Calico Palace (81 page)

All of a sudden, a hard rough hand covered hers and she felt rude fingers pushing her own fingers off the handle. Marny jerked herself around. A man with dirty clothes and a dirty stink was grabbing the hut, sure that any box so tenderly guarded must hold something worth money.

Marny forgot her fatigue. Before her mind had formed a conscious thought she had leaped to her feet and at the same time whipped out her gun. Uttering a wordless sound of rage, she fired.

But though she had forgotten her fatigue, it was still there. Her hand was not steady. Her shot missed, and the bullet buried itself in the ground. She heard a cry of alarm from Kendra and exclamations from all around her, as with a mocking laugh the looter gripped the handle of the hut and started to run.

But he did not take a second step. Before Marny could fire again she heard another crack from another pistol. The looter fell sprawling. The hut dropped from his hand and turned over on its side.

Marny’s knees were shaking. She felt Kendra’s hand on her elbow, helping her to stand. Murmuring, “Thank you,” Marny turned her head, and to her amazement she saw that Kendra’s other hand held a gun.

Marny gasped. “You—? How did you do it?”

“I—I don’t know,” said Kendra. “It—just happened.” She sounded as amazed as Marny herself, and looked down at the gun as if surprised to find it in her hand. She added, “You—you said I would need it tonight.”

The man on the ground sat up, groaning in pain and anger. At the same moment another man’s voice demanded, “What’s going on here?”

By the new daylight they saw Pocket coming toward them. He held a murderous-looking gun of his own, and with an air of authority he was ordering other people out of his way. As he saw Marny and Kendra he stopped, and looked from them to the unsavory fellow on the ground, who now sat whining as he contemplated a wound in his right forearm.

“What was he up to?” Pocket demanded.

A man in the crowd pushed forward. “He tried to steal a box from these ladies.”

“And got a bullet for his trouble,” said Pocket. “Good work. If I’d seen him first I’d have shot him myself. I’m on patrol duty, looking out for looters.” From one of his pockets he drew a big handkerchief and threw it to the whimpering man on the ground. “Wrap this around your arm and get going.” To the others he said, “Well, I guess he won’t steal with that hand for a while. Who shot him?”

“Kendra,” said Marny.

“Kendra!” Pocket repeated. He spoke to her admiringly, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Smart girl. I tell you frankly, ma’am, I didn’t know you could do it.”

“Neither did I,” said Kendra. “But I did it, and it made me feel better.”

Again her voice had a note of surprise. She did feel better. She felt less helpless in the face of the holocaust.

“I’d like to sit down,” said Marny, and without further ado she let herself crumple up among the weeds. A frowsy woman, apparently the looter’s girl friend, had stumbled toward him. She was kneeling at his side, tying Pocket’s handkerchief around his arm and wailing in alcoholic profanities. Holding his gun ready, Pocket made his way to the noisy pair. With his usual steady confidence he took a gun from the man’s pocket and transferred it to his own. This done, he picked up the hut, where Geraldine was now storming angrily, and brought it back to Marny and Kendra.

“You heard me tell the folks I’m on patrol duty,” said Pocket. “My job is to walk up and down Washington Street between here and Kearny, looking for looters. When you’ve rested a bit longer, you can walk down to the library with me. It’s safe there now.”

He told them—and a number of others who had gathered to listen—that the fire was, as Marny had noticed, burning itself out. The flames had crossed Washington Street below Kearny, but not above. This meant that the Washington Street side of the plaza was unhurt. But looters were creeping about, so he and several other men, the best shots in their fire company, had been detailed to patrol the street.

To Kendra’s questions he replied that he had last seen Hiram about two hours ago. At that time Hiram had been fighting the fire, and though his clothes were scorched Hiram himself had not been injured. As for the Calico Palace, the walls were standing, but each fire company had its own district and Pocket had not been close enough to the Calico Palace to know if there was damage inside.

Marny told herself to be patient. As she looked up at him from where she sat on the ground, it occurred to her that she had never seen Pocket’s pockets so un-stuffed. Some of them looked actually empty. The library kept earlier hours than the Calico Palace. Marny guessed that he had been in bed asleep when he heard the midnight alarm, and had sprung up and thrown on his clothes, and rushed out without pausing to gather his usual baggage.

Pocket was saying, “It’s time you ladies had some peace and quiet.”

