Storm

by Donna Jo Napoli

  I wait, my eyes on the lion cage. The night is passing.

  I could move from cage to cage till I make it back. It’s a thought.

  A stupid thought.

  But no other thought comes.

  I wait. I don’t know how long I wait, but the lions don’t do anything, and I can’t stand this waiting. If I’m still here in the morning, Ham and Shem will find me for sure and that means the end. So it makes no sense to stay here.

  Besides, I don’t think the male mongoose can put up with me much longer. My presence clearly worries him. He’s chewing on his foot so hard, it bleeds now. It’s all I can do to keep from hitting him on the nose, telling him to stop. Being behind poles has taken a toll on him.

  I lift the swinging door and go out onto the deck. And I shiver.

  I push the rocks into place. After all, if the lions were loose and the mongooses stumbled out, I’d be responsible for their deaths.

  I move as quickly and silently as I can to the next cage. Should I stop and go in or should I keep going to the next one? I can’t think straight. I keep going. I pass another cage. And another. I’m close to mine now. It can’t be but a few more ahead.

  A noise comes. A scraping noise. I crawl along the floor fast, feeling, feeling. A rock. I pull it out of its gully. Screech. My fingers scrabble around the other one. Where did that noise come from? What made it? I am about to lift the swinging door to go inside when I find myself facing shining eyes, a blunt nose, rounded ears. No! I quick block the door with a rock. The hyena leaps at me. I fall backward. His snout sticks out partway between the poles. The door shakes. His rotted-fish breath sullies the air. I shove the other rock into place. Fear has scrambled my thoughts—the hyenas should have been on my mind all along! The hyena puts his head down now and yowls his frustration. It’s a rolling yowl. Loud and hideous. He paces, yowling ever louder, back and forth. The female joins him now, yowling together.

  The racket fills my head. I can’t hear anything else.

  Until I do: A roar answers them. I stand and turn. The male lion is in the middle of the deck. He lifts his huge head and opens his mouth. A buzz starts inside my head. It replaces the yowls and the roar. It grows louder. It fills me. I am nothing but a buzz.

  “You’re doing good. Don’t run. No matter what. Just face him. Stay calm.”

  The lion looks toward the source of those words.

  I know without looking that it’s the Head. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Talk to him. Say things. Anything. In a firm, steady voice.”

  “Hello, lion,” I say. “Please don’t kill me. Stay there.”

  The lion swings his head toward me again. He roars, but it comes out strained, almost like a croak.

  I’m close to my cage. I can see the tortoise shells. Mine is just the next cage beyond it. I’m so close.

  But the lion is closer.

  “Put your hands over your head so you look bigger. Don’t run, no matter what. Just face him and talk.”

  My arms are lead. I can’t lift them.

  “Do it! Clap your hands over your head. Confuse him. And talk. Talk!”

  I open my mouth.

  The lion opens his at the same time, so wide my whole head could fit inside it. Teeth like white knives. He coughs. He tosses his head as though he’s trying to rid himself of something. He crouches and rubs the front of his throat against a forepaw. Twisted like that, all his ribs show.

  For this one moment he’s not looking at me.

  I can’t. I can’t stay here. I bolt for my cage. I’m lifting the swinging door. I hear his claws skid. He’s coming at me. I’m inside, but the door doesn’t fall behind me. It thuds on something! He’s here, in my cage!

  The porthole! It beckons. I swipe a coil of rope with one hand and dive out. I drop through a blast of cold. The rope reaches its length in an instant and jerks me to a stop. I slam against the side of the ark, and it feels like my shoulder is coming undone from the rest of me. But I’m still holding on!

  The lion looks down at me. A noise like crackling comes from his gaping mouth. A claw slaps at me.

  “Easy now, pussy.” It’s the Head. On the longest, fairest body I’ve ever seen. He hangs beside the hole, holding on to a rope from up high. Oh! It’s that rope—that fishing rope. He makes a club of a fist and punches the lion on the top of the head. The lion’s head collapses on his neck. The beast slips inside the ark.

  The huge man reaches for me.

