"I have been called by El," Noah announced at the evening meal, taken outside with his kinsmen in the verdant fields of his farm. The thatch cottage, large enough for his sons and their families, sat behind them among the groves. The perfume of the trees, heady with apples, olives, figs and other fruits, acted as a natural sedative after a hard day's labor.

His statement on this night roused the men from their usual fatigue. His youngest son, Ham, looked up from the lamb and figs that lay before him to give his father his rapt attention. Noah believed he had a special relationship with their god. His updates on what El was up to were often amusing.

With the setting sun behind him giving the appearance of a divine aura, Noah continued. "He has said that he is going to open the heavens and bring a great flood." Ham stared, wondering if that sheen in the leathery face, to say nothing for his story, had more to do with the wineskin in front of his father, than an encounter with the sacred. He chastised himself for his disrespect, but still wondered.

"I am to build a great ark..." the patriarch elaborated, casting his eyes beyond the area where he and his male progeny were gathered. Past the plots of grains, onions, corn and beans, he could already see the ship and smiled at the image."...large enough for all of us and some of every creature that walks or flies over the earth."

He's serious, Ham said to himself in disbelief. He looked at his brothers, Shem and Japheth, seated to their father's immediate right and left. The small lamps filled with olive oil, placed in the open area of the eating circle, lit the looks of dogged devotion on their faces—the result of being eldest and heir and the other, simply the favorite.

From his position at about the forty-fifth degree in the circle of brothers, sons and nephews, Ham usually had more questions that he longed to ask...but never did.

Listening to his father expound, for instance, he puzzled on the requirement of only a pair of unclean animals. What if one should die? Would that mean that there would be no more snails? What do some of these creatures eat, besides each other?

He looked around, as he often did when disturbed, for sight of his wife or mother. He twitched when he felt his matron's touch on his broad shoulder, as she replenished the cups of wine for the men in her household.

"Of course, our honorable father," Shem spoke for his brothers, lowering his head in reverence. "We will do as you wish."

Ham sighed and his mother's touch became a squeeze of understanding and support. He watched as she moved away from him to continue around the circle, her dyed robe of sky blue, greying brunette tresses and wisdom all flowing around her.

We're farmers, he said to himself, thinking of another unasked question. What do we know about building a boat?

~~Lita hid in the shadow of the fruit trees and watched from a distance the three men in silhouette against the full white moon. As usual, her husband, Ham, stood alone, facing his two brothers. She knew from the gossip of the women who had served the evening meal that Noah had made a grand announcement. Her husband's mother, Mira, had whispered to her that it involved a command from El. It appeared that he was at odds with Shem and Japheth about it, which meant at odds with his father as well.

She shook her head with a lovingly tolerant smile. It was always interesting being married to the outsider. She could tell from Ham's arms, now lifted in an imploring gesture, that he was attempting to appeal to their logical side. But their arms were crossed, as Noah's would have been, already determined to proceed on whatever their new path should be. She sighed as his hands came up to grip the sides of his head in frustration. How she longed to hear their conversation. It was clear that her man would need her this night.

"We can not abide this," Ham argued. "How much time will we waste, how much land will we have to sacrifice that could be used for cultivation or grazing?" He pointed as his older brother. "I especially can't believe it of you, Shem. Most of this land is to be yours. Do you really think that El would cause it to be drowned?"

Shem shrugged in maddening acceptance. "Our father is a righteous man. He is favored by our god, as are we, if we do as we are told. Look how we have prospered here. I don't believe that our riches would be taken from us without much greater reward."

Ham opened his mouth to speak and Shem raised his arm to silence him. "Our father always has the best interests of his family in his heart. He and his god will not lead us astray."

"You are wise, Shem," said Japheth. "As long as we follow our father's righteous path, we shall all benefit."

Ham's eyes widened, looking at his second brother in amazement. The spoiled, self-pleasing Japheth speaking about following an honorable path? He would have to give up too many lovers and gambling and other vices before he could even find it.

As to that, what made a man righteous? Was it simply obedience, in which case he knew no one would ever call him that. He questioned too much, such as Noah's dealings with his neighbors, in which he always seemed to be enriched, while the other person walked away with less money, property and self-respect. Yet he couldn't deny Shem's observation that their prosperity must be the will of El, therefore this decision must, like everything else that their father said came from their god, be beneficial as well.

He turned to look on the farm he loved. He heard the chatter and rustle of the flocks preparing for the night, the sound of the water lapping gently against the sides of the well and the faster movement of the lake in the distance. He breathed in the smell of the earth and the crops and the familiar air. The thought of all of this underwater and being so far away from it—he would help, of course, while hoping all along that this time his father was mistaken.

Lita saw him turn back to his brothers and the three of them join in a conciliatory hug, then head toward the communal abode. She hurried to the sleeping area designated for her, Ham and their children so that he could tell her all.

Ham moved quietly past the other curtained areas from which he could hear snores and other night sounds and pulled aside the cloth partitioning his family from the others. He saw his wife's bare shoulder, lit by the moon that was witness to everything this night. He took from her the comb that she was using on her long, dark wine-colored hair and began smoothing it, enjoying its softness in his hands.

"My husband," she murmured, "I hope you are untroubled after speaking to your brothers."

Ham snickered. She was always so subtle in encouraging him to talk. "You know, my beloved, that I am seldom untroubled after speaking to my brothers. We were talking about our father's latest command from El."

He handed the comb back to her then lay back, caressing her leg through her soft robe. She turned to look at him. "What sort of command?"

Ham held her and told her all, until she wept quietly in the dark. "My mother, my father, everyone I have ever loved. They must all die?" Their rope bed creaked as she tried to turn away from him. The sleeping pad's masses of lamb's wool over a large, tightly woven cloth (something she had made during their time of betrothal) bunched around her.

