In the Shadow of the Ark

by Anne Provoost

  “What if the water rises and the blond men come here, how will we stop them if they beat on the sides of the ship till the wood cracks?”

  I did not say anything. I was certain they did not exist, but whenever people talked about them, their descriptions were so precise that I wondered. In the marshes, I had indeed seen tall, blond men coming past, but they always wore cloaks and I had never had a chance to examine their vertebrae.

  “Now I understand why my father and my brothers always warned me about the Nefilim,” Ham went on. “It was an excuse for keeping everyone in the dark, including the workers in the shipyard.” He looked over his shoulder at the red tent. There was contempt in his look, and distaste.

  From where we sat, I saw Put wandering about. He was still drunk. I knew he was looking for me, but I did not call him; his confusion would be more than I could bear. We also saw Japheth running past, and Shem, looking dejected. Ham leaned his full weight on me. Our arms around each other, we walked to the red tent. Every now and then he rested his head against mine in exhaustion and pain. No one paid us any attention.

  23

  The Builder Speaks

  Shem and Japheth stood in front of their father’s part of the tent. Their silence had all the appearance of a conspiracy; it was clear no discussions were necessary because they had already been held, in a secluded place, at a time no one knew of. Glances and nods were sufficient. Ham looked at them inquiringly, but they seemed not to notice him, not even when, with difficulty, he went to stand with them near his father’s quarters.

  “He must tell them the purpose of the ship,” Ham said. “It is high time!”

  Shem and Japheth clacked their tongues at him, almost simultaneously, the sort of sound with which you calm down an overexcited child. Side by side they entered their father’s apartment. Ham wanted to go with them, but because of his foot, he was too slow. The flap was pulled shut in his face, and when he went to push it open again, a hand repulsed him. Exhausted, he sat down and leaned back.

  We could not understand what was said. All we could hear was mumbling. What bothered us most were the flies that had come inside with the thundery weather and were impossible to shoo away from the food. I shuffled back and forth to try to keep them off me. Put sat in his corner, his legs pulled up and his arms spread out. He was sitting not far from the servant with the bread; all he had to do was stretch out his hand. Because nobody had turned up, the servants had finished eating all the food, because according to them it would have soured and attracted vermin. But a few women had baked a second time, and that bread was better than the first lot. It was a long wait. Ham folded his hand around his foot as if to warm it. The light softened and rounded his features. The way he sat there, he seemed not much older than Put.

  The tent flap moved before we had realized that silence had returned. Shem emerged from his father’s apartment, his hand raised, Japheth immediately behind him. They gave Ham a brief look, but even after he had stood up did not address him. Shem kept holding his hand up. One of the servants understood his need for something sweet and offered him a small dish of honey with a piece of bread in it.

  “He will speak,” Shem said after he had dunked the bread. “But not now. The statement is not one for those who are hungry.”

  Ham looked around him despairingly and sat down again. He did not resemble the boy I knew; his silence turned him into a stranger. I went to my mother’s stretcher and tied down her cover. I exaggerated my normal gestures, but Put did not seem to understand that I was getting ready to leave. Like me, he was dizzy and confused. The ball of bread in his mouth grew bigger and bigger. He kept pushing chunks between his jaws, but could not make himself swallow.

  Put and I did not dare keep the soup on the boil or rake up the fire, talk to each other or whisper, for fear of not hearing the ram’s horn. All the usual things, stacking the mats, rolling out the dough, or drawing water, we did in the most soundless way possible. We avoided the house. It seemed suddenly so small, so suffocating. It had no window through which you could see if the quarry was still the way it had been. We looked at each other, of course, that was unavoidable, but our faces were as if turned to stone and betrayed nothing. I saw Put staring, looking up occasionally at the birds and the clouds.

  When the ram’s horn sounded, we stopped what we were doing to persuade ourselves that it was indeed a ram’s horn, that distant sound that was drowned out by our agitated breathing. We dragged the pots off the fire, put the lids on, and covered them with hay. We went to my mother’s stretcher to lift her up, but my father raised his hand. “She is not coming,” he said. “This is not good for her. There are too many people.” I saw her blinking urgently. My father, however, took no notice. He nudged me and literally pushed me out of our yard.

