Time of Fog and Fire

by Rhys Bowen

She broke off as a fire engine came toward us, its bell ringing furiously. There was no room among the debris for two vehicles to pass but bystanders rushed out to move away enough pieces of brick and stone so that the fire engine could squeeze by.

  “Not that it will do any good,” one of the firemen called out to us. “We can’t find a danged water main that isn’t ruptured. If we don’t do something soon the whole city will be up in flames by nightfall.”

  We turned onto a broad boulevard. Here there were fine houses, relatively unscathed.

  “We may be in luck,” the carter said. “It doesn’t seem to be quite as bad out to the west. And the dampness of the fog by the ocean will make things harder to burn.”

  Our cart joined a steady procession of people, laden with what they could carry in bedsheets or blankets slung over their shoulders. The able-bodied helping the injured, the young, and the elderly. And all of them heading in the same direction as us.

  I shut my eyes as the horse picked up his pace on the broader boulevard and the cart lurched back and forth. The kind woman with the bandaged face put an arm around me. “Won’t be too much longer now,” she said. “If Geary is clear, we should be fine and soon at the park.”

  As we moved toward the ocean we left the dust and smoke behind. The air became clear. Ahead of us was a clear sky with the sun shining into our faces. And in this part of the city there was less sign of damage—a fallen chimney lying in a pile of bricks beside a house. A wooden framed house leaning precariously as it had slipped from its foundation. People were coming out of their houses, bringing pieces of broken furniture or crockery to dump on the sidewalk. Others were loading up possessions onto carts. But most of them were setting up home on the sidewalk. Pots were balanced over small cooking fires while people sat around on packing cases and children played, climbing over the rubble. I still hadn’t quite worked out the meaning of all this utter destruction. The only thing I was quite sure of was that I wanted to go home, as quickly as possible.

  “I have to get back to Ireland,” I said. “They will be looking for me.”

  Even as I said it I realized that it sounded strange to me. Something wasn’t quite right but I couldn’t put my finger on it. My mother would be worried about me, I thought. And then like a flash of lightning through my brain came the conclusive knowledge that my mother was dead. I remembered her funeral. It had rained hard and the newly dug earth had turned to slippery mud and my father had nearly slid into the grave with her, which the women with us had taken as a bad omen.

  So it couldn’t be my mother who was worried about me. Then who? I could feel a sense of urgency cutting through the layers of fog in my head. Somebody important. Something I had to do.

  “Why are they taking us away?” I asked.

  “Because of the fires. They are spreading out of control downtown and in the Mission,” the woman said. “They say that Union Square is already gone, and Market Street.” She shook her head as if this was a tragedy too hard to bear. “They reckon we’ll be far enough away in the park. I hope they’re right. I told William to take the ferry to Oakland, if ferries are still running. He’ll be safer on the other side of the Bay.”

  “William?” I asked.

  “My husband. William Clancy. I’m Mary Clancy.”

  William. I toyed with the name. I could hear a voice saying, “I baptize thee William Joseph Sullivan.”

  Suddenly a small boy darted out into the street. His mother gave a cry of alarm and rushed to grab him as a fast-moving vehicle went past. She swept him up into her arms and carried him to safety. “Don’t you do that again, young man. You stay close to me, you hear? Your mama doesn’t want to lose you.” Her voice floated up to us as we clip-clopped past.

  I baptize thee William Joseph Sullivan. Your mama doesn’t want to lose you. It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck me. Clarity seared through my brain. I struggled to my feet. “Liam!” I shouted. “Let me down. I have to find my boy!”

  Twenty-three

  I stood up, almost falling over as the cart swayed. Hands grabbed at me.

  “Careful, ma’am. Sit down,” someone said, trying to pull me back into my seat.

  “I’ve got to find my boy,” I pleaded. “My Liam. Please let me down.”

  “You can’t get out here,” my kindly neighbor said. “You’ve had a nasty head wound, my dear. Let them take you to the park and rest a little.”