Pulling her back to him, he brushed the tears from her smooth cheeks, and concentrated his study of her on the golden flecks that lightened her brown eyes.

"What happens to them will be their choice. They may join us if they wish to live as Yahweh commands. He has said that the world is full of sin," he whispered, cradling her head on his chest, the mound of tight curls there serving as a pillow for her. "He has said that my father is a righteous man and has given him this task. We have been chosen to bring new life to this world after our God destroys what he has created."

Lita raised her head to watch the stretching and puckering of his full lips as he spoke. "They can be saved if they come with us?" she asked, hope smoothing the wrinkles of her olive-toned brow.

Ham nodded and she stated confidently. "Very well then. I shall convince them."

He smiled at her and held her closer. "I trust that you will."

As she trusted him. She sighed in acceptance and allowed herself to relax in his embrace. No love that she had ever felt was as strong as that for him. She knew from watching the other women of the household how truly fortunate she was in having that feeling returned.

Just as she closed her eyes, their young son, Caanan, sleeping on a smaller pallet next to them, began to make the sniffly sounds that usually preceded an outcry. She left the comfort of Ham's body to tend the child.

Ham clasped his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, glimpsing stars and that spotlight moon through the imperfections in the thatch roof.

His father was a righteous man. El had said so. He could be obedient, if not righteous, and protect his family, as his father did. Ham would not question him again.
.

~~Another cough, another burn: such it was for Ham these last few years, living with the fire and steam necessary to bend the wooden planks for the boat, commissioned by Yahweh, which people throughout the land derisively called Noah's Ark.

"My father is a righteous man," Ham growled to himself, as salty rivers of sweat ran over his skin, tenderizing and priming it for the sun's daily roasting.

He pulled the last of the planks from the steam box he'd made and dropped them on the hard, barren ground surrounding him. They could certainly use some rain, if not the deluge his sire predicted.

He looked up at the sound of "Father!" and of clumsy feet running toward him. Canaan hurried ahead of Lita, who was bringing him fresh, cool water from the well.

Such a blessing, they are, he said in silent thanks, watching the approach of his slender wife and fourth son, over the once green and tree-filled, but now denuded plain.

He pulled the loose weave of his robe, that the perspiration had glued to his body, down and off of his upper torso and loudly huffed out the smoky air from his tortured lungs. He pushed his damp, wiry black hair off of his face, wondering how much cooler it might be to not have the extra cover of his smothering beard.

The only good thing about this particular aspect of the boat-building was that no one else wanted to be around the heat of the fire, so Ham was away from the rest of the family most of the day. Therefore he could strip to his waist and clutch his wife tightly, as she lifted the water skin to his parched lips.

She cupped a little of it to splash over his reddened chest and back, then glided her hands over him. Ham closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation.

"I have been harvesting today, Father," Canaan reported proudly, puffing out his young chest and tossing his head of loose, dark red curls that he'd inherited from his mother.

"Have you?" Ham said with a grimace. It was too early for harvesting, but that was part of his father's strategy, allowing time for a second planting each year before winter, part of which was reserved for the boat's cache. They had all just had to adjust to un-ripened vegetables and hard, immature kernels of grain.

But that wasn't as galling to Ham as the scalping of their land for the boat's wood. And now that it was stripped, his brothers, Shem, Japheth and their sons, bargained for the woodlands of their neighbors. The other landowners, perhaps seeking retribution for earlier transactions with Noah, exploited the perceived paranoia of him and his sons to charge exorbitant prices for their lumber.

Ham shook his head in sad understanding. If this did turn out to be a product of his father's fertile imagination (or vineyards) there would have to be a lot of fence mending done later and, ironically, no lumber with which to mend them. No one seemed to consider the consequences of stripping the land. To Ham, that was the great, collective sin.

He piled the now flexible planks onto the makeshift crate that was balanced on the back of his ox. The beast gave up on his futile nosing and pawing the earth for grazing, as Ham set before him some of the water in a wooden trough. He looked up at him with gratitude, perhaps affection, and noisily slurped the refreshment.

Lita helped her husband slip his arms back into the damp and smelly robe. He banked the fire, then hoisted Canaan onto his shoulders, marveling at how far down on his chest his son's legs now dangled, and they began the trudge back to Noah's Ark.

The hulking wooden structure dominated the landscape like a large wart on the body of Mother Earth. Ham allowed himself a final eye roll before reaching the spot to deliver the bent wood stock to his father.

Noah sang Hosannas while he worked, threading the boards with strong rope onto the skeletal frame of his ship. His youngest son smiled, catching the infectious enthusiasm and lifting his own voice in praise of their god.

"Here is the new load, Father," Ham said with the same eagerness with which Canaan addressed him. "I hope it will please you."

Noah turned his head. This task had aged him, his long hair and beard now completely white and scraggly. While the sun turned Ham's skin a dark copper, Noah's seemed to become whiter, like bleached birch. His exertion and religious fervor made his tortoise shell eyes gleam from his monochromatic head.

He fixed his son with a cold look. "Hmph, it could only be better. In that last load, almost half the boards splintered when we bore the holes for the ropes."

Ham's head and shoulders drooped. His eyes darted to the three boys acting as their grandfather's assistants—Ham's older sons, who had heard the daily barbs against him for years. From their looks of derision, they shared their grandfather's opinion.

Lita watched them all in unhappy silence, holding back the retorts that ran through her mind. She was forbidden to speak in front of the men and knew that doing so would only make things worse for her husband.

Her sons unloaded the wood from the ox's back, picking up Noah's song as they did and ignoring her and Ham. Their father turned with the animal and followed the sight and scent of smoke back to the fire.

