Those Who Favor Fire

by Lauren Wolk

  “This’ll go a whole lot faster if you’ll all shut the hell up.” Which did shut everyone up. They looked up at the stage and gaped at Mendelson, who stood and glared down at them all, breathing heavily through his mouth. “That’s better,” he said.

  He looked at the papers in his hand. “Just shut up and listen, then I’ll go on home to bed and you folks can bitch at each other as long as you like. Jesus Christ,” he muttered to the man from the Department of Community Affairs, who stood nervously at his side. “Have you ever in your life heard such a load of crap?”

  Had Mendelson paid closer attention, he might have noticed in the eyes of the townspeople a sudden shift, a change in temper, a clear, unmistakable signal that their silence meant anything but surrender.

  “As usual, you all seem bent on confusing the issue, so let’s start over. At the beginning. And get things straight.” Teacherlike but not kindly, he said, “Ever since I walked into this school I’ve been hearing the same tired complaint. That the government has ignored Belle Haven. Which is simply not true. Hell, we’ve been fighting this fire for a dozen years! We tried sealing the shafts with clay. Not our fault the soil around the mine’s so porous it let air in anyway. Nothing we could do about the breathing room left when the coal’s burned away. No way to stop the fire from nipping up to the surface and leaving a vent behind. Plus, where it’s hot enough, the ground cracks like a bad brick, which lets air in too. Throw in a few thousand drilling holes left behind when the mining outfits quit, and you’ve got dandy conditions for a mine fire to spread.” He slapped a hand against his chest. “None of which is my fault.”

  He drew breath as if to continue but suddenly turned instead to the man from Community Affairs who had begun to shift his ample weight from foot to foot. He said, as if there were not hundreds of others looking on: “Did you know there’s an Australian mole that actually swims through sand, breathing tiny pockets of air caught between the grains.” He made stroking motions through the air. “Amazing.”

  The fat man beside him nodded uncertainly. The audience, torn between fascination and an accelerating impatience, leaned forward in their chairs as if they did not trust their hearing.

  “Anyway,” Mendelson muttered, “where was I? Oh, yeah. We couldn’t choke off the fire. Right. So.” He smacked his hands together once. “Next thing we did was we sunk a barrier to keep it away from the town. Fire went under it. So we tried drowning it with water. Fire came right back, like that.” He snapped his fingers, and a moth that was beating its dizzy way across the stage veered into the shadows. “Tried suffocating it with fly ash. Waste of time. We even thought about building a power plant right on top of the fire, giving it a boost or two, using its power and letting it burn out. But we were afraid that doing that might make things a whole lot worse.” He did not mention the trench that he had dug before taking any of these other measures. The room was silent.

  “So all this talk about the government wasting time and money is nonsense. We’ve been trying everything possible to put the goddamned fire out. And while we’ve been trying all these things, Belle Haven’s been pretty lucky. Up until now, the fire’s been taking its time, meandering around out there, generally keeping out of town. Coal veins carry it up where it doesn’t belong, stink things up, spread it around out in the fields a bit … big deal. No harm done, am I right? Hell, the boreholes at the far end of town didn’t even go in until three, four years ago, and they’re not so bad.

  “You want to know how lucky you are? Take a look at India.” He held his arms out as wide as they would go. “They got whole villages sinking into coal fires that make ours look like a weenie roast. They’ve got such bad fires in Jharia that if they were flooded and every air vent was packed with sand, they’d still stay hot for eighty-five, ninety years. Hot enough to reignite if they were exposed to air. And the coal beds are so hot they ignite other beds without even touching them.” Mendelson’s eyes were gleaming. He shook his head but it was not clear whether in admiration or more impartial wonder. “By comparison, you haven’t been bothered much at all.

  “That’s because when this fire finally made its way down to the tunnels under the edge of town, the cupboard was almost bare. Most of the coal out there had already been mined. So what if the tunnels were on fire? Without a lot of coal, there wasn’t that much heat. The fire moved slowly. And if it was spreading out from the tunnels, it was headed toward the fields and around the hills where there’s still some coal left and close enough to get at.

