Storm (14 page)

The female watches. She’s more leery of me. But temptation wins. She comes out of the cage.

I let the door swing shut, and I push the rocks in place. I don’t want the sheep or the tortoises to get out. They will get their turn. I grin into the black night. Everyone will get their turn.

I hear clomping, scraping, thwacking. There’s really nothing for them to explore—any of them—but just being out might be enough. And they can watch the other animals, at least.
Please let that be enough.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the male giraffe comes galloping at me. I race for my cage, but he’s fast, he’s upon me in an instant, and he strides right past. My pulse hammers in my head as he gallops all the way to the end of the deck and back again. His hoofs are like thunder. He’s happy! Like Screamer and Queen and The Male. He stops somewhere way down there, but I know he’s just resting, just enjoying the moment.

Animals are stirring everywhere. Roars and howls and yips and cries. The night is alive for a moment. Then it all settles down.

Clack
. It’s a sandal on the ladder.

Of course! The giraffe noise alone could have woken the dead. Noah and Mother Emzara and their sons and their sons’ wives. All of them could have woken. They might be gathered in alarm on the deck above. And what about the deck below? The noise must have seemed that much louder coming from overhead. What must the poor animals there be thinking?

A man comes only a little way down the ladder. Just one man. He peers into the dark. His attitude is one of caution, fear. I can’t see his face, but he’s long and lanky, so I know it’s Japheth.

I move fast and quiet to my cage and feel around for the sea bass spine. I snap off a bone.

Rumble! The giraffes gallop past, both of them, tails flapping behind.

“What!” Japheth comes a little farther down the ladder. He looks off toward where the giraffes went.

I sneak out of my cage, moving slow, slow, slow. He mustn’t hear. I have to scare him off, and bad enough that he won’t come back. I race on tiptoe to the ladder, coming toward Japheth from behind. I hiss loudly, and jab the fish bone in his ankle. Then I drop to the floor.

He screams and runs up the ladder.

Slam
.

He’s closed the hatch. All right, he’s probably terrified. But, oh, maybe he’ll come back with reinforcements. Maybe weapons. I might not have much time. I feel suddenly light-headed. I sit back on my heels and curl myself forward till my forehead is
on the floor, and I wait for this sensation to pass. And it does. I’m all right.

I go searching for the aardvarks first. I find one immediately. The female has her snout halfway into the hibernating bears’ cage. I come at her from the opposite side, and she trots away from me toward our cage. Good. I chase after her, but she runs past the propped door.

I make a wide arc around her, then come at her from the other side. She rolls on her back and swipes with her claws, like before. The idiot.

Rumble!
The giraffes come flying. The aardvark jumps to her feet and escapes into our cage as the giraffes pass. Hurrah for the giraffes! I quick close the swinging door and look around for the male. If I ever let the giraffes out again, I won’t do it when there are small animals out. I won’t risk anyone getting trampled.
Please let me find the male aardvark safe and sound
. And there he is, as if coming to a summons. Maybe he does keep track of where the female is, after all. I lift the cage door and he goes inside.

Now for the giraffes. I didn’t think about how to get them back inside when I let them out. Still, I suddenly know what to do. I go into the giraffe cage. The ewe mouflon moves behind the ram, and both look at me with eyes that shine red. “Don’t worry,” I say to the ram, keeping my eyes on his big curled horns. “I won’t take long. I know exactly where it is. I can smell it.” And I can. The straw where the female urinated stinks. I’m particularly sensitive to odors lately. I gather an armload of wet straw. I
carry it out of the cage and drop it on the deck.

Rumble!
The giraffes come flying. They gallop over the wet straw. No! But then the male skids to a stop. He ambles back. He nudges the wet mess with his nose. He licks it. The female comes up behind him. But then she veers away. She goes to the cage opposite ours, where the lions live. She reaches up to the hanging pieces of serpent and pulls one off with her lips. She stands there chewing it. Then she comes up behind the male and bumps into him.

“Go in!” I shout.

They look at me.

I lift the swinging door high over my head.

They just look at me. Then the male goes back to licking the straw and the female goes back to chewing the snake and bumping against the male. I’ll never get them in.

