“Yes, the world was wicked. Violent. The Mighty Creator needed to stamp out the violence. But not everyone was totally beyond redemption. How could they be? How could this be happening? How could you turn your back on all those people?
“And the children. Can you see them in your head, you brainless no one? You who have a babe in your arms. An innocent babe. There were so many innocent babes. Let me know you can imagine those innocent babes.”
I rap my knuckles.
“You stand at the window and close the shutters against the sight of so many babes. And in your heart, you cry. You, who are supposed to be good; you shut out those babes. You, who are supposed to be unwavering in your faith; you cry.”
Tears fall fast. They form a puddle under my face.
“Men try to climb the ropes. You secured the ark in place, so it wouldn’t fall to one side—secured it with many strong ropes. Men and boys climb them. You watch many fall midway. You watch others reach the portholes, the portholes you had shut tight. They bang a fist. They shout. Their shouts linger in your head long after the men, the boys, fall.
“And then they are gone. All the crowds are gone. It rains so hard, the ark finally floats. Your sons have to swim out and dive deep and cut the ends of the ropes. You won’t risk cutting the ropes from the top and leaving them behind—ropes are far too valuable. And your sons are strong swimmers. You stand firm against the pleas of your daughters-in-law, of your wife. You tell yourself you aren’t really risking your sons’ lives. You tell yourself not to worry, the Mighty Creator is watching over you. You tell yourself you cannot see the terror in your wife’s eyes as her sons go underwater, the terror that stays until all are safely on board again. You tell yourself it’s her terror, not yours, reflected in her eyes.
“Are you imagining this?”
I rap my knuckles long and hard, until they bleed.
“Days and nights pass. Rain. Interminable rain. But everyone on the ark knows this part of the tale. Your skin is always damp. Your hair, always matted. The walls and floors grow soft. The air grows musty. Your sons and daughters-in-law look at each other with longing. Longing between spouses, that’s sad enough. But it goes on too long. It twists, it perverts. They look at one another’s spouses with lust. No one should think for a moment that you don’t see it. You see! Your curse is to see everything!
“Then the rains finally stop, but there you are, trapped in an infinite sea. The fear that sight strikes in your heart must never be told to anyone. Not even to your wife. You avoid looking at her, touching her.
“But everyone looks at you, to you. They want answers. Answers, when the Mighty Creator didn’t tell you anything past the rain. You make up things as you go. On faith. And instinct. You speak with confidence you don’t have. You are the font of wisdom no one really has. You fight a sense of loss. Every night you pace, willing yourself to be a rock. Their rock. Your life and theirs are reduced to nothing but feeding and watering animals, shoveling away their waste, back-wrenching work, incessant. But you must be their rock. You strive.
“And you succeed. The end is in sight. In fifteen days, you will leave the ark. Those creatures you brought on board will be set free, in a new land, cleansed of sinners, cleansed of evil, cleansed of violence. Dwell on that last word: violence. You will not succumb to violence. You have done so much at the behest of the Mighty Creator in order to extinguish violence. You will not be made to succumb to it now.” Her voice breaks. I hear her deep, wet breaths.
“When you leave this ark, the same creatures you brought on board will walk off. The same humans. You will do no evil. You will go down in history for all times as the honorable servant of the Mighty Creator. You have earned that. You deserve it. You have paid dearly. Your family has paid dearly. No one will steal that from you.” Mother Emzara stops speaking.
I wait. I wait so long, I wonder if she has left.
“Do not misunderstand, you who doesn’t exist. My husband’s name will not be sullied. His hands will not be sullied. He is a hero.
“Be gone. No one will hinder you. Go. Let whatever pity you have in your heart lead you. But if you have none, know this: I can be as pitiless as you. You will not be here when we leave this ark. He will never have to look upon you. Never.”
