The Book of Heaven: A Novel (51 page)

“The hours passed in silent, exhausting work, until No satisfied himself that every corner of the ark was filled. Then the pairs of little cousins were marched on board. No had ordained that the boarding should have a liturgical quality, to demonstrate their gratitude to God, and their consciousness that this was no ordinary voyage, but a journey from annihilation into life.

“Each child clutched the one toy permitted them. The littlest ones staggered under the weight of the personal store of grain each person was to carry. No had ordained strict rations for the voyagers, in order to preserve the supplies of food stock as long as possible.

“They were conducted into a special shelter, which had been engineered with special rope mechanisms to lash them all together if necessary. The delicate bearers of the human future must ride the deluge; their parents knew their own lives were forfeit to No and to God, if any of these unsuspecting miniature brides and grooms were swept overboard.

“An anthem was sung for them, and when it finished, a second began, the signal for their parents to board. Malista emerged from the lean-to, holding her friend's child in her arms. The baby was awake, but quiet, seemingly attentive to the music, its enormous eyes vigilant but trusting. The children of No and of Malista boarded, as formally coupled as they had been at their weddings.

“They positioned themselves on the deck, singing a hymn honoring Malista, the symbol of the ark, who had carried her sons into life. She came toward the great, wide gangplank, which she would ascend, followed by No, the last living creature who would board the vessel of salvation. No looked at her with an expression of solemn reverence as she approached, an expression that swiftly altered when she set her foot on the gangplank, and he glimpsed the child in her arms.

“‘What is that?' he asked sharply, his eyes now as narrow and territorial as a venomous snake's.

“‘This is my store of grain,' Malista answered. ‘This is my sheaf of wheat.'

“‘Where did you get it?' No's voice deepened, the thunderous voice that meant God was in possession of him. ‘Put it on the ground,' he ordered her, ‘and board the ark. All that God has chosen to be saved is aboard, except for you and me.'

“It was the voice that always terrified her. She held the child and closed her eyes, knowing that if she looked at him, her soul would faint into a twilight beyond will. Then he could take the child from her, and carry her on board.

“‘I have made a promise,' she said, almost inaudibly. She clung to the child as a passenger overboard clings to a raft.

“‘Then you are a fool,' he said. ‘You have made a promise. Look up at this vessel; you see a promise—a promise God made. Do you think God will honor your promise, and break His own?'

“‘Not really,' she said weakly. ‘No.'

“‘Then board, or stay here with the damned.'

“Malista stood still, speechless, unable to move forward or backward. No turned, and without a backward look, mounted the gangplank, and ordered it hauled up. It swung into place like the raised palm of a huge hand.”

“All were now aboard the ark. It looked from where she was standing that her middle son had stayed on deck, his head in his hands. The water was beginning to reach Malista's feet. The power to move was restored to her, and she began hurriedly to retrace her path. The baby cooed and giggled, entertained by the gentle jolting motion produced by Malista's haste.

“She scrambled up a hill, and stopped to catch her breath in a grove of trees. From the depths of the shade, she could see the ark. It was now sealed, with neither entrance nor exit.

“She climbed steadily upward. When she reached the imposing group of buildings on the cliff, she took the child indoors, and brought down again her eldest son's cradle, which she had carefully packed away. She made a soft, warm bed for the child, and fed it.

“She cleared a path through a poignant chaos of dolls, toy soldiers, balls, and cloth monkeys, which lay where they had been dropped; the toys ultimately abandoned by her grandchildren. No had held them strictly to the rule that they could choose only one toy each.

“Then she set about opening all the cupboards she had locked, so that the refugees could easily find supplies. She went around the courtyard, opening all the doors and windows that had been shut. She noted with relief the many outbuildings that could house refugees. Many people could survive here for as long as God willed.

“There were already refugees on the peak, and more were climbing the terraces through the vineyards, and still more on the road. Malista asked them to see that the strongest camped on the grounds and high terraces, and to leave the inner courtyard and houses for those in greatest need of shelter.

