Isaac's Storm (34 page)

What
he
did
not
realize,
apparently,
was
that
the
flow
now
included
corpses.

Most
likely
he
had
stationed
himself
at
a
window
that
faced
west
or
south;
otherwise
he
would
have
been
aware
of
the
great
damage
now
being
done
to
the
beach
neighborhoods
behind
his
house,
where
immense
breakers
slid
over
the
surface
of
the
tide
and
broke
against
second-floor
windows.

It
was
getting
dark.
He
found
a
candle,
lit
it,
then
thought
better
—
he
might
need
the
candle
later
on.
He
blew
it
out.
There
was
nothing
to
do,
he
decided,
but
wait
out
the
storm.
He
still
felt
unafraid.
"I
found
a
comfortable
armchair
and
made
myself
as
comfortable
as
possible."
He
was
very
glad,
however,
that
his
family
soon
would
be
snug
and
dry
in
the
train
station
at
San
Antonio.
"Being
entirely
alone,
with
no
responsibility
on
me,
I
felt
satisfied
and
very
complacent,
for
I
was
fool
enough
not
to
be
the
least
afraid
of
wind
or
water."

FOR
OTHER
FATHERS
in
homes
not
far
from
his
the
afternoon
was
playing
out
in
rather
different
fashion.
Suddenly
the
prospect
of
watching
their
children
die
became
very
real.

Whom
did
you
save?
Did
you
seek
to
save
one
child,
or
try
to
save
all,
at
the
risk
ultimately
of
saving
none?
Did
you
save
a
daughter
or
a
son?
The
youngest
or
your
firstborn?
Did
you
save
that
sun-kissed
child
who
gave
you
delight
every
morning,
or
the
benighted
adolescent
who
made
your
day
a
torment
—
save
him,
because
every
piece
of
you
screamed
to
save
the
sweet
one?

And
if
you
saved
none,
what
then?
How
did
you
go
on?

Mrs.
Hopkins
 

As
LOUISE
HOPKINS
and
her
friend
Martha
played
in
the
yard,
they
saw
more
strange
things
come
floating
past
in
the
street.
There
were
boxes
and
boards
and
bits
of
clothing,
and
now
children's
toys.
Martha
went
home,
fearing
that
soon
the
water
would
be
too
deep
to
cross,
and
indeed
soon
afterward
the
level
rose
to
where
water
flowed
into
Louise's
yard
and
into
her
mother's
treasured
garden.
The
sight
of
all
that
brown
water
destroying
her
mother's
lovely
flowers
brought
Louise
the
day's
first
sadness.

When
Louise
went
inside,
she
saw
for
the
first
time
that
her
mother
was
worried
about
the
storm.
Mrs.
Hopkins
was
moving
her
great
trove
of
cooking
supplies
to
the
second
floor
—
her
sacks
of
sugar,
coffee,
and
flour
(one
of
the
most
popular
brands
was
Tidal
Wave
Flour).
Between
trips
Mrs.
Hopkins
went
to
the
window
to
watch
for
Louise's
two
brothers,
who
that
morning
had
ridden
their
bicycles
to
their
jobs.
"She
knew
now
with
the
water
rising
it
would
be
impossible
for
them
to
come
home
the
same
way,"
Louise
recalled.

Louise
noticed
that
her
kitten,
a
Maltese,
was
behaving
strangely.
The
little
thing
"was
restless
and
kept
following
me.
I
believe
he
was
more
aware
of
the
approaching
danger
than
I."

Her
brother
John
arrived
safely,
and
quickly
went
to
work
helping
his
mother
transport
the
supplies
to
the
second
floor.
Louise
helped
with
the
smaller
things.
Her
brother
Mason,
fourteen
years
old,
was
still
not
home.

Once
all
the
big
sacks
had
been
hauled
upstairs,
Louise's
mother
found
the
family
ax
and
did
something
that
just
about
took
Louise's
breath
away
forever.
Her
mother
had
always
been
so
careful
about
the
house.
The
house
was
everything.
A
home,
an
income.
She
kept
it
spotless,
and
polished
and
dusted
the
floors
until
they
gleamed
like
the
beacon
of
the
Bolivar
Light,
and
if
you
tracked
mud
onto
these
floors
you
knew
you
would
not
see
the
sunlight
for
the
rest
of
your
living
days.

Right
there,
no
warning,
her
mother
lifted
the
ax
over
her
shoulder
and
slammed
it
into
the
floor.
She
kept
chopping
until
the
holes
were
big
enough
to
see
through.

"I
was
amazed
to
see
how
fast
the
water
came
in
under
the
front
door
and
through
the
holes
my
mother
had
cut
in
the
floor,"
Louise
said.
"How
quickly
the
house
was
filling
with
water,
and
how
difficult
it
was
for
my
mother
to
keep
her
head
out
of
the
water
as
she
reached
down
into
the
lower
cabinets
for
the
last
of
the
groceries
to
be
taken
upstairs."

Louise
looked
out
an
upstairs
window
and
saw
that
water
now
covered
the
porch
rail
of
the
house
next
door.
Until
then,
she
had
felt
mostly
excitement.
The
morning
had
been
full
of
wonders:
water
racing
down
the
street,
toads
all
over
the
place,
her
mother
chopping
holes
in
the
floor,
and
water
even
inside
the
house.
But
there
was
something
about
the
water
so
deep
around
her
neighbor's
house
that
took
all
the
excitement
away.
"I
thought
of
all
the
things
that
had
to
be
left
behind,
and
I
was
sad
and
afraid."

