Storm

by Donna Jo Napoli

  I walk just far enough to be able to gaze out over the rocks below, all the way to the edge of the water—way out there—where Bash stands fishing in the moonlight. He makes a grand figure. I smile. And all at once my whole self aches for him.

  Screamer has been walking the roof with me. It’s unusual for him to be up here at night; it feels like a treat. Now that Bash doesn’t go onto the middle deck anymore, Screamer doesn’t always have a ready ride up to the roof. He doesn’t dare climb the rope on his own. At the end of some nights, as Bash climbs up the rope, Screamer will be waiting at the porthole to be carried up. Other nights he won’t be. Last night he was there waiting—and so Bash carried him up and he spent all day today with us. Then when Bash went back down tonight, he refused to go. I think he simply wasn’t ready yet. He misses me. I think he feels tonight is as much a treat for him as I feel it is for me.

  These animals are good to me: Queen, The Male, Screamer.

  “Screamer?”

  He pays no attention to my voice. He just keeps walking. Padding really. His short tail flicks now and then. His flat face makes him look ready for a fight.

  “Screamer, do you know you’re a good cat? I’m glad you came with me when the rains started. I’m glad you stayed with me. You are all I have left of my old life.”

  Screamer stops still and his tail stiffens, his ears pull back. He hisses low and horrible. My breath quickens. I follow his eyes.

  Someone walks along the rocks. A small person. Smaller than Noah and his sons. Who on earth could it be? And now I see another one. And a third! It’s the women! It’s Nela and Ada and Leba. I look in every direction, but it’s only the three of them.

  They go in a line along the water’s edge. Now they run, only one at a time, out into the shallows. They raise their legs high. I can’t hear them, but I think maybe they’re laughing. Maybe they’re dancing in the tiny waves. They’re not doing a chore, that’s for sure. So Noah couldn’t possibly have allowed this. He must not know. Their husbands must not know. No one knows about the dance of the young women in the surf.

  They’re moving toward where Bash fishes. I’m quite sure he doesn’t see them yet, for there’s an outcropping of boulders between. But if they dance around those boulders . . .

  I don’t know what to do. If I shout as loud as I can, even if I manage to make Bash hear me, which is doubtful since he’s so far off, but even if I do, I might wake everyone else sleeping on the top deck. That would be much worse. But I can’t just let the women come up on Bash unawares. Whatever might happen, it won’t be good.

  I tuck Pishon to my chest and run over to The Male and Queen. I shake them awake. I pull Queen toward the edge of the roof and point. “There, Queen, look! Do something! Anything!”

  She doesn’t look.

  No! I never taught Queen to follow my pointed finger. I forgot all about that. I tried that once, the first time I saw Bash’s rope hanging beside our porthole, but then I forgot. How could I forget! And there’s nothing on this roof that I can throw to get Bash’s attention. I couldn’t throw that far anyway.

  The women are nearly at the boulders now. They’re picking their way daintily along the water’s edge. Hopping as the waves come in and out.

  I am crazy with fear. Why didn’t Bash and I think of a long-distance way to warn each other? What fools we’ve been!

  Bash is still fishing. He pulls in his rope and throws another fish into his bucket and casts out the rope again, as though all is well with the world. No, no, no! So little has been well with the world for so long now. If anything happens to Bash, nothing will be well with the world ever again.

  Queen hugs me around the legs. I let out a little sob. How can she know so much about what I feel, when she doesn’t know what pointing means? I kneel beside her and point at Bash. Screamer hisses and hisses.

  And she looks! Queen actually looks. She slaps The Male’s arm and stares out at the women. The Male looks alertly in the same direction Queen looks. He makes a little scream, then he and Queen disappear over the side of the ark, down the rope.

  One of the women dashes out into the surf again. It’s Leba, I think. And, oh! She goes under! There must be a steep drop-off of the mountain’s edge at that point. The other women are jumping around. I think they’re screaming.

