Sometime after that, consciousness came in small bright flashes: we remembered to check our breathingapparatus; we slid on our gloves; dispatch called to tell us that the house was on Hoddington Drive; that itappeared to be either a structure fire or a room and contents fire. “Turn left here,” I told Caesar. Hoddingtonwas only eight blocks away from where I lived.
The house looked like the mouth of a dragon. Caesar drove around as far as he could, trying to get me a viewof three sides. Then we all piled out of the engine and stared for a moment, four Davids against a Goliath.
“Charge a two-and-a-half inch line,” I told Caesar, tonight’s motor pump operator. A woman in a nightgownran toward me, sobbing2, three children holding her skirt. “Mija,” she screamed, pointing. “.Mija!”
“.Dónde está?” I got right in front of her, so that she couldn’t see anything but my face. “.Cuantos a.ostiene?”
She pointed3 to a window on the second floor. “Tres,” she cried.
“Cap,” Caesar yelled, “we’re ready over here.”
I heard the approaching whine4 of a second engine, the reserve guys coming to back us up. “Red, vent5 thenortheast corner of the roof; Paulie, put the wet stuff on the red stuff and push it out when it’s got somewhereto go. We’ve got a kid on the second floor. I’m going in to see if I can get her.”
It was not, like in the movies, a slam dunk—a scene for the hero to go win his Oscar. If I got in there, and thestairs had gone…if the structure threatened to collapse…if the temperature of the space had gotten so hot thateverything was combustible6 and ripe for flashover—I would have backed out and told my men to back outwith me. The safety of the rescuer is of a higher priority than the safety of the victim.
Always.
I’m a coward. There are times when my shift is over that I’ll stay and roll hose, or put on a fresh pot of coffeefor the crew coming in, instead of heading straight to my house. I have often wondered why I get more rest ina place where, for the most part, I’m roused out of bed two or three times a night. I think it is because in afirehouse, I don’t have to worry about emergencies happening—they’re supposed to. The minute I walkthrough the door at home, I’m worrying about what might come next.
Once, in second grade, Kate drew a picture of a firefighter with a halo above his helmet. She told her classthat I would only be allowed to go to Heaven, because if I went to Hell, I’d put out all the fires.
I still have that picture.
In a bowl, I crack a dozen eggs and start to whip them into a frenzy7. The bacon’s already spitting on thestove; the griddle’s heating for pancakes. Firemen eat together—or at least we try to, before the bells ring.
This breakfast will be a treat for my guys, who are still showering away the memories of last night from theirskin. Behind me, I hear the fall of footsteps. “Pull up a chair,” I call over my shoulder. “It’s almost ready.”
“Oh, thanks, but no,” says a female voice. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
I turn around, brandishing8 my spatula9. The sound of a woman here is surprising; one who’s shown up just shyof seven A.M. is even more remarkable10. She is small, with wild hair that makes me think of a forest fire. Herhands are covered with winking11 silver rings. “Captain Fitzgerald, I’m Julia Romano. I’m the guardian12 adlitem assigned to Anna’s case.”
Sara’s told me about her—the woman the judge will listen to, when push comes to shove.
“Smells great,” she says, smiling. She walks up and takes the spatula out of my hand. “I can’t watch someonecook without helping13. It’s a genetic14 abnormality.” I watch her reach into the fridge, rummaging15 around. Of allthings, she comes back with a jar of horseradish. “I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk.”
“Sure.” Horseradish?
She adds a good wad of the stuff to the eggs, and then pulls orange zest16 off the spice rack, along with somechili powder, and sprinkles this on as well. “How’s Kate doing?”
I pour a circle of batter17 on the griddle, watch it come to a bubble. When I flip18 it, it’s an even, creamy brown.
I’ve already spoken to Sara this morning. Kate’s night was uneventful; Sara’s wasn’t. But that’s because ofJesse.