  We went and stood near the base of the ship. There was not much room. People streamed in and crowded together till their cloaks touched; the spots where the workmen had fallen were the only spaces that remained empty.

  A silence fell when the Builder appeared. At every step he took, the crowd separated, creating the space he needed to reach the small dais that had been set up for the occasion. It was a solid structure, raised at short notice by the scaffolders. Shem and Japheth walked on each side of their father. I knew from Ham that the old man always had some sand in his pockets, as if he wanted to make himself heavier and keep his feet on the ground. In reality, he wanted to know its moisture content; every new handful was a harbinger of change, and he may have felt the need to have a handful of earth on him, that very thing he believed he would soon be losing. His sons lifted him up and put him on the dais. He carefully held on to its railing, and it took some time for his sons to let go of him. The care with which they treated him spoke of their desire to continue with this enterprise. For what if this man were to die before his plan had been realized? In what kind of world would they wake up then?

  The Builder, finding his balance, stood with his legs apart and looked at the people surrounding him. His skin was spotty, and from a distance, this created the impression that his effort was making him sweat blood and water. His voice was calm and did not shake, even when he exerted himself to reach his more distant listeners.

  “The Unnameable has addressed me at moments when I was not prepared for it,” he began. “I did not need to listen to Him in order to hear Him. He spoke to me despite my inattention. He instructed me to build a ship for the righteous. The ship is His hope for the future. It makes it possible to start anew, in a new place. You have worked with us on this structure. So have Gentan and his men. That they will not be able to see the result of their exertions saddens us. But they will also be spared much. They will not experience the calamity that awaits us. They will not have to see how the Unnameable destroys the world.”

  “What is it?” cried the multitude. “What is the calamity that awaits us?”

  “A flood,” said the Builder. He was standing under a sky that was as colorless as his hair. “God will allow the world to be flooded.”

  First there was a whispering. The whispering grew louder, swelled out to mutterings and shouts. It ended in cheering. “Long live the Builder! Long live the savior of life on Earth! Long live the bringer of a grand plan! Long live the fighter for righteousness!”

  The Builder looked down on the cheering crowd in amazement. Put and I stared at each other in disbelief. My father threw up his arms. “Have you all gone mad? Do you really think they have thought of you?” But his voice was lost in the clamor. He put his hands to his mouth like a horn, but had second thoughts. He looked around worriedly. The applause was too loud, it reached too far. He turned and made his way through the crowd. He disappeared as he went to the quarry to my mother with a smile, to do what I blamed Ham and his brothers for doing: to tell a meaningless story, to keep silent about a great part of the truth in order to allay fear.

  24

  I Change Back into a Girl

  Amongst the cheering and the resulting commotion, I
became aware of a presence by my side that felt familiar. It was Neelata, her hood pulled down over her eyes. She grasped my arm and dragged me after her, weaving through the crowd. I stepped on people’s feet and kicked their legs, shouting apologies nobody heard.

  “These people are wrong. They think the ship belongs to them. Because they’ve built it, they think it’s theirs,” she said, hurrying along. I am not sure that I understood everything she said. I was trying to arrange my shell-encrusted tunic, which had stretched tight over my chest from all the pulling and twisting, and I had lost my necklace. She walked fast. At first I thought it was the mob that inspired her fear. But she kept up the pace even when we came to quieter spots. She went in the direction of the sheds where sacks and baskets were stored.

  It was quiet amongst the provisions; even the guards were out in the shipyard to hear the Builder’s words. Two of her lady’s maids were waiting for us. They were holding up a magnificent blue dress that I recognized right away; I had seen Neelata wearing it the day her uncle had brought her here. It had those long, wide sleeves that fall over your hands.

  “Ham is making me his wife,” she said. “I tell you in all honesty that my heart is not his. But can I send him away and give up my life? Many will be left behind. The Builder only takes his own.”