He gave Marny a particular look of concern. Pocket had not heard about Marny’s meeting with Captain Pollock, but his quick eyes and his warmth of heart had told him that she was close to the limit of what she could bear. He went on,

“And it’s time I got back on patrol. Kendra, will you carry the cats?”

Marny dragged herself up. Pocket resumed patrol, this time heading downhill, looking for troublemakers and now and then finding one and sternly sending him on his way. The girls walked behind him, down the weedy track to where it widened and met the plank sidewalk, and on toward the plaza. While this part of the street was not on fire, it was as chaotic as it had been when they climbed. Still, the walk was easier going down.

They came at last to the library. Here Pocket’s partner, Mr. Gilmore, stood on guard with several of their clerks. Pocket told Mr. Gilmore that Marny and Kendra were to have his bedroom. They followed Pocket inside, through the reading rooms, to the back of the building where his bedroom was. When they tried to thank him Pocket said he had no time to listen. He hurried out to go back on duty.

Pocket did not live in such luxury as Hiram had enjoyed in the Union Hotel. The room was small and plainly furnished. The bed covers had been hastily thrown back, and over the chairs and wash-stand and chest of drawers were scattered the possessions that Pocket had not had time to put into his pockets. But to Marny and Kendra the untidy little room was a blessed haven. Marny dropped across the bed. Kendra set Geraldine’s hut on the floor and stretched out by Marny.

They did not talk, but they were still too tense to sleep. The night behind them had been an ordeal, the day ahead was an agonizing uncertainty. —How is it with Hiram? How is it with the Calico Palace? How will it be with me, after this?

In the hut Geraldine cried bitterly. “I am bruised and hungry and miserable,” she moaned in cat language. “Why do you treat me like this? Don’t you love me any more?”

After a while they heard loud thumping footsteps, the bedroom door burst open, and a big voice exclaimed, “Hi, Pocket! Anybody home?”

They sat up, and Kendra sprang off the bed with a scream of delight.

“Hiram!”

He grabbed her in his arms. Together they demanded of each other, “Are you all right?”

They were both all right. Kendra’s blue silk dress and theater cloak were torn and ruined; Hiram’s fine broadcloth suit was in tatters, he had blisters on his hands and many bruises all over, but who cared? He had no important hurts and neither had she, and they were together again.

Across Kendra’s shoulder Hiram asked, “And you, Marny?”

“How is the Calico Palace?” she returned breathlessly.

On Hiram’s smudgy face she saw a big broad smile. “Marny, the Calico Palace is still there.”

“Then I’m all right,” said Marny.

Her voice cracked. She crumpled up on the bed and hid her face in Pocket’s pillow and pushed her fingers up through her windblown hair and sobbed. The Calico Palace was still there.

Hiram waited until her sobs quieted. Then, sitting on the bed between her and Kendra, he told them more about the fire. He said Dwight Carson had built as well as he had promised he would. Not only was the Calico Palace intact, but so was Hiram’s bank. On the block where the bank stood, every other building had gone down. But the bank, with its roof tank and its perfectly adjusted iron doors and shutters, had withstood the fire.

Chase and Fenway’s store was a total loss and so was their warehouse. However, they were luckier than some men, for they both still had their dwellings. The fire had not reached the home of Mr. Chase on Washington Street, and it had not gone as far south as Happy Valley where lived Mr. Fenway and Rosabel. “And they have coins and gold dust,” Hiram added proudly, “safe in our vault. So they can start rebuilding right away.”

Marny dried her eyes on Pocket’s pillowcase. “Hiram, is it safe for me to walk down to Kearny Street? I’d like to go to sleep in my own bed.”

Kendra said she too would like to go back to the Calico Palace. Hiram considered. Kearny Street was piled with smoking debris, and timbers were still falling. However, he had come here by walking diagonally across the plaza, scrambling among the barrels and boxes and other things piled there. They could do the same.

“If you can stand a lot of ugly sights,” he warned them.

“We’ll have to stand that sometime,” said Marny. “Why not now?”

“All right,” said Hiram. “I’ll go with you.”

“You’re already worn out!” Kendra protested.

Hiram chuckled. Of course he was tired, he said. But he was also hungry. The Union Hotel was gone, and so were most of the other hotels and restaurants. Hiram was hoping, if he saw Marny and Kendra safely to the Calico Palace, Kendra would give him some breakfast.

