Beneath the Flames

by Gregory Lee Renz

  Several firefighters said, “Amen.”

  Miss Bernie made sure to hug every one of them. After the last ones left, Mitch and Miss Bernie soaked in the return to glory of the proud Victorian now painted her favorite color, the color of hope.

  “Mitch, honey, you’re surely a blessing.” She pulled him close.

  * * *

  Mitch lingered in the firehouse basement before work the following morning.

  “See you’re still getting here at the crack of dawn,” Nic said, trotting down the stairs. The Mexican sun had darkened her face and lightened her hair, accenting her turquoise eyes. “That’s awful about Firefighter Jackson. How you doing with that?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Don’t look okay. What can I do to help?”

  “You guys get anything yesterday?”

  “Nah, a few false alarms. Oh, last night during the rainstorm we got called across the street. The lights were flickering and water was dripping from the ceiling fixture. We pulled the breakers and opened the ceiling. They’re lucky the attic didn’t go up.” She headed to the stairs. “Mitch, really. Let me know if you need to talk or anything.”

  * * *

  Mitch was upstairs dust-mopping the dorm when he heard hollering coming through the pole holes. “Goddamn shop. Can’t fix shit.”

  He ran downstairs and found the crew standing by the pump panel of the rig watching Crusher manipulate the controls. “This damn thing ain’t gonna pump.”

  Kenny stood behind Crusher with his arms folded. “Fuck, we’re back to that old spare piece-of-shit.”

  “Our rig’s going back to the shop,” the boss said to Mitch. “Start stripping the gear off.”

  “What’s wrong?” Mitch asked.

  “Won’t go into PTO.”

  Mitch frowned. “That all?”

  “That’s pretty major. Won’t pump if it won’t go into PTO.”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  The captain rubbed the back of his neck, arched his thick, graying eyebrows and said, “Have at it.”

  Mitch rolled under the rig on a creeper, pulling the toolbox along. The others chuckled. Fifteen minutes later he rolled back out. “Give her a try.”

  Crusher started the rig and engaged the PTO, the power take-off. “Nice job, kid. You’re hired.”

  “What was it?” the captain asked.

  “I checked the PTO clutch first. It wasn’t hung up, so I traced the wiring harness to the ground. Pretty corroded. Cleaned it, and hoped for the best.”

  “Where’d you learn that?”

  “All part of farming.”

  Kenny patted Mitch on the back. “You saved our ass. C’mon to the kitchen. Forget cub duties. Okay, boss?”

  “Just be on the platform by 8:30. We’ll be having a moment of silence at 8:46.

  While joining the crew for coffee, Mitch avoided Ralph who was gnawing on a cigar and studying him.

  At 8:30 they headed to the concrete platform and formed a straight line in front of the fire engine. At 8:46 they raised their hands in a silent salute. It was only one year ago that Mitch watched the horror of 9/11 unfold. If it wasn’t for that day…

  * * *

  Mitch spent the afternoon at the joker stand trying to concentrate on the training manual. He couldn’t stop staring at the decaying house across the street that was now without electricity. No kids should have to live like that. Alexus was such a cute, rambunctious child. And although Jasmine had ripped into him, he shouldn’t have lost it. She was just a kid. It sickened him that Jamal was probably right about her hooking up with the One-Niners. How long before she’d be on the street selling her body for them?

  They had a half dozen minor runs before midnight. At four in the morning, they responded to a woman in labor. The rig pulled to a stop in front of a one-story bungalow with overgrown vacant lots on each side. A muffled scream came from the dilapidated home.

  “You get to catch, kid,” Ralph said. “Try not to puke.”

  A stooped black woman wearing a fuzzy blue bathrobe flung the door open before the captain could knock. The heady aroma of marijuana drifted out. She pointed down the hallway. “In the back.”

  They hurried past the front room where a teenaged girl rocked a crying infant in an old wooden rocking chair. Five small children sprawled around her on the bare hardwood floor.

  Two young women were standing by the bed when they entered the room.

