Adam stood holding his shoes and socks and thought about what Dick Tepler had said. Was I on a mountain with someone named Gerry and did I make it rain? Some guy named Gerry. Rain. On a mountain. I’ve never been on a mountain. Oh, wait a minute. Yes I was. Once. Just once? Yes. No. Twice. I remember it. There was a drought. And they blamed me for it. I remember. I sat on a rock.
I never did that. Why do I remember it? I sat on a rock and I saw the rains come. First there was a cloud. I sent Gerry to warn the King. What king? I don’t know any kings. But the rain came and the long fingers of water flowed into the furrows and revived the dying crops.
Those words again. Where did I hear them? I know. I was there. I saw it. The troughs overflowed as the wretched suffering livestock drank at last.
I think I’m losing my mind.
He heard the sound of a telephone ringing. Then there were children laughing, in the distance.
No! The rains came and destroyed everything, every living thing. All the people and all the crops and all the wretched livestock. I remember. I watched. I saw the animals trying to swim, thrusting their frightened faces above the surface of the gushing water. Screaming, whining, bellowing for help as they drowned. And I watched. A dove flew around my head. Then it sat on a branch and waited and watched. We both watched, and waited. Soon another dove came out of the window and joined it. Then they both flew off. I watched. Why didn’t I do anything to help? Did I make that rain come?
There was a bright light over his head. He looked up and heard that voice like a whisper and a child speaking.
“I was there with Noah when the rain came down. Were you?”
“Yes you were.”
(To be continued.)