Day Sixty-Seven: A Devastating Blow, Part One

Heaven had granted me not the slightest mercy. Just when I thought the downpour was about to ease, the gale came roaring back.

This time, the wind was even fiercer and more savage than before. In the dead of night, Little Black’s terrified cries jolted me awake. When I opened my eyes, I saw it drenched through, water still dripping from its coat.

At the sight of its miserable state, I immediately knew something was wrong. I rushed to the upper level of the treehouse, where the rain, driven madly by the wind, was crashing down in sheets. The roof had been torn away; only one corner of the waterproof tarp remained, lashed to vines. Wind and rain surged straight in. I could not even keep my eyes open, and yet I still struggled to tie the tarp back in place.

It failed.

The wind was far too strong. I could not even keep my footing, much less haul the tarp, which snapped and flapped in the gale like a flag. Though I was already soaked to the skin and wanted nothing more than to give up, if I did, the stores and the firewood on the lower level would be ruined.

There was no choice but to endure. I braced myself against the wall and fought my way toward the billowing tarp. The little saplings that had once held it down had long since been blown away. This tarp might be gone the next second...

Before the thought had even fully formed, the vines binding it reached their limit. With a rustling whip of sound, the tarp was seized by the wind and whisked away in an instant.

My heart sank straight to the bottom of the abyss. For me, it was an enormous blow, one I could scarcely bear. Without that tarp, I had no remaining means, no remaining way, to keep the rain from pouring in. After hesitating for perhaps only a few seconds, I decided I had to get down to the lower level at once and save whatever I still could.

The lower level was even worse than I had imagined. Water was dripping everywhere, and even the fire had nearly gone out. The grain and the firewood had been completely taken over by the rain, and water from above poured down like a curtain.

“It’s over! Everything’s over!”

I clutched my head. The last thread of hope in me was gone. Everything I had worked so hard for over all that time was ruined... all of it...

“Why? Why?!”

My composure shattered completely. I crouched down and hammered the ground with clenched fists, one blow after another. My mind went blank, and the rage in my chest had nowhere to go. The floor, hardened by so many days of foot traffic, was still battered into several pits beneath my fists.

Little Black seemed frightened by my state as well. It had been standing nearby, shaking the water from its fur, and perhaps because it had never seen me like this before, it stopped and came over to rub its head against my waist. It must have been trying to comfort me.

Maybe the outburst helped. Maybe it was Little Black’s gesture that reached me. After a long while, I finally began to calm down.

The floor had already become a shallow lake. The entire little shelter had been lost, and the fire had perished in the flood. Even the ash had mixed into the water, making the water inside the treehouse filthy beyond measure.

Once I had steadied myself, my attention shifted. There was no point worrying about the water on the floor anymore. The fire was out, the grain was soaked, and the only things that might still be dry were the two handguns and the flashlight, wrapped in blankets on the table. If I left them alone, they would probably be soaked as well. I did not know whether a handgun could still be used after getting wet.

I dragged over the long bench I had made myself and, feeling my way in the dark, placed the handguns from the bedding onto it, then shoved the bench under the table. Using the flashlight, I gathered up the cured meat, the homemade sausages, the dried fish, the corn cakes, and the rest, and piled them onto it all at once.

Just barely, the bench held everything. I wanted desperately to save these stores. Looking at the rice soaked in water, I felt a pain like a blade twisting through my heart. It was agony, and yet I was powerless to stop it. That helplessness was unbearable.

The water in the treehouse was actually draining fairly quickly, but it could not keep up with the influx from above. I chopped several narrow channels with my axe to help it drain, but the effect was pitifully small, almost nonexistent.

Still, I did not stop. I had no idea how much longer this storm would last. I had already intended to reinforce the treehouse once the rain stopped, but it was too late now...

Yet thinking about it was useless. If the fire died, I could find another way. If the grain spoiled, it would be gone for good. I could only pray that the rain would cease soon. Thoughts kept rising and falling in my mind, but my hands never stopped moving. I had already carved a great many crisscrossing little channels into the floor, doing everything I could to keep the water level from rising too high...

Numb as I was, I had long since lost all sense of time. I did not know how many hours I had been at it when the rain seemed to lessen a little, though I could not tell whether it was real or only my imagination. The flashlight’s battery seemed to be running low; its glow had dimmed considerably, and I did not know whether it could last until dawn.

Only when a line of light slipped through the crack in the door did I realize that the wind and rain seemed to have stopped. When I opened the door and stepped outside, I saw that they truly had ceased. The sun was already rising in the east, and at last the clear weather had returned.

But I could not bring myself to feel happy. This storm had cost me far too much. I would have to begin almost from nothing again.

Little Black followed me out too, its whole body soaked and smeared with mud. I must have looked much the same.

The lower level of the treehouse was no longer what it had been. The muddy, filthy floor was a shocking sight. Water from above was still dripping down. The channels I had dug crisscrossed the ground, making it look as though it had been plowed.

“Aaaaah!”

I let out a long roar, venting the frustration and pain pent up inside me. Then I began to move things out. The lower level was no longer fit to live in. Unless I could relay the floor and rebuild the place, I would have to start over. This time, no matter how bitter, how exhausting, or how troublesome it might be, I would build a proper house—one that could keep out the rain and would not have its roof ripped off by the wind.

Bag after bag of grain was hauled outside by my own hands. I knew the ground out there was wet too, but so what? Inside was wetter, dirtier, and muddier still. At least once the sun was out, I could dry it. I knew very well that spreading it out would work even better, but I simply did not have that luxury.

After a long sigh, I carried everything out in one go—table, bench, food, all of it.

Truthfully, I was at a loss. A wave of profound despair kept echoing through my mind, urging me again and again: give up, give up.

This was the moment when I felt the most lost. I did not know what to do next, or what I should tackle first. Everything seemed equally urgent. Should I find a way to make a fire? Move sand and stones to the treehouse first? Go looking for the tarp? Repair the roof before anything else?

...

That agonizing indecision wasted still more of my time.

At last, after I finished this can of drink, my restless state finally settled, and in that moment I made my decision...

Then I would follow this plan. I had no more time to waste.