Storm

by Donna Jo Napoli

  I used to think it might be exciting to travel, and I’d love to visit a city that was known for being fragrant. But robbers abound on the roads travelers take—or they did. A woman doesn’t travel, not unless a man has come to take her as a wife and is bringing her back to his home country. Or unless she’s a slave, bought or stolen. No sane woman wants to travel. I was crazy to think that way, so I never told anyone. I wouldn’t risk being shunned. I never told anyone even half the things I thought.

  Not until I was with Aban. I told Aban anything that came into my head. We talked about traveling along the river south, to the land of his ancestors. We both knew it meant nothing, though. The river didn’t exist anymore—it had merged with the sea. Still, it was good to talk. He felt the same way about fishing that I felt about planting. Sometimes he’d just marvel at the colors of some fish that came up in his net, even when it was a kind of fish he caught every day. And I knew what he meant. I love the first pea flowers of the spring.

  I miss talking. I do talk, to Queen and Screamer. But they never talk back.

  Hearing the brothers and their father and mother is a treat, even when they scare me. And the talking woman, she’s interesting.

  Something emerges from the debris down there. A spray of water. Then a huge bulk—long and rounded at one end. The other end is below the water’s surface. And now I see there are two bulky creatures. One is much larger than the other. My breathing speeds up. Whales. It’s hard to tell color in the evening like this, but I think they are brownish gray. Lighter streaks run the length of the larger one. When I was small, I heard about whales from visitors.

  I watch as the big one presses against the littler one. The big one nudges and makes lots of clicking noises. It goes under, and I see that wonderful splitting tail—so I was right! But it comes back up fast and nudges the little one.

  The little one is silent. It moves oddly, as though struggling against something.

  Another spray of water, and a third whale appears. A big one. And a fourth comes, a fifth, more and more. The big ones push against the debris. They dive and surface and make those clicking noises and seem to be trying to clear away the debris from around the little one, who is far bigger than me, but somehow I know it’s really young.

  It’s a baby.

  And the first adult whale is its mother.

  Queen and The Male come to the side hole and press against me, but they don’t knock me aside. We watch together. The clicks are loud and frequent and maybe, maybe I sense fear in them.

  “The baby’s in trouble,” I say to Queen.

  She stares down at the whales. Then she lopes back to the poles and climbs them and bashes her head at the top and slides down and comes loping back, and for an instant she’s on our shoulders, then she goes straight out the side hole, hand over hand down the rope.

  I don’t know if whales can be dangerous. But they are gigantic, and Queen is small. Besides, the end of the rope isn’t close to the baby whale. Queen won’t be able to tell much. She can’t satisfy her curiosity, if that’s what this is all about.

  The Male makes little moans of worry.

  He’s right. Anything could happen. “Call her back,” I say.

  But he doesn’t pause in his moans, and his eyes stay fixed on Queen.

  Queen is at the bottom of the rope now. She looks out over the debris, then looks back up at us.

  The whale clicks come fast and insistent.

  Queen leaps from the rope. My heart skips a beat. I stifle a shriek. But she lands on the closest floating uprooted tree, and it doesn’t even seem to dip from her weight. She looks toward the whales again. I can see her body coiling. She leaps again, onto another tree. She can go from tree to tree to the baby whale, I can see that now. But what if the ark moves too far from the chain of trees for her to leap back? I have no idea whether she can swim. She looks up at us again.

  “Come back,” I call. What does she think she can do, after all?

  She leaps again and again. She’s beside the baby whale now, squatting on what looks to be a turned-over boat. A fishing boat. She whoops and screams.

  Only one adult whale is near the baby now—the mother. She gives no sign of noticing Queen.

  Queen yanks on something, pulling hard with her whole body. It’s a net. The baby is caught somehow in a fishing net!

  It will die if it stays there.

  We need a knife. I can do anything with a knife. Aban and I often thought of what a pity it was I didn’t grab mine before running off to find my brothers.

  What else could cut a rope net?

  But there is nothing else. I have examined every part of this cage. Nothing is sharp.

