Eve: In the Beginning (12 page)

I see his disapproval, although he says nothing.

After releasing the mat that covers the marks, I pass by Adam and go outside to wash in the pond.

“Wait, Eve,” Adam says, but I keep walking, not speaking.

He follows me, as I expect him to, and wades into the pond with me. I force my gaze away from the path through the vines — the path that Lucifer once took when he was watching us.

I understand Adam’s wishes and his concerns. They are my own ... yet ... I feel as if I’m being forced to choose between Adam’s wishes and Lucifer’s offer. And when I think about living in the garden forever ... and ever ... it’s incomprehensible to me.

Nothing will change if we don’t do anything, but when I glance at Adam, I can’t imagine leaving the garden without him.

There may be no other choice if I am to gain the knowledge I so desire.

For a moment, I think about telling Adam what Lucifer said about not dying, but I heard enough of the words between Adam and Lucifer last night to know that it won’t change Adam’s mind. Besides, I’m not ready yet to tell Adam that Lucifer spoke with me alone yesterday while Adam was sleeping in the field.

The fact that Lucifer showed up at the only moment when he could speak to me alone makes me realize he might be watching us even now. Without attracting Adam’s attention, I take small glimpses at our surroundings, my heart rate quickening. Perhaps Lucifer is in the tangle of vines, peering out from underneath. Or maybe he’s standing behind a group of trees, watching through the lush of branches and leaves.

Yesterday he said he’d wait for me by the tree of knowledge. He must not have said anything to Adam about it, for surely Adam would have mentioned it.

If Lucifer isn’t here at the dwelling, does that mean he’s at the tree? I think of him waiting and of his dark eyes and of his curved mouth, which sees humor in almost every word I speak.

I think of the south gardens, where Adam wants to go today. I wonder if Lucifer will have any effect on the tree of knowledge. Could he cause it to die just as he somehow brought change to the southern portion of the garden?

After I wash in the pond, I sit on the boulder by our alcove to dry off. The sun is warm, but clouds are moving in. A heavy mist looks like a good possibility. Adam has been quiet, seeming to understand that I’m not much interested in conversation.

He eats a couple pieces of fruit as he stands not too far from the boulder, keeping his gaze darting between the trees and me. When he’s ready to go, I climb off the boulder and follow. I make no move to take his hand, and he makes no move to take mine.

The clouds gather fast as we walk; they fittingly augment the silence between us. I am perspiring by the time we reach the edge of the field that stretches to the southern border.

My heart sinks. The grass that was wilted and brown before is now only bits of spiked tufts. Adam notices the same thing and pulls up a clump of brown. The stalks break off in his hands.

I look across the field. It reminds me of the skin mat that Lucifer brought to the alcove — a wide expanse of brown. Even from a distance, I can see that the trees have changed colors as well. Instead of being vibrant green, the leaves are a mix between brown and yellow.

I set off across the stiff grass, the remaining tufts prickly beneath my feet. The heavy clouds overhead make the garden seem even more rotted, if possible. Adam is right behind me. I can hear his breathing and footsteps as his feet brush through the dried earth.

Nothing jumps or flutters before us; no butterflies or grasshoppers can be seen. If it weren’t for the wind and the impending mist, this place would be silent ... as silent as the dead snake. I watch the ground, wondering if there are more dead animals on it — another snake? — although I find myself hoping that’s not so. What did Lucifer mean when he told me that we won’t
die if we partake of the tree of knowledge?

Stopping before the trees, I look up. Adam halts next to me and stares. Some of the trees’ branches are nearly bare. Rotting fruit hangs from them, moving faintly in the wind. Fruit that once was a supple orange is now shriveled and dark.

Adam walks among the trees, not straying too far so that I am still in his sight. I stand in one place, not wanting to venture any farther. It’s hard to comprehend that Lucifer’s presence could cause such torment among the plants in the garden. It must be something else, I think. Perhaps it’s not Lucifer at all.

I want to ask him, but of course I can’t.

Scanning the trees and the field behind, I sense that Lucifer has not followed us here. He’ll wait for us someplace else. Perhaps he is waiting for me now by the tree.

The mist descends, and I shiver, but I don’t seek shelter beneath the branches of the trees. Adam returns to my side. His eyes are dark like the clouds above. “Let’s go,” he says — that and nothing more.

He doesn’t seem to mind the mist. Usually, we’d take some shelter but not today. There are worse things to consider now. Adam doesn’t offer his hand, and I don’t reach to take it. I wrap my arms around my waist as we cross the brown field and enter the part of the garden that is still green and filled with flowers.

I want to ask Adam if the mist will heal the brown field and rotted fruit, but I remember I’m not speaking to him. It seems too hard to begin now.

When we reach the alcove, the mist has increased, making everything wet. I sit inside, while Adam stands at the opening, looking out, waiting.

He isn’t coming
, I want to say.
He’s waiting for me at the tree.

The morning dawns clear and bright. I have not slept much, and Adam has slept even less. He watches me as I make the mark on the back wall. He follows me to the pond but doesn’t get into it. I wash, yet I don’t take long. Even with the sun warming the waters, it seems colder than usual this morning.

As I walk out of the pond, Adam holds out a fruit. I shake my head. I’m not hungry. He lowers his hand as I pass, resignation in his eyes, but hope doesn’t enter my breast. I know what his answers will be to my questions. They are unchanging, just like the garden.

