by Brian Godawa
“The Meidan River,” added Havah.
Adam continued, “But it was all like volcanic ash compared to the presence of Yahweh Elohim.” He paused. “His immediate presence is what I miss the most.” Adam’s eyes welled up with tears. An absolute silence fell on the group, breathing stilled.
Methuselah had never heard that name before: Yahweh Elohim. He assumed it was an affectionate nickname that only Adam had with Elohim. It was the nature of names in their world. A name was more than mere object reference. A name would often carry the essence of a person. Like Adam, which meant “red earth,” or Havah, which meant “life source.”
Enoch did not know what Yahweh meant. He had heard no one else use the name, so he decided to avoid presumption and leave the topic for another day. He knew he had much to learn of Yahweh Elohim.
Adam finished with melancholy longing, “We would walk together sometimes in the cool of the day.”
Everyone listened closely. They had never known such presence. Nobody did, except that primordial couple. Death and alienation from Elohim had permeated the entire human race as a consequence of their disobedience. This was why Elohim seemed so distant and unapproachable.
The one thing no one dared discuss was the one thing everyone wondered about: the trees. That is, the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and the Tree of Life. To mention them would send Adam and Havah into a tailspin of depression and regret that they might never escape. Uriel had warned the travelers about this. He had told them about the couple’s act of eating from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil that resulted in their exile. He told them that had Adam and Havah eaten from the Tree of Life in that state of sin, there would be no end to the tragedy of eternal evil generated by such a horror. No burden of responsibility could be greater to bear than that. Enoch felt he should trust the angel this time and avoid the topic altogether.
Yet he could not get it out of his mind. He had heard rumors about the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil when he was a young child. It was only a distant memory of forgotten family folklore, replaced by the myth with which he was indoctrinated as an apkallu of Shinar: the legend of Adapa. He called up that tale now to examine it in his mind. The story went that Adapa had been a sage of Eridu, city of the god Enki. He had been taken into heaven and offered the bread and water of immortality by Anu. But he turned them down because his patron deity, Enki, had advised him against it, claiming they were the bread and water of death. So Adapa missed out on the opportunity of immortality. He was clothed with new garments and returned to Eridu to die.
There were so many similarities between the stories: the names of Adapa and Adam, the loss of eternal life, the rejection of a command and the trickster temptation. Yet there were such significant differences: the Shinar pantheon versus the sole Yahweh Elohim; failure to eat rather than eating; no trees, no wife. It was almost as if the Adapa story was an inversion of the Garden of Eden, a replacement narrative intended to displace loyalty from the original story onto a new paradigm.
Enoch studied Adam’s face. Yet, here he sat before the original eyewitness of it all, telling him a different report than that of the gods. This was the problem of being a scribe and a sage. Sometimes, education and learning became a flood that darkens the mind with confusion and obfuscation rather than a sun that enlightens it with truth. Enoch hoped one day Elohim would clear that up for him, since he was now his servant.
Enoch had also wondered what it would be like to live forever. Was it transformation of the body? Was it perpetual regeneration? And what was it like to be in communion with Elohim so perfectly as to not need the dreams and visions that Enoch had become dependent upon for his own sense of real presence of the deity?
Methuselah’s mind wandered into the details of what Uriel had told them about the Garden. He thought, If Adam was made from the clay of the earth, and Havah was made from his rib, did they have belly buttons? Then his mind drifted further to the image of Edna’s belly button, a precious valley on the soft rolling hills of her virginal abdomen.
“Methuselah, are you listening?” Enoch’s words brought Methuselah out of his tailspin of desire. It continued to creep up on him at the most inopportune moments.
“What?” said Methuselah.
“I just told Father Adam about my vision from Elohim.”
“Right,” said Methuselah. “You are to be a prophet of judgment.”
“Yes,” said Enoch. “But you did not hear the rest of my interpretation. I said that it seemed to me that if I were to pronounce judgment upon the giants, I had better be able to defend myself for long enough to finish my prophecies. I want to become a giant killer.”
“A WHAT?” exclaimed Methuselah. Finally, he listened.
“A giant killer,” repeated Enoch. “Nephilim are considered outlaws now, so by the law of the land, we have every right to hunt them down and bring them to justice. I would not merely be pronouncing judgment, I would be bringing judgment down upon their heads.”
“You have been a man of peace all your life, father,” protested Methuselah. “It does not suit you.” Methuselah found the image of his father as a fighter difficult to embrace.
Enoch explained, “When we were in the midst of the Gigantomachy, I knew that everything that I had believed in was a lie. I understood for the first time in my life that the only way that evil was allowed to spread its talons over the earth was for righteous men to do nothing. We will no longer do nothing. We will fight this evil.”
“In case you had not noticed,” said Methuselah, “Nephilim are very hard to kill.”
Adam spoke up. “You are right. Nephilim are half-angel, half-human. What makes them difficult to kill is that they inhabit two realms, and therefore have the strengths of both in a way that neither has of the other.”
“Archangels do pretty well against Nephilim. We saw it ourselves,” said Enoch.
