Eve: A Novel (2 page)

At the far end he could see the refrigeration fan now silent and unmoving, a thin layer of ice already forming on the blades. A quick survey almost satisfied him that there was no place left that could hide a missing girl.

But an anomaly caught his eye. At the end of the wall near the cooling unit was a welded metallic frame jutting out about a foot and a half. He cautiously made his way back and examined it closely. Under the bottom were hinges, and when he ran his fingers along the top, he found two large clamps. John knew that if he undid them, the entire thing would open down and out. A sleeping area, like a bunk or tabletop perhaps? Maybe for a guard?

He hesitated. Then he blew on his hands and unsnapped the clasps, which released with a hollow
clack
. As he lowered the metal wall, the frosted steel bit into his palms and fingers through the thin gloves. It was heavy and he had to use a shoulder to let it down until chains at either end unraveled their lengths. It stopped a couple feet from the floor, level and sturdy. That is where he found her.

The teenaged girl was broken inside this space. Someone had forced it shut and she had not fit. She could have been peacefully asleep, her limbs at odd angles, her head folded down on her chest, were it not for the cuts and gashes that began to ooze with the release of pressure. One foot was almost severed. As she lay there frozen, he stood staring, stuck in time.

John turned and walked out, too sickened to avoid the blood this time. He needed to fetch those trained to deal with such things.

“I found another girl!” he yelled, setting off a flurry of activity that rushed past him and into the container. Outside, he unlaced the boots and took them off, walked back to the tent where he had marked the cabinet, sat down, and leaned against it.

“God, how is it that You still love us?” he whispered. He paused and glanced in the direction of the container. “Please, grant to her Your peace,” he prayed.

Another explosion of activity and shouting brought him to his feet. A Hauler friend burst into the tent and hugged him.

“John! That girl you found! She is still alive! Barely, but alive!” The man beamed and hugged him a second time. “You’re a Finder now, John!” the Hauler yelled as he left. “Who would have imagined?”

John dropped his head into his hands, feeling numb. If this was Eve’s child, it was a sorrowful and wrenching birth, in blood and water. What good could come of such evil?

E
verything exploded inside her. Everything hurt!

Why? Memory failed her.

Images jumbled and tumbled. Flashes of light pierced, penetrated. Harsh sounds—discordant, brash, horrifying!—stirred her panic. Her breathing came quick and loud, roaring in her ears.

Another flash burst into agonizing light, blurred movement, music . . . strings? Black woman morphing into brown-skinned man into red bow tie. Disconnected nonsense. She had to wake up. Tried. Couldn’t.

Her head howled like a hurricane at sea . . . sneaker waves drove her down, held her under. A gasp . . . a rush of water . . . she couldn’t breathe . . .

When darkness closed in, she welcomed it like a friend.

She woke to another face leaning over hers. A blurry image. A voice? Where was she?
Who
was she? Her eyes clamped down but couldn’t block the images. Her lungs ached. The air was heavy.
Liquid. This time the shadows had an edge. They moved inward, swallowing her like a black sack. A shrinking glimmer of white light faded to a dot, then disappeared.

She screamed.
What is happening to me?
No sound came.

Memories or dreams or hallucinations, mixed and mumbling, twisted themselves into carnival-house terrors behind her eyes. She shrank back, tried to hide, to disappear. But where could she go? Her shouts morphed into sobs.

On her forehead—a warm cloth. A comfort. And a pungent scent she couldn’t place. It reached inside, spreading down her throat, into her belly, her limbs, her extremities. Relief was irresistible. Sounds were muffled. Stillness settled.

She slept again.

•  •  •

W
HEN NEXT SHE WOKE
it was to a conversation in the hazy hush of night.

“John.” The female voice was sharp and high-pitched. “This young woman is an anomaly. The Healers are trying to deduce her origins, but her genetic code is giving them fits. None of us has ever seen anything like it! It’s preposterous!”

A man responded, his voice calm and kind. “It seems that God’s playground is the impossible and preposterous.”

