Noah

We arrive at the delta of my river, a frothing tonguing of cold fresh water. At the banks rises my village, and at its nearing proximity a knot of anxiety grips my chest. I have not been down here for a long time. What must my people think of me? Their once humble and enthusiastic leader turned proud, aloof, apathetic. From my Tower the village has seemed to grow dark and empty over the last couple years. Nothing tangible in the reports, but a suspicious underlying lack. Staleness, perhaps.

Teeth chattering as we climb up to the dock, I stammer: “It has been a rough few years on the island, Noemi. Don’t be alarmed if my people act oddly towards a visitor.”

“Don’t bother excusing that which has not yet occurred, Leo.”

As I suspected, the streets are quiet. A hush creeps from the crevices, steams from the gutters to hang in low fog and choke the breath and the sight. A few cafes and shops are open, peddling rather crude wares. I remember when the market was thriving, trading with ships and travelers daily, exotic wares in the windows, a time of excitement, of being a small link in some immense Current. The Fear grips me, snaking up my thighs, strengthening the knot of anxiety in my bosom, crawling through my veins to my eyes, wide, sad, terrified of what might happen to us in this place grown strange.

A young tanned boy is juggling a soccer ball in front of us. He flicks it a bit too high and far, teeters on the edge of the wooden plank of the dock, watches it splash and float lazily in the delta waters below, and springs into the air, for a Moment caught in perfect flight, airborne, immortal, and then with barely a splash melts into the water. He pulls himself back up to stare wide-eyed at Noemi, sitting cross-legged and naked, waiting for him.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” the boy says. He seems familiar. I can’t recall his name.

“My name is Noemi,” she says. “What is your name?”

“Name,” he stammers and Noemi bursts out laughing and then I’m laughing too, the Fear fleeing like an animal who touched flame. The boy grins nervously but happily. “I mean Noah,” he corrects.

“Noah, can you find us some clothes?”

He ran off down the dock immediately. Did he recognize me? Perhaps but almost surely not: his eyes were on Noemi. But there is a curious gaggle forming down the way, peering in wonder at we two.

In a few minutes Noah is back, panting lightly. He holds out an old brown dress to Noemi and I shudder at its hideous plainness, but Noemi smiles and takes it as delicately as if it is crafted of royal silk. “Thank you, Noah.”

He looks at me for the first time and I wait for the surprise, the shock. He gives me some patchwork pants just as tentatively. He must not recognize me. Come to think of it, my hair has grown long and lank, my skin glows a sallow pale, and I rose up from the ocean, not descending from my Tower. That’s okay, really, even good. Maybe no one will know me. I look up with renewed hope and plan to see the crowd mere yards away. Noemi is greeting them, one by one. The dress is too big for her, but her bearing is such that you forget it after the initial noticing. I hold back, until a shopkeeper I used to know steps up to me.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello, Leo,” the shopkeeper replies. “Welcome back,” and then she embraces me with such a warm ease I simply melt into her arms.