  “But you don’t understand,” I pleaded. “I have to find my son. The nursemaid ran off with him. I was trying to catch them when the wall fell on me. I’ve no idea where they are now but I have to find him.”

  “You’re in no condition to go running around, ma’am,” said the man who had tried to pull me back down to my seat. “I’m sure his nursemaid will be taking good care of him and you’ll all meet up in the park.”

  I was conscious that the sun was now tinged with red and was sinking into a band of white mist. It must be late in the day. How many hours had it been since I’d lost Liam and been hit on the head? How long had I lain unconscious? And where could Li Na have taken him?

  “I have to go back,” I shouted. “Please let me down.”

  “Go back where?”

  “Chinatown.”

  They were looking at me as if I had lost my mind.

  “The poor thing, she’s had a nasty blow to the head,” the kind woman said.

  I shook myself free of a hand that was holding on to me. “No, you don’t understand. We were staying at a big house—” I broke off as my memory failed me again. What was that place called? A clear image of those mansions swam into my mind. “On Nob Hill,” I continued. “And then the nursemaid ran with Liam to Chinatown.” I could hear from my voice that I was on the edge of tears. “I tried to follow them. That must have been when the wall came down on me.”

  “You can’t go back to Chinatown now,” someone said. “It’s too far. And in your condition you’d never make it. Much smarter to go to the park and then try to find your son. If the nursemaid is sensible she’ll have taken him to safety with the rest of us.”

  I was horribly conscious that with every second I was being taken further and further away from the city. It was no use. If Li Na really had taken my son to Golden Gate Park, then he was safe for now. But if she hadn’t … if for some reason she was keeping him in Chinatown, then I had to get to him somehow before the fires caught up with them. The cart came to a lurching stop as an automobile cut across in front of us, driving fast. It careened away, weaving and bouncing over rubble, its horn blaring out.

  “Danged fool,” someone shouted.

  “That was the chief of police,” someone else muttered. “Now that’s one person you don’t want to criticize, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Suddenly I decided it was now or never. I stood up, pushed my way past the two men at the rear of the cart, swung myself over in a most undignified fashion, and took off, running. I realized it was a mistake almost immediately as the world swung around me and I thought I was going to pass out. How many miles away from Chinatown could I be and how could I possibly get back there?

  I started to walk back in the direction we had come. My legs felt wobbly and didn’t want to support me but I forced myself forward. My eyes still didn’t want to focus properly as I staggered along, not sure where I was going. It seemed as if the whole world was fleeing out of the city. I felt like a salmon swimming against the stream as I battled my way around handcarts and mothers leading toddlers and men carrying great bundles. As I reached the wide boulevard down which we had come there was suddenly an enormous explosion that rocked the ground and sent dust flying. I looked around in terror.

  “What’s happening?” I asked the man who was passing me, with his son sitting piggyback on his shoulders.

  “They’re dynamiting the houses along Van Ness to stop the spread of the fire,” he said. “Danged silly idea if you ask me. Seems like they’re starting more fires with that dynamite than they hope to put out. Stil
l, the army’s in charge now and you can’t tell them anything. But watch yourself, ma’am. You’ve made it through the quake. You don’t want to get yourself blown up now.”

  “Come on, John. We’ve got to make it to the park before it gets dark,” his wife urged. She was holding a small baby in her arms and a toddler clung to her skirts. He nodded to me and on I went. I watched them walk away, again wrestling with my own memory fog. New and disturbing thoughts were now surfacing in my brain. My fear for my son had wrenched me back to consciousness but now it came to me with full force that I also had a husband. His image flashed into my head. Daniel. My Daniel. And he was here somewhere among this chaos.

  I hesitated. I knew he had been staying with the priest at the Star of the Sea Church. And he had reached that church after being pushed down the cliff at the place they called Point Lobos, at the far tip of the land … Which must mean that the church was somewhere out near the ocean. And since the amount of damage seemed considerably less in that direction I could reasonably hope that he had survived the earthquake. I stood rooted to the spot in indecision. Should I try to head in that direction and find Daniel first? Then he could help me look for Liam.