  “But things are different now,” said Mendelson. “And if you don’t believe me, ask Ross Caspar—if you can find him.” An old woman in the back of the auditorium got up, sat down again, began to rummage through her purse.

  “He probably thought he was in the catbird seat. Plenty far from the nearest tunnel … farther than a lot of you, if you care to check the maps. Snug as a bug down in that hollow of his. So what happened? That’s the question. What happened.” He plucked a fat marker off the lecturn and tapped it against his chin.

  “Here’s what happened,” he said, turning to a flip chart. At the top of the chart he made a squiggly line. “Here’s where the fire started, where it’s been burning all along, about two miles from here, give or take.” Toward the bottom of the chart he drew a long, sloppy rectangle. “And here’s the town proper.” Above the rectangle, more toward the left than the right, he drew something like a kidney. “Here’s Caspar’s Hollow.” In the open space on the chart, mostly at the top and down along the far left edge, he drew thick stripes. “And here are where most of the tunnels are, quite a ways from Ross’s place.” He turned back and looked at the audience. “But when we went into the hollow to look at the situation, we found the kinds of things we’re used to seeing way out in the fields: hot ground, soft ground, a bit of smoke coming up here and there. No flames, mind you. No fire visible from above. But an awful lot of heat. An awful lot of heat.” He paused, rolling the marker between his palms.

  “What we did then,” he said, “was send up a plane, take some infrared pictures, and make a thermal map. Like we’ve done before over the tunnels. And what we found was just exactly what we expected to find: that the fire has branched out in a southeasterly direction—in this direction”—he stamped his foot—“even though there aren’t any tunnels leading into town and even though we thought there wasn’t enough coal left around the southernmost tunnels to let the thing spread this way. But it must have worked its way out to a helluva coal seam that sent it branching out into Caspar’s Hollow.

  “Which means that Belle Haven proper is a sitting duck. Because there are no tunnels underfoot, we can’t tell you where the fire will eventually hit. We’ll take some pictures, by and by, but we’ll be seeing where the fire is, not where it’s going. It will no longer be a predictable, traceable fire. It will no longer be the fire that’s way over there on the edge of town, out in the fields, anywhere but right here. It will be like a jack-in-the-box, poppin’ up. Boo!” He threw his arms up in the air. “There’s quite a lot of coal down under this end of town, you know. Quite a good bit. And all it’s going to take, you see, is one little ribbon of coal bringing the fire across that last bit of distance between Caspar’s Hollow and here.” He breathed deeply.

  “And then there’s another angle to this thing,” he continued. “If the fire’s headed this way, what’s to stop it from hitting Fainsville to the south? Just two miles south. Hop, skip, jump … kaboom! That fire decides to pick up speed, and Fainsville’s a goner, too. And don’t forget, folks, that between here and Fainsville there is a vast, virgin coal deposit. It’s been sitting down there, safe and cold, and no one’s ever worried much about it because it’s a good piece from the Belle Haven mines and there’s more clay than coal in between. But it’s an awfully big lot of coal. Enough to keep that fire going forever and ever, Amen.

  “It’s too bad that coal wasn’t mined. And the coal straight down underfoot, too. Would’a been, I guess, if the company had g
otten to it before they went belly up. Maybe not. Who cares.” He flapped a hand. “The point is, it’s too close for comfort. Now that the fire’s taken this new turn away from the tunnels, it’s like a rogue elephant. And you shoot rogue elephants.” He grinned. “Which is where I come in.”

  Mendelson took another deep breath, and when he spoke again, it was more loudly than before. “Before very much more time passes—maybe a month, maybe a year—some of you are going to die. Your cellar walls will collapse. Your yards will cave in. Hydrogen gas, highly combustible stuff, and carbon monoxide, which will poison you to death, will come pouring up through the dirt like something right out of the Bible. Only you won’t see it,” he added mildly. “In the wintertime, when you close your windows, it’ll be like nailing a lid on a coffin. Tap, tap, tap. Good night, Irene.”

