Calico Palace (53 page)

For a moment the street seemed like a solid wall of fire. Then as her eyes accepted the dazzle, she began to distinguish among the burning buildings. Denison’s Exchange, near the middle of the block, was hardly anything now but a lot of seething flame. The front wall was gone—this must have been the crash she had heard as she ran toward the platform—and the fire was fairly eating what was left. Later, Marny learned that the fire had started there, and this was why Denison’s had gone first. There were a dozen tales about how it started, but nobody was ever sure.

—If people, thought Marny, would only stop throwing matches around—but they won’t.

Denison’s was wedged between a restaurant on one side and the Parker House on the other. They had both caught fire. The Parker House, built of wood, was burning like a matchbox. Terrified men and women were rushing out, in nightgowns, in their underwear, or holding blankets around them with apparently nothing underneath. In spite of the hideous confusion Marny felt a tickle of laughter as she thought of the embarrassments that were going to follow some of these disclosures of who had been sleeping with whom.

Beyond the Parker House, at the corner of Kearny Street and Washington, was the El Dorado, now housed in a new building four stories high. The outer walls were brick. But Marny could tell that the inside—wood and cloth like other buildings—was fiercely on fire. Flames darted out of the windows, and smoke rolled after them in long harsh coils. Behind the El Dorado she saw the fire pouring eastward, toward Montgomery Street and the waterfront.

Sparks like great handfuls of stars were blowing across Washington Street toward the Verandah and the Bella Union and Blossom’s flower garden and other structures higher up the hill. In spite of the mud, in several spots the plank sidewalk was already burning. Men had formed bucket brigades, to keep the buildings wet. Other men were piling wet blankets on the roofs, or tossing liquid mud up the walls. Some people were throwing their belongings out of windows, others had rushed out with their arms full, and were running away. Farther out, in areas that the fire had not reached, men were breaking the buildings to pieces. They were chopping at the walls with axes, using logs as battering rams, working with frantic force to make open spaces that would stop the spread of the fire.

Marny saw all this without really looking at it. The sight was in front of her and her eyes saw it because it was there. What she saw with her thoughts and her heart and all the rest of her was the Calico Palace.

The Calico Palace stood between a restaurant and another gambling house. They were all in flames. The Calico Palace was turning into a wreck. Its outer walls, like those of the El Dorado, were brick, but she knew—oh, how well she knew!—that here too the inside walls were thin and flimsy, and these could burn, and were burning, with a roar like thunder. Marny stood helplessly, and looked.

She saw the fire, she saw smoke curling out of the windows. But she saw more. As though they too were there in front of her, she saw the paintings, the carpets, the mirrors, the costly chairs and tables, the sparkling chandeliers. She heard the rush of the fire. But with it she heard the clink of coins on the tables, the little bells calling the bartenders. She remembered the polished top of the bar under her fingers, the aroma of fine liquors as the barmen filled the glasses. She remembered all these, and she remembered the long hours and days and months she had spent at her card table to pay for them. Dealing cards was
work.
Marny had chosen her career and she had no wish for any other, but it was work none the less. She had done it well and she had the Calico Palace to show for it. Now it was all going up in smoke.

And it was going for good. There was no such thing as fire insurance in San Francisco. Who would be so foolish as to insure a town made of cloth and tarpaper and splinter-thin boards?

A part of herself was dying. She stood here watching it die. Marny did not intend to crawl off somewhere and wail that life was not worth living. But right now, she understood people who did.

The front wall of the Calico Palace crashed into the street, scattering bricks and sending men fleeing in all directions. Now Marny could see the blazing desolation inside. She could not look. She turned her head away.

A
S SHE TURNED, MARNY
saw that the sparks had caught the Verandah roof again, and the fire-fighters were pouring buckets of mud on the flames. From somewhere toward Montgomery Street she heard an explosion. Bricks and pieces of lumber littered the air as men blew up a building, to break the march of the blaze.

