The rest of the day passes without incident. Arisi has nearly finished knotting together her fishing net, and I hope it does its task and finds a fish or two to satisfy her. She still whispers of her strange cravings for salt and dirt and gravel, and I’m more concerned than ever. On the other hand, a diet of gravel seems to have done Aliye some good: our dove is roaming cheerfully again, begging for scraps, hopping and attempting to take flight despite her bound wing. In just a few days it will be time to remove her splint. Once more I have the urge to find a scrap of wood, attempt to carve the bird’s sleek form and the feathered slope of her wing, before we have to return her to her cage. But I’m too exhausted, and even with Zeda’s lamps, the night is far too dark. When I etch the tenth mark on the ark wall—ten days we’ve been trapped here, now—I can barely see it at all.
It’s darker still when I wake from a few hours’ restless, though this time dreamless, sleep. I rise and creep carefully between the sleeping forms of my family, down the first rungs of the ladder. I’ve barely descended when two thin but strong, muscle-taut arms wrap around me, and a rough hand against my mouth muffles my cry.
“It’s me, Neima.” Jorin’s lips rest against my ear so that I feel more than hear his words. He lowers his hand and I whirl on him, grabbing his wrist to pull him away from the ladder, from any listening ears, but he lets me lead him only a few feet before he locks in place. Though I tug and tug, he refuses to go any farther. I hesitate and then press my lips to his ear, just as he did to mine, and speak as softly as I can:
“Are you mad? They might hear us.”
“I’m going on deck, Neima.” His words rush together, faster and faster. “Just for a minute. I know it’s a risk but I swear if I spend one more night breathing this foul—”
As he speaks his voice rises, still a whisper, but frantic enough that I clamp my hand over his mouth. He does sound half-mad, and it makes me shiver. His head shakes back and forth behind my hand, and then he breaks away from me, moving toward the ladder. I can’t stop him. I have no choice but to follow.
The ba-room, ba-room of my heart, the shaking of my limbs, the landing of each footfall on the ladder, all seem loud enough to wake even the tigers and elephants below. But when I surface behind Jorin, we’re alone, with no noise or presence to greet us beyond the steady drumbeat of the rainfall. Jorin stands with his hands outstretched, head tilted back, mouth wide open to drink in the rain. I want to take in every detail of him—the curve of muscle along his arms, the gleam of his hair—but something seems strange. Off.
I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again before I realize: I can see him. The moon has accomplished what the sun hasn’t, these past ten days; it has pierced its way through the ever-present clouds, bringing us light, if only a little. Its muted beams wrap themselves around Jorin’s form as he heads for the railing and leans over the edge, breathing hard. The look on his face, an expression of longing and terror at once—head still raised, lips parted, eyes desperately searching the sky—seems to touch me the way the moon touches him. It lands on the top of my head and slides down my spine like cold liquid, like another raindrop, but this one is inside my body and it makes me shiver to my bones. I’m pulled to his side, where I place my hand atop his.
“It’s not real.” It takes me a moment to realize he’s spoken aloud. He turns his face to mine, his eyes sparking in the moonlight. “It’s a dream. A nightmare. It isn’t real. Tell me it isn’t real.”
“I…” The rain swirls around me, inside me, turning my mind in circles till I don’t know what to say. But the words come out. “Why did you want to come up here, then? Don’t you see it’s as bad here as it is down below? There’s no escape, nothing left, we’re all doom—”
Jorin’s warm, insistent lips close over mine, chasing away the rest of my words, my thoughts. I gasp and he takes my breath into him, his lips forcing mine open, pulling me deeper and deeper until…
I push away. “Jorin, what are you doing?”
He grabs my wrists, his fingers tight and surprisingly hot around my bones. “Don’t you see?” Though he mirrors my words from a moment ago, his voice has a lightness, a giddiness to it that frightens me. “Nothing matters now. We can do whatever we want. What we need.”
I look into his eyes again, and I do see need there. I feel it in his burning grasp, and I know…
Jorin cares for me. Has always cared for me. He didn’t kiss me simply because I’m here for the taking, as Kenaan did. I’ve always understood, deep inside, that the light in Jorin’s eyes when he looks my way is more than friendship. Perhaps he even loves me—
—and I love him too, but as a friend. Only as a friend. Right? For me to return his advances now… it wouldn’t be fair to him. He needs me, and I need…a friend. A human presence. A hand to hold mine, a pair of lips to press against my own…
If I kiss Jorin again, I’ll be making a promise. A promise I’m not sure I’m prepared to offer, much less keep. I turn my head away…
…and the want, the need rises inside me again, forcing aside all thoughts of being fair and reasonable. Just as before, when Father made his terrible confession, when Kenaan helped heal our dove, I’m overcome with the thought that everything is wrong, upside down, broken. The wanting consumes me, until I would do anything, anything to turn things right once again. Only now—now I know how to make the world whole, if only for a moment.
In one swift movement, I pivot back toward Jorin and press my lips to his.
