Who wants to be a hero.

A dramatic tale inspired from a real event.

February, the 13th. There it comes again. Every year. Thirty-four years have passed by, but it still hurts. It still hurts when all those images, that sense of impotence, that frightening sense of death.

«You’re still young, you still have a lot to see.»

How many times my colleagues told me, the much they repeated it, the much I hated them. But the most I hated them after that god damned day. I hated them because they were right. Because I still believe that all the things I had to see, I have seen them in that cinema.

It was only two years since I entered the Fire brigade, I was proud of myself. I could hardly wait for the chance to have a voice in, to shut up anyone of those who always treated me like a poor child. That was the reason why I became a fireman. And, after two years, at that time they seemed endless, I still heard sentences like “You’re still young” or “You haven’t seen nothing yet”.

Since a couple of weeks I got silent, didn’t speak to anybody. I was tired of hearing those odious answers anytime I spoke something.

I decided to leave to the Older ones the pleasure of commenting what they saw during the work.

Even when, at twenty past six of that tragic February thirteenth, the siren of the fire station rung I was firmly determined to not say anything. When I got up an older colleague stopped me; here we go again: “No, you’re not ready yet.”. That was the expression I heard say to me any time a fire occurred; that time wasn’t different.

Shortly after my fire chief came to me and told me to get ready.

“It’s an insignificant fire and, since a man is needed, you go. But don’t play the hero. Do just what you’re told to.”

A part of my person would tell him to f**k himself but the other was exited. Finally a fire! Finally I was going to do the thing for what I had worked a lot. Not a waterlogged flat, or the idiot who locked himself out: a fire! Finally I could be helpful, save lives and tell it to everyone of those who always underestimated me.

The fire was at sixteen Via Cibrario. Despite the snow we got there in a few minutes and, when we got off the lorry, we immediately understood it wasn’t as insignificant as the fire chief said.

As I already thought, the older colleagues told me to stay close to the lorry. Two of them entered the cinema and came back after a few seconds coughing.

“There’s to much smoke, it’s impossible to breathe.”

“The space has to be ventilated.” The fire marshal ordered.

Shortly after some colleagues tried again to enter the cinema. Once again I was kept apart. “This time I swear I leave.” I thought before seeing Bertazzi and Augusti, two colleagues older than me. They were holding a person by hands and feet, one per side. I ran towards them and asked if I could do something to help.

“Look for something useful in order to cover him, anything that could work.” It was a boy, a teenager, he was dead.

I found a newspaper and shortly after I heard Augusti ordering me to find other covers: there were two other persons to cover on.

Meanwhile the mayor, the police and some journalists arrived. I felt as everybody could enter that god damned cinema but me. But something was changing. While I was staring at the coming and going of people in the cinema I was seeing the lifeless face of that boy. It was the first time I faced a victim. With a hint of bitterness I thought I was seeing what my colleagues told me about.

Someone was shouting at me and distracted me from my thoughts. He wasn’t from my crew, that probably was why he called me.

“Hey you! Come on, there’s a lot to do inside!”

When I got inside I started to look around for someone to give me orders. Everybody was moving fast, everybody was perfectly coordinated. I started to think I wasn’t good for that job but then I noticed that the way my colleagues were operating was familiar to me. They were just doing as me too was taught in the several trainings I attended during my course.

Since I didn’t hear any order coming to me I decided to start working anyway. The fire was tamed and surely, the only thing left to do was to bring out the occupants of the cinema, alive if possible.

I started to look around but the theatre was dark and blackened by the smoke. Voices of other firemen kept on fill my ears, I continuously saw colleagues carrying bodies of dead people. I wondered if it wasn’t better to take care of living before the dead ones but immediately the respect I had for my older colleagues let me think that probably they didn’t find any living person.

Suddenly a shout came from upside. “Come here, up here!”.

All of us ran to the stairs for the gallery. Before reaching the top I understood that even there the scenario was woeful.