All around her, those thousands of people were still surging about. Some of them were fighting the fire, others were dragging goods out of doors; some were running here and there, spending much energy to accomplish nothing; still others merely stood around, enjoying the show, or watching for a chance to make off with goods other people had rescued. On another platform not far from where she stood among the barrels, Marny saw the plaza preacher. He was addressing the crowd, shouting to them that this disaster had come upon them because of their sins. It was a judgment of the Lord upon this wicked city, this Babylon of the Pacific, and they had better repent. Marny wondered if it had not occurred to him that the sinners would have been more inclined to listen if instead of blaming them for the fire he had gone to work to help them put it out.

Just then, above the din around her, she heard a man calling her name. She could not find him at once, for the mob was seething and the light was not steady—a flash here, a dart of flame yonder, a billow of smoke somewhere else. But after a moment or two, with a start of joy she caught sight of Hiram, pushing his big self through the crowd.

As he reached the platform he leaped up to meet her, taking the steps three at a time.

“Marny!” he shouted again as he reached her.

“Merry Christmas,” said Marny.

Hiram threw back his head with a roar of wrath.

“Stop making jokes, you damned halfwit. Come down!”

He grabbed her with both hands.

“Don’t you know with that light on your hair you’re a target for every scoundrel in town?”

For once, Marny had forgotten her hair. Still gripping her arms, Hiram was demanding,

“Why didn’t you crouch behind these barrels? What’s wrong with your head?”

Marny pushed her hand across her smoke-stung eyes. “Right now, Hiram, my head isn’t working very well.”

He glanced toward the tottering remains of the Calico Palace. “You poor girl,” he returned, “no wonder.”

Marny looked up at him. “Besides, Hiram,” she retorted, “if I’d been hiding, nobody would have seen me, not even you. I might have had to stay here till day after tomorrow.” She gave him a smile. “I’m not
so
stupid.”

He smiled back at her, this time with admiration. “You’re taking it mighty well, Marny.”

“No I’m not,” she said. “We opened it the first of September and now on Christmas Eve it’s gone. I feel sick and sore. But I’m glad you found me, Hiram. I’ve got—” With the toe of her mud-caked shoe she touched the bundle on the floor. “I’ve got something worth saving. Which means, worth stealing.”

“Good,” said Hiram. “I’ll help you save it. Let’s try to get to Chase and Fenway’s.”

She exclaimed hopefully, “Then the store is still there?”

“I don’t know,” said Hiram. “That’s what we came to find out.”

As he spoke, Hiram made a gesture toward the foot of the steps. She saw Pocket, looking up at her with his shy endearing smile, like a boy about to escort a girl to a party and hoping he was going to do everything right. Marny blew him a kiss and he blew one back to her. Hiram gathered up the bundle. Its weight told him what was in it, and he smiled his congratulations.

“You have your gun?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“Keep your hand on it. Let’s go.”

Marny gave a sigh of relief. She did not know how long ago the fire had waked her, but she did know this had been one of the hardest periods she had ever lived through and she felt drained of strength. She wanted to put her money into a safe place, and she wanted to get out of sight of the wreckage. She went down the steps, and with Hiram and Pocket beside her, their own guns in evidence, she began making her way through the multitude.

She noticed that Hiram and Pocket were fully dressed, even to rubber boots to help them through the mud. Evidently they had not, like herself, rushed out with no minutes to spare. “So the St. Francis Hotel is all right?” she asked.

Yes, the St. Francis was all right, they told her, and so was the rest of Clay Street. There was not much wind tonight, but what wind there was had been coming from the south, blowing the fire away from that side of the plaza. They did not know yet whether or not they had lost anything. Their gold, like her own private fund, had been stored in a safe at Chase and Fenway’s, and they had been on their way there when they had caught sight of her on the platform. “So,” said Hiram, “we turned aside.”

“I love you both,” said Marny.

She said nothing else; it was all she could do to struggle ahead. They had each given her an arm, and were half leading, half helping her away from the fire, toward Clay Street. Their progress was slow. She was not, like them, wearing high boots to support her ankles, and the long full skirt of her robe trailed in the mud and held her back. But the crowd on Clay Street was not so thick as that in the plaza. Once there, they would be able to walk more easily, down to Montgomery Street.

“We’ll cross here,” said Hiram.

