bodies of humanity and kicking upward, swimming toward the surface, as though showing him the way.
Noah looked up. Above him, framed in a twinkling halo of sunlight, was the underside of some vast, seagoing vessel. It was a massive, black rectangle, filling his vision as it passed directly overhead.
At the sight of it, Noah felt struck by a dawning revelation, a growing epiphany.
It was within his grasp when the rectangle suddenly flared to blinding white, searing his vision and emptying his mind.
He blinked awake to find himself back in Methuselah’s cave, lying in a pool of sunlight that spilled down on him from above.
Hearing voices, he raised his head. As his blurred eyesight slowly regained focus he saw that Shem was awake and that he and Methuselah were chatting casually.
Shem, who seemed to have shaken off his earlier awed reticence, was saying, “Mother helped her while I held her hand.”
Methuselah’s rich, husky voice seemed to fill the cavern. “That must have made her feel safe.”
Noah sat up. His head throbbed. He realized that Shem and Methuselah were playing Cat’s Cradle as they chatted. They both turned to look at him.
“Well?” Methuselah said.
Noah rose to his feet. All at once, despite his headache, he was full of conviction.
“Fire consumes all. Water
cleanses
. It separates the foul from the pure, the wicked from the innocent, and that which sinks from that which rises. He destroys all, but only to start again!”
Methuselah smiled mischievously. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Noah said. “The storm cannot be stopped, but it can be survived.”
“Then you may need this.”
The old man held out a small green bag, cinched at the top with a drawstring. Noah took the bag. It was incredibly light. It seemed empty. Was this a trick or a test? He opened it, and turned the bag upside down over his outstretched palm. Something brown and spiky and virtually weightless dropped into his hand.
Noah examined it. It was a seed. The same seed from his vision. His eyes widened. His head jerked up and he looked at Methuselah, to see the old man nodding in response to his unspoken question.
“Yes. It is from the first garden. From Eden.”
Noah didn’t know what to say. A sense of well-being, of achievement, of
hope
, swept through him and he smiled.
“Now go,” Methuselah said. “Take it.”
“And plant it?” Noah asked quietly, but Methuselah merely shrugged. So Noah replaced the seed in the green bag and put it in the pocket of his tunic. He gestured to Shem that it was time to go, and then held out his hand toward Methuselah.
“Come, Grandfather. Come down the mountain with me. Meet my wife, your great-grandchildren. Help us to start a new world.”
But Methuselah remained seated. Slowly but deliberately he shook his head.
“One world was enough for me,” he said almost sadly. “Leave me to walk with my father.” He held up a finger. “But remember this, Noah. He chose you for a reason.”
Noah nodded, and then he and Shem said their goodbyes and left.
* * *
Methuselah watched them go, and an expression of pity appeared on his face.
“It will not be easy,” he murmured when Noah was out of earshot. “In fact, my boy, it will be much harder than you think.”
7
THE SEED
T he fever had broken, and though Ila still moved gingerly, holding her side, she was livelier than Naameh had thus far seen her. The girl even had a little color in her cheeks, and now that she was no longer at death’s door it was abundantly clear what a pretty girl she was, and what a beautiful woman she would one day become.
They were eating dinner. Having consumed two bowls of stew and as much bread as Naameh could spare, Ila was now sitting with Ham and Og, playing a game which involved taking turns to etch symbols on a complex grid. Og had scratched the grid into the sandy, baked soil with one of his huge stone fingers.
He was indulging the children, Naameh knew, allowing them to win at
Noah looked up. Above him, framed in a twinkling halo of sunlight, was the underside of some vast, seagoing vessel. It was a massive, black rectangle, filling his vision as it passed directly overhead.
At the sight of it, Noah felt struck by a dawning revelation, a growing epiphany.
It was within his grasp when the rectangle suddenly flared to blinding white, searing his vision and emptying his mind.
He blinked awake to find himself back in Methuselah’s cave, lying in a pool of sunlight that spilled down on him from above.
Hearing voices, he raised his head. As his blurred eyesight slowly regained focus he saw that Shem was awake and that he and Methuselah were chatting casually.
Shem, who seemed to have shaken off his earlier awed reticence, was saying, “Mother helped her while I held her hand.”
Methuselah’s rich, husky voice seemed to fill the cavern. “That must have made her feel safe.”
Noah sat up. His head throbbed. He realized that Shem and Methuselah were playing Cat’s Cradle as they chatted. They both turned to look at him.
“Well?” Methuselah said.
Noah rose to his feet. All at once, despite his headache, he was full of conviction.
“Fire consumes all. Water
cleanses
. It separates the foul from the pure, the wicked from the innocent, and that which sinks from that which rises. He destroys all, but only to start again!”
Methuselah smiled mischievously. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Noah said. “The storm cannot be stopped, but it can be survived.”
“Then you may need this.”
The old man held out a small green bag, cinched at the top with a drawstring. Noah took the bag. It was incredibly light. It seemed empty. Was this a trick or a test? He opened it, and turned the bag upside down over his outstretched palm. Something brown and spiky and virtually weightless dropped into his hand.
Noah examined it. It was a seed. The same seed from his vision. His eyes widened. His head jerked up and he looked at Methuselah, to see the old man nodding in response to his unspoken question.
“Yes. It is from the first garden. From Eden.”
Noah didn’t know what to say. A sense of well-being, of achievement, of
hope
, swept through him and he smiled.
“Now go,” Methuselah said. “Take it.”
“And plant it?” Noah asked quietly, but Methuselah merely shrugged. So Noah replaced the seed in the green bag and put it in the pocket of his tunic. He gestured to Shem that it was time to go, and then held out his hand toward Methuselah.
“Come, Grandfather. Come down the mountain with me. Meet my wife, your great-grandchildren. Help us to start a new world.”
But Methuselah remained seated. Slowly but deliberately he shook his head.
“One world was enough for me,” he said almost sadly. “Leave me to walk with my father.” He held up a finger. “But remember this, Noah. He chose you for a reason.”
Noah nodded, and then he and Shem said their goodbyes and left.
* * *
Methuselah watched them go, and an expression of pity appeared on his face.
“It will not be easy,” he murmured when Noah was out of earshot. “In fact, my boy, it will be much harder than you think.”
7
THE SEED
T he fever had broken, and though Ila still moved gingerly, holding her side, she was livelier than Naameh had thus far seen her. The girl even had a little color in her cheeks, and now that she was no longer at death’s door it was abundantly clear what a pretty girl she was, and what a beautiful woman she would one day become.
They were eating dinner. Having consumed two bowls of stew and as much bread as Naameh could spare, Ila was now sitting with Ham and Og, playing a game which involved taking turns to etch symbols on a complex grid. Og had scratched the grid into the sandy, baked soil with one of his huge stone fingers.
He was indulging the children, Naameh knew, allowing them to win at
Similar Books
