“No, Sheba. And yes, Sheba.” He clenches his teeth and looks so unhappy. I’ve never seen him look like this.
“What’s the matter?”
“What do you know about giants?”
“You. You’re all I know.”
“Well, giants are violent. Monsters. A race among themselves. That’s the common wisdom.”
“I’ve never seen you violent. Though when you punched the lion on the top of his head, I was sure you were a formidable warrior.”
Bash layers his forearms on his knees and leans forward. He looks off at the horizon. “That’s essentially what I told everyone. That we were all warriors, the entire nation of Bashan. That I was king only because my father was king—but otherwise my people would not have chosen me because I was so short.”
“Short? Good heavens! Your people must have been enormous.”
“That’s what everyone thought. That’s why no one invaded our land. But in reality, the people of Bashan were ordinary people. Ordinary size. Like my mother. And my father. He was king, all right, but an ordinary man. And I inherited his kingdom.”
“That’s amazing.” I shake my head. “You’re so smart.”
“So are you.” Bash gets to his feet. It’s as though he’s unfolding himself, he’s so tall. He walks in a circle around me. “See? That’s why I depend on you, Sheba. You’ve never once asked me what it’s like to be a giant. You’ve treated me like a human.”
“You are a human.”
“Yes. Others I meet, though, other strangers, they don’t know that. They assume.”
“Because they’ve heard stupid things. The common wisdom, like you said.”
“Sometimes. But sometimes I meet people like you, who have never heard of giants. And still they scream and run. But you accept me. You accepted me from the start. You make me feel . . . ordinary. Thank you.”
I give a little laugh. “I doubt many people thank others for making them feel ordinary.”
“You can laugh. But I depend on you, Sheba. With you I’m part of humanity.”
I stand and walk in the circle behind him.
“What are you doing?” asks Bash.
I spin on my heel and walk in the other direction. He follows. I laugh. “You’re almost as good at playing mimic as Queen. You’re fun.”
He stops. Then he laughs loud. “You’re brilliant, Sheba. Tell me what you want, what you need. Chores. Games. Anything. And we’ll work this out. Because you are my best friend.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Night 189–Day 190
Something touches my back. Gently. I’m in that dreamy, half-asleep state. Whenever Bash goes down the rope, I go to sleep. Somehow the day exhausts me, so I’m ready to shut my eyes, even though he goes down in early evening. When he’s finished with the animals on the second deck—what used to be my deck—he comes back up to the roof, crawls into the tent, and stretches out beside me. He was fast tonight; he’s back earlier than usual. Whatever animals he set free for a romp on the deck must have been cooperative about returning to their cages. I snuggle back against him and make a little sigh of happiness.
Fingers come from behind. They move slowly around me, under my arm. My eyes open. The long fingers caress my breast.
I sit up straight and throw myself backward into her arms. “Queen!”
She turns my head to her with her hands and puts her mouth to mine, and suddenly my mouth is filled with sweet water. She carried it up here in her mouth! She saved it for me—a gift—a precious gift. I swallow it and hug her tight in thanks.
The Male is behind her. He clambers onto both of us. They hoot and whistle like crazy things, hopping all around the tent. All three of us hug and pull on one another and hop some more. Finally I press my head against The Male’s chest long enough to let him know I’m still glad to see him, even though I have to push him away. And it works; he doesn’t protest when I shove him aside.
Queen moves in immediately and examines me. I knew she would. I sit very still. Her hands go everywhere. But they finally settle on my belly. She rubs round and around, like she always did. “Oh! You knew!” It’s so clear now. “You knew from the very start, didn’t you? How? How on earth did you know?”
Queen nuzzles my ear.
“I’ve missed you, too.” I pick a tick from her ear and crush it between my nails. “I wish you spoke my language and you could tell me how everyone is. Do you ever sleep with Screamer, dear kit, or does he have to curl up alone now? I wish you’d adopt him, Queen.