I walk toward the alcove, feeling tired. Adam and I still haven’t spoken to each other, so I return to the sleeping mats and lie down. With the sun streaming in, warming my wet body, I finally sleep deeply.

And then I dream.

The tree of knowledge is in front of me, its leaves glittering green in the sunlight. The fruit’s perfectly ripe, fragrant, and slightly dewy. My stomach twists, and I realize I am hungry — very hungry. I turn to look at the other trees, to choose one of their offerings, but they are gone. Looking down, I see the grass below is pure white, so bright that it’s hard to look at.

And suddenly, I’m holding it — a single fruit. Its soft skin is smooth in my hand, just as I imagined it before. But this time, more than curiosity runs through me. Pure desire pulses through my body, blocking out any other thoughts.

I raise the fruit, unable to look away from it, when suddenly it’s gone.

My eyes open, and it’s as if I can still feel the fruit in my hand — the weight and texture, the coolness that quickly grew warm against my palm.

I sit up, taking a deep breath. During my dream, it was as if I knew I was dreaming, yet I was so entranced that I couldn’t have fathomed another world except that one I exist in.

I know there must be other worlds, other existences — like the existence outside the garden. I wonder about the white ground from my dream that was too bright to look at.

The alcove feels strangely empty, and I think it’s because I have dreamed about the fruit, and now it’s gone. Adam isn’t at the entrance, although I expect him to be nearby, as he always is.

So it’s with surprise that when I step outside into the approaching twilight, Adam is not there. I perch on the boulder for several moments, expecting him back soon. If he returns, and I’m not within sight, surely he’ll find a cause to break the silence between us. I find I want that silence broken, but I have been so stubborn; I don’t know how to change it.

Finally, I walk the path that leads to the pond and pause when I’m halfway there, listening, but I hear nothing. I continue walking and stop within sight of the pond. Still, I see no one. When I return to the boulder, I call out for Adam. Perhaps he fell asleep someplace from exhaustion. I walk the perimeter of the dwelling, well aware that every time I call for Adam, I am attracting Lucifer’s attention.

But Lucifer is at the tree
.

What if Adam is there as well? I can hardly believe he’d go to the tree without me, but where else would he go? Even though we aren’t speaking, I don’t understand why he’d leave me unless it had something to do with Lucifer ... or the tree.

So he must be there — if Lucifer is there.

I leave the dwelling, moving quickly, knowing that if Adam is not at the tree, I’ll want to return to the dwelling as soon as possible; the sun will go down soon enough, and I must return before dark.

I look for Adam, or any sign of Lucifer, as I walk, but when I come within sight of the tree, I see no one. I descend the hill slowly, almost reluctant to look at the tree so close. It’s bigger than I saw it in my dream, and the leaves don’t glitter green. They are a darker, richer shade in the fading golden glow of the afternoon.

The fruit hangs from the branches, untouched, and my heart quickens as I remember the feel of it in my dream. The fruit commands my attention, and my dream comes back vividly. I almost forget why I have come. I reach the bottom of the hill and pause, glancing around. I look for Adam, or Lucifer, but the garden is quiet. Even the birds seem silent now.

Then I again walk toward the tree, my heart thundering at the nearness. Stopping several paces away, I take deep breaths. Lucifer isn’t here waiting. He and Adam must be somewhere else. I slowly turn away from the tree, forcing myself to walk.

“Eve.” His voice whispers around me as if it’s touching me everywhere at once.

Lucifer is here.

God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth.

Genesis 1:28

I don’t turn around for a moment, but when I finally do, Lucifer is watching me. He is stretched out beneath the tree as if he has just been asleep. I wonder if he does sleep. His body has no solid form, so does that mean he needs rest?

Blinking, I look away and look at the tree above him and at the sky above that. There are no clouds, and the sky is pale orange. I know I must hurry back before the darkness sets in, but first I must ask. “Where’s Adam?”

Lucifer rises to his feet, his long body languid in its movements. “He has abandoned you?”

Even from where I stand, I see Lucifer’s dark eyebrows lift. He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the trunk of the tree of knowledge.

“He’s not at the dwelling,” I say, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. “I thought he might be here with you.” My mind races as I wonder where Adam has gone, if not in search of Lucifer. Perhaps he
is
searching for him, although in the wrong place.

“Have you come to visit the tree?”

I stumble over my words.

“Then to visit
me
?” Lucifer’s mouth spreads into a smile.

I open my mouth to answer, but I stop when Lucifer reaches above himself and snaps off a fruit.

“What are you doing?” I ask. This time I don’t mask the tremble.

“Eve, there is only one reason why you came here.” Lucifer walks forward until he is out from under the tree. The gold-orange sun lights up his torso and face, making his hair and eyes look even blacker. “We both know it.”

His earlier words run through my head:
You won’t
surely die, Eve
.

I don’t realize I am walking toward the tree, but when I next look into Lucifer’s eyes, I am standing right in front of him.

“You will be like the gods, who know good from evil,” he whispers. “You will have all the knowledge you desire.” His hands are against mine. Although I can’t feel them, I sense his touch — cool and firm. Suddenly, the fruit’s in my hands — solid and real. Just like my dream.