Read Online Noah by Mark Morris - Free Book Online

anything, it was as gray as the dust that blew constantly across the plain back home. Noah felt weary at the thought of how far he and Shem still had to climb, but he triedto dismiss his tiredness—along with the doubts and anxieties—from his mind, and concentrate only on the task ahead.
    * * *
    Finally a modest opening came into view in the mountainside, little more than a zigzagging fissure in the rock. It was late afternoon and the sun, such as it was, had passed beyond its zenith and was beginning to sink once more toward the western horizon. As Noah and Shem stood on a small plateau beneath the cave, catching their breath and enjoying the feel of the cool breeze that ruffled their hair and dried the sweat on their brows, a dark shape appeared in the cave entrance and seemed to beckon them before ducking back inside.
    Shem looked at Noah.
    “Was that Great-Grandfather?”
    Noah stared at the spot where the shape had appeared, as if trying to conjure it back into being.
    “Let’s find out,” he said.
    Although a little light had squeezed its way into the cave, it didn’t extend very far. However, that barely mattered. The roof of the cave had broken open in spots, and sitting in a beam of daylight, next to the warmth of a geothermal vent on which a battered metal pot bubbled, was the oldest man that Shem had ever seen.
    His face was so weathered and deeply lined that it seemed almost to be a part of the craggy rock wall behind it. The old man looked up at Shem, who gasped, and then blushed. Methuselah’s eyes—if that was who he was—were so alive and of such a vivid blue that they seemed like the eyes of a child.Shem was transfixed by them. He doubted he would have been able to move, even if he had wanted to. The old man scrutinized Shem for what seemed like a long time.
    Then, finally, Noah spoke.
    “This is your great-grandfather,” he said, placing a hand on Shem’s shoulder. “Show him respect. Tell him your name.”
    Shem cleared his throat. “I am Shem,” he said shyly.
    “My eldest,” Noah added.
    Methuselah smiled at Shem. His face was all wrinkles. Yet he was so old that in an odd way he seemed almost ageless. Sexless, too, as if he had passed beyond such petty concerns.
    “Come closer,” Methuselah said, his voice as dark and rough as ancient oak, yet still melodious. “Let me see you.”
    Shem suspected that Methuselah could see him perfectly well. He looked to his father for guidance. Noah nodded, urging him forward.
    When Shem was sitting on the ground, facing the old man, the two of them so close that their knees were almost touching, Methuselah said, “You’re a lucky boy. I think you must have your mother’s looks, not your father’s.”
    Shem laughed, and Methuselah tilted his head and winked at Noah.
    “So, Shem,” Methuselah said. “Tell me something about yourself.”
    Shem’s face went as blank as his mind. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Under his great-grandfather’s scrutiny, he blushed again.
    Gently Methuselah said, “What do you like most in the world?”
    Shem’s mouth opened and closed. Then abruptly he blurted, “Berries.”
    Methuselah looked taken aback. “What?”
    Shem would dearly have loved to say something more intelligent and insightful. However he was too tongue-tied, and too intimidated by the situation and by the reputation and great age of the legendary figure sitting before him.
    And so, almost unhappily, he said again, “Berries.”
    Methuselah leaned back, smiling broadly.
    “Ah!” he exclaimed, as if Shem’s reply had opened up a whole new vista of possibilities for him. “Berries! Yes! What can compete with fresh, ripe berries? Nothing. You know, it’s been so long I can barely remember the taste of them. Tell me, did you bring me any?”
    Shem shook his head, crestfallen.
    “No?” said Methuselah. “Hmm. I’m craving them now. Oh well. Perhaps one day…” He stretched luxuriously, and then leaned forward. His voice