The girl ordered her eyelids to open. They refused. A weight held them down, exhausting her.
Why can’t I move?

“They’ll need additional time to unravel this mystery,” the woman said.

“It seems we’ll have plenty of time. Her recovery will not be swift.” John sighed. “I
understand little, Letty, but one thing I know: this girl has become
my
anomaly.”

Letty laughed. “Listen to you, all protective and tenderhearted.”

She made another effort.
Wake up! Wake up!
Pain claimed the space around her. Her body seemed to tilt. She tensed against the sensation of falling.

“Sometimes I surprise myself.” John chuckled. “Why me, do you think? Why has Eve invited my participation?”

“Perhaps because you were a Witness?”

“And what has that got to do with this girl?”

The woman Letty replied by humming a happy melody. The feeling of imbalance abruptly stopped. Her body seemed to right itself. The voices faded out. She floated in a pool of peace.

Daughter.
A new voice reached her ears from a distance.
Daughter.

The fragrance of spice and flowers filled the air. A featherlight touch brushed the back of her hand. Warm. Soft. Stabilizing.

My child.

What child?
This time when the girl willed her eyes to open, they did.

A black-skinned woman stood next to her bed. She was young and old, regal and common, tender and strong. Leaning down, she gently kissed the girl’s forehead and smiled.

The girl summoned a whisper.
Who are you
? It seemed that only hushed sounds were appropriate, but then she wondered, had she only thought her question?

I am your mother. You are the witness. Come and see!
the lady whispered without moving her lips. The woman’s long fingers
closed around her wrists and lifted her as if she weighed nothing and was not restrained.

My mother?
The word
mother
stirred bitter emotions. Confusion set in. She didn’t want to go anywhere.

Come, my daughter. Come witness the Creation—the perfection that will heal your broken body and shattered soul!

The girl tugged against the gentle grip, tried to pry away the fingers, but they would not yield. A kiss of air against her cheeks gave her the sensation of shooting upward—and she was now clinging to that hand. The sight of what lay below stole away her breath: the body she had just vacated. Her wrecked, mangled, bandaged body. It was restrained beneath a mass of straps, tubes, and a network of wires, machinery purring in the shadows.

She froze, and for an instant all was still. She held her breath, feeling sick.

How many times can I die?
she thought.

No—not death,
the mother said.
Life. Come watch. I promise, you won’t be disappointed.

And then the hand released her. Abandoned her.

She shut her eyes tight to lock out the rising panic. Instead of falling, she floated, weightless. A foreign warmth rushed over her, an oily thickness that simultaneously overwhelmed and embraced. But then it slipped into her mouth. The realization she was ingesting this slick sludge swept her to the brink of terror. Again, fluid filled her lungs as she gasped.

But when she didn’t suffocate, she relaxed by degrees.

Breathable liquid? Impossible! Insane!

Eyes wide open, seeing nothing, she allowed herself to drift.
She resisted the urge to find an anchor, a mooring to time or place, a tether to memory. She almost felt free.

An underlying peace emerged, a sense that she would not be left alone. Someone knew she was here, if only the ebony-skinned woman who had said she was her mother. Come see, she had said. Watch. But this universe was void, vacant, and formless.

Now she resented the invitation. The bait and switch, the abandonment, was uncomfortably familiar.

She floated for perhaps a nanosecond, or maybe a million years. There was no way to perceive the difference. There was nothing to watch, nothing to see.

Then a detonation. Her whole body flinched. Her neck craned toward the burst of light. It was instant and continuous, overwhelming energy and information spreading outward, rushing toward her, overtaking. It was color. It was song. It was joy and fire, and blood and water. It was voice—singular and many, rising and thrusting, uniting with the void.

Chaos and matter collided, setting off sparks of playfulness and power, creating energy, space, and time. On the periphery, graceful spirit beings applauded the display, their elation bursting from their palms like dazzling water droplets, glimmering beads of perspiration, shimmering jewels. The effect was an overwhelming cacophony as harmony wrapped itself around a central melody.

