uild an ark!" the voice said, no, blared, yanking me from sweet oblivion into fuzzy consciousness. Lord, my head hurt! I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Make it three hundred cubits by fifty cubits by thirty cubits!'
"Wait," I whispered.
"Three stories high!"
"Wait," I said, louder. It made my head hurt worse.
"Put in some stalls!"
"Wait!" I hollered, and tore my head all to pieces.
"Wait for what?"
"Not so loud. You're killing me."
There was a pause. Then the voice continued in a more reasonable tone, "Hung one on last night, did you?"
"Must have."
"Where do you get the stuff?"
"Children of the Watchers. They make it out of wild grapes they've somehow tamed. Secret recipe."
"Deal a lot with the Children of the Watchers, do you?"
"Can't stand them. For one thing, they're too big. Make you feel about the size of a grasshopper. And they're mean. Got to watch them every minute. I don't have anything more to do with them than I absolutely have to. Just wine. Hey, who the hell are you, anyway?"
"God."
"Yeah? Well, I hear you, but I can't see you. Show yourself.
"Try opening your eyes."
I did and wished I hadn't. I quickly snapped them shut, waited until the pain eased, then tried again, real careful. He was at the foot of the bed, watching me. He didn't look all that different from anybody else. "How do I know you're who you say you are?" I asked.
He turned and pointed at a bowl of figs on the table. A blue light shot out of the end of his finger and struck the bowl. There was a blinding flash and a loud bang. Nothing was left but a ring of dust where the bowl had been. He swiveled slowly back until his finger was pointed at the exact center of my forehead.
"Just what was it you wanted me to do, Lord?" I asked.
He told me, not only about the ark but also the reason for it. The news pretty much cleared out any fog left in my head, but I nevertheless got out of bed and searched around until I found the wine jar and downed the few swallows left. "Ark, you said?"
"A big one."
"Hey, I'm just a farmer. I don't know the first thing about carpentry, much less ark building. I wouldn't know where to start."
"I'll show you."
"How big, did you say?"
"Three hundred by fifty by thirty. Cubits."
"That's nearly as big as my barley patch. Where am I supposed to get all that timber, and who's going to haul it down here and trim it to the right dimensions?"
"There's plenty of cypress about, and you've got your boys."
"Why, that would take years."
"So?"
"So just how are we supposed to get by during all that time? Farming is a full time job, you know. You can't just take off whenever you feel like it and do something else. Why, we'd starve to death."
"Look at it this way. If you don't get that ark built, you'll drown. Now, you work it out where you can farm and build too. And I'll get you some help with the heavy stuff. I'll have the timber brought in and cut to size. You just knock it together the way I told you."
And God left.
My head still hurt, so I plumped up my pillow and stretched out again. I'd never dealt with God before, and to tell the truth, didn't know a whole lot about him. Oh, I worshiped him as I had been brought up to do, kept the Sabbath and all that, but I knew next to nothing about him personally and had no idea how to deal with him. Of course, I'd already got him to supply the lumber. That was a good sign.
Well, I'd have a talk with old Methuselah, my grandpa. Methuselah was so old he knew everybody that had ever dealt with God, had a historical perspective on him, you might say. Why, Methuselah had even known Adam. Their lives had overlapped by more than two hundred years. And Enoch, Methuselah's daddy, had been on close terms with God, walked with him, it was said, so Methuselah ought to be able to give me some pointers.
But I wouldn't go see him today. Today was the Sabbath, and being a righteous man, I meant to keep it holy. And nurse my head.
"What exactly is it you want to know about him?" Methuselah asked the next day from his favorite spot just outside his front door in the sun where he set cradling in his lap the jar of wine I had brought.
"Well, just how serious is he? If he says he'll do something, will he really do it?"
"Absolutely! Most of the time. Sooner or later."
"You mean he might not do it?"
"No, I mean you have to be sure he said what you think he said. He's tricky, and it's easy to be misled when you're messing with him. But if he really said it, then he'll do it, maybe not right away, but sooner or later you better watch out!"