  Maybe it’s just a matter of untangling it, though.

  What am I thinking? It’s Queen down there, not me. She’s brave. I’m a rabbit.

  “Come back!” I call.

  Queen pulls on the fishing net. She looks tiny and pitiful down there.

  I clasp my hands around the rope as tight as I can. I climbed up it. Surely I can climb down. I lower myself out the side hole.

  The Male screams.

  I hold on with hands and arms and legs. But it’s hard. Ice crystals coat the rope. Already they cut into my hands and scrape my body.

  I let loose a hand and lower myself again. My remaining hand gives. I slip downward fast. I can’t stop myself. I’m clutching as hard as I can, but I can’t stop.

  Until I do. Midway down to the water. I hold on as hard as I can. Even if I got to the bottom, even if I got to the baby whale and untangled him, I’d never be able to climb up this rope again.

  I try to climb upward. I can’t bring myself to let a hand loose to reach upward. I can’t do anything but cling here and pray. Please, please, don’t let me slip again.

  The Male screams from above. He doesn’t stop.

  And now I feel the push on my bottom. Queen shoves hard. I dare to reach a hand up. We move slowly, painfully, up the rope.

  The Male pulls me in through the side hole.

  Queen climbs in.

  I stand at the side hole, shivering as I look out. I can’t believe how cold I am. What made me think I could go out into the icy night completely naked? Queen and The Male hug me from both sides. I can’t hug them back. I need both my arms around my own torso. I’m shivering so hard, it takes effort not to fall.

  We watch the baby whale struggle. We listen to the mother whale’s clicks. We stay like that, the three of us pressed against one another, until there are no more struggles and the clicks stop.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Day 37

  Queen and I are straightening up our cage. I hum as we do it. Queen makes little whistles. It feels good, like when Mamma and I used to sing as we worked together. There isn’t really much to do, just comb through the straw, fluff it up a bit. It’s one of our games—not as much fun as mimicking, but it fills the time.

  Except the game has gotten weird for the last few days, because Queen collects all the dried feces. I watch now as she searches through the pile in front of her. She crushes some in her hands and selects certain parts and eats them. Seeds. All right, that I can understand, sort of. But she eats other things too. Randomly, it seems.

  She’s done this ever since the baby whale died.

  And she grooms all of us now, everyone in this cage. Many times a day. The Male protests, especially when she grooms the duikers. He shows his teeth and gets a look I recognize; if they were in the wild, he’d eat the duikers. I’m sure of it. It’s Queen who stops him. She must have decided that existence in this cage wouldn’t be tolerable if The Male was allowed to kill anything he wanted. Maybe she’d like to eat the duikers too. But instead she grooms them. She keeps us civil.

  She comes up behind me now, and I stay perfectly still. I know what’s about to happen and I know it’s important to her. Her whiskers brush stiff against my back. Her figgy breath coats my neck. Slowly, searchingly, somehow poignantly, her hands snake around me from behind and
rub my belly. She’s so sad. The Male is sad too, but Queen is sadder than him.

  I understand her. Or I think I do. It’s as though we had some kind of stake in that baby whale’s survival, as though in some crazy way we even loved him. Queen’s eyes look hollow, and often her face is tear-streaked. My own eyes feel sunken. My cheeks are often wet. We are united in this.

  Yet there is something basically optimistic about Queen. Imprisonment couldn’t squelch that. I have to believe that seeing a baby die can’t keep her down for long. I rely on her bright eyes, her constant fascination with everything. If she stays sad, I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it.

  Queen finishes rubbing me, and her hands fall limp to the ground. She goes over to The Male and nuzzles him. They curl around each other and sleep. This is what she does after the belly-rub ritual, as I’ve come to think of it. It’s as though she takes comfort from the ritual and now she can let go of care.

  The duikers are awake. They will fall asleep soon, and the aardvarks will wake. But right now it’s only the duikers and Screamer and me awake in this cage. I like this. I don’t have to be on guard; nothing scares me.

