Eve: In the Beginning (29 page)

The fish’s luminous dead eyes seem to stare back at me, as if to ask me why I am here, shivering at the riverbank, while my husband is at the altar. If he didn’t spend so much time at the altar, he could have captured other beasts and procured their furs. We’d have something besides fish to eat, and we wouldn’t have to huddle over the Fire so much to garner bits of warmth.

The loss of the bear skin in the great Fire still hasn’t been made up for. The newfound intimacy with Adam has softened the cold nights, but when the cold and exhaustion set in, I desire only warmth and comfort.

Yet Adam refuses to leave the dwelling we’ve created on the southern side of the garden and search for a place with more ready resources. Instead, he spends day after day in supplication to the silent Elohim.

I have tried to listen, as Adam suggests, for whisperings from Elohim, but my stomach’s sounds are much too loud to hear any whispering.

I pierce the fish’s flesh and hold my breath as I remove the innards that we won’t use. My stomach tightens, hardening more than usual. I drop the fish as my stomach feels as though it’s turning inside out. I fall to my hands, my stomach violently clenching. The little food that I ate this morning comes up through my throat, and I spit it out.

I have never felt such revulsion and weakness in my stomach. I scoot away from the mess and take a deep, shuddering breath. A bitter taste is in my mouth, and I can’t look over at the fish again. Just the thought of finishing the preparation makes my stomach clench again.

After a few moments, the pain in my stomach subsides, and I stand, my legs shaky. I feel as if all my strength has left me. I walk toward the altar, which is on the other side of our dwelling. Adam has his head down, praying, or even sleeping. My step falters as my stomach roils again, and I decide I can only make it as far as our bed of leaves. Panting, I try to calm myself. I feel too weak to call out to Adam, and it’s some time before he notices that I’ve abandoned all tasks.

“Eve?” his voice floats above me somewhere. I feel his hands on my face, my neck, my arms. Then I feel a weight, a warmth, settling over my body, and I realize he’s placed his bear skin over me.

You’ll get cold
, I want to say, but the words are too weak to leave my mouth. I hear the snapping of a new Fire, then feel Adam’s hands on my forehead. They are trembling, and he’s calling my name.

I open my eyes. “I’m all right,” I whisper.

Adam’s expression is full of concern and fear. “You don’t look all right.”

I grimace. “My stomach is ill. I was overcome with revulsion when I was preparing the fish.” Before Adam can speak, I rush on. “It wasn’t the usual distaste but a violent rejection. My stomach turned out the food from this morning.”

Adam’s hand caresses the side of my cheek. I exhale. Each moment that passes, I feel a little better. Perhaps it’s due to the extra warmth as well as Adam’s attention.

“I’ll finish with the fish,” he says.

I nod but then say, “I don’t think I can eat any of it. My stomach won’t accept it.”

“You have to eat something.” The fear comes back into his eyes.

“My stomach hurts just thinking about it.”

Adam sits back and looks over at the Fire. “What if I heat the fish again? Or find another animal to try?”

I let out a sigh. If only there were berries or some sort of fruit, but we have scoured our surroundings more than once and picked all of the bushes clean. It seems that berries aren’t too plentiful in the winter season.

I sit, and Adam puts an arm around my shoulders. “I will ask Elohim to direct us.”

My face heats with indignation. “That’s all you’ve been doing since building the altar. We’ve neglected exploring our surroundings.” My voice drops at his expression. “I don’t mean to blame you.” But I can see that it’s too late to repair what I said.

Adam rises to his feet, his torso clothed only in the skin coat from the garden. I’m still wearing his bear coat. He walks around the Fire and grabs the sharpened branch he uses for spearing fish. He can’t possibly be going to catch more fish.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’ll try to be back before dark falls,” he says without looking at me.

I watch his back as he walks away. “Where are you going?” I ask, climbing to my feet. I take an unsteady breath. His step slows but without turning, he says, “Just rest.”

He continues to walk, but it seems to be with reluctance. I would run after him, but I know I can’t run without upsetting my stomach again. And I’d be no good to him in my condition. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but resting sounds like the best option right now.

Adam heads north, and I watch him until I can no longer see the outline of his shoulders. I feel sad and angry at the same time — sad that I was so sharp with him, angry that I had to be sharp with him to send him into action. Yet this wasn’t the way I’d intended for it to happen. I thought we could both go exploring, maybe plan to stay overnight somewhere.

But here I am, completely alone.

I move closer to the Fire and lean against the boulder. There is a long wait until dark, and I’m unsure how long it will take Adam to do whatever he is doing. Is he hunting for another animal? Is he looking for a new dwelling place?

I can’t believe he’s left me alone. Although we haven’t seen any sign of Lucifer for a couple of moon cycles, I still dream of him. Each time I awake, it’s as if he’s actually been talking to me. I wonder if he really is speaking to me through my dreams. Adam brushes it off, as if he’s confident that Elohim will speak to us and we won’t have to rely on Lucifer for anything. But I can see the tension along the muscles of Adam’s face when I tell him of my dreams.

My breath comes short as the quiet settles around me. What if Lucifer comes today? What if he’s been watching all along and just watched Adam leave me? What if he heard my words?

Adam
, I want to scream.
Come back!
But if I speak aloud, Lucifer will be sure to hear my cry, and he is the last person I want to hear me. I pull myself to my feet and kick dirt over the small Fire until it has no chance of spreading — not that we have much to lose in our current dwelling anyway.

I think of Adam searching for an animal as the cold increases with the setting sun while I sit here, by a Fire, with the leopard skin and the bear skin around me. All because I have a weakened stomach. I move to the river and drink a handful of water. It slides down my throat easily and doesn’t produce any sharp pains. Gazing over our dwelling and the altar in the background, I think there is nothing there that would entice Lucifer. He can have it if he wants it.

