The Waterproof Bible (23 page)

“Maybe.”

“Your solution isn’t unique, either. That’s why I know how much danger you’re in right now,” he said. He looked up, looked at Rebecca and then pulled a package of filterless Camels out of his pocket, lighting one with a wooden match. The smoke curled around inside the car before being drawn out the open window. “For years, decades, you’ve taken your strongest, most personal emotions and stored them outside yourself, inside all those things. But when the objects left you, the emotions left you too. You are now without an emotional past.”

“Is that so bad?” Rebecca asked. She saw an emotion flash across Zimmer’s face, but she couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear.

Zimmer looked at his cigarette, watching the end of it. “I urge you to start creating an emotional history as fast as you can. You need to be feeling significant things. Not just everyday emotions—anger at a parking ticket or whatever. But really deep, true feelings.”

“So you’ve seen this before?”

“I have.”

“And what happened to them? In the end?”

“Every case is different.”

“Edward …”

“You need to believe that every case is different.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said. She looked at Zimmer, who stared at the speedometer of the motionless car.

“You’re about to become emotionally invulnerable,” he said. “It will feel safe. It will feel like a good thing. But that’s the problem. Who’s gonna to make themselves vulnerable if they don’t have to? Who’s gonna willingly make themselves weaker? But if you don’t start feeling real emotions soon, you will quite literally become nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“You just need to start feeling something. Something meaningful.”

“What do you think my chances are?”

“You can do it. I know you can.”

“Okay,” Rebecca said. She opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, then bent down and looked through the window. Zimmer briefly attempted to smile, then started the car. As he drove away, Rebecca realized that he had been crying. She watched her feet on the sidewalk and knew that seeing Zimmer’s tears could make her feel sad, even afraid. She also knew she could feel grief and sadness for Lisa, or for losing Stewart, or even for herself if she wanted to, but she didn’t have to. It was now a choice.

As she unlocked her front door, she decided she would choose not to.

Just before 3:00 a.m., Aby pulled the white Honda Civic into the parking lot of the only gas station in Upsala, Ontario. The Prairie Embassy Hotel remained six hundred kilometres away. The storm had become worse, which made driving difficult. There were no cars in the lot and no lights on inside the gas station. Aby turned off the engine, pushed back the seat and took off her seat belt. Turning away from her mother, she folded her hands under her head and closed her eyes.

“You’re not out of gas again, are you?” said Margaret. These were the first words she’d spoken since Aby had failed to convince her to return to the ocean.

“No,” Aby said, not moving. “But we soon will be. This station opens at six.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just go to sleep,” Aby said, but she did not take her own advice. She listened to the rain hitting the roof of the car. She looked out the window at the other end of the parking lot, where a family of animals was picking through an overflowing garbage can. Aby had never seen these animals before. They had ringed tails and were very focused on their work. They occasionally looked at her with their black-rimmed eyes, in a way that almost seemed like a greeting, although not a friendly one.

Margaret coughed and Aby listened for the rust. It was hard to tell, because the rain was so loud. Aby turned to look at her mother. Margaret’s gills were covered by her scarf. She held a white handkerchief to her mouth, which she quickly balled up and tucked into her sleeve. Still looking for evidence, Aby was surprised when her mother spoke.

“Aby, I do owe you an explanation about why I left when I did, without waiting until you were older,” Margaret said softly. “I know I should have waited, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry I can’t give you the whole story. But I can tell you this: I can tell you that there once was a woman who loved two brothers, one a carpenter and the other a tailor. She loved each of them passionately and equally. She would spend the day with the carpenter, and then at night, while he slept, she would walk across the ocean and spend the night with the tailor. Just as the sun rose, she would walk back across the ocean to the carpenter.

“This went on for some time, until one day the carpenter could no longer stand not knowing where she was always going. On the same day, the tailor could no longer stand not knowing where she was always coming from. The carpenter came out to find her as the tailor followed her, and in the middle of the ocean they met.

“Upon seeing each other, the brothers became consumed with jealousy. Each took hold of one of the woman’s hands and began trying to pull her back to his side of the ocean. She was literally being torn apart by the jealousy of the two brothers. This went on for three days, until the moon looked down and saw the woman. The moon took pity on the woman and turned her into
a shell. The shell slipped from the hands of the brothers and fell beneath the surface of the water.

“Both brothers were overcome with sorrow. For the first time, they truly were brothers, sharing the same grief. They embraced, then heads bowed, each walked back to his side of the ocean. And now the tailor spends the night lifting up his side of the ocean, searching for the shell, while the carpenter sleeps. And when the sun rises, the carpenter lifts up his side of the ocean to search for the shell, while the tailor sleeps. This is what makes the tides.”

Aby reached out her hand, which her mother took.

“So you see, the tides are important. It’s good that we have the tides,” Margaret said.

Both women bowed their heads, letting their stringy hair cover their faces so neither could see that the other was crying. They sat in silence until Margaret pushed out a large breath through her gills and Aby lay back in the driver’s seat.

“
Vatn auk tími
?” Margaret asked.

“
Vatn auk tími
,” Aby repeated.

Margaret felt a weight leave her—one much larger than she’d anticipated. Her
bjarturvatn
was complete. There was only one more thing that had to happen, but it was perhaps the most important thing of all. Pushing her hair out of her face, she turned towards her daughter to speak, but Aby spoke first.

“Was it Mr. Honsjtosan?”

“Oh, Aby. Why would you go and ruin it like that?”

“Mr. Dfjal?”

“Certainly not.”

“Dr. Bdlks?”

“No.”

“That guy, you know … Dad’s friend with the loft?”

“That’s enough, Aby. That’s enough.”

Still holding her mother’s hand, Aby nodded.

