Free FIRE AND FOG by Unknown Page B

I'd run
away from.
    "But I see I was wrong." Bartlett gave my shoulder a squeeze and
stepped back. "You just leave it to me. Now, for this morning, I've
got a list of places said they'd donate some food. I want you to go
around and pick it up, and while you're gone I'll see what I can do
about a tent for you. People are moving out already, going to
relatives or friends across the Bay, or south down the Peninsula,
so maybe I can wangle you a tent of your own. Helpful as you've
been, you deserve it."
    "Thank you!"
    "Now let's see, where did I put that list? . . . Ah!"
    She found it and handed it to me. I gave her my mock salute and
set off.
    "Wait, Fremont. I forgot to ask: how is your friend this
morning?"
    "Alice? She's fine, physically, but when I left her this morning
she still seemed a little confused. I said I'd check on her
later."
    "Um-hmmm." Bartlett bit her bottom lip, as if to prevent herself
from saying anything more.
    "Alice, you really must take hold of yourself," I said, firmly but I hoped not critically. "You are not ill, but you will
make yourself ill if you don't get out of bed and get dressed. It's
past lunchtime, and I'll wager you haven't even eaten breakfast.
Have you?"
    "I don't want to eat." She pouted, blinking those violet
eyes.
    "You have to. Disasters happen, but life goes on." A regrettable
cliche, but true. I was not without compassion, but in the days
since the quake I had seen many who were much worse off than Alice,
and who handled themselves far better. The young woman who had
brought me poems to type had seemed shy and sweet; who would have
thought this languishing, petulant female could be the same
person?
    "My husband was my life," she said, tears welling, "and he is
gone."
    "Nonsense. Your life is your own, you don't give it away just
because you are married."
    "He left me, Fremont. He's not coming back. I know that now."
She screwed up her face and a couple of tears fell on her
cheeks.
    "You may be right. Alice, I'm not unsympathetic, but if I am to
help you at all, you must at least get out of bed and get dressed.
If you don't, I shall just have to leave." I could think of no
other way to handle her.
    It worked. She got up, and I went to the kitchen while she
dressed. Cooking of any kind indoors was forbidden, all over the
city, until the fire inspectors could make their way neighborhood
by neighborhood to certify that the buildings were safe. Meanwhile,
gas lines were turned off at the mains, and so was electricity.
Alice had a wood stove, but no one, myself included, would have
dreamed of violating this regulation, for every citizen of San
Francisco had become deathly afraid of fire.
    Still, Alice and I would not starve. The night before, I'd
searched through her cupboards and found some apples and a loaf of
bread that was still edible. Now I unlocked and opened the back
door, thinking that the milkman might have made his rounds; he had,
so there was milk. I brought it in, pleased by this bit of
normality restored. While I waited for Alice to come down, I picked
up broken crockery and swept the kitchen floor.
    Wearing a blue dress with rows of delicate smocking across the
bodice, Alice wrinkled her nose at the bread and fruit. She went to
the stove, saying brightly, "I'll cook bacon and eggs. For you too,
if you like, Fremont."
    I placed myself between her and the stove and explained the
facts of life in post-earthquake San Francisco. As her eyes widened
I wondered where, figuratively, she had been for the past five
days.
    We sat at the table and I picked up an apple, both because I
wanted it and to encourage Alice to do the same. Between munches I
said, "Something has been puzzling me. Yesterday, while you were
sleeping, I noticed that your doors were unlocked, so I looked
about for the keys. I found two sets in that piece of furniture
near the front door. In fact"-I removed them from my pocket and put
them on the table-"I should return these to you. It would be a good
idea to keep the