Ark by Julian Tepper Read Free Book Online Page A

move.”
    â€œShut up,” Ben said. “Don’t talk.”
    â€œGo five more miles into Jersey, and the rents are half as much as what you’re paying for your place.”
    â€œI said shut up!”
    â€œBut Ben, you haven’t given me my salary for two weeks!”
    The artist, in tunnel-flickering light, raised his left hand in the air. He had never hit Jerome. Yet he looked as if he’d strike him now. “Just drive the fucking car, you hear me!”
    Jerome didn’t answer.
    â€œDo you understand!” the artist screamed.
    â€œYes, Ben. Yes, I do.”
    The artist lowered his left hand into his lap and held it tightly with the right for the duration of the drive.
    The warehouse was ten minutes beyond the tunnel, on a street in Jersey City that no one would ever find unless he was looking for it. No homes nearby. No people out walking. No businesses. No life. It was a six-story white brick building surrounded by mud filled with all the toxins that gave Jersey its reputation. Jerome pulled up out front. Reynolds, the superintendent, was waiting for them on the steps, clad in a navy jumper, and with his legs pretzeled beneath a tremendous belly. Ben was always warning Jerome that if he kept eating the way he did, he’d look like the superintendent one day. And that if he didn’t start using his head, he’d end up with a job like the superintendent had. However, Reynolds had always seemed happy to Jerome, significantly happier than Ben Arkin, who now came slowly from the car with his chin up high and his shoulders pulled back. He brushed past the superintendent without saying a word.
    â€œYou’ll need a flashlight,” the superintendent told Jerome. “I killed the power. Had to. Else there could be a fire.”
    â€œYou think it’s bad down there?” Jerome asked.
    â€œCan’t say,” Reynolds answered. “There’s water. That’s all I know for sure.”
    Jerome could see Ben descending the stairs to the basement, and he ran to catch up but didn’t get there in time. Ben opened the basement door. A surge of water rushed in past his ankles.
    â€œFucking shit!” Ben yelled.
    â€œBen, wait for me,” Jerome called down from the top of the stairwell.
    â€œFucking mother hell.”
    â€œJust hold on a second,” Jerome said.
    Inside the warehouse, water came up to their thighs. The ceiling felt close. There were a few thousand works stored here. Forty years of sixteen-hour days, minus the time for the prostate cancer, the dental work, the obsessive grocery shopping, and however much more for the vacations Ms. Arkin had forced on Ben. All that life’s worth of work. At least three-quarters of it was under water. That was Jerome’s initial estimate when he shined a beam of light through the room. The assistant, silent, weak with fear, followed after Ben through the water. The old man struggled with each step, but was slowly getting farther and farther from the entryway. Then he waved Jerome off. He said, “Get away from me. Go. Please.” Ben turned and disappeared into a corner.
    Jerome shut off the flashlight then and was in darkness. It was better to wait without seeing, besides. He touched his fingertips to the water, skimming the surface, making a light splash of sound. Then he said Ben’s name.
    â€œBen, what’s going on out there? Do you need me?”
    Only silence. Was he having heart attack? A stroke? No, Jerome told himself. No, not even this could kill Ben. He was the toughest man Jerome had ever known. He had starved through the Depression. His father had died before it was over. Jerome didn’t know how. Ben wouldn’t tell him. He didn’t like to talk about his past. The assistant still imagined he knew more about Ben than most people. The artist had had two brothers, three sisters, and his mother to support by the age of fifteen. He’d graduated high school