“Yes, but not without great effort,” Adam countered. “And if the Nephilim were to fight in great numbers, they could overwhelm even archangels.”
“But we would not fight them in numbers,” Enoch insisted. “We would single them out and destroy their filthy corrupted bodies of flesh one by one.”
Methuselah said, “You may not have that luxury, father, since they often travel in packs. Still, they are not of this world. They have occultic fighting skills that we know nothing about.”
Adam interrupted their spat. “There is a secret order who have developed special skills to kill Nephilim.”
“Who?” asked Enoch.
“They are called the Karabu,” said Adam.
“How can we find these Karabu?” asked Enoch.
“You do not have to,” said Adam. “They have found you.”
Methuselah and Enoch looked at each other.
“Sahandria is the home of the Karabu. They are those who aid the Cherubim in guarding the perimeter of Eden.”
It all became clear to them. Adam’s community was on the perimeter of the Garden, because they housed the guardians of Eden. Enoch was disappointed that he did not figure it out sooner.
“When can we start training?” asked Enoch.
Adam said, “It will take years to perfect the technique.”
“Years?” asked Methuselah.
“More like decades,” said Adam.
Enoch resolved, “Then decades we will take to become Karabu warriors.”
The thought turned Methuselah’s stomach. “There is one thing I need to do before I enter this training, or I will not last to the end.”
To everyone’s pleasant surprise, he turned to Adam and said, “Father Adam, will you marry me to Edna bar Azrial?”
Chapter 17
Troglodytes knew how to throw a party. They gathered in a series of halls attached to each other that were even larger than the marketplace cavern Enoch had seen when they first arrived. Apparently, most of the city had come to the wedding celebration. There were thousands of them. They filled the carved out chambers with echo
es of chatter and laughter.
These were not the simple people Enoch had thought them to be. Their structure and decorations were simple and sparse, their cave drawings almost childlike, but they were socially integrated and communally connected like no other people he had ever seen. They carried a spiritual quality about them that Enoch could relate to, something he knew his clan could not understand. He had a strange connection to them. He understood why Adam had chosen to live with the cave dwellers. His original bias against them had proven false. It had been based on false legends he should not have listened to.
This was the time to feast and celebrate the marriage of his son. He saw Methuselah and Edna dancing out on the floor. Adam had officiated the ceremony with his ever-present Havah by his side. It made Enoch cry like a baby. He had been concerned about this insignificant little temple virgin, but had come to realize that she too had overcome his expectations. He was beginning to think that for a wisdom sage, he was not proving very wise of late.
In the midst of the music, Enoch glanced at Adam and Havah at the table. They smiled and pretended to enjoy the festivities. But even now, they could not escape the pall of sadness that haunted them.
Suddenly, the floor cleared, and everyone moved to the tables to watch the entertainment. Methuselah and Edna sat down at the head table with Enoch and the others. Adam leaned toward Enoch and said, “You have been wondering what the Karabu can do? Sit back and get ready. You are about to find out.”
The Karabu took their places on the floor. There were ten of them. They were dressed as warriors with armaments of animals. Lion heads and manes, vulture winged robes, and heavenly weapons Enoch had never seen before. Strange blades, shields, and javelins.
They engaged in battle exercises that seemed more like a dance of acrobatics than about brute strength or power. They ebbed and flowed like a river of water, their movements fluid, not forceful. They moved through the air as if they were fish floating in water. Flipping, twisting, they attacked and defended with such precision and poise as to transform the act of fighting into a ballet of grace.
Adam could not see the dance, but he could feel it. He knew it well. He said to Enoch, “They were trained by the archangel Gabriel. The original giant killer.”
Enoch caught himself with his mouth open again and quickly shut it. He now knew that Elohim had provided for his calling.
Methuselah was entranced by the javelins and how they glided like birds in the air and spun in the hands of the heavenly skilled Karabu. He thought to himself that this was the weapon for him.
Edna wanted to dance like the wind as these fighters did. She found it a haunting vision of terrifying beauty.
Adam touched Enoch’s arm and said softly, “What do you say we go up top and get some fresh air?”
It surprised Enoch. So far as he knew, this stooped-over old man had not been out of the caves since he arrived here ages before.
“Anything you ask, forefather,” said Enoch.
“Walk me, then,” said Adam.
Havah moved to help as she had always done, but Adam gestured to her to stay. He would be all right. Just the men.
As they walked up to the surface through the winding tunnels, Enoch asked Adam about the name he had uttered earlier, Yahweh Elohim.
Adam apologized, “It slips out too often. It is the covenant name of Elohim. It is reserved for only the most sacred of relationships. It expresses his essence as the foundation of existence itself. The divine council of heavenly host uses it.” He paused for a moment. “We used it in the Garden, but now with the Edenic exile…” his voice cracked for a moment. “It is a name that should remain secret until latter days. For what purpose, I do not know. Perhaps it has to do with the seed of the Woman.”
They stepped out in the evening breeze under the stars. Adam stopped and took a deep breath. “Ah,” he proclaimed, “I do believe I miss this sweet taste in my lungs.”
Enoch helped him carefully so Adam would not stumble on the rough ground at their feet. Adam turned his face to the sky, unable to see anything. Yet he knew every star’s location.