"What if he told you to do something?
"Then you'd better do it."
"Could you get by putting it off?"
"For a while maybe, he's usually long suffering, but eventually --. Say, what are you asking all these questions about God for? Have you got something going with him?"
I told him everything.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Methuselah slapped hisself on the knee. "Well, I'll just be damned!"
"What?"
"Why, that's it! That's the answer to the mystery that's bedeviled our family all the days of my life!"
"What mystery? I don't know about any mystery."
"That's because you never bothered to learn the meaning of the old words, just like you've never bothered with anything that didn't have something in it for you. What does my name mean?"
"I don't know. It's just a name."
"No it's not. It's made up of two old words, muth , which means death and shalach , which means to bring something. Put together, they mean 'his death shall bring it.'"
"Bring what?"
"That's just it! That was the mystery. When I was born, God spoke to my daddy Enoch and said, 'Call him Methuselah, for his death shall bring it.' 'What's it ?' Daddy asked. 'What bad thing is his death going to bring?' But God never would say. It nearly drove Daddy crazy. Every time I would sneeze as a child, Daddy would say, 'Oh, Lord, he's catching something, probably pneumonia, and it'll be the death of him, and then it will come." It bothered him so much he decided he'd better get on God's good side and stay there. So he give up what bad habits he had and begun to walk with God. And he finally got so close that God took him, which must have made him happy because I guess he finally found out what it was. And your daddy, poor old Lamech, may he rest in peace, when he was old enough to understand about my name, he changed from a happy-go-lucky sort to one that looked for calamity around every corner. Pretty much spent his whole life in sackcloth and ashes, trying to stave off one imagined disaster or another."
"But what is it ?
"Don't you understand nothing? God just told you. The Flood! When I die, the flood is going to destroy everything!"
"Except me and the wife and my boys and their wives."
"What about your brothers and sisters and their families? Or my sons and daughters and their kin?'
"Not mentioned."
"You mean they're all going to perish? The whole family?"
"I expect so."
"And you didn't ask God to save them, too?"
"Now, how could he do that? That ark is going to be overcrowded as it is. He had to draw the line somewhere. Looks like it's just going to be me and mine."
"Provided you've got it straight about what God said. And provided you get that ark built in time. And provided he don't change his mind."
"I thought you said God didn't change his mind."
"I've never known him to, but here's something else you ought to know about God. He plays by his own rules, not ours. He could change his mind about you if he wanted to. And right now I wouldn't much care if he did. Now, go on, get out of here."
When I got home I saw a pile of lumber stacked a little way from the house, not enough to build the whole ark, but enough to start on.
"They delivered it this morning," the wife said. "Watchers. New ones. I didn't recognize any of them. Said you'd know what it was for. What is it for? Don't tell me you're finally going to build that storeroom we've been needing."
"You guessed it," I said, laughing. "I going to build the biggest damn storeroom you ever saw!"
But I somehow I just never got around to doing it. A year went by. Then another. The lumber seasoned and weathered gray. Then one night the voice come again, catching me in bad shape again.
"Where's the ark?"
"What?"
"I told you to build an ark. Where is it?"
I shook my head to clear it. I needed all my wits about me. "Excuse me, Lord," I said, "I didn't quite catch all that. Are you asking about the ark?"
"I am."
"Well, you said you would furnish the lumber."
"I sent you some lumber."
"Not enough for the whole job. I've been waiting on you to deliver the rest before I started. I knew you wouldn't want us to get half way through and run out. I figured it must have slipped your mind."
"Things don't slip my mind, but if it will make you happy, I'll deliver the whole bill tomorrow."
"Tomorrow's the Sabbath. You're not going to work on the Sabbath, are you?"
"Well, the next day then."
"What about the nails? We never did settle that. Are you supposed to furnish the nails, or am I? If I furnish them, I'd have to get them from the Children of the Watchers, and I don't like to mess with them."
"Except for wine, right?" God said. "Oh, all right, I'll furnish the nails, too."
