Eve (57 page)

I wanted to help Mama when she had her baby, but she kept
screaming at me to get away. I watched Aya pour a little puddle of oil into her hands and rub Mama’s belly with it. She cooed to her, “Think of the Garden, Mother. It’ll be over soon.” When I started crying, Aya shooed me outside. I went to where Father and Abel were sitting around the fire and said, “The baby won’t come out.”

Abel stood up. “It might be feetfirst.” He left to go help Aya.

Father stared at the fire and chewed the insides of his cheek. He could barely sit upright, he was hurting that badly from his cuts. He muttered under his breath, “If only they hadn’t come, if only they hadn’t come.”
Who,
I wanted to ask.
Who? Me?

In the distance, Cain still cried out to the sky and pulled at his hair. I could see his dark shadow alongside Abel’s glowing fire.

I thought very hard then. I did not have all of the five things I was collecting for the baby, because Turtle had died, the butterfly had shriveled up, and the pomegranate was rotten. I had dropped the rattle I showed Cain in the city, and I didn’t think Father would let me go back and get it.

The only thing left that I had to offer was the agate.
If Aya likes rocks,
I thought,
then the baby might too.

Mama screamed again, and Father put his head in his hands. He said, “A little piece of my heart breaks off when Mama does that.”

“I know,” I said. I walked over to him. “I will kiss it, like Aya does her foods.” Then I leaned down and kissed his heart, so he would get better.

Father’s eyes were leaking, his nose too.

I wiped all his tears away and said that I loved him and that Mama would be all right. I told Father that when Abel’s offering lit, I saw a star shoot across the sky. That meant that something important would happen. “That’s what Zenobia says,” I said.

“Hmmm,” he said, putting his hand on my head and pressing down on it.

Father pulled me into his lap. He grimaced. “You have grown up. What do you make of all this, Dara? Why did Elohim send fire down on Abel’s offerings but not on Cain’s?”

I was glad he was asking me this. “Maybe the star was supposed to be for Cain’s fire, but it went the wrong way.” I stroked his beard. I liked how it moved when he talked.

“Maybe,” said Father. He looked at me then, and I could see the firelight behind me in his eyes.
Isn’t that strange,
I thought,
that there are two fires, one behind me and one in Father’s eyes?
“Do you believe in Elohim?” Father asked me in a serious voice.

“There are many gods up in the sky,” I said. I thought hard. “Maybe thirty-two.”

“There are not that many!” exclaimed Father.

“Yes,” I told him. “I think there are many.”

Father looked down like Goat did when she was sad. “Do you
really
not believe in Elohim? Because there is only one Elohim, and I have met Him.”

“I know,” I said. “What did He look like?”

Father smiled, just a little. He said, “He was beyond description. He could take any form, although I have to be honest with you, we never saw Him in any other form than something that looked like us, except bigger, more glorious.”

“Like Inanna?” I said. “Like her statue?”

“Inanna does not exist,” said Father. He leaned his head to one side. “Even though the city people made quite a spectacle yesterday.”

Oops.
I covered my mouth with my hand. “Who told you?” I whispered. “I didn’t say anything. Please don’t tell.”

Father looked at me, pushed me away from him, put his hands on my shoulders. “What are you saying? That you knew too?”

I nodded. “I gave Balili the idea.”

“For the sound?” said Father.

I nodded again. Father was impressed, I thought. He cleared his throat. “Then why do you believe in so many gods? You know of their trickery, and still you believe?”

“Zenobia says that if we don’t give Inanna gifts, she will create a disaster.”

Mother screamed again, and I thought that maybe Inanna was punishing us.

“But,” said Father, “if she exists, why do they have to make sounds for her?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have to think about that.”

“Elohim sent the fire,” said Father.

I whispered, “What if it was Inanna?”

“Inanna wouldn’t answer a prayer to Elohim, now, would she? That would only further convince us that Elohim exists,” said Father.

Why doesn’t Elohim come out of hiding so we can see Him? Then we would know who is the right one to worship.

Naava felt strangely saddened to leave her family. Part of her
wanted to say, “Good riddance.” Another wanted to say, “I’m sorry” The events of the last two days and nights had flown by like a band of locusts, and she was still trying to make sense of it all. Her thoughts would not rest; they bit at her like fleas. She was relieved to be leaving the bickering and the unhappiness, but she was frightened by the black unknown that awaited her.

When she had returned to the house, her family’s treatment of her had not changed.

No bowing, of course. Not even the slightest deference or acknowledgment of her new status.

No
Naava, dear, please sit, and let us get you some sweets and wine.

No
What should we call you now, dear Naava, now that you have become—what have you become? Princess? Queen?

No.

