Eve (18 page)

“Nothing.” The ends of his mouth turned up slightly, like he was having a little fun at my expense.

“That’s strange,” I said. “For Elohim said you would surely die.” The cloying smell of the fruit was overwhelming now, like nothing I’d ever smelled before. It was as though it were wishing to be eaten, wishing to be held. I took one step forward.

“What did He say,
exactly?”
asked Lucifer, coming near to me, so that his breath was warm against my neck. Again, this was comforting
and
discomforting. He was too close, too stifling, too
something.
Still, to this day, I cannot say exactly what it was that made me feel that way. I was under siege.

I pondered this for a moment and said slowly, “He said not to touch or eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, for surely we would die.”

“But you desire it, no?”

“Oh, yes, very much,” I said. Up until that point I don’t think I would have described my feeling as such—
desire—
but suddenly I realized, with great surprise, that, yes, I did desire the fruit, for it was beautiful and alluring. And it smelled sweet and succulent.

“Oh, Eve—may I call you that?” His skin touched mine. It was warm and cool, rough and smooth, at the same time.

I took a step backward. “How do you know my name?”

Lucifer waved his hand, as if brushing away a pesky fly. “That’s not so important. Let’s sit here—no, here, in the shade of this… problematic tree—to talk. We should get acquainted, don’t you think?”

I nodded, a bit shyly. I had of course only experienced such a … physical interest—I think that’s what it was—with Adam.

The tree moaned at Lucifer’s weight up against it. It’s thorny trunk did not seem to bother Lucifer in the least.

I reached out before I could stop myself. “Oh,” I said. “I wouldn’t want something to happen to you.”

“Wouldn’t you?” said Lucifer, winking at me. “We’ve become fast friends, wouldn’t you say?”

I grew warm, and I’m sure I turned as red as a pomegranate. Adam teased me about this incessantly.

“Where is Adam?” he said.

I did not want to talk about Adam. “You seem to be very knowledgeable about us,” I said impatiently. “Let’s talk about you.”

“My favorite subject,” he said. He did not smile.

Instead, he looked at me with such intent interest that I felt my insides shift and fall down into my groin. I longed to be touched—even more than that, to be caressed. I felt the strange sensation of not wanting something and wanting something in the same instant.

“Do you like it here?” said Lucifer.

“Oh, yes, very much,” I said. “Elohim has thought of everything.”

Lucifer’s lips twitched slightly, and he seemed to be deep in thought. “Maybe not
everything
.” He leaned forward. “Think, Eve. Why has Elohim forbidden you to eat when He gave you the
desire
to eat?” His eyes were larger now, daring me to look elsewhere.

He was right. Adam and I had discussed this fact many times. “Why is this so important to you?” I said.

“What is the name again?” he said.

I didn’t understand.

“The tree?” he said.

“The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,” I said.

Lucifer stroked his chin. “Hmmm,” he said. “The Tree… of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. So …” He paused. “If you eat of it, you will
be wise, like Elohim, knowing good and evil. Is that not so?” He moved closer to me, always this movement forward, as though he would relish the very eating of me.

I shrugged. “I suppose.” This time I didn’t move. The titillating shivers that ran the length of my body felt dangerously wonderful, although I had no idea what they were caused by. Fear or wonder, I wanted to revel in them.

“It sounds like Elohim doesn’t want you to be like Him.” Here, Lucifer picked up one of the unbroken fruits, and it seemed, strangely enough, that his tongue flicked in and out, all around it, licking it, feeling it, teasing it, weighing it.

“But why not?” I said. “He made us to be His companions and friends. Why
wouldn’t
He want us to be like Him?” Then I remembered Elohim saying something else. “He said He made us both in His image.”

Lucifer muttered something under his breath, something along the lines of…
made us first…
He caressed the fruit’s skin.

“I didn’t hear you,” I said.

He shook his head, and his body swayed. “It’s not important. What’s important
now
is deciphering why Elohim wants to
withhold
something from you, especially if He gave you the desire for it.”

I looked at the tree, at its lavishness and broken fruit. “It
is
ravishing,” I said, moving toward the fallen fruit Lucifer held.

Lucifer offered it to me.

I leaned down to sniff it but did not take it from him. I stared at its reddish-brown upraised ridges. “I
would
like to be wise.” I looked up at Lucifer, who met my gaze unwaveringly. “But I would feel wrong in eating it. It would hurt Elohim’s feelings.” I stepped back again, to distance myself from any possible transgression.

Something like a shadow flew across Lucifer’s face. “Do you think Elohim thought of
your
feelings when He forbade you to eat?”

He had a point.

“I think it’s …
choices …
that Elohim is more concerned with. Elohim is forever talking about how a good choice is one that puts Him first.” I clasped my hands in front of me and concentrated, sinking down on my knees. I had to get this one thing right. I was confused.

“How would you know what a
good
choice is, given the fact that you have not yet eaten of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil?” said Lucifer. He dug his thumb into the fruit, and the juice dribbled down his hand.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Adam and I have wondered the same thing.”

With the fruit impaled on his thumb, Lucifer walked over to where I was kneeling in the earth. “Eve,” he said. He knelt down beside me. “Eve, you will not die. Your eyes will be opened, and you will become like Elohim,” he said. He laid his free hand on my shoulder.

“Stop!” I cried. Another thought had come to me. I had perceived something awry with Lucifer’s arguments.
Yes, why had I not thought of it before?
“Why not eat of the fruit yourself, if it is good and Elohim is wrong?”

