Storm (22 page)

“I still do that. You know I do. I haven’t missed a single night.”

“You! Yes, you do it. I do nothing.”

“You spur me on.”

“I don’t want to just spur you on! I want to do things myself.”

“You can’t climb down that rope and up again, Sheba.”

“You could carry me.”

“I won’t take the chance of you falling again.”

“I wouldn’t fall if I was holding on to you.”

“I don’t even know if you could fit through a porthole. It’s hard for me, now that you’re not there to help me.”

“That’s absurd! I’m still smaller around than you.”

Bash reaches the end of the rope. A long, skinny fish flops there. “Ha! Look at that.”

“What is it?”

“A garfish. Usually you can’t catch them without a net. Ha!” He sets the fish aside and takes the end of the rope. He wraps it around his shoulders. Then he marks that length with his fingers and holds it around my belly. It reaches easily.

“See?” I say defensively.

He laughs. “Of course your girth is smaller. You didn’t really think I was serious, did you? But come on, Sheba. You could hurt yourself maneuvering through a porthole.”

“All right. You win. But that only makes things worse. I don’t want you letting the animals out every night without me.”

“You want them to stay locked up?”

“You know I don’t. Don’t be so maddening. I don’t want you doing everything without me. I don’t want . . .” And I’m crying now. And furious. I don’t want to be crying. I want to argue my side.

Bash goes to the tent and comes back with his knife. He waits for me to wipe my eyes. “Here.” He hands me the knife. “Slice the fish down the center line, from head to tail. But don’t break the back bones.”

I do it. “Yuck! Green bones!”

“Lots of people look at those bones and think you can’t eat this kind of fish. But they’re wrong. Cut the spine out from the flesh now. Try to keep it as whole as you can.”

I separate the spine and rib bones from the flesh. Then I lay the knife on the floor.

“Good. Now do what I do.” He breaks off a part of the backbone, cracks it in his side teeth, and sucks at it.

“That looks disgusting.”

“Try it.”

I do. “It’s not bad.”

“Now the eyes.”

“What about the eyes?”

“Pop them out with the tip of the knife. Make sure you don’t pierce them.”

I do it in a second, expertly. I’m used to popping out eyes to give to Screamer—who still loves for me to feed him, even though he clearly feeds himself well; he’s strong and sleek. I bite my bottom lip. How is the kit? Does anyone give him treats anymore?

“All right, now we chew them. Be careful, cause there are strange little hard bits inside. You can spit them out. You can spit out the eyeball sac, too. But don’t spit any of the liquid from the inside. Swallow it all.”

I watch him chew on a fish eye. “Your teeth are black with the liquid.”

“Yup. You do it now.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Suit yourself. But it’s what we’ll have to do once the seawater stops freezing. There’s sweet water in the spine and eyes of every fish.”

I put the other eye in my mouth and chew on it. It’s not good. But it’s not revolting. I spit out the solid parts. “You aren’t
helping me get over the idea that you know everything.”

Bash lifts an eyebrow. “Are you cold? Want to go back inside the tent to talk?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one whose skin is exposed all over. You’re gooseflesh everywhere.”

“So now we’re in a contest of who can stand the cold, are we?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, Bash. You bring out the worst in me. You know too much.”

“I didn’t figure out about fish spine and eyes on my own. Any sailor knows it. And you know plenty of things. The way you put the peed-on straw out on the deck to lure the male giraffe, I would never have thought of that. And the way you got the female bonobo—Queen—to mimic you, so that she’d pull out the stick and close in the tigers. That was brilliant. You have a way of—”

“Stop! Please. Don’t say another word!” I’m sitting curled forward, but my belly is in the way, so I can’t close myself off from the world, like I used to be able to do. I want to disappear. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

Bash is silent. Why doesn’t he say he knows that? I look sideways at him. He’s sitting with his knees cocked upward, and he’s running his hands through his hair over and over.

“Anyway,” he says at last, “this is your job from now on. You’ll be the one to split open the fish. You’ll cut the flesh from the spine. You’ll pop out the eyes. I’ll have to catch fish all day in order for us to get enough water that way, so you’ll be working all day.” He looks at me. “Satisfied?”

