“Sabba?” The boy said as he slowly turned around and backed into the tent.
He watched the bucket in his hands as he placed one foot behind the other. He didn’t want to fall. Just the other day he had stumbled in front of his eldest cousin, the one with the blackest hair, and had been teased mercilessly for it.
“Don’t let Elam carry water for you,” his cousin had said. “He’ll spill every drop. You’ll die of thirst.” His cousin pointed at him menacingly, and the other cousins laughed. He had run away.
Elam was proud of carrying the water for his family. And what was one stumble anyway? He scoffed. He knew his cousin was a fool. Even still, he stared at the top of the water in the bucket like a hawk stalking a field mouse. He saw it slosh from one side to the other, but not one drop escaped over the rim.
“Sabba?” Elam called for his grandfather again. This time he heard the trembling in his own voice. He didn’t like entering his grandfather’s tent, especially when he hadn’t been summoned. His father was the one who usually delivered his grandfather’s water, but he was off tending to the furthest vineyard, so Elam’s mother told him to do it.
“Boy, you can turn around.” The gruff voice of the old man said. “I’m clothed.” Elam felt the flaps of the tent crawl over his back. They resettled into their position. Taking a deep breath, he turned.
His grandfather sat in the corner, half his face in shadow. Elam tried to read his expression from the half that was lit, but he couldn’t. The shaded blue eyes of his grandfather looked at him without blinking. Elam knew that those were the eyes that held all the memories of the massive boat, the rising water and the animals cramped together on three decks of wood, decks his grandfather had built with his own hands. And yet, those eyes never gave anything away. All those years since the flood and Elam knew nothing about it.
“Can I ask him about the flood?” Elam had asked his father, Shem, one day while they were tilling the soil for tomatoes. Each push of the rake turned the dirt from the color of cocoa to honey and back again. It made Elam’s stomach grumble.
“No.” Shem said.
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t remember anything, trust me. The grapes have wiped it all away.”
“How could he forget living with all of those magnificent animals? And building the boat?”
“He wants to forget, Elam. It’s best if we don’t bring it up.”
“But I want to ask him about the big cats.” Elam said.
Elam had a tiger that he thought of as his. He had first met the animal while he was hunting for barberries. He had just popped one in his mouth, the sharp tangy flavor stretching out across his tongue, when he saw the sand-colored ear of the tiger. Once he saw the tiger’s face, he ran as fast as he could making it halfway up the ravine before he turned back. The cat stared at him, not having moved a muscle. It looked curious, as if it had come to ask him a question and was surprised he had run. Since then, Elam had dreamt of meeting it again, of becoming friends.
“He doesn’t think about the cats, Elam.” Shem said.
“Did he think about them when he lived with them for all those nights?”
“I thought about them.” Shem stopped moving the soil.
“Then tell me.” Elam said, thinking he was making progress. “Tell me what you thought about them when you were on the boat.”
Shem started tilling again. “You should ask Japheth.”
Elam knew that was a trick. Every time he tried to ask his uncle about the flood, he was told some outlandish story, like he had once had a third uncle who was pushed overboard by the monkeys. But Elam knew that wasn’t true, his grandmother had confirmed it.
“I’ve asked him, Abba.” Elam said. “I want you to tell me what you thought about it, tell me how it was. I wish I had been there.”
Shem dropped the handle of the hoe and walked away. Elam watched his back slowly recede into the distance until he couldn’t see it anymore. Elam wasn’t surprised, that’s what usually happened whenever Elam asked him questions.
Elam’s grandfather’s tent smelled like wine. He noticed an overturned cup in the corner and he tried not to stare at it. Sabba Noah’s wine had become a point of contention among the family, so much so that Noah spent most of his time alone in his tent.
“Here is your water, Sabba.” Elam said and set the bucket next to him. His grandfather gave the water a small nod.
“Thank you.”
Elam turned to go, thinking of his father’s sudden exit whenever asked about the flood, but something in him made him sit down instead.
“Sabba?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me about the flood?” He braced himself for his grandfather’s anger, but nothing but silence followed. His grandfather’s shoulders slumped forward and he closed his eyes.
They sat like that for a long time, the silence thickening with each passing minute. Elam’s resolve began to falter. He scratched at the dirt with a stick and finally decided to leave the old man alone, his father had been right. Elam uncrossed his legs to stand.
“Stay,” Noah said opening his eyes. “Here.” He pulled a cup from a sack in the corner of the tent and handed it to Elam. He lifted a jar and filled the cup. Elam took a sip of the liquid, expecting it to be the bitter wine and water mixture he drank with meals, but instead, it was sweet and dry on his tongue, tasting a little like the air after a heavy rain. Elam tried to drink it slowly like he saw his grandfather doing, but it was nearly impossible, it tasted so good.
“What do you want to know, boy?” Noah said through a heavy sigh.
“The tigers. They’re my favorite.” Elam said. “Do you remember them on the boat? Did you ever touch them?”
The corner of Noah’s mouth went up. “I remember every animal like each of them was a member of my family.” Noah said. “I remember the contours of their faces, like the gazelle and her sharp jawline.” He ran a hand over his own jaw. “Or the bears, their noses stuck out, as if they had been added at the last second.” He chuckled. “They each smelled distinctly too, it was a part of who they were. The lynx, he smelled the best, like springtime. That surprised me.” Noah touched his nose.
