5-

I can't believe it! There I am, talking to that policeman, who is tapping his pencil impatiently on that damned notepad, and when I turn around... she's gone! Gone, no sign of her. She left the child with my demented mother, who kept whining: 'Janes, are we going or not? How do you expect to carry it all? Do I have a wife for this?' I'm working my ass off, and all she does is do the laundry for six families, take care of my mother, run the household, pay the bills and look after that child. And there I am, as neat as you like, on a freezing winter's day.

"Hey Hans, have you seen my wife? She was just here."

"Are you moving? Maybe she just went to the bakery for a loaf of bread..."

"Oh, fuck off, mate. You're worthless. Where do you get this nonsense?"

"I'd hurry up if I were you. There's a storm coming. Where are you guys going?"

Jannes is speechless. He swallows.

"A much nicer house!" his mother crows. "Didn't you hear? Our Jannes' dream is finally coming true!"

"What's that?"

"He's going to be a firefighter – saving people, just like my darling always wanted. Such a good boy, so helpful. And strong! He carries me to the toilet every morning, cleans my-"

"Mom, for God's sake," Janes interrupts him, his face like a beetroot. "I don't think the neighbour needs to hear all that."

"Ta-ra, handsome," Hans chuckles. "See you later."

"Hopefully not," Janes mumbles. He never liked that braggart – always gossiping, that one.

"Look!" his mother screams. "Fire! Come on, Janes – show them what you're made of! They'll hire a tough guy like you!"

"Don't do that, Dad!" the child shouts. "Where are we going? It's winter, I'm cold!"

Janes hesitates. But the sirens and his mother's frantic cheering – "Come on, hero!" – make him decide to leave, he's had enough of women. The flames look much more appealing. At least it'll be warm, he thinks.

The assembled crowd stands with their phones in their hands, always good to see drama with their own eyes and post it on YouTube, X or a paying blockchain.

"Don't help, that's what firefighters are paid for," says a bloke as he stops someone from entering.

"Damn vultures," Janes growls, sprinting inside.

The stairwell... the heat. He presses the sleeve of his sweater to his nose. Grab this, a coat and a hat are thrown his way, third floor, quick. It's that stupid cop from a moment ago. The apartment door is ajar, and smoke is pouring in. Inside, an elderly woman is lying on the couch, her dog whining in the closet.

"Come on, ma'am, get up!" Janes says, she reminds him of his mother. Her weight is nothing after years of lifting her. The cat meows and jumps onto his back.

"Jesus christ!" He stumbles into the hallway as the floor collapses behind him and the officers. The old woman squeaks: "My Harold's photos..."

"Sorry, he coughs."

The fire department is waiting downstairs. One of them gapes at Janes as he comes out coughing with the elderly and the cat.

"You crazy bastard! We have protocols!"

"She would be burned by then!" Janes snaps.

The crowd erupts in cheers, phones in the air. It seems like hundreds of pictures are being taken. His mother and daughter are waiting outside.

"That's my boy, give him a job!" his mother says in delight. How come she hasn't lost her memory now?

The firefighter sighs. "Have you ever used a garden hose?"

_{9.5.25
Painter: Erik Henningsen - Danish painter and illustrator
Painting: public domain
@almaguer}