I nod. “I want to say thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s your job.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you should tell me, Sheba.”

This is as close to an argument as we’ve gotten. I feel in the wrong. And that’s unfair. Bash does plenty of wrong things too. “You spied on me.”

“What?”

“You watched me with the giraffe. Way back—that first time. You didn’t make yourself known right away.”

“I didn’t know what kind of person you were. I went down the rope to see if the thief who had stolen my fish the night before would be there again. And I saw you. Acting strangely. So I watched for a while. You call that spying?”

“It is spying.”

“It’s sensible. Are you telling me you always make yourself known to everyone you watch?”

I swallow. “You know I don’t.”

“All right, then.”

I look down at my hands. “I don’t want to depend on you, Bash.” Then I face him. “It’s all right with me if we depend on each other, but I don’t want it to be one-sided.”

“It’s not one-sided.”

“Yes, it is. I don’t want to owe you things.”

“Owe me? Ha.” He shakes his head ruefully. “You’ve got it all wrong, Sheba.”

“What do you mean?”

“You remember how I told you I’m a king?”

“Of course I remember that. Is it true?”

“Yes. But it’s complicated. I’m king of Bashan.”

I smile. “Bashan? Really? And I named you Bash.”

“I told you it was fitting.”

I nod, stupidly satisfied, as though I was somehow smart when it was nothing more than coincidence. “I don’t know where Bashan is.”

“My country is bordered by the river Jordan on the west and . . .” He stops. “It doesn’t matter. Everything’s gone now. Anyway, when I traveled, I told everyone my people were all giants. So that made me the king of the giants.” He looks at me. “I’m a giant.”

There’s that word he used once before:
giant
. “You’re the biggest human I’ve ever seen.”

“No, Sheba. And yes, Sheba.” He clenches his teeth and looks so unhappy. I’ve never seen him look like this.

“What’s the matter?”

“What do you know about giants?”

“You. You’re all I know.”

“Well, giants are violent. Monsters. A race among themselves. That’s the common wisdom.”

“I’ve never seen you violent. Though when you punched the lion on the top of his head, I was sure you were a formidable warrior.”

Bash layers his forearms on his knees and leans forward. He looks off at the horizon. “That’s essentially what I told everyone. That we were all warriors, the entire nation of Bashan. That I was king only because my father was king—but otherwise my people would not have chosen me because I was so short.”

“Short? Good heavens! Your people must have been enormous.”

“That’s what everyone thought. That’s why no one invaded our land. But in reality, the people of Bashan were ordinary people. Ordinary size. Like my mother. And my father. He was king, all right, but an ordinary man. And I inherited his kingdom.”

“That’s amazing.” I shake my head. “You’re so smart.”

“So are you.” Bash gets to his feet. It’s as though he’s unfolding himself, he’s so tall. He walks in a circle around me. “See? That’s why I depend on you, Sheba. You’ve never once asked me what it’s like to be a giant. You’ve treated me like a human.”

“You are a human.”

“Yes. Others I meet, though, other strangers, they don’t know that. They assume.”

“Because they’ve heard stupid things. The common wisdom, like you said.”

“Sometimes. But sometimes I meet people like you, who have never heard of giants. And still they scream and run. But you accept me. You accepted me from the start. You make me feel . . . ordinary. Thank you.”

I give a little laugh. “I doubt many people thank others for making them feel ordinary.”

“You can laugh. But I depend on you, Sheba. With you I’m part of humanity.”

I stand and walk in the circle behind him.

“What are you doing?” asks Bash.

I spin on my heel and walk in the other direction. He follows. I laugh. “You’re almost as good at playing mimic as Queen. You’re fun.”

He stops. Then he laughs loud. “You’re brilliant, Sheba. Tell me what you want, what you need. Chores. Games. Anything. And we’ll work this out. Because you are my best friend.”

S
omething touches my back. Gently. I’m in that dreamy, half-asleep state. Whenever Bash goes down the rope, I go to sleep. Somehow the day exhausts me, so I’m ready to shut my eyes, even though he goes down in early evening. When he’s finished with the animals on the second deck—what used to be my deck—he comes back up to the roof, crawls into the tent, and stretches out beside me. He was fast tonight; he’s back earlier than usual. Whatever animals he set free for a romp on the deck must have been cooperative about returning to their cages. I snuggle back against him and make a little sigh of happiness.

