Eve: In the Beginning (25 page)

I step toward Lucifer. I think Adam may be pulling me back, but whatever pulls me toward Lucifer is much stronger than Adam.

Lucifer touches my shoulder, and I feel a smooth coolness. His head tilts, and he speaks so low that I think only I can hear. “You understand me, Eve,” he says in his near whisper. “You need me just as I need you.”

His face is so close to mine that I imagine reaching up and touching his cheek, his jawline, but then he draws back.

Adam’s words filter into my mind, seemingly from a distant place, from somewhere behind me. “In the name of Elohim, I command you to leave, Lucifer.”

Lucifer seems to shrink, even as I reach for him and try to stop him from leaving.

Adam’s warm hand, strong and firm, pulls me back, and Adam captures me against his body. I gasp for air, and it rushes inside my chest. I sag against Adam, closing my eyes.

When I open my eyes, Lucifer is gone. “What happened?” I whisper.

Adam cradles me against him, his arms wrapped around me from behind. “Telling him to leave is no longer enough,” Adam says. “He somehow has more power and influence in this world than he did in the garden.”

My mind turns over what just happened, but I can’t quite grasp it. “Is it because Elohim is not here?” I turn around in Adam’s arms, lifting up my chin so I can look fully into his golden eyes. I cling to him and allow him to hold me up. Helplessness spreads through my limbs, threatening me with loss of balance. “I am so weak,” I whisper. “How can I be so weak?”

One of Adam’s hands goes behind my head, and he presses his lips to my forehead. “We must remember Elohim’s promise. Lucifer might be able to bruise our heel, but we can bruise his head.”

“So he is not leaving? He will always be around to torment us?”

Adam exhales and pulls me closer. “You must not let him tempt you again.”

“I know,” I whisper, pressed against the warmth of Adam’s chest. “But there is so much that we don’t know.”

“You’ve always been so eager to learn everything and anything all at once.”

I draw away from him. “I want to learn to survive this place — to know how to protect ourselves — and Fire will help us do that.” I turn toward the altar. It’s barren and silent. “Elohim has cut us off. Where else are we supposed to turn?”

Adam stands next to me, looking at the altar. “We have to be patient, Eve. We must wait for Elohim’s time.”

My hands clench at my sides. “We waited in the garden to ask him our questions. But he didn’t come until it was too late.”

“Eve —”

“I know I made the right choice.” I can’t look at Adam. “And you made the right choice, but this world is not what I expected.” I look down at my body. “Everything has changed: our bodies, what we eat, how we spend our days. What are we doing here? What is our purpose?” I thought I knew our purpose, but I can’t help the frustrated words that tumble out.

“We can do this, Eve. We just need to do it together. Lucifer can’t be a part of our lives.”

Moisture forms in my eyes. I remember the night I worried that Adam would die of either the bear wounds or the cold. I’m certain that if it hadn’t been for the Fire that Lucifer brought, Adam would have died. Our mortal bodies are not so strong. He seems to think he is still immortal.

On one hand, I know Adam is right. On the other, Elohim has seemingly abandoned us. We must make do with what we have.

“Elohim could have taught us about Fire, but he didn’t.” I say.

Adam stiffens. “We were cut off because we disobeyed Elohim.”

“But in doing so, we obeyed his commandment to multiply and replenish the earth,” I say, which isn’t entirely accurate. We are not obeying that commandment either.

Adam turns away. I can’t read his expression now, and fear builds in my heart. Does he not want to obey that commandment after all? Is that why he hasn’t kissed me again?

“We should at least be able to talk about it,” I say in a quiet voice. He doesn’t move. “Have you not felt the physical changes in your body as well?”

“You know I have.” His voice is quiet yet harsh.

Why is he upset? What have I said? We discussed this commandment plenty in the garden, but out here — where we must face it directly — he refuses to speak about it.

I stare after Adam as he walks away. I want to tell him to not walk away from me — from this — but then I look toward the garden and the lushness lying within that is no longer a part of our lives. Has the sacrifice been too great for him? Does he regret our choice but can’t tell me?

I start to walk after him but change my mind. I won’t push him to speak of what he doesn’t care to — at least not right now. Lucifer’s presence has exhausted me. I sit on the ground, pulling my leopard coat tightly about me, and lean against the cold stones of the altar.

How long must we be in this probation and remain cut off from Elohim? How does he expect us to survive this wilderness without his guidance?

I look to the heavens as if the answers lie above. The sky has changed from blue to purple, bringing with it the cold.

Loneliness settles into my heart. I have been separated from Elohim, and now my husband has walked away from me. He refuses to speak of multiplying and replenishing the earth. Why is he so repelled by the idea? Why is he so angry with me?

My throat tightens. Is this what Elohim meant by living our days in sorrow? Will every day be like this? Battling against Lucifer, struggling to provide food, wondering how to communicate with my husband.

I lower my head to my bent knees. Will my prayers even be heard if I decide to utter them? “What do you want from me, O Elohim?” I whisper. No one whispers back.

And [Adam] said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.

Genesis 3:10

He is swimming in the wide, slow river. The water is just the right amount of cool as his arms slice through the water. Eve watches him from the shore, laughing. Although he can’t hear her laughter, he can see her expression as he comes up for air.

Then she’s swimming next to him, her arms matching his pace stroke for stroke. Her long hair flows behind her, skimming the water’s surface. They are back in the garden: they are surrounded by warmth, abundant fruit, and fish that don’t have to die.

Adam can see the fish swimming below him. It looks as if there aren’t any spaces between the individual fish as they swim together, side by side. Their silver bodies cut through the water in endless motion. They will forever swim.

He looks over at Eve as they both come up for air. He’s pleased to be back in the garden, pleased to have eternity back with his wife at his side.