  “What’s the matter with this god of yours that he always has to be so thorough?” I snapped. My anger was not just caused by what she said, but also by having been dragged along in that hysterical and unexpected way. I was breathless from running.

  “The Unnameable has created a form of life that is not perfect,” she replied. She was tugging at the ties of my tunic. What next?! I pushed her away, but she persisted. She seemed so determined that I gave in.

  I automatically tugged at my tunic too and asked, “Wouldn’t it have been better if he hadn’t?”

  “Human beings are close to perfect, but only close. The Unnameable created us in His image and likeness. We are no more than an imitation of perfection. To make us perfect, He would have had to rob us of our free spirit. Only then would we be obedient. But a human being without a free spirit is insignificant. And so He took the risk of giving us free will. It is that will that is going to destroy many of us.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when Ham entered the shed. He too had been rushing and his forehead was covered with sweat. Leaning on a stick, he walked straight up to me. The bandage around his foot had become undone and was dragging along the ground.

  “The man on that dais, the Builder, my father,” he said hoarsely, “he cannot bring himself to tell people the whole truth.” He handed his stick to a maid and pushed the shoulder straps of my tunic down. He knew better than Neelata how the breast cover worked, he had undone it often enough. The maids did not seem surprised when my breasts appeared. Curiously, they picked the clinking garment up and put it aside deferentially.

  “God has a plan, but so have I,” said Ham. “I’ll abduct you from your father’s house. I’ll make you my servant. My father can have no objections to that.”

  It was Neelata who put the blue dress on me and fixed a headband over the black design on my forehead. She produced a brush and tried to fluff up my thinned-out hair with twisting movements.

  I must have looked like a woman ignorant of how to be elegant. It was awful being brought amongst people that way, with my hair shapeless and without makeup. In my confusion, I wished they would at least put some kohl on my eyes. Nor could I easily abandon my masculine walk. The dress was, of course, far too long. I had to hold it up so as not to trip on the hem.

  They took me to the red tent, where many were also heading. It was exceptionally busy around it, and people stumbling into the guy ropes made the whole tent shake. Put was there, I noticed him right away. As always, he stood close to the adults, taking in every word. I took hold of him with a gesture I had forgotten: I scooped him up by his bottom and put him on my hip. I needed both my arms to keep him in place, he had grown a lot lately. At first he was frightened, but when he recognized me, he threw his arms around my neck.

  “Go inside,” said Ham when I stood in front of the Builder’s private quarters.

  I felt Put go rigid in my arms. Never before had we entered this place, and now too it did not seem proper. But Ham’s fingers poked into my back.

  “Give me the child,” I heard Neelata whisper when I tried to open the curtain. She put her hand on Put’s shoulder. I had seen Put with her before. When she was not carrying the water jugs, she was looking after the animals. She was so friendly with them, we often heard her in the morning asking the goats, “Who is coming to the pond with me today?” Put let her put her arms around him, tolerating her face so close to his own. She took him from me, and he threw his arms around her the way he had done with me.

  I pulled at the curtain. The thing would not open immediately; I tugged at it, but before we could move inside, the dwarf appeared in front of us. Fortunately, he was small, and his child’s body could not stop us. Neelata followed us with Put, and that did not leave room for anyone else; we nearly filled the whole space.

  The apartment was faintly lit and the objects in it were probably as old as the man who used them. I saw it immediately: The Builder still lived in the same tent he had lived in during all those years when he had wandered in the hills; the red tent had been built around it specially. The reed mats, the low stools, the small chests seemed to be about to disintegrate into dust. That was why so little light was allowed in: Light would destroy the space, the walls that made up the tent would fall apart into threads. In the center, next to a low stool, stood the Builder. He had only just gotten back, a servant was helping him out of his mantle. Under it, he wore a thin robe that had been repaired with fine stitches in several places.

  “You have informed the people, but you have not told everything,” said Ham.