Fingers come from behind. They move slowly around me, under my arm. My eyes open. The long fingers caress my breast.

I sit up straight and throw myself backward into her arms. “Queen!”

She turns my head to her with her hands and puts her mouth to mine, and suddenly my mouth is filled with sweet water. She carried it up here in her mouth! She saved it for me—a gift—a precious gift. I swallow it and hug her tight in thanks.

The Male is behind her. He clambers onto both of us. They hoot and whistle like crazy things, hopping all around the tent. All three of us hug and pull on one another and hop some more. Finally I press my head against The Male’s chest long enough to let him know I’m still glad to see him, even though I have to push him away. And it works; he doesn’t protest when I shove him aside.

Queen moves in immediately and examines me. I knew she would. I sit very still. Her hands go everywhere. But they finally settle on my belly. She rubs round and around, like she always did. “Oh! You knew!” It’s so clear now. “You knew from the very start, didn’t you? How? How on earth did you know?”

Queen nuzzles my ear.

“I’ve missed you, too.” I pick a tick from her ear and crush it between my nails. “I wish you spoke my language and you could tell me how everyone is. Do you ever sleep with Screamer, dear kit, or does he have to curl up alone now? I wish you’d adopt him, Queen.

“And how are the stupid aardvarks? And the shy duikers? And the sick lions? And the giraffes, yes, tell me the giraffes are still mating. Is she getting heavy with child? How long does it take for a giraffe baby to grow big enough to be born?”

Queen waits patiently while I talk, her eyes radiating intelligence. But the moment I stop, she gets up and knuckle-walks out of the tent. The Male looks at me a moment; then he falls forward off his haunches and walks out after Queen. I follow.

Queen walks the whole roof, one end to the other. Then she stands on her legs and walks the perimeter, her long-toed feet cupping the edge, her arms out to each side. It makes me kind of sick to watch. If she slipped, she’d tumble directly into the sea. Lost.

“Be careful, Queen.”

She looks over her shoulder at me, but she doesn’t stop moving. That scares me worse, of course. So I shut up. Once she’s been everywhere on the roof at least twice, she walks toward me, stops, and looks at me. It is early evening, but the days have begun to get longer, and I can see her expression clearly; she’s puzzled.

“So, Queen, you think this roof is boring? Is that it? Do you wonder why I left our cage?” I twist my mouth in apology. “I wish I spoke your language, so I could let you know. It would be boring, horribly tedious, if I didn’t have Bash.

“I left because I had to. You saw them that night—those humans. I’m so sorry I couldn’t figure out a way to explain it to you. I’m so sorry for Screamer, too. He’s just an idiot, but he must feel loss. He hasn’t been lucky with keeping mothers in his short little life.”

Queen waits till she’s sure I’ve finally stopped talking again.
I sense how hard she’s working to be patient with me. It makes me smile. She puts one hand on top of her head and pulls her hair upward.

I blink. Then I do the same.

Queen hoots in glee. She squats and holds one foot in her hand and stretches it out to the side.

I do the same.

Queen tumbles over backward in ecstasy.

We play mimic till suddenly I realize we can’t anymore. We’re falling this way and that. The ark sways harder than I’ve ever felt it. The moon is bright and full, so it’s easy to see tonight. And what I see is waves. They’re growing higher by the minute. In no time at all they are white-capped, every single one. The wind blows my hair straight behind me. It picks up fast. It tears at my shift. Queen and The Male and I hold on to one another.

Our water bucket goes rolling. I run to catch it, but it’s gone, over the edge.
Crack
—from behind me. Our tent tumbles toward the back of the ark. I can’t stop it; it’s going
slap, slam,
faster and faster. And it’s gone now too.

But I lunge for the knife that is already skidding across the roof. I pin it down by the handle and lie flat on the roof. Queen and The Male lie on top of me.

“Off!” It’s Bash. “Off! Scat!”

“What are you doing?” I scream into the wind. “They need help.”

“They need to go back to their cage. They’ll be blown off
here.” He runs at them, shrieking, his arms over his head. “Go! Go! Go!”