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  1. A steady, nearly imperceptible melody played, from the quietly soothing hands of a master violinist. My body vibrated slightly, as though I sat in one of those massage chairs. Then, a deep solemn voice, not unlike my own, suddenly began narrating, as though someone hit play on a book on tape in my mind. The sound of the strings carried it along, as I grasped intently at each syllable spoken. ‘Cirrus, high in the atmosphere, whisping through the air, dancing. Cirrostratus, covering the sky, as a thousand trumpeters crumble the enemies spirit “the heavens are mine now!” it shouts, covering blue in a giant grey veil. Nimbostratus hauntingly sprawled across the expanse, as a blanket over a child, it nourishes the land in precipitation. Cumulonimbus, the greatest terror of them all, rising up like a tray in it’s upright, menacing, position. Stratocumulus, patches on the runway, landing with a small bit of turbulence.’ Abruptly I awoke as plane hit the tarmac.

    Thirty minutes later, the customary arrival procedures were complete, and after calling my wife to tell her I’d arrived without incident, and assuring my son, Collin, that I’d buy him a souvenir if he was good without me there, I waited for a taxis outside the terminal. Things had been rocky between me and Julia for a long time, and I couldn’t tell if the gestures made a difference anymore.

    It was a clear sunny day, and as I waited at the curb, I overheard a couple of the locals arguing. They both wore caps with logos from American basketball teams.

    “No, you shouldn’t do that!”

    “Why not, it’s just a cloud?”

    “Don’t talk foolish! You shouldn’t go near it, man.”

    They were talking about the reason for my arrival in their country, and I realized then, that the stories on the news were true. These people didn’t have the first clue about elementary science. I felt a sudden obligation to bring them some closure.

    “Hey guys, I heard you talking.” I said, as I paced toward them slowly, correcting my crooked glasses as I walked.

    They both looked as though I’d caught them doing something wrong, and changed the subject.

    “Hi sir, welcome to Beagot. You’ll find it’s a beautiful country. Where are you staying?”

    “It’s lovely.” I said. “Just here for a couple of days, I heard you talking just now…”

    Suddenly they both as guilty as murderer in an interrogation room.

    “The cloud I mean, about the cloud.” When they didn’t respond, I continued “I’m a scientist, from America, the USA? Do you know Michael Jordan? Well, anyway, I’m from the same place as him. I’m here to, well, that cloud. Do you know what it is?”

    The man with the Washington Wizards hat suddenly had a menacing look, and as his eyes went from white to red, I could sense that they were encroaching on me. I took a step back, thinking I was far from Omaha, and realized just how perplexing the forces of nature could be for the uneducated.

    “Rain, the clouds drop the rain, but first they scoop up the water from the land. And the mountain, it stops the cloud in its tracks. That’s why the cloud has been staying there for so long.” I quickly explained.

    “For 6 months?” Asked one of them.

    They stared at me for another moment before the other man commanded, “Let’s go!”

    I watched the two of them saunter into the airport, and thought about Colin, worrying about the line on his report card that said ‘doesn’t always complete his homework.’

    The concierge at the hotel lifted my spirits by presenting me with a complimentary breakfast, lunch, and dinner card, for the duration of my stay. They knew my name before I’d even checked in, and showed me around the hotel, as though I was a distinguished guest. The hospitality was a nice surprise, but I wanted to get to work quickly, and be home in time to see Colin play football on the weekend. Spending time with him had become my only priority, so I contacted Parson as soon as I settled into my room, and arranged our first face to face meeting.

    My first impression was that he was a jolly man. His wide mouth bent slightly upward, the ends of each lip being crunched together by his fatty cheeks, each time he spoke. He was heavy set, well dressed, and cheerily smiled after each word uttered, agreeing assuredly with everything I said. He had a thick accent, native to Beagot.

    “Yes, Mr. Sam. Yes. The hotel Grand Beagot is splendid. My wife loves. You should have taken your wife.”

    I made a quip about her, realizing just after that I shouldn’t have. “Even if she agreed to come, she wouldn’t have the first clue how to enjoy it.”

    Parson shifted the conversation then, and a serious look suddenly drowned his face.

    “Our people are frightened. But they shouldn’t be.”

    “I agree.” I said.

    “You shouldn’t be either.”

    His struggle to pronounce English words, made me feel powerful.

    “It’s just a cloud.”

    His eyes became sharp.

    “I know what a cloud is Mr. Sam. I like you, but I don’t know why they sent you.”