  I shake my head.

  “You don’t want to go back inside?”

  “The lion.”

  “He’s passed out cold. Or dead.”

  I shake my head.

  “He’ll be out for a long time. You can drag him back to his cage.”

  “You can drag him. I can’t drag a lion.”

  “You have to. You’re shivering. You can’t stay out here much longer.” He takes my arm and lifts me with his free hand.

  I crawl in through the hole and land on the limp lion. I scramble off him. But now what? I’m shaking so hard, I’m useless. And the female lion—where is she?

  “Grab him by the tail and pull him.”

  He’s out of his mind. Even emaciated, that lion is massive. “You do it.”

  “If I force myself in, you have to help me get out again.”

  “You know I will.”

  “Yes. It’s twice now I’ve saved you. You better keep me around.” The huge one puts one leg, then the other, through the hole. He slides in feetfirst till he hits his shoulders. Then he wriggles and wriggles. “Pull on me, little woman.”

  I have to straddle the lion to do it. But there’s no other choice. I grasp the huge man around the waist and yank as hard as I can.

  Oomph. He falls on me and the lion—we are a frightful pile.

  The man takes the lion by the tail, drags him out of our cage and across the deck to his. His footsteps make loud thumps. He lifts the swinging lattice door and shoves the lion inside. The lioness watches, crouched at one side. The man secures the rocks.

  The lioness screams, a ragged choking scream. She must think her mate is dead.

  The man comes back inside our cage. “I told you not to run.”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “Anyone can help it. You acted stupid.” He looks at me, but his eyes change.

  I am small. And I am suddenly so very aware that he is man and I am woman. The chill goes from me. I’m burning up.

  He walks past me and puts his arms and head out the porthole. He wriggles again. I push on his bottom. And he comes unstuck. He twists his body so that he’s sitting on the lip of the porthole for a minute, his legs inside. Then he eases himself out.

  He’s gone.

  I rush to the porthole. And my face smacks against his mouth.

  He smiles and rubs his lips. “I didn’t know you cared.” He laughs.

  “Who are you?”

  “Og. Who are you?”

  “Sebah.”

  “I’ll call you Sheba.”

  “That’s not my name.”

  “It is now. I like it better.”

  “Then I’ll call you Bash. It’s what you did to the lion.”

  “Ha! I like that. It fits me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Night 39–Dawn 40

  Just moments after Bash leaves, Queen and The Male return to our cage. They don’t pull the rocks back into place. So I show them. I talk as I do it, to keep their focus. I’m still half-crazy from the lion, but I force myself to talk with authority. “You have to replace the rocks. See? Look how I do it. See? Do like this.” But they pay no attention. They curl up together and fall into a deep sleep.

  They’re idiots. I should punch them. I went through a terrible scare and all I want to do is hide away, and still I took the time to try to teach them—for my good, yes, but for theirs, too; we all benefit from the freedom of walking the deck, after all—and they ignore me. Worse is that I know they are smart enough to learn this. I
’ve seen them take a fright and go flying back to our cage when the door was propped on a rock and shove the rock away fast so the door dropped closed behind them and they were safe inside. If they can figure that out, then surely they can learn to pull the stones back into place so the humans will never know they were out. In frustration, I reach out and give Queen’s long hair a yank. She opens her eyes, seems to make a quick assessment of the cage, then closes them again.

  Well, all right. I rub my own shoulders to soothe myself. I have no right to expect them to behave like I want them to behave. Anger makes no sense. I have to try to teach them—but another time.

  Prickles dance up through my spine, around my skull. Queen and The Male can go anywhere on this ark. They could open other cages. Good grief, I’ve made them vulnerable to awful things.

  But they must have some kind of judgment. They kept out of the way this whole evening—during the encounter with Shem and Ham, and the whole scuffle with the lion. And then with Bash. Please let them stay out of harm’s way.

  I have to get busy doing something or I’ll go crazy, worrying like this. My shift—Nela’s shift—stinks of pee. But it’s dirty with other things too. It’s rank, in fact. I take it off and hold it out the porthole in the rain to wash it. Then I wring it as hard as I can and I spread it out flat under a thin layer of straw.

