Fire

Dr. Fabian, along with two other people, was running toward the poor guy who was trying to cling to life. The pale face already heralded death itself. His eyes were staring at one point across the room and his hands were frantically grasping the edge of the wooden bed. The snow-white sheet had long ago turned into a garden of scarlet roses and petal-like drops of blood surrounded him on all sides. The smell of fresh blood was too strong even when Dr. Fabian, with his medicine, entered the room and opened the window.

"He needs more fresh air. Who closed the window?" he asked angrily. To which a frightened maid replied, "It's me."

"He's dying! You can cure him, can't you?"

"Monsieur, you are very kind. And of course I will do what I can. But I can't promise anything."

"I have never seen anything like that in my life!" Jean exclaimed, looking at the blanket, which was completely covered in blood and more. "What on earth happened to that poor man? And it's not contagious, is it?"

"Call everyone. I need help."

"Monsieur, there's no need to be so worried. Leave me alone," Gaspard managed to squeeze out the words. Breathing heavily, he lay upright, as if he were ready to accept death. Pointing his glassy gaze at Adelard's sweating face, he added, "Thank you for everything." Tears rolled down his cheeks, the lump in his throat signifying only one thing: pain.

"It can be contagious. Judging by his cough, then you're very much at risk of getting sick as well," Dr. Fabian said, feeling guilty for not warning him sooner.

"What? And you're just telling us that!" Nicholas shouted, taking sharp steps toward the doctor. "You're telling us that now!"

But Adelard didn't care. All he wanted was to defeat death and prove that fate had no power over man. So he grabbed Gaspard's icy hand and squeezing his palm, whispered in his ear, "I'll save you. You will live."

"Adelard!" Nicholas's voice was too loud this time, too angry and brash for a mere servant.

"And you let him address you like that?" Jean asked, waving his arms and making a scene of anger and surprise.

"Monsieur, this young man is ill. And you should not be so close to him."

"Doctor, do everything you can to save him. Do everything possible and impossible. If it's a matter of money, I'm willing to pay anything, but the most important thing is that he lives." Adelard was almost on his knees and continued to hold Gaspard's hand as if he were his own brother or something. But no, he was just a stranger, just a man who lived out his days on the streets, without a single hope of home or happiness.

In the light of only two candles, all stood in silence. No one dared to say anything at the moment when Adelard was almost on his knees begging the doctor for help. And no one could understand the kindness that was in Adelard's heart. No one could understand his motives for helping a complete stranger. Even Nicholas could not understand him. Because of this, everyone in the room was speechless. Slowly closing his eyes, Gaspard smiled for the last time and then escaped from reality. But it was only a sleep in the arms of fate.

"Is he dead?" Jean asked, standing in the farthest corner of the room.

"No. He's still breathing," the nurse replied and said, "Help me get him up." As the two men and Dr. Fabian put him on the stretcher, Adelard still kneeling beside the bed said, "Do whatever it takes to save him."

Here, Dr. Fabian just couldn't help but ask. And he simply and directly asked, "Monsieur, what is your connection to this young man?"

"We must have something in common just for me to help him?" Adelard asked with a chuckle. Finally he rose to his feet and now, with a serious expression on his face, replied, "He deserves the right to live like the rest of us."

"You are right Monsieur," Dr. Fabian said.

Bringing his feelings back into his heart, Adelard sat on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands. He was really worried, he wanted to cry and at the same time he wanted to find salvation in Celeste's arms. He was scared. He felt alone in the world. More than ever before, he felt defenseless, weak, insignificant. Green eyes, reflecting the flame of the candle, peered through thin fingers that were in the depths of his thick, curly hair. When the shiny shoes stopped in front of him, he took a deep breath and then a long exhale.

"What kind of man are you?" Jean asked, hugging him gently. His arms embraced him tightly, and his long neck rested softly on his shoulder. "You are my angel," he whispered. But there was a strange smile on his face that immediately disappeared the moment Nicholas entered the room.

"What happened again? Can't you see he's not well?" Jean asked rudely. But Adelard knew perfectly well this silence and this stomping in one place.

Sharp on his feet, he asked the same question, "What's wrong?"

For old Nicholas, all this news was too much. His eyes could no longer hold so much emotion and so many shades of fear. And so, only his quiet voice could say, "There's a fire. There's a fire in the factory."