The shutter slams.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Day 356
Bash flays fish. When he came up the rope last night and I told him of Mother Emzara’s message, he went right back down that rope. He returned at dawn with three large fish. The skin of one is already lying clean in the sun. He’s working on the second.
Pishon chooses now for his first truly irritable day. So my time goes more to him than to preparations. But still, I manage to do some things.
The bone tools are essential. I’ve been making fish-skin ropes all along these many months by tying together strips of skin. They aren’t strong enough to bear much weight, but they can hold bundles together; that’s what we need. Today, whenever Pishon takes a nap, no matter how short, I work. Now I tie the tools securely into two bundles and set them at the edge of the roof.
When Bash decides it’s safe, or as safe as it can be, he straps them to his back. We have decided not to wait for night. There’s a lot to do and we are anxious. I believe Mother Emzara; pity is in short supply.
Bash watches carefully before he descends the rope. We know the patterns of the people on this ark. Usually Noah’s sons and their wives walk the same path to the water and back, a path that has been getting longer every day, as the waters recede away down the mountain. But now and then someone goes off in the other direction—maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of a need for privacy. So he has to be alert.
We don’t speak of what we both already know. We work in silence. The only words we say are, “I love you,” before his head disappears over the side of the ark.
This morning he went searching and found a hiding place far enough from the ark that he thinks no one else will stumble across it. He goes now to stash the tools there. I know he will be gone a long time. Still, I scream inside my head to block out thoughts that terrify me.
When he returns, we finish cutting up the fish skins into sections. We set a plant with its roots encased in dung in the middle of each skin and tie it carefully, so the leaves protrude from the top. I pack the plants into buckets. Bash takes only one bucket at a time, to make sure he doesn’t spill. It takes three trips just to get the plants off to our hiding place.
That’s it. That’s everything we have, except for the sled made of whale rib and whale skin. It’s evening now. We are fairly sure that Noah’s family is having their communal meal. It’s as good a time as any. I put on my shift.
Bash carries down the sled. Then he climbs back up and carries me down, with Pishon wrapped to my chest. The boy cries. Even my finger in his mouth doesn’t soothe him. I huddle against Bash’s chest so that together our bodies form a tent around him. Maybe that’s enough to muffle the noise. A baby’s cries always seem loudest to the parents. That’s what Mamma used to say. Please let them not hear.
We reach the ground and Bash picks up the sled and hoists it over his shoulder. The ground here is too rough to use it.
“What about the rope?” I say.
“It can’t be helped.”
And so we leave that rope hanging from the roof of the ark. I hate that. But at least we still have one rope.
We move quickly across rubble, down a ways, then along a mountain crest that goes far in this direction, far, far before finally descending steeply. We skirt around boulders, careful not to slip on pebbles. The rocks cool with the evening. They are bare close to the ark—which is no surprise to me. I felt them underfoot the night I went to dance with Nela. But once the ground descends more sharply, it’s covered with a thin layer of dirt. Absolutely dry dirt. I scoop up a handful and run it through my fingers, and I can see that it’s the disintegrated remains of seaweed and sea creatures stranded by the receding waters and baked in the sun o
ver these months. They don’t even give off an odor. As we go lower, though, the dirt is quickly replaced with sludge and slime.
A breeze brushes my cheek and a chill runs the length of my spine; it’s autumn! My plants will die soon. We’ll be cold soon. Bash won’t be able to go naked. I look down at Pishon’s little face. He’s finally sleeping peacefully. Bash’s loincloth won’t be enough to keep this baby warm much longer.
But there’s always fish, with their wonderful flesh and skin. And if we’re lucky, whale skin. We’re resourceful. We can do this. I clench my fists.
I look ahead. Bash has disappeared! He was right in front of me a moment ago, one second ago. “Bash!” I shout.
“Have faith,” comes his call.
That’s what I said to him when I begged Queen to help save Bash from the tigers. I smile and walk ahead slowly. There’s a short precipitous stretch. I need to use my hands. It’s so steep, I go on my knees now. But then I’m there, looking into the mouth of a shallow mountain cave.
