Chapter Thirty-Nine

No Hope

“And God said to Noah, ‘I have determined to make an end of all flesh, for the earth is filled with violence through them. Behold I will destroy them with the earth.”  Gen. 6:13

While the women bustled about preparing everyone’s first meal in the ark’s family quarters, Shem sat like cold marble in a chair beside the loom fighting a dark depression. Across the room, Father lay on the floor, knees up, pampering his aching back. Japheth snoozed before dinner old-married-man-style splayed out on a couch with his feet propped in a chair. Ham trailed after Eudocea helping with her chores like a love-sick buck. Whatever that meant.

Shem reached for a hank of yarn, sorted out the end and began lethargically winding the fiber loosely around stretched-out fingers. Though he loved his family, cooped up with all these happy people could drive a miserable man crazy. He would need to stay busy to keep sane.

Mother came up behind him and positioned her cheek close to his. “Why don’t you take a little nap? You were up early.” She held doughy hands stiffly while she squeezed his shoulders with her arm, kissed his cheek and returned to her kneading. The well-meaning gesture only made him feel worse. Lonelier. He removed the yarn from his fingers, flipped the loop sideways and wrapped in the other direction, beginning a ball.

From his position he could see the carved door of his room. His ridiculous fancy stupid room. He turned his chair sideways to shut out the embarrassing sight. He no longer needed or wanted it and planned to trade spaces with Ham and Eudocea soon. Tonight. Someone should enjoy his hard work. He’d rather sleep on a pile of hay in one of the food storage rooms than spend time in the place where he’d hoped for so much for so long only to be bitterly disappointed. Time had run out. The family was already on the ark, they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon and a wife wasn’t going to saunter up the ramp calling his name.

His sister-in-laws set platters mounded with fruit and vegetables on the table and called the family. They’d brought freshly picked produce and recently-butchered meat aboard with them this morning. The perishable fruit like peaches wouldn’t last more than a few weeks, but even after that rotted and supplies ran low they’d have abundance. Even after foods changed from fresh to dried and smoked. Even if their time on the ark lasted longer than the year Father predicted.

Shem held back while the rest of the family gathered to eat. He knew his behavior mimicked that of an immature youth, but he couldn’t force himself  to engage in the festivities. He’d make himself do so later. Just not yet. Mother and Father exchanged significant glances.

“Shem, come have a bowl of this delicious goat stew,” Mother urged patting the bench beside her.

“You’ll need the energy,” Father said.

Obviously they knew what he was feeling and were trying to help. Or thought they knew. If they truly understood, they’d know he couldn’t eat. He cast around for a way to avoid sitting at the table with them. Just for tonight. He could see his plight caused them pain and he hated that but . . ., “Uh. My stomach feels sour. I don’t think I can eat.”

“Go lie down,” Father said. Father wasn’t suggesting. He was commanding. “We have work to do tonight.”

Okay then.

With no other choice, Shem drew a resigned breath and stepped inside his room. He reached for the oil lamp by the door and lit the wick. A warm glow suffused the room helping him find the large chair in the far corner of the room. He sank into the chair’s pillows and, hoping not to think of Atarah, closed his eyes.

Immediately, a rustling from his bed startled them back open. His hand moved to the knife at his side and his heart thumped, beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. Holding the lamp before him to light the way he crept toward the bed, following the circle of yellow light.

A woman lay sleeping between his sheets, her soiled robe crumpled on the floor beside the bed. The blue-embroidered tunic showing above the top edge of the linen quilt rose and fell with her soft breathing. Shem’s eyes drank in her delicate features and the line of her jaw. Framed by glossy dark hair, her smooth skin glowed like the pearls studding the embroidery of her neckline. Air locked in his throat. How could she still be so beautiful after all she’d been through?

“Atarah.” He didn’t realize he’d breathed the name aloud until her eyes popped open. He lurched backward. “I’m sorry.” His voice was raspy. He cleared his throat and repeated, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I . . .” He should stop talking now. “I’m Shem.” He couldn’t stop talking. “Um . . . I didn’t introduce myself before.”

“My name is Atarah.”

“I know. I heard . . .” He heard the men who killed her baby say her name. Shut up, Shem.

Tension hung in the air between them. Did she have a husband somewhere? Was her husband one of the men trying to kill her? Neither moved or spoke for several seconds. Finally, Atarah pushed herself into a sitting position.

