Margaret's Ark (23 page)

It happened quickly but her brain tried to slow events down. How long had this been going on? Five minutes? People had forgotten about her and were pulling each other off the ladder to make room for themselves. The ark rocked back and forth on its tentative perch. Margaret heard screams from inside.

The girls.

“Stop it!” she yelled. “Get away from there! This is not the flood; it's only a warning.” She pushed past two people, but her presence only blended with everyone else’s, contending for passage on the ship. Still, she pushed and shoved her way through dozens of people. Someone elbowed her in the face. For the second time, Margaret found herself stumbling back. She put a hand to her mouth, felt pain. Blood on her fingertips.

Katie and Robin still screamed from inside. More voices. Carl tore into the crowd in a blind rage, forearming and shoving men and women, scraping them off the hull like barnacles. Someone hit him. He kicked backwards. His attacker screamed and fell.

When Margaret heard the heavy groan and creek of the wood, she knew what was going to happen.

“Katie! Grab Robin and hold on!” The rain swallowed her words; the screams of the mob swallowed her words.

The ark tipped towards the crowd, rolled back on its supports, and this time did not stop. Even as people continued to scale the sides, the ark rolled away from them, listed on its side and hesitated for an eternal moment. Then it fell. The supports along the bow and port side snapped. The side of the ship hit the ground with a thud, then seemed to sag into the grass.

The screaming inside stopped. People outside fell or rolled away in confusion. A few turned and stared at Margaret as if just seeing her for the first time. She pushed them away. The realization of what their panic had caused took the fever from some of the people's eyes.

The blue tarp was partially detached and fluttering in the wind. Even as Margaret and the others climbed over the side, more cars approached, squeezing past those crowed on the sidewalk, joining the cars on the grass in a makeshift parking lot. It wasn't over yet.

Katie poked her head from behind the tarp. “Mom! Mom!”

“Katie, here. I'm over here.” Margaret crawled along the upended side of the hull and waved. Katie saw the motion and brightened. She looked back into the chaotic interior of the capsized boat and said, “It's OK, Robin. Mommy's here.” Robin's cherub face poked over the hull, crying, but unharmed.

Margaret pulled her daughters from the opening and held them. They were followed by other angry and frightened people who had been inside. David Whitman's face bled from a gash just above his thin hairline.

It wasn't until Margaret worked with Carl and others to remove more of the tarp that she realized someone might have been on the other side when the ship keeled over.

She fell to all fours, tried to see anyone underneath, some sign.

“No one was there,” said a shouting voice behind her. “No one but me.” Estelle wheeled her chair closer. One wheel sunk in a patch of mud. Her hands slipped on the wet rubber treads. Margaret remembered that they'd extended the tarp out over a section of grass on the port side as a shelter for Estelle. They hadn't found a need to get her inside the ship yet.

Estelle gave up trying to move the wheelchair and held one hand over her eyes. She held thumb and forefinger close together and tried unsuccessfully to smile. “Missed me by that much,” she said. She laughed without humor.

“We're so sorry,” a woman's voice behind her said. Margaret ignored her.

The second wave of arrivals crowded in. Margaret could already see the stirring of bodies, their fear recharging at the sight of so many others come before them. Katie and Robin grabbed their mother’s legs. More cars were coming. The streets were choked with them.

Rain dripped into Margaret’s shoes and down her legs. A warm rain; the air was thick with humidity. Her slicker had come open; her blouse and jeans were soaked. Katie and Robin pulled the slicker around themselves. Margaret felt not as much like Jesus now, as the Ghost of Christmas Present with the two Sorrows hiding under her cloak.

She was losing it. Her mind, her control over her crew and the ship, the common itself. People reached for her, begged her to sign them on. Estelle screamed at them to move aside, and was eventually wheeled away by someone Margaret could not see. She heard Estelle's furious shouts of, “Get your fucking hands off my chair!”

The crowd began trying to right the ship.

The common was awash in flashing blue and white lights. The police cruisers whooped their sirens and hit their horns. In less than a minute, they’d formed an imperfect ring around the construction site, trapping those at the fallen ark within and the rest outside.