We reached the top of the stairs and entered the gallery. For an instant all was silent. Or maybe it was me that heard nothing at all. Paralysed, blinded and deafened by the atrocious scene I was facing, I closed my eyes for a while and then opened them again. It was as useless as excruciating. They were all still there. Still as statues, still sitting on the seats, bending as they were sleeping. It seemed like a destiny’s joke. Their clothes, the hair, the glasses, nothing was giving the impression that a fire had been there. I knew later that the cause of death was to be ascribed to some lethal emissions emanated by the combustion without flame of the curtains and the seat covers.

Someone gave a pat on my shoulder, I turned and saw a colleague holding a white cloth. He laid it on the floor and made a gestured me to help him lifting the person who was lying in front of me.

Shortly after we got out and we were told to bring that person and the other people into a garage placed few meters away from the cinema. Afraid by what could be told in answer I didn’t speak anything and let my colleague lead me to the garage.

As we got in the impact was almost harder that the scene we saw inside the gallery. About thirty corpses were lying on the floor aligned side by side in those that once should be park places. I forced myself to be strong as I walked back to the cinema, I thought that I must do only my duty, anything else could wait.

“Go by that way, to the toilets!” my chief shouted as he saw me arrive and handing me another white cloth. He stared at me and said: “You’re doing well guy, but if you feel bad run back as soon as possible. It’s not a good looking scene there.”

“Please, don’t worry. I can make it.” I answered while I took the cloth, than I went to the toilets.

Even today I could not find a word suitable to express what I felt as I saw them: dozens of corpses lying one over each other, I guessed I could tell the desperation ulelessly trying to escape the death. I felt as someone was strangling me, I couldn’t breathe and I thought I had been too pretentious when I answered my chief. Than comeone teared the cloth from my hand and I heard a familiar voice.

“Hold her head and try to do your best not to step on anyone if you can.”

That desperate as well as extreme act of kindness was the finishing blow for me. I hardly managed to get out with my colleague and lean a stranger girl on the garage floor before giving up to the tears. As I saw her lying supine I noticed that she was very young. Her well-finished outfit and what was the remaining of a hair set which probably took her very long in front of a mirror were hardly contrasting the situation in wich we were in that moment.

I imagined her at home, focused on making herself pretty before going out with her boyfrend or some female friends. Now she was lying still in front of me on the cold floor of a garage.

I looked around and this time I didn’t see anyone giving me orders. While I was wondering if it would be a coward act not to re enter the cinema, I saw Bertazzi bending over a body. He was holding a bottle of water and a cloth. I durned back to the girl and only then I noticed that her face was completely blackened by the smoke.

I would do as him, I would give to those people that extreme act in order to soothe the paon of death. I went to Bertazzi and asked him where I could find a clothe and some water.

That one was the longest night of my life. When we got back to the fire station I received pats on shoulders, hugs and compliments from all of my colleagues. Almost all of us were in tears, because of the tiredness, for that sense of impotence in front of the death that assaulted us. But I was crying for a reason more.

Now I was hating myself, because I entered the firebrigade for a reason of glory, because I wanted to be a hero and tell people about the lives I saved. I felt a vague sense of guilt as I thought that the destiny had choosen the worst way to show me I wos wrong.

This tale is dedicated to the sixtyfour people who lost their lives on the fire of Cinema Statuto in Turin on february 13^th 1983.

Reviews

[genocide]

very good story this expieriance made this man grow up fast there are some words misspelled in this story proofread fix it then go on very good story

[Salvatore]

Thank you so much genocide, please would you be so kind to show me the mispelled words?
I'm not mother tongue and to improve my English is one of the reasons of my being here.
Thank you.

[genocide]

which is spelled wrong I don't know how many other words are I have to go back and look

[Kate]

At some points of the story it was a bit confusing. But overall, just wow. This was a powerful piece. I'm at a loss for words. Just, wow.

[Salvatore]

Thanks Kate for your review. You say the story is a bit confusing, probably is because of my english. May be this time I decided to translate a story too difficult for me. Anyway I'm so glad for what you said. Thank you so much.

[Kate]

Of course! Keep writing amazing pieces like this! I really enjoyed reading this story.