printed some shots he had taken at school. The photographic paper was blank, but then pictures appeared like magic.
    There was the school band. There was the principal, Mr. Stephens. There was Phil Carruthers, the student body president, and crouched behind him, giggling, was Lisa “Big Baby” Barnes, the class clown. The pictures were everyday scenes, but something about them was thrilling. I was seeing the world through Grant’s eyes.
    â€œWhat about the bus station?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s different,” said Grant. “I was shooting color.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI have to change the chemicals. And we can’t use the red light—that’s only for black and white. It would ruin color photos.”
    He spent a few minutes setting things up. Then he turned to me. “Ready?”
    â€œI guess.”
    He turned off the light, and the room went away. It wasn’t red. It wasn’t any color at all. It was what you see when you close your eyes at night.
    Darkness. Deep, deep darkness.
    â€œThis is how you develop color photos,” he said.
    How odd , I thought. Red for black and white, black for color .
    I heard Grant rustling around next to me.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I asked.
    â€œWorking.”
    â€œHow am I supposed to watch? I can’t see.”
    Grant’s hands touched mine and guided them around the table. “Here’s a tray. Here’s the enlarger. Here’s the paper I’ll print on.”
    His hands were warm. They seemed strong and sure. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought they lingered a moment longer than they had to.
    I wanted to ask, What are you thinking? When you look into the darkness, what do you see?
    I heard rustling sounds again. Grant was doing what he loved. It was so much a part of him that he could do it blind. I wondered what it was like to be so sure of yourself.
    A few minutes later he turned on the light.
    â€œI made two of them,” he said, “in case you want an