Lita scowled at the boys. She saw very little of them, since they slept in the ark with Noah and most of the family, while she and Ham continued living in the house. Taking Canaan's hand to return to her domestic duties, Lita vowed that she would later make up to her husband for the slights of them all.

She stretched her body across his in the quiet of the thatch cottage. One small oil lamp lent a flickering light, just enough to give them an amber cast.

She whispered, for Japheth and his wife still occupied the other side of the room. "My husband, your mother has said that the boat is nearly finished, but I have seen no signs of a great rain."

Ham nodded. His isolation with the fire afforded him the opportunity to study nature's omens. The clouds maintained their regular paths. It was true that there were more insects and they all had the bites and stings to prove it. Ham thought though that that could be because the lack of vegetation for the animals had caused them to leave. He huffed at the paradox, knowing that his father had already begun the plans for them to bring all of the beasts to the boat when it was done.

"What shall we do if the land does not flood, if your father is wrong?"

Ham had long since repaired the roof and the stars no long glimmered through the thatch filter, but he knew which ones were prominent at this time of year. He looked up at the ceiling, as if he could still seek their guidance. Despite his own misgivings, he mustn't show doubt. For the sake of his wife and sons, all must be convinced that he believed.

He grasped his woman and rolled so that he was leaning over her. "My father is a righteous man, Lita. El has said so. Have faith in that." He gave her a soft kiss. "Have faith in me."

~~The tight strings of the loom seemed to thrum like a lute and create a melody, to which Lita added a soft hum. Her fingers blurred with the speed of her weaving, while her twin daughters, Ada and Livi, waited on the other side grasping the press, to slap the new strand down tightly on the developing cloth.

Returning from his day at the firebox, Ham saw them and smiled. The girls, almost of age for betrothal, looked like his mother, with honey tones in their dark brown hair and rounded cheeks that supported their constant, dimpled smiles. He heard the three of them laugh and his attention turned to his wife, still lovely after all these years.

With the setting sun at her back, she looked so much like she did the first time he ever saw her. He stopped before they could espy him and let his mind go back to one of his best-loved days...

...

His memory began with the scents—the life and brine of the ocean and the smells of cooking and a bustling village just beyond the dunes.

He next recalled the sounds—the chatter of the villagers, the riotous waves in the distance, subdued to a gentle lapping as they met the shore, and the clear, sweet voice that called, "Father."

And then, the sight. Her father was a fisherman with no sons, so she carried the nets down for his commission with the sons of the wealthy Noah, wrapped in them like the prize catch herself.

Ham, standing with his brother, Shem, squinted his eyes at the figure in yellow that seemed to emerge from the sun behind her. Dazzled, he swallowed an unfamiliar lump of desire that converted to action in his body, and urged him toward her. He hurried to disentangle her from the ropes and mesh, mumbling something about their being heavier than she was. She rewarded him with a lifting at the corners of her rosy mouth, before demurely lowering her eyes and heading back to her home at the edge of the village.

Ham turned his head to avoid staring, but in licking the salt from his lips, he couldn't help wonder how she would taste.

He liked the feeling that he was holding something of her as he returned to the boat with the nets and sneaked another glance at her. He smiled when he caught her daring a glimpse over her shoulder as well.

That evening, while serving his father the fish that they'd bought, Ham told him about the girl that had ensnared him. Noah shook his head and issued an edict, "The daughter of a landowner will be your wife, someone to enrich us all. It is your duty."

Ham bowed his head in abeyance but could not stop his dreams or yearnings for the wine-haired beauty with the gilded eyes. He knew his father had begun plans for his union so in desperation, he turned to his mother, Mira, begging that she intervene.

"I can not be a husband to any other maid," he said, kneeling in front of her, his voice hoarse with longing. "I will only ever think of her." With a sigh, Mira touched his cheek, promising to do all she could.

After a few days in which Ham did nothing but think of the woman in the nets, Noah summoned his youngest son after supper to a tent erected by the lake. The low breeze off the waters did nothing to cool the heat of the father's anger as he began with an accusation. "You went to your mother to convince me to allow you to marry that fisherman's daughter."

Ham nodded silently, pouring more wine for his father, hands shaking with hope.

"A maid with no dowry, a man with no other children and devotion to Yahweh that is not strong," Noah continued. "It is an undesirable union, not worthy of our family."

Ham sighed and pulled his shoulders back, locking his black eyes, bright and determined, on his father. "She is all that I want. I will serve you to the end of my days to have her. She and I together will work for your benefit and comfort." He turned out his hands in supplication. "Please, Father. She is beautiful, diligent and clever. She and our children will bring honor to you and to our god."

Noah looked at him, his tone dropping its intensity and authority, sounding more like the man whom Ham had followed when he was younger, like an adoring shadow. "She is just a woman, son. You could marry and produce heirs with another."

Scratching his chin under his new beard, Ham shook his head. "She is all that I want. I will toil for you the rest of my life for your assent..." He then stood so that he looked down on his father. "Or I will leave with her."

The answering glare in the darkness of the tent could be felt by Ham. Noah was tempted to accept the challenge and turn out his willful son, but he needed him. He was the hardest worker of any of his children and Mira's favorite. He gave grudging approval and shooed Ham away, speaking very little to him in the weeks that followed.

In lieu of the land or livestock that another bride might have offered, Lita made robes for all of her new family—sky blue for Mira, purple for her new husband, and for Noah, white with threads that she treated with real gold.

...

The head of of the household gradually accepted her for her strength, cleverness and industry, but the ark project had resurrected the old resentments, when he had no more land of his own from which to obtain his lumber.

"You rely too much on women," Noah had sneered at his youngest. "First your mother and now, your wife. How will she obey you if you make known your need for her?"

Ham had again bowed his head to his father. He could have told him about the great honor that he and his wife gave each other, of the nights that they sneaked out of the house to sleep and talk under the stars, about how a woman responds when she knows she is loved, but he told Noah nothing.

