fLoOd--Part Twenty-Three

A Storm Is Coming

tWeNtY-tHrEe

   When Davis turned forward again, there was a man striding toward him and his two companions. He was wearing a long flowing coat and held a book aloft in one of his hands. His other was sweeping the sky and he was proclaiming, "There be a mighty storm a-comin'. He who ain't firmly anchored to the earth shall float away as if he was a tiny boat. And that boat shall be crowded with the deeds he did and with the deeds he didn't did and with the deeds he shoulda did and with the deeds he thought he did when he was doin' the deeds he did that it woulda been better that he never did." A ringing sound began to permeate the air around him and, searching for its origin, he looked upwards and there was a man standing on the roof of the tower above him. The tower's roof had metamorphosed into a giant anvil and the man was jumping around on it and producing a variety of clanging tones, which were gradually growing in volume. The three men around him were also becoming louder and louder to be heard over the noise from above and each other. "Bricks. We must have bricks." "Urns. The people are demanding urns." "Did ye do the deeds ye did? Did ye didn't do the deeds ye never did?" And the man behind him was stomping closer and the walls were collapsing with deafening crashes. And, strangely enough, above all these sounds, he could hear very plainly the tiny noises made by the popgun of the little man in the golden urn.

   Phillip threw his head back and covered his ears. Gazing upward, he saw a tiny dot appear in the sky and slowly grow larger and larger. Something was falling from the sky, something large enough to cover Vincent and all the people around him, the towers and the wall and the entire countryside. It got bigger and bigger and blotted out the whole sky. All the sounds around him were getting softer and softer, except for a voice that seemed to be muttering soothing words. "Yep. Yep." the voice was saying. "Yep. Yep." There might have been other words interspersed throughout, but after a few indistinguishable sounds, the voice would always conclude with, "Yep. Yep." And the darkness was falling like a giant cloud and enveloping everything. A blanket seemed to descend on all the people surrounding him and, as it touched them, they, and their demands, melted into nothingness. And soon he was standing on a vast dark expanse, empty and silent, except for an occasional, "Yep. Yep."

    "Yep. Yep." repeated Wilkerson, as he awkwardly moved around the nearly naked boy, trying to get the blanket arranged so that it covered all of his bare skin. At first, he'd thought to just throw the blanket over the boy, head and all. But, once he'd done so, the lump on the other side of the boat had seemed to reproach him. "I'm not just an object that needs to be kept dry. I'm a boy, probably the youngest person on this boat. So I'm probably the least jaded and the most hopeful person here. I may be the one who ends up making this whole voyage tolerable. And you cover up my head as though I were a table you were leaving for the summer? How would you like to wake up with a blanket over your head, surrounded by strangers who couldn't care less if you froze to death in soaking underwear?" Wilkerson had given in by this point and had clumsily moved onto his knees and shuffled over to where the boy was hunched. He'd taken the blanket off the boy's head and wrapped it neatly around his shoulders. But that had left quite a bit of it trailing on the bottom of the boat and providing little shelter to the boy. So he lifted the blanket and folded some of it over, then placed it once more around his shoulders. He then brought it forward and tried to maximize its covering potential by covering his arms and legs first with one side and then bringing the other side over and doubling the blanket thus. He then began to move around and tuck the blanket in at the boys neck and between where his head rested on his arms. He moved very tenderly, trying not to wake the boy and, without realizing it, he kept a running commentary. "Yep. Yep. This can go right in here. Yep. Yep. That fits nicely. Yep. Yep. Don't open your eyes. All is well. Yep. Yep. Right under this hand and on this knee. Yep. Yep. Keep it tight and you won't feel a thing. Yep. Yep." His final touch was to make sure that the blanket had no open ends where the boy came in contact with the boat, so he checked all around the boy's feet and posterior so that he wouldn't be subject to any incursions of the night air. Then he returned to his station, on the opposite side of the boat, and surveyed his handiwork. "Yep. Yep." The boy looked much more protected than he had before Wilkerson felt that sudden knock on the boat behind him. He had looked over the side and discovered, in the moonlight, a wooden chest floating along and occasionally bumping against the boat. He had reached out to the latch and tossed it open and there inside was a blanket lying on top of other household items. His first thought had been for the boy, but now that that was taken care of, he thought of exploring further. The boat was moving rather quickly by this time and the chest was bumping against it and then moving off a little before returning for another collision. While it was in close proximity, he reached in and  grabbed whatever would come to hand. In this manner he pulled into the boat an old pot, a pair of shoes, a cane, a top hat, a couple of mugs, a pillow, a stuffed dog, a kite and a potted plant.