“And how are the stupid aardvarks? And the shy duikers? And the sick lions? And the giraffes, yes, tell me the giraffes are still mating. Is she getting heavy with child? How long does it take for a giraffe baby to grow big enough to be born?”
Queen waits patiently while I talk, her eyes radiating intelligence. But the moment I stop, she gets up and knuckle-walks out of the tent. The Male looks at me a moment; then he falls forward off his haunches and walks out after Queen. I follow.
Queen walks the whole roof, one end to the other. Then she stands on her legs and walks the perimeter, her long-toed feet cupping the edge, her arms out to each side. It makes me kind of sick to watch. If she slipped, she’d tumble directly into the sea. Lost.
“Be careful, Queen.”
She looks over her shoulder at me, but she doesn’t stop moving. That scares me worse, of course. So I shut up. Once she’s been everywhere on the roof at least twice, she walks toward me, stops, and looks at me. It is early evening, but the days have begun to get longer, and I can see her expression clearly; she’s puzzled.
“So, Queen, you think this roof is boring? Is that it? Do you wonder why I left our cage?” I twist my mouth in apology. “I wish I spoke your language, so I could let you know. It would be boring, horribly tedious, if I didn’t have Bash.
“I left because I had to. You saw them that night—those humans. I’m so sorry I couldn’t figure out a way to explain it to you. I’m so sorry for Screamer, too. He’s just an idiot, but he must feel loss. He hasn’t been lucky with keeping mothers in his short little life.”
Queen waits till she’s sure I’ve finally stopped talking again. I sense how hard she’s working to be patient with me. It makes me smile. She puts one hand on top of her head and pulls her hair upward.
I blink. Then I do the same.
Queen hoots in glee. She squats and holds one foot in her hand and stretches it out to the side.
I do the same.
Queen tumbles over backward in ecstasy.
We play mimic till suddenly I realize we can’t anymore. We’re falling this way and that. The ark sways harder than I’ve ever felt it. The moon is bright and full, so it’s easy to see tonight. And what I see is waves. They’re growing higher by the minute. In no time at all they are white-capped, every single one. The wind blows my hair straight behind me. It picks up fast. It tears at my shift. Queen and The Male and I hold on to one another.
Our water bucket goes rolling. I run to catch it, but it’s gone, over the edge. Crack—from behind me. Our tent tumbles toward the back of the ark. I can’t stop it; it’s going slap, slam, faster and faster. And it’s gone now too.
But I lunge for the knife that is already skidding across the roof. I pin it down by the handle and lie flat on the roof. Queen and The Male lie on top of me.
“Off!” It’s Bash. “Off! Scat!”
“What are you doing?” I scream into the wind. “They need help.”
“They need to go back to their cage. They’ll be blown off here.” He runs at them, shrieking, his arms over his head. “Go! Go! Go!”
Queen and The Male race for the rope and disappear over the side. Bash races after them. He’s leaving me. No! But he’s right, of course he’s right. Why should both of us be swept away? He can go down into the middle deck. He can ride out this windstorm there.
The ark rocks hard. I splay my legs and arms out. I’m a sea star, trying to cling. The child within me is like a giant stone
that I’m lying on. I’m afraid to roll over onto my back. The wind might catch me when I’m on my side. But I can’t stay this way. I roll over. The knife flies away.
But I don’t. I’m still here. Good. I flatten my palms on the wood so that I can at least try to grip with my fingers.
Something pulls at me. The wind has a savage grip. But it’s Bash. He runs the rope across my chest, above my breasts. He pries me up enough to circle the rope behind my back and across my chest again. Then he plunges forward against the wind with the end of that rope, going all the way to the other wooden loop—on the opposite side of the roof. He ties it firm there. I am tied to the roof.
He runs back to me and is blown off his feet. He scrabbles across the roof on hands and knees and lies half on me, half beside me, face down, one giant arm reaching across my chest, pinning me down and holding on to the rope beyond me. I can’t see his other arm, but I trust it’s holding the rope in the other direction. I circle his chest with my arms.