    “Because I study clouds Parson, that’s what we do in America. When there’s a cloud in the sky, we look at it.”

    “The same one for six months?”

    I didn’t respond.

    “Are you ready to see it?” He asked solemnly

    Sensing his unwarranted fear I repeated “It’s just a cloud.”

    The water on the sea was choppy, and waves crashed over the side of our small fishing boat. The phthalo blue ocean reminded me of Julia’s favourite dress, and when I looked toward the horizon, the endless haunt of despair I’d been feeling became overwhelming.

    “Look, Mr. Sam!” Called Parson as we approached an island with the small mountain in its center.

    At first I could see the dusty gray appearance of a Stratus, but as we got closer I saw a quick succession of flashing green lights all around it, so bright, they hurt my eyes to look directly at them. Thundering sounds, untimed with the snap of green lights echoed all around us, shaking our eardrums, and grew in strength as we got closer to our destination. The sight was like nothing I’d ever seen before, nothing anyone had. I was suddenly terrified beyond words.

    “We have to get out of here!” I shouted, hopeful that Parsons could hear me over the roaring decibels.

    Parsons acted as though he’d seen the sight a thousand times, unsurprised at what we saw. When he noticed my growing state of alarm he suddenly grabbed my arm, a look of endearment flush over his face. He looked at me, looked at the island, and looked at me again.

    “I get it!” He shouted. “Now I know why God brought this cloud!”

  2. “It’s no use,” I grumbled. “We’ll never make it now.”
    “Shut up,” Jim snapped. “She’ll hear you.”
    I cast a glance at the blanket-covered hump silhouetted in the front of the boat. “She’s sleeping.”
    Jim scratched his stubble-covered jaw. Twisting in his seat, he raised the panel in the side of the dark-lantern and peered at the feebly-illuminated chart spread beside him, his nose almost touching the waxed paper as he re-examined our situation.
    “We’ll never make it,” I repeated.
    Jim huffed and straightened, dropping the panel on the dark-lantern and plunging us back into the utter night. He folded the chart and pushed it into his jerkin, then moved to the rear with a fisherman’s ease, settling himself at the tiller. A hard gleam reflected in his shadowy eyes. “We just might.”
    Hours passed, accompanied only by the sounds of wood and water and canvas. At one point the child in the prow stirred and cried out. I edged my way forward, bracing against each rock and wobble of the little craft, and sat beside her. “Hush,” I comforted. “You’re with friends.”
    I daren’t tell her she was safe.
    The sky paled and the more light that fell on Jim’s face, the tighter his jaw set. Away to the right a darker mass distinguished itself as the coast, and then, far ahead, the lights of the outpost on Round Hill Point. I peered ahead, and then to the east, where the sun’s rays were leaping outward. “Jim, we have to go to ground,” I called to the figure at the tiller. He didn’t respond. “Jim,” I growled, rising to a half-crouch and staggering down the length of the boat. “Jim, listen, it’s too late. The sun’s up. We’ll be seen before we’re even near the point.”
    He looked at me, his eyes narrow. “Wind’s contrary. I can’t make land before we’re sighted.”
    I collapsed onto the bench. “That’s it? We’ve failed?” I peered forward again, drawn to the doom spelled by the hill that marked our gateway back to freedom or our sentence into hell. In the east, the sun peeped above the horizon, then leaped clear, sailing into blue skies and highlighting our little speck, a blot upon a perfect ocean. I bowed my head.
    “Not yet.” Jim’s answer was steady, even easy. And then with rising excitement he tipped his head back and shouted, “Hallelujah!”
    “Not funny, Jim,” I hissed, but he grabbed my shoulder and pointed.
    “See for yourself.”
    I followed his finger to the hill, looming larger with each passing minute. The signal flag posts yet stood empty, but that couldn’t last. We’d be sighted any moment now.
    “Look!” Jim urged me, and as he said it, a white-grey finger slipped between the flag posts and glided across the outpost. Long, misty tendrils followed it, until in mere minutes the entire hill wore an impenetrable cloak of cloud.
    We sailed on. Now we were level with the hill. Jim tightened his grip on the tiller. Now we had passed it. “Prepare to go about,” Jim smiled, pointing to the ropes he wanted me to work.
    The sheets snapped home; the sail bellied out. I knotted a cord around its peg and just then the figure in the prow stirred, sat, and threw off its blanket. “Where am I?” a little voice wondered.
    I grinned. “You’re safe. We’re taking you home.”