The Waterproof Bible

by KAUFMAN, Andrew

  Kenneth put his hat back on. Anderson buttoned up his raincoat. Leaving a wet spot on the mayor’s carpet, they turned and left They stood just beyond the doorway of the town office and looked up at the rain, which contined to fall harder and harder

  39

  Room service

  Lewis knew that a number of hours had passed, but only because he had become very hungry. Seated on the edge of the bed, he leaned forward slightly. He began searching the top of the bedside table. He knocked over the lamp, then managed to set it upright again. He found the phone and put the receiver to his ear. He reached over to the dial pad but couldn’t remember where zero was. He tried to picture its location and became reasonably sure it was the middle button of the bottom row. He pressed that button. He counted to five and began to speak.

  “Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?” he said, loudly repeating the salutation for fifteen seconds. Knowing that the concierge usually answered the phone on the second ring, he was sure this should be enough. “This is Lewis Taylor in the Vice-Regal Suite,” he continued. He spoke quickly, leaving no room for interruption, at a greater volume than was necessary. “I would like room service. A clubhouse sandwich. Fries. Please leave the tray outside the door.”

  Having ordered food at least twice a day since he’d checked into the hotel, Lewis knew if he had successfully placed the call that his sandwich would arrive in almost exactly thirty minutes. He sat in the middle of the bed and waited. After what felt like thirty minutes, he stood up. He stretched out his arms and made his way to the door.

  Opening the door, Lewis crouched in the hallway and felt a tray. He took off the lid. The sandwich was cold. The bread had started to harden. His hunger overwhelmed him, and, holding the door open with his body, Lewis began to eat, taking large bites. He ate quickly, almost savagely. When he felt he’d eaten everything, he backed into the suite, leaving the dishes in the hallway.

  40

  Mr. Zimmer’s warning

  Edward Zimmer and Rebecca stood in a small valley of garbage. Rebecca counted the seagulls wandering around the piles of trash and reached fifty-seven before a bulldozer scared them off. Leaning back, she watched the seagulls fly overhead. Her hard hat fell off, but she didn’t pick it up. Zimmer’s hard hat was also too big for him. He had buttoned his dress shirt up over his nose and tucked the cuffs of his pants into his argyle socks. Running from one pile of garbage to the next, Zimmer kicked small pieces out of the way and lifted larger pieces with the end of a broomstick. Sensing that Rebecca had stopped working, Zimmer turned around. He saw her hard hat on the ground.

  “Pick it up!” Zimmer said, his voice muffled by his dress shirt. “They said we had to wear them.”

  Rebecca did what Zimmer asked. The hard hat slumped forward over her eyes, so she turned it until the peak was at the back. She looked into the distance, where three garbage trucks were unloading. She watched garbage pour out. Rebecca had always thought of garbage trucks as big and the amount of garbage they held to be large, but she no longer thought this. Compared with all the garbage already in the dump, they were depositing very little. She looked down at her feet and kicked a plastic doll head. “This is hopeless,” she said. “And it smells really bad. Will you drive me home?” This was the first firm decision she’d made all day.

  “No,” Zimmer said. He lifted a pair of blue jeans by hooking a belt loop with the broom handle. “We can find them. They’re somewhere in here. All we have to do is find them.” As Zimmer spoke, he waved the broomstick in the air, making the pants dance.

  Rebecca stared.

  “We have to find your things.”

  Rebecca walked across the garbage until she stood beside him. She put her left hand on Zimmer’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. Zimmer sighed and his shoulders fell. The sun was setting behind the bulldozers as the operators shut down their machines. Zimmer nodded and Rebecca followed him to his car.

  Zimmer parked in front of Rebecca’s house and rolled down his window. Rebecca traced the edges of the glove compartment with the tip of her index finger. A couple walked along the sidewalk beside the car, and Zimmer waited until they’d passed before he spoke.

  “You know, it’s not so uncommon, what you have,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The emotions. That other people feel what you feel.”

  “I’ve never met anyone else who has it.”

  “You have. You just didn’t notice. Or you thought you were really in sync with them. That you just really got them. Everybody likes to think they’re empathetic. You know, all the things people think when they meet you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Your solution isn’t unique, either. That’s why I know how much danger you’re in right now,” he said. He looked up, looked at Rebecca and then pulled a package of filterless Camels out of his pocket, lighting one with a wooden match. The smoke curled around inside the car before being drawn out the open window. “For years, decades, you’ve taken your strongest, most personal emotions and stored them outside yourself, inside all those things. But when the objects left you, the emotions left you too. You are now without an emotional past.”

  “Is that so bad?” Rebecca asked. She saw an emotion flash across Zimmer’s face, but she couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear.

  Zimmer looked at his cigarette, watching the end of it. “I urge you to start creating an emotional history as fast as you can. You need to be feeling significant things. Not just everyday emotions—anger at a parking ticket or whatever. But really deep, true feelings.”

  “So you’ve seen this before?”

  “I have.”

  “And what happened to them? In the end?”

  “Every case is different.”

