Margaret's Ark

you believe what she's saying? About the flood, I mean?”

“Absolutely not!” His mother's answer, quick and with no hesitation.

Carl looked up. “Dad?”

Dan said, quietly, “No, Carl. I don't.”

“I do. I believe every word of what she's saying.” His mother squirmed in her seat and Carl raised his hand. “Hold on! I don't get to have my own say? Is that it? You haven't talked to her! You didn't see the fear in that lady’s eyes. Yes, it's fear. She doesn't want to be out there building a stupid boat! She was ordered  to!” Now he was standing and pacing, and suddenly his parents seemed very small.

“I'm going back there tomorrow, and the next day, and I wish you'd both come with me because I don't want you to die! Please come with me before all the spots on board are taken.”

Dan Jorgenson didn't look small any more. He slowly rose from the couch, giving his wife a gentle push on the arm as he did so. Sarah remained seated as her husband stepped forward. “Don't you think,” he said quietly, rage burning behind his own eyes, “that this might be some new form of doomsday cult? That come the final day you'll all be on board and forced to drink poison, or simply be shot dead? It's happened –”

“Oh for God's sake, Dad! These aren't religious fanatics. They're housewives, fathers, regular people like us! They're not going to hurt anyone. They're trying to save us! God’s trying to save us!”

Dan took another step closer. “You're not going back there.”

Carl forced himself to keep eye contact. “Yes, I am.”

He saw the man's fist as an after-image which vanished a moment after it connected with his face, before the room faded quickly to black.

46

“Tell me, Doctor Ramprakash, will the world be around in forty-six days?” Bernard Meyers grimaced and added, “Hoo, boy! Let's hope this coffee isn’t.”

The director put down the styrene cup with two fingers as if it was covered in filth. He meant the comment lightly, but Neha felt a knot turn in her stomach. She'd been less affected these past few days by the increasing news reports, since she and Suresh had come to an agreement. The morning after the fight, Suresh found her still in the study, asleep in the chair. With sleep, restless and uncomfortable as it was, came the ability to deal with her husband. Seeing his concern, his true love for her as he knelt in front of the chair, her tears came easily. They had been comforting, and useful.

Neha had fallen into her husband's arms that morning, like the starlets in the countless Indian films they enjoyed, pouring out her heartfelt but controlled apologies for her earlier reaction. This seemed all Suresh needed to pull his wife to him. But Neha could not leave things open-ended. With sobbing drama, she begged Suresh not to follow the dreams, to maintain things as they used to be. How frightened she was, for him, for what others might think. She was careful not to fall into specifics of her own reputation, but kept her concerns directed towards him. They had built so much, she explained, had so many plans.

Getting him to agree, to look in her drying eyes and promise that he would put her before anything else, was a prize she carried with her through this week. He'd kept his word, not bringing up the subject unless she initiated the discussion. Which she did, twice, in order to gauge his response. Thursday night she was home in time to watch the six o'clock news. As she expected, there was continuing coverage of another ark, this time in a North Andover back yard. She sat, feet curled below her, nestled against Suresh's chest and asked, “Have you had more dreams?”

He had actually stopped breathing for a moment. She felt his heart speed up against her ear. Then he slowly let out his breath and said simply, “No. No, I haven't.”

He’d been lying, but more than that, she heard such sadness in his words. Sadness because at that moment, curling tighter against her husband, she knew that he would ignore the dreams, respect her wishes. Respect their growing place in the world.

Sitting now in the hospital cafeteria with her employer, Neha took a sip of her own coffee and made a contented noise. “Better than the stuff in the ER. I don't believe they've cleaned that pot since they bought the coffee maker.”

Bernard Meyers smiled at the comment and nodded. Still, he didn't touch his own cup again. He cut a piece of pork chop, chewed methodically, and only after swallowing said, “You didn't answer my question.” Spoken causally, no accusatory tone. “This whole thing about a new Great Flood is rather odd. Have you been following it?”

Neha smiled, thinking of Suresh. Knowing that he would keep his word gave her the confidence to be frank. “I can’t really say. I have been seeing reports, and it does seem to be a global phenomenon. Hard to believe this many people, spread across the world, can be part of some major conspiracy.”

“Then you think it's legitimate?”

The sharpness of his question, the fear she could almost smell beneath the older man's skin, told her what her answer must be. She smiled, took a bite of potato, and said, “No. No, I don't. This may be on a bigger scale, but I can't accept this as being anything different than that cult who thought God was an alien coming to get his people in the tail of a comet.”

Meyers said nothing, merely cut a fresh piece of meat and chewed. He looked across the tables in the cafeteria, at nothing in particular. “My wife, Linda, said pretty much the same thing.” Bingo, Neha thought. He continued, “I don’t know. You're both probably right. Weirder things have happened in the world.”

Neha felt brave, and said, “Name one.” She held her breath for the reaction.

Meyers laughed, a full, relieved laugh. “Called to the rug,” he said, still smiling, and cut another piece. “Of course, there's that story I heard this morning about flocks of birds migrating east all of a sudden. Experts are blaming the growing pollution levels on the west coast. Normally, environmental ditties like this don't catch my attention, but with the boats going up and all.” He shrugged.

Neha felt a tightness in her belly. Hearing about abnormal behavior of any sort these days sent her into a panic. Meyers didn't seem to need a response, however, so she did not provide one. Too much risk of exposing weakness.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. The cafeteria was crowded, though the official lunchtime had passed an hour before. Twenty-four hour food service was one of the nicer perks of working for a large hospital. The director had called Neha in for her second consult that week - this time a teenager complaining of stomach cramps. The invitation to offer her opinion on such a simple diagnosis spoke volumes, and she recognized the opportunity of a few one-on-one minutes with her employer. Moments like that, and this subsequent late lunch, pulled her out of the general flock and into Meyers' eyes as an individual - a physician the man knew personally.

His next question, after swallowing his last piece of meat, proved the point, more than Neha could have dreamed possible. As he slowly gathered the trash together on his tray, a silent signal that lunch was over for both of them, he said, “Listen, Nee. Linda and I are hosting a small dinner for some folks from the hospital on Friday. It's nothing fancy, just a chance to get to know some of you better over food that's only a slight improvement over what we've just had.”

I doubt slightly is the right word, she wanted to say, but was too dumbstruck to speak. Instead, she raised her eyebrows in as casual a look as she could muster.

Meyers, obviously sensing her shock, continued, “We'd love to have you and your husband join us. What is his name?”

“Suresh,” she said, proud for not spitting food as she spoke. Meyers stood. Neha quickly gathered her own things, careful to toss a rumpled napkin over the rest of her lunch so it wouldn’t appear she'd cut her meal short because of him.

“Grand,” he said. “Eight o'clock. I'll have Elizabeth get you the directions.” Elizabeth Valdecci was Meyers's watchdog administrative assistant. Neha would have to go to her in person for the directions. Email, even in this age, was a rare thing for doctors. They just didn’t have the time to use it, and though Elizabeth Valdecci could email easily enough, she demanded people come to her in person for information.

She followed close behind Meyers as they dumped their trays at the cleaning station and pushed through the