Dead & Godless (14 page)

The Price of Paradise

“Corwin, you’ve
got to hold on!”

Like
words spoken underwater, Mary’s voice was muddled and remote.

“We’re
losing him!” reported another, even farther away.

Their
shouts were receding, a steady roar rising on the black wind. It was all around
him now, buffeting him, prying at his eyelids. Corwin squinted.

The
view was the same in all directions as he hurtled through the murky haze of the
cloud sea. It might have been seconds or minutes, but finally the veil parted
and he plunged into open sky. He wasn’t alone for long. Some yards away, his
attorney burst through the clouds, streaking earthward like a bullet with a
flapping tie. Ransom donned a pair of goggles, his arms pressed to his sides in
a headfirst dive.

“You’ll
see better with these!” yelled the angel.

He
flung his spare eyewear as if sliding a drink down an invisible bar. They spun across
the air between them and into Corwin’s flailing grasp.

“I’d
rather have a parachute!”

He twirled
and flipped, wrestling to get the strap around his head, and then opened his
eyes.

“Whoa!”

If
the world above the clouds had in small ways imitated nature, this world in
every way magnified it. A broad valley unfurled, sparkling with azure lakes and
rimmed with snow-capped mountains. Wildflowers of a hundred shades colored the
fields and lush forests sprang from the foothills and riversides. There was a
vitality in the air, an energy that bristled with new life. Breathing it in,
Corwin felt like a boy again. He wanted to run through the meadows and roll
down the hills.

But
first there was the matter of landing.

“If
you’ve got wings, now would be a good time to use them!”

“No
need,” called Ransom. “Just put your feet down!”

Easier
said than done.

Tossed
about at the mercy of the turbulent wind, Corwin tried to remember what he had
seen of skydivers on television. Compared to them, his clumsy movements weren’t
much to look at, but he managed at last to gain some degree of control. Off to
his right, Ransom tucked into a roll and spun out with his feet facing
downward.

“Now
you’re just showing off!”

As
Corwin angled his legs, his furious descent began gradually to slow until he
was floating to the ground like a balloon sapped of helium. Together with
Ransom, he gingerly touched down on the slope of the vale.

Breathless,
Corwin drank in the world around him. The pristine land was a painting come to
life, only it was more real than any painting or photograph. Earthly vistas paled
in contrast. The green blades of swaying grass were greener, the crisp, white
snow on the mountaintops was whiter, and the deep blue of the cloud-dappled sky
was bluer. To gaze upon the land was to
feel
it. The soft flex of the
grass underfoot and the silky caress of the flowers in the fields, even the
brisk tingle of the snow—he knew its touch, its scent. Every cell in his body
sang in scintillating harmony with this place.

Gently
rolling hills stretched long and low across the valley. In the flatlands were
shallow pools, no more than knee-deep. Ringed in wildflowers, their crystal
clear waters mirrored the sky. The valley dipped to their right, cradling a
vast lake, and before its shores stood the largest, most magnificent tree that
Corwin had ever beheld.

He
wondered at how he hadn’t noticed it until now. The enormous tree dominated the
landscape. Strong roots carpeted in evergreen moss burrowed into the earth,
anchoring a trunk as wide as the base of a mountain. Even the oldest redwoods
would have seemed but toothpicks beside it. It towered into the heavens, rising
higher than the tallest frosty peaks before spreading its branches in a great
canopy that shaded a swath of the land. Clouds enveloped its emerald leaves,
the treetop lost to view.

Craning
his neck to admire the gargantuan tree, Corwin discovered in awe that it had a
twin. Beyond the mountains stood a second tree, no less impressive than the
first, though the distance made its height easier to apprehend.

“Your
world is broken, but it was not always so,” spoke Ransom as he pulled off his
goggles. “Once long ago, the land was pure and young, untainted by man’s
folly.”

“Is
this,
was
this Earth?” asked Corwin.

“You
stand in Eden.”

“Eden? As in the garden with the talking snake?”

Corwin
couldn’t hide his scathing sarcasm, nor did he try to.

“Much
of Genesis is wrapped in symbolism, but the Fall is no children’s story,” said
Ransom. “There is truth to be found in the creation account.”

“Maybe
in the sense of moral generalities. But historical truth? Surely you can see
why no one takes the Genesis story seriously. Every early civilization has its
creation myth. The Hebrews were no different.”

With
a “just you wait” smile in his steel gray eyes, Ransom turned and set off down
the slope. For once, he didn’t reach for his flask or his tin cigarette case,
and somehow Corwin knew that he wouldn’t. Not here. To spoil the purity of this
place in the slightest was unthinkable, and compared with the raw, invigorating
air, even the artfully balanced spices of the finest cigars would taste like
ash on one’s lips.

“The
message of Genesis is less about how the universe as you know it was created,
and more about how life was meant to be, and what went wrong,” explained
Ransom. “One would think that an all-powerful Father would prepare a safer
place for his children, rather than one where their lives might be stolen by
the quaking of the earth or the thundering of the skies.”

“Or wild
animals with a taste for human flesh,” added Corwin, startled by the abrupt
stirring of what he had taken for a golden-brown outcropping of rock.

The
lion, as still as stone a moment ago, raised its proud head, and it was easy to
see why this beast had been crowned king of the jungle. Fearsome and dignified,
it faced them with a glimmer of wisdom in the amber pearls of its eyes. Ransom
halted as it padded towards him. The lines of its muscles were visible through
its regal coat, telling of speed and might that the king could call upon if he
deigned.

Corwin
hovered cautiously behind the angel’s back.

“Your
god devised quite the death trap for his
beloved
spawn.”