“I’m sorry,” Shem said again. With his gaze still fixed on hers he took a step backward, knowing he should leave the room and give her some privacy, but unable to make himself go. “I should leave you alone.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“You stole my line.” He forced a playful grin, hoping to alleviate any fear she might have. They both giggled.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over the side. Shem averted his gaze, his mouth suddenly dry.

“This is your room?” she asked. “Your bed?”

 “Yes.”

“I’ve never slept between more luxurious sheets.” She ran the flat of her hand over the silk. “And this quilt . . .  beautiful. The entire room is remarkable. But I had no right.” Regret shimmered on her features.

“Of course you did.” He longed to tell her that every detail of the room had been crafted for her. Belonged to her. “You’re welcome here.”

Did she have a husband or was the baby conceived . . . ? He couldn’t think that way. God had said she was his wife.

“Not without being invited.”

Shem grinned. “You have to know Father’s been begging people to come onto the

ark for years.”

“I guess he has.” Atarah laughed.

Excitement threatened to burble out of Shem. God had actually brought her here! His wife. And he’d actually spoken to Shem when he told Shem Atarah was his wife --just as he spoke to Father. Maybe not just like he spoke to Father since Shem hadn’t heard an actual voice. Shem could hardly hold his emotions in check.

“Did you create all this?” Atarah asked.

“Just this room.” He’d never seen such thick, long lashes.

“That’s what I meant. This room. Amazing.”

She looked well, but he wondered how she’d fared during the night. Had those men hurt her? Concern overrode his better judgment and he asked a direct question. “Are you all right?”

An overwhelming sadness filled the room making Shem regret he’d asked such a personal thing. Atarah dropped her head and traced the quilt’s stitching with her forefinger. He chided himself, realizing she barely knew him. He shouldn’t have been so intrusive. “Of course you’re not all right,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” What a dolt he was!

“It’s warm in here.” She looked at him as though willing him to understand something difficult to explain.

“My brother built a fire. The heat filters through.”

“No. I mean I have a warm feeling here.” She tapped a hand against her heart, looking him with large sapphire-blue eyes that made his heart flutter. “Your ark feels peaceful -- like a safe haven.”

A blank look must have settled over Shem’s countenance, because Atarah continued. “As soon as I stepped into the ark I knew I was safe.” Apparently she guessed he still didn’t understand. “What did you feel in the city?”

Finally Shem understood. Darkness and oppression characterized that place. “You’re right. I’m so used to the ark I think of the atmosphere here as normal.”

“But it isn’t. Wickedness is normal for the rest of the world.” Her eyes glistened with raw grief. “Like an evil bog threatening to suck you down.”

“You’re right.” Shem longed to pull her into his arms and kiss away the sorrow in those lovely eyes.

“I’m trying to answer your question about how I’m doing.” She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I feel safe here, so I’m doing better. But I’m still sad and I don’t know if the sadness will ever go away.” Her eyes pooled.

He wanted to comfort her, but he could only say, “I’m sorry.” She twinkled through her tears as he spoke the words. He laughed with her then sobered and said, “I truly am sorry.”

She blinked, and a single tear escaped the fringe of lashes. He wiped away the moisture with his thumb and electricity surged through him.

“This all defies logic,” she murmured. “I’m a stranger here yet I’m home for the first time in my life. The peace is so thick I think I could float.”

He paused to regain his composure. “You’re feeling the presence of the One True God. His protection surrounds the ark.”

Her face lit with joy. “I know! I was pretty sure, but I wanted to hear you say so!” The happiness faded and anguish filled her eyes. “We chased him away from our city when we chose to serve other gods, didn’t we?”

We? She was including herself in those who chased away God. Atarah was telling him that she had been fully integrated into the evil City of a Thousand Gods. He’d dared hope otherwise when he witnessed her try to rescue her son.

His heart tumbled off the mountain of hope and slogged through the swamp of gloom. If she’d grown up in the city, and he assumed she had, how could she be otherwise? He shouldn’t blame her, but he couldn’t help himself. She had chosen false gods and all the depravity required by those monstrous spirits. He needed time to sort through his emotions.

“We told the One True God to get out of our city and leave us alone, didn’t we?” She didn’t intend to let the question slide. She needed an answer.

He hesitated before answering, unwilling to hurt her. “Yes. God allows each of us to choose our own destiny.”

Strangely, his blunt reply calmed her and she reasoned through the situation aloud. “And now it’s too late. Nobody in the city will change.” She narrowed her eyes in thought, “Maybe think they can’t. That’s why the Flood. God has to wash the earth clean with water to cleanse away the evil of the people. Even more so the Nephilim and the giants.”

