Eve

by William P. Young

  “Eve?” Lilly instinctively reached for the woman. Their fingers entwined, and Lilly was surprised by the unfamiliar sense that she could openly speak her mind without fear of being judged or punished.

  “Yes, my daughter.” Eve smiled gently and squeezed Lilly’s hand.

  “I don’t want to be a Witness, whatever that is.”

  “It is a privilege and an honor.”

  A knot of shame formed in Lilly’s throat. She didn’t know why.

  “It sounds like another way to be a failure. I’m not into religious stuff, you know.”

  A question furrowed Eve’s brow. “I know nothing of religious.”

  “I mean, I heard the story. I can’t remember when I learned it—when I was a kid, I think. God makes the world perfect, God makes man, God makes woman, woman ruins everything . . .” Lilly hesitated. “Well, I guess you’d know.”

  The gold flecks in Eve’s eyes shimmered. “Know what?”

  “Um, how everyone has been mad at women ever since. God seems pretty upset too, at least in my experience.”

  “And what experience is that?”

  Again, memory failed her. She looked at her fingers, still locked with Eve’s, and suddenly felt like crying for no apparent reason at all.

  “Don’t leave me, okay?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  “I am never far away.” The mischievous sparkle in Eve’s eyes became a glistening of tears. “You are my daughter, after all, so I am already in you, and you in me.”

  The assurance brought a glimmer of peace. Eve looked up and Lilly’s gaze followed. “Behold!” Eve said. “The appointed time is here. I will make you this promise: you will not regret being the Witness.”

  • • •

  “BACK TO THE MOMENT, are we?” She couldn’t see but Lilly knew it was John who spoke, and she felt a prickle of anger to be pulled from sleep.

  “I’ve been watching you dream.”

  Great. He’s a creep.

  He chuckled as if he had read her mind but was not offended in the least. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks. “When you dream, your eyes move back and forth under your eyelids, as if whatever you’re seeing is really there.”

  After a brief pause he added, “In truth, whatever you’re seeing might really be there. I’m no specialist on dreaming. Not my expertise. I should ask a Scholar. Anyway, you were deeply lost inside . . . whatever it was.”

  Lost, Lilly thought, was exactly how she felt. Caught between the pain and dull ordinariness of this place and the overwhelming transcendence of her lucid visions. She did not want to be a Witness; neither did she want to be away from Eve. Something in her shifted, and her brilliant dream slipped away like a fading sunset.

  Her eyebrows rose in question and he guessed. “Dreaming or Scholars? You want me to tell you about Scholars, yes or no?”

  Blinking was aggravating, so the girl focused on her mouth, which had been freed from its cage. What emerged barely resembled a grunt, but John took it for a yes. She meant it as neither.

  “I heard that! There you go! Congratulations! Well done.” John scooted his chair closer to her bedside.

  “Scholars,” he said, “are an erudite lot who study this or that and can talk about it in prodigious detail. Very smart and unendingly educated, Scholars! They can explain almost anything, even if it isn’t true.”

  He looked to see if that had made her smile. Detecting nothing, he went on, “Sadly, they spend most of their time speaking only to one another in languages that nobody but their kind can understand. I usually have to find a Translator or Interpreter if I want to engage scholarly profundity. It’s all quite tedious. But to be fair, they’re not difficult people. And to be very clear, many of my best friends are Scholars.”

  Catching his breath, he leaned in so she could see his face, and this time she tried to give him what she thought he wanted. It was a weak little wisp of a grin, the first she had achieved on purpose.

  To her surprise, his beaming response erased most of her annoyance.

  “Again well done,” he said encouragingly. “I saw it! A first fleeting smile is a hope of others to follow. Anyway, let me tell you something else about Scholars.” He glanced around as if there might be someone close who could overhear, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Scholars often visit the Refuge. In fact, the three foreigners who have come to see you no doubt will want to put you under a microscope. At some point we will have to indulge them. The trick I have found with Scholars is to give them wine, or something stronger if available. The more they drink, the easier they are to understand.”

  John chuckled. Lilly had to admit it was a bit funny. “Overall, they’re a lovable bunch, and I’ve learned a great, great deal from them. But I rarely admit such a thing in their presence.” He looked away thoughtfully. “It’s strenuous work, remaining obtuse.”

  Now John stood up and laughed. Because her choices were limited, she rasped a noise, again managing the semblance of a grin.

  “I saw that!” cheered the man. “And might I say, even the whisper of a smile makes you look as radiant as a princess!”

  While he probably meant to be encouraging, the remark ignited a reaction that threatened to overwhelm her. What he said or how he said it tripped her headlong into dread.

