Lust for Life

MARCH PUSHED ITS way wearily into April and conditions improved a bit. The winds disappeared, the slant of the sun became a little more direct, and at last the thaw came. With the melting of the snow the black fields became visible, the larks were heard, and in the woods the buds began to sprout on the elder trees. The fever died down and with the coming of warmer weather the women of the village were able to swarm over the Marcasse pyramid to get terril. Soon the cabins were blazing with cosy fires in their oval stoves; the children were able to stay out of bed during the day, and Vincent reopened the Salon. The entire village crowded in for the first sermon. A touch of a smile was coming back to the melancholy eyes of the miners; the people dared lift their heads just a little. Decrucq, who had appointed himself official fireman and janitor of the Salon, was cracking jokes over the stove and rubbing his scalp vigorously.

“Better times are coming,” cried Vincent exultantly from his pulpit. “God has tried you and found you true. The worst of our suffering is over. The corn will ripen in the fields, and the sun will warm you as you sit before your homes after a good day’s work. The children will run out to follow the lark and gather berries in the woods. Lift up your eyes to God, for the good things in life are in store for you. God is merciful. God is just. He will reward you for your faith and vigilance. Offer up thanks to Him, for better times are coming. Better times are coming.”

The miners offered up fervent thanks. Cheerful voices filled the room and everyone kept saying to his neighbour, “Monsieur Vincent is right. Our suffering is over. The winter is gone. Better times are coming!”

A few days later, while Vincent and a group of the children were gathering terril behind Marcasse, they saw little black figures scurrying out of the building in which the hoist was located, and go running across the fields in all directions.

“What has happened?” exclaimed Vincent. “It can’t be three o’clock yet. The sun isn’t even in mid-heaven.”

“There’s been an accident!” shouted one of the older boys. “I’ve seen them run away like that before! Something’s broken below!”

They scrambled down the black mountain as fast as they could, ripping their hands and clothes on the rocks. The field surrounding Marcasse was thick with black ants running to cover. By the time they all got down, the tide of movement had changed and the women and children were running across the field from the village, coming from every direction at a frightened speed, babies in their arms and infants tagging along behind.

When Vincent got to the gate he heard excited voices crying, ‘Grisou! Grisou! The new couche! They’re caught! They’re trapped in!”

Jacques Verney, who had been laid up in bed during the intense cold, came dashing across the field at top speed. He had grown thinner, his chest more cavernous. Vincent caught him as he went by and said, “What is it? Tell me!”

“Decrucq’s couche! Remember the blue lamps? I knew it would get them!”

“How many? How many are there? Can’t we get at them?”

“Twelve cells. You saw them. Five men to a cell.”

“Can’t we save them?”

“I don’t know. I’m taking a volunteer crew down immediately.”

“Let me come along. Let me help.”

“No. I need experienced men.” He ran through the yard to the hoist.

The little cart with the white horse drew up to the gate, the same cart that had carried so many dead and injured to the cabins on the hillside. The miners who had run across the fields began returning with their families. Some of the women cried hysterically, others stared ahead of them, wide-eyed. The children whimpered and the foremen ran about, shouting at the tops of their voices, organizing rescue crews.

Suddenly the noise stopped. A little group came out of the hoist building and walked slowly down the stairs, carrying something wrapped in blankets. The hush was eloquent for a moment. Then everyone began shouting and crying at the same time.

“Who is it? Are they dead? Are they alive? For God’s sake, tell us their names! Show them to us! My husband is down there! My children I Two of my babies are in that couche!”

The group stopped at the little cart with the white horse. One of the men spoke. “Three of the carriers who were dumping coal on the outside have been saved. But they are terribly burned.”

“Who are they? For the love of Jesus tell us who they are! Show us! Show us! My baby is down there! My baby, my baby!”