became softer, almost conspiratorial. “You must be very tired, Shem. It’s a long way up here. Why not rest?” He reached out with one gnarled hand and touched Shem’s brow. Instantly Shem’s eyes closed and his head drooped against Methuselah’s palm. Slowly and carefully, as if the boy were the most fragile and precious artifact in the world, Methuselah lowered Shem’s head into his lap.
He looked down at the sleeping boy, angelic in repose.
“How perfect,” Methuselah murmured. Then his blue eyes flickered up to regard Noah. “But what we need to discuss is not for boys.”
“You know why I’ve come?” Noah’s eyes narrowed.
Even though the handle of the battered metal pot must have been blisteringly hot, Methuselah reached across and lifted it off of the geothermal vent without a qualm. He poured the boiling water into a pair of clay cups on a rock by his side. The smell that rose from the cups—earthy, tangy—suggested that there were herbs of some sort in them.
Methuselah handed Noah one of the cups. Noah took it and sipped, then pulled a face. The tea was very strong, and tasted foul.
“Yes,” Methuselah said in answer to Noah’s question. “Before he walked on, my father Enoch told me one day that if Man continued in his ways, the Creator would annihilate this world.”
“Then what I saw was true?” Noah muttered. “All life blotted out because of what men have done.” He looked appalled. “Can it not be averted?”
Methuselah sighed. “Noah, you must trust that he speaks in a way that you can understand. So you tell me,
can
this destruction be averted?”
For a moment Noah looked as much at a loss as Shem had been. He sat back, his eyes glazing as he pondered the matter. Then finally, in a soft, sad voice he said, “No.”
Methuselah looked sad, too. Noah, however, was desperate to cling to a crumb of hope.
“But He sent me here,” he said. “Why send me, if there is nothing I can do to stop it?”
Shrugging, Methuselah said, “Perhaps He simply sends you to share a cup of tea with an old man.”
Noah slumped, defeated. Despite the tea’s foul taste, he took another sip.
“So is that all you saw?” Methuselah asked. “The fires of destruction and this place?”
“Not fire,” Noah replied. “Water.”
Methuselah raised his eyebrows. “Water? My father said it would be fire.”
“I saw water,” Noah confirmed. “Death by water.” He lapsed into silence, suddenly deep in thought again. Then, his conviction growing by the second, he said, “I saw death. And I saw new life. There is something more, Grandfather, something I am to do. I know it. I just didn’t see what it was.”
“New life,” Methuselah mused. “Well, perhaps there is more for you to see. Did He not send you here to drink tea with an old man?”
He gestured at Noah’s cup. Noah looked down at it and was surprised to see that it was empty.
“The medicine always tastes bad,” Methuselah said, his voice seeming to boom, to echo.
Noah looked up. Methuselah was gone.
Shem was gone, too.
Noah was alone.
He looked back down into the cup, and was just in time to see a seed float up out of it. It rose lazily, drifting past his face.
Why is it floating?
And then he realized.
It was because he and the seed were underwater.
All at once he couldn’t breathe. He was surrounded by water, immersed in it. He thrashed this way and that, his body dragged down by the weight, bubbles rising up around him.
And then, just as before, he was surrounded not merely by water, but also by the dead. It seemed as if all of humanity was drifting around him, white-faced and open-eyed, limbs rising and falling in a ghastly imitation of life.
Noah wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.
And then the floating bodies around him began to split open, silently and bloodlessly, and from each emerged an animal. Within seconds animals of every kind imaginable—all the animals of the world—were breaking through the
He looked down at the sleeping boy, angelic in repose.
“How perfect,” Methuselah murmured. Then his blue eyes flickered up to regard Noah. “But what we need to discuss is not for boys.”
“You know why I’ve come?” Noah’s eyes narrowed.
Even though the handle of the battered metal pot must have been blisteringly hot, Methuselah reached across and lifted it off of the geothermal vent without a qualm. He poured the boiling water into a pair of clay cups on a rock by his side. The smell that rose from the cups—earthy, tangy—suggested that there were herbs of some sort in them.
Methuselah handed Noah one of the cups. Noah took it and sipped, then pulled a face. The tea was very strong, and tasted foul.
“Yes,” Methuselah said in answer to Noah’s question. “Before he walked on, my father Enoch told me one day that if Man continued in his ways, the Creator would annihilate this world.”
“Then what I saw was true?” Noah muttered. “All life blotted out because of what men have done.” He looked appalled. “Can it not be averted?”
Methuselah sighed. “Noah, you must trust that he speaks in a way that you can understand. So you tell me,
can
this destruction be averted?”
For a moment Noah looked as much at a loss as Shem had been. He sat back, his eyes glazing as he pondered the matter. Then finally, in a soft, sad voice he said, “No.”
Methuselah looked sad, too. Noah, however, was desperate to cling to a crumb of hope.
“But He sent me here,” he said. “Why send me, if there is nothing I can do to stop it?”
Shrugging, Methuselah said, “Perhaps He simply sends you to share a cup of tea with an old man.”
Noah slumped, defeated. Despite the tea’s foul taste, he took another sip.
“So is that all you saw?” Methuselah asked. “The fires of destruction and this place?”
“Not fire,” Noah replied. “Water.”
Methuselah raised his eyebrows. “Water? My father said it would be fire.”
“I saw water,” Noah confirmed. “Death by water.” He lapsed into silence, suddenly deep in thought again. Then, his conviction growing by the second, he said, “I saw death. And I saw new life. There is something more, Grandfather, something I am to do. I know it. I just didn’t see what it was.”
“New life,” Methuselah mused. “Well, perhaps there is more for you to see. Did He not send you here to drink tea with an old man?”
He gestured at Noah’s cup. Noah looked down at it and was surprised to see that it was empty.
“The medicine always tastes bad,” Methuselah said, his voice seeming to boom, to echo.
Noah looked up. Methuselah was gone.
Shem was gone, too.
Noah was alone.
He looked back down into the cup, and was just in time to see a seed float up out of it. It rose lazily, drifting past his face.
Why is it floating?
And then he realized.
It was because he and the seed were underwater.
All at once he couldn’t breathe. He was surrounded by water, immersed in it. He thrashed this way and that, his body dragged down by the weight, bubbles rising up around him.
And then, just as before, he was surrounded not merely by water, but also by the dead. It seemed as if all of humanity was drifting around him, white-faced and open-eyed, limbs rising and falling in a ghastly imitation of life.
Noah wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.
And then the floating bodies around him began to split open, silently and bloodlessly, and from each emerged an animal. Within seconds animals of every kind imaginable—all the animals of the world—were breaking through the
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