  Leba doesn’t come back up. Why doesn’t she come back up? My heart cramps, like it did when my brothers went under the river water. I couldn’t go after them. But these women can go after Leba. Why don’t they? I can’t understand it. Everything is going wrong. I hold Pishon tight.

  Bash runs around the boulder. He sees the women. They clutch at one another, all crazy. And I know they’re screaming now—I see their open mouths. But I don’t know whether they’re telling Bash what happened or if they’re just wild. Please, Bash! Leba’s in the water. Save her! Save Leba! He jumps into the surf.

  Nela and Ada hold on to each other and watch. Bash comes swimming back, dragging Leba. He carries her toward the ark in long, clumsy steps. The women trail behind him. I see Leba move her arm. She’s alive! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.

  The Male appears out of nowhere. He races at Ada and Nela, with Queen right behind him. All four of them grind to a standstill. The Male and Queen block the two women’s way to the ark. Bash looks back and clearly says something, because the women move forward slowly now, giving The Male and Queen a wide berth.

  Leba struggles out of Bash’s arms and jumps to the ground. The two women dash past The Male and Queen, and all three of them run toward the ark. I can’t see where they’ve gone. I’d have to peek over the edge of the roof to do that, and I don’t dare.

  Bash stops and watches after them. Then he runs back and fetches the bucket and his fishing rope and one large fish, too large for the bucket, which he manages to dangle from the rope. He comes up over the side of the ark roof. Queen and The Male follow. Bash sets down his gear and pulls up the climbing rope.

  I am standing there, with Pishon in my arms and Screamer at my feet, shaking my head. Queen and The Male come over and squat beside me, pressing against my legs. “Where did they go?”

  “Up a rope ladder to the middle deck. I’m sure they’re on the top deck by now.”

  “What do you think they’ll do?”

  He shrugs. “What can they do? If they tell Noah, they’ll get in trouble for being out at all.”

  “And you saved Leba’s life.”

  “Yes, there’s that, too.”

  “So they might be grateful.”

  “I would be if I were them.”

  “So we’re not lost.”

  “No, Sheba. We’re not lost.”

  I think of the astonishment that the women must have felt at seeing this enormous naked man. This giant. My giant. Can they really keep that to themselves? “Bash? Can you send Queen and The Male back down to their cage?”

  “Sure.”

  “And take Screamer down there too.”

  “That might be a tough one. He didn’t want to leave you tonight. Why do you want to get rid of him?”

  “I want to be alone with you. We are married now, right? If anything should happen, I want to make sure we had at least one night together as man and wife.”

  Bash swings an arm out so fast, I jump back. But he’s caught Screamer by the scruff of the neck. He smiles. “Sorry I scared you. I guess I can move faster than either of us thought when I want to. And now I want to.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Day 310

  The stench of excrement hangs over this morning. Ham and Shem and Japheth and maybe even Noah shovel the animals’ waste out the portholes every day—all except what they need for their dung fires—but no one has the energy to carry it down to the ever-receding sea. So it has piled up, and in this heat the odor rises. We on the roof have a halo of hazy muck over us. It’s getting worse all the time.

  I lift my nose to it and smile. Nothing can lower my spirits today. Bash lies beside me, his face completely within
my reach. I touched that face everywhere last night. I kissed it everywhere.

  On the other side, my baby curls, his arms and legs tucked under him, his bare bottom to the wind. Pishon. He smiled yesterday. One brief flash. Only two weeks old and he smiled.

  I push up so that I’m leaning back on my elbows. The sun rises, a yellow ball in an orange sky. And last night it set, an orange ball in a red sky. I feel bathed in optimism.

  The shutters bang open below us, and Noah’s voice booms out the window. “This may be the day.”

  “Do it for us, little friend,” calls Mother Emzara. “All my hopes go with you.”

  There is nothing in their talk to alarm me. Nothing about the women having seen a giant last night. Can our luck possibly be holding? I strain to hear more.

  A sharp whistle of wings!

