Happy Monday! Thanks for all the comments last week. I really love to hear your feedback. This Monday, I’m posting the next installment of Diluvium. Thanks to Karina for the fabulous illustrations. Happy reading!
Excerpt from where we left off:
“It would be pointless to design a new kind of animal at this time,” said God. “Because it would only get wiped out in the Flood.”
I said: “Flood?”
You can tell when He does that even if you can’t see Him, because the air seems to ripple and sparkle, and the world becomes suddenly brighter, even if you’re in a place where there’s no explicable source of sunlight, such as a bathroom.
God grinned. And that was when things started getting really out of control.
“My plan,” said God, “is to blot out all mankind, by causing many waters to sweep over the face of the earth. But you and your wife will be spared, for you will build an ark of cypress wood, three hundred cubits long and fifty cubits wide.”
“Now hang on just one second,” I said, “how many cubits?”
But God ignored me. “You will be able to take your sons,” He continued, “and the wives of your sons, and the children of your sons and of their wives.”
“Why do you always have to list things out the long way like that?” I complained. “Why can’t you just say ‘grandkids?’”
But of course, He didn’t pay any attention.
“I think that basically sums things up,” said God. “Do you have any questions?”
I said, “Can I take my daughter?”
God said that I could take my daughter.
I said, “Would it be possible for me to leave one of my sons behind?”
God said that it probably would not be possible, but to explain to Him what the problem was.
“Well,” I began, “Japheth has always been difficult, ever since he was born. I try to get him to work on the farm or in the vineyard, but he always develops a headache or a backache, or something. His mother says he’s a poet, but I don’t see anything poetic about him. You should see him trying to muck out the hay barn; now that’s poetry.”
God said that unfortunately, I would have to take Japheth.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Will I also be able to take some livestock along, and some of our chickens, or are we going to have to resort to cannibalism?”
“You will be able to bring along your livestock and your chickens,” God agreed. “Also, your daughter’s cat.”
And this is where Events got particularly Upsetting.
“You will take two of every type of animal on the face of the earth,” said God. “Of the birds according to their kinds; and of the animals according to their kinds; of every creeping thing on the ground according to its kind, two shall come with you on the ark.”
I was speechless. I mean, I couldn’t even grasp the significance of what was happening here.
“Male and female, you will bring them along on the ark,” God trilled along cheerfully, as if he hadn’t even noticed that my heart had stopped, and my skin had gone clammy and pale. “Well, that about covers it. Do you have any questions?”
But I still couldn’t speak. All I could hear was the sound of the blood pounding in my ears, and the hum of water (we were still in the bathroom) churning merrily along in the background, like some kind of offensively bad joke.
“Do you have any comments?” said God. “Any feedback or, I don’t know, concerns?”
But I simply could not summon the power of speech.
“Okay,” said God, “Well, I’m going to let you finish putting on your clothes now. I’ll be back before you take your next shower.”
He wasn’t kidding. Actually, He came back the next seven times I showered (He seemed to be fond of examining the manmade plumbing, which He called “fascinating”), and His plans got worse every time. I tried to stop showering. I tried to avoid the bathroom as much as possible, and even constructed a rudimentary outhouse in the backyard. But there are things in life that cannot be avoided, no matter how many weeks you go without a bath. My wife complained about the smell, but I told her that we were all going to be thoroughly cleansed soon, in the biggest bathtub the world had ever seen. ♦
(To be continued…)