All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923) (4 page)

“Sounds more like a soul screaming for help,” Lester opinioned out loud.

“Yeah. You’re not the first person to think that,” Al said.

They sat in ponderous silence for a few more seconds then Lester snapped his fingers in front of Al’s face. “Come on, old buddy. I’m dying to know more of this tale. Where were we?”

“Screaming for help,” Al quipped. “Whether we know it or not, we’re all dying, Les.”

“Yeah, except you.”

“No,” Al said, “the soul that sins shall die, and I’m far from perfect, my friend, but we’ll get to that.”

Al reached into his black briefcase again and pulled out a stack of notebooks.

“These are some of my journals,” Al said. “When the Bible was first printed, I was impressed with the way some parts of it were told in third person. When Moses wrote about himself, he didn’t say ‘I did this,’ or ‘I did that.’ He said, ‘Moses went up the mountain,’ or ‘the Lord spoke to Moses.’ I decided after I’d done some reading that if I couldn’t share my story with someone, at least I could write it down. I thought it might be appropriate to write it as if I was a witness to my own life, and I thought reading parts of it to you might be better than trying to retell it.”

“I’m all ears,” said Lester.

Al nodded and picked up the first notebook on the stack, putting the rest back in the bag.

“Keep in mind,” said Al, stalling, “I have tried to maintain an authentic vocabulary in my writing, but over the years I have rewritten or translated my journals several times, and some of the words I have updated to a more modern form.”

“Like what?” questioned Lester.

Like the word
years
or the word
miles
. I did not originally refer to time and distance in those terms, obviously. In some places I translated the original word I wrote into English, but in other places I have substituted the words with updated English terms.”

“You’re killing me here, Al. Just read it.”

Al opened the journal to the first page and stared down at the ink, idly scratching at a faint scar on his jaw. He looked up at Lester, and when Lester nodded a go-ahead he looked back down, cleared his throat, and began to read.

Kole woke up early that particular day, not thinking that a day can come along that is so different it will change every part of your life, of all life. There had been many days, each one fresh and filled with promise. There were no old ideas, no copying or mimicry. Every dawn was an opportunity to unwittingly establish a course for human history. If something needed to be done there was no human being to ask guidance from. It was new. It was all new.

The sun came up in the same place it always had, and the ground that he had been sleeping on was wet with dew. Kole Chay stood up and shook out his wrap, then tied it around his waist. His parents still had their beautiful animal skins that the Creator had given to them before they were banished from the garden, but the one Kole used had been made as a blanket by his mother and merely served its purpose. Kole had seen some of his younger siblings wearing nicer cloaks, but his was his mother’s first attempt, and although it was ill-fitted and stretched at the seams, Kole had an attachment to it.

He walked down to the stream and splashed the cool water over his face and neck. He looked around and found berries growing on a low bush, and with no regard as to whether they might not be good for food, he started plucking them off and popping them into his mouth. When he was full, he again rinsed his mouth and hands in the water and, picking up his stick, went to find his family.

Kole could count thirty-two summers since his birth and would soon notch another summer on his walking staff. He felt good as he walked downstream along the path. He had never sensed any danger here although his dad, The Man, Adam, had repeatedly told him that in the garden animals had been more gentle. Out here, outside the garden, certain creatures were starting to act funny; as if humans were berries and they wanted to break their fast with one.

Kole whistled as he walked along. It was a skill he had taught himself, and one he was especially fond of. He loved the sound, the music, the way a tender blowing of air through the lips could rise up and elevate his mood. It was like a honey that could be poured over anything.

He heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. He whistled louder and turned around, just in time to see his sheep, all seventeen of them, come bumbling out of the woods, bleary-eyed and wooly-headed.

“Ah, there you are,” said Kole. “Come along now.” He smiled, pleased that his sheep seemed to know the sound of his whistle.

After a bit of walking, he heard the giggling of two young girls even before he saw them. Their pristine voices were pure and charmed him into his parent’s camp, filling the air with delight.

“Kole,” yelled the girls in unison, running to him as he appeared around the rocks that jutted out from the forested banks of the stream. He dropped his staff and held out his arms to them. They leaped simultaneously onto him, and he picked them both up, spinning them around.

“Mimah! Nolia! My wonderful little skyfires. I don’t think a brother could have asked the Creator for two more beautiful sisters.”

“I’m five,” said Mimah, “so I’m two summers more beautiful than her is,” pointing at her sister in the other arm.

“Now, Mimah, you know I think you’re both beautiful. You practically stop my breath.”

“Do you think Kesitah is beautiful too?” asked Mimah.

Kole set his two little sisters down and looked over toward the fire that was burning in the center of a stone-lined cooking pit. His mother and his other sister stood staring at him with knowing smiles. His mom’s eyes sparkled with pride whenever she looked at her firstborn and Kesitah’s eyes twinkled with love. Kole took Mimah’s hand in his right hand and Nolia’s in his left and walked toward the two older women.