  Another great boom came from across the street and what had been a fine, solid house collapsed in a pile of rubble. Horses neighed and bucked in fear as drivers tried to calm them. Flames flickered up and the air was choked with dust. I put my hand up to my mouth and tried to hurry past without breathing. It was one absurdity after another, a living nightmare that seemed to have no ending. I had been through some frightening moments in my life. I had been accused of murder. I had been in a train crash. My home had been bombed. But never had I felt so frightened and lost and alone as at this moment. How could I possibly find my husband and my son when I could hardly stand up straight or see in front of me?

  A loud and imperious honk made me jump as an automobile tried to make its way past the slow procession. A lone driver sat in it, his face obscured by his goggles. As he was momentarily stopped by the wave of humanity I ran over to him.

  “Please help me,” I begged. “I have to get to Chinatown. I think my son is there. Could you take me?”

  “Chinatown is burning.”

  “I have to get there. I’ll pay you.”

  “How much?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

  His head was tilted up toward me. Appraising me. “I’ll do it for a hundred bucks.”

  “A hundred dollars?” I stammered.

  “Take it or leave it. There’s plenty of folks willing to fork out at the moment.”

  “Look,” I said. “I have no money on me, but I’m staying with Bella Rodriguez on Nob Hill. She will lend me the money to give you, I promise.”

  He stared at me for a long hard minute.

  “Please,” I implored. “My baby boy. The Chinese nursemaid took him away and then I was hit on the head. I have to find him. If you’ve a child of your own, you know what I must be feeling.”

  “All right,” he said. “Hop in. But a hundred bucks, mind.”

  He opened the door and I slid into the seat. It felt so good to be sitting as my head was now aching violently. The motor roared and we lurched forward. I had driven in an automobile with Daniel many times before and the ride had been smooth enough. From the way we lurched along I began to think that this young man had not had much experience in driving. I looked at the quality of his jacket and began to suspect that he had stolen or somehow acquired this vehicle and was using it to make some fast money. Perhaps he was intending to keep it. Who would ever find out in this chaos?

  As we turned onto California Street the sky ahead was black. The smell of smoke was overpowering. We drove into the pall. Here and there figures darted out of houses and across the street, carrying bundles. One of them bent down to a body lying on what had been the sidewalk. I thought he was going to try to help but to my horror he was attempting to wrench a ring from a finger. Shots rang out and the man ran off, disappearing around the corner.

  “Looks like they’re shooting looters,” my driver said. “They say the army has taken over.”

  The engine grumbled and jerked as we made our way up the hill. The mansions all appeared to be standing, almost unscathed apart from tiles that had fallen from roofs or decorative stone facades that had been shed like an overcoat. “That’s the one,” I said, pointing at Bella’s house. It looked exactly has it had, apart from the chimney that lay in a pile of bricks.

  He slowed as if meaning to stop.

  “No. Take me to Chinatown first,” I said. “I must find my son before it’s too late. Then we’ll come back here. You’ll get your money, I promise.”

  We continued up the hill, past the mansions: the Huntingtons’, the Crockers’, the Hopkinses’. Then we came to the crest and I gasped. Below us was an inferno. In every direction the city was burning, great tongues of flame leaping into the sky. From all around came the sound of explosions as a building collapsed or a gas main burst. And those flames were creeping up the hill toward us. My eyes stung as the black smoke curled upward.

  “That’s Chinatown for you, right down there in the middle of that,” the young man said. “I’ll wager your kid ain’t there. Nobody’s there anymore. And if they are, they’re toast.”

  I nodded, biting my lip to fight back tears. Surely she wouldn’t have stayed. She was a sensible girl, or had been until she ran away with Liam so irrationally. But she cared about him. She’d have tried to save him.

  “Very well,” I said. “Take me away. I’ve seen enough.”