“I even began to understand their routines.” Noah said. “The hippos, they snorted in the early morning hours right after the sun rose, and then again at dusk. The lemurs played games when they were in a good mood, secretly hiding things from each other around and around the boat. I once found a pile of orange peels under my blanket from them.” The old man chuckled again, as mesmerized by his memories as Elam.
“That was better than poop, I guess.” He said, somber again. “I found that under my blanket sometimes, too. Not from the lemurs, the dang horses just dropped it wherever they walked.”
He looked up at Elam.
“Oh, but the tigers, yes. Well, they’re a beautiful cat, but kept to themselves like most of the big cats. The two on board had eyes that were strikingly human, it was as if they knew what was in your soul. I remember there was one night. Hand me that stick there, boy.” Elam lifted it into Noah’s hand. “There was one night that the elephants were causing a stir. Something had spooked one of them. She was stomping and trumpeting, keeping everyone awake. One of the tigers jumped down and took a stick, like this one, in his mouth and began scratching the sand on the floor of the boat. Back and forth, the tiger went from one side to the other, making clean lines. The elephant watched the tiger, moving her head with the rhythm. Eventually she became so lulled by the motion and the soft scratching sound of the stick, she fell asleep. As did most of the other animals on that deck.” As he told the story, Noah softly drew lines in the sand, back and forth. Elam about fell asleep himself with the pleasant thought of the tiger pacing back and forth with the stick in its mouth. His eyelids drooped.
“It was the lion, though, that I miss the most.” Noah said. Elam sat up again. “He was like a good gift to me from Yahweh. He stayed near me wherever I went on the boat. The other animals revered him and seemed to quiet whenever he was around. It was then that I was able to do the work I needed to do to keep them healthy. I often thought about how Yahweh must’ve appointed him, somehow, to be my aide during the flood.”
As Noah talked, Elam watched his grandfather’s eyes. They transformed from a hardened shell to the lively waves of the water that had rocked the boat, ebbing and flowing with emotion like they had a current. In watching them, Elam realized that his grandfather grieved. Elam had been so taken with the thoughts of the animals, he never thought to consider his grandfather’s loss of his friends and his way of life.
“Are you angry with Yahweh, Sabba? For flooding the world that you knew?”
“No, Elam.” Noah said. “Being angry with Yahweh would be like being angry with the sun for burning grapes I left on the vine too long. It was Yahweh’s decision to make. His world. He was right to flood, though, there was so much wickedness, wickedness that I’m glad you and your brothers and cousins will never know. That reminds me—.”
Noah leaned heavily on the stick and gingerly placed one foot flat in the sand. He began moving his other leg before Elam realized he was trying to stand. He moved quickly to put his hand in his grandfather’s armpit to lift him.
“That’s ok boy, I’ve got it.” Noah said. Elam stepped back.
The old man shifted until it wasn’t his feet down in the dirt, but his knees. He leaned forward and placed his forehead on the ground, motioning for Elam to join him. He began to speak. “Thank you, Yahweh, for the flood,” Noah said, “For your mighty hand and your kindness toward me and my family. Thank you for the wonder of the animals and for the lion to accompany me. Despite my evil and the evil of the people of the earth, you love us and are good to us.”
He leaned back and Elam saw sweat had formed on his brow during the prayer.
“I thank Yahweh every day.” Noah said to his grandson. “I know that your father and uncles may not feel the same, but Yahweh provided all that we needed and much more. He was gracious to us.”
The old man reached out and placed his hand on Elam’s head. It was heavy and Elam felt uncomfortable being this close to the old man that he had revered so much. Like the tiger, he had dreamt of the day that he could speak with the man. Now he was next to him, so close that he could see the clumps of dirt gathered in the hairs on his arm.
“Walk with Yahweh son. Don’t make the mistake that Cain did, in jealousy.” Noah said. “Don’t make the mistake of those who died in the flood. Don’t make my mistakes,” and he gestured to the overturned cup of wine.
The old man sighed and put his head down on his chest. Elam thought he might be praying again but soon he heard soft snores. He sat next to his grandfather for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall. He knew that his mother would be calling for him to fetch more water but still, he didn’t move.
He thought about how his grandfather was loved by God, so loved that God spared his whole family. Elam often meditated on the majesty of the tiger, the flood, and the feats of his grandfather, but he never thought about the greatness of God. And God was far greater than the tiger, far greater than his grandfather. God had spared Elam by sparing his grandfather so God must love him, too, Elam realized. Elam’s father hadn’t taught him that, but just now his grandfather had.
He leaned down and kissed the sleeping man on the cheek. His skin felt like the the flesh of a grape that had dried in the sun.
###
Consider reading the passages in Genesis about Noah and note that Noah was described as a righteous man who walked with God. He was the only righteous person that God could find before he flooded the earth. That is remarkable, but even he had his own human flaws that were later discussed in Genesis.
This narrative is more imaginative than my others. It began when I decided that I wanted to write a piece that was heavy on dialogue—even though when it was finished, it wasn’t as much as I had intended. This is what came out. I feel somewhat apologetic about the fact that this one strays from scripture more than the others, but even so, I decided to post it. Thank you for reading it.
I know the story of Noah fairly well. Never once did I think about the relationships within his family in the years that followed the flood, until now. This author continues to explore the complicated layers of Biblical relationships with gentle ease. Elam's father, uncle, and grandfather Noah all responded to their shared past so very differently, as we all do. I found it heartwarming that the innocence of a child is what made the way for Noah to reflect and remember. Beautifully written and endearing...