“Mother, you look radiant today,” said Kole and kissed her on both of her cheeks.

“My son,” said Eve, “how are you this morning?”

“Fine, Mother. Ready to help Father catch some fish today.”

“Well, as you can see, he has already been at it,” said Eve, indicating two large trout roasting on a spit over the fire. The fish filled the air with their scent and smelled delicious. Kole’s stomach growled despite the berries in his belly.

Letting go of his two younger sisters’ hands, he turned toward Kesitah. “And good morning to you, Kes,” said Kole, reaching for her hand. She placed her slender hand delicately in his and blushed.

“I’m pleased to see you this morning, Brother, as I am every morning. Please sit and rest yourself. Allow me the privilege of bringing you the first piece of fish from the fire,” Kesitah said, twirling a stray strand of her hair around her index finger.

Kole lingered a moment with her hand in his, watching as she released the tendril of hair, and it sprang back up into a small curl. “You honor me, Sister.”

Kesitah was a beautiful woman. A full seventeen summers, and she had blossomed into a stunning duplicate of her mother. Her dark, brown hair was highlighted naturally by the sun, and her skin was tanned like harvest wheat. She was slender as a young sapling and moved with grace, as if she had a secret agreement with the breeze.

As the firstborn son, Kole would one day take her to be his wife, a day he was eager to see come. He watched her as she moved over to the fire and deftly removed a meaty portion of the fish, placing it on the center of a large palm leaf and cooling it for him with her breath. As she blew on the fish, Kole watched her lips and wondered if they might not taste even better than breakfast.

“Kole,” Adam strode up to his son, appearing from out of nowhere with two more fish strung on a thick braid of grass and slung over his shoulder.

“Father,” said Kole, turning to greet him. His dad was lean and fit, muscular by creation and honed into further perfection by thirty plus years of hard work. He was half a head taller than Kole, but their resemblance to each other was evident. Both had dark, brown hair, thick and wavy, strong jaw lines under full beards and piercing stares. But Adam’s eyes were a deep brown, penetrating and intelligent, while Kole’s eyes were a brilliant blue, thoughtful and sensitive, like his mother’s.

The two men hugged each other and laughed. Kole loved his dad more than anything. He had learned from him and respected his father’s wisdom. The three boys, Kole, Cain, and Abel, each had inherited a bit of their father’s spirit, and together they had set out to dominate the world around them—catching animals to train for work or for food and hides, building shelters for shade, crafting simple tools to make the work easier and to pass the time, and lately, working on more effective ways to plant seeds. Adam had discovered that using the shoulder blade of a large animal could furrow the ground in long, straight rows, cutting through the earth much quicker than dragging a pointed stick over and over the same spot.

It was hard work, but they were fruitful at it. Foraging for wild berries, nuts, and vegetables kept them alive, but planting seeds and having crops all in one place for easier gathering was of tremendous value. The boys had developed a bond with each other, with their parents, and with their sisters. There was no one else.

“Where are your brothers, Kole?” Adam inquired.

“I’m not sure, Father,” said Kole. “They should be along after a bit.”

There had come a time, when Kole was about twenty-five summers that he had stopped staying at his parent’s camp. His brothers followed suit not long after. Kole had moved upstream a ways to a place he thought of as his own; a place that gave him a feeling of independence most young men inherently crave. There he would think and plan and build his tomorrows one dream at a time. He enjoyed the solitude and the feeling of being self-sufficient, but he also enjoyed the infrequent visits from his sister, Kesitah. Occasionally she would show up, under the guise of wanting to share with him some new combination of foods she had concocted, but after sampling her meal, they would often spend long afternoons talking about the future and gazing into each other’s eyes. Kole would carve birds for her out of wood while she made up stories and hummed melodies for him. They would stare at the sky and make pictures out of the clouds or watch flocks of birds and speculate what it might be like to fly. Their time together was filled with laughter and whispering and shy smiles. Each moment was a promise of things to come, and Kole wondered if his brothers were ever envious.

Adam laid the fish he was carrying on a flat stone the family used as a table. Later, Eve and Kesitah would clean them using a sharp piece of flint to slice the meat off the bones, then cut it into strips for drying. Eve brought Adam a generous portion of the breakfast trout on a smooth piece of bark, along with some fresh strawberries that she and the girls must have picked that morning.

Kole glanced over at his sheep while he ate. He had led them into a small, wooden stockade built next to the cliff face. Sturdy, young saplings had been cut down using sharp flint axes, and cris-crossed to form a three-sided, zigzagged fence against the rock outcropping. Kole loved his sheep and could call them all by name if he needed. He and Abel tended several rams and ewes and had raised many in their flocks from spring lambs. Cain, on the other hand, like their dad, had only a few animals that he bred, preferring to follow God’s initial instructions to dress a garden and keep it. Both Adam and Cain had proven to be deft farmers, coaxing the ground outside the garden to yield fruits and vegetables both varied and delicious.