As for me, I’m going to find Adam.

The last point where I saw him doesn’t seem too far away, until I start walking.

Not eating a midday meal has left me weaker than I’d like. I haven’t been eating as much over the past few weeks, and my physique has grown thinner. I stop many times to rest, telling myself to turn back, but I can’t. I must continue on.

When I arrive at the place where Adam disappeared, I am standing on a ridge. The ground dips sharply into a valley, then eventually rises to meet the northern mountain range. To my surprise, there are thick clusters of trees, as well as bushes and all manner of tangled plants, all dried and brown. I think of the luxurious plants in the garden in stark contrast to the view that spreads before me now.

Will the brown plants renew themselves once the winter harshness has faded? At the top of the ridge, the wind is a fair contender and tugs at my coats and hair. I look for Adam’s familiar shape and hope that I can see him moving through the trees. But with the gray clouds blocking out the sun’s rays, all of the colors spread out before me seem to blend together.

Again, I want to call out to Adam, but I stay silent, searching and searching. I look behind me, gauging the distance I’ve come and making sure this is the place to where I watched Adam walk. Seeing it from this angle, I am no longer sure.

I spin in a slow circle, scanning the terrain. Where else would he have gone? Is he crouched in some foliage somewhere, spying on a beast, prepared to attack? I don’t want to startle him from a hunt, but I wonder where he is right now.

A rustle sounds behind me, and my first thought is Lucifer. I turn, my heart thudding, but there is no one there. My second thought — another snake. I scour the grass for any signs of movement but find none.

Relax
, I tell myself, but my breathing is fast, and my stomach is revolting again. I’ve walked too far without food, but I can’t let myself turn back now. I move forward, picking my way down the ridge until I find a rock to sit on. There is no protection from the wind on this hillside, and the wind cuts through my coats. I think of Adam being more exposed to the climate than I am. Is he regretting his actions now? Is he wishing he’d stayed with me until I felt better?

I slide down until I’m sitting on the cold ground, my back against the rock. Burrowing in the coats, I watch for any movement. I pull a green-brown leaf off a nearby bush and bite off a piece of it. The leaf is dry and tastes mostly like wood, but I chew and swallow, then eat another. My thirst compounds, but I want to watch for a while longer before venturing toward the river again.

Pulling my knees up, I wrap my arms around them. If I start back now, I’ll make it to our dwelling before the sun sets. Or I can wait here and hope that Adam will see me on his return. The moments drag on while I wait.

Adam lay flat on his stomach as the rustling grew louder behind him. He didn’t move, barely breathing, and he listened as the hoofbeats came closer. There were at least a dozen deer coming right toward him.

His body tensed as the first deer passed by him, close enough to touch. He let out his breath silently, inhaling again. He’d wait until all the deer but one had passed him. Then he’d capture the last one in the group.

Another set of hoofs passed near him, and he moved his head slightly to look for the next deer. The deer walked by him, more intent on what was up ahead than on what lurked on the ground.

When the final deer passed, Adam rose silently to his hands and knees. He reached for the sharp stick that he brought. The deer had stopped at a grouping of bushes, their mouths busy eating the berries.

His palms felt damp as he watched the animals feed. They were not aggressive as the snake or leopard had been. These deer were docile, reminding him of the ones in the garden.

Eve’s words came back to him. In his mind, he saw her curled up on the ground, cold and hungry and feeling weak. He didn’t know what was wrong with her, but worry consumed him. He’d thought if only he could pull Elohim back into their lives and find out the direction they were supposed to take, he and Eve would be safer, happier. But now he realized it was up to him.

Elohim wasn’t going to deliver slain animals at their feet. He wasn’t going to reverse the seasons or force the plants and trees to bloom out of order. This world was created in order, and it would remain in order.

One of the deer turned with a start, and the other deer shifted. They stopped eating and lifted their heads.

Had one of the deer seen him? One of the animals stepped back, sending a snapping sound into the air. In one fluid motion, all of the deer bolted through the bushes.

Adam scrambled to his feet and leapt toward them, his fingertips just brushing the last deer to clear the bush. By the time he made it through the bushes, the animals were out of sight. Adam looked around, his breath coming fast. There had to be another way to hunt deer. They were too alert and skittish.

He moved back to the other side of the bushes and discovered a good growth of berries. He ate a few of them quickly, then knotted more into the edge of the skin coat so that he could bring them back to Eve.

Most of the grove was already in shadow, and he knew he didn’t have much time if he wanted to get back to the dwelling before dark. Leaving Eve alone probably hadn’t been the best idea, but if eating fish was making her ill, he had to find something else.

Her sharp words echoed through his mind. He
had
been praying a lot, constantly, but he would do anything to prevent Lucifer from returning and coercing Eve into learning from him. Adam squatted and examined the disturbed earth where the deer had walked. He traced his fingers along the discernible indents left by the deer hoofs. He was learning to pick out the evidence of travel that animals left behind — their various prints, tufts of fur, or other remains.

The wind stirred the leaves littering the ground. It had been windier above the valley, but now its strength had reached him. He rose and continued in what he hoped was the right direction, moving through a grouping of trees as quietly as possible. When he reached a narrow stream, he paused. Surely the deer stopped here to drink.

He stayed within sight of the stream as he moved carefully through the trees. It wasn’t long before he was rewarded. First he saw the brown-red fur moving through the stark branches, heaving in and out as the deer bent to drink or to sniff the leaves and other bits of brush on the ground.