I always thought it sad the way I came to be remembered. In the Mystery plays I was a fat wimpled harridan, an object of mirth to those in the street, who hurled abuse and cabbages. Later I became a round wooden doll with a peg head who stood stolidly by her round wooden husband and the pairs of elephants, giraffes and camels on the deck of an undersized boat. We were lucky if we weren’t lost down cracks in the floorboards of the nursery.
But it wasn’t like that at all. Oh no.
Hard work, that’s what it was. Difficult choices to make, not the least adjusting to the notion that you were the Lord’s chosen. Think of the responsibility.
Forty days and forty nights of rain, constant rain. Everything became mildewed, damp clothes, damp bedding, damp fur, damp feathers. Imagine the noise. Imagine the stench. The daily grooming. The daily mucking out. And the constant thud, thud, thudding of the rain on the wooden tiles that roofed the cabin.
The daughters-in-law squabbled. The grandchildren grew fractious. Shem developed neuralgia and took to his bed. Ham became melancholic and spent his time with the camels, llamas and other morose ruminants. Only Japheth remained cheerful. We played cards and he played his accordion until the howling and the baying of the animal chorus had us begging for an end.
We did not venture out onto the deck. No one wanted to look upon the waters. In the depths, along with whales and dolphins, were glimpses of pale arms, ghostly eyes, and hair that floated like sea wrack.
I admit that sending out the raven was a mistake. It took off with a rustle of black feathers as dark as a storm cloud. It never came back. “You should have sent a bird that is known to return to the coop,” I said to my husband. “A pigeon, perhaps, or a dove.” As the little bird wheeled in a wide white circle, it seemed to me that for a second an angel had swept its wings across the clouds and the sky lightened and the rain let up.
Of course, you know the rest of the story. The bird’s return, the olive branch, the animals going forth and multiplying. What happened later, the family quarrels, exile to the far ends of the earth, I will not comment on. We didn’t seem to learn too much. Pride, envy, anger, coveting thy neighbour’s goods and land carried on with antediluvian vigour.
But nothing will make me forget that moment, when the rainbow stretched its swathe of colour from horizon to horizon.
