墓碑旁,微微夏风中,消防队队旗在旗杆一半高处缓缓飘拂,如同一位遗孀的手帕。时值1994年8月,我在缅怀上个月在西科罗拉多暴王山火难中的14名死亡者。这里是佛罗里达南部,我们下半旗致哀。我祈求亡灵尽早安息,但我知道,这很难。因为被火烧死是最痛苦的死。这就是我今天想告诉我的消防兵的。即算我们今天训练中要扑灭的火是在一幢废弃的小房子里燃烧,不是蔓延席卷在科罗拉多无边荒野中的大火,教训也相同:为了活命,你得转动脑筋,弄清火的来势 Tombstone next to a slight summer wind, the fire brigade flag slowly fluttering halfway up the flagpole, as a widow’s handkerchief. In August 1994, I was remembered for the 14 deaths last month from the fires of the Tyrannosaurus Hill in Western Colorado. Here is southern Florida, we mast half-mast. I pray for the dead to rest as soon as possible, but I know that’s hard. Because being burned to death is the most painful death. This is what I wanted to tell my firemen today. That is to say, the fire to be extinguished in our training today is to be burned in an abandoned small house, not to spread the fire that swept through the boundless wilderness of Colorado. The lesson is the same: in order to survive, you have to turn your brains and find out the fire