FIRE AND FOG (6 page)

"Mm, yes. I wonder why that is?"

"Why is it fascinating?"

"No, on that I agree, but why did the Mission, which after all
is over a hundred years old, suffer less damage?"

Anson laughed, a rich, buttery sound; you would not have thought
such a spare body could produce so mellow a resonance. "I'm sure
there is a scientific explanation, but not from my branch of
science. Are you a Catholic, Fremont?"

"No, I was talking to the priest about something else, not
religion but an old legend connected with the Mission." I cut my
eyes rapidly to Anson and back. "And before you ask, the old priest
was rather embarrassed about it"-that was an understatement!-"so I
won't repeat the story. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it at
all."

"Fascinating," Anson murmured. I guessed the word was a favorite
of his. As it was of mine.

I sailed through the Presidio gates without even slowing the
auto. The Maxwell and I had all but worn a rut in the pavement with
our comings and goings, and the guards who stood watch had known me
by sight long since.

"Do you know where to go?" I asked.

"All I know is, not to the Army Infirmary. They have set up a
tent for the sick somewhere out here."

"Tents! I am fairly sick of tents." I braked to a stop and cut
the motor.

"Tush, Fremont." Dr. Anson Tyler turned his kind gaze full on
me. "If we did not have the tents, largely thanks to the courtesy
of the military, where would we be?"

"I know. I am properly chastised." I sighed, and ran a hand
across my hair. The wind had tugged some of it loose from the clasp
at the base of my neck. "I think I will probably be living in a
tent myself soon enough."

Anson picked up his medical bag and rested it on his knees. "You
are homeless too?"

"I thought you knew. I have a room here at the Presidio,
actually, arranged by a friend. But I do not much like the
atmosphere. I find it rather repressive, or regimented, or
something. I can shut the door and have some privacy, but it comes
at a price."

"It's none of my business, of course, but if I were you I would
think twice about giving up a real roof over my head. No matter
where it is. Now I'd best be on my way." He climbed out but stayed
with one hand on the door. "Will you be coming back for me?"

"Mrs. Bartlett didn't say. What time do you think you'll be
through?"

"Unfortunately, I have no idea. If the telephones were working I
could call you, but they're not. I do miss the telephone. In a
short time it has become important to my practice."

"You could hardly call me on the telephone in the Maxwell at any
rate." I smiled at such a preposterous idea. "I tell you what,
Anson. I'll stop by around the lunch hour, about one o'clock, and
if you're not ready to leave then, at least you might know how much
longer you will be. Don't worry, I won't leave you stranded."

"Thank you, Fremont." Anson had a smile that crinkled his eyes
and curved his mouth in an attractive manner. "I look forward to
seeing you again."

Leaving the train station with my load of blankets, I had quite
a scare. A young woman, in a dress that had once been a delicate
shade of pink but was now darkly striped with charcoal, lurched off
the sidewalk and fell into the street. I brought the Maxwell's
wheels to a stop only inches from her head. A head that, on closer
inspection, looked familiar.

I set the handbrake and leapt out. She lay face down on the
pavement, and her fair hair was tangled and matted. The dress,
which looked as if she had been wearing it for days, was not warm
enough for the weather, but she had no coat. She also had no purse.
The skin of her hands and arms, though smudged, was pale as milk;
her fingernails were dirty and broken.

Did I know her?

I took her wrist gently and felt for a pulse. I'm no nurse and
could not find it, which did not necessarily mean she did not have
one. Her wrist was as thin as a child's, and so was her body, but
the style of her dress, as well as the two-inch heels of her shoes,
proclaimed her adulthood. She seemed so familiar, even though I
could not see her face.

Crouching beside her, I watched closely until I thought I saw an
indication that she was breathing. The Red Cross sign on the front
of my auto seemed like a bad joke; they should have given me at
least some basic training before sending me out with such a sign. I
felt a fraud.

Before moving her, I should check for broken bones. I knew that
much. I began with her ankle, and as I felt my way up her calf, she
stirred. I snatched my hand back as if from a hot potato. She
struggled up on one elbow and turned a bewildered, dirty face to
me.

