The Flood

Several months before Hurricane Katrina flooded New Orleans, spring storms caused major flooding throughout the Catskill Mountains in New York. The Esopus River Valley was among the hardest-hit areas, with bridges rendered impassable and parts of the town of Phoenicia left underwater.

— Ed.

APRIL 2, 2005
PHOENICIA, NEW YORK

I am at my neighbor Rachel’s house, because my own house is flooded — or, at least, I think it’s flooded.

It’s difficult to remember the sequence of events that led us here. Everything came so quickly. The first warning was when Perdita called, saying, “I hear they are evacuating people from Phoenicia.” Heavy rains and spring thaw were causing the Esopus River to overflow its banks.

Almost every night this week I’ve been dreaming I’m homeless, moving into a new apartment in a strange city. Perhaps my dreams were preparing me for this!

Next, Rachel phoned. She had called the police, who had advised her to “seek higher ground.”

This is almost religious advice.

I began to hear, in my mind, Stevie Wonder sing: “Gonna keep on trying / Till I reach the highest ground.”

Our thirteen-year-old daughter, Sylvia, was sleeping over at a friend’s house. As my wife, Violet, and I decided whether to evacuate, I absurdly made dal, an Indian soup of red lentils. First I sautéed seeds of mustard, cumin, and fennel. Then I added chopped red cabbage. Finally I washed the red lentils and poured them in the pot, stirring everything with a wooden spoon.

While the soup cooked, I called the police. They offered to send a boat for us. I told them I had to discuss it with my wife.

My last glimpse of our home was like a scene from a horror movie. Water poured into the garage — muddy brown water at least five inches deep. This vision was impossible, a violation of my ordinary domestic life, like the moment the first zombie smashes his hand through the wooden door in Night of the Living Dead.

Somehow I’d expected the river to stop before entering our house, simply out of riverine politeness. But the river can’t even see our house. The river is blind, like an arm with no eyes.

Just before we left, Violet put Bananacake, our rabbit, in the bathtub.

Violet and I walked through the woods to Rachel’s. Our next-door neighbors Buddy and Betty traveled with us, in the darkness and rain.

Betty offered to carry my bags for me. They were slowing me down quite a bit, so I agreed. Then, when we got to Rachel’s, the police were parked in her driveway. Betty walked off, still carrying my bags. A police car drove her away.

Here is what I own for certain, right now:

one pair of black pants
two socks
one handkerchief
two pens
one undershirt
one long-sleeved blue shirt
my wallet
a pair of gloves
a scarf
a wool hat
a pair of fishing boots
a big umbrella

Here is what I possibly own (if Betty hasn’t lost it):

one loaf of whole-wheat bread
several slices of pumpernickel bread
a bag of puffed rice
a few rye crackers
a container of tahini
A Passage to India, by E.M. Forster
The Dark Kingdom, by Kenneth Patchen
The Man without a Country and Other Tales, by
Edward Everett Hale
a container of toothpaste
dental floss
two toothbrushes
a dental stimulator
two plastic bags

I was famished earlier, but once I realized my food was gone, I was suddenly no longer hungry. Rachel kindly offered us walnut-and-broccoli polenta with tomato sauce, but I decided not to eat. If I have lost everything I own, I might as well lose some weight as well.

I am on the Flood Diet.

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