She felt larger than a galaxy and smaller than a particle. All around her, joyous rapture tore the substance of things apart, then put it back together. A tidal surge of voices rose, engulfing her in an assembly of scents. Sweet incense became a ballad of yearning, a choreographed dance of being and belonging. Around and
through it all rippled not One, not Two, but Three Voices—and yet only One. A magnificent laugh of raucous affection.

The Great Dance,
a voice affirmed.

The mother’s?
she wondered.

This is the grand Beginning.

The girl spun in the liquid, searching for the voice. Straining to find the woman, she hesitantly called, “Mother?”

•  •  •

“A
H, FINALLY AWAKE
, I see, at least for longer than a few seconds. Welcome to the land of the living and the Refuge.”

This voice was familiar.
John’s
, she supposed. It was firm and altogether ordinary, but compared to what she had just witnessed, this “normal” was a little disappointing.

Great!
she thought.
I died again and this is hell and there is a man in it.

She tried to move her head toward him. She heard him yell, “Don’t!”

Too late. Intense pain gripped her neck like a vise. Fog started from the edges of her vision and congregated in the center until she gave in. The last thing she heard as darkening grays descended was that ordinary voice, now exasperated, saying, “And there she goes again . . .”

•  •  •

A
BRUSH OF SOMETHING
gentle swept across her face. A whisper.

What you saw was the crafting of creation’s womb. What you heard was the very first conception. Now we await the coming of the child.

In
a twinkling her eyes reopened, and she saw the cosmos still unfolding, alive with joyful abandon, ceaseless commotion.

You mean . . . this is the beginning of the world?

The very first story.
This voice was disembodied, around her and within her, everywhere and nowhere.

The girl watched, conflicted.
The big bang?

A deep belly laugh was the only reply. The sound became a golden rope that joined visible harmonies and melodies, which formed threads of a tapestry woven with precious stones and fire, entwined with faith and hope and love.

The womb of creation was growing and expanding, flexing. It was potent and wild and unfettered, yet orderly and precise.

The girl was enthralled and uncomfortable. Expectant and cynical. Attracted and repelled. She knew this story, and she didn’t.

Did she?

It was beautiful and terrifying. In all the magnificent display a tiny blue sphere emerged, spinning fragilely and exposed.

Here is the place where the pregnancy will soon be fulfilled in water, blood, and dust! Here, the child will soon be born. And you will witness it, my daughter. You are the Witness to the Ages of Beginnings.

The words fell hard on her ears. Grating, religious words. They opened a wound in her.

No.

It is for you, my daughter. A gift for you and for every man and woman born under this nascent light.

“No,” she spoke aloud. The word went out into the beauty like a poisoned dart. “I’m no witness. And I don’t want to be.”

The universe blinked out.

•  •  •

A
DIFFERENT MELODY, A
simple humming and clicking in the
background, snapped her back to her bed. The contrast between these puny noises and the staggering harmonies of Creation’s music was beyond disappointing. It was as if an awe-inspiring, roaring waterfall quickly tapered off, becoming an annoying drip into a stagnant pool.

She also felt relieved.

Someone was droning a tune she didn’t recognize, a lilting wordless chant. The girl aspirated a weak cough, and the melody abruptly stopped. Sounds of steps approached.

“Going to try again, are we?” It was the same male voice as before. John. This time she could see his face, its details blurred and indistinct, as if she were looking through water from a great depth. A brown-skinned male with a short beard and bushy eyebrows, threads of gray patterned throughout receding hairline. His movements brought on nausea, so she closed her eyes.

Elsewhere in the room, the humming resumed.

He gently wiped the tears that collected beneath a wrapping or bandage that covered most of her face. She flinched at his touch and tried to object. She couldn’t move her jaw. It was restrained by some sort of cage that left a distinct metallic taste in her mouth. She struggled to swallow. Again she rode the edge of claustrophobic panic.