He should have tied himself, too. He’s crazy. He should go do that now. But he could only tie himself way over there—at the other edge, where the other wooden loop is. Then he’d be far from me. And it’s too late now anyway. The ark rocks too violently. I hold him as tight as I can.
Water sprays us! Water, up here on the roof. The humans must be running crazy through the ark, shutting all the porthole hatches. Oh no! “Bash, what if the porthole was closed? Queen and The Male . . .”
“They got in. I watched, Sheba. I didn’t pull the rope up until they were inside. They’re safe.”
“You should have gone down too.”
“No, I shouldn’t have.”
The ark lists. I clutch Bash so hard, I think my fingers will go through his flesh. The spray hits us like countless bee stings.
And then a wave crashes over us. I can’t breathe. I’m drowning in salt water. I shake my head, I struggle. I can’t breathe! But it’s gone. It’s gone.
I won’t survive another.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I think of praying to Ba’al again, after all this time. But if he’s decided to destroy the last remains of life on earth, what good would my prayers do? It’s better just to lock myself inside my head, closed away from everything else. Everything except the ribs of the man who lies halfway on me.
The wind blows on and on and on. Hour after hour. Forever.
Slowly, though, the howls grow softer. The ark rocks less. The sprays cease.
And then all motion ceases. I open my eyes. It’s dawn. And the sky that has been perfectly clear, perfectly empty since the rains stopped, now actually holds clouds. Only a few, and thin ones. But clouds, nevertheless.
Bash’s head is turned away from me. But I feel the expansion and contraction of his chest within my arms. I hold his life.
“Bash?”
He lifts his head. Then he sits back on his heels and rubs his eyes. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
I smile. “We’re alive.”
“And not moving.”
“Yes! I thought we weren’t moving. Then I thought I’d lost my mind. Please, would you untie me?”
Bash disappears. He comes back holding the end of the rope. He unwinds it from around me.
I sit up.
Bash shakes his head. “There’s blood across your shift. The rope cut into your back.”
“A small price. Bash?”
“I’m listening.”
“You stayed with me.”
“Mmm.”
“You were right here.”
“How’s the belly?”
I put my hands on my belly. “I don’t know. Maybe fine.”
Bash cups his hands around his mouth and puts them to my belly. “Hellooooo, baby!” he shouts. “How’re you doing in there?”
“You’re a silly one.”
Bash stands and looks around. “Nothing but sea everywhere. We must have grounded on a mountaintop.”
“Which means land should show soon.” I get to my feet. My cheeks heat with excitement. “The waters are retreating.”
Bash nods. “It won’t be fast, though. It took a long time to flood the world. It will take a long time to dry it.”
“Where do you think we are?”
“Does it matter?” asks Bash.
“I guess not.” I survey the roof. “We have nothing now. No bucket, no tent. I couldn’t even hold on to the knife. All we have is the rope.”
“And each other.”
“Yes.”
Bash takes my hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Night 192
Don’t move! I’ve got a knife!”
I wake with such a start, my stomach twists and I barely have time to get on all fours before I vomit.
Nela stands over me, illuminated by the moon. She clutches a knife in her fist and holds it high, ready to strike. “This knife is sharp.”
I sit back on my heels. My throat stings and vomit clings to my bottom lip. “I believe you,” I manage to croak.
“Then stop moving. I mean it.”
I hold still, while my eyes take in as much of the roof as they can without me turning my head. Nela’s alone. But so am I. Bash is off on his nightly mission. Queen and The Male are in their enclosure—they haven’t come up to the roof again since the windstorm three nights ago.
“I was afraid you’d be here.” The long blade of the knife shakes a little in Nela’s hand. “Who are you?”
I shrug one shoulder.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
My mouth is so sour, my stomach threatens to pitch again. I can’t even shrug for fear of retching.