Marny gathered up her hampering skirt, and waded through the miry mess of the road. At the corner of Clay and Kearny was a restaurant calling itself by the lordly name of Delmonico’s, not on fire but in danger. Men were swarming over it, beating out sparks, throwing mud over the walls, hanging wet blankets on the side toward the flames and changing the blankets as they dried in the heat. While they worked to save the building, other men had pounded the door open and now were running off with armfuls of loot—chairs, lamps, liquor, anything that came to hand.

“What a pleasure it would be,” Marny murmured, “to shoot them.”

“Yes ma’am, it would be,” Pocket agreed gently, “but please don’t. There’s enough trouble around here already.”

Marny wondered bitterly if anybody had had time to steal anything from the Calico Palace before it fell in. As the men dragged her farther from the fire she thought she saw a glimmer of dawn in the sky, though in the confusion of flame and smoke it was hard to be sure. Remembering what a happy time they had had yesterday she wondered how Kendra was, and the baby. She could not tell if the fire had climbed the hill, but if Kendra’s house was in danger she would have had plenty of time to get out. Only this would not have been good for the baby, taking him out of a warm bed into the chilly dawn. As she thought of this, above the noise she heard Pocket exclaim, “Well, of all people—Loren!”

By the fitful glares they saw Loren walking uphill from the direction of Montgomery Street. He was carrying a child, a small child crying and struggling in terror. Marny saw Lolo running behind him, sobbing with fright, and as she recognized Lolo she also recognized Lolo’s little boy, Zack.

Pocket and Hiram called to Loren. He saw them and came on. As he reached them Lolo caught up with him and tearfully held out her arms, and with a gurgle of joy little Zack held out his.

“He’s all right,” Loren said encouragingly as he gave her the baby. “Just scared, like the rest of us.”

Sobbing her gratitude, Lolo took her squalling child. Loren patted her shoulder.

“You’re still too close to the fire,” he warned. “Better take him farther away.”

But Zack was heavy and Lolo was out of breath. Loren indicated a packing case that somebody had dragged outdoors. “Here, sit down and rest. Look out for that nail—it can give him a nasty scratch.”

Glad to be told what to do, Lolo sat down on the packing case, holding Zack away from the nail that stuck out of one corner. Pocket spoke to her. With a comforting smile, he suggested that she take Zack to the porch of the City Hotel. He and Hiram had just passed the City Hotel, he told her, and it was not even scorched, for the wind was blowing the fire away from it. A lot of people, including several women, had taken refuge on the porch.

Lolo nodded, promising that as soon as she felt able to carry the twenty pounds of Zack any farther, she would go to the City Hotel. Now that he was safe in his mother’s arms Zack’s tears were subsiding, and while Lolo soothed him Loren had a chance to talk.

He said both the Blackbeards were fighting the fire. Troy had told Lolo to wait here at the corner, but as the fire drew nearer she was frightened, and with Zack in her arms she ran down Montgomery Street. That street too was full of men, some of them bent on looting, others defending their property from fires and looters alike. Zack, in Lolo’s arms, fought in panic. Struggling to hold him, Lolo ran on, hardly noticing where she was going, knowing only that she had to get him away from the fire. As she neared Chase and Fenway’s, she bumped into a looter with his arms full. Lolo and baby, looter and loot, fell down in a heap together.

Loren, helping to guard Chase and Fenway’s, heard her scream and ran to give help. The looter was swearing at her in rage. He had no interest in her or the child, he wanted to rescue his plunder, and as she tried to rise he knocked her down again.

Loren cracked the looter on the head with his gun, picked up the baby, and when he could make out Lolo’s frantic appeals he carried Zack back to the spot where Troy had told her to wait for him. But Pocket was right, this was dangerously near the fire, and he was glad she had agreed to go to the City Hotel.

“How is Chase and Fenway’s?” Hiram asked anxiously.

“Safe,” said Loren, and his hearers exclaimed in relief. Loren went on, “The fire hasn’t come that far and I don’t think it will. The problem in that section is looters. I’ve got to hurry back, to help guard.”

“We’ll come with you,” said Pocket.

“And meantime,” said Marny, “how is Kendr—”