Sitting inside the cabin, Stewart held a blue HB pencil and stared at the pages of a spiral-bound notebook. The only thing he had to do before his boat was finished was name it. But the task was proving harder than crafting the hull, or even installing the mast. He’d spent almost three years writing down names in the notebook in front of him. Every time Stewart wrote one down, he was sure it was perfect. But some time later, maybe seconds, maybe weeks, Stewart would stroke a line through it.

He wanted the name to be proud and strong, but not arrogant or bullish. It had to be caring, suggesting compassion and empathy, while still confident and firm. It would be a single word, or a phrase so common it had become like a single word.

But even now, when finding the right name was the only task remaining, he still couldn’t find it.

The
Good Heart
, he wrote, then stroked a line through it.

The
Open Heart

The
Grace

The
Lisa
.

Before he’d even lifted his pencil, Stewart knew it was right. He hurried up to the deck. The rain was coming down hard, but Stewart couldn’t wait. For the
first time in years, he had the sense that his actions were important and that there was no time to lose. Quickly fastening a plastic tarp over the end of the boat, he dried the stern. Using black paint and a flowing, Edwardian script, he delicately painted
Lisa
on the stern. This simple task gave him great satisfaction.

As he took a step back to look at his work, the Red River spilled its banks and Stewart’s feet were covered in water.

At 8:00 a.m., Rebecca was woken by the ringing of her cellphone. She’d slept well, dreamless and deep. The sound of her phone pleased her, because it gave her something to do. As she’d fallen asleep, Rebecca had felt some apprehension at the prospect of waking up, knowing that she’d have to decide what to do with her day. But for now it was clear: she would answer her cellphone.

Sitting up, Rebecca was disappointed when she saw her phone on her bedside table. It would have been much better if she’d had to search for it. This would have given her another task to accomplish. Without checking the caller I.D., she opened it.

“This is Rebecca Reynolds,” she said.

“Rebecca?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Stewart.”

“Stewart Findley?”

“How many Stewarts do you know?”

“Three.”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“I’m not trying to be a smartass.”

“You sound really weird.”

“But I actually feel really, really good.”

“Are you alright?”

“I think I’ve become, um, emotionally invulnerable.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“But really, I am.”

“Look, don’t do this to me right now. I’m in the middle of the worst storm I’ve ever seen. It’s unbelievable. I’m in the boat. And it’s so weird, because I just finished it and now this. There’s a flood. The ground floor of the hotel is already flooding.”

“It’s raining here too.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think it makes me a little distant.”

“What does?”

“Being emotionally invulnerable.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“I was told that it wouldn’t be a good thing, but it feels pretty good. I’m having a lot of problems making decisions, though.”

“Okay. This has happened before, no? Remember?”

“I know what you’re talking about, but this isn’t like that at all. This is different.”

“Still, maybe you just need to get out for a bit? You know, get out of the house? Clear your head?”

“I will.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stewart said. “I called to tell you that I finally named the boat. I’ve finished the boat. I named her the
Lisa
.”

“Okay.”

“In honour of your sister.”

“That’s really nice,” Rebecca said. She said this only because she knew it was expected. The information did not cause her to feel anything significant.

She closed her phone, dressed in the same clothes
she’d worn yesterday and the day before and left. She did not put on a raincoat, take an umbrella or close the front door behind her.

Just after 4:00 p.m., Kenneth entered room #201 at the Prairie Embassy Hotel without knocking. His son was surprised. Rain hit the east-facing window at a right angle, each drop striking as if three more were waiting impatiently behind it. The overhead light was on, but the room remained dark, which made the frequent lightning strikes seem all the more brilliant.

Kenneth stood in the doorway. He had never seen a storm this powerful in his life. “Are you sure you don’t know any way to stop it?” he asked his son, shouting to be heard over the sound of the rain.

“I have no idea.”

“Then we’d better pack.”

“Agreed.”

In ten minutes they stood, suitcases in hand, in the front lobby, where the water came up to just below their knees.

“Should we pay?” Anderson asked.

Kenneth stomped his foot in the water, splashing it. He looked out the window and saw how trees that had been far from the river were now part of it.

“There’s no need,” he said. “It won’t be a hotel for much longer.”

They opened the front door of the Prairie Embassy Hotel and stood outside. The rain hurt their faces.
Leaving the door open, they waded towards their vehicles. Stopping briefly, they looked up. The storm cloud hovered directly over the hotel, rain pouring out of it. They could see that every cloud, all the way to the horizon, was being pulled towards them. Even as they stood still, staring, already drenched to the bone, the cloud grew larger.

“We’ll take my truck, but you drive,” Kenneth said to his son. On his way to the passenger door, he stopped. The water had already reached the top of the wheel wells. There was little chance they could drive away. Turning, he looked back at the Prairie Embassy Hotel and saw the sailboat behind it. To his surprise, it no longer looked unfinished. It now had sails. “But that,” he said, pointing, “would work much better.”

“We did warn them,” Anderson replied.

“Agreed.”

Stewart was standing on deck, holding the anchor with both hands, when he saw two men wading through the water towards him. As he dropped the anchor overboard, letting go faster than he’d anticipated, he realized that the
Lisa
had begun to float. Looking back at the two men, Stewart saw that the water was above their knees and rising fast. He found the stepladder and lowered it over the edge to help them board, but the current swirled from the bow and pulled it from his grip.

Stewart watched the water carry the ladder away, surprised that it that it grown so strong, so quickly. Getting down on his stomach, he reached out his arm. The older, taller man grabbed it and pulled himself aboard. The younger one did the same. All three men stood on deck. A bolt of lightning struck a tree near the boat. Only Stewart jumped.

“What should we do with him?” asked Anderson.

“Put him down there.”

Anderson grabbed Stewart roughly by the shoulders, pushing him towards the steps that led down to the cabin.