"And then there's the pitch. I don't know where I'd get that."
"I'll furnish the pitch."
"Of course, the big thing is the animals," I said. "Two of everything, you said. That would include things like man- eaters that may not inclined to come. What am I supposed to say to the saber-toothed tigers? 'Here, kitty, kitty, come to Noah?'
"I'll fetch the animals."
"And then there's the feed."
"And the feed."
"Now, getting back to the ark. I've been thinking, and it seems to me there's a slight problem. Now correct me if I'm wrong. An ark is just a box, right?
"Box, chest, yes."
"And you did say to coat it inside and out with pitch?"
"Right."
"Well, I don't understand how I'm suppose to coat the outside of the bottom. That great big thing is going to be setting on its bottom. How am I supposed to lift it up to paint under there, and even if I was able to, do I just stand there and hold it till it dries or what? You see what I mean?"
God looked at me for a minute. Then he got to his feet. "Noah," he said, "the first of the week I'm going to send a crew of Watchers in here, and they're going to build that ark. And I want to see you and your boys in there with them with hammers in your hands and whether you are or not, I want you to at least look like you're working! "
"Now, Lord, I can see you're a mite upset, and I hope this is not going upset you any more. The boys just must get the sowing done next week if we expect to have anything to take with us on the ark. But I'll be glad to come myself and help you out."
So the ark got built with sometimes one of the boys standing in the midst of it all, maybe leaning up against a wall or setting on a stack of boards, so that the Watchers had to move him or walk around him to get on with their work. And sometimes I was there, too. When it was finished, the provisions was brought in and stored on board. And when that was done, the Watchers began packing up their tools.
"Hey," I said, "where are you going?"
"Home," they said.
"But you're not through. What about the animals?"
"Not in our job orders. Don't know anything about them."
"But you're supposed to fetch the animals. What do you think all that food is for?"
"Not our job," they said. "Take it up with God."
Yeah, sure, but just how was I supposed to do that? I never sought God out. God had come to me, usually at a bad time, too.
Early the next morning, I had my sons kill and dress a lamb, and I barbecued it on the altar where I usually left my offerings to God. I waited around all day, occasionally calling out, "Hey, Lord!" and feeling silly. In the end, I took the lamb home and we had it for supper.
The next day I took one of my last jars of wine and set off to consult with old Methuselah. I arrived in the midst of an orgy. There must have been two hundred people there, some dancing, some just milling about in all sorts and stages of dress and undress and some doing all kinds of things to each other. Among them I recognized several of my kinfolk. There was quite a few Children of the Watchers in the crowd, standing head and shoulders above everybody else.
"What's all this?" I asked someone.
"Why, it's old Methuselah's birthday party. Nine hundred and sixty-nine today!"
I elbowed my way toward the house, hoping to find Methuselah. And there he was, standing on the roof. As I watched, he climbed up on the parapet, flailing his arms to keep his balance. The crowd spotted him and roared. He waved for silence, and begun to speak. He was, I soon realized, drunk as a skunk.
"My friends! And you are all friends, because I don't have any enemies left. I am nine hundred and sixty-nine years old, and I have out-lived every one of them sons of bitches!"
The crowd roared again.
"Let me say how much I appreciate this vat of wine my friends the Children of the Watchers done brought me." He paused and looked down and flailed again for balance. Standing on tiptoe I was able to catch a glimpse of the huge wooden vat next to the front wall.
"Now, all my life I've wanted to do something like this, and finally here is my chance. What I plan to do is I'm going to dive into that lovely vat of wine, and then I'm going to drink my way out."
I hollered "Wait!" The crowd roared, "Do it!" And Methuselah, despite age and inebriety, launched a perfect swan dive from the parapet into the vat.
Everyone crowded forward so I couldn't even begin to get close. There was a long hushed wait. Finally one of the Children of the Watchers reached in a big arm and pulled out Methuselah's dripping, lifeless body and held it up for all to see. I waited just long enough to make certain he was dead, then wheeled and still clutching my wine jar headed for home in a fast trot, on the lookout for rain clouds all the way.