  A man in the front row crossed his legs, uncrossed them, folded his arms over his large belly. “How come that’s never happened out over the tunnels?” he asked. His neighbors nodded.

  Someone said, “That’s right.”

  “Because out there”—Mendelson knocked a knuckle on the left side of the drawing—“the coal doesn’t amount to much.” He spoke as if to children. “Over here”—he ran his hand over the place where they were sitting—“there’s just loads.

  “Now,” he said. “Is that clear?” He smiled at their silence.

  “The monitors we sent around’ll give you some warning, but I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts half of you never even turn ’em on.” He sighed heavily, turned to look at the man by his side, who had, from time to time, taken a step forward, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then settled back again as Mendelson carried on.

  “I suppose what you do with those monitors is up to you. Whether you stay in Belle Haven or leave is also up to you, at the moment. But if the fire reaches the coal straight down below here—and I, for one, am sure it will—you’ll have to go. You will. On foot or in boxes, one way or the other.”

  “We understand.” From where she was sitting in the front row, Angela could see that some of Mendelson’s fingernails were very long. “We understand that there could be trouble,” she said. “But the fire isn’t here yet. The monitors sound like a good idea. We’ll need to know if the fire ever makes it this far. But maybe it won’t. Or maybe it won’t get here for another dozen years. And yet here you are saying we’re going to die soon.” She lifted her shoulders. Opened her hands. “People get killed in cars every day, but we all drive them. People drown, we still swim. It’s the way of the world. So I’m still waiting to hear why you think we should leave when you ought to be out there putting the goddamned”—she caught her breath—“putting the fire out.”

  “Well, I’m trying to tell you. I really am,” he replied, smiling at her. “It’s not easy, trying to explain some things to people who won’t listen to reason. And you’ll appreciate that I’ve been trying to ease my way into the nuts and bolts, ’cause if you all can’t even agree that there’s a problem, you’re sure not going to agree with the solution. But maybe I should just get on with it, let you all go home to bed.”

  He looked around the auditorium as if he might want to remember the sight.

  “As I said, Fainsville may soon be at risk—and there’s no way we can let the fire hit the big coal between here and there. A lot of other small towns may soon be at risk. Belle Haven,” he said, lifting his eyebrows high on his head, blowing out some air. “Belle Haven is beyond salvation. It simply isn’t going to survive this. And if we let the fire get past here, it will gather such strength that we’ll never be able to stop it.”

  He let this sink in, heard the crescendo of whispers, and began to speak again. “But, I’ll say it again, that’s where I come in. My men and I. What we plan to do is dig a trench.” There was a sound from somewhere in the room, which he ignored. “A very long, very deep trench—four hundred fifty feet deep, five hundred feet across, a mile long. Now, that’s a trench.” He chuckled. “Maybe we’ll dig several trenches. Wherever they’re needed. Cut the fire off and let it burn itself out. That’s it. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  “So go ahead!” Earl yelled from the back of the room. “Get on with it. Don’t you think we want to stop the fire before it gets here? Hell, that’s what you’ve been trying to do all along, and we’ve never once objected!”

  “Jesus H. Christ!” Mendelson said, running his hands through his hair. “For the last time, listen. Listen!” He pointed at his ears, became red in the face, slapped the flat of his hand against the flip chart. “Belle Haven is done. Finished. Kaput. How many times do I have to say it?” He lowered his voice some. “It’ll take quite a while to dig this trench, it’s going to be that deep. So, one”—he held up a finger—“we’ve got to dig it a good distance from the fire so we’ll have time to get it finished before the fire travels that far. And two”—he held up another finger—“we’ve got to dig it where it will keep the fire from reaching the big coalfield south of town, now or ever. There’s only one way we can kill both birds with one stone.” He stopped to let this sink in.

  “Do you mean that you’re going to dig the trench south of town and just let the fire come and get us?” asked a boy along the aisle who could not have been more than twelve or thirteen.

  “I’m afraid I do.” Mendelson nodded. “And once that trench is dug, it’ll act just like a wall. The fire will hit that wall and maybe pile up, maybe burn out, maybe make a run straight back this way. I’m afraid I can’t tell you for sure.”