The blue lights flashing atop the cruisers cast the faces of the mob in a nightmare wash of soundless lightning. Red lights now, as the two large engines emerged from the fire station and lumbered onto the grass, horns blasting at people too confused or mindless to notice them. These joined the ring, circling the ship. Firemen in heavy coats and helmets added their bodies to the barrier.

*     *     *

The Meyers’ dining room was tucked in the far corner of the house, big enough to seat ten around a rosewood table, plus accommodate the matching serving table and buffet.. Rain pattered against the glass of a pair of French doors leading to a patio. The room was warm, the weather outside held at bay by a real fire in the fireplace centered against the adjoining outside wall. Orange flames licked around a single, fat piece of birch.

It was comforting. Heat, fire, the antithesis of rain and water.

Eight were seated for dinner with the two chairs immediately before the fire removed to avoid subjecting anyone to its direct heat during dinner. Conversation circulated from general hospital gossip to the Red Sox’s early-season losing streak. Try as everyone might to avoid it, the weather outside lingered behind every topic. The youngest of the group, Karen and Devin Jahns, steered the discussion from Red Sox to Bruins, whose surprising berth in the Stanley Cup playoff seemed to be the most amazing event they'd ever witnessed.

They also talked of recent stories about unexpected or unseasonable migrations of wildlife eastward, from all across the world.  Topics changed to medicine, the stock market, everything except the weather. Suresh did his best to remain quiet, neutral on all topics.

A sudden, heavy gust battered the French doors. The meal was served by Meyers' wife, Linda, to whom Suresh and Neha had been only briefly introduced before the woman scurried away with their wet coats. Now, she placed the main course on the table, a sizzling half-round chunk of beef. It was accompanied by steamed vegetables and various slices of fresh fruit that would normally be served as an appetizer or dessert. The perfect compliment to the heavy fare, and a relief to Suresh, who was vegetarian.

When Linda Meyers sat beside him, Suresh noted only the slightest trace of a perfume from her, rosewater. He thought of the grove in his dream, of Neha lying among the blossoms.. Bernard Meyers carried most of the conversations, or led them in varying directions if he detected one or more of his guests was losing interest.

Noting a pause in the conversation, their host said casually, “It would seem, however, the biggest topic of conversation today has been the rain.” He paused. People were not quick to respond.

As if on cue, the French doors rattled as wind tossed another bucketful of water against the glass.

Neha was the first to offer any real comment. As she finished serving herself a modest helping of vegetables and accepted the plate of fruit, she said, “Rain is rain,” and smiled. “Though I suppose there are some out there who would say otherwise.” Suresh saw her consider the beef, but in deference to her husband, she did not take any for herself.

Polite laughter at her words, a couple of nodding heads. Maureen from radiology acknowledged the statement with an exuberant nod of her head. “Absolutely,” she said. “There's an ark right down the road in Arlington whose builder is probably dancing in the rain right now, saying 'I told you so'.” She giggled and took a bite of meat.

The director raised an eyebrow. “You sound skeptical, Maureen. Don't you believe them?”

Derek Jahns waved his fork for emphasis, “I saw the satellites on the web this morning. The whole country is suddenly under one big cloud!”

“Some say the timing is definitely fortunate for those people,” Neha said. “But I'd venture to say it's
un
-fortunate for them, as this is only going to feed their delusions.”

Suresh chewed his food and stared at his plate, seeing not his meal but Neha again, in the grove, in the warm soft light of a million stars.

The guests quickly, but subtly, took positions of cautious worry, blatant scorn (Neha already staking herself in that camp), or professional curiosity. Meyers and a silent, white-haired Eurasian man – a neurologist named Kane, if Suresh remembered correctly – took this latter stance, inquiring softly the views of both sides. Only their hostess seemed without a view or curiosity on the subject, more concerned with making sure glasses were filled and plates were not empty.

Suresh watched Meyers as the conversation and ensuing debate grew to a well-kindled fire of discussion. The older man kept looking to Neha and listened raptly to her elaborate arguments, hoping to prove his fears wrong. She said as little as possible, but projected a calm, unwavering assuredness that left no room for doubt that what was rattling against the doors and the side of the house was a typical Springtime
Nor'easter
and nothing more.