  Ralph pushed one of them away with the back of his hand. Both went for the doorway. A small table by the bed contained a full ashtray and the remnants of a joint. Next to that a glass pipe.

  Ralph sneered at the women. “Smoking dope with her? Unfucking real.”

  “Ralph, cool it,” the boss said.

  The expectant mother looked like she should be playing with dolls, not delivering the real thing. Her legs were spread wide and the sheets were soaked. The top of the baby’s head was visible. She arched her back. “Owww. Owww. Owww. Make it stop.”

  Kenny rifled through the EMS supplies. “I got the OB kit.”

  Mitch crouched next to the bed and leaned in with a small penlight, the copper smell of blood filling his nostrils. “I need more light.”

  Glaring white light from Ralph’s handheld spotlight lit up the room. Cockroaches scurried over the walls, fleeing from the light.

  “Crap. Head’s blue,” Mitch said. “Cord’s pinched.”

  The elderly lady and two women crowded the doorway, clasping their hands over their mouths.

  Kenny leaned in. “Shit.”

  “Dispatch, Engine Fifteen requesting a med unit,” Captain Reemer said into the radio. “We got a hypoxic baby being delivered.”

  The girl’s deafening screams had Mitch gritting his teeth. Ralph pushed the women back from the door and slammed it shut.

  The baby’s head and cord were pinched tight against the cervix. Mitch pushed on the baby’s slippery head to get it off the cord. It didn’t move. “Ma’am, listen, try not to push. Help’s on the way. You and the baby will be fine. I’ve seen this lots of times.” He nodded at Kenny. “I need a four-by-four.”

  Mitch took the square of gauze from Kenny and wiped the slick fluid away. He cupped the baby’s blue head and tried to force it back in. It was him against the intense force of the uterus that was doing everything it could to push the baby out. But it would be dead before it delivered. Mitch adjusted his footing and pushed harder, holding his breath. The head moved just enough for him to force two fingers along the cord between the baby’s head and mother’s cervix.

  Mitch breathed. “Got it. Cord’s free.”

  The girl’s screams diminished to moans and sobs along with the contraction. Less than a minute later, the pressure increased, pinching Mitch’s fingers between baby’s head and mother’s cervix. The cord was safe between his two fingers. With the other hand, he held a firm grip on the baby’s head while the mother pleaded to make it stop. Mitch peered over the top of her distended abdomen. “You’re doing great. Hang in there.”

  Kenny and Ralph watched in silence as the contractions came faster. The screams turned to breathless moans. Mitch continued to comfort her. Beads of sweat stung his eyes.

  Paramedics burst into the room, slamming the yellow gurney down to bed-level. Without looking up, Mitch said, “Cord’s pinched.”

  The paramedic lieutenant got down next to Mitch. “Nice call.” He turned to his crew. “Get an IV going and a set of vitals.”

  After they stabilized her, one of the paramedics took over supporting the cord.

  Mitch stepped back. Why was he so nervous now? It was over.

  After they loaded the young girl in the med unit, the paramedic lieu­tenant said, “Nice work, Engine Fifteen.”

  The med unit sped off with the siren blaring. The captain nodded at Mitch. “Made us look good. Nice job.” The praise from the boss should have left him ecstatic, but what he needed more than anything was to share this with his best friend on Miss Bernie’s
porch, with a cold beer.

  * * *

  It was after five when they got back to the firehouse. They shuffled to the kitchen for coffee.

  “You saw that lots of times before?” Kenny asked. “You some redneck midwife?”

  Mitch grinned. “We deliver a couple of calves a week on the farm. Some­times the cord gets pinched. Then we gotta get them out quick. We have a puller where we wrap a rope around them and yank them out.”

  “Good she didn’t know you were talking about cows,” Kenny said. “Hey, boss, we need one of those puller things. Wouldn’t have to wait for the meds.”

  “You’re amazing, kid,” Crusher said.

  “Yeah, fucking amazing,” Ralph said gnawing on his stogie.

  Mitch furrowed his brow. “One question. How could she be having a white baby?”

  Crusher and Kenny erupted in laughter.

  Mitch raised his open palms.