Her
mother
watched
for
Mason.

AT
PRECISELY
2:30
P.M.
Galveston
time
a
gust
of
wind
lifted
the
Weather
Bureau's
rain
gauge
from
the
roof
of
the
Levy
Building
and
carried
it
off
toward
the
southwest.
It
had
captured
1.27
inches
of
rain.

At
5:15,
the
wind
destroyed
the
bureau's
anemometer.
By
then
the
instrument
had
registered
a
maximum
velocity
of
one
hundred
miles
an
hour.

The
wind
continued
to
intensify.

A
FIGURE
APPROACHED
the
Hopkins
home,
moving
against
the
current.
The
water
was
up
to
his
underarms.
He
dodged
pieces
of
lumber
and
boxes
and
telegraph
poles.
Now
and
then
a
square
of
slate
smacked
the
water
around
him.
Softer
things
bumped
against
his
legs,
then
moved
on
with
the
current.

When
Mason
arrived,
a
lightness
came
over
the
Hopkins
household.
It
was
as
if
the
house
itself
had
been
holding
its
breath
awaiting
his
arrival.
He
was
bruised
and
soaked,
but
smiling,
and
Mrs.
Hopkins
hugged
him
as
she
had
never
hugged
anyone
before.
The
storm
raged
and
water
burbled
up
through
the
holes
in
the
floor
and
slid
in
a
sheet
under
the
front
door,
but
everyone
was
home
and
the
unspoken
fear
that
had
gripped
the
place
was
suddenly
gone.
"We
had
a
warm
feeling
of
all
of
us
being
together,
safely,
we
believed.
We
went
upstairs
in
the
main
part
of
our
house
...
to
wait
out
the
storm."

ALL
OVER
GALVESTON,
there
was
a
need
for
light.
A
craving.
People
needed
light
for
themselves
to
ease
their
fears,
but
they
also
needed
others
to
know
they
were
still
in
their
homes
and
alive.
Throughout
Galveston,
lamps
bloomed
in
a
thousand
second-floor
windows.
We're
here,
they
said.
Come
for
us.
Please.

The
same
idea
came
to
Louise's
mother.
She
did
not
want
to
use
a
lamp,
however.
The
house
was
shaking
too
badly.
She
feared
the
lamp
would
fall
and
set
fire
to
the
house,
and
then
all
would
indeed
be
lost.

She
dragged
one
of
the
big
drums
of
lard
to
the
center
of
the
room.
She
found
a
carnival
flag
attached
to
a
stick,
and
laid
the
stick
across
the
top
of
the
drum.
She
saturated
a
strip
of
cloth
with
lard,
then
draped
this
over
the
stick,
one
end
in
the
lard,
for
a
wick.
"When
it
was
lighted
it
gave
off
a
dim
and
eerie
light,"
Louise
said.
"We
sat
and
watched
it
flickering
and
listened
to
the
banging
and
howling
of
the
storm
outside."

It
was
oddly
comfortable
in
the
room.
Almost
cozy.

Until
her
sister,
Lois,
screamed.

Judson
Palmer
 

IN
THE
BLOCKS
behind
Dr.
Young's
house,
several
families
began
moving
toward
the
home
of
Judson
Palmer,
at
2320
P1/2
Anyone
could
see
it
was
one
of
the
strongest
houses
around.
Isaac
Cline
himself
had
gauged
it
a
perfectly
safe
haven
against
the
storm.
A
neighbor
couple,
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Boecker,
arrived
with
their
two
children.
Garry
Burnett
followed
with
his
wife
and
his
two
children.
Soon
afterward
another
Burnett,
George,
arrived
with
his
wife,
child,
and
mother.
The
last
couple
to
arrive
was
an
unidentified
black
man
and
his
wife
who
asked
if
they
too
might
come
inside
until
the
storm
passed.
Palmer
now
counted
seventeen
people
in
his
house,
including
his
own
wife
and
his
son,
Lee.
The
boy's
dog,
Youno,
scampered
wildly
around
the
house,
clearly
delighted
with
the
attention
of
so
many
big
and
small
human
beings.

At
6:00
P.M.,
Palmer
and
the
other
men
rolled
up
the
first-floor
carpets
and
hauled
them
upstairs.
They
carried
the
furniture
up
next,
an
effort
that
caused
them
all
to
break
a
heavy
sweat.
With
all
the
doors
and
windows
shut
and
so
many
moist
people
inside,
the
house
felt
hot,
humid,
and
stale.
Once
all
the
furniture
was
moved,
everyone
went
to
the
second
floor,
which
had
four
bedrooms
and
a
large
bathroom
equipped
with
a
tugboat-sized
tub
and
a
shower.

If
a
train
had
crossed
the
ceiling
it
could
not
have
made
more
noise.
With
most
of
the
slate
shingles
gone,
the
rain
struck
bare
wood.
Driven
by
the
wind,
it
penetrated
deep
into
the
plaster.
It
grew
cysts
in
the
wallpaper,
which
popped
like
firecrackers.
At
7:00
P.M.,
a
gust
of
wind
blew
out
the
front
door
and
its
frame.
The
blast
effect
caused
everyone's
ears
to
pop.

Palmer
estimated
the
water
in
the
yard
to
be
seven
feet
deep;
in
the
parlor,
two
feet.
He
was
downstairs
monitoring
its
progress
when
the
big
plate-glass
window
at
the
front
of
the
house
exploded,
along
with
its
frame.