Eve: In the Beginning (23 page)

I push through the water until I nearly collapse on the opposite shore, but somehow I manage to stay standing. I take a step, then another, stumbling up the bank.

Not knowing which way to go, I move forward, climbing away from the river. I hold the branch in front of me while looking behind me every so often. Then I see the dark fur. I halt, my hands trembling and my heart pounding in my ears.

The bear isn’t moving, so I take another step. Its thick fur is slowly being covered with white flakes. Protruding from its chest is the sharp branch that Adam had with him. Blood stains the stick bright red against the falling white.

Adam did this, but where is he now?

The bear’s head is turned toward me, its eyes open but unblinking. My gaze focuses on its mouth. There are no signs of cloud-shaped breath. I take another step, looking for Adam.

Then I see him on the ground just past the bear. His body is still.

“Adam!” I cry out, hurrying to him and kneeling at his side. There is blood on his hands and arms. It’s seeping from new gashes on his skin. I lean over him and touch his face. “Adam? Can you hear me?”

When a small moan comes from him, I’m filled with relief. He is alive. But I fear that he has been greatly injured. “Adam?” I say again. His eyes blink open, then close again. I touch his face, whispering to him. “Wake up. We must get you to shelter.”

His eyes fluttered open. “Is it dead?”

I involuntarily glance at the bear. “Yes.”

Adam’s lips curl slightly, and his eyes start to close again.

“Stay awake,” I say. “You must come with me.” I know that I won’t be able to drag or carry him. My body has started to shake from the cold and the river, and I feel as if the cold has reached the very center of me.

His eyes open, but he doesn’t seem to focus on me. “You must skin the bear.” His voice is so faint that I question what he has told me. I know he is right. I can’t let the bear stay for too long, or it will rot like the fruit in the south garden when Lucifer arrived.
Adam will get better, and he’ll be able to skin the bear.
But as I watch Adam’s eyes close again, his lashes resting against his pale, cold skin, I know that I must do it myself.

But first I must warm up Adam. I gather leaves from the bushes on the river’s edge and press them against Adam’s wounds. I hope the bleeding will stop soon. It seems to have slowed, and I wonder if it’s due to the cold air. From time to time I glance at the bear to assure myself that it’s still dead.

With the leaves in place, I remove the leopard coat from my own shoulders and cover Adam with it. I look over at the bear and the branch sticking out of its chest. Although it makes me feel light-headed to think of going near the beast, I pull the branch from the bear’s chest and drop the branch on the ground.

I look at Adam, and although the leopard coat must be keeping him warm, his face is still pale and tinged with purple. I sit on the cold ground and then lie down next to him, pulling the leopard coat over the both of us, using my body to warm Adam’s. I wrap my arms around Adam, and begin to pray, even though I don’t have an altar. I don’t even have Adam’s voice. I know that Elohim has been silent for many days, even a fortnight, and that we have been cut off. But I also know that Elohim is merciful.

“O Elohim, give ear to my words,” I whisper, my lips numb as they move in the cold air. “Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my Elohim, for unto thee I pray.” My breath comes quickly, and my eyes sting. “I ask for thy protection and blessing of strength for Adam so that he might recover from his injuries.” I continue praying and pleading over and over.

I finally exhaust myself and fall asleep for a short time next to Adam. When I awake, the world is still white, but the flakes have stopped falling from the sky. All around is a white stillness. Flakes cover the leopard coat. I look over at the bear — its brown fur is covered in white as well.

My body aches but it’s warm, and Adam’s body is warm. I check his injuries and find that the bleeding has stopped. I fetch more leaves and replace the stained ones with fresh ones, then rearrange the leopard coat around Adam so that the cold air won’t touch his body.

Turning to face the bear, I know what I need to do, and the sooner I do it, the better. The day must be more than half-over, and I don’t know how much longer Adam will need to recover. Skinning the bear can’t wait until tomorrow.

With the leopard, Adam started at the neck, although I didn’t watch much after that. Taking the sharpened branch in my hands, I place the tip at the bear’s neck. My mouth is dry, and I have difficulty swallowing.

I stare at the brown fur beneath the point of the branch until moisture trickles down my cheeks. I glance over at Adam, and seeing his pale, still face gives me added determination. So what if my stomach heaves and sobs choke my throat? I must do this. There is no other choice.

And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.

Genesis 3:7

My hands are so numb that I can barely bend my fingers. My hands are covered in blood from the bear, and the smell of the dead animal is difficult to inhale. I work as quickly as possible since dark will fall soon, and I don’t want to be at this task any longer than necessary.

Once I have the fur and skin removed from the bear, I carry its coat to the river and soak it for a few moments. The water washes away the blood from my hands, although they remain red from the cold. With the bear coat cleansed, I drape it over a set of bushes. It will take a while to dry, I know, especially in this cold.

The cold is still sharp in the air, but at least the flakes have stopped falling.

My body trembles as I approach the skinned bear. The knots and forms of its muscled body are fascinating yet horrifying. Not long ago, this was a living, breathing creature. Adam will want me to save the flesh, but looking at what remains of the bear, I know that I could never partake of it, and by the time Adam is well enough to eat, the bear flesh will be rotted.

With a grimace and a lot of tugging, I drag the carcass down to the river and somehow shove it into the water. I watch it sink then move slowly away, carried by the current.

The white from the flakes on the ground has now turned a pale gray.