There is a moment during a structure fire when you know you are either going to get the upper hand, or thatit’s going to get the upper hand on you. You notice the ceiling patch about to fall and the staircase eatingitself alive and the synthetic19 carpet glued to the soles of your boots. The sum of the parts overwhelms, andthat’s when you back out and force yourself to remember that every fire will burn itself out, even withoutyour help.
These days, I’m fighting fire on six sides. I look in front of me and see Kate sick. I look behind me and seeAnna with her lawyer. The only time Jesse isn’t drinking like a fish, he’s strung out on drugs; Sara’s graspingat straws. And me, I’ve got my gear on, safe. I’m holding dozens of hooks and irons and poles—all tools thatare meant to destroy, when what I need is something to rope us together.
“Captain Fitzgerald…Brian!” Julia Romano’s voice knocks me out of my own head, into a kitchen that’srapidly filling with smoke. She reaches past me and shoves the pancake that’s burning off the griddle.
“Jesus!” I drop the charcoal20 disk that used to be a pancake into the sink, where it hisses21 at me. “I’m sorry.”
Like open sesame, those two simple words change the landscape.
“Good thing we’ve got the eggs,” Julia Romano says.
In a burning house, your sixth sense kicks in. You can’t see, because of the smoke. You can’t hear, becausefire roars loud. You can’t touch, because it will be the end of you.
In front of me, Paulie manned the nozzle. A line of firefighters backed him up; a charged hose was a thick,dead weight. We worked our way up the stairs, still intact, intent on shoving this fire out the hole Red had putin the roof. Like anything that’s confined, fire has a natural instinct to escape.
I got down on my hands and knees and started to crawl through the hallway. The mother said it was the thirddoor on the left. The fire rolled along the other side of the ceiling, racing22 to the vent. As the spray attacked,white steam swallowed the other firefighters.
The door to the child’s room was open. I crawled in calling her name. A larger shape at the window drew melike a magnet, but it turned out to be an oversized stuffed animal. I checked the closets and under the bed,too, but nobody was there.
I backed into the hallway again and nearly tripped over the hose, fist-thick. A human could think; a firecouldn’t. A fire would follow a specific path; a child might not. Where would I have gone if I were terrified?
Moving fast, I started poking23 my head into doorways24. One was pink, a baby’s room. Another had Matchboxcars all over the floor and bunk26 beds. One was not a room at all, but a closet. The master bedroom was on thefar side of the staircase.
If I were a kid, I’d want my mother.
Unlike the other bedrooms, this one was leaking thick, black smoke. Fire had burned a seam at the bottom ofthe door. I opened it, knowing I was going to let in air, knowing it was the wrong thing to do and the onlychoice I had.
Predictably, the smoldering27 line ignited, flame filling the doorway25. I charged through it like a bull, feelingembers rain down the back of my helmet and coat. “Luisa!” I yelled out. I felt my way around the perimeterof the room, found the closet. I knocked hard and called again.
It was faint, but there was definitely a knock back.
“We’ve been lucky,” I tell Julia Romano, quite possibly the last words she’d ever expect to hear me say.
“Sara’s sister watches the kids if it’s going to be a long haul. For shorter runs, we swap28 off—you know, Sarastays with Kate one night at the hospital, and I go home to the other kids, or vice29 versa. It’s easier now.
They’re old enough to take care of themselves.”
She writes something down in her little book when I say that, and it makes me squirm in my seat. Anna’sonly thirteen—is that too young to stay alone in a house? Social Services might say so, but Anna’s different.
Anna grew up years ago.
“Do you think Anna’s doing okay?” Julia asks.
“I don’t think she would have filed a lawsuit30 if she was.” I hesitate. “Sara says she wants attention.”
“What do you think?”
To buy time, I take a forkful of eggs. The horseradish turned out to be surprisingly good. It brings out theorange. I tell Julia Romano this.
She folds her napkin next to her own plate. “You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.” I very carefully set my silverware down. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Both. Six older brothers and a twin sister.”
