No one liked living in the fields by the spring. Where they were not muddy they were too dry. To lure seeds to sprout, you needed to tend them luxuriously, for the tiniest yield. The sun broiled you while you worked.

When they could, the young people left for the cities.

It's been one week of downpour when the ship lifts off from its moorings. It spins slowly. Shem holds the wheel to keep it pointed down the swollen river.

This is the only time they will need to steer. There is nowhere it needs to go, except the future.

One of the righteous rode out the flood, with his wife, with his sons, with their wives, on the ship God told him to build. This is their story.

Everyone else drowned. This is their story, too.