The
lion brushed up against Ransom and he combed his fingers through its thick,
golden mane. Tentatively, Corwin reached out. A low growl and a flash of fangs
answered, and he hastily snapped his hand back.

“It
makes you wonder.” Ransom soothed the lion with a pat. “How could a perfect and
benevolent God create such an imperfect world?”

“It’s
a logical contradiction,” asserted Corwin. “If god designed the universe, then
he also designed scorpions and venomous spiders and rattlesnakes that kill
children who wander through the wrong patch of grass.”

“He
doesn’t sound very benevolent, does he? Unless there was a time when your
universe was different, a time before sin.”

“You’re
essentially admitting that without the creation story, Christianity doesn’t add
up. I would hardly call that a point in its favor.”

Purring
like a pampered house cat, the lion arched its back and then slipped free. It
gave its wild mane a shake as the two travelers delved lower into the vale.

“There
are few sentiments stronger in your age than the longing to, as you humans say,
‘get back to nature.’ Perhaps you’ve felt the same?”

“Living
in a concrete jungle can do that to a man,” said Corwin. “Parking lots don’t exactly
make for scenic vistas.”

“And
yet, if you actually did get back to nature, something tells me that you would
tire quickly of life without electricity and indoor plumbing, and then there’s
the toil of hunting and growing your own food, and let’s not forget the lack of
antibiotics . . .”

“I
get the picture. So what are you trying to say?”

“Only
that once again man’s spirit stands at odds with reality. You yearn to reunite
with nature, but nature has thorns. What man truly desires is an idyllic
natural world, a Garden of Eden, so to speak.” Ransom’s gaze panned across the
snowy mountaintops. “It’s almost as though some part of you still remembers
this place and longs to return.”

Corwin
was far from convinced of that, but he couldn’t deny that there was a certain
feeling about this land, an exultant sense that
this
was where he
belonged. All of Earth seemed a birdcage by comparison. Here at last he was free,
and every point on the compass promised a new adventure. Were it not for the
angel by his side, Corwin might have dashed off to uncover the secrets of a
mountain trail, or maybe just lay sprawled in the serene meadow’s inviting
grass. Either choice was equally sublime.

“If
this is Eden, it’s certainly a sight to behold, but I must admit that I was
expecting something a little less . . . literal. The Forbidden Fruit, serpents
and shame; you don’t have to be Freud to see the sexual symbolism in Genesis.”

“You humans
turn everything into sexual symbolism,” snorted Ransom. “You can scarcely look
at the sky without seeing phalluses in the clouds! No, the Fall is not some Freudian
allegory. The fruit is real fruit. And the serpent, well, you’ll meet him soon
enough.”

“But
doesn’t that make it all the more absurd? Why create a tree which bears such
marvelous fruit and plant it right smack in the middle of Eden, only to forbid
Adam from taking a bite? Christians like to pin temptation on the devil, but it’s
pretty clear who taught him everything he knows.”

“Remind
me, besides avoiding the Forbidden Fruit, what other commandments was Adam
given in this place?”

Like
any studious atheist, Corwin was well-versed on the Book of Genesis.

“To
be fruitful and multiply, to fill the earth and subdue it, to have dominion
over the animals, to cultivate and care for the land . . .”

“All
very practical things, things that he might have done anyway. But not so for
the fruit. By all appearances, the Forbidden Fruit was pleasant to eat. It would
even grant knowledge to him who ate it. To obey the Father’s will therefore meant
a sheer act of trust, a heroic obedience.”

“And
the Father prefers heroes to pragmatists.”

“Now
you’re catching on! But there is more to the story than most of your
theologians know. Adam’s fault was not merely that he succumbed to temptation.
Heroes are supposed to be courageous.”

Farther
below, near the gnarled fingers of the tree’s outlying roots, a pair of figures
came into view atop the crest of a low hill. Even at a distance, Corwin was
struck by their elegance. These were no grunting Neanderthals. Both the man and
the woman carried themselves with a natural nobility that no degree of
nakedness could impugn. The very idea of robing their perfectly sculpted forms
in clothing seemed terribly childish, like playing dress-up by slinging a royal
cape over the shoulders of the lion they had earlier encountered.

“Ah,
there are your ancestors now!” Ransom declared.

“If
you don’t mind, I’ll just assume that they got here after a million years of
evolution,” said Corwin.

The
man’s hair was long and brown and the woman’s golden locks were longer still.
They walked hand-in-hand under the cool shade of the tree.

“Shall
we get a closer look?” proposed Ransom.

Trekking
across the valley, Corwin felt no fatigue in his legs. Whatever it was about
the air here, he knew that to breathe it in was to never tire.

“Of
all the things to forbid, why knowledge? What kind of father seeks to keep his
children ignorant?”

“Do
you really think that prior to eating the fruit, Adam had no conception of good
and evil? How then would he have known whether it was right or wrong to obey
the Lord’s command in the first place?”

The
question flipped a light switch in Corwin’s head.

“Wow!
Your creation myth is even more flawed than I thought!”

“Ever
heard the phrase: ‘To know in the biblical sense’?”

Corwin
had heard it said, though usually in the context of a crude joke.

Ransom
continued, “What Adam lacked was
firsthand
knowledge of evil. Experience.
That’s what the Father wished to keep him from.”

Adam
and Eve were yet a hundred yards away when they crossed beneath the leafy canopy.
Suddenly the branches above creaked and shook. From the shadowy boughs of the
tree, a menacing form took shape. The serpent.

Corwin
felt his knees go weak.

The
ancient dragon descended, its lithe and powerful body curling around the trunk.
A glistening coat of obsidian scales armored its sides, and long, sharp talons
gouged the tree bark. Its teeth alone were several times the height of a man.
Black wings unfurled as the serpent inclined its head towards the two
insignificant humans.