Later, a roof went by.
Porgy heard it coming, even above the sound of the attack upon the Row, and it filled him with awe and dread. He turned and looked at Bess, and was reassured to see that she met his gaze fearlessly. Down the street the roar advanced, growing nearer and louder momentarily. Surely it would be the final instrument of destruction. He held his breath, and waited. Then it thundered past his narrow sphere of vision. Rolled loosely, it loomed to the second story windows, and flapped and tore at the buildings as it swept over the cobbles.
When a voice could be heard again, Porgy turned to his companion.
“You an’ me, Bess,” he said with conviction “We sho’ is a little somet’ing attuh all.”
After that, they sat long without exchanging a word. Then Porgy looked out of the window and noticed that the quality of the atmosphere was becoming denser. The spume lifted for a moment, and he could scarcely see the tormented bay.
“I t’ink it mus’ be mos’ night,” he observed. “Dey ain’t much light now on de outside ob dis storm.”
He looked again before the curtain descended, and what he saw caused his heart to miss a beat.
He knew that the tide should be again at the ebb, for the flood had commenced just after the storm broke. But as he looked, the water, which was already higher than a normal flood, lifted over the far edge of the street, and three tremendous waves broke in rapid succession, sending the deep layers of water across the narrow way to splash against the wall of the building.
This reversal of nature’s law struck terror into the dark places of Porgy’s soul. He beckoned to Bess, his fascinated eyes upon the advancing waves.
She bent down and peered into the gloom.