  “Edward . . .”

  “You need to believe that every case is different.”

  “Okay,” Rebecca said. She looked at Zimmer, who stared at the speedometer of the motionless car.

  “You’re about to become emotionally invulnerable,” he said. “It will feel safe. It will feel like a good thing. But that’s the problem. Who’s gonna to make themselves vulnerable if they don’t have to? Who’s gonna willingly make themselves weaker? But if you don’t start feeling real emotions soon, you will quite literally become nothing.”

  “What do you mean, nothing?”

  “You just need to start feeling something. Something meaningful.”

  “What do you think my chances are?”

  “You can do it. I know you can.”

  “Okay,” Rebecca said. She opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, then bent down and looked through the window. Zimmer briefly attempted to smile, then started the car. As he drove away, Rebecca realized that he had been crying. She watched her feet on the sidewalk and knew that seeing Zimmer’s tears could make her feel sad, even afraid. She also knew she could feel grief and sadness for Lisa, or for losing Stewart, or even for herself if she wanted to, but she didn’t have to. It was now a choice.

  As she unlocked her front door, she decided to choose not to.

  41

  The story of the tides

  Just before 3:00 a.m., Aby pulled the white Honda Civic into the parking lot of the only gas station in Upsala, Ontario. The Prairie Embassy Hotel remained six hundred kilometres away. The storm had become worse, which made driving difficult. There were no cars in the lot and no lights on inside the gas station. Aby turned off the engine, pushed back the seat and took off her seat belt. Turning away from her mother, she folded her hands under her head and closed her eyes.

  “You’re not out of gas again, are you?” said Margaret. These were the first words she’d spoken since Aby had failed to convince her to return to the ocean.

  “No,” Aby said, not moving. “But we soon will be. This station opens at six.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Just go to sleep,” Aby said, but she did not take her own advice. She listened to the rain hitting the roof of the car. She looked out the
window at the other end of the parking lot, where a family of animals was picking through an overflowing garbage can. Aby had never seen these animals before. They had ringed tails and were very focused on their work. They occasionally looked at her with their black-rimmed eyes, in a way that almost seemed like a greeting, although not a friendly one.

  Margaret coughed and Aby listened for the rust. It was hard to tell, because the rain was so loud. Aby turned to look at her mother. Margaret’s gills were covered by her scarf. She held a white handkerchief to her mouth, which she quickly balled up and tucked into her sleeve. Still looking for evidence, Aby was surprised when her mother spoke.

  “Aby, I do owe you an explanation about why I left when I did, without waiting until you were older,” Margaret said softly. “I know I should have waited, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry I can’t give you the whole story. But I can tell you this: I can tell you that there once was a woman who loved two brothers, one a carpenter and the other a tailor. She loved each of them passionately and equally. She would spend the day with the carpenter, and then at night, while he slept, she would walk across the ocean and spend the night with the tailor. Just as the sun rose, she would walk back across the ocean to the carpenter.

  “This went on for some time, until one day the carpenter could no longer stand not knowing where she was always going. On the same day, the tailor could no longer stand not knowing where she was always coming from. The carpenter came out to find her as the tailor followed her, and in the middle of the ocean they met.

  “Upon seeing each other, the brothers became consumed with jealousy. Each took hold of one of the woman’s hands and began trying to pull her back to his side of the ocean. She was literally being torn apart by the jealousy of the two brothers. This went on for three days, until the moon looked down and saw the woman. The moon took pity on the woman and turned her into a shell. The shell slipped from the hands of the brothers and fell beneath the surface of the water.

  “Both brothers were overcome with sorrow. For the first time, they truly were brothers, sharing the same grief. They embraced, then heads bowed, each walked back to his side of the ocean. And now the tailor spends the night lifting up his side of the ocean, searching for the shell, while the carpenter sleeps. And when the sun rises, the carpenter lifts up his side of the ocean to search for the shell, while the tailor sleeps. This is what makes the tides.”

  Aby reached out her hand, which her mother took.

  “So you see, the tides are important. It’s good that we have the tides,” Margaret said.

  Both women bowed their heads, letting their stringy hair cover their faces so neither could see that the other was crying. They sat in silence until Margaret pushed out a large breath through her gills and Aby lay back in the driver’s seat.

  “Vatn auk tími?” Margaret asked.

  “Vatn auk tími,” Aby repeated.

  Margaret felt a weight leave her—one much larger than she’d anticipated. Her bjarturvatn was complete. There was only one more thing that had to happen, but it was perhaps the most important thing of all. Pushing her hair out of her face, she turned towards her daughter to speak, but Aby spoke first.

  “Was it Mr. Honsjtosan?”

  “Oh, Aby. Why would you go and ruin it like that?”

  “Mr. Dfjal?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Dr. Bdlks?”

  “No.”

  “That guy, you know ... Dad’s friend with the loft?”

  “That’s enough, Aby. That’s enough.”

  Still holding her mother’s hand, Aby nodded.

