Eve: A Novel (7 page)

His nakedness made Lilly uncomfortable. She averted her eyes, conflicted over whether to watch. “I see why you like him, but why is he . . . naked?”

“Naked?” Eve smiled back. “He was born naked. Adam has no need of any covering other than God’s love. There is no shame in being entirely weak and vulnerable.”

“He doesn’t
look
weak.”

“I don’t speak of physical weakness but of his complete dependency on Elohim.”

“Okay, that makes no sense,” Lilly commented. “And I don’t understand a word he’s saying.”

“You will hear and see whatever it is you are here to witness.”

“Can he see us?”

“No. Your presence has not been revealed to him, and you haven’t truly even been born yet, so why would he?”

“But what about you?”

Her mother did not answer this question.

They floated along above Adam as he continued to sing and dance through a tall grass meadow, stopping to speak occasionally to things Lilly couldn’t see. Ahead of him, a small stream bubbled its way toward the river. Hopping into it with all the glee of a little boy, he suddenly stopped, his attention riveted.

She turned toward the sound of approaching voices singing the same slightly out-of-tune song as Adam’s, accompanied by a rising breeze that blew warm and embracing. They were clearly voices he recognized, because he sprinted in their direction, leaping and gyrating to the rhythm.

“This is their time to walk and talk,” Eve explained. She anticipated Lilly’s question. “God and Adam. Every day near its new beginning they celebrate and laugh and take joy in each other.”

Eve paused, listening, it seemed, to a conversation that Lilly couldn’t hear. The woman grinned.

“Lilly, why don’t you join them? Adonai is inviting you.”

“Me? Inviting me?” She felt exhilarated and then terribly shy. A million excuses rushed her, whispering and exposing her unworthiness. “Do I have to?” she asked.

“Of course not. Dear one, this is an invitation, not a demand.” The look in Eve’s expression was sympathetic and open, accepting of whatever Lilly might decide.

“I can’t,” Lilly mumbled. “I don’t belong here. I wouldn’t know what to say. I can’t.”

Eve hugged her. “The invitation will always be there for you, when you are ready.” There was no hint of disapproval in the woman’s voice. Lilly felt sad and also relieved.

A flurry of fire and water blown by gusts of wind engulfed Adam in an embrace. The only figure, other than Adam, that Lilly could clearly perceive was Eternal Man. The blood and dirt of Adam’s birth had become part of the white light that clothed Him, like an embroidered ornamentation.

Lilly yearned to experience the hug herself. Eve reached out and steadied her.

Adam and God sat down, backs each against a tree near the forest edge. The substantial presence of Fire and Wind danced around them. When Lilly and Eve also sat down on the grass not twenty feet away, Adonai looked right at them, smiled, and nodded in greeting. The rush of acceptance blew through Lilly like a torrent. She did not resist, nor did she want to.

“He sees me,” she whispered, barely moving her lips. “Eve, He sees me.”

“He always does,” Eve quietly stated. “Not only does He see you, He knows you.”

“Son,” Eternal Man said to Adam, “you are the center of Our affection and the radiance of Our glory.”

“And You are my joy! I love You too,” Adam said with all the enthusiasm of a child. “I’ve been exploring.” He described creatures he had come across in his adventures. He demonstrated—grunting, growling, whooping—how he had even communicated with them. For all his youthfulness, Adam was smart, grasping ideas easily and with a depth that left Lilly astonished. The ease of their laughter and flow of conversation washed over Lilly like gentle, warm waves.

When Lilly glanced at Eve, she was surprised at the tears rolling down the woman’s smiling face. Reaching out, Eve pulled the girl into her side, and without taking her eyes off the gathered community leaned in and whispered, “Thank you, Lilly.”

“For what?”

“This is the first time I have ever seen him like this, a boy in love with his Creator. You have given me this priceless gift. You, Lilly.”

“I don’t—” Lilly began.

“Shhh. Listen now. This is important.”

Adam was saying, “Eden is fruitful of its own accord, so is my tending and cultivating important?”

“Yes, important but not necessary,” stated God, a twinkle in His eyes.

