The boy put the postbill to his nose, smelled pitch glue on the back, and returned everything into the knapsacks, still hanging on the nails driven into the walls.
He went to the bundles of firewood at another corner of the shack and fished for the innermost logs that were not as wet as the others. He was only satisfied after going through all the bundles of firewood.
The storm was a distant thing though there was only the plywood shack between him and the fury of the elements. The crackling thunder seemed to be the only thing reminding him of the storm. Though the shack was flooded and the running water was up to ankles, it was still a haven.
He started making a platform of the dampest logs of wood by keeping them three feet apart. This was in the middle of the shack so that the fire, if he managed to get it going, would heat everywhere evenly and not leave cold pockets. He placed another log across the two damp ones and placed another until he had a platform of damp wood.
He built a small pyramid.
On the top where the least damp logs were, he ripped the postbill apart and arranged the pieces on the dryest logs of wood. The layer of pitch glue made it difficult to tear the postbill but he managed it and did not get the pieces wet. He was careful.
He fetched the matchbox and the bottle of oil and sprinkled a little on the top of the pyramid that now looked like a shrine to some up and coming ancestral deity. He lit a match. The flare of light blinded him before the surroundings came back into his field of view. He threw the burning matchstick on the pieces of parchment at the top of the pyramid.
The fire caught on them and it flared upwards and spewed thick fumes towards his face. He moved backwards reluctantly, wanting the warmth radiating from the fire, wanting to place his hands over it so that the chill seeping into his bones would be stopped.
He looked back at the old man slumped over in the only part of the shack that was not flooded due to the uneven terrain. The lighting from the fire made the old man's complexion ghastly hued and not this color or that color but a hue that only resembled ill-health. The old man was flush against the plywood wall but his legs had slid off into the pool of water flooding the shack. The poisoned foot was still swollen.
The boy went, wading through the flood, to right the position of the legs and supported them with a log of wood to keep them from falling into it again. He looked at the old man's face as little as possible. He went back to watching the fire and was of the opinion that the fire would catch. Through the opened window a breeze howled into the shack, intent on snuffing the fire. He added a little oil and the now tame flames roared once again and produced thick fumes.
He hurried to the window and closed it and locked it.
The space was now wholly lit by the fire he started and the smoke pushed towards the ceiling where it swirled and made a noxous looking cloud. He thought about how the hunters smoke game out of their burrows and decided it would be a bad thing to let the smoke fill up the entire shack. He told himself he would open the window once the logs are ablaze.
The level of water in the shack was going down too. He removed his shorts and hung them on a nail and was down to his underwear. He looked at the old man for a long time, wondering if it was the right thing to do. He waited until the logs catch fire, an easy decision to make since he was uncomfortable with the idea of stripping the old man naked.
He kept watching the flame and adding drops of oil to the bonfire until the bottle only contained dregs and the logs had caught fire.
He closed his eyes and said a prayer to the ancestors for the first time in a while for the fortune and then he prayed some more for the life of the old man. He prayed for life and against death. Then he had no choice but to now undress the old man and lug him over to the fire where the heat was stronger and the water had drained.
The boy started seeing apparitions in the shack, always at the edge of his field of vision. They were never there when he turned to look at them, even when he tried to catch the apparitions by surprise.
He removed the old man's shirt first and then his singlet under that and then the three-quarter length of trousers that was now stiff and heavy. It was time to move the old man nearer to the fire, but after a moment of asking who was at the door and not getting a reply he thought he was now seeing and hearing things.
He lifted the man by the armpit but could not manage to do it. He was out of strength and the knocking at the door of the shack was getting on his nerves. He went to the banging door angrily and was about opening the door before he asked himself what the heck he was doing, why he was trying to open the door in the thick of a thunderstorm.
It was as if his eyes had been misted but now he saw that he could not even see the other end of the shack where the man and the knapsacks were from the door. The shack was filled with smoke and he quickly went to the window and opened it wide.
Rain gusted in but the bonfire was going strong now.
The boy sucked greedily at the clean air and hung his head outside the window for a while. The day had turned dark from all the dark rainclouds. The sun had become a myth. Tendrils of lightning danced across the horizon, flashing hot and red and een blue. He also listened to the howling rain and endless rain.
Many villagers were caught out at their farms by the sudden rain, doing the same thing the boy and the old man had been doing on their share of the land. The headman however finally woke up when the wind blew all the papers on his table and tipped the bowl of ink on the worktable.
The rain drummed heavily on the corrugated roof of his house and lightning shook the brickwalls. The headman lit a wax candle and went around his house closing the shutters and doors before his house became a lake.
The world was going mad when the rains were early by moons, the headman muttered.
The goats and chickens and lizards of the village were ahead of most people on finding a shelter from the rain they already knew would fall. They were gathered in barns and under market stalls and shared their body heat as the world was drowned.
The birds were used to heavy rains, they simply folded their streamlined wings and bowed their avian heads, trusting the water to run off their silken feathers. They sat patiently for the rain to come to an end.
Some migratory birds used the stormy winds to their advantage, thinking they might as well bathe and travel when they had the chance. These birds were the ones who saw how empty the village felt as they batted the wind with their wide wingspans in formation. Their calls went unheard in the rain.
The wind when it first began made the new postbills nailed to tree flap and argue with the long nails shackling them. It looked like they yearned to dance across the sky along with the dust and the laundry that had been left out to dry and the torn out roofs. The wind subsided for moment and the postbills stopped fighting the nails.
The rain started.
The wide tree canopies kept the postbills safe for a while until the trees themselves began to bow and spin when the winds grew angry. Root networks strained while branches snapped and were carried high into the sky on angry gales in such a way that a few birds were knocked out of the sky.
The nailed up postbills became soaked by the rain and the wind pulled at them, the parchment lost its integrity and they slipped off their moorings. A few postbills flew like kites and when they got too soaked they were ripped to pieces in the rain by the wind.
Uprooted trees and branches landed in overflowing rivers whose tributaries also overflowed and flooded their banks. The farms were flooded and water swept everything near the rivers away, including the rough slash from the day's clearing from many farms, the top soil eroded, the carcass of the beheaded bluetongue snake also found its way into the bloated stream.
The boy withdrew his head from the window and went to look at the old man whose chest was now rising and falling almost imperceptibly. He kept watch over the old man in the warmth of the bonfire until the shadow of sleep fell over his eyes and he too forgot all about the world.