Carrying a lantern in one hand, the old man dragged a net of hay from the main storage room. He remembered a time when he would have simply tucked two of those bulging nets under his arms, but that had been many years ago. The ropes scored his callused palms–the hands of a carpenter–as he pulled the heavy net down the deck of his ship. Rain splattered down like curtains of water, though the cabin roofs jutted out just enough to give him some protection.

He found the correct door through sound–the moos of cows and grunting whinnies of wild horses, beh-eh-eh from the two mountain goats. One of his sons had taken the task of feeding the coyotes and wolves and feral cats. The old man was glad to have the plant-eating animals, even though a camel had tried to take a bite out of his beard the other week.

But the Lord would not allow us to be harmed, he thought as he dragged the net inside the door. Neither the snakes underfoot nor the hunting bears shall imperil My chosen, saith the Lord.

He untied the knots, his hands shaking slightly from the exertion, and stuffed fistfuls of hay into the animals’ pens. Those which he had not fed yet intensified their cries, and one of the great grey beasts with the fan-like ears put its long nose over the gate of its pen and tried to undo the catch.

He hurried over to it, dropping little wisps of hay in his wake. Two rats ran to the wisps, mouthed them, squeaked in furious hunger. The old man turned to the rats, fumbling in the folds of his long robes, and dropped a few nuts and a dried fig on the floor. The rats stuffed the food into their cheeks and scurried away.

With the animals feeding, temporarily sated, the old man wiped his forehead and leaned against the door of the black-and-white striped horses’ stall. His stomach groaned in protest and hot saliva filled his mouth.

Take this and eat, saith the Lord God. Be fruitful and multiply. He thought of fruit, heavy bunches of amber grapes, pomegranates spilling their harvest of seeds, the crisp sweetness of apples on the first bite….

“Noah? Husband?” His wife, calling from outside. He’d told her to be careful on the deck, with the way the ship tilted at times. Quickly he opened the door and she stumbled into the room.

“Did you feed the birds?” he asked.

She nodded. “Then I went to our own food store. There was so little—”

“I know.”

She looked away. “The grains that we gathered, the dried fruits and vegetables! How could they be eaten so quickly?”

“The Lord shall provide for us. Do not doubt Him. Did He not warn us of the great rainfall, did He not direct me to build this ark? He will provide us with food, for we are His chosen.  All around me the wicked sinned in word and deed, but He found no evil in my ways. And He said, ‘I will establish My covenant with you’. He will not let us starve, my wife. The wicked died under His wrath but we, the chosen, will not perish.”

She said nothing for a moment. Then she whispered, “I’m hungry.”

“The food that remains must be saved. There are fifteen more days for the rain to fall.” He sighed. “Did Shem feed the lions and striped cats?”

“Yes. He’s waiting with Japheth in our room for the night prayer.”

“Where is Ham?”

She frowned. “I think I saw him going down to the third deck.”

“The third deck? Why?” The third deck, the lowest part of the ship and therefore the most likely to collect water, was the place for frogs and crocodiles and all manner of ugly creatures. Why would Ham go there? Unless…

Noah ran down the deck, suddenly realizing what his son planned to do. Spurred on by hunger, he was going to kill and eat some animal, and he had chosen to take one of the inhabitants of the third deck, who were less likely to be missed. Forgetting his age and weakness, Noah climbed down the rope ladder that descended in utter darkness to the third deck. There were only two of those animal kinds!

“He would bring the anger of the Lord down on us all,” he muttered, and then he had no breath to speak as he descended the almost twenty-five cubits. He finally reached the bottom, gasping, and looked around. Far to his left, he saw the weak glow cast by Ham’s lantern. With the constant lash of rain from above, the creak of timbers and the sounds of the animals, the boy had not heard him. Noah paced towards him, careful not to make a sound.

Ham, his back to his father, went to almost the end of the three-hundred-cubit ship and finally stopped before a small cabin in which they kept tools and extra wood, rope and pitch. Despite his age, Noah’s eyes were still excellent, and he saw that his son’s hands were full of dried fruit. Under his elbow he held a loaf that his wife must have made. What was this? Why was he taking food down here? Toads and salamanders did not eat bread.

Ham opened the door of the cabin and entered. Noah went up behind him and he turned around, wide-eyed.

“Father! What are you–”

“Stand aside, boy!” Noah pushed him away and saw what was inside the small cabin.

Six people huddled in a knot, blinking like owls in the lantern’s light. Noah recognized only two of them—one a young man who Ham had befriended long ago, and one a woman who had lived near them, who had borne a child without blessing of marriage. The child nursed at her exposed breast. They all stared up at him, wordless and trembling.

Noah turned to Ham. “This is why our food went so quickly,” he said. “You brought these people, these sinners on board, in defiance of the will of the Lord, and you gave them the food that should have been ours. You shame me. If ever you transgress again, I shall curse you, and not only you, but your child.”

Ham’s fingers loosened, and the food he was carrying fell to the grimy floor. Yet none of the people moved to pick it up, gazing instead at Noah as he turned to them.

“And yet, out of your disobedience, the Lord has brought forth goodness and righted the balance!” he cried triumphantly. “The wicked shall perish so that the earth may be cleansed! All of the wicked shall perish! Bring your mother, Ham, and your brothers’ wives, for there is much work to do. We have food again!”