They came in pajamas and curlers (Mrs. Dawson, she of the now-deceased son who had been a very funny fellow, came in a mudpack as
~f dressed for a minstrel show); they came to see what happened to their town, to see if it was indeed lying burned and bleeding. Many of them also came to die.
Carlin Street was thronged with them, a riptide of them, moving downtown through the hectic light in the sky, when Carrie came out of the Carlin Street Congregational Church, where she had been praying.
She had gone in only five minutes before, after opening the gas main (it had been easy; as soon as she pictured it lying there under the street it had been easy), but it seemed like hours. She had prayed long and deeply, sometimes aloud, sometimes silently. Her heart thudded and labored. The veins on her face and neck bulged. Her mind was filled with the huge knowledge of POWERS, and of an ABYSS. She prayed in front of the altar, kneeling in her wet and torn and bloody gown, her feet bare and dirty and bleeding from a broken bottle she had stepped on. Her breath sobbed in and out of her throat, and the church was filled with groanings and swayings and sunderings as psychic energy sprang from her. Pews fell, hymnals flew, and a silver Communion set cruised silently across the vaulted darkness of the nave to crash into the far wall. She prayed and there was no answer. No one was there-or if there was, He/It was cowering from her. God had turned His face away, and why not? This horror was as much His doing as hers. And so she left the church, left it to go home and find her momma and make destruction complete.
She paused on the lower step, looking at the flocks of people streaming toward the center of town. Animals. Let them burn, then. Let the streets be filled with the smell of their sacrifice. Let this place be called racca, ichabod, wormwood.
Flex.
And power transformers atop lightpoles bloomed into nacreous purple light, spitting catherine-wheel sparks. High-tension wires fell into the streets in pick-up-sticks tangles and some of them ran, and that was bad for them because now the whole street was littered with wires and the stink began, the burning began. People began to scream and back away and some touched the cables and went into jerky electrical dances. Some had already slumped into the street, their robes and pajamas smoldering.
Carrie turned back and looked fixedly at the church she had just left. The heavy door suddenly swung shut, as if in a hurricane wind.
Carrie turned toward home.
From the sworn testimony of Mrs. Cora Simard, taken be-fore The State Investigatory Board (from The White Commission Report), pp.217-18:
Q.
Mrs. Simard, the Board understands that you lost your daughter on Prom Night, and we sympathize with you deeply. We will make this as brief as possible.
A.
Thank you. I want to help if I can, of course.
Q.
Were you on Carlin Street at approximately 12:12, when Carietta White came out of the First Congregational Church on that street?
A.
Yes.
Q.
Why were you there?
A.
My husband had to be in Boston over the weekend on business and Rhonda was at the Spring Ball. I was home alone watching TV and waiting up for her. I was watching the Friday Night Movie when the town hall whistle went off, but I didn’t connect that
with the dance. But then the explosion… I didn’t know what to do. I tried to call the police but got a busy signal after the first three numbers. I . . . I . . . Then .
Q.
Take your time, Mrs. Simard. All the time you need.
A.
I was getting frantic. There was a second explosion-Teddy’s Amoco station, I know now-and I decided to go downtown and see what was happening. There was a glow in the sky, an awful glow. That was when Mrs. Shyres pounded on the door.
Q.
Mrs. Georgette Shyres?
A.
Yes, they live around the corner. 217 Willow. That’sjust off Carlin Street. She was pounding and calling: “Cora, are you in there?
Are you in there?” I went to the door. She was in her bathrobe and slippers. Her feet looked cold. She said they had called Westover to see if they knew anything and they told her the school was on fire. I said:
“Oh dear God, Rhonda’s at the dance.”
Q.
Is this when you decided to go downtown with Mrs.
Shyres?
A.
We didn’t decide anything. We just went. I put on a pair of slippers-Rhonda’s, I think. They had little white puffballs on them. I should have worn my shoes, but I wasn’t thinking. I guess I’m not thinking now. What do you want to hear about my shoes for?