  Crusher stopped laughing. “Must not get many black babies in God’s country.”

  This got Crusher and Kenny going again.

  “What?” Mitch asked.

  The captain waved his pipe. “Since these ladies won’t tell you, lots of black babies are born with light skin. Takes a while for them to darken up.”

  Ralph followed Mitch to the parking lot at the end of the shift. “Think you’re pretty hot shit? Let me fill you in. You ain’t.” The stench of Ralph’s early morning cigar breath turned Mitch’s stomach. Ralph rammed his cigar into Mitch’s chest. “I let it slide when you told me to get fucked. Ever talk to me like that again, I’ll rip your head off and shit down your throat.”

  Ralph ground his cigar into the pavement and left.

  Screw you. You don’t scare me anymore.

  On the way home, he forgot about Ralph. He had more important things to do today.

  Chapter 24

  From the roof of Benita Richardson’s house, he could see the green-shift crew inside the firehouse going through their morning routine. It was strange watching the activity from across the street. He had bundles of shingles left over from Miss Bernie’s house and plenty of lumber. Maybe he couldn’t tutor those kids, but he could fix their roof. He stripped weathered and brittle shingles from around the bare areas and one by one replaced them with fresh ones.

  From below someone shouted, “What the fuck you doing up there?”

  Mitch edged down the roof. A gaunt black face looked up at him.

  “Patching the roof.”

  “Who hired you? We got no money.”

  “Don’t owe me anything. I told Ms. Richardson I’d do this for her.”

  “Who the fuck you?”

  “I work across the street. I’m a firefighter.”

  “How you know my woman? Ah, fuck. I ain’t got time for this shit. Keep the noise down.”

  Mitch was still on the roof when Jasmine and Alexus came home from school. Alexus waved at him. Jasmine shook her head and went inside.

  “What you doing up there?” Alexus shouted.

  “Fixing your roof.”

  “Can you cut the lights back on when you done? I can’t watch my shows.”

  “See what I can do.”

  Alexus clapped her hands and ran into the house.

  * * *

  He finished in the moonlight. The wiring would have to wait until tomorrow. He never did see Benita Richardson come home.

  Next morning he started work on the porch, replacing rotting planks and framing. He tried to be as quiet as possible so he didn’t wake the boyfriend or whatever he was. The man’s sunken face gave him the willies.

  While struggling with a rotting plank, Mitch turned to get a pry bar and was startled by Benita Richardson standing over him with her arms crossed. “What you doing?”

  He stood, met by her hollow eyes. This must be the thousand-mile stare Mitch had read about, except she was obviously not a Viet Nam vet.

  “Told you I’d fix your place up.”

  “Never said I’d get Jasmine to help with those kids. Child has a mind of her own.”

  “Don’t matter.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “Why you wanna do all that? Don’t make no sense.”

  “Should I leave?”

  “You wanna fix shit. You go right ahead and fix shit.”

  She shuffled into the house, muttering, “Crazy motherfucker.”

  By noon the porch was done.

  “Want me to check the wiring?” Mitch called through the screen.

  “Do whatever you gotta do.”

  The sight of the spotless front room shocked him. The walls were painted bright yellow, the wood floors glowed, and a sectional couch spanned two walls. The place had a soapy fresh smell. This woman took pride in her home. Mitch had her wrong.

  He found her on the back porch, smoking. “I’ll need to get in the attic and the basement.”

  “The stairs is right there.”

  “I don’t want to disturb your boyfriend.”

  “Maurice? Never come home last night.” The woman spoke in a bleak monotone.

  Mitch went upstairs and found where the blue shifters had opened the ceiling. The room was tidy and dry, the plaster and wet insulation gone. Along the inside wall was a neatly made single bed covered by a pink comforter emblazoned with a bright blue pony. The pillowcase said My Little Pony. Against the opposite wall stood a dresser with an array of random framed photos spread over it. He recognized Alexus and Jasmine in many of them. Some pictures had a third girl. She was older than Jasmine. Mitch spotted a picture of a black man and a little girl smiling at the camera, their cheeks pressed together. Looking closer, he saw the emerald eyes of the little girl. She was clasping a thin silver-colored chain necklace.

