FIRE AND FOG Read Online Free PDF Page B

creature that brooks no argument but inexorably,
insidiously, blots out, covers up . . . everything. As the fog
moved I turned with it, entranced, following its progress. The
Golden Gate disappeared, and Sausalito, and Tiburon; Angel Island,
Alcatraz, Yerba Buena; North Beach, Telegraph Hill, the Wharf and
the blessedly still standing Ferry Building. Then the creature grew
pale gray tongues that lapped into the valleys between the burning
hills.
    It poured into the fire-blackened saddle between Nob and Russian
Hills, then slowly, slowly crept up and over their peaks to rush
down their still burning sides. At the same time I felt moisture in
my hair and on my cheeks, and I understood: the fog had crept up my
hill too. Soon it would cover the Presidio. I should go down, to
that unfamiliar room that was now the only home I had. But I
lingered.
    How beautiful it was, yet hauntingly, seductively evil: the fire
glowing through the fog.
    3.
    Ashes, Ashes. All Fall Down
    For three days and part of a fourth the fire burned; then
Saturday night the rain came and at last we could believe it was
over. I scarcely remembered a time when I did not know how to drive
an auto, or when my eyes did not hurt from driving through smoke.
Or when it was possible to get food without standing in line for
it. Or when my soul did not ache even more than my body.
    Saturday night after dark, I prowled through the mess tent that
had been set up for refugees on the Presidio grounds, looking for a
discarded newspaper. Three daily papers, the Chronicle, the Examiner, and the Call, were using presses outside
the city; the day after the earthquake they had all collaborated to
produce one triune issue that was already a collector's item. I had
not seen it or any of the issues they had published separately
since. I'd had no time for anything so ordinary-indeed, anything
"ordinary" now seemed luxurious to me. I had been driving for the
Red Cross and supposed I would continue to do so for an indefinite
time, as they were coordinating relief efforts all over the city.
Perhaps now that the fires were out we might settle into some sort
of routine. At the very least my eyes would return to normal. That
was progress, and any progress was welcome.
    "Can I help you? Have you lost something?"
    I jumped; I had thought myself alone in the huge tent. "No," I
said, "thank you."
    "I didn't mean to startle you." He was a soldier, and a handsome
one at that. Young, with a face like a statue from antiquity.
    "That is quite all right. I thought I might find a newspaper to
take back to my room, that's all."
    "I'll help you look."
    "That really is not necessary. I'm sure you have better things
to do." I was not in the mood for company, even the company of
someone who looked like a Greek god in U. S. Army uniform.
    He grinned, and suddenly became wholly American. "I'm on grounds
patrol. I'll just patrol in here for a while."
    He really was not much help, as he stayed close enough to be my
shadow-except, of course, that the dark did not offer much
possibility of shadows. I wished I had brought a lantern. We
patrolled up and down the rows of boards that, set upon wooden
"horses," made tables for the mess. His nearness would have made me
uncomfortable except that I was too tired for even that much
feeling.
    "Aha," I said, snatching at a whitish rectangle on the seat of a
folding chair. "I've found one. Thank you for your company. Good
evening." I bustled past him.
    "I'll escort you to your room."
    I snapped open my umbrella with some impatience. There seemed no
way to get rid of him.
    "I've seen you around," he said, walking now alongside me. He
was getting wet, which did not bother him at all. "Allow me to
introduce myself: Albright, James, Private First Class. Everybody
calls me Jim."
    "How do you do." I deliberately didn't offer my own name, but it
did no good.
    "May I ask your name?"
    "Fremont Jones," I said grudgingly, striding as rapidly as I
could manage along the path to the