Instead, Naava’s family had all but ignored her, so determined were they to offer up Cain’s and Abel’s sacrifices to Elohim. Right after they had
heard
Inanna, Queen of Heaven, whisper from the temple, right after they had
heard
the priestess speak the holy words. Could they not see that the city people—more prolific than Naava’s parents and siblings would ever
be—had come upon a satisfactory solution to keeping the gods and goddesses happy? Did they not want to be a part of it?

When something is working, why alter it?
Naava wanted nothing to do with her brothers’ sacrifices to Elohim. She was the city peoples princess, and she would not betray them or the prince, who had seen her true beauty and celebrated it. No, she would be faithful and loyal to their practices and their religion. To Inanna,
her
queen.

Only when she had heard Cain shouting and screaming did she run to the site of the sacrifices. He was like a rabid dog, he was so far gone. Naava half-thought Adam would strike Cain down for his blasphemous words, but no, Adam stood and watched and said nothing.

Any lingering doubts about committing herself wholly to the prince vanished as she watched her brother rave. She would forget their kissing and lovemaking and sweet talks. Cain was too uncontrollable, had even struck her at times, just for disagreeing with him. Her future was with the prince, his city, and his gods.

Eve had cried out in the early-morning hours, in the midst of Cain’s weepings, that her water had broken and the baby was coming.

Except the baby held fast to Eve’s womb. It would not come.

Naava felt useless when it came to birthing babies. She did not relish the sight of blood or the cries that pierced the night, and she knew Aya would take the situation into her capable hands. And so she sat in the courtyard, knees pulled into her chest, rocking back and forth. She listened intently to the whispers and cries that came from Eve’s room, and she felt unmoored.

She had to go to the city. She was to be princess and live with the prince.

She had to stay at home. She shared a secret with Cain, one that, soon enough, would be obvious to all. Her mother needed her. Her family needed her.

Which was more important?

Immediately Naava felt her face grow hot and her conscience grow black. She saw two choices before her—the difference between them like that of night and day.

If she went to the city, she would be ensuring good relations with its people for all time. She would be giving her family access to their advances—the how-tos of metalworking, the import of stone and timber, even the commerce along the river. All these things would be at her family’s disposal, thanks to Naava.

But if she stayed here, she would only invite more trouble with Cain, who had seen her go into the temple with the prince. And with her mother. Her attempts to communicate with Eve always ended with exasperated cries or irritated retorts, and this confused Naava, for it was as though she was a moth inexplicably drawn to Eve’s light. A sudden thought struck her and astonished her.

She did not want anything bad to happen to Eve.

It was as this realization bloomed in her head that Adam approached her and pressed her shoulder gently with his hand. “Did the prince hurt you?” Grunting in pain, he tried to maneuver himself into a sitting position next to her.

Naava shook her head. “No,” she said. She bit her lip. “Father—” Adam looked at her with such tenderness that she faltered. “Never mind.”

“What is it, my child?” he said, taking her hand. “You can tell me.”

Naava waited. Her mouth felt dry and thick. “Father,” she began, and then it all came out in a rush. “I have married the prince, and he wants me to come live with him in the city as his wife. He is coming tomorrow morning …
this
morning … to offer you gifts, if you’ll have them.”

“You have married? But when?” The confusion in his eyes suddenly cleared, but rather than anger she saw only sadness. He shook his head. “Ah, yes, it was this ceremony that you were a part of. It is as Cain feared, then.”

Naava nodded again. “I should like to go with the prince.” She looked beseechingly at her father. “When he comes,” she added.

He released her hand and stood, with difficulty. “If this is what you wish, then you shall have it,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, Father,” she said. “There is one more thing.”

Adam waited. Eve’s screams rose again, interrupting the silence.

“The prince is expecting the wager payment from Cain,” said Naava. “Will you tell him?”

Adam stood there, hunched over in pain. Naava knew she was asking him to do the impossible. When finally he spoke, his voice seemed drained of all joy. “For every action, there is a consequence. I hope you know what you are playing at.”

Aya emerged from Eve’s room then. “Naava,” she said. She looked stunned to see Adam standing there. “You must lie down, Father, or you will not mend properly.”

Adam nodded and limped off to the fire again.

“Please,” Aya said, pulling on Naava’s arm. “Just hold her hand while I prepare something to soothe her. Talk to her. Wipe her forehead.” Naava could see the fear on her sister’s face as Aya explained that the baby was not moving and that she feared that both Eve and the baby … Well, it was best not to think of those things. Naava felt a sudden surge of anger, which must have been obvious because Aya spat out, “However much you hate Mother, please do this one last thing for the family.”

“I don’t hate her,” said Naava.

So she would have one more chance to redeem herself.

As Naava entered her mother’s room, Eve was panting and pleading for death. Naava went to her and stroked her arm. She watched Eve’s torment and told herself that disaster could not strike twice in a day, and since her family had already been thrown out of the city, she knew, in her heart, that Eve would be fine.