Back down in the water, he catches another glimpse of the fish. As he watches them, their silver bodies turn dark. Adam stares at the changing fish, missing his time to take another breath at the surface of the river. His body aches to breathe, but he can’t take his eyes from the fish. Their flesh darkens beyond black until it falls from their bones. The fish are nothing but bones now, moving through the water below him, still swimming with no scales or fins.

Adam lifts his head to gulp air, but the air is too thick to inhale. He chokes and tries to inhale again, fighting to stay above the water.

“Eve,” he tries to call out, but his voice sounds only in his mind. He gasps for air, but it won’t come ...

Adam opened his eyes and realized they were burning — no, stinging. It was dark, yet the air was strange, as if there were gray clouds touching the ground. His throat hurt when he tried to breathe, and he realized he was smelling ... Fire ... smoke.

And the sound — it was like a low animal growl but unlike anything he’d ever heard. There was popping and hissing. A Fire burned somewhere close, and it was large.

“Eve,” Adam said, reaching frantically for her. He touched the ground — where she should have been — only she wasn’t next to him.

Taking a stuttered breath, he moved to his hands and knees, throwing off the animal skin he’d become entangled in. “Eve.” He gasped, both to inhale some air and because of the pain that seared his chest as the smoky air made its way into his body. He groped along the ground. “Please, Elohim, let me find her.” He could only hope she’d made it away from this oppressive smoke.

Then his hand touched something soft and smooth: Eve’s arm. He crawled closer and felt her body. She wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. There was no time to wait. Adam pulled her to a sitting position, but her body just slumped. He gathered her in his arms and stood.

The smoke was thicker, and he could see nothing with the burning in his eyes. He turned to the right, hoping he was headed toward the river. Then he half ran, half staggered, Eve’s limp body in his arms.

“What have you done?” he asked her silent figure. They hadn’t spoken a word before going to sleep that night. Adam knew Eve was upset, but he was battling enough with his own feelings and was trying to sort them out for her to understand ... and not be upset over.

He didn’t even know when she built the Fire. It must have been after he’d fallen asleep. Did she make it large on purpose? She was usually very careful and kept it contained. But now ...

Adam felt the change in the ground as it sloped and grew muddy. He was close to the river.

Once his feet splashed in the cold water, he slowed his pace. The river tugged at the bear coat he wore, slowing him down even more. Cold numbness pierced his feet, but he kept pushing through the river, knowing that Eve was getting wet. She still didn’t wake, not even with the water touching her.

He stumbled when he reached the other side of the river, nearly dropping Eve, but managed to gain his balance. The smoke was lighter on this side, but he kept walking and climbing, his legs aching with cold and his arms trembling with the effort to carry Eve. A faint wind blew in his face, dissipating the smoke even more, and for that, he was grateful.

When Eve started coughing, relief filled him. He set her down and supported her in a sitting position as she continued to cough. When she could speak, she said, “Why is there all this smoke?”

The smoke clouded just enough of the moon so that Adam couldn’t see her full expression. “Did you create a Fire last night?”

“No,” she said before coughing again. When she could take a breath, she said, “I was tired ... and fell asleep shortly after you did.”
“Then how did the Fire start?” he said. Even as he asked the question, he knew there could be only one answer.

Eve sagged against him. “What have I done? Why did I let Lucifer teach me anything — even if I thought it would help you?”

“The Fire is not your fault.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Elohim made it clear that Lucifer would exercise power over us.” Adam pulled her into his lap and held her close. The air was cleaner closer to the ground. “But we must remember we have the power to resist him as well.”

She nodded her head, burrowing closer against him.

After a moment, Adam said, “Come on. We must escape the smoke. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” She took the hand he offered and climbed to her feet. She coughed a few more times but was able to walk farther north.

When they got to a point where the moon could be seen clearly, Adam finally stopped. They were at the base of a small hill, surrounded by scrubby bushes. “We’ll rest here until morning or until the smoke dissipates.”

He cleared a section of ground, making it free of rocks, and pulled Eve to sit next to him. He leaned back, and Eve lay against his chest. It would be a cold experience bathing in the river in the morning to get rid of all the smoke and dirt, but at least they were safe now.

Eve shuddered in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet voice.

“For what?”

“For not talking to you about ... what Elohim commanded.”

Eve lifted her head. “I just want to know why ...” She moved away from him and straightened, as if she’d changed her mind about asking her question.

“Why what? Tell me.”

“Why haven’t you kissed me again?” she asked, her voice quiet and apprehensive.

He let out a breath. He’d wanted to kiss her many times, over and over, but he was unsure of what he must do. Confusion muddled his thoughts, and he didn’t want to hurt Eve. Elohim had made it clear that her sorrow would be multiplied when she conceived children. She’d already endured enough pain in this wilderness.

“I know Elohim’s commandments,” he began. “But that doesn’t mean we need to hasten into this ... if you’re not ready.” She continued to stare ahead, not looking at him. “This will affect you more than me. You’ve already experienced pain with the changes in your body. Bearing a child will multiply that.”

Her head turned slightly, and he thought he saw a glimmer of moisture on her cheek.

He continued when she didn’t say anything. “How am I supposed to watch you endure more sorrow and pain? How am I supposed to protect you when I can’t stop your pain?”

Now she looked at him. “I know there will be pain, and I
know
there will be sorrow. I still want to bear your children, Adam. That is why I made the choice in the garden.” She touched his face, and he had to hold his breath so that he didn’t drag her into his arms. “We can blame Lucifer all we want for us being expelled from the garden, but the choice was ours. I want to start the human race upon this earth with you. The pain and sorrow is part of the price, but being with you will make it worth it.”