The Waterproof Bible by Andrew Kaufman Page B

removed their jackets and the women fanned themselves with the photocopied agenda. The sweat dotting the mayor’s brow, however, was not entirely from the heat. With only one item remaining, the mayor began speaking with greater speed. “Okay, this one should be quick,” he said. “It concerns the drought.”
    The majority of the council members had stopped paying attention some time ago. Mentioning the drought, which was now in its fifty-fourth day, did not bring them back. His next suggestion did.
    “I’ve been looking into … rainmakers,” the mayor said.
    Those who hadn’t already turned to look at the mayor now did so. A dog, barking some distance away, could be heard. The mayor looked around the table, feeling a sharp need to defend himself. He slapped the table with his open palm. “What do we have to lose?” he asked.
    “What does it cost?” Margaret asked as she adjusted the scarf around her neck.
    “That’s the best part! We only have to pay them if it works. No rain? No pay!”
    With this, the room’s tone changed completely. A vote was taken and the motion was passed.
    “There are two rainmakers who’ve been recommended. I’ll contact both of them. They’re a father and son, but I guess there’s some bad blood. Maybe we’ll be able to play them against each other, increase our odds of success,” the mayor said. He and seven of the eight members of the Morris Town Council nodded. Only Margaret abstained, as something inside her, tiny and quiet, began telling her to prepare for the worst.
    The towel Anderson was wearing slipped off as he raced to answer the telephone. Naked, he stood dripping onto the phone. He waited for the third ring before he picked up the receiver.
    “Yeah?” he said. His feet were getting the carpet wet, which annoyed him.
    “Mr. Anderson Richardson?”
    “Yes?”
    “I’m calling as a representative—”
    “Listen, I’m sorry to be curt, but I’m in the middle of something. Is this about rainmaking?”
    “Yes.”
    “Where and when?”
    “Ah. Yes. Well. Morris, Manitoba. It’s urgent.”
    “It always is.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
    Anderson hung up the phone, eager to return to his bath. It was only after he’d submerged himself entirely beneath the bathwater and released all the air from his lungs with a long string of bubbles that he realized he had no idea where Manitoba was.

    Ignoring the secretary’s protest, with his rubber boots squeaking and his raincoat dripping on the floor, Kenneth Richardson burst into the office of the mayor of Charlotte, North Carolina. The sound of rain against the room’s west-facing window was persistently loud. The mayor remained seated and calm behind her desk; Kenneth had not trusted this one from the get-go.
    “It’s raining,” he said.
    He did not point to the window with either his finger or his head. He remained staring, firmly, at the thin, grey-haired woman who’d served as the mayor of Charlotte, North Carolina, for five consecutive terms. She was a wise, politically savvy woman whose emphasis had always been fiscal responsibility.
    “Yes,” she said, folding her hands on her lap and returning Kenneth’s look with equal intensity. “But how do we know your methods had anything to do with it?”
    Kenneth’s eye contact intensified. Quickly and without warning, he turned. Water sprayed from his raincoat, landing on the front of her desk. He walked three steps to the window. He saw rain pouring out of eaves-troughs, collecting in puddles, splashing from under the tires of cars. He opened the window two inches, which was enough to let the rain in. It quickly collected on the sill and dripped onto the floor.
    Kenneth turned and looked at the mayor but stayed near the window. Reaching behind him, he knocked on the glass three times. Instantly, a small black bird with a bluish head landed on the outside sill. It looked up with yellow eyes and then, with small, desperate