  A dove flaps up past the edge of the ark roof and off in the same direction as last week. It must be the same one, for this one is tiny—and so was last week’s. It’s as though she has absorbed the meaning of her flight, the sense of Mother Emzara’s words; she flies like all of life depends on it. In the straightest of lines, without hesitation. She doesn’t waste time at the first peak she comes to but flies on to the second one and disappears around it.

  Pishon whimpers.

  I pick him up fast because I know the shutters are still open below. I imagine all of them crowded at the window, waiting to see if the dove will return. If they are talking, it must be in mumbles. But I can sense their chest muscles squeezing in hope, for mine are too. I sit by Bash, my thigh touching his back, and play with Pishon’s ear as he eats.

  The dove has not come back.

  Pishon finishes eating and I bathe him in seawater and we play. I pull on his legs and press them up against his belly and spread them out to the sides. I do the same to his arms. I wiggle each toe, each finger. I lick his eyes and nose and ears. And he smiles! Not quick or fleeting like yesterday, but lasting. My perfect baby.

  The dove has not come back.

  I can’t bear it any longer. I lick the back of Bash’s neck, and he rolls over and catches me around the waist.

  He smiles. “Good morning.” And we kiss.

  “It’s late morning. Another.”

  “Good late morning.” And we kiss again.

  “Really late.”

  “Good really late morning.” And we kiss again.

  “I think it might be close to noon.”

  “Good close to noon.” And we kiss again.

  “It could even be—”

  “Sheba, I need to relieve myself first. Then we can kiss all you want.” He runs a finger from my mouth, down my chin, my throat, between my breasts. “We can pass the day doing whatever you want.” He gets up and heads for the ark edge.

  “Wait,” I call in a strong whisper. “Piss over the other side. Noah has opened the shutters again.”

  Bash’s eyes widen. “Did he let loose birds?”

  “Only one. The dove.”

  Bash lopes to the other side of the ark. He goes on tiptoe, trying to be quiet. Moving that way he’s a remarkably funny figure, a dear figure. Oh, yes, I am already imagining how I want to pass the day.

  On the way back, he scoops a large handful of brown seaweed from a bucket. Then he sits behind me with his legs straddling Pishon and me. I point, and we watch in the direction the dove went while we chew on the plant. We’ve tasted so many different kinds of sea plants by now, but this is our favorite. We’re lucky that it has a habit of getting caught under the edges of rocks on the shoreline, so it’s easy to gather.

  “Thirsty?”

  I look at Bash. “You know I always am.”

  “But you’re very thirsty now. You’re making those little swallows that you do when you’re just about parched.”

  “I can wait. My milk is overflowing, so Pishon won’t suffer. And I want to watch for the dove. Besides, I’m feeling too lazy now to wring out fish flesh.”

  “You may not have to.” Bash grins his big toothy grin. He goes over to his stash of gear from last night and bumbles around for a while. Then he comes back and sets everything in front of me.

  A bucket of seawater. An empty bucket. A bone knife. And a shark.

  The shark is the fish that dangled from the rope last night. It is not huge—if I were to lie beside it, it would stretch only from my feet to my breasts. But it has white on the tip of its dorsal fin, side fins, tail. This is the kind of shark mariners who survived a shipwreck talk about. It’s the kind that ate all their crewmates. Larger ones than this usually. But this type, for sure.

  A shudder racks my body.

  “What’s the matter?” Bash quickly looks out toward where the dove went. But there’s nothing in the sky. He turns back to me. “Are you all right?”

  “Don’t swim anymore.”

  He looks at the shark. He rubs his neck thoughtfully. “All right. I won’t swim again until we find a small pond, too small for a shark—an inland pond.”

  “Are you so sure we will find a pond?”

  He nods. “And soon, Sheba. Last night I walked a stretch of mountain that was muddy. Not rocky. Real mud. Real dirt.”

  I kiss Pishon and hug him tighter. He’s asleep again, but he gives a satisfied little belch and milk bubbles out the side of his mouth. “What are you going to do with that rotten fish?” The other fish are in seawater. They’ll still be edible. But the shark already stinks.

  “Just watch.”

