Forty Days and Nights: Love Stories. 27. Wide as the Waters

He had carried in boards and boards and more boards. When she came home the bedroom was filled with boards and nails and screws and saws and hammers and the neighbor was just leaving. Thanks so much, he was saying to the neighbor and the neighbor was saying, Any time, no problem at all. What is this? she asked. Lumber, he answered around the screws in his mouth. Thanks so much, she said. Any time, he said, no problem at all.

After she came back into the house and was speaking to him again, she asked him why he was building something huge in the bedroom. This is where it goes, he said, and it's going to be way too big to move. She went away to the kitchen to make dinner, which was as far away from the bedroom as you could go inside the house and still be inside the house. He sang a little happy sawing and nailing song to himself. The chorus went, Hand me the saw and then hand me the nail, snow in the winter, summertime hail. She was yelling from the kitchen; the kitchen was far away. Are you asking me to come hand you things? she yelled. No! he yelled back. I am not asking that. In that case, she said, dinner is ready and you may have half of this food. I am not asking you to hand me things at this time, he whispered to himself, and he put down all the tools and went to eat, humming.

After brownies and ice cream she came in and handed him things. I just don't understand why we needed a new bed, she said. Why we needed a bed bigger than a barn. Who wants a barn inside their house? she asked. He looked at her, raised his eyebrows. I know people, he said. She put her hand over his mouth. You know weird people, she told him. Is the mighty bed finished? she asked, it's late. Yes, he said, it's finished, only we have to put on the sheets. They made up the bed and he hoisted her on to it. There, he said, how is it? I can see so far now, she said, and he threw the pillows at her head.

Seriously, she said later, softly in his ear. Tell me. Why this huge bed? It's a mile off the ground. Four feet, he said. Four feet of lumber, she said. Why? He pulled back a bit, so he could see her clearly. He was very serious, as she had asked. It's for the floods, he said. Good night, love. He pulled her close and went to sleep. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, then she got up and went to the window. She opened it, leaned outside in the cool night. No sound of rain, as she had known there would not be. No clouds in the sky, as she had known there were not. No thunder in the distance. For the floods, she thought, for the floods. We're sleeping on a boat in the middle of a desert. She clambered onto the bed and tucked herself under his arm. For the floods. Huh. She slept.

Water rose with the moon. It consumed the garden and slid over the sidewalks. It bubbled down into the cellar and climbed back out one slow cellar step at a time. Water raced across the kitchen tile and darkened the carpets, rose there til the moon's reflection shimmered and danced on the rising water in the living room. Water pushed up through the pipes, swiftly filled the bathtub, cascaded soundlessly over its sides, over sinks, up through drains. Water gushed down the hall and as it fell down the stairs it joined the water coming up. Water raced low and fast into the bedroom under the door he had carefully closed before he had climbed onto the bed. Water rushed to the edges of the bed, lapped against the wooden sides, found the way under and began to pull, to push, to press, to lift. More water came in under the door, more and more and more and then the water just took away the door that was in its way. Water lifted the bed, rocked the bed and spun it, water pushed the bed across the room, water edged the great bed through the hole that had been a window until the water had torn and punched and ripped the wall apart. The bed paused, crested the fall of water pouring out of the bedroom, tipped out to slide down, to ride away, then shot forward on a great wave as the house collapsed behind them.

Well, she said, you called that one right. She looked at him admiringly. You finished this in the nick of time. Way to go. Yes, he said, I did, and you know, you had me worried. I did? she asked. I did? How so? Was I so unsupportive? I did come hand you things, she reminded him. No, it wasn't that, he said, it was that dessert. It was too good. I lingered dangerously. Ah, she said, the brownies. Yes. That might have been catastrophic. Well, she said, lying back against him as the water lapped and sang around the boat bed, what do we do now? Now we row, he said. Both of us. Right, she said. I assume you packed this boat? Here's your oar, he said. Hungry? She found the food and they ate graham crackers and yogurt. You thought of everything, she said, this boat is loaded. Why think of anything if you don't go ahead and think of everything? he asked. Why indeed, she agreed. Where are we going? she asked. Land, he said wisely and with a grand gesture, and then looked quickly over at her. I see you are considering throwing me overboard for that, he observed. I think you should not do so. I never would, she assured him, but I will continue to consider it, and she kissed him. How far is the land, do you know? she asked. He shook his head. Not close, he said, but the boat will carry the two of us there. She held his face in both her hands. I am with you, she told him, there is no place I'd rather be. He smiled hugely and sang a happy rowing song. Hey, you, he said, and grinned at her. Take your oar.