  Well, that’s not true. Everything scares me. If I allow my mind to wander through all the possibilities, the whole mess we’re in terrifies me. But the immediate moment we are in, this very moment, this one is peaceful.

  I throw my own dried feces out the side hole. The brothers rake out our waste daily. Fortunately, they are lazy and rake only what they can reach through the poles, so they never disturb me in my nest near the back wall, and they never get near the area I use as my toilet.

  I look over at the cage next to us. Giraffes. That’s the name of those tall creatures with necks that look like someone enormously strong pulled and pulled and stretched them. I’d never seen them before coming on the ark; I know what they’re called only because I eavesdrop when Ham and Shem talk. They know the names of all the creatures. The wild sheep, creatures I’ve always known, they call mouflon. I love them. And I love especially the tortoises with the golden-colored shells, probably because I’ve known them all my life too. The familiar is dear to me now.

  I rest against the side poles, and Screamer comes and nestles on my lap. I scratch him everywhere. He’ll go off on his nightly adventures soon, but for the moment he is content to play my pet. He’s growing sleek and long. He might be the only creature truly thriving on this ark. I hear little cries and yowls from most cages—quick skirmishes that end badly for one or the other. And whenever I see any animal’s eyes lately, they seem haunted, as though they don’t know what to expect next but whatever it is will be awful. Only Screamer is fine. Maybe because he’s not really a prisoner, unlike the rest of us. I don’t know how far he wanders, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gone up and down the ladders and into every shadowed corner of this ark.

  If only all of us could wander free for part of each day, like Screamer does . . . it would help so much.

  I tug on his tail, and he play-attacks my hand. Then he jumps to his feet, hisses, and races off. I dive into the straw.

  Footsteps.

  My ears are attuned to the noises of this deck—vigilance has made my hearing acute. But Screamer still heard the footsteps before I did. That fact sets me ajangle.

  It’s that woman who talks a lot, Ham’s wife. She comes down the ladder and walks immediately to our cage. “Wake up.” She raps her knuckles on a pole. “Hello, bonobos. Hello, hello, wake up.”

  I’m sure Queen and The Male are awake. I can tell from the slight change in their mouths. Their lips moved almost imperceptibly. They’re pretending to sleep. Ha! I didn’t know they could pretend. Another new amazement.

  “All right, then, I’ll lure you.” Ham’s wife reaches inside her cloak and brings out something round.

  I can smell it from here: bread! I salivate. The memory of bread is like a dream. I can hardly pay attention to anything else.

  “Hey, bonobo. Smell this. Come on.” She waves the bread in Queen’s direction.

  The smell makes me woozy. My stomach threatens to purge. I fight it. I can’t be discovered. No. Slowly the burn in my throat goes back down my chest.

  “It wasn’t easy for me to hide it and save it for you. Act grateful. Hey!” She rips the bread in half. “This is my little seduction. You know all about seduction. Hey!” She lobs in a piece of the bread.

  It hits Queen in the chest. Queen stirs. She opens her eyes halfway.

  “I see you looking at me. Come over here. Come on.”

  Queen moves out from under The Male’s arm. Her eyes are wide open now. She picks up the piece of bread, takes a bite—a big, delicious, wonderful bite—and tosses it aside. Good girl. Leave it there. For me. Later. Oh, please. Queen stares at the woman.

  “Wake up your partner. Hurry.”

  Queen juts her chin toward the woman and walks on all fours to the front of our cage.

  The woman takes a huge step backward, out of Queen’s reach. “Calm down. I just want your help. Your secret. Wake your partner. Show me.”

  But no one has to wake The Male. He’s been watching. He walks over on all fours too. Then he stands and pokes his erect penis between the poles. He shakes it at the woman.

