Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire

By JOSEPH KIRSCHKE

Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire

By JOSEPH KIRSCHKE

LI SHIGONG

The heavy, acrid smoke wafted all around. The stench was steady and overpowering. There was no escape. Luckily for me, this scene was unfolding at an Internet cafe two blocks away from my Dongzhimen apartment in Beijing, where a far more sinister type of smoke surged upward from the basement of my ramshackle apartment building and straight into my sixth-foor fat.

“Are you okay?” asked my landlord breathlessly after my mobile phone chirped me to attention. “There was a fire in your building!”

I was panicked: there were my belongings, my passport, encrypted with a treasured Chinese visa, and—most importantly—my two roommates “They are alright,” my landlord assured me. “But you might want to fnd someplace else to stay tonight.”

I stumbled out into the night, my mouth already ablaze from some spicy noodles. Outside my place were two smallish fire engines and a police car. None of their occupants appeared particularly interested in what had just happened—or what could have just happened.

My roommates stood shivering outside, both visibly shaken but otherwise okay. Smoke, they said, swept apartment as they slept, prompting them to struggle to breathe out of their windows as best they could.

Their pleas for help to a police officer below were an exercise in negligence: He told them to stay inside.

Hysterically, the pair managed to fumble across a flashlight they used to unlock the door and navigate their way out.

The extent of the damage—not to mention the shock as to how lucky we all were—wasn’t apparent until perhaps 30 minutes later, when the police and fre safety offcials departed unceremoniously—without seriously checking as to see if anyone was hurt.

Accompanied by two neighbors, we ascended the stairs—with cell phones eerily lighting our paths—up the blackened stairwell to see what the fre had left in its wake. We all labored to breathe the suffocating air as we hiked up six foors.

Upon opening our charred door, my roommates threw their windows open and lit a pair of candles—both on the verge of tears.

打入式開口鋼管樁因其抗彎能力高、貫入穿透性強(qiáng)等優(yōu)勢(shì)，在水平力較大、持力層埋深較深、沉樁貫入難度較大、自由端較長(zhǎng)時(shí)廣泛采用。因土塞效應(yīng)尚未建立完善的理論計(jì)算，開口鋼管樁承載力量化分析更為復(fù)雜和困難?；诩扔欣碚撗芯糠治觯蒲萏岢鲠槍?duì)以密實(shí)砂層為持力層的開口鋼管樁土塞效應(yīng)的理論分析計(jì)算，并通過(guò)規(guī)范推演計(jì)算、高應(yīng)變動(dòng)力檢測(cè)結(jié)果對(duì)比分析，對(duì)于以密實(shí)砂層為持力層的開口鋼管樁豎向極限承載力計(jì)算具有一定的參考意義。

My own moment of reckoning hit me after I opened the door of my room on the upper floor of our flat: A wall of noxious smoke almost knocked me to my feet as I attempted to step inside.

In addition to not being able to see a thing—after tripping over much of my clothes and furniture in the process—I also had to hold my breath to open my own windows.

Depressed and demoralized, I glanced at my hands and noticed they were quivering violently. It was time to go. I grabbed my money, a towel and a halfempty, despicable-tasting bottle of Chinese cabernet from our darkened refrigerator before staggering outside.

By then, within an hour of the fire’s eruption, the street below was wholly deserted—save for three men in their twenties chatting and an older man pushing his wheelchair for exercise.

Resigned to my fate at 4:45 a.m., I sat on some steps and took some swigs of my potion before getting up walking to a nearby hostel.

It was there that I got yet another reminder that I live in China—as if I needed any.

“Passport, please,” she repeated once more, before a man secreted in a blanket on a sofa on the other side of the lobby mumbled something unintelligible.

So it was that I turned on my heel and approached the cavernous recesses of my apartment, ever so reluctantly, once again.

It was 4:55 a.m.

Just then, the old man who had been pushing his wheelchair was making another round. He was the only person left. I could see but a bare hint of a smile on his weathered face as he nodded and said something I couldn’t quite understand.

As he spoke, residual water fowed gently onto the street before me, blanketing my fast-graying sneakers. I smiled in return, took a deep breath and stepped back inside.

My cell battery was petering out—and I had some climbing to do.

The writer is an American living in Beijing

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