"My father is a righteous man," he had said under his breath, "and I am just a man."

...

"I am just a man," he repeated, coming out of his musings and walking toward Lita, "a man who loves his wife and family and, as promised, serves and honors his father..."

He looked toward the ark. "...no matter what he commands."

~~The small caravan wended its way from the site of the ark and family home to the fishing village down the hill and to the shore.

Ham squinted into the early morning sunlight and noted again how barren the land was. This path used to cut through a large meadow, embroidered by great trees in the distance and a riot of color from the yellow and green grasses and its mixed bouquet of wildflowers. Now it was brown, rocky and rutted.

He walked beside the small, shaggy burro carrying his wife, Lita, ensuring that the animal didn't step in the ruts or holes in its path. Its burden was his joy.

He smiled up at her and she returned it, placing a hand on the side of his face. On previous jaunts that might have signaled to him that they should detour across the meadow for a tryst amongst the trees, but there were no more love nests on the stark plain, nor were they alone.

"Little Brother," Japheth called back to him, "if you can stop staring at your woman, we have plans to make." At the foot of the hill, the air carried a hint of the ocean and sound changed, volatile waves winning out over the chirping birds of the fields for dominance.

Lita felt the familiar surge throughout her body as she neared her natural habitat. The sea stretched before her like mother's arms, opened wide to welcome back a wandering child. She closed her eyes and licked her lips for the salty taste of home.

She felt Ham's calloused hands on her own as he passed her mount's tether to her and looked into his winking grin. "I'll see you back at home," he said with the combination of promise and hope that made her feel so adored. She smiled in answer and continued riding straight with one husky serving maid. Ham had insisted on the escort because the barren land wasn't as safe as a rich and fertile one had been. He and Japheth diverged left to the village.

A frisky breeze traveling before them blew into the open tents and caused the tops to billow out, resembling mushroom caps, as they approached the market center.

"Why don't we stop in here for a moment?" Japheth suggested, his eyes swaying uncontrollably to the wooden cottage on their right, from which came raucous laughter and the heady aroma of burning plants. From the open doorway could be seen men sitting in a circle, in the middle of which were small sticks and pebbles and piles of coins.

Ham shook his head and attempted to pull his brother away from the gamblers. "There is only trouble for you in that place. Remember last time?"

"Japheth!" called a feminine voice from the trouble house. He stopped and turned. A woman leaned against the doorway, her loose robe barely draping her shoulders or covering her feet. Rings sparkled on her toes and on the finger that she crooked to beckon Noah's notorious son.

He shrugged off Ham's hold on him and headed back to the den of sin.

"Japheth!" Ham shouted futilely. Their father's favorite and closest resemblance turned, walking backwards to the door where the woman and gamers awaited him.

"You know me, Little Brother," he sang out with his mischievous smile and tortoise shell eyes twinkling. "I can resist everything but temptation. I'll meet you at the silvermonger's."

Ham threw up his arms in disgust and continued to the vendors' tents, following the smell of sweet spices and increasingly rare flowers, to choose some oils as a present for Lita.

In the home of her parents she made one more entreaty for them to join in the ark project.

"Noah is a fool," her father, Casan, said laughing. "What does a farmer know of building a boat? I live on the water. There is no sign of the great rain that he predicts."

She looked out the narrow window of the small beach hut to view the greyness of the sea. The meager sun seemed to dull on its surface, like slate, rather than reflecting off of it, as she had always known, to make the water a dazzling jewel. Something was changing. Whether it was the prediction of her father-in-law or just nature reacting to the stripping of the land, as Ham suspected, things were different.

"Please, Father," she cajoled, helping her mother serve him his mid-day meal of fish and bread, "Come back with me. Help finish the boat. I can not bear the thought of what might happen to you and Mother."

Casan smiled and placed his hand on the top of her head. "Nothing will happen to us, my dear daughter. When everyone sees how much they have given up to Noah, how little food they have from the land, they will all turn to me for my catch." The smile graduated to a self-satisfied chuckle. "Then we shall see which father allowed his child to marry beneath her house."

Lita sighed and, catching a look from her mother, followed her outside to the loom that had united them since she was a little girl. Holding onto the cedar bough frame, she asked, "Can't you persuade him? Can't the two of you come, just as a precaution?"

Evala weaved thread through the rows of string and shook her head of still shining red tresses. "No, my Lita. I do not wish to live as you have described with your husband's family. And if we know you are gone and lost to us forever, I care not whether I live or die."

Lita sniffled, wringing her hands in heart-broken resignation, as her mother gathered her in her arms. "You must follow your husband," Evala said, "and I must follow mine." She whispered in her ear. "But our love for each other will stay right here, at our loom."

She hugged her parents with dry eyes, praying it wasn't the last time, and began the journey back up the hill to her adopted home. She sneered at the boat that she could see dominating the horizon long before she reached her destination.

He's a farmer, she said to herself, silently deriding her father-in-law. What does he know about building a boat?

The curved structure of the behemoth seemed to answer her with a mocking grin.

~~Ham pulled the rope around the neck of his faithful ox, leading him through the marketplace. He loved the open market—the chants of vendors, gleam and clank of metals, the smell of familiar and exotic foods blending with the surf to create a feast of aromas, the life bursting around him.

To think that all of these people might drown, all of the work in their products and crafts gone forever, flooded...Ham shook his head clear of those thoughts and walked to a stall selling knives.

The tall, clean-shaven man who demonstrated the superiority of his blades by slashing through suspended ropes and splintering wooden shields was from a land far away, Ham learned. He made his knives by melding thin layers of the medals, not just shaping them from individual pieces. The technique created fascinating swirls and other patterns in the finished blades.