In a flash I recognized her, though I had not seen her for many
months. "Alice? Oh, my God, it
is
Alice!"

4.

Godsend?

Alice whimpered, high in her throat. The expression in her eyes
was that of a wounded small animal, cautious, craving help, yet
fearing the human who offered it. Clearly, she had no command of
her wits at the moment and therefore did not know me.

"It is I, Fremont Jones," I said, gently taking her by both
hands. "You remember, about a year ago you brought me some poems to
type."

Love poems, they had been, of a sweetness and innocence that to
my mind more than made up for their amateurish imperfections. Her
hands quivered in mine. I continued to talk soothingly as I drew
her to her feet. "I recollect that you are a librarian, at the
public library, was it not? I used to see you there on occasion,
but not for the last few months. I wondered what had become of you.
I am so glad to have found you again, even in such
circumstances."

"F-Fremont?"

Ah, at last a tiny spark of recognition in those wounded eyes.
What an extraordinary color they were, like violets. Beneath all
her sooty smudges, Alice was a lovely little creature. I said,
"Yes, Fremont," wishing that I could remember her last name, but it
evaded me.

She whimpered again and her face crumpled, her shoulders shook.
She tried to turn away, but I held her hands fast and spoke in the
businesslike manner that, I had learned, was most effective with
people in shock. "You're hurt, and I am driving for the Red Cross,
so you see, we are well met. I shall drive you back with me to the
aid station, where you will be cared for. Here, take my
handkerchief." I drew it from my pocket and pressed it upon her.
Then, still holding one of Alice's hands, I began to coax her
toward the Maxwell. I was very concerned about her; there was a
lump the size of an egg where she'd hit her forehead on the
pavement, and though the skin was unbroken it was already beginning
to turn quite a nasty color.

Alice tried to pull back. She ignored the handkerchief, her
tears making dirty tracks down her cheeks. "No, I can't, I can't. I
have to keep looking. I've lost him, you see, and I have to find
him. I have to!"

"Of course you do. I understand. I'll help you look. Do you hear
me, Alice?" I doubted that she could, for all her anguished
sobbing. I wondered who
he
was, but for the moment that was
of less importance than getting her into the Maxwell. I stepped
close, took the handkerchief, and wiped her face myself, carefully
avoiding the ugly lump on her forehead. I repeated, "I will help
you look for him, Alice."

"You will?" She gazed up at me, violet eyes round and full of
doubt. She had a mouth like a rosebud. Her chin trembled.

"I will. I promise." I tucked Alice under my arm, feeling like a
big sister, although I'd never had a sister, and moved both of us
step by step to the auto. "But first we must get you taken care of,
or you'll be no good at all to him when we do find him."

"Oh. Oh, I hadn't thought of that. How clever you are! Thank
you, Fremont." She managed a wan smile as I handed her into the
passenger seat. I got her settled, took a blanket from the pile on
the back seat, and wrapped it around her.

"There, that's better." I cranked the Maxwell, which I had
become quite good at, and we were on our way.

Mrs. Bartlett, on the lookout for her blankets, marched up as
soon as I braked the Maxwell to a stop. Alice cowered, clutching
her own blanket under her chin. She seemed confused by all the
hubbub of the aid station.

I shut off the motor and jumped out, waylaying Nurse Bartlett.
"I have your blankets," I said, speaking in a low tone, "but first
my passenger needs attention. She is an acquaintance of mine,
though I don't know much about her. Her name is Alice. She fell
into the street right in front of me, near the train station. She
hit her head, but that is not, I think, her only problem."

"Oh? Yes, well." Bartlett gave Alice a quick visual onceover,
then stomped around to the passenger side and opened the door.
"Alice? I'm Nurse Bartlett."

Alice whimpered and cringed, almost disappearing under her
covering of charcoal-gray wool.

"Hmmm," said Bartlett.

I stood aside, confident that my job was over. I hadn't yet seen
the individual, large or small, male or female, who was beyond this
nurse's capabilities. I brought them, she and the other nurses or
doctors took care of them; that was the way it always went.

"Fremont," Bartlett said, jerking her head to the left and
setting all her wrinkles aquiver, "you carry the blankets over to
that table for the volunteers to hand out, while I take care of
your friend here."