"Get your stuff," I told the family, "and take it to the storehouse. We're spending the night there, tonight." I was still carrying on the fiction that the ark was a storehouse. The family knew that was not true but had no idea what the truth was. I didn't really think anything would happen until the animals was on board, but I wasn't taking any chances.
I had them put my things in the room with the skylight. There I settled myself, brushed by the cool breeze from the open skylight and comforted by the wine jar at my elbow. It was really inconsiderate of God not to give me more warning. There was one last thing I needed to do, something very important, something that couldn't be done too much in advance. Oh, well, I would see to it first thing tomorrow. The animals still had to be loaded and that would give me time. I lifted the jar now and again, and after a while I went to sleep. It was an uneasy sleep, troubled by stompings and creakings and the occasional grunt. And far into the night the voice come.
"Noah!"
I was instantly awake. "Yes, Lord."
"Sorry to tell you this, but Methuselah is dead."
"Yes, I know."
"It's time, Noah. Are you ready?"
"I'm ready, Lord. But what about the animals?"
"They've been coming on board all night. They'll all be on by daylight, and then I'll seal you in and the rains will begin."
"Wait! You can't do that yet!
"Why not?"
Give enough time, I might have come up with something, but just now my mind was blank, and I experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach at the prospect of losing my golden opportunity. "In the morning …," I mumbled, then stopped, knowing I couldn't say what I was planning to do in the morning.
"What about 'in the morning?'"
Then the answer struck me. "Mourning!" I said.
"Oh, I see," God said. "You think that out of respect for Methuselah there ought to be a period of mourning."
"Yes!" I said. "Yes!"
"I expect you're right. He earned it, living so long. Decent thing to do. Well, we'll hold off a week. Does that suit you?"
"That's fine," I said. "Thank you, Lord."
The next morning, early, I was knocking on the door of the wine merchant. It was a big door, made to accommodate the outlandish size of the Children of the Watchers. The door opened, and I went in.
"I've been thinking about selling out and moving west," I told him. "It struck me that you might be interested in my place. It ought to be just the thing for grapes.'
"House is too small."
"Yeah, I was afraid you'd say, and I have to admit it wasn't built with anybody your size in mind. But, listen, with the right kind of deal, you could afford to rebuild."
What kind of deal?"
"Look, I know you've got me at a disadvantage and I'm going to take a beating on my place. There are just three things I'm interested in. I'd like to have some cuttings from your grape vines. When I get out to the west country, I want to be able to grow me some grapes."
"What else?"
"I want your recipe for making wine."
"Can't do that. Let go of my grapes and my recipe for wine, and I'm out of business."
"No, you're not. I'm going to be way out west somewhere. I'm not going to be any competition to you. Why, you'll never even hear of me again."
"You said three things. What else?"
"A thousand jars of your best."
"Don't have a thousand."
"How much do you have?"
"Maybe seven hundred."
"Seven hundred, then."
"Three hundred."
"Five."
"Four."
"Done! I'll be back this afternoon with the papers and my boys and pick up everything then."
"When do I get possession?"
"Two weeks. Give me a couple of weeks, and I'll be long gone."
One week later, I lay drifting in a pleasant haze, a wine jar at my elbow and nearly four hundred more in the adjoining room. Close by was the cuttings, carefully packed in damp moss to keep them from drying out. And under my bed in a little ark of its own was the scroll which contained the recipe for wine.
My future was secure. Surely enough wine to last to the end of the voyage. And after that the means to produce my own. A well that never would run dry. The thought occurred to me that, hey, this was not only for my own welfare, it would be my gift to the new world. Generations to come would bless me, sing my praises. I was pretty sure that somewhere in the back of my mind this had been my intention all along.
Never before had I known such peace. I give myself up to the mellow haze, let it envelop me completely. I barely heard the closing of the skylight or the first soft pattering of rain.