“You understand the reason for the Flood!” he exclaimed. Atarah had stated the cold facts in a way Shem had failed to see them. She was either very bright or God had revealed the truth to her. Maybe both. He watched her mind continue to click along.

“God is saving the human race by preserving your family on the ark when the water falls from the sky. And Noah is not hiding giants here like everyone says, is he?”

“No.” Shem stared at her in awe. “How do you know all that?”             She hesitated as though afraid he wouldn’t believe her. “Your Father’s God spoke to me. First in dreams and then when I was wide awake last night. Back home I might have tried to convince myself the vision was a hallucination, but here the peace helps me think more clearly. I think evil causes confusion.”

“God told you all that?”

“No. He told me other things. But while I slept, I dreamed about something I heard your Father say and that woke me up. I remembered information from my mother and puzzled everything together before I drifted off to sleep again.”

“You met Father?”

“Once.” She seemed lost in thought for a full minute before looking up at him, eyes shining with hope. “Even when I rejected the One True God, he still loved me. He told me so last night. Since he never left me, maybe there’s still hope for my mother.”

Shem only partially followed her zigzagging logic. He opened his mouth prepared to warn her that just six days remained until the Flood and the time for hope had passed. He started to remind her how unlikely it would be for her mother to come up to the ark on her own as Atarah had. He fully intended to remind her that if she tried to go back to the city to find her mother she’d certainly be killed. Worse, with weather conditions in the valley and city growing worse every day, it would be impossible to get to her mother.

“There’s always hope with the One True God,” he said. Though he knew that her mother and everyone else she’d ever known would die in the Flood in less than one week, he couldn’t bear to hurt her by removing all hope. She’d been through too much.

With Atarah at his side Shem tentatively opened the door and stood waiting for someone to notice. No one looked up. Nothing but the clink of metal on pottery broke the silence as the family ate without the customary jovial conversation. Shem could see that his plight was causing them all pain. Father pointed at a fruit platter still piled high with paw paws, mahogany-colored Jujube and thin sweet-tart slices of quince. Ham scooted the fruit toward him. Father nodded thanks and reached for a fragrant golden-brown paw paw as long as his hand. So like Father. No one in the family cared for the wild-banana flavor of the fruit – not even Father, but he always saved the best of everything for others.

Ham took a persimmon from across the table. He hated paw paws, of course, and would eat Jujube only when it was crisper and yellow with red spots. And he didn’t like quince. At all. Shem wondered if Ham would be a picky eater once the Flood had been under way for a few months.

Shem cleared his throat, inexplicably embarrassed. The six people around the table froze, eating utensils midair, staring at Shem and Atarah open-mouthed.

After a beat, Father jumped to his feet and strode toward them with open arms. “Daughter!” He clutched Atarah’s shoulders and kissed each of her cheeks before standing at arms’ length to examine her, his eyes shifting back and forth over her face as though he wanted to drink in every detail. Atarah’s cheeks flamed.

“I knew God was speaking to your heart!” Father said.

The rest of the family swarmed Atarah, welcoming her. Shem studied her face as she interacted with each of them. The word innocent fit best. And kind. She seemed extraordinarily kind. Even better, her eagerness to hear about the One True God was evident in her face and posture at every mention of his name. She treated Mother and Father with respect. Maybe even admiration. Shem didn’t take long to decide he didn’t care what she’d been, he only cared who she’d become. A woman of character. A woman he could love. Maybe already loved.

A dull thud in the corridor outside the door brought the introductions to a sudden halt. Father held up a hand for silence and Atarah glanced immediately at Shem for reassurance. His palms began to sweat. Not because of the very real possibility of danger, but because of Atarah’s eyes. If necessary, he would give his life for her.

Father gestured the women to the back of the room for safety. Shem wrapped his hand around the knife he always kept at the ready and moved toward the door.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Time to
Depart 

“For in seven days I will send rain on the earth forty days and forty nights, and every living thing that I have made I will blot out from the face of the ground. On the very same day Noah and Noah’s sons, Shem, Ham and Japheth and Noah’s wife, and the three wives of his sons with them entered the ark.” Genesis 7:4, 13

Shem crawled out of bed and crept through the dark house. Closing the front door behind him to avoid waking the family, he pulled on an outer garment and made his way around the back of the house through the blustery wind to the small work building that housed his kick wheel. For hours he’d tried to relax and catch a few winks before tomorrow’s mad activities kicked in, but his mind wouldn’t stop churning.

