Eve: A Novel (13 page)

“Are there more of your kind?” Adam wondered.

“There are many of my
kind
outside Eden. Are there more of yours?”

There had been no accusation in the serpent’s question, but Lilly could feel it catch Adam by surprise. He appeared baffled and thoughtfully stared at the ground while the creature waited for his answer.

“No, there is no other of my kind,” Adam finally admitted, a hint of sadness in his voice. “But tonight I will speak to Adonai to extend an invitation to you.”

“If Eden is your domain, is it not your right to offer invitation without counsel? Why not clothe your childish weakness with your own authority? Perhaps this is a test of your maturing, to encourage you to act within your own right as son of God, since you
alone
are son of God?”

A frown crossed Adam’s face. He stood and walked toward the snake until only inches separated them.

“I am created and born of Adonai’s eternal being!” Adam sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “I live by the very Breath of God.”

“God is not alone.”

“
I am not alone!
” Adam shouted, but even as he did, Lilly knew
that the question had taken root in his mind. “I have never been alone. I trust in Adonai’s Love and Word. I am the son of Their delight.”

Lilly was transfixed but could also feel Eve’s agitation increasing, the grip on her arm tightening. Finally, the woman drew Lilly close and spoke directly into her ear.

“Now it is time. One of us needs to find Adonai, and tell Them this is happening.”

“But don’t They already know? Aren’t They already here?”

“Yes, but we are also here and our participation matters. Go to Adonai, Lilly.”

Something small had changed between them, like an unexpected note in a familiar song. “Don’t you trust me, here alone with Adam?” Lilly asked.

“I trust Adonai.” Lilly felt a stab of disappointment. She couldn’t argue with Eve’s response, but she felt as if she had been pushed away.

“I’m staying with Adam,” Lilly decided. Immediately, her injured arm began to throb but she ignored it.

Adam meanwhile had fallen silent, feeling for the first time a hint of a new emotion, loneliness. Lilly knew it well and shared his pain, her heart breaking as she watched him turn to walk away, his head downcast.

“Before you go,” the serpent called, “I have a gift.”

Adam turned. From the nearby undergrowth the serpent pulled
a sack of twisted vines and woven reeds and tossed it at the young man’s feet.

“What is this?” Adam withdrew an object and lifted it into the light.

“Pull it from its covering like a field creature from its hole. It is called a blade, and this one has a name: Machiara.”

Lilly recognized it and shrank back. It was the same knife that the Anointed Cherub had used to sever Adam’s cord and free him from the earth. As Adam drew it from its sheath, it flashed in the afternoon sun, causing him to squint and lose his grip. The blade sliced across his palm as it tumbled to the ground.

“What!” Adam yelped, watching the blood trickle down his hand. He glared at the snake. “What kind of gift is this? A gift to cause me pain?”

“A gift to bring you life. Machiara has been used but once.”

“For what?” asked Adam.

“To separate the son of God from creation’s hold.”

Adam faltered. “But
I
am the son of God.”

The serpent bowed its head toward Adam’s face. “You bled then as well. Your life is in your blood, young son of God.”

“In my blood? Then this blade might kill me.” Rubbing his hand into the clay caked on his body, Adam stopped the flow from his cut. “Or do you mean to say that living blood can destroy death? That this blade has the power of both life and death?”

“Only the son of God can say such things. You have dominion. You will determine its purpose.” Its tongue flicked out to touch the human’s cheek. “Unless you are unworthy.”

Lilly felt she was being swallowed inside Adam’s thoughts, utterly alone and desperate to prove her own worthiness. She wished Eve would return.

“Me?”

“Yes.” The snake moved away. “Once you were one with us, but Machiara separated you. Now it seems you are alone and in between, not God and not creation. Go eat of your Tree of Knowledge and return when you are worthy.”

Again the young man faltered. “I cannot.”

The serpent was silent. Adam returned the knife to its sheath and without another word, turned and walked toward Eden. Lilly also turned and watched him go.

“What are you and why are you here?” The snake was right behind her, and Lilly closed her eyes, too terrified to face it. The fire of its bite began to spread up her arm. The pounding in her head accelerated. But woven into the dread she felt was a subtle sweetness, an underlying haunting melody that called to her like the stirring of deep waters. Lilly was about to give herself to it when two familiar hands grasped hers. Startled, she looked up and into the eyes of Eve.