Q.
You tell it in your own way, Mrs. Simard.
A.
T-Thank you. I gave Mrs. Shyres some old jacket that was around, and we went.
Q.
Were there many people walking down Carlin Street?
A.
I don’t know. I was too upset. Maybe thirty. Maybe more.
Q.
What happened?
A.
Georgette and I were walking toward Main Street, holding hands just like two little girls walking across a meadow after dark.
Georgette’s teeth were clicking. I remember that. I wanted to ask her to stop clicking her teeth, but I thought it would be impolite. A block and a half from the Congo Church, I saw the door open and I thought: Someone has gone in to ask God’s help. But a second later I knew that wasn’t true.
Q.
How did you know? It would be logical to assume just what you first assumed, wouldn’t it?
A.
I just knew.
Q.
Did you know the person who came out of the church?
A.
Yes. It was Carrie White.
Q.
Had you ever seen Carrie White before?
A.
No. She was not one of my daughter’s friends.
Q.
Had you ever seen a picture of Carrie White?
A.
No.
Q.
And in any case, it was dark and you were a block and a half from the church.
A.
Yes, sir.
Q.
Mrs. Simard, how did you know it was Carrie White?
A.
I just knew.
Q.
This knowing, Mrs. Simard: was it like a light going on in your head?
A.
No, sir.
Q.
What was it like?
A.
I can’t tell you. It faded away the way a dream does. An hour after you get up you can only remember you had a dream. But I knew.
Q.
Was there an emotional feeling that went with this knowledge?
A.
Yes. Horror.
Q.
What did you do then?
A.
I turned to Georgette and said: “There she is.” Georgette said: “Yes, that’s her.” She started to say something else, and then the whole street was lit up by a bright glow and there were crackling noises and then the power lines started to fall into the street, some of them spitting live sparks. One of them hit a man in front of us and he b-burst into flames. Another man started to run and he stepped on one of them and his body just
arched backward, as if his back had turned into elastic. And then he fell down. Other people were screaming and running, just running blindly, and more and more cables fell. They were strung all over the place like snakes. And she was glad about it. Glad! I could feel her being glad. I knew I had to keep my head. The people who were running were getting electrocuted. Georgette said: “Quick, Cora. Oh God, I don’t want to get burned alive.” I said: “Stop that. We have to
use our heads, Georgette, or we’ll never use them again.” Something foolish like that. But she wouldn’t listen. She let go of my hand and started to run for the sidewalk. I screamed at her to stop-there was one of those heavy main cables broken off right in front of us-but she didn’t listen. And she . . . she .. . oh, I could smell her when she started to burn. Smoke just seemed to burst out of her clothes and I thought: that’s what it must be like when someone gets electrocuted. The smell was sweet, like pork. Have any of you ever smelled that? Sometimes I smell it in my dreams. I stood dead still, watching Georgette Shyres turn black. There was a big explosion over in the West End-the gas main, I suppose-but I never even noticed it. I looked around and I was all alone. Everyone else had either run away or was burning. I saw maybe six bodies. They were like piles of old rags. One of the cables had fallen onto the porch of a house to the left, and it was catching on fire. I could hear the old-fashioned shake shingles popping like corn. It seemed like I stood there a long time, telling myself to keep my head. It seemed like hours. I began to be afraid that I would faint and fall on one of the cables, or that I would panic and Start to run. Like . . . like Georgette. So I started to walk. One step at a time. The street got even brighter, because of the burning house. I stepped over two live wires and went around a body that wasn’t much more than a puddle. I-I-I had to look to see where I was going. There was a wedding ring on the body’s hand, but it was all black. All black. Jesus, I was thinking. Oh dear Lord. I stepped over another cable and then there were three, all at once. I just stood there looking at them. I thought if I got over those I’d be all right but … I didn’t dare. Do you know what I kept thinking of?