"Of course." I moved to comply.

"No!" shrieked Alice, dropping her blanket and half rising out
of her seat. "Don't leave me, Fremont, please don't leave me!"

"Shush, dear," the nurse cajoled, "she's not going anywhere,
she'll be nearby, and folks need those blankets. See here, you
already have one, and where would you be without it? I ask
you. Why, you'd be freezing. Lost your coat, did you? Poor thing.
Wrap up, dear, and come on down out of that contraption. Let me
take a look at you."

"No," Alice insisted, "I don't know you. What is this place? Who
are all these people?" She was becoming frantic, whipping her head
around and twisting her torso from side to side. "Fremont, where
are you? You promised you'd help me, you
proooomiiised!"
She
drew the last word out until it became a wail.

Across the Maxwell I made eye contact with Bartlett and she
shrugged, stepping back.

"I'm here," I said hastily, redepositing my armload of blankets
in the rear of the car. Alice reached over the seat and laid hold
of my arm with a clawing grip. Really, she was rather alarming. I
assured her, "It's all right, I'll come with you and stay while
Nurse Bartlett examines you. Let go of my arm, Alice."

"You won't leave me?"

"No, I won't leave you." It was not easy to keep a note of
exasperation from my voice. "Didn't I just say so?"

"You won't let them hurt me?"

A
tsk, tsk
escaped from Bartlett. I darted a glance her
way and saw that she had her arms crossed, as if to hold back her
impatience.

I pried Alice's fingers loose, saying, "No one is going to hurt
you. We're here to help you, Alice, not to hurt."

Still there was doubt in her eyes. When I came around the auto
and assisted her down, I found that she was shaking like the
proverbial leaf. With sisterly care I looped the trailing ends of
the blanket over her arms and shepherded her into the examination
tent. Bartlett followed. When I had Alice seated, I turned to
Bartlett and whispered, "I fear she has been severely
traumatized."

Bartlett inclined her head in acknowledgment, then, with rather
less briskness than usual, she set about examining the unfortunate
young woman.

"Tell me your name, dear." As the nurse asked routine questions,
with keen eyes and gentle fingers she searched for hidden injuries,
working her way from the head down.

"Alice Lasley."

"That's a nasty bruise on your forehead, Miss Alice Lasley."

"Mrs.," said Alice. It was news to me. From our scant
acquaintance, which was based primarily on her working at the
library I frequented, I had assumed she was not married. Most
husbands would not allow their wives to work, as a wife's
employment cast doubt in the eyes of the world upon her husband's
ability as a breadwinner.

"Whatever," said Bartlett. She held up her index finger in front
of Alice's face. "Now, I want you to focus on my finger. Keep your
eyes on the finger as I move it from side to side. Hmm. Do you feel
at all dizzy?"

"No. Well, yes. A little."

"Any nausea?"

"No. I don't think so." Nervously, Alice darted her violet eyes
to me. I nodded reassurance.

"Can you remember what it was that caused you to fall and hit
your head?"

"I was just walking, and then, and then-" Alice gulped. An
expression of panic took her face. "And then, I don't know, I don't
remember! F-Fremont was there, she helped me."

"Um-hm. Well, let's be quiet now while I take your pulse. And
while we're doing that, Fremont will get you something to drink.
See if there's any fresh apple cider, will you, Fremont? And don't
you fret, Alice," said Bartlett, interrupting a whimper, "we're all
your friends here."

When I returned with the cider the nurse had completed her
examination and sat opposite her blanket-wrapped patient. I had to
steady Alice's trembling hand before she could take the drink.

Bartlett looked pointedly from me to a third folding chair, and
I sat. Alice took one hesitant sip, and another, then in a long
draught half drained the glass.

"When did you last eat, child?"

"I don't know." Alice raised a hand to her forehead as if to
help herself recall, but her own touch made her wince with pain.
"What day is it?"

"Sunday," I said. "The earthquake was Wednesday."

Alice seemed at a loss. Bartlett and I glanced at each other. I
leaned forward. "Alice, the person you were looking for-have you
been out on the streets searching for him ever since the
quake?"