Bash kisses me. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“What? Did you think I’d let us leave without Screamer?”
I’ve thought about Screamer, of course. But I’ve already made up my mind. “Screamer will join the others of his kind. You said they were on the bottom deck.”
“He’s extra, Sheba. If they let the animals out in pairs, they’ll see he’s extra.”
The silent question: Who knows what they’ll do? “He can take care of himself,” I say.
“Not against Noah and his family, he can’t.”
“Then I’m going back for him, not you. You’ll stay here with Pishon.”
“Don’t be crazy.”
“You can’t carry Screamer by the scruff of the neck all this way. He’s bound to rebel at some point, and then he’ll race off alone. But he’ll come willingly with me.”
“If he races off alone, so be it. He can take care of himself now—you just said that.”
“But if he runs off, it will have been pointless for you to have taken the risk. So, stop. Just stop. I want to get him, Bash!”
“No, Sheba. Either I go or we simply leave him.”
I raise my chin defiantly, but it is hard to raise your chin to a giant. “Go then!”
Bash lopes off.
Instantly I want to call him back. Screamer will indeed take care of himself. He’ll sneak off the ark. He’ll run so fast, no one can catch him. He’ll be fine.
But Bash is gone.
It’s all right. He’ll be all right. It’s night now. The men will stay inside the ark. Nela can’t go dance on the shore, because the shore, even on that side of the mountain, is too far for her to stray. But if by chance she did, and if by chance she happened to see Bash as she was going there or returning, she wouldn’t do anything. She’s proven herself; she hasn’t given us away thus far, so she won’t ever. And Ada and Leba might or might not be friends, but they are not enemies. Even if they see Bash from an open window or porthole, they won’t betray us. Bash saved Leba’s life.
I pad around, learning the extent of the space. This cave is full of muck. It must have been underwater only yesterday, the sea is receding so quickly now. But the muck is all right. It will be more comfortable to stretch out on than pointy rocks. I wiggle and press and finally lie on my side and rub my babe’s head with the palm of my hand. I can’t see him in this dark. No moonlight enters. No starlight. But I can feel his wondrous self. I can listen to his quiet breath and smell that milky warmth. He emanates gentle heat.
But no, that’s not good. He needs to keep his body heat.
I unwind him from my chest, then slide him inside my shift and hug my arms around him. He makes a few little squeaks, then settles comfortably against my breasts.
Bash has been gone a long time.
But time always seems to go more slowly in the dark.
Pishon finally wakes and eats. I play with his hands and feet in the dark. But he falls asleep.
The night is passing.
Bash.
Screamer is a good cat.
But Bash.
I taste blood. I’ve chewed a hole inside my cheek. I will myself to fall asleep. I’ll need my rest. I’ll need to be alert tomorrow to deal with whatever the day brings. I must sleep.
And I am groggy. I’m exhausted. Worry does that.
Something touches my foot. I recoil quickly. It smushes into my crotch. Screamer! I put my hand over his head and he presses into it. The idiot cat. I’m so glad.
Bash lies behind me, and his arms curl around us all.
“What took you so long?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Tell!”
“You have stubborn friends.”
I have no friends. Except . . . oh! “Queen and The Male!”
“Mmmm.”
“They wanted to come.”
“Wanted? They insisted, Sheba.”
I see Queen’s beautiful, intelligent face in my head. I wish we could explain to them. “Tell me everything.”
“You really want to know?”
“I need to know. Every detail.”
“I had to climb up the rope to the roof, throw it down the other side, climb down into their cage, and grab that pesky cat, who for once in his life was actually asleep when I reached for him. I thought life was grand. Lucky me. It was all working out. I went out the porthole with Screamer hanging from my teeth, down to the ground. Queen and The Male went right up the rope, even as I was climbing down it. When they saw you weren’t on the roof, they quickly came down to the ground. They wouldn’t leave me. So I had to drop Screamer and climb back up the rope into their cage.”
