Eve: In the Beginning (6 page)

It seems Adam is thinking as I am. He straightens, his eyes trained toward the southern wall. “I have never seen such a snake. It must have come from the wilderness.”

I shiver and glance around, as if expecting whoever brought the snake to reappear. The wind picks up, and Adam crouches to wipe his hands on the brown grass. Then he stands up and grabs my hand. He pulls me to my feet, and I burrow my head against his chest. I cling to him as the first mist drops fall.

“What should we do?” I say. I don’t like looking at the broken snake, but it’s difficult to not look.

“We’ll take it to the river and release it into the water, where the current will carry it outside the garden,” he says, “back to the wilderness.”

“It’s so large,” I say, wondering if we can carry it.

Adam releases me and slides his hands beneath the limp form and lifts it from the grass.

“Do you need help?” I ask, hoping he won’t. I have now touched a dead thing, and I don’t want to do it again.

“I’ll let you know if I do,” he says with a grimace. “Come on.”

As Adam carries the snake, its blood of life smears on Adam’s hands and arms, and I look away from the sight.

We walk toward the river that extends beyond the borders. The drizzle is growing denser, and a mist is forming. My heart is heavy as I think of the death of the snake. What killed it?

First, the brown grass, then the heavy fruit, and now this.

I see the tension in Adam’s shoulders as he walks a little ahead of me, cradling the snake as if it’s fragile. We head east until we reach the river. The sun starts to break through the clouds, and I think that things aren’t as bad as they seem. With the sun out, the garden looks beautiful again. But I can’t forget the rot that we’ve left behind.

We walk beneath the overhanging trees, and the sun is blocked again. It’s cool in the shade, and I remember Adam’s comment about the lion finding his own shade. The lightheartedness I felt when we spoke of the lion is no longer.

Adam and I kneel on the riverbank, and he stares at the dead snake in his hands for several moments, as if he can’t believe what he is holding.

I can’t believe it either.

I touch the scales as if to say good-bye to a creature I never knew. I don’t know what will happen to its body once we release it into the river.

Slowly, Adam lowers his arms and immerses the black body into the moving water. He releases the snake, and it hovers at the surface for a short moment, then sinks below the green-blue water.

Adam whispers some words that I don’t hear. Then he turns his hands over, looking at the blood stains on them. I want to reach out and rub it off, but I am repelled at the same time. After a moment of watching the spot where the snake disappeared, Adam plunges his hands in the water. When he pulls them out, there is no trace of blood on them.

But I won’t forget the blood. I have seen death now.

And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind.

Genesis 1:11

Adam couldn’t stop thinking about the snake and the fresh liquid on his hands. The snake had been long and heavy, its weight solid in his arms. He and Eve stood on the bank for a while, staring at the river together.

Finally, he knew it was time to go. They needed to get back to the borders ... to see what they could do for the trees.

Adam grimaced and wrapped Eve’s smaller hand in his. She was quiet now, but he knew her thoughts were moving rapidly as well.

“We must return to the laden trees,” he said. Eve only nodded. “Perhaps the birds and insects have returned since we removed the snake.”

They left the river and headed toward the south borders again. The mist had lightened, and by the time they emerged from the protective canopy of trees, the mist was barely noticeable. The sun pierced through the clouds, quickly drying the wet grass and leaves.

It didn’t take long for Eve to regain her voice. It sent a jolt of relief through him when she said, “Do you think that snake had a spirit?”

That question he could answer. “Yes. All animals have spirits.”

“But that snake could die — if it had blood.”

“Having blood doesn’t change the nature of our spirits — just the nature of our bodies.” Adam was already looking forward to the next seventh day, when he could ask Elohim about the snake.

It was easy enough to keep away from the tree of knowledge, but now finding the dead snake presented new worries. What if it had something to do with the shadow he saw beneath the tree of knowledge? And what was wrong with the southern trees? Until Adam could ask Elohim his questions, he’d have to stay with Eve every moment to protect her.

Eve interrupted his thoughts. “Where does the spirit of the snake go? Is it still in the garden?”

“It will return to Heaven.”

“To be with Elohim?” Eve asked.

Inwardly, he groaned. He knew what was coming next.

“So if
we
died, our spirits would dwell in Heaven?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so.” He dulled his answer, not wanting to grow Eve’s interest in the tree of knowledge.

“Then, although our bodies might die, our spirits can still live forever?” she said.

Adam stopped walking. They’d reached the field where he’d found the snake. He met his wife’s gaze. “If we died, then this life would be over — forever. We’d no longer have our bodies — the ones that Elohim so carefully created.”

Eve folded her arms and shivered. “I know, but I’m confused over what happened to the snake.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “So am I,” he whispered against her hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening for the return of the birds and insects. But there was nothing.

When Eve pulled away, she turned her face upward. “Let’s pick some fruit to help relieve the trees of their heavy burden. Then maybe the birds will return.”

They spent most of the afternoon picking fruit from the trees and placing it into small piles along the edge of the field. Adam never let Eve out of his sight. If something could harm a large snake, something could harm her. His wife was strong but not strong enough to have lifted the snake if she’d been by herself. She helped him tend the herbs, but she wasn’t able to work as much as he was. She needed to be protected. She needed him.

