The feeling of rain

The bravest leaves, still green and clinging to the trees, not yellow like the ones on the ground, shimmered like a windchime in a tornado. The yellow leaves, a crushed poultice for the cracked earth, tremored like china in a cabinet when a train passes.

The river, though now it was a mudflow, popped and burbled as if the frogs were feeding. Poosh they hopped and ploop they bellyflopped in the mud. But there were no frogs jumping; even the hardiest had buried themselves in the mud. The horses stamped in the silt and snorted dust weakly. They had lost their lustre; their ribs were washboards covered with Apaloosa or Palamino. Their hooves were cracked like old pottery, caked in the dust of Vesuvius. Their fur, and the wolves, dogs, cats, and camels, too -- all their fur bristled and they panted in fear. Their dry tongues hung limp, hopeless. The animals all watched the ridge, Mabhannatan, the highest ridge of all the mountains that circled the valley. The ridge shook too, and avalanches slammed down the side and puffed into the lower ridges like powdered sugar.

Bahavata'a and I watched the ridge too. He tied a knot on a saddle, as his horse pawed the ground. His trembling fingers dropped the rope. He fumbled to find it, and his eyes never left the ridge, where the Sun stood. The Sun reached down and drew a golden line along the crest; "This line you shall not pass," he said. Hands on his hips, the Sun guarded our valley from all clouds; a giant dictator baking his charges.

Many valleys away, at the same time, upon another high ridge, God laughed at the sun. And then he yelled. The leaves stood up straight, on the ground, on the trees, in the air; the river jumped out of its clothes; Bahavata'a dove to the ground and hid his ears. God's voice sounded to us a trumpet blast signaling a charge. God yelled, and the stampede began. From valley to ridge the roar rose, shaking the sky. The wolves ran-slunk away, tripping over themselves in their rush. The horses reared up and pawed the air. Bahavata'a held his rope tightly, but his horse broke free.

The stampede came on, and though the sun stood firm, the approaching army kicked up such clouds that the sky grew dim. The line on the ridge faltered like a mirage, and then blinked out. The Sun shone for a final moment. He held his hands out as if to stop a speeding train; and then he disappeared, trampled beneath the hooves.

Black horses with lightning for manes and thunder for breath, breached the ridge like a river consuming a dam. The sun shone and the next moment horses covered the sky. They hurtled down the ridge, tumbling and cavorting, a solid river of white water. When they had covered the sky and all the land was dark, the horses exploded and diamonds replaced the oxygen -- the rain had come, and everything else disappeared.

I pulled my raincoat tight around me and hunched to avoid the rain, but it soaked through my layers and soggied me. I looked at Bahavata'a; he was braver than I. He was not hiding from the rain. He stood leaned back on his hips with his face bent towards the sky. Rain formed gulleys in his skin and ran off like waterfalls. I had my bottled water to drink, but he, he opened his mouth wide and swallowed the rain whole. God had yelled, and the horses would be fat again. The river would run and the frogs would hop. Bahavata'a ran about like a child, back and forth between me and his horse, wild, pumping his arms twice for every step. He danced, jumping, his knees reaching his chest. And he yelled, back to God, "HALAL! HALAL! HALAL!" He screamed and laughed. He thrust his hands into the rain and caught it in his palms. He opened his mouth and drank God. The tree, with its green-not-yellow leaves, followed Bahavata'a and stretched its branches into the air, like a castaway on the beach thanking his rescuer.