Smack!
Something hit the male giraffe on the head. He jerks to attention and clatters inside the cage. The female goes in too. Perfect, like in a dream. I drop the door and shove the rocks in place. And I look at the floor. Another sea bass flops there. Bigger than last night’s fish.

I look toward our porthole. A face looks back at me. Large, far larger than ordinary, and pale, with a scant beard and a thick lock of hair on one side. I stare.

“That leaves only the apes to get back in their cage, right?”

The apes? The bonobos—he must be calling them apes. Words won’t come. I nod.

“If I could come in, little woman, I’d help you. Even though
you are a thief. After all, I’m a thief myself. But I’m afraid my shoulders would get stuck in this puny porthole.”

I feel light-headed again. Am I sick? Am I seeing things, like people do when they have fevers?

“Just use the fish.” The face smiles. His teeth glow white, as though they’ve caught a moonbeam. “Two birds with one stone, right? You better pick it up fast.”

A whistle comes from behind me. I know that whistle, of course. I grab the fish by the tail and go into our cage, letting the door swing shut behind me. Queen whistles again and lifts the door herself; I knew she would. She lets in The Male and she follows him in.

I lay the fish on the floor in offering.

The Male kisses Queen on the ear. Then he picks up the fish and they eat.

I reach through the poles and drag the rocks back into the gullies. I move steadily, as though everything is ordinary, as though there couldn’t possibly be a colossal being outside the porthole, as though life has some sense to it.

Finally I dare to look at the porthole. It’s empty. Lightning flashes. Instantly thunder follows. The world goes dark.

S
tay back!” Noah comes down the ladder, clutching an ax.

Right behind him is Ham, his fist raised to his shoulder and closed around an awl. They descend slowly. Ham chews on his bottom lip. Noah furrows his brow.

“The Mighty Creator knows we have no intention of harming you. But if you come at us, we’ll have no choice.” Noah stands at the bottom now, but one hand still holds on to the ladder.

Shem follows Ham, and Japheth comes last. The two final brothers carry hammers. They’re crowded together so close, it’s a wonder they don’t injure one another. All four turn their heads slowly, searching with squinted eyes into the shadows.

“Make no doubt of that,” calls Noah. “We are his chosen.
He wants you, too, but we are first. Us!” He pounds his chest with the hand that holds the ax, and I fear for a moment that he’ll split his chest open. “My family is first.” He lets go of the ladder and takes a few cautious steps.

The ark is quiet. It’s as though the animals are waiting to see what these men will do. I wonder if they might all still be stunned by last night.

I am. I was so amazed, I passed out. The duikers woke me with their cold, wet noses poking at my arm, and I crawled immediately into my nest, appalled to find myself out in the open when it was nearly morning. Then I quickly scrambled out again and felt through the straw till I found it: the remains of the sea bass. The second sea bass. There really was a second fish.

I hurried back into my nest and I’ve been lying here since, fingering the fish spine, going over every detail of last night. There really was a large head looking in through the porthole. The fish is proof. No? I would have thought I’d gone mad, but for this fish. My finger works over the snapped-off bone, over and over.

And now here are the men. It all happened, just as I remember it.

Japheth visibly quakes on that ladder. His hand rubs round and round on his ankle, where I wounded him.

Noah plants his legs wide in front of the nearest cage. He closes his free hand around a pole and tries to move it. He tries harder. He shakes with all his might. “Ha! Look at that! It’s
firmly in place. Ha!” He walks along, testing poles. Ham and Shem stand and watch from the bottom of the ladder. Japheth still perches midway.

Shneeeyt!

Noah jumps backward, raising the ax. Japheth disappears up the ladder.

I could laugh, but of course I don’t.

Shneeeyt, shneeeyt
.

“What?” Noah drops his head toward the cage he’s standing by, then his mouth gapes. “It’s just a fox sneezing.”

That fox sneezes most mornings. It always triggers a response sneeze from me. A tickle comes inside my nose now. I press the side of my finger hard above my top lip to suppress it.

“Japheth! Get back down here!”

Japheth comes halfway down.

“All of you, come with me. We’ll protect one another. We’ll keep our backs together.”

“That won’t work.” Japheth’s voice is stronger than I would have expected. “They gallop past. They’ll trample us.”

“Who gallops?” says Ham. “The horses and zebras are on the bottom deck. There are no galloping animals here.”