“Then what about my keeping, my keeping and protecting? Is there . . .” Adam paused as he looked for words to express his question. “Is there something outside the boundaries that I must guard against?”

“You ask thoughtful questions, my son. Besides growing in stature, you are growing in Wisdom, which will help you serve and steer creation into maturity. Take each moment as it comes. Wisdom will guide and teach you. Like the tending, keeping is significant but not necessary. With your restful keeping and your tending, you worship and adore Us.”

“I do adore You!” Adam yelled, and scrambled up into the lower branches of the tree.

“As We do you!” Adonai too climbed into the tree until both
were perched on branches looking out into the garden. Adam raised his hands, balancing himself, his laughter as pure as mountain springs.

After a moment to catch his breath, he asked a different question.

“Why can’t I fly? I have been watching creatures that soar through the air and I have tried, but I am more like a stone than one of them.” With his hands he made the motions of falling straight down.

“There are good powers and forces that hold you to the earth. One day you will explore these and subdue them while still submitting.” God smiled. “I have a question for you. Are you free to walk through these?” He knocked on the tree against which they leaned.

“I am free to attempt it. See?” laughed Adam, pointing out a small bruise on his forehead. “I am not so skilled as the Messengers.”

“Adam, the life and freedom that is yours, and all who are within you, are bound inside your relationship to Us. As long as we are face-to-face, you will have life and freedom easily and always.”

By the perplexed look on Adam’s face, Lilly could see that he was wrestling with a new thought. As he did, he grasped the branch beneath him and let himself tumble forward. He hung for a second before dropping lightly to the ground. Adonai was right behind, and Adam turned to Him.

“How could I ever not keep my face fully turned to Yours? My heart and soul and spirit have life only by dwelling in You. How could I . . . ever . . . ?”

God gently reached around His son, embracing him.

“Love takes risks, dear one. You have the freedom to say no to Us, no to Love, to turn your face away.”

Adam frowned. “And if I did such a thing, what would happen?”

“In turning you would find within yourself a shadow. This darkening would become more real to you than I am. From then, until you re-turned your face to Mine, this empty nothingness would deceive you about everything, including who We are to you, and who you are to all creation.”

“Is there a name for such a shadow, a name for such a turning?” Adam asked, only a few inches from the Oneness he loved.

“It does not deserve a name,” whispered Eternal Man, “but it would be called death.”

Lilly felt as if a powerful and icy hand had gripped her chest and was slowly crushing it. She forced out words: “I know death. Eve, we have to warn Adam.”

Eve took her hand and squeezed. Lilly could feel warmth radiate out, confront, and then advance against the cold. Fury was carved into Eve’s creased brow.

Then Lilly heard the Voice, as close to her as thought: “Lilly, trust Me.” As quickly as it had arrived, the frigid clasp around her lungs released. She took a deep breath.

“I do not want death,” Adam whispered back. “Is death the opposite of life?”

“Life has no opposite, Adam. It has no equal. Life is Good. Life is Our nature.”

Adam pondered for a moment before asking, “Is there any of this death within me?”

Eternal Man grinned and gently touched the boy’s cheek. “No. Adam, there is no death in you, nor in any who are within you. Only life. Today and always you may eat of the Tree of Life, to breathe in and out My Spirit, face-to-face.”

Adam touched the hand that was on his cheek and chuckled. “You know how much I love the trees and the fruit You have created,” and then added in mock seriousness, “which I tend and keep, but not for any necessary purpose.”

Laughter filled the air, the joy of parents watching their child’s first tentative steps and discoveries. As evening descended, the light of God’s presence illuminated the area. Creator and created lingered in the fellowship of other-centered love.

Both the women cried silently as they watched this exchange of pure affection. Lilly didn’t know why Eve wept, but the girl wanted with every fiber of her being to run into the center of this love—yet the whisper of unworthiness anchored her to the ground and wouldn’t let her move, once more taking her voice away and leaving her numb. Such joy was something she could never have.

Finally the young man said, “I only want to know life, to be face-to-face!”

“Adam, you are in the rest of Those Who Know you completely and love you fully. Simple trust is your participation. Hear My word each day and I will tell you the Good. This is neither command nor toil. It is easy and light.”

