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Charles and I looked at each other; I don’t know what he was thinking, but all I could wonder was what if something happened—the ladder collapsed, or the flames broke through, before the man could climb back up? Having just absolved myself of Minnie’s death, I could not bear to think of either of us having to live with that burden.

“No, can’t you—please, take us both?”

“How much do ye weigh?” The man was so calm, standing upon a ladder hundreds of feet above the ground with electrical wires humming not five feet behind him, flames licking below him, people screaming and hanging out of windows on either side.

“Not much—maybe eighty pounds, total?” I tried not to look at my portly husband.

“All right, climb aboard!” The fireman was cheerful about it, as if he was offering us a ride upon his favorite horse. As we hesitated, not sure what to do, he simply reached with one hand and grabbed me about the waist; I was hauled out the window and instructed to climb on his back, which I did, pressing myself tightly against him, trying to make myself even smaller so as not to touch those hissing electrical wires. He yanked Charles out the window by the back of his nightshirt and tucked him under one arm, like a ham. Then he started to climb down, but I called out, “Oh, wait—my steps!”

“Your what?”

“My steps—please, my father made them!”

“Sorry, Miss—no time!” And we began to inch our way down the ladder.

I couldn’t look, but I couldn’t shut my eyes, either; I wanted to be aware of every moment. I wanted to be able to convince myself I had really survived. So I concentrated on the fireman’s back; his heavy coat; the sweat running, in neat little rivers, down the back of his red neck; his matted brown hair curling out from under his black fireman’s helmet.

Yet I couldn’t shut out all the rest—the bodies that fell on either side of us, landing with the sickening thump of a ripe melon being thrown to the ground; the people hanging out of windows, waving, screaming, holding towels and handkerchiefs up to their faces to block out the smoke, which was boiling out of every window now, thick and black, bits of paper and fabric swirling within it. The air began to cool as we continued down the ladder; I had the oddest thought that Charles must be feeling quite a draft, as the entire lower half of his body was sticking out, uncovered, for all the world to see.

Finally, we reached the ground; the fireman tossed Charles, unceremoniously, to the street and knelt down so that I could slide off his back, muttering, “Eighty pounds, my arse.” He then grabbed the ladder and moved it over to the next row of windows, and began to climb back up.

“Charles, Charles!” I bent down, shaking him; I was overcome with joy, with relief—I could have danced a jig, right then and there. “We’re safe!”

But to my surprise, my husband was crying. Lying on his side in the street, while people stepped over us, shouting for us to get out of the way, he hid his face in his arms. His shoulders were shaking; he was sobbing more wretchedly than he had at any time during the ordeal.

“What? What’s wrong? We’re saved!”

“Oh, Vinnie! To have to be lowered down that way, that awful, mortifying way! Like a—like a sack of something—just hauled out like that! It’s so humiliating—I couldn’t do a thing for myself, I couldn’t save you or me, it’s so awful!”

I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. I suppose my heart should have softened toward him, for he was a man, after all. And men did have their pride.

But we were alive! I was so grateful for that, I couldn’t understand his shame.

I rose; all around us were people sobbing, yelling, running about. There were broken bodies, arms and legs at unnatural angles, littering the street; even as I registered this, another fell just ten feet away from us.

“We need to move away from here,” I told Charles, gripping his arm. “Come, let’s find a place to stay, and we’ll look for the Bleekers.”

Sniffing, rubbing his eyes, Charles rose and allowed me