“He brings forth the Mazzaroth in his season,” mused Adam as if remembering Yahweh Elohim’s own words. Enoch smiled and looked upon the host of heaven.
“Elohim’s story for us,” Adam added, still thinking.
His blind eyes found the right place in the night sky. “Can you see the constellation of the Virgin? The second decans, right about there,” he pointed. “Comah, the desire of nations.”
Enoch could see it. One of the benefits of being an apkallu was their learning of the stars.
“It is my favorite constellation,” added Enoch. “Virgin and child. It tells me there is hope. Hope for purity, for a new beginning. For a new ‘Adam.’”
Adam welled up with emotion.
“Father Adam,” said Enoch, “I know this is probably not the time to ask you, but…” He hesitated.
“But what?” queried Adam. “Speak.”
“Is it true, the legend about Cain the cursed one?”
Adam hesitated in uncomfortable silence. He wished Enoch had not spoken after all. It was another sore wound for him in a life of many self-inflicted wounds.
He sighed. “Cain is a scourge upon my existence. He has made it his one purpose in life to foil the plans of Yahweh Elohim because of his punishment for murdering his brother.” Adam kept using the covenant name of Yahweh because he was in private and knew Enoch was a chosen vessel of Elohim.
“But how can he deny his guilt?” asked Enoch.
Adam shook his head. “The mind of man is never so cunning as when it is involved in the art of self-justification. I know, I am guilty as well.”
Enoch steadied Adam as they stepped over some volcanic rubble on their walk.
“At first, Cain accepted his exile in the land of Nod. His family line left him when he began to show signs of lunacy. He had discovered that Yahweh planned a new righteous lineage through Seth to replace his own cursed line. Many of the names of the sons of Seth were even similar to Cain’s line, which reinforced the substitution. To be forgotten, erased from the tablets of history was a fate worse than his infamy. Punishment still affirms the value of the guilty party because it shows they had the nobility to do otherwise. But annihilation means they have no value, and they could not do otherwise. Like a clay pot created merely to be destroyed.”
Adam took a long breath. “Cain learned of Yahweh’s curse of enmity between the children of the Woman and the children of the Serpent. And he learned of the Promise of the Seed that would crush the Serpent’s head even as it bit the Woman’s heel. Cain realized that the only revenge he could inflict upon Yahweh would be the destruction of the lineage of that promised Seed. So he set out to destroy Seth’s bloodline. Unfortunately for him, it had already grown and splintered into many lines of descent, leaving Cain with an impossible goal.
“He seeks the chosen line of the Seed of Havah, and when he finds it, he will destroy it.”
Enoch remained silent. He could not imagine the weight of sorrow that burdened this great man.
He changed the subject. “Father Adam, it is getting cold. Let us return to the wedding party.”
“Let me return to my bed to get some much needed sleep,” said Adam in reply. “My talk with you has made me tired.”
Enoch knew he had been a help to the old man. There was something very freeing that came with confession of the heart. It had the effect of relaxing the soul from what it could not carry.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” added Adam. He stopped and reached into his shoulder sack and pulled out a couple of animal skins. He handed them to Enoch.
“I want you to have these. They are the original skins that Yahweh Elohim clothed Havah and me with after our fall.”
Enoch looked at them with reverence.
Adam finished, “They were a covering for our sins. May they be a covering for you.”
Enoch embraced his forefather with all his heart.<
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• • • • •
Methuselah waited for what seemed like an eternity on the large wedding bed they received as a gift from Adam and Havah. He had only one thing on his mind: Edna. She was preparing herself in the wash area.
He had waited too long for this moment and it had finally come. He thought back on the years he spent pouring his soul into this precious jewel, with nary a thought that she would one day pour back into him. It was the perfect dream. They had been best friends, soul-mates, and now they would be lovers. They would finally become one.
Where is she? he thought.
“Edna, are you sleeping in there?” he teased.
Suddenly, she pounced on him from behind.
It took him by surprise. They rolled on the bed laughing and playfully wrestling, as they always used to in their sport room.
Then he saw her gown, soft and translucent over her supple form. Play turned to passion. Finally, they were released for love, and they melted together as one.
Chapter 18
Many years passed.
Enoch and his tribe sojourned with the cave dwelling Adamites, raised their families, and learned the way of the Karabu. The Watcher gods of Mount Hermon consolidated their reign over the land of Mesopotamia. They built large temples to their names and continued to pursue the outlaw giants. They offered bounty on Nephilim packs and rogues who roamed the desert badlands and mountainous hideouts of the earth.
Rumors grew and persisted that the gods were experimenting with occultic sorceries, creating unspeakable abominations and monstrosities. For what purpose, no one could tell. Whispers of conspiracy filled the cities. But in the rural areas of desert, forest, and mountain, life was less complicated. For those who did not serve the gods of the pantheon, life was not as bountiful. Survival was a foremost priority.
Survival was not in the stars for the snow tribe of Barakil the elder. They numbered about a hundred members, living and hunting in the snow-capped mountains of Aratta near the Greater Zab river basin.