  Now I squat and rock on my heels. It’s dark, that deepest dark of the middle of the night. For a long time now I’ve been far more active at night than in the day. I’m surprised, in fact, at how easily I’ve adapted to a nocturnal way of life, especially given that it’s so hard for me to see at night. But Queen and The Male are still really diurnal. They like to go out of the cage at the start of the evening—but they come back the instant I do and they quickly fall sleep, while I, instead, pace our cage and gaze out the porthole a long while, then settle down to mash the feces I’ve gathered, using my fingers to search for seeds. I’m surprised, too, at how quickly my fingertips became sensitive—I find many more seeds now than I did only yesterday.

  I watch Queen and The Male sleep now. I’d like to curl up with them. I am dead tired. That I managed to wash my shift amazes me. I can’t do anything else. I can’t search through the feces for seeds. My mind won’t behave. It’s blank. I feel stupid.

  The night passes far too slowly. But I have to stay awake. I have to.

  At long last Shem comes down the ladder. Simply clack, clack, clack, like any other day.

  That’s what I was waiting to find out.

  Ham let Shem come down the ladder alone when he expected that the lions would be roaming free. And when he expected that Nela’s body—which would have really been my body—would be in grisly pieces on the deck. He had to expect that—no matter what kind of Mighty Creator he believes in, he had to expect the lions would kill her. He did that to his wife. He did that to his brother.

  I cannot imagine my brothers ever being so cruel to one another. I cannot imagine marrying a man who would be so cruel to me. Ham is a miserable soul.

  I go slack with sadness. And I shrink ever smaller within my nest. I tremble, maybe more for these humans than for myself.

  Shem goes to the porthole and fills buckets with fish. Then he goes from cage to cage, throwing in fish from the bucket or dried greens from the sack. Sometimes I hear the food hit the deck. Sometimes I hear animals stir. Always I hear his clacking sandals. His stupid, trudging innocence. Then he goes back up the ladder.

  Now . . . now it’s going to happen. I hug myself, and my fingers dig into my arms.

  Ham and Shem come down the ladder. Shem first. Ham perches midway on the ladder and looks around the deck cautiously. He has no sack of food slung across his chest. He has only a large knife in a sheath by his side. He looks down at Shem. “Did you feed the lions yet?”

  “So you’re talking to me again. Good.” Shem goes to the porthole and refills his bucket. “You slept off by yourself last night,” he calls over his shoulder. “You didn’t break bread with Father and Japheth and me. You didn’t come down the ladder with me this morning.” He walks back to the foot of the ladder. “You’re not even carrying food now, so I take it you mean not to work at all. You’re acting like a child. A petulant child. But at least now you’re talking. Good. Let’s talk.”

  “The lions, you cockroach! Did you feed them yet?”

  “I always feed them first. Come down, Ham. Let’s talk. We have to work this through. It’s a big ark, but not big enough. We have to get along. Father won’t change the work assignments. He prefers Japheth as his partner. He prefers Japheth in everything. We all know that. It’s you and me, stuck together. Besides, we don’t really have a problem. You misunderstood what was happening.”

  “And their cage was closed?”

  “What?”

  “The lion cage. It was closed?”

  “Of course it was.”

  “With the rocks in place?”

  “Of cou—What are you talking about, Ham?” Shem drops his bucket. Fish splatter everywhere. “What on earth are you talking about? Come down here!”

  “Don’t shout at me. Show respect. You’re the one in the wrong.”

  “Did you do something to the lion cage? Did you open it?”

  Ham glares at Shem.

  “You did, didn’t you? And then you didn’t come down this morning. You watched me go down alone. You set it up for them to kill me!” Shem yells. He shakes the bottom of the ladder now. “Come down here!”

  Ham comes down the ladder and pushes Shem aside. He walks to the lion cage and inspects it. Shem follows right behind him. Ham turns around, and the brothers are nearly chest to chest. “Get out of my way!” growls Ham.