  “Don’t forget. I still need my money,” he said.

  “I said I’d pay you,” I said. “We’ll go to Mrs. Rodriguez’s house. She might still be there and at the very least…” I was going to say I knew where there was money. But could I bring myself to go down to that cellar? Could I use money that wasn’t mine?

  We pulled up beside the house. The front steps were cracked and buckled. I went up them and hammered on the door. Nobody answered. The street was eerily empty.

  “Hello!” I shouted. “Is anybody there?”

  “They’ve gone,” a voice called up from the street. It was a young man in footman’s livery. “They’ve all gone. The whole lot of them. I saw the Rodriguez carriage leaving at the same time as Mr. Crocker. They were piling as much stuff as they could get into their carriages—jewels and silver and the like. Scared of looters, you see. They left me to watch over the house, but I’m not staying here another minute. The fire will be up here before you know it. You’d best get out too.”

  “Did you happen to notice whether they had a baby boy with them?” I asked. “I’m looking for my son. We were staying here. I was hurt. And now I don’t know where he is.”

  “I didn’t see a baby,” he said. “But then I didn’t notice exactly when they took off. Just that cowboy type loading up the carriage to the gills.”

  “Do you have any idea where they were going?” I asked

  “Heading south, I should think. The Crockers have a hunting cabin in the hills near Santa Cruz. I expect your Mrs. Rodriguez might be heading for the same kind of place. Safely far away from this, at any rate.” He looked around him. “I’d get out now. Orders or no orders.”

  And with that he started running down California in the direction of Van Ness. I glanced back nervously. The smoke was now billowing up the hill.

  “Get a move on, lady,” my driver said. “I need my money now. I don’t plan to stick around to be burned to a crisp. But I’m quite happy to leave you here to get out on your own if you don’t pay me. And I don’t think you’ve got it in you to outrun this fire.”

  I looked at him with distaste. “Did you steal that automobile?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Didn’t exactly steal. Borrowed it. It was my boss’s and he ain’t going to be needing it anymore. He fell through the floor at our business and broke his neck. So I did the right thing by getting his auto safely out of the Mission District. And
if I happened to make a few pennies along the way by giving rides to people, then that’s what enterprise is all about, ain’t it?”

  “More than a few pennies if you’ve charged other people what you want from me,” I said. “But if they’ve gone I don’t see how we’re going to get into the building.”

  I hammered on the door again. No answer. In fact nothing now moved on this hilltop except for the swirling smoke rising to meet us, blotting out the sky.

  “Easy enough,” the man said. He picked up a brick and smashed the stained glass panel beside the front door. When I looked at him with horror he grinned. “Who’s to know? This whole lot will likely be destroyed anyway.”

  He tapped out enough glass then reached inside for the lock. The big front door swung open. “After you, ma’am,” he said with what I took to be sarcasm, not courtesy.

  I stepped into the front hall. No attempt had been made to clear up the chaos inside. Those marble statues still lay broken and headless. The grandfather clock lay on its face beside them. Potted palms with soil had spilled over the white marble floor. And in the middle were tears of crystal where the chandelier had fallen.

  Now that I was inside I tried to think what I should do. I kept thinking of that trunk full of money in the basement. The simplest thing would be to borrow a hundred dollars, and then repay it to Bella when normality returned. But I didn’t want this man to even glimpse a trunk full of money. And certainly not to see Señor Garcia’s body.

  “My purse is in my room,” I said. “I have probably around fifty dollars in it. You can take it all.”

  “Seems like they left some good stuff behind,” he said. “When you’re up there, see if you can find the odd ring or brooch.”

  “But that’s stealing!” I exclaimed.

  “Lady, this is the place of no law. And the folks who live in mansions like this—they’re not even going to miss the odd pearl or diamond. Trust me. They’ll be the ones who have the money to rebuild. It will be poor suckers like me who have lost everything for good. That’s why we have to make the most of it. Now get going.”