Noah might have rejected some of Ham's bent wood planks, but the smith gladly traded three long, curved knives for a few of them.

"One for Cush, Mizraim and Phut," he said, ticking off the names of his older sons, "and Canaan's first." It was a small wooden knife. Upon Ham's request, the bladesman carved the boy's name into the handle. Ham smiled, knowing his sons would love their gifts.

Pretty shells often peeked out of the well-trod sand. Ham looked down occasionally, in case he should find some for his girls, in addition to the coral bangles for which he traded more planks.

He shunned the tents featuring cloths and ready-made robes with a slight air of conceit, knowing that the products from his wife's loom and loving hands were much better than any of those for sale.

Around the market he replenished his family's stores, spoke to people he knew and laughed off the jibes about the ark, then went to the large tent of the silvermonger, Aga.

The tradesman stood in front of a makeshift table, surrounded by sparkling chains and loops, with a smile almost as bright. Everyone knew what Noah and his family were doing and how they had gone through most of their fortune to finance it. The appearance of one of his sons meant that they were at the point of selling some of their treasures. He mentally rubbed his ringed hands in glee, calculating how little he'd have to pay for such a windfall.

Ham paced outside the tent, slanting suspicious eyes at Aga, and waiting for Japheth. The sun had already passed its peak and taken on an orange cast. The hubbub of the market lessened to the sounds of quieter conversation and packing up of goods when Aga said, "It is time for me to leave as well, son of Noah. If you have something to offer, then you must do so now."

Ham nodded in resignation and glanced toward the iniquitous cottage, congratulating himself that he had held the silver, rather than entrusting it to his brother.

He pulled out the pouch from inside his robe—clever Lita and her pockets—and poured the contents onto Aga's table.

The man's eyes gleamed at the shiny rain of precious metal. They widened as he saw the delicate, small link chains that had adorned the matriarch, Mira, at the last feast that Noah had hosted (how many years ago?) before he began his adventure in boat-building.

Aga looked up at the younger man on the other side of the table. Something in his expression...he was definitely Mira's son. He cursed himself again for not having sought her hand before the farmer did.

Ham eyed the tradesman with wariness. He could negotiate with a few planks, but this was the last of his family's riches. He couldn't allow himself to be cheated.

"Nothing less than twenty," Noah had admonished his sons that morning, confidently handing the pouch over to Japheth—cunning, charming Japheth, who wasn't there now when Ham needed him.

Aga returned Ham's look with a sad smile. This might have been his son. No, he wouldn't take advantage of him. Forty for the lot," he said, pulling out the coins from his own pouch. His smile broadened at the look of surprise then relief he saw in Mira's boy's face.

Ham returned the refilled pouch to his inside pocket, thanked Aga, then turned his ox around to begin the trek back home.

He looked toward the sky. With so little rainfall, there had been only red evenings for a long time, but now, the horizon seemed more subdued, with a hint of grey dulling its vibrancy, like a veil over his wife's dark red hair.

He approached that cottage on the edge of the village with a frown. The voice that he heard raised in anger sounded familiar. Suddenly a body came sailing out of the open door. "Go back to your crazy father," growled the burly man who stood on the threshold.

Ham shook his head in silent retribution as he helped his brother to an unsteady standing position. He had cut his cheek on a shell protruding from the ground and smelled strongly of beer, smoke and rutting.

"Japheth," Ham said with a groan, laying him over the broad back of the ox, "what have you done now?"

"Just pull, Little Brother," Japheth answered, shifting to a more comfortable position and dabbing his bleeding face with the sleeve of his soiled robe.

Ham rolled his eyes and led his ox and brother away from the raucous cottage and the quiet market place for the uphill journey home. "The disgrace you've brought on us all," he chastised the unrepentant man on the beast.

"I care not what those people think," Japheth slurred. "Soon, they will all be drowned."

Ham whipped his head around with a glare and caught his brother's wink and smirk beneath his curling black beard. He wasn't serious, just making a very bad jest.

Ham sighed and looked up again at the sky. It would be night soon. Pinprick stars were already beginning to appear. It was important that they all were home with the money before dark. He heard snoring behind him. Well, he said to himself, it is important that the money be home before dark, at least.

He forcefully lifted his brother's leg, causing him to fall from the mount and hit the rocky ground with a startled grunt.

"You care not for those who may drown? Explain that to the thieves on the road," he said, looking down on his brother with a sneer. "I am sure that they would find it funny also."

He began a quicker trudge back up the hill with the unburdened ox, Japheth staggering after him.

The long shadows of sunset that fell on the path hinted at the inevitable pitch blackness that awaited them.

"Why do you do this Japheth?" Ham asked, scanning the area for possible trouble. "We are of good family. Why must you behave as though nothing matters to you?"

"Oh, yes, you are so good," Japheth responded, now walking next to Ham. His brother's mention of robbers seemed to have sobered him and he now carried a thick bough that he'd found on the edge of the road and glanced around warily. "But what has your goodness ever gained you...our father's favor, reward in land and chattel, no. Love and respect of your children...all of them?"

Ham growled at his brother's words, and his stomach and fist tightened, as he continued his angry, careful climb toward home.

"But you do have one thing," Japheth said, the tone of his voice changing from a taunt to something approaching admiration, "Lita."

Ham glanced at him with a narrow-eyed scowl, pulling so hard on the ox's rope that the animal huffed in protest.

"What?" Japheth asked, his sardonic, bright smile penetrating the twilight. "Did you think me blinde to her lasting beauty? Deaf to the sounds from your side of the house at night? Perhaps if I had such a woman I would never stray either."

The younger brother snorted in reply. "Perhaps if you never strayed, you would have such a woman."

Japheth snickered. "Calla might be more pleasant, but still, she could never be the woman that I longed for, just the one whose family owned the land on the other side of the lake that father wanted."

