Chapter 1: The Flood

God said to Noah, “Build me a boat. Something big’s about to go down.”

Noah said, “But God, what do I know about boats? I’m just a simple man, with simple needs. What do I need a boat for?”

God paused for a moment. Should I tell him? What if he spills the beans? Then he remembered why he’d gone to Noah in the first place. A righteous man. You could trust him not to spill the beans. And even if he did spill the beans, who’d believe him? So he spelled it out, in plain English.

“You’ll have to gather the animals, two of each, a male and a female, just to keep things going after The Flood. “Think you can handle it?”

Noah scratched his head. “I don’t know, God. I get that the world hasn’t been around all that long, and that we don’t have nearly as many animals as we’ll have when flying cars hit the scene, but that’s gotta be one helluva a big boat, don’t you think?” Noah tried to wrap his head around it. Not easy. “Mind if I get back to you on this?”

God said “sure, but no more than a couple days.” He didn’t want Noah to get busy and forget.

You’d think Noah would have felt honored to be tasked with such an important mission. But people are funny. When God asks us to do things, most of us respond in one of two ways. We either pay a visit to the shrink to find out if it’s all in our head, or we say “what the heck, let’s do this.” Noah’s a “what the heck, let’s do this” kind of guy, so the next day, he called God and said “I’m in.”

Noah wasn’t kidding when he said “what do I know about boats?” Fortunately for him, back in those days, God didn’t just throw you out there expecting you to sink or swim. It wasn’t like it is now. So he pointed Noah to the best ship builders he could find. “Newport News is to boats what I am to everything else,” he said.

Noah packed a bag and hopped a freighter for Newport News, where the best and biggest boats are built. He went down to the docks or the shipworks or wherever you go to buy a boat, found the biggest and best of all the builders, and he asked for the manager, one Jonas Grumby. Grumby was a shipbuilder’s shipbuilder. Tall, wide, and handsome. He built a lot of big boats for the US Navy, but his all time favorite was a small one he built after retiring. “To hell with big boats,” as far as he was concerned. And off he sailed into the sunset, never to be heard from again.

Noah explained to Grumby what he needed, but he didn’t tell him why. Grumby said, “sure, we can build that.” He didn’t question. A job’s a job, no matter how weird it might seem. Stables on a boat? Who does that? And then he gave Noah the quote.

“Holy Toledo! I’ll have to think about that,” said Noah, and he trotted out back to call God.

“Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of money,” God said. “How much you got?”

Noah dug into his pockets. Nothing but a handful of shekels and some pointy rocks for digging in the dirt. God said, “never mind, have him make it out of wood, instead. And don’t worry about the money, I’ll take care of it.” And he did.

Several months and numerous cost overruns later, Noah had his boat. Now, to gather all the creatures.

Logistically speaking, gathering animals is a lot like herding cats, which are also animals. Nobody knows how he did it, except God, of course, but he did it. He loaded all the critters onto the boat, locked the doors, and raised the sails. Before you could shake your fist at an angry sky, they were out in the middle of the Atlantic. “This isn’t so bad,” Noah thought.

But then the clouds started piling up, and it began to rain. Not just any rain. Big rain. Not a drizzle or a sprinkle. And not just for an hour or two. It rained for forty days. And forty nights. Thunder and lightning. Wind. Waves taller than the Empire State Building, crashing into the hull. Seasick doesn’t even begin to describe what they went through.

Don’t imagine, not even for a minute, that the animals were happy about bouncing along on the deep blue sea. They were just there for the ride. And there was nothing they could do except make whatever animal noises an animal makes in terrifying situations, and continue to eat whatever it is they eat.

You’re probably wondering, what did they eat? We all know they eat each other, especially when confined to tight quarters, like a boat bobbing up and down in a perfect storm. But there were only two of each. Which meant that some of the animals must have been sacrificed, not only the lambs. Yet the fact we still have lambs after that ordeal tells me that some of the animals must have gone hungry or become vegetarians. Maybe this is where the concept of the lion lying down with the lamb comes from. God only knows. I consider this to be one of the weak links in the story, so let’s not dwell on dietary matters.

Time flies when you’re having fun, but forty days and forty nights can go on forever when the earth is covered in water. Without a map or the concept of star navigation, you have no idea where you are or what’s going to happen next. Whoever and whatever was left after the deluge wouldn’t have bothered to wonder how you can head east from Newport News and wind up out west in the Owyhees. That’s how it goes when you set sail without a compass. Me hearties of Noah’s ark would have just been glad the storm was over and marveled at that colorful rainbow in the sky. There wasn’t even such a thing as a rainbow before The Flood, so of course they marveled.

Noah dropped anchor between a rock and a Maverik’s, yanked down the sails, and unlocked the doors. “Land ho!” he cried, for no particular reason. It was obvious land was ho. Off the boat he went, in search of God and further instructions.