“As night began to fall campfires were lit, and the procession of refugees climbed toward them. They were as calm as pilgrims on a holiday, and today, or tomorrow, was the holy feast of Saint Death himself. Some were even singing as they ascended, laden with food and blankets.

“She was relieved to hear the singing. She tensed in the wish that they might sustain this spirit. The fear that they would die struggling against each other to live at the other's expense was as real to her as the fear of death. Malista shut her eyes, unsure who to pray to, the God of the salvation of the ark, or the God of the destruction of the world.

“In a parody of her former lavish hospitality, she began to distribute rations of water to the arrivals, with the same gestures she had once brought out salt, bread, and wine. A refugee girl of about seven approached and asked if she could rock the baby in her cradle; she sat down, legs crossed, and swayed the child gravely back and forth, steady as a clock.

“When Ember and her family passed through the gates into the courtyard and caught sight of Malista there, she instantly grasped what had happened. She made her way to Malista, her son and husband following her.

“The women looked at each other wordlessly; Malista lifted the baby from the cradle and placed her in her mother's arms. Wing, the boy who had never even accepted a cake from her hands, threw his arms around Malista for a sharp sweet second, and then raced behind his mother, as if a bird had circled her.

“He whispered something to his father, who nodded, and then the boy disappeared outside. He wanted to climb a tree to watch the state of the flood; there was no reason to refuse, it was as safe a shelter as any, perhaps even safer. He was at the age when boy and animal were still woven inextricably together, and the energy of it gives the boy a touch of immortality. They leap off bridges and swim to the surface unhurt, run like falling rain downhill, and watch the unwary in majesty perched in trees they have climbed.

“She knew it was irrational, but Malista could not believe in death when she watched this boy race through the courtyard, wheeling through the throngs and clusters of campers like a swift plunging through crowds.

“It is the weakness of parents, she thought. We believe in our own deaths, but not in our children's. And in my case, it is true. This young boy who barely touches the ground will die, but my own grown sons will live, sheltered inside their wooden walls.

“Malista worked to settle the arrivals as comfortably as she could, moving from group to group, to see what needs she might supply. She felt unnatural without her daughters-in-law gracefully following her directions. Strangers clasped her hands as she wove through the circles of people sitting on the grounds. She touched their palms with hers apologetically, conscious, as they were not, that she might have lived.

“There were strange, explosive sounds outside—below them, trees were being uprooted, and houses torn from their foundations, a man who had witnessed the eradication of his village told them.

“Suddenly, there was a shout: ‘The ark has sailed, the ark has sailed.'

“Wing had seen the sea rise to the level of the lake, and watched the great vessel, like a monstrous fish holding a world in its belly, inch forward into its element. It could only be hours now, Malista knew. Her hands were frighteningly cold, and, suddenly, she felt as exhausted as if she had already finished her death struggle. She wanted to be with Ember's family when it happened. She searched them out, and sat down with them in the firelight.

“A man who looked familiar made his way to their circle, and greeted Malista with an elegant inclination of his head. She recognized the townsman who had always been drunk, now quite sober. He asked her with great dignity if he might have the honor of breaching the barrels from No's cellars and offering the company a glass of wine, ‘to drink to our health and to the health of our hostess,' he said.

“They exchanged gentle smiles, and a long, deep glance of shared fear and shared dignity. Malista handed him the keys that were in her pocket.

“Cup after cup of wine was sent from hand to hand, as if the wine were inexhaustible; carafes were carried out to the ones camped on the hillsides, where there was the smell of fresh bread, of meat and vegetables roasting, savory fragrances still stronger than the smell of the dampening earth.