  * * *

  Over the years they had rewired much of the farm so replacing dete­riorating wiring in this house was no challenge. He spent the afternoon crawling through the stifling attic, yanking out old wiring and running fresh wires to new junction boxes. He was covered in gray insulation when he came down and went to the basement to upgrade the fuse box. He paid for all this but didn’t plan on telling them. After installing the new circuit breakers, he went upstairs.

  Before he could get outside and brush the insulation off, Alexus ran at him and hugged him hard. “You lookin’ like some kinda big bird.”

  Jasmine stood in the center of the room with her hands on her hips, looking like her mother just then, except Jasmine’s green eyes sparkled. “Yeah, maybe you should be on Sesame Street.” She was not smiling. “Who say you could go in my room?”

  “I had to get in there to fix the wires. Sorry.”

  Alexus looked up at him with her almond Disney princess eyes. “She glad you fix our house. She just can’t tell you.”

  Jasmine pulled Alexus away. She kneeled down and put her arms around her sister, frowned at Mitch and said, “Next time ask.”

  Maybe there won’t be a next time.

  He headed to the front door and heard Jasmine whisper, “Thanks.”

  * * *

  On the way home Mitch stopped at the Burger King to get Miss Bernie a Whopper and some fries. She loved those fries. He couldn’t wait to tell her how he helped the Richardson girls. Miss Bernie was right. The peace of the Lord does come to those who help others. Fixing things felt good.

  The lights were out in Miss Bernie’s flat when he got home. He didn’t want to wake her and headed up the creaking stairs.

  “Mitch?”

  He backed down and stepped inside. “Thought you were in bed already.”

  “Can’t sleep.” She clicked on the floor lamp next to her recliner.

  “Want some Burger King?”

  She clutched a photo to her chest. “Can’t eat nothing.” She wiped at her nose with her hanky. “Police come by today telling me they still don’t know who kilt Jamal.”

  Mitch pulled a chair next to her and held her hand.

  Miss Bernie sighed. “I know the good Lord got a reason for taking him, but it pains me so
.” She choked and drew in a deep breath. “I been praying for Him to show my baby girl the way home. She been gone eight years now.”

  “Any idea where she is?”

  “She told Jamal she was running off to Chicago soon as she got a chance.”

  Mitch rubbed her hand.

  “She was the sweetest thing. Tickled my bones with her nonsense. Once she started formin’ I knew the boys would be after her. See how pretty she was.” Miss Bernie pointed to a young girl in the photo who was around Jasmine’s age. She was small and slight like Miss Bernie. A young Jamal towered over her, both of them grinning.

  “Looks just like you.”

  Miss Bernie stared at the photo. “I was hard on her. Too hard. I see that now. The more I tried to hold her down, the more she pull away. We couldn’t be in the same room without fussin’ at each other. Oh, that girl got a mouth on her. Cuss me out good. I couldn’t take it no more and slapped her foul mouth.” She hugged the photo to her chest. “That’s when she run off.”

  “You never heard from her?”

  “I push that girl too hard. So hard I push her away. I was scared to death.” Miss Bernie lowered her faraway gaze to Mitch. “See what fear do? Make you stupid. That’s what I was, stupid and prideful, thinking I had all the answers. I shoulda been loving that girl through those times and listening to her instead of hounding at her. Now she gone.”

  She wiped at her eyes with the hanky, sniffling. “Go on up to bed. You don’t need to set all night holding my hand.”

  “I’ll keep pestering the police. I won’t let them give up.”

  “Imagine they already did. Too much giving up around here. You go on now.”

  I’m not giving up.

  Chapter 25

  In the morning, Mitch drove to work through a light drizzle, thinking about Miss Bernie and her daughter. Eight years.

  Was this how Sid looked at his leaving, as running away from him and the farm? He didn’t run away, though. Sid ordered him off the farm. Was Sid acting out of fear like Miss Bernie did with her daughter? But fear of what? Losing Mitch? Losing the farm? What?