Bright flames greedily consumed everything around them. That was the description of the most ordinary fire that had been going on for several minutes. The black smoke grew darker than the night itself. Closing the stars in the sky, the smoke slowly covered the whole town like a blanket. And the fire itself chanted the words that were supposed to put all the inhabitants to sleep.

The small town, very rarely underwent such an event. Because in the narrow streets full of flowers and bright little houses, there was always only laughter and happiness. But the fire in the far side of town said otherwise.

Waking up from the noise, from the horror, people began to run out of their houses. At heart, everyone was terrified, but in the eyes of all was delight. People, by nature, tend to love and admire the danger, especially the one that can bring death. And even now, when the factory was in flames, people were gathering around, waiting for something more. Waiting for a show. It was only when the firemen arrived that everyone began to rush to the rescue.

The red flames of fire, holding the hatred and anger of Monsieur Louis, who hoped too much for his farm to be the main supplier of fat to the great Adelard, slowly engulfed other parts of the building. Covering the stone slabs of the walls, the fire entered the windows, scattering glass on the sides. "Put out the fire!" someone shouted, and immediately a shot was heard.

"What was that? Someone killed someone?" women asked, and then, gendarmes' voices intervened in the dance of the fire.

Night turned to day. The orange colors of an artificial sunset filled the sky. The inhabitants of the whole town had already gathered around the factory, and everyone had buckets of water in their hands. But water was weaker than fire. The water held delight and curiosity, the fire was full of hatred.

"Monsieur! Monsieur is here!" the woman shouted directly into Adelard's ear, thereby deafening him.

"Why shout like that? Do you want to make him deaf?" Jean asked, getting ready to fight. Theo, Adelard's assistant and secretary, in his night robe, grabbed Adelard by the shoulders and with terror in his big eyes began to say, "He did it all! It was him! He set the factory on fire!"

"Who? Tell me!"

At that moment, Jean was ready to punch the young and overly frightened guy in the robe and with bare feet.

"Adelard! Why are you so calm! The factory is on fire!"

Adelard was indeed calm. He felt no fear, no worry. Instead of running forward to save his life's work, he put his arms around young Theo and holding his head against his, he said, "Everything will be all right. Don't be afraid." Jean, unable to bear it any longer threw himself on the fire. Throwing aside his jacket and even his shirt, he began to lift the heavy buckets of water, showing off his handsome, slender body.

"Monsieur Louis, he did it all. Monsieur Louis!" Theo exclaimed the moment the gendarme approached them. A grown man with very bushy eyebrows and a beard wrote something down and then, glancing at Adelard, asked, "This Monsieur Louis, who is he to you?"

"With him, we made a contract to supply animal fat. I don't know him well. But I do know that he is a simple farmer."

"A simple farmer? I don't think so. A simple farmer isn't capable of that kind of thing."

"He has sons. They all did it. They should be arrested!"

"I think it's my fault," Adelard whispered.

"What?" the gendarme asked with surprise.

Now, the feeling of guilt was too strong for Adelard to understand what was happening.

"Monsieur it is not your fault! Why do you say that! You have done nothing wrong to him, after all! On the contrary, it is he who has done wrong to you and he must answer for his actions!"

"Adelard!" Jean managed to say before the brick could touch Adelard's head.

Falling to the ground with him, Jean hugged him and shouted something, but Adelard could not hear him. There was chaos all around.

"Monsieur, are you hurt?! Somebody get a doctor!" Theo screamed.

Soft, warm hands gently took his face. A quiet, gentle voice sounded in the back of his mind. The light scent of flowers and strawberries brought him to his senses. It was Celeste. In a snow-white dress, with hair that fell over Adelard's face and an expressive look that was full of confidence and nothing more.

"Celeste?"

"What's the matter with him? Is he hurt?" she asked.

"So this is you? That's how I imagined you in my mind," Jean said mockingly, studying her from head to toe. But she didn't care for his judgment and smile. She held Adelard in her arms, and covering his head with kisses, she whispered, "I was so scared when I heard about the fire. I was so afraid for you."

"That means you love me, doesn't it?"

"Monsieur, they have caught the culprit! Monsieur can you hear me?!" Theo shouted joyfully, running around the two lovers. "They caught them!"