Finegan is standing on the roof of the houseboat, holding his short
wave radio with newly installed crank to gen electricity. He is
cranking away energetically, then holds the radio to his ear,
listening.
(scritch) . . approaching . . (snap)
Finegan adjusts a dial and listens again. Having located the group he
spoke to earlier by short wave, he interjects.
Yo, Finegan Fine here, trader. We spoke before.
Which hilltop are you on?
Memphis Papa answers,
I’d give you the GPS but we can’t raise that no
more. Are you that houseboat we see? What you
got rigged on the back?
Finegan explains,
That’s a water wheel. Slow, but works, and I
can steer. Direct me to you.
77
Memphis Papa says,
You’re down river from us. Well, ah, what used
to be the Mississippi anyways. We see you when
we look at the sunrise, down, ya know, ah,
south of us . . Or what used to be south. Hell
of a mess, twisted around and all. . . Come up
river a bit, and I’ll talk you in.
______________________________
Finegan is sitting on what used to be a dining room chair along a piece
of plywood being used as a tabletop. Several men and women are seated
around this table too, all in various kinds of chairs – folding chairs,
living room easy chairs, stools, and stepladders. The table is stained
in many places, having been used for many conferences. A large map of
the US is laid out on it, taped in places to hold it together and
frayed at the corners. Finegan is leaning on his left elbow, holding a
mug of coffee in his left hand, and pointing with his right hand. Joey
is standing just behind his left shoulder, standing on his toes,
peering at the map intently.
I started out upriver from Savannah. The river
was rising something fierce. By the time I
built my boat, I was going overland on the
water. That bad.
The group nods in unison. Finegan sits up straight and looks over his
left shoulder at Joey.
Joey here got separated from his parents. Ain’t
found ‘em since.
Finegan goes back to leaning on his left elbow and pointing at the map.
We worked our way around what’s now the new
coastline of Georgia. No maps for any of that.
I gather that Florida is gone.
Finegan sits straight again, taking a sip of his coffee.
I’m guessing you all have a better idea of the
rate of rise, but seems to me it just keeps
rising. . .
The group nods in unison.
Memphis Mama is a wrinkled, pale woman slouched at one end of the
table. She wears a flowered dress and has some kind of plastic flower
covered hair net holding her gray, greasy hair in place. A strand or
two of her gray hair escapes, hanging down on her neck or over her
face.
And the sun rises in the south and sets in the
north.
78
Everyone just sits, stone silent except for the occasional slurp on a
cup of coffee. Joey is craning his neck to see every face up and down
the table, as he is intensely curious. It’s clear no one is going to
speak.
How come?
Memphis Papa is a grizzled man at the end of the table, sitting in an
easy chair that is collapsing at one arm and with upholstery that is
very stained. He has a beard, tousled hair, and wears a tattered shirt
with dirty cuffs. Like Memphis Mama, his posture also shows the effects
of too many conferences and not enough exercise, as he appears
collapsed into his chair.
We figure that the Earth shifted in space, son.
That’s how come everything got shook up, and
somehow that’s how come the water keeps rising.
. . Best we can figure.
Joey has dug the photo of his parents out of his pocket and flaps it in
the air.
Did my parents come by?
______________________________
Finegan and Joey are standing in front of a wall covered with pinned
notes. The note paper is of every kind - scraps of paper torn out of
phone books, lined notebook paper, pages torn from day-timers, notes
written on the edges of coupons, notes written on the carbon copy from
checkbooks, pages from children’s coloring books, etc. The wall is
covered floor to ceiling with some notes starting to cover other notes,
layering.
Martha, Ed Grover and I are to Cincinnati.
MacMahons are heading to Uncle John’s farm.
God help us! Little Bob drown and Big Bob died from the grief.
We made it! See you at the Hemp’s. Mitzy
Joey walks up to the wall and starts to read, when Memphis Papa
interrupts him.
This here’s for Arkansas, across the river from
us. They came up here like drowning rats on
anything that would float. We got a separate
room by state, so’s to reduce the confusion.
What state were your parent’s from?
Joey spins around on his feet, facing Memphis Papa, with a hopefully,
eager look on this face.
Georgia!
Memphis Papa says,
79
This way.
They all walk down a corridor of an old office building that remained
upright during the quakes. Some of the rooms along the exterior wall
are cluttered with broken furniture and boxes of refuse cleared out
from the interior rooms. The exterior rooms have broken windows, so the
cardboard is weathered near the windows. The interior rooms are being
used for lost and found boards. There are labels on the door jams of
the interior rooms, arranged alphabetically - Alabama, Arkansas,
Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Mississippi, Missouri, N
Carolina, Ohio, S Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, W Virgina.
Painted in red paint on the wall across from the Alabama and Arkansas
rooms is a general index, a list of these states, with an arrow
pointing down the corridor.
Memphis Papa walks ahead of Joey, who is literally at his heels.
Finegan brings up the rear. They stop in the Georgia doorway, Joey
bumping into Memphis Papa’s ample rear end.
Here we are.
The room is bare, not a single note pinned.
We got a few from Florida, came by early on