CAPTAIN, ARE YOU LISTENING? THIS ISNT JUST A FIRE. INSIDE ARE THE ARCHIVES. DOCUMENTS. DO YOU REALISE WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF THEY GO UP IN FLAMES? HALF THE TOWN WILL LOSE THEIR DEEDS, THEIR HISTORY! WE NEED TO DOUSE IT, BUT WE CANT! THE PAPER WILL TURN TO MUSH! WE NEED THE GAS SYSTEM! BUT WE HAVENT GOT EVERYONE OUT YET!
Andrew Smith, head of the local fire station, stared at the burning hulk of the old municipal records office.
He was forty-five, with a wife named Helen and two lads waiting for him at home with supper gone cold.
The fire screamed.
He caught sight of a figure at a second-floor window.
It was Miss Mary Jane, the archives longest-serving member. She hadnt left, madly stuffing bits of paper into her arms.
Andrew Smith! came a yell over the radio from Lieutenant Jones. The beams are woodenthe whole lotll come down in five minutes! We need to pull out! Sod the paperwork!
Theres someone in there, Andrew replied quietly.
Its suicide, sir! The heats off the charts! No ones going in!
Andrew switched off the radio.
He knew his crew well enough. They all had families too. Sending anyone into that inferno would be on his conscience forever.
He pulled on his mask, checked the oxygen tank.
Ill go, he muttered.
Inside was pure hell.
The smoke was thick and greasy, black as coal. It stank of burning history. Someones birth certificates, old deeds, wills, ration books, and tales of lost soulsall burning up. Memories, up in smoke.
Andrew crawled along by touch and luck.
He found Mary Jane by a steel filing cabinet, unconscious, still clutching a fat file to her chest.
You daft old bat, Andrew thought furiously, grabbing her by the collar. Saving her precious papers instead of her life!
He started dragging her out.
Thats when a beam above cracked.
Andrew just managed to put his back to it. The weight nearly snuffed the world out. Something snapped in his back.
He screamed into the mask, but the roar of the flames swallowed everything.
He couldnt stand. His legs wouldnt obey.
Well, thats me done for, Andy boy, ticked through his mind. Looks like no dinner tonight.
He glanced at the old woman. She stirred.
Pure adrenaline, grit, and some wild animal will got him going. He crawled, inch by painful inch, pushing her in front.
He barely felt the painonly the stink of smoke, the crushing weight, and the life in his battered hands.
His crew finally pulled them both clear when the wall collapsed.
Mary Jane suffered mild smoke inhalation.
Andrewbroken back.
The doctors muttered, Its a miracle you survived. Walking again unlikely.
Life cleaved neatly into before and after.
Before hed been a strapping bloke, tackling blazes and knocking a footie about with his sons.
After was a wheelchair, an ugly ramp out the front, which the neighbours called a monstrosity, and a disability allowance that barely covered bread and painkillers.
Helen lasted a year.
She washed him, fed him, turned him over.
But she was a young woman with a life to live, not a full-time nurse to a breathing corpse.
Andrew, I cant anymore, she said one day, packing her suitcase. Im not a saint. Im done. Sorry.
She left, taking the boys.
Andrew didnt blame her. Really, who wants the vegetable?
Three years slipped by.
Andrew lived alone, visited by a council care worker now and then.
One day, someone knocked on the door.
A young woman stood there, stylish coat, hair just so.
Are you Andrew Smith? she asked.
Thats me.
Im Mary Janes granddaughter. The woman you rescued from the archive.
Andrew frowned.
So? Is your gran still alive?
Granny died last year. Old age. But before she went, she made me promise to find you.
She came into the kitchen, perched on a stool.
Do you know what was in that file? The one you risked your life for?
No clue. Something important, I expect. For the council.
She shook her head. Noit was my grandfathers case file. He was executed in 37. Granny spent her life searching for where he was buried. That file had the location. Because of you, we found his grave. We finally gave him a proper resting place. Granny died at peace. She said, Now were together again.
She pulled out an envelope.
My grandmother left you her flat. She said, This man gave me peace. I should give him some comfort in return. Its in a new building, ground floor, wide doors. Easy access for you.
Andrew was silent.
He stared at his useless legs.
Hed lost his family, his career, his health.
For a file with a graves coordinates?
For one old womans peace?
He moved in.
The flat was, indeed, very convenient.
Hed sit on the wide balcony, watching the city bustle.
Sometimes the granddaughterKatewould visit, dropping off groceries, sharing gossip.
Once, she asked:
Mr. Smith, if youd known back then what was in that file, and how it would all turn out would you have gone in?
Andrew took a drag on his cigarette.
You know, Kate in that moment I wasnt thinking about files, or your gran, to be honest. All I knew was that if I didnt go in, Id lose all respect for myself. Being a man has nothing to do with whether your legs work. Its whether youre the sort wholl just watch while someone needs help. Even if the price is your own life.
He grinned.
As for my wife shed have left anyway. Sooner or later. Trouble just shows you what people are really made of. I didnt lose anything. If anything, I gained something. A clean conscienceand thats worth more than legs, any day.
Moral:
True heroism isnt about medals or a heros welcome. Its the quiet, often automatic decision to remain decent in indecent times. Even if fate smacks you hard and takes your health and loved ones, it gives you something that cant be taken: dignity and the knowledge that your life wasnt wasted.
So, would you risk your neck for someone else, or is charity best kept at home?