Ham lowered his head, thoughts of Lita bringing warmth to him, as the ark became visible with the day's last light. As much as he'd resented it over the years, it appearance represented home, family, wife. He hastened his step, eager to see her.

"Think of it," Japheth reminded him. "Your one act of defying our father's wishes gave you her. What might you have if you did it more often?"

Ham grinned. It was impossible to stay angry at his brother. He threw his arm around him to hurry them back to the ark and the thatch cottage where their women waited.

Behind them, thieves lay in wait for victims...marketeers prepared their wares for the next sale...carousers sinned and families settled in for the night. None knew that they were doomed.

~~They were coming! Just as Grandfather Noah had said! Canaan's eyes sparkled, the golden flecks that he'd inherited from his mother shining in them, like tiny sunrays. The animals were coming to the boat, just as Grandfather had said.

He stood with his father, Ham, watching from a distance as the creatures lumbered, flew, slithered and pranced onto the boat. He looked up into his father's face, agape in stunned silence.

The vast, now barren plains of Noah's lands were suddenly a sea of life, as wave upon wave of the largest mammals and smallest reptiles and insects appeared to board. And the birds, with their songs and colors filled the sky.

Caanan's legs trembled and his heart seemed to thump like the hooved animals. He threw back his hair like the mane of the lions. His mind raced with the swiftest and his soul flew with the winged. In that moment, descending the hill with his father, the young boy knew that he, his parents, even Grandfather Noah, were all animals too. He understood, however, that his childish epiphany was not in agreement with the beliefs of his family.

It's our secret, he communicated silently to his fellow creatures that he was eager to know.

"What is that, Father?" he asked, pointing out the birds in flight with black feathers and multi-colored beaks. "And that?" he exclaimed, staring in wonder at the giant, seemingly armored rats.

Ham broke his own gawking at the surprisingly cooperative multitude of the Animal Kingdom to smile down at his son. "I don't know. Perhaps your grandfather will allow you to name some of the creatures."

Canaan's face fell, the childish excitement shutting off like the breath of the dying."Grandfather will not let me do that," he said in a slow, unhappy voice, looking down at the hard, cracked and rain-starved ground.

"Why?" Ham asked, concern etched in the premature lines of his suntanned face.

Caanan shrugged his slumping shoulders. "He will want my uncles' sons or my brothers to name the animals, but he will not want me with them."

Ham sighed. He had hoped to shield his sons from the indifference that he had sometimes felt from his father and had been successful with his first offspring, at the expense of his own relationship with them. His youngest, however, who looked so much like his mother—he knew the old man's ambivalence. Lita lived with it too, being the wife that had been desired, rather than the one chosen by Noah. "She pulls you from your devotion to El and your duty to family," he had accused the young man.

Ham had shrugged in resignation. Perhaps his father was right. He and his new wife had been willing to live with that censure, believing that they could prove that their love for each other exalted the deity that made it possible.
Over the years as their family grew, Noah's face had softened in their presence and he'd mellowed to the idea of the passionate union.

Ham would always be the son who had defied him, but his children were obedient and favored by their grandfather...until the commandment to build the ark. So the youngest, who had not yet won Noah's admiration, was never able to do so.

Ham looked again at the son who mirrored his wife and smiled. "No matter. You may name the animals what you wish. It will be your secret until you have a family and home of your own."

Canaan raised his head, his exuberance renewed. "That one there," he said pointing to the grinning crawler, "like a crocodile with a rounded snout, I will call it...Caiman."

Ham laughed as they approached the craft and Caanan continued his classifications. "Grizzly...panda...kangaroo..."

It was already disgusting on the boat and they hadn't finished the loading. The straw that had seemed as thick and impermeable as a golden carpet was trampled and grimy, matted down to a thin layer of dirty yellow.

While the animals seemed to be under some kind of enchantment and were amazingly docile, their other natures were functioning properly and the odor was horrendous.

"We shall adjust," Noah stated, settling the large grey creatures with long snouts into their designated area.

Over the sleeve of his robe that covered his nose, Ham stared at his father. His dark brown eyes were watery from the smell. His mind reeled from the combined awe and exasperation that his father had been right and that this is how they would live now for who knew long on the ark. He conceded that they might adjust to the smell and crowding, but the noice—chirping, barking, roaring, lowing...

The appearance of the livestock reminded Ham of the faithful ox and he hurried out to bring him onto the ark as well.

Fat raindrops fell on his head and skin as he found the beast who had hauled thousands of loads of lumber to make the boat possible, and led him to the behemoth.

Noah stood in the doorway, a vindicated prophet, and blocked passage. "That animal must not come on board," he said, his white hair clinging to his skull, as the rain began to pour faster.

"But, Father," Ham pled, holding onto the rope collar around the large, obliging, creature."He has done so much for us. We can not leave him behind."

His father crossed his arms over his favorite robe, the one made by Lita years ago. "No. That is a useless animal on the vessel and unable to multiply when we land."

"But, he..." The ox nudged Ham's arm. Ham lifted his eyes and saw that the family—his sons, brothers, wife and mother were all witnessing his defiance.

Noah glanced around also and, placing his arm around the shoulders of his youngest, led him and his pseudo-pet off the boat.

The hard, barren ground beneath their feet was slow in absorbing the rain, so they sloshed through water, rather than squished through the mud. Standing in the empty fields of the once fertile farm, Noah spoke with more gentleness than Ham could remember hearing in years.

"My son," he said, "El's command has placed a burden on all of us."

Ham's lowered head tilted for a glimpse of his father. Those eyes, in a melange of brown tones, reflected the many sides of Noah, carrying the burdens of patriarch to provide and guide, as well as the responsibilities of a servant of his god to revere and obey.