I whistle. “Your parents must have a hell of a lot of patience.”
She shrugs31. “Good Catholics. I don’t know how they did it, either, but none of us fell through the cracks.”
“Did you always think so?” I ask. “Did you ever feel, when you were a kid, that maybe they were playingfavorites?” Her face tightens32, just the tiniest bit, and I feel bad about putting her on the spot. “We all knowyou’re supposed to love your kids equal, but that’s not always how it works out.” I get to my feet. “You got alittle extra time? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Last winter we got an ambulance call in the dead of winter for a guy who lived up a rural road. Thecontractor he hired to plow34 his driveway had found him and called 911; apparently35 the guy had gotten out ofhis car the night before, slipped, and froze right to the gravel36; the contractor33 nearly ran over him, thinking hewas a drift.
When we got to the scene, he’d been outside for nearly eight hours, and he was nothing more than an icecube with no pulse. His knees were bent37; I remember this, because when we finally pried38 him out and set himon a backboard, there they were, sticking straight up in the air. We got the heat cranked in the ambulance andbrought him inside, starting to cut off his clothes. By the time we had our paperwork in order for the hospitaltransport, the guy was sitting up and talking to us.
I tell you this to show you that in spite of what you’d think, miracles happen.
It’s a cliché, but the reason I became a firefighter in the first place was because I wanted to save people. Sothe moment I emerged from the fiery39 arched doorway with Luisa in my arms, when her mother first saw usand fell to her knees, I knew I had done my job and done it well. She swooped40 down beside the EMT fromthe second crew who got a line into the girl’s arm and put her on oxygen. The kid was coughing, frightened,but she would be fine.
The fire was all but out; the boys were inside doing salvage41 and overhaul42. Smoke drew a veil over the nightsky; I couldn’t make out a single star in the constellation43 Scorpio. I took off my gloves and wiped my handsacross my eyes, which would sting for hours. “Good work,” I said to Red, as he packed up the hose.
“Good save, Cap,” he called back.
It would have been better, of course, if Luisa had been in her own room, as her mother expected. But kidsdon’t stay where they’re supposed to. You turn around and find her not in the bedroom but hiding in a closet;you turn around and see she’s not three but thirteen. Parenting is really just a matter of tracking, of hopingyour kids do not get so far ahead you can no longer see their next moves.
I took off my helmet and stretched the muscles of my neck. I looked up at the structure that was once a home.
Suddenly I felt fingers wrap around my hand. The woman who lived here stood with tears in her eyes. Heryoungest was still in her arms; the other kids were sitting in the fire truck under Red’s supervision44. Silentlyshe raised my knuckles45 to her lips. A streak46 of soot47 came off my jacket to stripe her cheek. “You’rewelcome,” I said.
On our way back to the station I directed Caesar the long way, so that we passed right down the street where Ilive. Jesse’s Jeep sat in my driveway; the lights in the house were all off. I pictured Anna with the coverspulled up to her chin, like usual; Kate’s bed empty.
“We all set, Fitz?” Caesar asked. The truck was barely crawling, almost stopped directly in front of mydriveway.
“Yeah, we’re set,” I said. “Let’s take it on home.”
I became a firefighter because I wanted to save people. But I should have been more specific. I should havenamed names.
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1
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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combustible
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| a. 易燃的,可燃的; n. 易燃物,可燃物 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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spatula
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| n.抹刀 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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12
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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genetic
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| adj.遗传的，遗传学的 | |
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15
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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16
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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19
synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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23
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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24
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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28
swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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29
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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31
shrugs
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| n.耸肩（以表示冷淡，怀疑等）( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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32
tightens
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| 收紧( tighten的第三人称单数 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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pried
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| v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的过去式和过去分词 )；撬开 | |
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39
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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40
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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42
overhaul
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| v./n.大修，仔细检查 | |
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43
constellation
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| n.星座n.灿烂的一群 | |
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44
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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45
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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46
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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47
soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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