“Shhh. Lilly, listen. The snake cannot see you clearly but in some strange way knows you are here,” the woman stated quietly. “Come. Follow me!” And by the hand Eve led Lilly away from the serpent and back toward Eden.

When they were at a distance, the girl finally exhaled. “Is it gone?”

“Yes!”

Lilly stopped and pulled away. “Mother Eve, where were you? You left me with that thing. And where is Adonai?”

Eve looked puzzled. “
Lilly, we were present with you the entire time. Could you not see us?”

“No. I thought I was alone. I felt abandoned and completely on my own.” Lilly lowered her head again and began to cry. “I was so scared and felt terribly lonely. It was awful.”

“Lilly, you were not only feeling your own sorrows but Adam’s. Dear one, you are also his daughter.” Eve now sighed deeply and hugged the girl close. Her voice was hoarse with emotion. “Lilly, you felt the despair of Adam’s turning; he has made the choice to believe he is alone. You are indeed your father’s daughter.”

“What happens now?” Lilly wondered as she regained control, a sense of emptiness lingering in her words.

“Tonight you will witness the first Great Sadness.”

Eve was right. That evening there was none of the usual play or banter between Adam and God. Something had changed in the rhythm of their relationship, and Lilly could feel Adam withdrawing into turbulent thoughts. Although he and Adonai walked silently hand in hand as they moved into the dark, it seemed that Elohim was absent. Even when the breeze played with Adam’s hair, he now thought it probably was only wind. The questions that had capsized his soul had become suspicions, and these slid into the center of an unspoken conclusion: he was alone.

Adam said nothing to Adonai of his visit with the serpent, and Lilly knew why. Unspoken secrets burned inside them both. Yes, she was her father’s daughter.

“Would You love me . . . ,” Adam finally began after a long silence, “if there was darkness within me?”

“My love for you will never be conditioned by anything, not
darkness or whatever may be found in you,” replied Adonai, squeezing Adam’s hand. “I know the truth of who you are.”

“Would You turn away, if I would turn away?”

“No, my son. We will never leave you nor forsake you.”

It was a comfort to hear it, and enough for this day. No further words were spoken as Lilly witnessed Eternal Man hold His son and weep while Adam slept.

“It has begun,” said God, “the Sadness of the Turning,” and God agreed as They comforted Each the Other.

“This is the first Not Good,” lamented Adonai, “that Adam would choose to believe he is alone and live outside the only love that holds him day by day. We will fashion from him another power, another face-to-face, before his turning is complete.”

“In the morning when he wakes,” the Wind of God whispered, “we will begin the naming.”

A sense of hopelessness threatened to destroy the fabric of Lilly’s soul. “Are we forever lost?” she whispered to her mother.

From the night behind Eve, arms reached around them both. Lilly knew without turning that it was Adonai, and in His embrace her desolation retreated. He stood inside her darkness and pushed it back.

“Lilly, you are forever found,” He whispered. “Forever found.”

•  •  •

T
HE PALPABLE SENSE OF
being held continued, even as Lilly woke to her familiar room in the Refuge. By the light she knew it was predawn, but she’d lost track of days. John was fast asleep in a chair next to her bed, and she smiled to see his hand resting on
hers. For a time, she lay in the stillness, silent, letting the waves of emotions and their residue wash gently over her soul.

When she finally moved her hand, John woke. “Welcome back,” he rasped. “You do make my life exciting, Lilly. How do you feel?”

“Okay. Maybe a little warm.”

“You’ve been running a low-grade fever. We can’t seem to figure out why.” He stood and smoothed his rumpled shirt. “Lilly, do you remember what happened last night?”

“Yeah, I was bitten by a snake!”

John looked stunned. “A snake? Here? Where did it bite you?”

Lilly held up her right arm so he could see the two enflamed fang punctures. He looked closely, then raised the lights and looked again, then lowered her wrist to the bed.

“I believe you, but I don’t see anything.”