Once inside the shop he lit a torch, grabbed a handful of wet clay from a lidded vat, pounded the pliable mud into a ball and slammed it down onto the revolving wheel head. Throwing pottery always settled his thoughts. He pushed against the gritty gray mass with the heel of his hand, centering the irregular lump as he mulled over the events of the night before. Breathing deeply of the pleasant aroma of damp earth, he wondered when he would smell clay again.

Shortly after he had arrived home well after dark, Father informed him that the rest of the family had gone to bed early because God had spoken again. He had instructed Father to tell the family to begin final preparations for the Flood at dawn the next morning – which was a couple of hours from right now. They were to carry all provisions not yet aboard and all personal items they might need onto the ark. Because this final time before the Flood would require long work hours, the family would remain on the ark while the remainder of the animals boarded. Then, one week later, God himself would shut the door locking the family inside.

The news so shocked Shem that he decided not to bother Father by telling him about Atarah. After Father retired, Shem fought the urge to wake his brothers and ask for help. Eventually, his better self won and he decided against disturbing anyone. Finding Atarah in the dark was impossible. Since his brothers had to be on the ark at first light or disobey God they would not be able to help him in the morning. No one could help Shem search for Atarah now. It was too late.

Choosing to spend this last night in the house with his family rather than on the ark, he went to bed berating himself for his failure. He should have had enough faith in God to try diligently to find Atarah years ago. Losing her was a burden Shem would bear alone.

Shem dipped a natural sponge into water and dribbled the liquid over rotating clay, struggling to sort out details in his head. Exactly seven days from today, Father had said, the windows of heaven would open and the fountains of the deep would burst forth. The earth would be completely covered with water and every living thing on dry land would die. Though Shem had no idea all that the prediction entailed, for the first time in his life he no longer doubted the catastrophe. He believed with every fiber of his being the world as he knew it would end.

In a week.

Seven days.

The world would end!

He shoved against the clay with such ferocity he nearly dislodged the mass from the wheel head. If he couldn’t locate Atarah and convince her of the truth of God’s words, she would never become his wife. She would die. A fresh surge of the panic he had experienced repeatedly over the past couple of days pumped through him. The problem was, yesterday as he searched he had called her name repeatedly, but she didn’t answer. She either couldn’t or wouldn’t.

She must have heard him. Going out to look for her before light this morning would be pointless if she didn’t want him to find her. Yet by dawn it would be too late. At dawn he must enter the ark or disobey Father – and God.

He held the clay steady until it stopped thumping against his palms and revolved smoothly. Thick slip coated his hands. Last night he’d related to Father everything that had happened concerning Atarah. Though sympathetic, the older man had been no help. No help at all. “You did your best,” Father reminded him. “You know she heard you.”

Shem hung his head, reluctant to think about her reasons for avoiding him.  

“She’s afraid.” Father placed a hand on Shem’s arm. “Now it’s up to God. Trust him.”  

Shem opened the lump of clay by dipping his fingers into the center. Had he been wrong to assume Atarah’s husband had turned against her? What if desperation was causing him to covet another man’s wife? He shuddered with disgust at himself. He had believed it was God who spoke to him, pointing out that Atarah would be his wife. Had he been wrong? Suffering from delusions of grander when he imagined that the Only True God would talk to him as well as to Father? It had never happened before.

A protuberance bumped near the bottom of the pot, growing as the walls thinned between his fingers. Unfortunately, the lump had the hard feel of a limestone fragment. He could have gently pricked a bubble and pressed out the air to save the pot, but the bit of hard limestone embedded so close to the base couldn’t be removed without collapsing the entire thing. Shem would eventually have to destroy his creation.

Frustrated, he continued to pull the walls upward even though the flaw inherent in the clay made his efforts pointless. The defect would eventually throw the pot off-kilter and ruin any attempt of forming something useful.

The exaggerated sense of sorrow that passed through him when he thought of destroying his creation brought a wry smile. Was God giving Shem a tiny glimpse into the Almighty’s own grief over the necessity of annihilating his creation? Were the turbulent winds trying to blow away the evil sullying the earth? Were the mountains exploding with long-overdue pent-up righteous anger?

The pot wobbled crazily. He sighed. The fragment. He shook his head and continued to work doggedly, though he understood all his work would end in futility. Even if he managed to produce a pot, the end product would be misshapen. It would have to be because of the hard piece of stone. He might pound the pot into a better form at the nearly-dry leather-hard stage, but the fragment would still explode when fired and destroy the vessel as well as nearby objects in the kiln.