“And what is Your word for me today?” he asked.

“My word is necessity and in this day of rest is this: you may freely eat from any tree in Eden’s garden, especially from the Tree
of Life that is at the center of the garden. But for now there is the one tree, which I have shown you, whose fruit you may not eat and remain in your freedom. The day you eat of that tree, affirming Good and Evil, you will have already died.”

“The Good I know, for You declare it always, but what is evil?”

“Evil is to death as Good is to life. To turn from life, light, and Good, away from love and trust, is to embrace the shadow of death, for life is in the face-to-face and death is in the turning.”

“I do not want death or evil!” Adam stated.

“Then take joy in all the freedoms you celebrate in Us,” declared God.

Adam climbed up on God’s lap as if he were a little boy and nestled into his shoulder and closed his eyes. Eternal Man embraced humanity and sang to him a lullaby.

Lilly drifted off as well, lulled to peace by Adonai’s song. In the gentle space between waking and sleeping, she sensed Eve picking her up. The girl lay back in her mother’s arms, Eve’s warm breath falling like kisses on her shoulder.

L
illy
woke in the middle of the night with the floral scents of Mother Eve still on her skin. A chill rushed in where Eve’s warmth had been, but Lilly felt calm and peaceful. Although it wasn’t any time close to morning, she was completely aware. Subtle blue iridescence lit the room, just enough to throw shadows onto the rock ceiling. She glanced around, half expecting to see Eve, and was disappointed.

A conversation of sorts drifted into her chamber, hushed tones and whispers. John was nearby, talking to someone. Lilly almost called out but decided instead to listen. The other voice wasn’t speaking exactly, but almost singing. The language, the pitch and rhythm, soothed her.

“I haven’t decided yet,” John said. “I agree, she needs to be told soon. The Menders and Healers have worked near to exhaustion restoring her, but there is only so much they can do. When it
comes to the mind and heart and soul, the best surgeon’s knife has its limitations.”

The Singer spoke for a time, the timbre of words wafting through Lilly’s body and teasing loose deep knots in her muscles. It was irresistible, this voice, and she breathed it in like air, trying to capture the melody. She almost fell asleep again.

“Thank you for saying that,” said John. “But may I be so bold as to ask, why hasn’t God spoken healing directly to her?”

Again the response came like a song, and again she lay there with her eyes closed, letting the music of the tonal words tumble over her. Inexplicably, in this moment she was not afraid. Within her an assurance grew that whatever was coming it would be all right. It reminded her of what it felt like to be near Adonai.

“I do trust,” said John. “I trust both Love and God’s purpose. But what you are saying is . . . Well, it’s so remarkable! Are you certain that she is a Witness?”

The moment John referred to her as a Witness, vivid memories of her hallucinations returned and took Lilly’s breath away. She felt no fear, but rather unexpected warmth and the embrace of hope.

Three worlds had collided within her: The first unknown but for flashbacks. The second filled with hallucinations in which she was Witness to Beginnings. And the last, and in ways the strangest, was this world in which she lay awake, held entranced by someone’s unearthly singing.

There was no way to tell which, if any, of the worlds was real.

“Lilly is so young,” John was saying, undeniable sorrow in his voice. “And so . . . broken.”

The reply was like cascading laughter, notes of humor spilling over each other. Lilly almost laughed out loud herself.

“You’re right,” John said, chuckling. “I’m old and tired, but I’m not alone. Quite a different figure than the energetic man of my youth, as you well know!”

The thought of John as an exuberant young man made Lilly smile. It made her think of Adam, so sure of God’s love and affection. But wait—that was the dream world and this was the true. Or was it the other way around? Or was Earth, her mysterious place of origin—the place she couldn’t quite conjure—was
that
real?

John spoke again. “Would you please sing over her? As you did for me when I was the Witness. I sense that she will need the strength of your song this day.”

And the Voice did just that. Even if she had wanted to open her eyes, Lilly would have been unable. For the first time in any dream or fragment of memory, she truly rested. Peace came over her like a tidal flow, one harmony rolling over another and then another until she was embraced by song itself. In that solitary moment not one thing in her hurt.