“You dropped Screamer?”
“What choice did I have? Queen and The Male followed me, thank heavens. But when I went out, they followed me down to the ground again. So I had to go into their cage a third time. And they followed. Then when I went out, I shut their porthole hatch. But when I got to the ground, I couldn’t find Screamer. I ran around looking for him. I finally gave up and headed here, when I realized he was following me at a distance. But when we were almost here, he raced ahead of me. He must have smelled you. And that’s it. The whole story.”
I give a little laugh. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
I twist my neck and kiss him on the throat. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You didn’t ask me to get him.”
“I didn’t have to. You knew what I wanted. Thank you.” I’m crying now. “And thank you for making sure Queen and The Male were safely inside.” The words come out between sobs.
“You’re welcome.”
He smoothes my hair. “And Sheba?”
“What?”
“I hope you don’t make more friends. Not till we’re settled someplace.” His voice is hoarse. I touch his cheek. It’s wet. We kiss.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Days 357–370
We wake late. Bash goes off fishing and comes back a few hours later. We make sweet water and eat fish.
“All right, time to load up the sled.”
“What?” I look around the cave. “Can’t we stay here?”
“The water’s going down fast. We have to follow it. We have to stay close to the water.”
The wisdom of that can’t be argued with. We load everything we have into the sled.
“I figure we’ll hug the shoreline south,” says Bash. “From the stars, it’s clear we’re north of where we were when I got on the ark. I think winter will be harsher here. So south seems best. Agreed?”
“Yes.”
We haven’t even reached the shore, when we hear their whistles. Queen and The Male come fast on all fours. When we turn to face them, they hesitate, then waltz forward, eyeing Bash warily.
Bash and I exchange a look. But there’s no choice really, no decisions to make. So we simply keep moving, and Queen and The Male move with us. If Noah�
��s sons are looking for them, well, we’ll deal with that if they show up. But it isn’t in their interest to look for them. Noah can’t possibly know all the animals that were on the ship. So long as they exit in pairs, so long as there are no dead bodies, he’ll be satisfied. That’s in his interest. That’s in everyone’s interest.
And the Mighty Creator can’t find fault. After all, his chosen pair of bonobos survived the flood.
We walk all day, stopping only to fish and eat. We pass piles of debris. Twisted trees, bones. We can’t find a cave for the night, so we make a nest of dried, stranded seaweed for tinder and spin a stick of driftwood against a larger block of driftwood till sparks fly. We have a fire! Smoky, but hot. And, oh, for the first time in over a year, we eat food that is cooked. I had forgotten the taste of cooked food, the marvel of it. We sleep in a heap, all six of us.
This becomes our pattern. By the third day we make it all the way down the mountain. Swampland extends to the foot of the next one, and on both sides of the swamp is the sea. The land has to dry out more before we can continue south, around the base of that next mountain and onward. We set up camp.
All at once Queen and The Male go wild with hoots. They race away from us, moving so fast across the swamp, it’s dizzying. Now they’re climbing that next mountain. Scampering up it faster than goats. And then I see it: a lone olive tree high on the mountain. Incredibly, it is covered with leaves! The dove’s tree. Queen and The Male reach it and climb and swing in its branches. They settle there. My heart is suspended. I realize they belong in trees; this would be a good home for them.
We eat in silence.
But when we curl up to sleep, Queen and The Male are back with us.
Thank you. There have to be more trees ahead. We’ll find a land with lots of trees. Or we’ll make one.
By the end of the fourth day, the swamp has been reduced to mud. We slog through it and walk around that mountain, which we think of now as Olive Mountain, and continue south, moving more and more west, as the water recedes. A third mountain looms to the southwest. Its base is a good next goal. Everything is changing fast. We camp each night on beach, only to wake with the water far off.
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