Besides, there’d be no time to fire again before the Flood.

And yet, something inside him burned to bring the vessel to completion. He’d never been able to explain the visceral love he felt for clay. Not even to himself. He fervently loved every pot he created. He hated seeing even one vessel ruined.

The off-balance pot began to flop like a fish in his hands, prompting a sudden decision. Shem would look for Atarah right now. Even though searching in the dark flew in the face of logic.

Before his work could collapse completely, Shem swept the wet clay off the wheel head with his forearm and plunged his hands into a tub of water, cleansing them. If God wanted to direct Shem to Atarah he would find her. There were still nearly two hours left before morning. He strode out into the black night, fighting the blustery wind. Determined he would find her. Had God increased his faith again or was Shem just love-struck and illogical?

As quickly as possible he made his way to the last place he’d seen her. He squinted into the drying wind, praying to find her. He called her name gently. No sounds answered. He screamed for her until his voice limped out as a hoarse whisper.

Still no Atarah.

He climbed upward, hoping she might have tried to find her way to the ark. Nothing.

Pre-dawn shimmered on the horizon by the time he reluctantly headed home to do his duty and help load the ark, emotionally exhausted. He hadn’t gone far when he heard a faint voice. Whirling around, he raced through bare dirt and stone toward the sound.

Past a stand of trees, Shem spotted the flicker of a campfire. He crouched behind a boulder. From that position he could observe the mob who had chased them the day before. Several men sat around the fire eating. The lecherous man with the neck tattoo paced near the fire with his horse as he talked and gestured to his followers. Obviously agitated.

Seeing his frustration, hope that they might not have found Atarah rose again in Shem. Leaning forward, he strained to listen. Though the wind prevented him from hearing most of what they said, it blew a few words his direction. He learned that for some reason the men feared the ark and this mountain, but they had wanted Atarah badly enough to disregard their superstitions.

They’d found her once and lost her again.

Though that news caused Shem’s breathing and heart rate to accelerate, the information that she’d made it through the night without being captured eased his angst only slightly. He feared she might lie injured somewhere and he assumed the men still intended her harm.

The sky grew lighter by the second. Was it possible he still had time to find her?

The homicidal activity around the fire increased as an argument ensued about where to continue their search for Atarah. The tattooed man insisted they circle to the far side of the mountain. Two others, threatening mutiny, thought they should search closer to the ark. Those two stood to leave.

Suddenly, in an ominous twist, the tattooed man rammed a torch into the fire and thrust the flame above his head. “Burn her!” he shrieked. “Burn that cursed ark!” He powered the head of his torch onto the forest floor and the ground blazed to life. Laughing gleefully, the men with him raced across the mountainside touching torches to the ground. The rushing wind pushed the line of fire away from them and up the hillside toward Shem. The fiends intended to burn Atarah to death!

Shem leapt to his feet. “No!”

In the dawning light, the men turned to look at Shem. He could clearly make out the sneering face of the tattooed man. As one, the group pointed toward him and raucous laughter burst from their throats.

“She’s dead!” the tattooed man shouted. “And now you’re dead, too! Neither of you can survive the fire.” Laughing, he wiggled his fingers in goodbye as billowing smoke obscured him from Shem’s view.

Shem knew he spoke truth. All Shem could do now was save his own life by staying ahead of the fire. He sped toward the ark begging God to somehow help Atarah magically emerge from the forest unharmed. If she could just make it as far as the fire-protected expanse surrounding the house and ark she would be safe. He stood on bare dirt in the middle of the recently-harvested linen field between the house and ark, his eyes continually strafing the perimeter of the fire. After a few minutes dawn broke over the skyline and the blaze died down, but there was no sign of Atarah.

Smoke wafted up from the house chimney and breakfast aromas drifted over on the now-gentle wind. Mother was up.

Brokenhearted, Shem turned his back on the scorched smoldering hillside and walked slowly toward the ark. He’d go back to help his family later, after a few minutes alone. Not even the knowledge that the Flood would soon wipe out the evil men who caused Atarah’s death could ease his heartache. He stepped inside the ark and started toward the family quarters. Maybe spending a little time in his room would comfort him.

But before he stepped inside the door to the family quarters, grief pulled him up short. He couldn’t face that place. Not yet. He’d labored for years to craft the perfect living space for his wife without even knowing her identity -- but now he knew. “Atarah.” He reverently breathed her name. She would never see all he’d done for her, never know how much he loved her before he even met her.