“Yes, there are! You always think you know everything, but I saw them. Gigantic animals. With necks that go on forever.”

“The giraffes,” says Shem. “You’re saying the giraffes were out of their cage?”

“The giraffes. Yes, it was them.”

“Well, they don’t frighten me. I feed them every day.” Shem points. “Their cage is over there. I’ll go check. Alone. There’s nothing scary about giraffes.”

“What about their claws?” says Japheth.

Shem looks back. “Giraffes have hooves.”

Japheth juts his leg toward his brothers. “Look at my ankle. I told you. Something clawed me. And hissed.”

Ham looks at Japheth’s ankle. “Maybe you scraped yourself when you ran away.”

“Don’t be a jerk, Ham. Something attacked me.”

“Stop quibbling. Japheth got hurt. We’ll all go check the giraffe cage.” Noah points in Shem’s face. “Lead the way. But we move with our backs together, in a phalanx. That’s what the Ionians do when they go into battle.”

The group moves slowly down the deck to the giraffe cage. And toward me; our cage is right next to it. Shem tests the poles. “Nothing. This cage is just as it always is.”

“Hey, giraffe,” calls Japheth. “Tell them. Tell them you two were racing up and down the deck last night.”

The male giraffe chews on a pile of dead leaves. They crackle. He swings his head, and a thick glob of spit catches a glint of light as it flies through the air. It lands on Shem’s arm.

“Yuck!” Shem wipes it off. “Just leave them alone, Japheth. All they do is chew their cud all day.”

“And spit on you,” says Ham. He laughs.

Shem pushes Ham in the shoulder.

“Enough!” Noah looks around. “So what could have hissed? What could have scratched Japheth?”

“Lions hiss,” says Ham. He points with a thrust of the chin. “Over there. But if the lions are out, we’re all dead.”

“We’re not dead. The Mighty Creator won’t let us die.” Noah lifts his ax. “But we don’t want to get injured, either. Backs together! Now!”

The four of them advance slowly. When they get to the lion cage, Noah pushes against the lattice all along the side. He passes his ax to Ham and then pushes again, hands as high as he can reach. “It seems secure.”

Both lions roar, just a single roar, as though broken off in the middle. When the sound fades, the deck seems even quieter than before.

“I knew it,” says Ham. “You made it all up.”

Japheth crosses his arms over his chest. “You heard the rumble. We all did.”

“Thunder,” says Ham. “Did you notice the storm, cockroach?”

“Thunder from below us?”

“It was close by. It made the ark shake. Thunder can do that.”

Japheth points to his ankle. “I can’t make up a wound.”

Ham shrugs. “Anything can happen when you’re running away, like a coward.”

“Coward? I was the only one brave enough to come down
here last night to see what was going on. And when I came back up and told you, you all decided to wait for morning. You were afraid of coming down here at night.”

“It was a strategic decision.” Shem glances quickly at Noah. “If you really were right, if you weren’t just having hysterical delusions, we’d have needed to gather our strength again, after all the work of closing the porthole hatches. It was better to sleep and face the problem fresh—if there was a problem to face.”

“Face it fresh? Bah! You mean face it sober,” says Ham. “Father was drunk out of his mind.”

“We were all drinking.” Shem slaps a fist into his palm.

“Respect!” Noah claps his hands above his head, and dust flies through the dim light. “And haven’t you learned arguing gets us nowhere?” He takes his ax back from Ham. “The bottom deck stinks. I have to breathe shallow to stand going down there. Everyone has to help Japheth and me clean it out. Today! Let our wives feed and water the animals on this deck and the top—while we shovel waste.” Noah goes up the ladder with Japheth at his heels.

Ham is following, when Shem catches him by the arm. “Look.” Shem points. “Look at the snake strip.”

Ham looks at the strip hanging from up high in the lions’ latticework cage. “So?”

“So there’s only one.”

“They’ve dried up. One fell off at some point.”

Shem shakes his head. “There were still two there yesterday.”

Ham puts his fists on his hips. “You don’t think a giraffe
stole one? Don’t be a cockroach. Sure, they’re tall enough—if a giraffe was standing right outside the lion cage, sure, he could reach it. But giraffes aren’t meat eaters. They wouldn’t even look at a strip of snake.”