“What do you mean? It’s right here.” She pointed to the red spot that was growing larger. He touched the area and she flinched. When he glanced at her, his face was ashen.

“Not good!” he declared. “Letty told us the Refuge was breached, but we didn’t know by what and we certainly don’t know how.” He turned toward the door, then stopped. “I need to inform the others. You’re not safe here, and I won’t risk another attack. We need to move you to the Vault, today.”

“The Vault?”

“It is the safest place on this island. Where was the serpent when it bit you?”

Lilly pointed to the dresser. “The top drawer.”

“Was there anything else in there?”

“The
gifts the Scholars gave me. And my diary.”

“Your book is still there but the rest are gone.” He ran a hand over his beard. “This gets stranger and stranger.”

John’s uncharacteristic hesitancy was upsetting. Though still recumbent, Lilly felt increasingly faint. When he noticed her distress, he immediately shifted his expression from concerned to confident.

“Don’t worry.” He took her hand and squeezed. “The Scholars and I won’t let anything hurt you again. You’re too precious to us. Do you believe me?”

Did she? She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by doubt, the serpent whispering in her memory.
Perhaps you are unworthy.

She managed to nod once.

Almost as quickly as John left, the Nurses quietly entered, assisting Lilly with her morning rituals. They took care not to touch her wrist, though when she asked if they could see her injury, they too shook their heads.

Once again alone, she rolled her chair to the dresser and opened it slowly, prepared to slam it shut.

As John had said, the only thing visible was her journal, which Lilly removed and placed on top. She felt along the bottom of the drawer. The mirror was still there! It blended invisibly into the wood. Placing it on her lap, she rolled her chair with its back against her door. This would give her extra time should she need it.

Pulling it from its hood, she could feel the mirror pulse to the rhythm of her heartbeat.
Am I worthy of being loved? Or do I deserve to die?

Its surface was still a swirling gray. Hesitantly she placed her right thumb on the red stone.

“Ow!” She yanked her hand back. The mirror had pierced her thumb deep enough to draw blood, which the jewel now absorbed. As it did, the swirling surface changed, but her reflection was not what she had hoped.

It was partially the silhouette of a young woman’s face, her own. Its jagged edges resembled chipped porcelain. But most of her face was covered by a mask of putrid lace, drooping like a rotting bridal veil, too sheer to hide her grotesque ugliness. The girl staring back at her was decaying and disgusting, damaged beyond any possibility of repair. Her vague smile twisted in seductive innuendo, one eye full of fiery hate, the other screaming shame.

Repulsed, Lilly dropped the mirror onto her lap. The surface returned to cloudy gray as she retched. Could this be the truth of her being? Was she at the core an evil monster?

Again she picked it up and placed her thumb on the stone. Again it drew blood, but this time she didn’t care. She scrutinized the surface as it changed, but if anything it was even worse: a screaming accusation declaring she was worthless, nothing but damaged goods, irreparable and infected, a tease, a whore, a fake. Her mask had been removed to reveal the disease that was beneath. She felt horrified, utterly undone, and worst, exposed. Lilly screamed and screamed into her pillow until she again regained some semblance of control.

Jamming the mirror into its cover, she threw it back into the dresser, waiting until the sack disappeared before slamming it shut.

Lilly washed her face, then rolled her chair into the receiving room, grateful it was empty. For a moment she sat looking down through the window, the bright and cheerful world turned into mockery by the storms within. The urge to throw herself out was compelling. Would Adonai catch her if she fell? Would he even notice? The only reason anyone had ever showed care for her was because they needed something or she had completely fooled them. If they knew the truth . . .

But John had showed her how this window worked. It was covered not by glass but by flexible filaments, which like a balloon, resisted with increased pressure. It offered no way out. However, the Castle Patio had no such barriers and for a moment Lilly imagined throwing herself over its railing.

But John told her something else and with the simple touch of a button, she reversed the window to a full-length mirror. Lilly examined her reflection carefully. She had to look more intently, but this one also revealed the same truth as Simon’s gift. Her eyes were too far apart, her nose too wide, her skin too blemished, her frame too skinny, and on and on. She mentally cataloged each flaw. Here was evidence of what had already been revealed. She was worthy of nothing but self-loathing.