On this January morning, the people of Nantes had awoken to heartbreaking news: the Loire River had burst its banks, flooding everything in its path. The waters had risen quickly, and the damage was widespread. The inhabitants emerged from their homes, dumbfounded at what they saw and trying to save all they could. The fire department had been called in to help evacuate the vulnerable: older citizens, children, those who had been forced to climb onto their rooves for safety, the invalid, and anyone who was unable to swim. They used brooms and mops to try and hold back the water, but nothing could be done. Floods of this magnitude were rare, but the citizens had been quick to organise their efforts – they made bridges from planks of wood as they rushed to stow their belongings, their books and their knick-knacks upstairs. Many homes were badly damaged, and the firemen were up to their necks, as the saying goes. Everything had to be evacuated, homes and farms alike, cattle and livestock and dogs and cats. The people of Nantes had not had an easy time of it today. Luckily there were flat boats that could be boarded by cattle, so the farmers could let their livestock sail up to Savenay where they would be collected. The fire department had been quick to organise its efforts, too, building makeshift bridges and pontoons. This morning the fair city of Nantes looked more like Venice, and there was great solidarity along the people as each man and woman helped as best they could.
“Here you go,” said the wine merchant as he poured a glass of Muscadet to the two firemen. “Do you good. Warm you up.”
“We’ve done all we can. What else is there?” the first fireman asked. All we can do is wait for the Loire to return to its bed, hopefully before sundown. The tide’s too high to hope anyone will get back home tonight. The water’s already gone down since this morning, but look at it out there! I always heard Venice is lovely this time of year…”
“Indeed, Nantes is now the Venice of the West,” confirmed the second fireman. “Our dear city is in pain. We spent today traipsing through its houses to save whoever and whatever we could. The most important thing is that no lives were lost. Everything else can wait.”
“Well said,” answered the baker, baguette in his hand. “Can I make you a sandwich with some pâté?” he offered politely.
“I think I’ve had enough,” said the first fireman, stumbling. “We still have work to do, and on a full stomach I won’t last long enough to do it all.”
“There’s a splash of the Muscadet left; it would be a sin to leave it,” the wine merchant said with a grin. “The least I could do.”
“We must get back to it; our work’s not done. Thank you for your hospitality. Stay home, and stay strong.”
The firemen rinsed their glasses in the water and returned them to the wine merchant. Then they returned to their patrol, knocking at each door they passed and announcing: “Fire department! Is everything alright in there?” Indeed, everything usually was alright for the people of Nantes, but today there was commiseration as they surveyed the desolation around them. Still, people would stick together until the waters receded. They hummed prayers together, and told each other there was nothing that could be done to repel the forces of nature, and that such was life! “Good luck, and may tomorrow be a brighter day! Everyone’s fine in here!” confirmed a worker as he handed them each a Petit Lu, the little butter biscuits that were the pride of the city. The firemen stowed their biscuits safely in their deep pockets. That would be their reward for the end of the day; a butter biscuit apiece for knocking on all those doors.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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