“You weren’t chosen by Noah. You’re not part of the Mighty Creator’s plan.” She closes her other fist onto the knife handle too.
I tense my legs, ready to spring aside. Come, voice, please come back. “I’m alive,” I whisper hoarsely. “So if the Mighty Creator is making all this happen, I am part of the plan.”
Her mouth goes hard and her eyes glitter in the moonlight. “That’s my shift.”
“I have nothing else to wear.”
“I saw you that night. In the bonobo cage.” Nela’s voice gets very low. “You look bigger now, but even then I could tell you were with child. Is the baby within you bonobo?”
I gape at her. I could laugh if I didn’t want to scream. No wonder she called me wicked that night. I shake my head as hard as I dare. “He’s human.”
“Where’s his father?”
“He died.”
Nela’s face softens a little. “Why were you in that cage?”
“Please don’t point the knife. You’re scaring me.”
“You’re dangerous.”
I hold out my hands. “I have no weapon. And I wouldn’t hurt you anyway. Please.”
Nela slowly lowers her arms. “Who are you?”
“I’m called . . . Sheba. Listen, my mouth tastes awful. Can I swirl some water around in it? Please?” I point at our buckets—one has seawater, one has sweet. Nela backs up. I crawl past her, slosh seawater around in my mouth, and spit it out. I sit and pivot to face her.
Nela’s eyes take in the whole roof. “You exist up here with nothing but two buckets?”
“Everything got washed away in the great windstorm.”
“Everything? So then you stole these buckets from one of the decks below?”
“You have more than enough.”
“How do you know how many buckets we have?”
I wipe my mouth off. “How did you get up here?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
“Anything you could ask me has an obvious answer. I’m on the ark because if I wasn’t, I’d be dead. I came up to the roof because you saw me and I figured you’d all throw me overboard.”
“We never threw anyone overboard.” Nela shakes her head. “We just didn’t let them get on in the first place.”
“Do you think Noah would let me stay if he knew I was here?”
Nela
stares at me. “You know his name.”
“I overheard your family talking. I know all your names.”
“You were with the bonobos the whole time?”
“Until you saw me.”
“You heard the things I said to them?” Her eyes are glassy.
“I’m sorry you were so tormented by the loss of your shift. But I had no clothes. Nothing.”
Nela doesn’t speak. Her eyes brim with held-back tears.
“How did you learn so much about animals?” I ask gently.
She tilts her head as though she’s trying to understand my question.
“I lived with the bonobos,” I say, “yet you taught me things about them. You understand animals.”
Nela’s silent a long while. Finally she says, “They fascinate me.”
“Me too.”
“They’re usually so . . . innocent. Not the bonobos—they’re clever. They can trick and deceive. The other apes, and the monkeys, too, they’re all clever. But the rest of the animals are direct. They know what they need, and they do what they can to get it.”
“Queen and The Male aren’t deceitful.”
“Who are they?”
I dare to smile. “That’s what I named them, the bonobos. They’ll tease. And they laugh. It’s so much fun when they laugh.”
A corner of Nela’s mouth goes up in a half smile. “Laugh? Like ha-ha-ha?”
“No. It’s a funny little squeak. High, like a child’s voice. But I know it’s laughter. When we play games, they laugh like maniacs.”
Nela smiles full now. “I’d like to hear that.”
“Will you tell me now, how did you get up here?”
“There’s a ladder to a hatch door, for the helmsman. It’s right by where I sleep.”
Beads of sweat form on my forehead despite the cold night. That helmsman is like Noah’s extra eyes. Ada said Mother Emzara obeys Noah’s rules when he’s around. “So that Puzur Amurri, he’s going to come up?”
“No. He was supposed to. Once land showed, he was supposed to come up to the roof so he could look around in all directions and situate us and steer us back toward home. But now that we’re grounded, no one can steer anywhere.”
Storm Page 18
