He asked what I had aboard, but it was pretty easy to see. The fridge it goes down there — he pointed to a peninsula of old appliances. And the rest up to the incinerator.
I drove down. Hoisted off the fridge. There was a full-size pickup parked down by the appliances. Two men in it. Why on earth would you park here. I drove past them, backed up to the incinerator, and reversed up the ramp. I got as close as I could because it was windy. I didn’t want the felt bits blowing back at me. I opened the truck door and heard the licking. The furnace of flame down in the chute sounded wet with fire. I walked back to the tailgate and tossed a piece of felt in. Watched it waft down and blow itself into bright flame, mid-air. Threw in some more. I could only get so close to the opening because of the heat, so I fired them piece by piece. Slow going, and the smoke began billowing up at me. Particulate from any number of really bad things down there — they throw anything in that’s not a fridge or stove. I’ve seen car batteries and vats of cooking oil and lumber and bags of really disgusting garbage. I didn’t want to inhale it, so I worked faster.
What to do here. Underneath all the bits was a longer piece of felt. I’ll go for that. The weight of it all will keep the small ones from floating up. I hauled on it. I put my body into it. And as I was leaning, this happened: the tarpaper tore and I fell backwards. I lost my footing and tumbled into the steep slant of the chute. I looked for something to grab ahold of, but they make those chutes so dump trucks can empty without a hitch.
I twisted around for the fall in, and I was terrified. There’s a vat of burning oil down there, or spraying hoses or blades that inject oil into the fire. It’s an incinerator. I looked down. I wanted to see where I was going. Face it head on. I plummeted about five metres. There was a hot roar of flame and I felt my feet land and then something in me, some survival instinct, made me bounce off like a pogo stick and I sprang to the bottom. I was alive. I was at the edge of a pyre of mad white flame. No machinery working to spray oil or blend garbage, thank God. These very fast, high flames, licking their chops, very hungry but preoccupied. They did not know I was there. And I felt no heat really. I felt I was inside isn’t this hilarious. I was in a place no one had ever been before. It was not like being in a church that was on fire. It was not an unusual event, this burning. I was the unusual event. I laughed at this, that I had survived this. I knew I had a good story to tell.
Black cinders underfoot. The ash of the fire. Earlier I had been on my roof, and now I was under my roof. The walls were dark, but around the floor were ventilation slits. I knelt down to breathe in the fresh air. I looked around. No opening. The only way out was the way in. Okay, so they’re going to have to put this fire out then lower a ladder. But the baking heat of the walls and the flame above, it would take a long time for this fire to cool enough to allow me to climb out. And then this: my shoulder felt hot. I wasn’t going to burn. I was cooking.
Help!
I surprised myself. I don’t think I’ve ever yelled for help.I kicked at the ventilation slits, but this was thick cast iron. Now my arm was definitely cooking. A sheet of stuff fell down on the fire. Roofing felt. Someone was emptying my truck! Or maybe it was the wind.
HELP!
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