LifeHiscost Posted July 16, 2008 Posted July 16, 2008 > > SUNDAY, JULY > 13, 2008, 11:26;21 AM > http://www.orovillemr.com/news/ci_9860331 > > > Off the Record: 'They walked in the > heart of the fire ...' > > By KYRA GOTTESMAN > Article Launched: 07/12/2008 > 12:05:58 AM PDT > > > Driving to the Sacramento airport at 9 o'clock, I > couldn't see the stars let alone the tail lights of the > cars I knew were ahead > of me. The fog reduced visibility to a few hundred yards > and the rain pinged > hard against my truck. > Not such odd weather for January but this is July. > The fog was smoke and rain was swarms of bugs committing > suicide by windshield. > I kept the windows closed, the air on and shuddered in > horror. This was too much > like a reality end-of-the-world sci-fi movie. > > I've only caught glimpses > of Table Mountain a few times in the past month. Many days > I can't even see my > neighbor's house across the street. The sun has been a > fuzzy orange ball and the > light is all wrong for this time of year. Even the thought > of a summer barbecue > turns my already knotted stomach up-side-down. > > I log on to local news > Web sites every few hours to read updates like some addict > going for a fix that > won't really make me feel any better. Friends outside > California have e-mailed > me pictures of blue skies, which I have taped to my office > window. > > But I > know that there are others feeling the effects of Mother > Nature's wrath more > than I - those who have lost their homes; and those who are > spending anxious > days waiting to see if they will have homes to return to; > and those who have > stood on the lines for weeks now facing the flames. > > And so I allocate > myself three minutes (yes I set the timer) of > self-indulgent pity each morning > when I step outside into the dismal gray stench and then I > get my butt in gear, > go to work and later head to the Las Plumas High School > evacuation center. > > > The folks at the evacuation center wear the stress like > some odd theater > masks. Even their smiles are distorted. I wonder as I guide > them toward the ice > chests with cold drinks, or the trays with hot chicken, or > the plates and forks > for fresh baked cherry pie, what they really look like. > > In between the > serving and restocking and the cleaning, I talk with them. > I ask where they live > - Berry Creek, Concow and Camelot. They in turn ask me what > I know about the > fires and I tell them. They are more hungry for information > than they are for > food. The intensity of their listening is palpable. > > A man with tears > streaming down his face comes to me with a battered tin > coffee pot wondering if > he could get some ice for his old dog. They are staying in > a camper in the > parking lot across the street and the heat and the smoke > are taking their toll > on his best friend. > > I fill the pot with ice and ask him if he's eaten; > there's plenty of food. "Thank you > ma'am," he says. "I'm doin' > fine." I don't > think he's telling me the truth but before I can > insist, another evacuee comes > up asking for two cups of ice and the camper with the tin > coffee pot fades back > into the crowd. > > The new arrival is more than the usual anxious. "Is > someone hurt?" I ask. His sister, who is sitting in a > far corner of the gym, is > having an asthma attack. I hand him the cups of ice and > glance toward her over > my shoulder. Even from a distance I can see she is not > getting enough oxygen. > Her skin is as pale as her faded blond hair. > > I go in search of a nurse > who hurries across the gym as another woman comes toward me > smiling. She just > got word from some firefighters that her house is fine and > her dog is safe. I > receive a hug that really should go to the men and women on > the front lines. > > > Outside, draining the excess water out of ice chests so I > can refill > them, the smoke burns my eyes and throat and the sweat > drips down my face. > > > "I can read," says a small voice just behind me. > I turn to look down at > a tiny boy, skinny and dirty with bare feet and a > grape-juice mustache. > > > "You can? That's great," I say and we both > smile. > > "Do you want > anything?" > > "I want to go home," he says and his smile fades. > > > "I > know," I answer wishing I hadn't asked the > question. > > "But I can read," > he says again and I notice he's clutching a small blue > book in grubby fingers. > > > "Well, you know what would help me? It would help me a > whole lot if you > would read to me while I do this work. Would you do > that?" I ask. > > He > considers me for a moment and I can tell he's wondering > if I'm just giving him > some adult line of B.S. > > "Really," I tell him. "This is hard work and > if > you read to me, it would be very nice. > > "Welllllll, OK," he says plunking > himself down in the dirt at my feet. "I'll read > you from this new book I just > got. It's called The New Testament." He lets the > book fall open and starts to > read, "They walked in the heart of the fire, praising > God and blessing the > Lord." > > I place a light kiss on the top of his head. > > "What was > that for?" he asks. Then, looking up into my eyes > brimming over with tears, he > just says "Ohhhh," and nodding goes back to > reading. I go back to emptying the > ice chests. > > Later I take a plate of fried chicken and potato salad, a > small bag of ice, three bottles of water and a can of dog > food. Searching the > parking lot I find the man with the tin coffee pot. He > looks into my eyes for a > long moment, takes what I'm offering and nods once > without saying a word. > > > I get into my truck and drive home thinking I went to give > and knowing > instead I received. Quote Lift Jesus up!!
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