The Sea Is Full of Doors

How it begins

The first door drifted into Asha Penn's propeller at dawn. It was green, paneled and firmly closed, which made it difficult to explain why someone was knocking from the other side.

She cut the ferry engine. Three passengers leaned over the rail. A fourth asked whether this would affect arrival time. Asha gave him the look that usually settled questions about fog.

Rafi Stone secured the door with a boathook. As a marine locksmith, he had opened flooded cabins, jammed engine rooms and one yacht whose owner had misplaced both keys and common sense. He studied the brass handle.

'It's locked from inside.'

The knocking became frantic.

Asha looped a rescue line around her waist. 'Open it.'

Rafi worked the lock. When the door swung outward, hot dry air struck the ferry. Beyond it lay a room full of smoke. A woman stood on a table holding a cage with two birds. She stared at the open sea behind Asha.

'Is this the fire escape?'

'It is now.'

They pulled her through. The birds came next, shrieking at the unfamiliar wind. The door closed by itself and became ordinary wood. Saltwater washed across its panels.

Asha checked the horizon. More shapes floated toward them: white doors, iron doors, a narrow blue one with flowers painted around its frame. Each moved against the current.

The rescued woman named a city three hundred miles inland. Her house, she said, had no green door. She had wished for one way out. Then someone had knocked.

Rafi stood very still beside the rail. He was listening to the blue door. Behind it came the steady rush of water.

Asha took up the boathook.

'Another flood?'

He shook his head.

From behind the blue panels, a voice as wide as the horizon whispered, 'Please. I need somewhere to go.'