The farmer watched from the porch. His wife washed the dishes and watched through the open kitchen window. The sun seared the fields that stretched away from the farmhouse. Heat shimmers made the woman disappear and reappear as she knelt in the middle of the north field. The Rainmaker they called her. The farmer, a good church-going man, would never have fallen so low in years past. Five years without rain could make any man break. His wife said he could blame her for his madness, if this didn’t work.
The soil crunched under her knees and made muddy patches on her jeans. The sweat slid down her back and under her arms and down her stomach. Damnit this was hot. The sun. Reach behind the sun. Reach up to above the heat. Drag down the cool. Bring it back with you. Concentrate. Like mamma told you. Like she showed you. Swim in the heat, use it to float up to where it is cool.
She felt a wave of nausea building up. Far away, like it wasn’t her. She vomited up what was left in her stomach after 2 days. Water mostly. Some apple. But that was down there on the ground. She was up here where it was so blissfully cool. She could see all around her. The brown fields stretching away into the distance. The stars started becoming bright above her as she soared up and up. So cool up here. She could stay here. Let her body die. Just rocket up into the blissfull blue black coolness.
No! Come back! They needed you. They asked for you. The land under you needs you. She is calling to you. Bring back the rain.
The farmer leapt up from the swing chair as he saw the girl collapse in the field. He roared to his wife to get some water from the basement. As he leapt over the fencing on the edge of the field he felt something large and warm smack him on the forehead. He swatted at what he thought was a bee. He carried on running to the girl. He reached her and had to stand with his hands on his knees while he got his breath back. The girl was lying on her back, eyes closed, a smile on her face. Then he felt the warm swatting on the back of his neck. On his shoulder. On his head. Splat. The farmer turned his gaze skyward. An enormous dark cloud was boiling up from the east. Overhead, the sky was darkening.
Rain! His wife was screaming in joy on the porch. Dancing around with the dishtowel.