  “I was not given time,” the Builder said. He whispered. He was afraid his words would be overheard outside, where the warriors were, and perhaps the Nefilim.

  Ham made no allowance for his father’s fears. He spoke stridently, rapidly — anyone who stood near the tent could listen in. “We are not numerous enough, Father. More people need to come. I have figured it, it will take us generations to repopulate the earth.”

  I did not dare look around, but there were a few things I could not help seeing. To one side stood a reed cage with a messy dove. Little bells hung from the top of the cage, and in its food bowl lay grain mixed with droppings. The creature must have had a fight with a rat or a hawk; feathers lay underneath it, and its flesh was visible on its back and rear. I had seen the Builder’s quarters before, through chinks in the tent wall, but had never suspected the presence of a dove here.

  Ham pushed Neelata, carrying Put, in front of his father. “You know I am taking her for my wife.”

  “I know it,” said the Builder.

  Then Ham grasped me by the shoulder. I was frightened, because I had not expected his movement. “I want to take a second wife, a servant who will aid us. This is the girl of my choice. This way, the earth will become more quickly populated.”

  The Builder sat down, leaning so far back that he touched the cage. The dove flapped its wings, shuffled into a corner, and lifted its feathers. I did not move; no muscle in my body seemed capable of it. The Builder said: “In the Unnameable’s mind, everything has its hour. On the ark, we shall abstain. Impregnating our women we will do in the new world. You know what I have said: We have the promise of a land, a fertile land, no longer the dust and the barren territory we know. What has been promised to us is not a rocky hill, not even a chain of hills, but something resembling the paradise we have lost. No longer will we wander. We will stay in one spot and plant seeds. Only then will we populate the earth. Now is not the time for us to be concerned about that. What man will build a house if he does not have the motive of the bed? And if he does not have the motive of the bed, then how will there be children?”

  Ham coughed. At
every breath, his chest wheezed. “What if one of our women falls ill? Or dies? A camel’s gestation time is one year. A camel drops a foal once in three years. It can have five or eight in its lifetime. So how long does it take before you have a herd? We know how much can go wrong with cattle. The animals get foot rot, the cramps, bloat, bleeding. Who will advise us about the rodents, the beasts of prey, the reptiles? What do we know about their nature, their bad habits? I have seen a guinea pig eat its young. How will the guinea pig spread over the new world if we do not understand why it does this? One species will die out, what if another species then overwhelms us and occupies the paradise? What if every fruit we grow is picked by them, every stalk of wheat chewed up by them before it is dry? ‘…

  Of every clean beast by sevens,’ that is clever, but how many men will be needed to tend them and to prevent them from grazing the fields bare? And if the men tend them, who will plow the earth, who will put up fences, and who will explore new places? We must take women and children. How can our god say that the existence of our kind is safe if there is not a child on board, and we do not even have permission to procreate?”

  The Builder shook his head. “I cannot allow any exceptions. The Unnameable has said that I may take mine: my wife, my sons, each with his wife. Nothing has been said to me about a concubine.”

  I could barely breathe. My hands clasped the collar of the blue dress as if that would protect me from falling. I now had proof that Ham wanted to save me. For the first time I understood his obsession with the procreation of the animals and peoples. He saw the gaps in the plan of the Unnameable, he saw that He could count but not calculate. He knew how things happened with sheep. If the herd was too small and the ram mated with his mother, monsters would result.

  25

  The Farewell

  I went with Ham into his quarters and carefully closed the curtain. I asked him to sit down in his usual spot and close his eyes. He was shaking with dismay. I rubbed with the middle fingers of both hands from the base of his nose to his hairline. I moved my fingers along the ridge of his nose, along his eyebrows to his temples. I made quick movements on his upper lip up to his nose. I laid my hands on his face, I laid them on his chin for a few moments, then equally briefly against his cheeks and over his ears. I made these movements several times in sequence, faster each time, until he became calm. I cut his fingernails so they were serrated. When I had finished, I took his hands and scraped the skin of my neck with them. Each finger left many traces.