By the time I reach Adam’s side, I am shaking all over from cold and from the tasks I’ve had to perform. Adam hasn’t moved. He is still covered with the leopard coat, sleeping deeply. I climb under the leopard coat and nestle against him. I wait for the warmth to come, but I continue to shiver. Adam feels cooler than I remember, and I fear that he can’t warm up.

I reach for his hands and rub them. Slowly the warmth comes, but it’s not enough. Helplessness consumes me. Dark is gathering, and with it, the cold will increase. I think I am too cold to sleep, but eventually the trembling subsides and exhaustion takes over.

Eve.
A whisper comes to my mind, and at first I think I have fallen asleep and am dreaming. But the voice comes again, like an urgent breeze, and I know I can’t possibly be sleeping.

I lift my head and blink into the descending darkness. Why has Lucifer followed us now? Can he not leave us alone? I know he is close, although I can’t see him. It’s as if I can feel his presence.

“You’re not wanted here,” I whisper, wishing Adam was well and had his strength. I must protect him and get rid of our brother at the same time. I sit up, looking for Lucifer’s form in the dimness, my heart pounding.

Then a spark of light as bright as the sun pierces the night. I shield my eyes, expecting the startling light to disappear as quickly as it appeared, but the yellow glow continues. My mouth falls open as I stare. Half a dozen paces from where I sit, Lucifer is crouched, holding his hands over what seems to be a circle of bright light.

Lucifer doesn’t turn my way. In fact, he completely ignores me. He seems intent on the light that his hands hover over, as if it’s impossible to break his gaze. I stare at the flickering light and the small spots that break off, fading into dark, only to be replaced by more bright spots.

Next to me Adam stirs, and I immediately turn my attention to him, but his eyelids don’t move, and he makes no other sound. If Lucifer notices the movement, he makes no indication.

My gaze is drawn again to the flickering light. Even though Lucifer’s focus is on the bright, burning light, I sense that he’s watching me. Waiting. I move away from Adam and settle the leopard coat around him. Being apart from Adam’s body heat and the protection of the coat, I realize how bitter the cold is.

Despite my resolve to ignore my brother and to never seek knowledge from him, I ask, “What is that?”

Lucifer is slow to respond, as if he didn’t hear me, but I know he did. His hands have moved ever so slightly. Finally he says, “Fire.”

I have not heard the word before, and I try it out silently to myself. “It’s like the sun,” I say.

“Very much like the sun,” Lucifer says, raising his head. His black eyes reflect the bright yellow. For an instant he reminds me of a black leopard. It’s then that I notice he’s wearing a heavy fur — thick and dark — around his shoulders. It looks similar to the fur from the bear that Adam has killed.

I know that it’s not the same coat I have just skinned, but I marvel at the similarity.

Lucifer watches me, his mouth turning up slightly. “Not only is Fire the color of the sun, but it also gives off heat.”

I can’t help myself; the questions tumble from my lips. “You can feel the heat with your hands?” What am I saying? Lucifer doesn’t have a body of flesh, yet he is warming his hands against this Fire. I realize what he is doing. He is tempting me. Again.

“See for yourself, Eve,” he says, his voice smooth in the utter stillness of the night. Even the sounds of the river seem muted.

I go rigid. Making this one allowance is a step in a direction I promised myself I would not go. I don’t dare move but continue to stare at the Fire, mesmerized.

Lucifer chuckles, his hollow voice reaching across the night air. “You may choose for yourself, Eve. That’s what’s so wonderful about this world. You can make a choice, unlike when you lived in the garden. Out here, you can choose to let your husband die of cold, or you can choose to create Fire and keep him warm.” His gaze slides to mine. “This cold weather will last for many moons — it’s named winter. You won’t last so many cold nights without extra warmth.”

My throat is tight, and my breath seems to leave my body for a moment. When I gather my voice, I ask, “How does the Fire warm more than your hands?”

“Like this,” Lucifer says, pulling his hands back into a wide arc. The bright light expands and grows until it’s nearly the height of a man. The heat rushes across the once-cold space and feels like a hot slap on my skin, splashing against my body, leaving my back as cold as ever.

A sigh from somewhere deep inside escapes me. I don’t know if it’s relief or if my body is clamoring for something that isn’t wet or cold.

I want to wrap myself in this Fire, to feel it on all parts of my body. Without considering what I’m doing, I rise to my feet and turn slowly around in circles. I feel as if I’m standing partly in the sunlight, partly in the shade, with the hot and the cool contrasting against each other, battling for space.

Lucifer gazes at me, but for the moment, I don’t care. I lift my arms up, slowly spinning, soaking in the Fire from all sides.

“It feels nice. Agreed?” Lucifer’s voice whispers, but I don’t answer. I want only to feel the intense warmth.

“This will burn for most of the night, keeping you and Adam warm,” he says.

I stop, feeling a smile budding on my face, despite my own caution to myself. This Fire has come from Lucifer, from the fallen angel whom I have vowed not to let teach me anything. Yet ... if Lucifer goes and the Fire fades, the heat will be gone too. I’ll be left again, cold and alone with Adam.

I glance over at Adam’s sleeping form. His face looks peaceful and less pale in the yellow glow. I take a deep breath, knowing what I must do and knowing that Adam won’t like it.

“Teach me,” I whisper, then say louder. “Teach me to make Fire.”