  Her hands clutch the edges of her cloak. She blinks several times. “I’m Nela. Or that’s what my mother called me.” She speaks without taking her eyes from The Male’s privates. So it’s as though she’s talking to them. I feel embarrassed for her. “And I will call you Bonobo Man and Bonobo Woman. That doesn’t seem a sacrilege. Does it?” She touches her cheek and looks confused for a moment. “The Mighty Creator gave humans dominion over animals. All right, all right, I’ll call you Big Bonobo and you Little Bonobo. No one could object to that. Certainly not you. You don’t even understand my words. But I’m counting on you understanding the tone of my voice.” Her eyes travel upward to The Male’s now. Then she looks in Queen’s eyes. “I can see how smart you are. Listen to my voice. Please listen. Let it make a bond between us.” She leans her head forward tentatively. “If you help me, I will bring you bread. No, no, you don’t like the bread.” Her fingers tap on her cheek now. “So I’ll bring you other things. Human food. Cooked food. It’s different. You’ll like it.”

  The Male is still shaking away.

  Queen leans against him from the side and obliges him with a hand. She grins. It’s all very companionable. To Queen and The Male, this is ordinary. But to Nela this is clearly extraordinary. Her mouth hangs open.

  “Yes.” She leans forward. Her words have dropped to a whisper. “But we have been on this ark, locked up with these same people, for forty-four days—seven days of dry, then thirty-seven of nothing but rain.” Her voice shakes. “So that—what you did—that’s not enough! That doesn’t give what we need—it doesn’t give togetherness. My husband, my Ham, he’s changing. He sees his brother Japheth basking in his father’s love. He sees his brother Shem basking in his mother’s love. He’s growing angry. Mean. He needs me—he needs me joined to him so that he can feel loved again. And, oh, I need to feel loved too. Forty-four days.” She takes a step toward our cage. “So show me. How? How do you keep from becoming with child?” She suddenly gasps and shakes her head. “I don’t even know why I’m asking, really. The only time we’re together is at the evening meal. We sleep separately—the women at one end, the men at the other. Even the comfort of lying together is denied us. We’d have to crawl off somewhere and hide if we wanted to be together as man and wife. Crawl off—like sneaks.” Her voice breaks. She’s crying silently.

  My arms want to hug her.

  Queen sprawls on her side now. The Male sprawls behind her and throws a leg over her thighs from behind. He reaches around her body and grabs one of Queen’s hands and brings it to his mouth. He kisses her hand. Kisses and kisses. Tenderly. I miss Aban in this moment so much, my throat constricts. But Queen and The Male aren’t preparing to mate—no; his kisses are almost distracted, for both of them keep their eye
s on Nela. Her grief blankets us.

  Nela takes a huge gulp of breath. “But we’ll sneak—we’ll lower ourselves to that—because love is essential. Please. You don’t know my language. But you know things. And somehow I’m going to learn this one thing from you without language.” She opens her cloak and lets it slide off her shoulders to the deck. The other half of the bread drops and lands somewhere in the shadows. Nela pulls her shift over her head and throws it to one side. She’s naked, though only her silhouette shows. “See? Under my clothes I’m like you. Or not that different. Show me how you do it. Let me learn. Let me learn, or by the time this ark reaches whatever destination the Mighty Creator plans for us, Ham will be so wretched, he won’t remember love. Our marriage will be ruined.” Her hand goes to her throat now. “And I do love him. I want to keep loving him.”

  Queen sits up. She seems to study Nela’s body. Then she turns her head toward where I’m hiding in the straw. Her head goes back and forth between my hiding spot and Nela. She’s comparing us. She’s never seen the humans without clothes before. Maybe she’s realizing for the first time that I’m like them, like the ones who imprison us.

  Queen falls backward off her haunches and slowly walks toward me.

  Please, Queen, please don’t be confused. You know me. We’re friends. Don’t reveal me to them. Please.

  “Ne’elatama’uk? Is that you down there?”

  Nela grabs at her cloak and wraps it around herself quickly.

  Queen stops and turns toward the voice. The Male mounts her.

  Another woman comes partway down the ladder. It’s Shem’s mother. “Answer me. Is that you, Ne’elatama’uk?” Her voice is stern now. “Don’t play games. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother Emzara.”

  Mother Emzara comes all the way down the ladder and stands at the bottom. “What are you doing down here?”