“Malista moved the cradle rhythmically back and forth, and looked around at the firelit faces filling her rooms and courtyard, at the man who had been the town drunk, now serving others with discipline and grace, at Ember, who had wiped away the blood of her wounds the first day they had met. Her fate was interwoven with the fate of each one of these people, and theirs with hers, as mutual as if the fingers of their hands were enlaced. Within the meshes, both apparent and invisible, waited their death, but also a feeling of absolute communion, an incomprehensible freedom even from the death they were bound to die.

“She sipped her cup of her husband's wine; it was the amber-vermilion color of the early morning sky said to be the sailor's warning. With her other hand, she rocked the baby girl in her cradle, with a sound and motion that kept her dreaming as if she were floating in a skiff on soft summer waves.

“The baby suddenly opened her eyes, looked into Malista's, and held her gaze, with the exact look of knowledge that had deepened and brightened the eyes of all the adult company, as if their eyes were filled with tears not of weakness, but of illumination. Malista had never seen such a look of such clarity, of such equality, on the face of a child.

“She leaned forward, thinking the wine must be giving her this illusion. Then, there was no doubt: she heard a distant musical sound, as if the wind had moved the strings of some instrument, and an unearthly soprano voice, not a man's or a woman's.

“Malista instinctively looked up at the night sky; she saw a sky full of stars drifting in patterns she had never seen before. They gathered like musical notes, shimmering trebles and basses, starry notes flickering in staves that glittered like mica. ‘This is the ark,' the baby in the cradle sang. Malista frowned at herself, her senses deceived by the wine during these, the final hours of her life. ‘I am the ark,' the child sang its tune, without any variation. ‘You are the ark.'

“Malista furtively looked up to see if anyone else close by had heard the child's music. She caught Ember's eyes; the woman returned her gaze and it seemed to Malista that they had exchanged eyes, that the tears in her eyes were the tears of Ember's sorrow, that Ember's eyes were now filled with Malista's tears. Yet the music seemed inaudible to her.

“‘She is the ark,' the child sang. Ember, still deaf, it seemed, to the music, leaned forward and impulsively clasped Malista's hand. She wove Malista's fingers with hers, as if their joined hands made a basket. ‘That is the ark,' the child sang.

“Malista stared from one end of the courtyard to the other. The center by the fountains and all the galleries were crowded with people, their frightened, resolute faces intermittently visible by firelight. Many held hands, or had their arms around each other. ‘These are the ark.'

“Malista looked down again at the child's face, her eyes still holding Malista's. She felt a tide of love that curved her over the cradle, as if the crest of a wave had washed over her and carried her to shore; she unself-consciously lifted the child into her arms, and kissed her cheek with infinite tenderness. She rocked her back and forth, but it seemed to her that it was the child who cradled her, and drew her deeper and deeper into the embrace. ‘This is the flood,' sang the child.

“Malista must have fallen asleep because she woke abruptly when she heard a hoarse cry at first light; she shifted suddenly in the shock of waking, and startled the baby sleeping in her arms, who began to wail. She heard the cry again, someone shouting incoherently with all the power of his lungs; she stood up, to prepare herself for whatever was to come next.

“She saw Wing circling through the groups seated at the far end of the courtyard, dipping toward one person and then another, his face red with shouting. Some people jumped up and began to race outside.

“Wing's father stood up and called to him, so that the boy could locate his family among the crowds. With an impossible leap, soaring through the air as if he could never fall, Wing threw himself into his father's arms. ‘The waters are receding!' he shouted. ‘The waters are receding.' They hurried to the bluff where the child had watched the night, and saw that it was true. The sea was withdrawing, with a superb slow formality, like a courtier in the presence of majesty.”

The Philosopher reached for a cluster of grapes from the bowl beside the bed. He was always hungry after a story. “What happened to No?” he asked.

“Who knows?” she answered. “None of them saw him again. I imagine he stayed on the ark he was inspired to build as his wife stayed on the ark she built.”

“Is it a true story?” the Philosopher asked, smiling involuntarily when the wine inside the grape flowed into his mouth.

“I don't know. Is the one you tell true? All I know is that I know different stories than you do.”