  42

  The very last one last thing

  Sitting inside the cabin, Stewart held a blue HB pencil and stared at the pages of a spiral-bound notebook. The only thing he had to do before his boat was finished was name it. But the task was proving harder than crafting the hull, or even installing the mast. He’d spent almost three years writing down names in the notebook in front of him. Every time Stewart wrote one down, he was sure it was perfect. But some time later, maybe seconds, maybe weeks, Stewart would stroke a line through it.

  He wanted the name to be proud and strong, but not arrogant or bullish. It had to be caring, suggesting compassion and empathy, while still confident and firm. It would be a single word, or a phrase so common it had become like a single word.

  But even now, when finding the right name was the only task remaining, he still couldn’t find it.

  The Good Heart, he wrote, then stroked a line through it.

  The Open Heart

  The Grace

  The Lisa.

  Before he’d even lifted his pencil, Stewart knew it was right. He hurried up to the deck. The rain was coming down hard, but Stewart couldn’t wait. For the first time in years, he had the sense that his actions were important and that there was no time to lose. Quickly fastening a plastic tarp over the end of the boat, he dried the stern. Using black paint and a flowing, Edwardian script, he delicately painted Lisa on the stern. This simple task gave him great satisfaction.

  As he took a step back to look at his work, the Red River spilled its banks and Stewart’s feet were covered in water.

  43

  Something to do

  At 8:00 a.m., Rebecca was woken by the ringing of her cellphone. She’d slept well, dreamless and deep. The sound of her phone pleased her, because it gave her something to do. As she’d fallen asleep, Rebecca had felt some apprehension at the prospect of waking up, knowing that she’d have to decide what to do with her day. But for now it was clear: she would answer her cellphone.

  Sitting up, Rebecca was disappointed when she saw her phone on her bedside table. It would have been much better if she’d had to search for it. This would have given her another task to accomplish. Without checking the caller I.D., she opened it.

  “This is Rebecca Reynolds,” she said.

  “Rebecca?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Stewart.”

  “Stewart Findley?”

  “How many Stewarts do you know?”

  “Three.”

  “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “I’m not trying to be a smartass.”

  “You sound really weird.”

  “But I actually feel really, really good.”

  “Are you alright?”

  “I think I’ve become, um, emotionally invulnerable.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “But really, I am.”

  “Look, don’t do this to me right now. I’m in the middle of the worst storm I’ve ever seen. It’s unbelievable. I’m in the boat. And it’s so weird, because I just finished it and now this. There’s a flood. The ground floor of the hotel is already flooding.”

  “It’s raining here too.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I think it makes me a little distant.”

  “What does?”

  “Being emotionally invulnerable.”

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “I was told that it wouldn’t be a good thing, but it feels pretty good. I’m having a lot of problems making decisions, though.”

  “Okay. This has happened before, no? Remember?”

  “I know what you’re talking about, but this isn’t like that at all. This is different.”

  “Still, maybe you just need to get out for a bit? You know, get out of the house? Clear your head?”

  “I will.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Stewart said. “I called to tell you that I finally named the boat. I’ve finished the boat. I named her the Lisa.”

  “Okay.”

  “In honour of your sister.”

  “That’s really nice,” Rebecca said. She said this only because she knew it was expected. The information did not cause her to feel anything significant.

  She closed her phone, dressed in the same clothes she’d worn yesterday and the day before and left. She did not put on a raincoat, take an umbrella or close the fro
nt door behind her.

  44

  Late checkout

  Just after 4:00 p.m., Kenneth entered room #201 at the Prairie Embassy Hotel without knocking. His son was surprised. Rain hit the east-facing window at a right angle, each drop striking as if three more were waiting impatiently behind it. The overhead light was on, but the room remained dark, which made the frequent lightning strikes seem all the more brilliant.

  Kenneth stood in the doorway. He had never seen a storm this powerful in his life. “Are you sure you don’t know any way to stop it?” he asked his son, shouting to be heard over the sound of the rain.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Then we’d better pack.”

  “Agreed.”

  In ten minutes they stood, suitcases in hand, in the front lobby, where the water came up to just below their knees.

  “Should we pay?” Anderson asked.

  Kenneth stomped his foot in the water, splashing it. He looked out the window and saw how trees that had been far from the river were now part of it.

  “There’s no need,” he said. “It won’t be a hotel for much longer.”

  They opened the front door of the Prairie Embassy Hotel and stood outside. The rain hurt their faces. Leaving the door open, they waded towards their vehicles. Stopping briefly, they looked up. The storm cloud hovered directly over the hotel, rain pouring out of it. They could see that every cloud, all the way to the horizon, was being pulled towards them. Even as they stood still, staring, already drenched to the bone, the cloud grew larger.

  “We’ll take my truck, but you drive,” Kenneth said to his son. On his way to the passenger door, he stopped. The water had already reached the top of the wheel wells. There was little chance they could drive away. Turning, he looked back at the Prairie Embassy Hotel and saw the sailboat behind it. To his surprise, it no longer looked unfinished. It now had sails. “But that,” he said, pointing, “would work much better.”