It was 1978 and I was
living with my first wife, Matsui-san, in Queens, New
York. It was a Thursday and I had stopped after work
at MoMA (Museum of Modern Art) to meditate on the
giant diptych of water lilies by Monet. Then I sat in
the museum's Sculpture Garden drinking a dark German
beer until Matsui-san joined me. We were both tired,
so we grabbed the E or F train and went straight
home. The night before we had been up late enjoying
The Mikado at Lincoln Center, performed by the D'Oyly
Carte Opera Company, with John Reed. Midnight the
night before we were still in Manhattan drinking
Champagne.
So that day we didn't linger in the City, but reached
home early. I was too tired to change from the pants
I wore to work, the offices of Sears, Roebuck &
Company, to my comfy jeans. We both came home quite
prepared to sleep. That is when we heard children's
voices screaming in the hallway.
They were running up and down the hall screaming. It
sounded like they were shouting "Fire." I
went to the door and opened it just in time to see
two chubby Korean kids, naked exept for towels
grasped in place, running past. They were followed by
an elderly fat woman. At first I thought she was
chasing them, perhaps because she wanted them to wear
clothes. The old woman could not speak English and
was in fearful tears. The kids stopped, turned, the
older one pointed past me and shouted,
"FIRE!" I turned to look the other way down
the hall. The door at the end of the hall was
wide-open and black smoke came billowing out, rolling
along the hallway's ceiling.
I came in and told Matsui-san, "There's a
fire." I told her to call the fire company, but
she was afraid of being misunderstood over the
telephone because of her accent. So I called while
she started water running at full force in the
kitchen sink and bathtub. She pulled the mop bucket
out of the closet, the largest pot out from under the
sink. The Korean woman cried nervously in my ear as I
gave the address to the dispatcher. I told the kids
to stay in our apartment. As soon as I was finished
with my telephone call, I grabbed the pail in the
sink and ran down the hall. I met Matsui-san running
back from having made the first dousing.
The fire was in their kitchen, which was pitch-black
with smoke. Breathing was near impossible and very
painful. Our eyes were blinded by stinging tears.
Still, after passing into the blackness and getting
much closer, I could see the flames climbing up two
walls like a yellow waterfall turned upside down. The
heat was incredible. I examined the layout for the
best target. The stove appeared the source, the
cabinets above it wore a fuzzy coat of flames. Before
I tossed the water, the thought flashed, what a mess
the water will make. Then I tossed it. The water hit
the flame and there was an explosion followed by
hissing. My limited view of the fire disappeared
behind steam. Although blind to my surroundings, I
knew my way out of the kitchen. That's when I
discovered the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen, it
had a bathtub filled with water. The naked children
had been bathing. After my second dousing using water
from the tub, Matsui-san returned with water from our
apartment. I showed her the nearby tub. She filled
the pot and pail from the kids' bath and passed them
to me. I threw them at the fire in the adjacent room
and passed them back. We ended the fire. I was in my
bare feet.
Smoke had filled the hallway, and since our apartment
door was the only door opened, the smoke turned into
our apartment and filled our rooms. My good pants
were soaked and Matsui-san and I were covered with
ash and soot. The neighbour's kitchen was devastated.
There was a black hole in the ceiling. I could now
see the story. The curtain from the kitchen window
had been blown by the wind until they caught on the
flame at the stove.
Concerned about the possibility that the fire might
still be burning in the walls and ceiling where I
couldn't see it, I ran upstairs to make sure
everything in the apartment above was all right.
Upstairs I found the apartment over the fire occupied
with a Hispanic family. Their door was also wide-open
and the mother was in the doorway crying. She ran to
me and begged me to make her son call the fire
department. There was smoke coming up through the
floor of her kitchen. Her son, the only other member
of her family at home that day, was on the telephone
speaking to a friend, apparently asking for advice? I
explained to both of them that the fire department
had been alerted, meanwhile the fire was out, that I
had only come upstairs to be sure everything was
okay.
Their small apartment was stuffed with thousands of
valuable bric-a-brac. The décor reminded me of a
Victorian household and I wondered how many of the
objects were heirlooms or memories. All of their
investments and collected life had been at risk. They
were glad by my being the herald of good news. I
suppose they were not angry that I walked across
their rug with feet wet and black.
I returned to the fifth floor to change my pants. My
office pants were soaked. Our apartment was still
filled with the fire's smoke. Matsui-san had stayed
at the burnt apartment keeping a watchful eye on the
site to be sure it didn't re-ignite, but then the
superintendent arrived. He thanked Matsui-san and
sent her back to our apartment. I went down to check
our handiwork. The superintendent thanked me as well.
I wanted to inspect the kitchen, but he stood in my
way. Nevertheless, I pushed my way past him. I turned
off the knobs on the gas stove and then I left.
It was about this time the elevator door opened and I
could see it crammed with firemen dressed like
fishermen prepared for a winter storm, but armed with
axes and picks. They fell out. They then tried to get
into our apartment thinking the fire was there,
because that was where the smoke gathered. Matsui-san
was trying to keep them out. I went back to the burnt
apartment to make sure the fat woman was all right.
She was next door with another Korean neighbour and
the neighbour translated. She was okay and very
thankful, but the superintendent had chased the two
kids out of our apartment and she didn't know where
they were. I ran downstairs to search for them.
Fire engines filled the street and many people had
gathered. They stood under our window. "5G"
a guy told me with a scowl, not realizing it was my
apartment. They thought the fire was coming from our
apartment and that we were jerks. I was embarrassed
and explained the only reason smoke was coming from
our window was because we were the only ones who
responded, that we put the fire out. Everyone else
hid behind closed doors. We had no assistance. I
didn't find the kids. Turned out they were still
upstairs.
Later, I borrowed a fan to blow the smoke out of our
rooms. Matsui-san and I showered. My hair was brittle
and dry - I had more hair in those days. It occurred
to me only then how dangerous hair can be near a
fire. Next time, if there has to be a next time, I
will soak my hair before entering the scene of a
fire.
After we were cleaned, as clean as could be - the
most difficult thing being to clean the black soot
deep in our nostrils - we took each other out for
dinner. It was a celebration because we felt
ourselves heroes, a perfect team working smoothly
together. Neither of us had been scared nor panicked.
Wide awake, for any feelings of sleep had been
banished, we saluted and complimented each other.
"A toast," I announced, "to the
Matsui-Bentzman Fire Brigade," and we drank.
Matsui-san told me how she had asked a fireman how to
get the smoke out of our apartment because they
managed to get the hall cleared so fast. Try as she
might, the fireman entirely misunderstood, and
thinking she was worried said, "Don't worry
Miss, the fire is out." She was offended. The
idea was laughable. Of course the fire was out, she
put it out! We both felt guilty because we had fun
fighting the fire.
The family of the burnt apartment moved out
permanently. Perhaps they had been invited to leave.
The father did visit us a few days later to bring us
a bottle of Johnny Walker. |