  “What’s going on?” It’s Nela. She comes down the ladder. The quiet woman—Shem’s wife, Leba—follows her.

  “Nothing,” says Shem.

  Nela and Leba stand at the bottom of the ladder now.

  Ham drops his head toward Nela and shakes it. “How did you do it?”

  Nela’s eyes widen. “How did I do what?”

  “I see you put your fancy clothes back on,” says Ham slowly. “Is that your sign of victory?”

  “What does that mean? Why are you talking about my clothes? I wear these same clothes every day.”

  Ham pulls back as though in surprise. “What a trivial thing to lie over.”

  “Ham, why are you talking this way? I’m not lying.”

  “Ah, bold again.” Ham’s voice grows stronger. “Last night you cowered. You cowered like a dog! But now you’re you again. Boldly lying.”

  “I am not lying! I wear only these clothes.”

  Ham points at Shem. “Do you dare to join her in the lie?” Shem shakes his head. “I saw you, Nela. I saw you in your old shift. We talked.”

  Nela’s mouth falls open. One hand goes to her cheek.

  “When?” It’s Leba. This is the first time I’ve heard Leba say a word. She’s loud and forceful.

  Shem seems to pull himself up tall, ready to confront his wife. But he doesn’t speak.

  Ham takes a step forward. “Last night.”

  Leba doesn’t flinch. “Where?”

  “Here. On this deck.”

  “Here?” says Nela. Her voice becomes thin, wavery. She looks as though she’ll fall over.

  Leba puts her arm through Nela’s. “Nela and Ada and I were all three together, from the evening meal through the night. The entire night. We link arms in sleep. There was not a single moment when we were apart.”

  “We saw you,” says Ham to Nela. “We talked to you.”

  “It wasn’t me,” says Nela.

  “Then how do you explain it?”

  “I don’t explain it. I can’t. But whoever you talked to, husband, it wasn’t me. My shift went missing a while ago. It could have been my shift—but it was not me in it.”

  “And Ada also will swear you were with her?”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” says Nela. “I was.”

  “Maybe yo
u are all in the lie together,” says Ham.

  “My wife doesn’t lie,” says Shem.

  “But you were talking to her,” says Ham. He puts his hands to the sides of his head and walks in a circle. “You were talking to the woman in the shift, right here on this deck! You stupid fool!”

  “You talked to her too,” says Shem. He blocks Ham’s path. “Whoever wore that shift fooled you, too.”

  “The only other woman on this ark is our mother.” Ham stomps a foot.

  “It was not our mother,” says Shem firmly. “It must have been a man in disguise.”

  “Don’t say such rubbish, Shem. Japheth and Father and Puzur are all much larger than Nela. They couldn’t fit in her shift. And they’d never fool us anyway.”

  Puzur? Who is Puzur?

  “Did you see anything other than the shift?” asks Nela. “Did you see hair? Arms?”

  “It was dark,” says Shem.

  “Why?” Ham narrows his eyes. “Why do you ask about her hair and arms? Who do you suspect?”

  “An animal.”

  Nela’s smart. And dangerous.

  “An animal?” Shem shakes a hand, fingers up and spread, in her face. “And I thought you respected me. But instead, you must think I’m a half-wit! You’re worse than Ham! I didn’t see her face, no, but she spoke. I told you—she spoke. Animals don’t speak!”

  “She didn’t speak to me,” says Ham. “I remember now. Are you sure she said something, Shem?”

  “So you were here with her alone?” says Leba, weakly now.

  “Only a moment,” says Shem.

  “You were alone with someone you thought was Nela? My husband was alone with another woman?” Her voice is ever weaker.

  “It wasn’t on purpose. I swear. I came down to check on the bonobos. And, oh! Their cage was unlocked. I forgot about that in everything else that happened.”

  “What else happened?” asks Leba in a tiny voice.

  “Nothing! I saw Nela. Or I thought it was Nela. She was crouched on the floor. It was dark. I asked what she was doing down here.” Shem steps toward Leba. She steps away. “That’s all, I swear, Leba.”

  Nela has been listening with a stricken face. “And what did this supposed-me say?”