  Rachel rose to her feet and took a step up the aisle toward the stage. “What have you got to be afraid of?” she said. “You’re a contractor, aren’t you? How much money have you made over the last twelve years? You say you’ve tried every way you can to put the fire out. Now, that’s nonsense, if anything is. You were the one who dug that first trench. You could have had the fire out before it spread too far, but you failed. There were dozens of miners who had worked in those tunnels who knew, who told you, that you had to keep digging and you had to dig faster, shifts around the clock, no time off, no holidays, no goddamned lunch breaks. You had enough men. You could have had it out before it got anywhere near us, Mendelson. But you did too little, too late. And now look at us.

  “Stopping the fire would have meant stopping the gravy train,” she said. “Stopping the fire would have put you out of a job. Digging this new trench, on the other hand, will keep you and your people busy for a long time to come. And once you’ve dug that trench, you’ll no doubt mine all that lovely coal. That’s the real issue here, isn’t it, Mendelson? There’s a fortune down there waiting to be made, and you’re the one who’s planning to make it. You and Uncle Sam.”

  Mendelson folded his papers and slipped them into his breast pocket. “Night, everybody,” he said, waving. “It’s been fun.”

  “Everybody knows something’s got to be done for us,” Rachel said as he walked past her, down the aisle toward the doors. “Everybody knows the government’s going to have to spend some money on us. So they figure, why not make back thirty, forty, sixty million while we’re at it? Dig the trench north of here, save the town, and what does the government get? A few hundred votes, maybe. Dig it south of here and make a killing. There’s no profit in trying to save this town. Right?”

  Mendelson stopped, turned to look down the length of the room. “Right,” he said.

  From where he sat in a shadowy corner, Joe watched Mendelson’s departure. The man wore his clothes well, was lean and shaven, held his head up, did not slink. He looked capable and calm. He was clean. He had not lifted a hand against anyone. But as Mendelson walked toward the back of the auditorium, Joe found himself breathing lightly, through his mouth, as if newly aware of a stench. He, too, had noticed Mendelson’s long fingernails. He had seen, through Ian’s screen door, Mendelson’s eyes. Joe knew all about contradictions, knew how it felt to harbor them, knew that they were as much a part of human chemistry as blood, marrow, and elation. But Mendelson
’s incongruities were less savory than most, less acceptable, like a froth of grime on a bar of white soap, and Joe looked upon him with great unease.

  He heard the door close as Mendelson left and watched Rachel standing in the aisle, her arms hanging at her sides, one foot pointing in. Then, as the people around her rose suddenly to their feet and began loudly to debate the proportions of their predicament, Rachel seemed to melt down to nothing, as if drawn in all directions, diluted, and absorbed by their immediate, collective need.

  Chapter 37

  “Why didn’t you want to go, Gran?” Rusty and Dolly sat side by side on the couch, waiting for M*A*S*H. She was drinking a Dr Pepper out of a bottle. A slice of pizza drooped in her hand.

  She had been married for nearly twenty years before having Angela, against all odds, and was therefore a much older grandmother than she might otherwise have been. But she had a knack for putting herself in other people’s places. She was a quiet woman who listened well and thought before she spoke. And she had won Rusty’s confidence as well as his heart. He never lied to her.

  “You first,” she said.

  “I was going to go.” Rusty went into the kitchen, came back with a sack of ginger snaps and some milk. “Want one?” He tipped the sack her way.

  “Maybe later,” she said. She was thin, like her daughter, but darker, her hair the color of cinders and ash.

  Rusty settled down with the sack in his lap. “I would have gone,” he said. “But Mom didn’t really want me to. She said there wouldn’t be any kids there.” He put a cookie into his mouth, whole. “I know some kids who were going with their parents, but I let her decide. I guess she’s got a reason for wanting me to stay home.” He dunked a second cookie in the milk. “Well, actually”—he turned his head and grinned at her—“I didn’t want to go. Mendelson’s a creep. And I’d rather stay here with you.”