  “Oh, look!”

  The dove is flying back. I’m so sad. But in her beak she carries something. It’s green. Silvery-green. Now I can see: It’s a little branch with leaves!

  The dove enters below.

  A cheer goes up.

  “Another week!” booms Noah.

  “What!” It’s Ham again. Always Ham. “That’s an olive branch as sure as I am a man.”

  “You’re right. But she brought it back here.”

  “So what?”

  “So that means she couldn’t land in the tree. And you know why she couldn’t land in it?”

  No one answers. Finally, “Why, Noah?” It is Mother Emzara.

  “Because the tree is under water.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” shouts Ham. “Olives don’t grow under water.”

  “Maybe not for long,” says Noah. “But they can strike the first leaves that way. No, we wait. Another week.” The shutters slam.

  I look at Bash. “Is he right?”

  “I don’t know. I could swim over to that second mountain peak and take a look around. The water between here and there is shorter by the day.”

  “Except you’re not going swimming in that water again.”

  He smiles. “Exactly what I was about to add.”

  “So what are you going to do with that disgusting fish? It reeks.”

  Bash cuts the fish in the strangest way I’ve ever seen. He cuts so that he can peel away a sheet of skin that was the belly and most of the sides. Then he scrapes the skin clean on both sides. He drapes the skin over the empty bucket, then pats it down inside, so that the skin lines the bucket and flops over the edge. Now he picks up the bucket of seawater and pours half of it into the sharkskin-lined bucket.

  I’m starting to understand. I press my lips together in excitement.

  Bash gathers the edges of the sharkskin and pulls them together and twists the top as he lifts it a little. He keeps twisting and lifting, and I hear the drip, drip, drip. It takes a long time to force all the seawater through the sharkskin. He sets the skin on the roof and dips a finger into the filtered water. He tastes it. Then he dips his finger again and puts it to my mouth. It’s brackish, yes, but even less so than the water we extract from fish flesh. And this method is so many times faster.

  “You are a brilliant man.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” Bash stands up and beats on his chest in triumph.

  “Come down here,” I say. “You’ve just saved us a lot of time. And I’ve figured out how I want to pass tha
t time, how I want to pass the entire day.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Day 313

  The shutters bang open on the deck below us.

  I clap my hand over my mouth to hold in my laughter. Bash goes instantly silent too. But Pishon gurgles. I quick put him to the breast. He opens his eyes wide as though surprised, and maybe he is. After all, he just finished nursing not long ago. Maybe Pishon is building up expectations about life already. In any case, he’s a greedy baby, so he’s safely, quietly, nursing now.

  We were just having a nuzzling fest, the three of us. It’s the middle of the day and it’s been only three days since the shutters last opened, not the full week that Noah said he’d wait. So we’re stunned, Bash and me. And alarmed.

  “Look,” says Noah, but not in his big announcement voice—this is just ordinary talk. “The Mighty Creator has given me a present.”

  “And what would that be?” Mother Emzara asks.

  “Dirt.”

  “Dirt? Really? Show me!”

  “There, beyond those rocks. The ones that look like oxen plowing. See?”

  “The far ones?”

  “See how dark it is on the other side of them? That’s not rock. That’s dirt. Dry dirt.”

  “At last! Noah, I’ll go call the others together. You can let out the dove!”

  “No. We’ll wait the full week. That’s what the Mighty Creator wants.”

  “Forgive me, husband, but you’re mistaken. The Mighty Creator showed you the dirt. Wouldn’t you say he’s sending you a message?”

  “Oh, he’s sending a message all right. He’s wishing me well on my birthday. Today I have completed another year of life. I am six hundred and one years old.”

  “Ah,” says Mother Emzara, “I lost track of the days.”

  “I make notches in a floorboard, otherwise this shaggy head couldn’t have kept that information either.”

  “Shaggy head? I love your gray hair, Noah. It’s your crown.”

  “You think so?”

  “You gained it through a life of righteousness. So, yes, yes, indeed. It is a crown of glory.”