Any sacrifice that he had asked of his family, Ham knew, he had endured himself manifold.

Ham recalled watching his father culling his beloved flocks of goats and sheep to a mere seven to lead to the ark. He had left behind his favorite, an aging billy goat, the original sire of the herd, now past his prime.

With a sigh, Ham placed his hand on the drenched back of his most constant companion during the years of the boat's construction.

His father turned to wrap him in a hug. "Your friend need not suffer the fate of our neighbors," he said, concentrating his multifaceted eyes on Ham. Then he turned and walked back to the boat.

Through the screen of rain, Ham watched him go. The suffering. They had been too busy to think much of that, except to offer prayers to El that others would join and then to forgive them when they did not.

The suffering. He remembered his wife's final lament for her mother and father.

After her last visit with them she'd wept, alone in the thatch cottage with her husband. She'd held him tightly as she recounted the farewells, mumbling into the darkened skin of his shoulder and chest. Lightly caressing her bare back, he'd said nothing.

It had all been said over the years—his father was a righteous man, they were doing El's will, they loved each other.

This night he could offer her nothing new, so he'd confined her comfort to the love of his hands and silence until her tears gave way to sleep.

In her early dream-like state, she'd still felt his touch and heard his promise:" I swear, Lita, our life will be worth any sacrifice that we make."

Watching as his father returned to the boat, Ham now said aloud to no one but the ox, "any sacrifice."

With a small smile, he patted its brown-red neck. "But some loyal friends need not suffer."

From the belt at his waist, he removed his long, sharp knife. The rain now beating down on them, he slowly led the no longer useful animal away from the ark, along the familiar path to the site of the bending fire.

~~She had avoided the vessel like the plague it represented to her, marking the end of a happy, fulfilling life. Heading for it now, as the clouds darkened and crept together, Lita kept looking toward her right and the road that led to the village, sea and home of her parents.

She carried with her the veil that had covered her head when she'd married Ham, a wedding gift from her mother, Evala, and the first small fishing net that she'd made with her father. She and her children had often taken a raft out on the lake and used that net for fishing.

Her second son, Put, in particular, had proven to be an excellent fisherman and had planned to join his grandfather, Casan, on his sea-faring boat, until the building had begun on that accused ark that had fractured her family.

"You must hurry, Mother," said Cush, walking ahead of her and looking up at the first roar of thunder. The wiry muscles of his long frame and his voice were tense with impatience. As the eldest, assuring his mother's safe boarding the ark was his responsibility but he had other things to do—animals to secure and tasks for his honorable Grandfather Noah to perform.

He heard his mother's gasp and turned to see her standing stock-still, the brown/gold eyes wide with amazement as she had her first sight of the living cargo. The corners of his bearded mouth lifted in an affectionate smile. His mother, who could skin and filet fish as well as any of his uncles or cousins, never squeamish, was nervous to approach the animals. He took her arm and carefully led her around the outskirts of the zoological parade as it moved toward the boat.

She allowed herself a small, sad smile as she realized how unnaturally gentle the creatures were—rows of red, brown, black, an occasional blue or yellow in docile union. Lita reached out a tentative hand to glide over the furs and skins in passing, conscious of the different textures of the creatures, until they came to the ark.

She had grown accustomed to its massiveness on the outside. There had never been anything like it, so there was nothing to which she could equate it, except as a mountain of wood. She tilted her head back and felt the first light raindrops as she tried to see its pinnacle. The tiny sob that escaped her was for her father who should have shared in this accomplishment. Her tears mixed with the rain and she turned her head in the direction of the road one last time in silent lament until Cush tugged again on her arm.

She saw his proud smirk as he led her inside. "Well," he prompted. "What do you think?"

Once as a young girl, she had traveled with her parents to a festival in the town of her mother's birth. Evala's brother lived in a large house with walls separating the sleeping areas and windows to bring in warmth and light to the stone environs. Lita had stood in the center of the house and glanced up and around her, awed by the man-made space. She had the same feeling now, dwarfed by her surroundings and slightly aghast.

Her eyes followed the great, rough wooden columns, taller than any tree that she'd ever seen. She craned her neck to the level of the boat for living quarters, then beyond to the height of the rafters where some birds were already perched.

It is no wonder that there are no forests left, she thought to herself. This is bigger than any single forest ever was.

She saw Cush's eager face and smiled. "It is well-made," she said, touching his arm. "You and your brothers..." What could she say about the monstrosity? "You have done well," she finished with a sigh. She jumped at the touch of a hand on her shoulder and the large, hairy beast that walked on two legs moved away from her to join his fellows.

Cush snickered and led her past the creatures filing in to the ramp leading to the next deck.

"That animal must not come on board," barked Noah from the opening of the ship.

Lita stopped, turned and saw Ham on the other side of the door, holding the rope of the faithful ox. She heard the plea in her husband's voice and saw him glance around anxiously as others gathered, curious about the exchange. Standing back from her father-in-law, she saw that his shoulders seemed to lose their staunch set. With his staff in one hand, he put his arm around Ham and led him away from the boat.

She stood in the doorway, wondering what was being said between the two men, one appearing all white, with his hair and robe, and the other as starkly dark.

Noah placed both his hands on her husband's shoulders and her heart fluttered. It was the first sign of affection she'd witnessed between them in so long.

Rain fell harder as the patriarch and prophet turned back to the ark and Ham remained outside in the downpour. She saw the flash of his knife and her heart beat faster for her husband. With his head bowed low and shoulders hunched against the rain pouring over him, he led the ox away from the boat.

Biting her lip with new anxiety, Lita flew up the ramp and around the decks, dodging family and animals, until she reached a porthole near the top. She opened the hatch and squinted through the deluge toward the charred grounds where Ham had spent years, preparing the wooden planks for the ark.

