you people think, you consider us scum, you have named us after vermin. But give us a chance. Bring your father to me and help us placate the Unnameable.” He put on his cloak without letting go of the cloth he was covering himself with.
I helped him a little, not too much, because I was looking at him more than helping him, looking at his movements and the play of the shadows they caused. When he was dressed, I moved away from him a little, so I suddenly found myself too close to the fire, and it felt as if my head were burning. Anxiously I asked, “You are building the ship to make your name immortal?”
“The ship must ensure that we will not be wiped out,” he said.
“An appeal for mercy?” I asked. Again, I could hear the wheeze in his voice.
He touched my arm with his fingertips. “For mercy, it is too late. The Unnameable has made His decision. We must help each other. It is now a matter of belonging to the elect.”
The dog started barking, and Ham jumped up. He grabbed me and dragged me away from the glow of the fire. He pushed me between the stacks of timber, where I made myself as smallas I could and kept still. Someone came and stood by him, a man with a quick step and a short shadow, an apparition from nowhere, without a lamp in his hand, without a stick, as if the laws of the night did not apply to him.
“What are you doing?” I heard the man ask.
Ham remained silent. He began walking away from the pitch vats.
“This is not the girl you are waiting for,” the stranger said, his face turned toward the shipyard.
“But look at the water she brings,” I heard Ham plead.
“There are other women with good water. She is not the one. I will give you a sign when she arrives.”
“She is good, she is beautiful,” Ham continued.
They disappeared amongst the stacks of timber. I could just see that the man who walked beside the son of the Builder was of very small stature. He was not wearing clothes like the Rrattika, but was naked. His arms and legs were thin, his hips narrow like a boy’s. He had to take large steps to keep up with Ham. It may have been the poor light, but his skin seemed even darker than mine.
“We have to get away from here,” I said to my mother, whom I only washed near our tent now, after that one time by the pond. “These people are expecting a great calamity. Their god is preparing an overwhelming punishment. He is going to destroy all who are not chosen.” We quickly agreed: This cleansing we did not want to experience. We did not want to witness the suffering that would come with it. The gods of the Rrattika were not familiar to us, and this one did not seem the most benign. TheRrattika had chosen a god of whom they lived in fear. That was remarkable: We were in the habit of choosing gods who would leave us in peace instead of provoking us.
And so I stored up water in order to be ready when my father returned. Going to the spring, I followed a different path every time to confuse anyone who wanted to follow me. It would seem there were different levels of water quality. I saw women who had access to reasonably good water: They sold it at high prices, and if they were unmarried, well-to-do young men hung around them. I did not make a show of how good my water was. I could have acquired clothes, jugs, and blankets for it, but what use would that sort of baggage be if we had to flee the disaster? I led a donkey from one of the enclosures and hid it in the bushes. Stealing a pack animal seemed harmless: There were so many of them inside the little stone walls, at least a pair of every form and kind, and as many as seven of certain kinds. Having to be out for hours cutting grass counted for nothing compared to the security of knowing the animal was there ready. At that time, we no longer believed my father would bring Alem and the donkey back with him.
Three nights in a row, the young son of the Builder came to get me. Each time he took me to the warmth of the pitch
I helped him a little, not too much, because I was looking at him more than helping him, looking at his movements and the play of the shadows they caused. When he was dressed, I moved away from him a little, so I suddenly found myself too close to the fire, and it felt as if my head were burning. Anxiously I asked, “You are building the ship to make your name immortal?”
“The ship must ensure that we will not be wiped out,” he said.
“An appeal for mercy?” I asked. Again, I could hear the wheeze in his voice.
He touched my arm with his fingertips. “For mercy, it is too late. The Unnameable has made His decision. We must help each other. It is now a matter of belonging to the elect.”
The dog started barking, and Ham jumped up. He grabbed me and dragged me away from the glow of the fire. He pushed me between the stacks of timber, where I made myself as smallas I could and kept still. Someone came and stood by him, a man with a quick step and a short shadow, an apparition from nowhere, without a lamp in his hand, without a stick, as if the laws of the night did not apply to him.
“What are you doing?” I heard the man ask.
Ham remained silent. He began walking away from the pitch vats.
“This is not the girl you are waiting for,” the stranger said, his face turned toward the shipyard.
“But look at the water she brings,” I heard Ham plead.
“There are other women with good water. She is not the one. I will give you a sign when she arrives.”
“She is good, she is beautiful,” Ham continued.
They disappeared amongst the stacks of timber. I could just see that the man who walked beside the son of the Builder was of very small stature. He was not wearing clothes like the Rrattika, but was naked. His arms and legs were thin, his hips narrow like a boy’s. He had to take large steps to keep up with Ham. It may have been the poor light, but his skin seemed even darker than mine.
“We have to get away from here,” I said to my mother, whom I only washed near our tent now, after that one time by the pond. “These people are expecting a great calamity. Their god is preparing an overwhelming punishment. He is going to destroy all who are not chosen.” We quickly agreed: This cleansing we did not want to experience. We did not want to witness the suffering that would come with it. The gods of the Rrattika were not familiar to us, and this one did not seem the most benign. TheRrattika had chosen a god of whom they lived in fear. That was remarkable: We were in the habit of choosing gods who would leave us in peace instead of provoking us.
And so I stored up water in order to be ready when my father returned. Going to the spring, I followed a different path every time to confuse anyone who wanted to follow me. It would seem there were different levels of water quality. I saw women who had access to reasonably good water: They sold it at high prices, and if they were unmarried, well-to-do young men hung around them. I did not make a show of how good my water was. I could have acquired clothes, jugs, and blankets for it, but what use would that sort of baggage be if we had to flee the disaster? I led a donkey from one of the enclosures and hid it in the bushes. Stealing a pack animal seemed harmless: There were so many of them inside the little stone walls, at least a pair of every form and kind, and as many as seven of certain kinds. Having to be out for hours cutting grass counted for nothing compared to the security of knowing the animal was there ready. At that time, we no longer believed my father would bring Alem and the donkey back with him.
Three nights in a row, the young son of the Builder came to get me. Each time he took me to the warmth of the pitch
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