As the sun descended in the western sky, Adam crossed to Eve. She had rearranged the piles of fruit so that they were laid out in neat rows. “Let’s return to our dwelling. We can come back tomorrow and finish harvesting.”

Eve straightened and looked toward the setting sun as if trying to make a decision. “All right.”

Adam was grateful she didn’t offer any argument. He hurried as much as Eve had the strength for, and as they traveled back to their dwelling, he kept one eye on the sinking sun. The night had never bothered him, even if the moon was only a sliver of light, but every shadow they passed now made Adam wary in a way he hadn’t been before.

As soon as they reached the dwelling, Adam said, “Wait here. I want to enter the alcove first.” The sun had set now, the sky only a purple remnant. There was just enough light to see to the back of the alcove where Eve had draped mats of leaves.

Nothing looked out of place. The bed of soft leaves didn’t appear to have been disturbed. Regardless, Adam ran his hand along the entire area, feeling for anything that might be different. He walked to the back of the alcove and pushed against the mats until he felt the solid stone wall behind them.

“It looks undisturbed,” he said, stepping out of the alcove. But she wasn’t where he’d left her. “Eve?” he called out.

“Over here,” her voice came back.

Adam released his breath that he’d been holding. She was leaning against a boulder that he often sat on. He tried not to reveal how nervous he’d just been, but he couldn’t help but walk over to her. “Come inside.”

She slipped her hand in his and followed him into the alcove.

They lay down, and he pulled her into his arms, not willing to let go even when he fell asleep. Eve nestled against him with a sigh. Adam looked forward to the next day’s light more than ever now. Perhaps then they could find answers about the snake. But in the dark, he wanted nothing more than to have his wife safe, close to him.

A bird’s call woke Adam. First he noticed that the dark had barely lightened, that it must still be very early. During the night, Eve had moved away from him, but she was sleeping peacefully ... and that was all he cared about.

He sat up, then saw that Eve had something draped over her — something that at first looked like a mat of some sort. But it was an unfamiliar mat. Heart pounding, he reached over to touch it. It wasn’t made of grasses or leaves but of something smooth and supple.

Adam had never seen it before and doubted that Eve could have procured it without him knowing about it. He looked around the alcove, his body tense as he searched for anything else amiss. Then he gazed at the alcove entrance. All seemed quiet without.

He leaned over his wife and sniffed the covering. Its smell was sharp, and he drew back, trying to decide what it smelled of.
Where did it come from?

Then he noticed there were little pieces poking up from the mat — like grass, but finer. He recoiled when he realized it was animal fur. The mat covering Eve was not made of grass or leaves but of an animal — a dead animal.

He lifted it off her, the touch of death making his stomach wrench. Carrying it out of the alcove, he draped it on the boulder. He wanted to throw it into the trees and never look at it again, but it had once been a live animal, and as much as he didn’t want to touch it, or smell it, he couldn’t completely discard it.

Adam perched on the boulder, above the skin covering. How had Eve come to have the covering? As he waited for his wife to awaken, he watched the sun rise and the sky’s colors change from violet to azure, but his gaze kept moving to the animal skin. What did she know about it? How had it come to be in their alcove?

He thought about the questions Eve had about multiplying and replenishing the earth. He didn’t have a satisfactory answer, but he hoped that Elohim would provide them with one on his next visit. Eve was right, he realized, that the commandments seemed to contradict each other. Their bodies would continue in an eternal state, with no issuance of blood or death, if they stayed away from the tree of knowledge. But their bodies also wouldn’t be able to multiply if there was no issue of blood.

When there was sufficient light, he checked out the dwelling, not straying too far from the alcove should Eve awake and wonder where he was. He wanted to question her first thing. He walked to the pond where he and Eve refreshed themselves in the mornings. The fish swam around, flashing their silver backs as they arced toward the water’s surface.

The birds were just beginning their chatter as Adam plucked a couple of pieces of fruit from a nearby tree. The birds had amply pecked much of the fruit in this area. He hurried back to the alcove, not wanting to be away too long. Checking inside, he found Eve still asleep. He settled beside her and ate one of the fruits while he watched her sleep.

His throat tightened as he remembered coming across the dead snake. Where had the snake come from? Were there other animals in the garden that could die? He shook his head, knowing that Elohim had created all things in the same state as he and Eve. What did the appearance of the snake mean? Where had it died? And who had killed it?

Adam let out a frustrated sigh before he could stop himself. The sound caused Eve to stir. She blinked at him, a slight smile on her face. “What are you doing?”

Of course the first thing she said in the morning had to be a question. He reached over to smooth her tangled hair from her face. “Come with me. I have to show you something.” Eve followed him outside, where he pointed to the skin covering. “Where did you get this?”

Eve crossed to the pale-colored mat. She bent over it, then gasped. “It smells. And it ... looks like ...” She turned and stared at him.

“It was draped over you this morning,” Adam said. “Where is it from?”