which might be why she lost her memory. She could be wandering around.”
“She could be.”
“Someone could be taking care of her and have no idea of who she is or of who I am or how to find us.”
“That could happen. But think about that, Andrew. Is that easier to think about than death? Is it? Even if it’s just in your imagination, do you want to impose days of suffering on her rather than a simple and sudden death?”
“I don’t want any of this.”
“Of course not.” He went out the front door again. As a rule, she didn’t think of herself as adept at anything, but she saw that early practice had made her more adept than Andrew at recognizing death when it arrived.
A little while later, Andrew, who had come back in the house but not come into the bedroom, went out again. It was then, just then, sitting up in bed and listening to his steps approach and retreat, that she felt the old feeling come on, that of the spectacle unfolding around her and her own fascinated paralysis. She lay awake most of the night, remembering what he had said, what she had said, as if she were going over lines in a play and could not stop. It was strange and horrifying. She thought if he would come back and speak to her again she could break the spell, but he didn’t come back that night. The next day, he told her that he had gone to the observatory and stared through the telescope, in spite of the fog and in spite of the smoke. He wasn’t looking for anything, and he wrote down no findings or observations. He might even have slept—he didn’t know—but the time had passed. Yes, she thought, the time had passed while seeming not to.
The fires had been burning for four days, but they began hearing some bits of good news, one of which was that, thanks to the efforts of their own Lieutenant Freeman (whom Mrs. Lear seemed to know), the contingent from Mare Island had, in fact, saved the ferry building and quite a few other buildings and docks on the water side of the Embarcadero, and also managed to keep order and prevent the locals from raiding the saloons, getting themselves drunk, and falling prey to the fires. With little water but much ingenuity, they had done a great deal of good for the city (though they had dynamited a few too many buildings as a precaution, but no one cared about that). That day, they heard that the fires were abating, turning back upon themselves, or failing to leap over dynamited areas west of Van Ness. That evening, Margaret was walking down their street, wondering what they could do, and Hubert Lear called out to her from the upper balcony of the Lear house. “Ma’am! Ma’am! Mrs. Margaret!” She turned, and he stubbed out his cigarette. He was standing on the railing, and he took off his cap and dipped his head. Then he shouted, “Oh, Mrs. Margaret, she was a very nice lady. We are all really sorry about what happened to her.”
“Thank you for your thoughts, Hubert.”
“We all prayed for her and the other one by name, every night. But I guess it didn’t work.”
“Maybe it still will.”
He shook his head, began, “Mama says …,” then fell silent. After a moment, he said, “Anyway, we all liked her, and we thanked her for the tennis rackets. So she just …” But then he seemed embarrassed, and jumped down from the railing and went inside. She didn’t say anything to Andrew about this when she got home, though it was a warm day, and the windows on that side of the house were open. He could easily have heard their exchange. But it was for herself that she was grateful to Hubert Lear: the interchange had woken her up again, reminded her that survival was a task, above all. Nothing more, really.
Andrew finally got himself to Golden Gate Park. He stayed overnight in one of the tents, then, starting at daybreak, walked all over the park and up to the Presidio, asking after, and looking for, the two ladies. When he came home, he was willing to admit that he had not found them. That afternoon, he telegraphed his brothers again, saying that he had searched for their mother and Mrs. Hitchens and “not found them.” Margaret was with him as he wrote out the