“But it's a Nor’easter that’s flooding parts of Phoenix,” Derek said.

Maureen giggled. Karen Jahns looked at her, obviously picking up the flirt in the laugh. Maureen returned the look with a smoldering, interested stare that actually made the other woman blush. Suresh smiled in spite of himself.

Meyers excused himself once during dinner to add two smaller birch logs to the dwindling fire, talking now of nothing but the preternatural predictions – or ravings – of those building the arks. As Linda began clearing plates to make room for dessert, no one seemed tired of the topic. None of the discussions, as heated as they sometimes became, ever turned biting. The fire, the food and the general atmosphere warmed spirits and cooled temperaments.

Suresh mostly avoided any part in the conversation. He had, in fact, begun to enjoy the banter, when Maureen turned her smoky gaze his way and said, “And what of you? I hold a certain affinity for the tall, dark and silent type, but I admit I'm not too clear on what you think of all this.”

Suresh smiled and waved off the question, feeling the icy tendrils of his wife's fear between their chairs. “No, no. I'm enjoying listening. My opinion -”

“Counts as much as anyone's,” Maureen interrupted. Suresh looked at the table where his plate used to be, and without trying to think of any answer and risk the pause revealing him in some way, said, “Perhaps it's not so much a question of what will happen, as much as how people are responding to the events themselves. That what these people claim is true might not be as important to the rest of us as whether they actually believe it.”

He shrugged, “The
Gita
states that we should choose a course of action and follow it fully, not let the pull of the world drive what we do. Only our own sense of what is right and wrong.”

He took a sip of wine and silently wished Linda Meyers would come back with dessert. Most of the others nodded, though Suresh assumed they were trying to figure out what he had just said. Maureen took a sip of her own drink, and smiled. Suresh knew instantly his generalizations hadn't fooled her.

“Still,” she said, “you haven't told us whether you believe in their stories or not.”

Fully aware of Neha’s presence beside him, Suresh smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “You do not see me building an ark, or joining any of the others. Whether I believe or not is not the issue. Not to me at least. Some of the ships look strong and seaworthy, while others I have serious doubts will weather any storm. Perhaps the issue with the Divine God is simply that they are building them.”

“Then you think God
is
going to wash us all away.”

Sensing the inquisition, Derek Jahns leaned in and said to the group as a whole, “Have you noticed the sorts of people building these things? Just regular people, no priests or Senators, folks like that? I hadn't, until the press picked up on it. Now that's all they seem to talk about lately.”

Suresh felt his wife's subtle touch on his leg. She gave a squeeze. He let out a quiet sigh in response, relishing his wife's appreciation.. He avoided Maureen's occasional gaze, wrinkled in amusement, and let the conversation carry itself away from him. He again visualized the grove, reminded himself he'd made the correct decision. His wife's hand never left his leg. She was able to debate the sanity of those fearing the end of the world quite well with the other.

The wind and rain continued to batter the doors. A small puddle formed along the raised door jamb, catching the light of the fire. Linda Meyers rose again to mop the water up with a dish towel.

*     *     *

The drive home from the Meyers’ took longer than the trip there. Many more roads were flooded. The rain had not let up since the morning. As during the earlier drive, neither Suresh nor Neha turned on the radio, not wanting to hear any “sensationalist news reports” about the storm.

The major difference about this trip was Neha's attentiveness to her husband. Suresh forced himself to drive carefully, even as Neha teasingly pinched his earlobes and ran a finger along his cheek. Eventually, he pulled the car into their driveway. Instead of getting out, Neha turned his face towards her own and kissed him, long and with great wanting. Suresh lost himself in her passion. The constant barrage of rain on the car roof was a symphony around them.

Neha kissed her husband and listened to the rain. She thought of Meyers, his approving nod as the Ramprakashes said their goodbyes and ran to their car. Suresh had done well, so she pulled him closer, her need almost as strong as his. She would give him the ever-promised reward, now, in the car like American teenagers. But it was not over. She held her husband and listened to the rain slamming down all around them. It was far from over.