Lucifer paused. He looked everywhere but at me. Then he smiled, a wide, unnerving grin. “Why, you are absolutely right.” He split the fruit open with his fingers, and without warning he smashed his lovely face into its flesh and came back up, mouth agape, teeth dirtied, juice and orange pulp dripping messily down his chin. He lolled his tongue and made his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Do I look dead to you?” he snarled. He laughed then, a raucous, chilling laugh that shocked me and made me breathless and anxious.

I clasped my head in my hands. “I know not what to do,” I whispered.

Lucifer bent over my bowed frame. “I think you do,” he said. Nearer, in my ear, “I
know
you do.” Then the air was cold about me, and when I looked up, he was gone. I stood and twirled. All about me, flowers were wilting, grasses were dying, birds were crying, and rabbits were screaming. It was as though the earth’s belly was heaving in revulsion. I felt I was going mad.

Adam said he saw the broken fruit first. “What have you done?” he cried, shaking me.

I had fallen asleep under the tree, and truth be told, Adam said later that it appeared as though I had eaten from the fruit and died.

Adam shook me again.

I woke to his terrified face, all teeth and gums. “Eve,” he cried. “What have you done?” He grabbed my face and yanked my mouth open.

I jerked away from his touch and lookly wildly about me. “Where is he?” I said. The sight of Adam was so … so ordinary, after Lucifer.

“Who?” said Adam. He held out his hand. “Spit.”

I opened my mouth wide and stuck my tongue out to show him its emptiness.

He pointed to the fruit. “What’s this?” He strained to look up into the trees center. “How did it get down here?”

I told him everything.

Except for the kissing part. I did not think he’d appreciate that, for some reason.

Adam sat back and stared at the brownish-red fruit. “Something does not seem quite right,” he said finally. “You said he was very knowledgeable?”

I nodded. “Maybe He and Elohim are friends, and Elohim has sent him to let us know He’s changed His mind.” I was doubtful of this. Lucifer seemed so unlike Elohim.

“What do we do?” he said.

“Taste it,” I said. “Lucifer ate of the tree, and nothing happened to him.”

“Where is he now?” said Adam.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I think I should like to be wise.”

“As would I,” said Adam. “But we do not dare go against Elohim.”

I frowned. “It’s strange that Elohim said nothing about him.”

“Do you think there are others?” said Adam.

I shrugged again.

Indeed, the appearance of this strange and wondrous being had me confused.
Why did he seem to know about Elohim’s injunction not to eat of the fruit? And why was he so eager to encourage a transgression?

Unless he knew more than we did.

Unless Elohim was hiding something.

Mama’s been sleeping all this time. She snores really loud, and Aya
brings her food but won’t let anyone else see her.

I tell Aya I won’t have any new things to wear when the women come to take me to the city and Aya sighs and blows her curly hair away from her eyes and says, “Tell Naava she has to help.” But when I go to Naava in her weaving room, Naava says, “Why should I? You’re just going to make a mess of things there; then the women will come back to Mother and ask for me. Just you wait.” Then Cain’s shadow is in the door, and Naava blushes and tells me to go away.

But Cain says, “That’s all right.”

“Here,” says Naava. She hands me a pile of plucked wool and says, “Pick out the burrs, won’t you? And don’t let your smelly turtle play in it.”

If I help Naava, she will be nicer to me, so I sit in the corner and watch her and Cain, with my lips
shut shut shut,
picking out the burrs.

Cain says, “What are you doing?” and Naava says, “Nothing of importance.” Then Cain says, “You’re really good at that,” and Naava says, “Thank you.”

I get tired of picking out burrs and twigs and leaves, so I say to Naava, “I want to help Aya now.” Naava doesn’t even look at me. Her eyes are on Cain, and he’s getting closer, and they’re making pretty eyes at each other.

All of a sudden I’m crying, and I don’t know why. Naava looks at me, all
disgusted, and says, “Crybaby. Go away. All you do is cry.” But that’s not true. I don’t. I’m just crying today. Because tomorrow I’m going away, and Aya says I can’t take Turtle, and Mama’s sick, and Jacan’s gone off with Abel, and I can’t find any more pretty things for the baby.

Naava stands up and grabs me by the shoulder and leads me to the doorway. “Aya,” she calls. “Take her, will you?”

Aya looks up. She’s got a squawking, thrashing duck in between her knees. She circles the duck’s neck with her hands, twists hard, just like that, and the duck goes limp. “Dara, come here, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you.” To Naava, she says, “I wish
you
were going to the city.”

I go to Aya, and Aya says she needs to tell me something because Mama won’t do it and Father won’t do it and Cain won’t do it and heaven knows, Naava won’t do it. And Abel’s gone all the time. She says, “Right after I finish here, all right?” I sit and watch her. Aya moves fast—flash flash flash—as gray feathers float down all around her ankles. She scoops out the duck’s bloody insides, then throws them into a pot that’s bubbling with broth and sheep fat, wipes her hands, and says, “Shall we?” She takes my hand, and we play the skipping game all the way to Mother’s garden, where we always play the cloud game that Father taught us. Aya knows it’s my favorite place in all the world. She says, “Now, let’s see, where shall we—”

“I know, I know!” I say. “Under the sky weed.” So we lie down and stare up at the purple and pink flowers that look like little round skies from below. Up above is the wide blue sky with clouds the shapes of rabbits and goats and ducks and mountains.