I’d swear the rain grows stronger as our mouths open, tongues meet, hands roam and clutch at each other’s arms and shoulders and necks. Water whirls around us, slams into us from all sides, forcing us closer and closer together until our edges dissolve and we become one thing, one seeking, reaching, desiring being. The rain can go on forever, can pelt us like stones, break us to pieces. I don’t care, so long as I can stay like this.
The drumming of the rain rises to a roar, the heat of Jorin’s hands and lips pulls an answering fire from inside me, and out of the rush of noise and emotion comes the voice:
“So there’s an extra rat on board, I see. A large one.”
In one instant, the sounds and sensations and warmth fall away. I don’t want to turn toward the voice, but my body moves as if jerked by a string.
Standing before us, the moonlight illuminating his face so we can make out every curve of his sneering smile, is my cousin. Kenaan.
***
I stare at the oil lamp in my father’s hands. I focus on the quivering flame and try my best not to look up at Father’s drawn, exhausted face, cast alternately in shadow and light. As for the other faces, the figures standing in shadow—Noah and Ham, Japheth and Kenaan all gathered near Father, Jorin facing the men with as much distance as he can get between them, Mother with a stern arm on my shoulder and the other women behind her—I can’t make out their features at all. Voices come out of blackness, making the words even more frightening:
“Believe me,” from Jorin, “I never meant to deceive you all.” He sounds as steady and confident as I’ve ever heard him, his words betraying no hint of the terror he must feel inside. That’s good; if he acts like he deserves to be here, perhaps he will convince the others as well. But before he can go on, Ham’s harsher voice cuts in:
“Of course he meant to trick us, and now he will try to destroy us.” A pause, and then, “He is Munzir’s son.”
“Munzir’s son,” Noah nearly growls, and my every muscle tenses. Why did Ham have to remind him? My gaze darts toward Kenaan’s dark form; if he reveals just what Jorin and I were doing on deck, then all, all will be lost. The next voice, though, is not Kenaan’s but my father’s:
“Father,” he speaks directly to Noah, “it is late, and we’ve all had quite a shock. We should wait till morning, clear our heads and—”
“We do not need to wait,” Noah breaks in. “We cannot wait. Munzir has already attempted to destroy the ark once, and we stood against him. I believe—” He stops, s
eems to falter, and my breath catches; but then he continues, his voice even stronger than before. “I believe that Munzir’s attack was a test, sent by God so we could prove our faith to Him. We passed that test, and now the Lord has sent us another.” Noah pauses to swallow, a thick, clogging sound that I can almost feel in my own throat. “Munzir’s son cannot remain on this ark. He is not pure, as we are. We must cast him over the side, and let God decide his fate.”
“No!” The word is out before I can stop it, and Mother gasps and smacks her hand against my mouth. It seems even darker, now, than it was a moment ago, certainly much too dark to see, but somehow I know Grandfather’s eyes are on me as he says,
“It must be done. Tonight.”
Neima’s story will continue in…
FORTY NIGHTS
Neima’s Ark, Book Two
Coming Summer 2013
A Note on Capitalization
Opinions differ on the capitalization of the word “god” when referring to the Judeo-Christian God. One take is that the Judeo-Christian God is a proper noun, and should therefore always be capitalized, while the word “god” referring to, say, a Greek or Roman god is not a proper noun and should not be capitalized. A differing opinion is that capitalization of God implies belief, so if a character cries out, “Oh my God!”, the use of capitalization indicates the character’s religious belief. I tend to agree with the former of the two options—that the Judeo-Christian God, as a proper noun, should be capitalized regardless of a character’s or author’s beliefs—and therefore I’ve chosen to capitalize the word God in this novel. On the other hand, I do believe that the capitalization of he, him, etc. in reference to God connotes belief. Therefore, I have capitalized he, him, etc. used to refer to God only in Noah’s dialogue. Since my narrator, Neima, is less sure about the existence of the one God, I have not capitalized he, him, or his referring to God in her narration.
Ultimately, Forty Days is a work of imagination and storytelling. My intention is to examine a traditional tale in a new way, not to make a definitive religious statement.
Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to Brenda Bowen for inspiring this project. Thanks to Najla Qamber for the gorgeous cover, and to Janna Mashburn, Dianne Acoba, Joseph Murphy, Kimberly Russell, Christianna Marks, Marissa Aldana, and Tiffiny for beta reading. Thanks to my parents for helping with research, and to my sister Gillian and aunt Lenis for reading and spotting errors. A huge thanks to all the bloggers, readers, and indie authors who have been so supportive as I’ve explored the world of independent publishing, and who have helped me decide that for now, the indie world is where I belong. And thanks once again to my parents and sister for always supporting me.
About the Author
Stephanie Parent is a graduate of the Master of Professional Writing program at USC and attended the Baltimore School for the Arts as a piano major. She moved to Los Angeles because of Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat books, which might give you some idea of how much books mean to her. She also loves dogs, books about dogs, and sugary coffee drinks both hot and cold. Stephanie is the author of the contemporary YA novel in verse Defy the Stars. Her new adult romance, Precious Things, is forthcoming in May 2013. Visit Stephanie at https://www.stephanieparent.blogspot.com.
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