THE ANGEL’S ARK
Pen Clements
PUBLISHED BY: Coral Sea Press
The Angel’s Ark:
Copyright © 2012 by Pen Clements
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The Angel’s Ark
It was all wrong. Jacob put his crayon down and rested his head on his arms. Paper lay around him, on the desk, screwed up in balls on the floor, a few bits in the waste-basket. His little hands were smeared with crayon colours and a smudge of blue just missed his matching eyes. It wasn’t fair. He had nothing to give his mother for Christmas except a drawing. It was supposed to be a beautiful drawing, showing them in front of a Christmas tree, the childish, hand-drawn figures shining with happiness and the love they felt for each other. Only none of his pictures looked like that. No matter how many times he tried, the drawing came out sad. The tree drooped and there weren’t any presents under it. He didn’t want to draw a pile of gifts because he knew they wouldn’t have many and he didn’t want his mum to feel bad. But he did want them to look happy. It’s just that the crayons wouldn’t draw it that way. It was like they mirrored what was in his heart and no matter how often he drew the picture, only what was in it his heart came out.
‘Jacob! Come downstairs and see what I’ve got for you!’ It was his mother calling. Jacob rose from his chair and trudged down the stairs. He went into the kitchen and there she was, her brown hair a little ruffled, her smile loving as always.
‘These are for you,’ she said, ‘your favourites.’ She held a plate of cinnamon and apple cookies towards him with one hand, then crouched down to gather him up with the other arm. ‘I know we don’t have much. And I can’t get you all the things I know you dream of finding under the tree. But we have a home and we have each other and that’s the main thing. It’s always the main thing.’ She squeezed him then drew back so he could take a cookie. The scent of cinnamon clung to her skin and he nuzzled back against her before he bit into the chewy, sweet biscuit. She’d cooked them just the way he liked them.
‘I haven’t got you a present,’ Jacob said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked down because he couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes. He knew she wouldn’t mind, it was just that he wanted to be able to give her something. He wanted to so much he ached with it.
‘You give me everything, Jacob,’ his mum said. ‘You always have. Now, lets snug up and read ‘The Night Before Christmas’ and then it’s time for sleep. It might even snow in the night and we’ll make a snow man in the morning. That would be a lovely present, wouldn’t it?’
They went back up to Jacob’s bedroom and he slipped under the blankets and listened to his mother’s soft voice reading the familiar lines.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.’
His eyelids grew heavy and before long Jacob was breathing softly and evenly, fast asleep. His mother kissed his cheek, pulled the blankets over her little boy and tiptoed out of the room.
***
Jacob’s eyes flew open. He’d dreamed that a creature had stirred, made a noise that was smaller than a mouse, softer than feathers, quieter than snow flakes. The room was full of dim, pearly light. It really had snowed in the night and the moon’s reflection must have woken him. He started to sit up, to turn to his window and peep behind the curtain to see the snowy garden outside. He turned his head and froze in surprise. The light wasn’t coming from outside his window. It was coming from the man standing in the middle of his room. A man with glowing skin and a pair of wings so huge that Jacob’s little bedroom seemed to expand, allowing the perfect feathers to spread in a wide, magnificent, gleaming arc.
There was an angel in his bedroom.
‘Come.’
Jacob wasn’t sure if the angel had spoken out loud. The voice was deep and powerful but Jacob thought he heard it inside his body, deep in his head and heart. It was part of him and yet it filled all the outside as well. It was a little bit scary and a lot wonderful.
Jacob scrambled out of bed. He had his favourite flannel pyjamas on, the navy blue ones with spacemen printed on them. There were comets and rockets flying over his arms and legs. He liked to lie in bed sometimes and pretend he flew among the stars, swung off comets and piloted spaceships. Only he knew it wasn’t real, no matter how much he longed for it to be so. But now he had an angel, a real live angel, in his bedroom. So who knew what might come true?
‘Where are we going?’ Jacob’s voice sounded very small after the angel’s single word. The angel smiled. ‘It’s Christmas Eve. So I am going to show you something special.’ He put his hand out and Jacob put his small hand inside the long fingers. The angel’s skin was cool but it made Jacob feel warm inside. He knew he wouldn’t need shoes or a coat if the angel was touching him.
‘Are we going to fly?’ Jacob asked. His voice was hopeful.
‘Not this time,’ the angel replied. ‘We’ll use the stairs.’
Jacob wondered how the angel’s wings would fit along the hall and down the stairwell, but it was easy. The angel had a way of moving that seemed to bend space, like he was in two places at the same time and could flow through both of them. Jacob concentrated very hard to see how it happened but his mind couldn’t quite grasp it. It was like watching invisible currents of air, knowing they’re there but not being able to catch them.
They were on the front lawn. It had snowed after all and the occasional flake still fell, silent and velvety as a moth. The snow flakes didn’t melt when they touched the angel’s skin, they just seemed to become part of it, dissolving into him without leaving a trace behind.
‘What’s your name?’ Jacob said. It seemed important that the angel have one because it would make him just a little bit more human.
‘Michael,’ the angel said.
‘Is that really an angel’s name?’ There was a Michael in Jacob’s grade and there was nothing angel-like about him.
‘It’s an archangel’s name.’ Michael the angel actually winked. ‘But you don’t know what an archangel is, do you?’ Jacob shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. Only one thing matters tonight, which is that everything I’m going to show you is real. You must never forget it.’
‘I will never forget it!’ Jacob burst out. How could he ever, ever forget such a miraculous night?
Michael looked sad. ‘Lots of people forget things that were real when they were children. They forget their whole world.’
‘I won’t,’ Jacob said firmly. ‘Not ever.’