The rain pelted around her and on her head, like the harvest from the shaken trees of the orchard. Through its heavy veil, she saw Ham pat the back of the red-brown beast, then slip the rope off of its neck. He spread his arms wide and raised his head to the clouds, as if beseeching El in his own private communion.

A blaze of lightning brightened the sky and showcased the man and animal. Lita gasped as she watched Ham lift his arm over his head, then arc it toward the ox's neck. She imagined she could hear the startled cry of the horned beast as it collapsed to the muddy ground. Ham dropped too, kneeling beside the animal and stroking its wide back one last time.

She saw him wipe the blade with one hand then turn to come back to the ark, the rain washing away the blood in a watery trail behind him.

She closed the hatch and squeezed the water from her hair as she hurried to the area of the boat designated for her family.
It was clear that she and her man would need each other this night.

~~Beautiful snow leopards yawned and stretched lazily, their white fur appearing to cast its own light in the darkest corner of the ark. Their black counterparts seemed to disappear into the surroundings, save for their gaping maws, displayed unnervingly for Ham as he settled them into their designated area.

He and his older brother Shem spread the food for them while Noah and the younger boys secured the windows and door, sealing them all in safe from the rising torrent of wind and water.

Watching the rare mammals, Shem's small black eyes gleamed like polished stones. "Just think of the price we could command for them," he said, his voice raspy with avaricious design.

The younger man rolled his eyes and shook his head. "But you know that there will be no one left to buy them."

"Only a matter of time," Shem answered with a shrug of his round shoulders. He had confined himself to inside tasks for the ark, so his skin was lighter than his brothers'. Grey streaks dulled his black hair and beard and his hands, unlike Ham's, were uncalloused.

Ham looked at the large cats surrounding them. Still under the influence of their mystical transport, tigers and lions, ocelots and cougars all lay together, resting their heads on their club-like paws. Was this harmony what El had in mind for them all?

"We have a chance to change things, Shem," he said, his voice deep and resounding, like their father's when he spoke of their god and His plans. "We can live peacefully, without greed and hatred, sharing all that we produce. We will have no reason for war or want or coin."

Shem laughed, shaking his rotund frame and causing some of the feline cargo to look up in docile curiosity. "Perhaps for a generation or two," he said, "but my great-great-great-grandchildren will trade with yours. They will cheat each other, argue about boundaries,petty differences and women, and they will fight. It is the nature of man," he added, putting an arm around Ham as they moved away from the whiskered predators.

Ham looked up at his brother, his eyes squinting with his question: "Then...what is the meaning of all of this? What is the use in so many dying?"

They walked past the hoofed creatures and Shem looked at the strange ones with curling antlers like cornucopia on either side of their heads, as if calculating their value. "Our father is a righteous man. He honors our god more than anyone. He made the faith and devotion of others seem small in comparison." Shem grinned, like the diamond-patterned snakes twisting themselves around the boat's tall columns. "Gods like to be revered...and obeyed."

Ham dropped his eyes in consideration and nearly collided with the lumbering, round and massive creature standing on its short, fat legs in his path. "And that is why we have been spared?"

Shem chuckled and the hyenas that they passed responded with their own laugh. "Did you think it was because of our boat-building skills or our sinless lives? Not with Japheth in our midst."

Ham's step slowed as he shuffled through the straw. His brother, recognizing the signs, left him to his contemplation and joined their father at the front of the ark. Ham's eyes followed him to where Noah stood in his white robe, like a beacon to guide them in the sunless interior. He lifted his arms to call his people together.

It was all happening, Ham mused, as the seven donkeys in the hold surrounded him, just as El had told his father it would. He should feel awe for the power he'd seen demonstrated, remorse for his doubts, but he only had more questions. His father's righteousness alone had saved his family, but what of others?

He thought about Lita's father, Casan, who might not have been as reverent or obedient as Noah, but who had never made his daughter or her husband feel that he was disappointed in them. Or Aga, the silvermonger, who had given more for his mother's valuables than he had expected. Patting the neck of a young golden brown deer that he passed, he wondered about Evala, Lita's mother, who had lived as close to a blameless life as anyone he had ever known.

"Let us praise El," Noah said when Ham joined the circle of family and servants. " Let us bow before His might and thank Him for His mercy."

Mercy. Ham had killed the ox to keep it from having to drown slowly and painfully, believing that to be merciful. If the beast were capable of feeling though, would the quick death have actually been better than knowing that he was slain by the only thing he had trusted?

And how will we live with our own feelings? Ham asked himself as he headed up the ramp with Lita to their living quarters. Knowing that we are no better than others who are dying? He looked down on the riot of animalia, the only other creatures that would live through El's cleansing of the Earth. What is to become of all of us, carrying such guilt?

After years of silent pondering at his bending fire, Ham realized that the completion of the ark and fruition of the prophecy had only given him more to consider and after tending the animals, the time in which to do it.

He felt Lita's hand on his shoulder and turned to her. The flame in the small oil lamp that she carried captured the light flecks in her eyes. The only gold left in the world, Ham said ironically to himself as she raised her fingers to trace the tiny, sad smile beneath his beard.

"Are you well, my husband?" she asked, her voice low and breathy in contrast to the screeching wind and pounding rain outside of their refuge.

He ran his hand down her arm. "I am as well as any of us tonight. I am sorry for your mother and father," he added, matching his own voice to her intimate timbre.

Lita dropped her head. "They would have been first, so close to the waters..." She raised her eyes back to his. "I do not believe they suffered."

"Come," Ham coaxed, taking her hand and leading her to their room, "we will offer our own prayers for them."

"And for all the others," she said as she closed the curtain to separate them from the ark's other inhabitants.

He laid his forehead gently against hers. "And for all the others."