The temptation to break free of the ark and look for her one final time seemed more than he could bear. He had no desire for a future without Atarah as his wife. It was possible she was still alive out there somewhere, wasn’t it? Perhaps he could find her before the Flood drowned her and succeeded where the mob had failed.

Suddenly the Flood towered over him as a mortal enemy. Feeling totally helpless, he pounded the corridor wall with clenched fists. He had been instructed to stay and prepare for the Flood with his family. Disobeying that command would mean turning his back on God. Shem must decide who he loved more. God or Atarah. A plea wrenched from the depths of his soul. “God help me!”

Immediately, tranquility flowed from the top of Shem’s head down to the bottom of his feet. He straightened and squared his shoulders. The choice was made. He would remain faithful to God. Lifting his face toward heaven he cried out, “Please punish them, God. I know you will punish them!” Though the words were true, the declaration brought no pleasure and did nothing to diminish his grief. He would never forget her, not even if he lived eight hundred more years.

Shem handed a pail of water to Ham who poured the liquid into a large urn. 

A streamlined version of the water-loading experience from a few nights earlier was in progress at the well by the ark. The winds had died down and a haze of smoke from last night’s fire hung in the mid-day air. With his emotions finally under control, Shem ignored the acrid smell and focused on the task at hand.

The brothers worked as a three-way relay team, pulling buckets from the well, filling urns and hoisting them onto Buzz’s cart. This would be the last water-hauling they’d do. The water taken into the ark today should provide all they needed until the Flood came. The possibility of finally being done with hauling water once and for all was good news. The unfortunate-though-not-surprising bad news: Buzz was not happy.

Shem and Ham cut a wide berth around the camel’s outstretched neck and lifted a water vessel onto the far side of Japheth’s cart. But on the return trip, Shem walked a little too close to the beast’s head and Buzz snapped at his bare arm, missing by a hair. Yelling for the camel to behave, Japheth hurried over, sprung onto the camel’s back and jumped on him with force a couple of times. Buzz slowly rolled his neck around and glared threateningly. If Buzz chose nasty, Buzz would stay nasty.

“Anyone know how those zebras got locked up downstairs?” Ham asked. “They’re already in the stall we set aside for them.”

“I shut them in.” Shem answered Ham’s question without making eye contact. “They were strolling onto the ark pretty as you please about the time I got here this morning.”

“They give you any trouble?”

Before Shem could respond, the entire sky pulsed with light, and at the same instant an ear-shattering bang split the air, vibrating the space around them. 

Shem jumped and clutched the water bucket as though the wooden pail might sprout legs and run away if he loosed his hold. Ham and Japheth stopped in their tracks, mouths agape. “What was that?” Japheth asked in an awed whisper.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ham exclaimed.

Buzz bellowed and thrashed, showing the whites around his eyes.

His heart still thumping from the terrifying explosion of sound and light, Shem carefully set his bucket on the ground. Water had run down the front of his indigo work garment, leaving a long dark spot. “Is it possible,” he speculated, gazing into the sky, “that God just opened one of the windows of heaven?”

“I don’t see any water.” Ham held his palms up and looked into the sky. “Wouldn’t we see water if he were opening the heavens?”

Again, the clouds throbbed with light, but this time a lengthy rumbling accompanied the light show. “Gotta be connected to the coming rains,” Shem insisted. A picture of Atarah popped into his head unbidden. Though he’d accepted that she was dead, some irrational part of him couldn’t stop hoping she lived. If she was out there would she be frightened? The desire to protect her rose strong. He chided himself for his foolishness and pushed the thoughts away.   

By now the sky rumbled almost without stop. A series of zig-zagging flashes of light streaked downward. With each flash came a loud clap and Buzz bellowed frantically, rocking to free his hobbled legs. Japheth rushed over to him yelling over his shoulder. “Got enough water?”

“One more urn!” Shem shouted.

 “Let’s load this thing and get onto the ark.” Ham whipped into action, plopping another bucket into the well. Father and the women were already on the ark and he obviously hankered to join his wife.

Japheth hopped onto Buzz’s back again in an effort to settle the camel. “Look!” He pointed from his place astride Buzz.

Shem watched a column of wind finger out of the cloud and descend toward the earth. “It’s coming this way! Go!”

Japheth removed the hobble and Buzz bolted for the ark, the cart bumping wildly along with him. The three men followed at top speed. They hurled themselves through the door of the ark just as the whirlwind hit.