While he was speaking Pocket came in. Kendra said she would give breakfast to them both, and they whistled joyfully. “Then Hiram and I will come back here,” said Pocket, “and catch up on our sleep so we’ll be ready for more guard duty tonight. I don’t think there’ll be much looting this morning. Nobody slept last night, and even the greediest thieves can’t stay awake forever.” He reached for Geraldine’s hut. “Let’s go.”

Hiram stood up, but he paused, suddenly grave. “Wait a minute, Pocket. I’ve just remembered, there’s something I want to tell Marny.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Marny, early this morning our squad found Captain Pollock. Dead.”

She gave a start. “Oh Hiram! You mean burned up?”

“No. There wasn’t a mark on him. He was in the street, near the hotel he lived in. Smothered by the smoke. He got out somehow, but he couldn’t get away. With a wound in the leg below the knee, a man can’t walk.”

“Then I killed him, didn’t I?” Marny said slowly. “Hiram, I didn’t mean to kill him.” She caught her voice. “Or—maybe I did. I don’t know. It happened so fast, and I was so scared, I honestly don’t know if I meant to kill him or not.”

“What’s this,” exclaimed Pocket, “about somebody killing Captain Pollock?”

“You tell him, Marny,” said Hiram.

Marny told him. “I don’t know,” she repeated at the end of her narrative, “whether or not I meant to kill him. But this makes me feel guilty, somehow.”

Pocket had listened without comment, standing at the foot of the bed. Now he smiled at her, and his smile was reassuring and serene.

“You didn’t mean to kill him, Marny.”

She asked eagerly, “How do you know?”

“If you shot him below the knee,” Pocket said calmly, “you did some pretty accurate aiming. That’s exactly the right place to hit a man when you have to protect yourself but you don’t want to kill him. He falls down but he hasn’t got a fatal wound. And you knew that, whether or not you had it in the top side of your mind just then. You aimed right and you didn’t mean to kill him.”

Marny gave a sigh of relief. Kendra squeezed her hand.

Hiram vigorously agreed with Pocket. “And you didn’t kill him, Marny. It was the hoodlums who set this fire that killed him.”

Pocket shook his head. He spoke with thoughtful slowness. “You know, Hiram, I think it’s closer to the truth to say Pollock killed himself. If he hadn’t tried to rob Marny he wouldn’t have been hurt. And if he hadn’t been hurt, he would have had a good chance to get away from the fire.” Pocket smiled an odd little smile. “Evil people,” he added, “have a way of killing themselves.”

There was a pause. Pocket spoke to Marny again.

“And now that I think of it, Marny, Pollock might have been bankrupt yesterday but if he’d been an honest man he would have been rich today.”

“What do you mean?” the other three exclaimed.

“He told Marny,” Pocket answered with tranquil assurance, “he had a right to steal from her because he couldn’t sell his bricks and lumber. Well, they were a drug on the market last night, but they sure aren’t today. Three-quarters of San Francisco has been burned up and folks have got to rebuild. They’ll be buying all the bricks and lumber they can get. Pollock’s brickyard and lumber yard are down at the south end of town below Happy Valley. That area wasn’t touched by the fire.” Pocket picked up Geraldine’s hut. “Well, folks, I’m famished. Let’s go to the Calico Palace and get that breakfast.”

Yesterday they could have walked from the library to the Calico Palace in about ten minutes. This morning they had to pick their way among the piles of rescued stuff in the plaza, and the fallen bricks and timbers in Kearny Street, and they had to go around piles of rubble that only half covered the bodies beneath. They had to pause and listen to the frantic words of men who had lost everything they owned, and to other men who pled, “Have you seen So-and-So?—I can’t find him—I’m afraid he—” and could not finish the sentence. Today the walk took a long time and it seemed longer.

They spoke little. They were too tired, and too sickened by the tragedies around them. But later that day Marny remembered Pocket’s saying through his teeth, almost mumbling, more as if talking to himself than to her, “Human creatures did this. Did it on purpose.”

“Some of those human creatures,” Marny reminded him grimly, “got killed in it.”

Pocket returned, “Not enough.”

His voice was low but savage. Mild as his temper was, right now if Pocket had recognized one of the men who had set this fire, she did not doubt that Pocket would have shot him.