  It started with a slow rising panic, like a sea swell, and was heightened by her inability to move. She concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply. The adrenaline rush of fear gradually subsided. Carefully, she let go the inner grip and inhaled and exhaled through clenched teeth.

  As she lay staring upward at the ceiling, tears blurred her vision.

  Again the man gently and carefully wiped her eyes and cheeks. Though he meant to be kind, she couldn’t stand his touch. And she couldn’t pull away. A tremble overtook her body.

  “My dear girl.” He sighed. “I do wish you could remember your name.”

  It seemed these tears were her only language now, incoherent liquid words.

  “I’ll be back soon.” He gently patted her arm and left the room.

  She dismissed the glimmer of a wish that he might understand. Now she fought against a rising rage. Its grip began to slowly crush her chest. Grateful that he had gone, she closed her eyes.

  A hand took hers. A mother’s fingers. Warm and soft. Sensation rushed back into extremities and chased away her fury.

  “Lilly!” Eve’s voice was a breeze whispering low in her ear. “Come back now. Come and see!”

  The joy in her tone, the security of her hand, overpowered Lilly’s resistance. She looked up, expecting Eve’s face, and gasped. Only an arm’s length away stood the towering barrier full of lightning flashes and thundering waterfalls. But as she took a step and lifted her hand to touch it, a whisper deep inside her heart said, “Unworthy.”

  Pulling away, she turned and gazed instead at the horizon, where a fiery sun was slowly sinking. Like a flower girl at a wedding march, the night threw shadows as announcements of a Beloved’s approach.

  Quietly she asked, “Mother Eve, what is this wall behind me?”

  “We are outside Eden’s boundary.”

  “Eden, like the Garden of Eden? ” The name surprised a memory that had long lain dormant. “My mom used to walk me down to this corner church when I was little and leave me there to learn stories. I thought Eden got drowned in a flood.”

  Eve laughed, clear and clean as a mountain spring, but Lilly felt embarrassed. The woman drew the girl in close to her side.

  “Lilly, you are not at risk with me. My amusement is because you said something funny. I will never laugh to shame you.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. Finally, when she did, it was a confession. “I feel stupid when I don’t know something I should.”

  Again Eve laughed, but this time Lilly didn’t flush. “My dear, how will you ever learn unless you first don’t know?”

  “I don’t know.” Then Lilly giggled herself. “Hah, I get it.”

  Eve pointed. Up,
down, side to side, near and far. “Eden has six boundaries, if you include the ground. Eden is a cube. You understand a cube, Lilly?”

  “Yes,” she muttered. “I did go to school. But listen. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s just a fairy tale. All of this. Even you. I’m going crazy, remember?”

  “Lilly, you do know that God created everything that exists?”

  “Only in these dreams,” she began. “In my real life, when I’m not hallucinating, I don’t believe any of this. What I believe is that everything came from nothing.”

  “I did not ask what you believe. I asked you what you know.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Interesting! Seems these hallucinations might persuade you of things you don’t already believe. Experience is a force not easily discounted.” Lilly didn’t miss the irony of the challenge.

  “It’s safer to discount everything,” she said. “Especially if it seems undeniably real.”

  Eve fell silent for a time, then turned her attention back to the garden. “Eden is the grand delight, the deepest and the truest. There will come an age when this garden will encompass all creation and all dimensions.” The declaration caused something in Lilly to flicker, like a spark stirred to life by a passing eddy of wind.

  New movements drew her attention. Gigantic sentinels of flame like multicolored, raging bonfires had stationed themselves precisely around the plateau’s perimeter. Within the border established by these pyres, rank upon rank now closed: spirit beings positioning themselves with choreographed exactness. Beyond that boundary, emerging as if from ground and sky and tree, came all manner of soulish beast and hominid and bird. She had a sense that beyond these there gathered multitudes of creeping things: the amphibian and insect, the reptile, the seen and the unseen. And in the ocean, leagues away, all were attentive. The universe had paused from all its effort, from simple chores of motion and daily rigors of survival, to pay rapt and worshipful devotion.

  As night descended, a myriad of elegant, flashing lights in wildly mottled colors became distinct and obvious. Waves of countless nimble beings arrayed in spectrum-brilliant shades, gathered in the skies. The assembly grew, as did anticipation. The entire cosmos drew together, here in this place at this appointed time. It was an unhurried but resolute inhalation, initiating labor.

  Lilly found herself at the center of the gathering, surrounded by light-beings and an onslaught to the senses. Music wove like threads into a living, scented tapestry. The strings of myrrh and sandalwood, the horns of frankincense and fruits, woodwinds breathing hyacinth, pine, lilac, lavender, and honeysuckle, the rhythmic beats of cinnamon and clove, turmeric and ginger. Even the distant stars joined in with their songs as all creation paused.

  Once gathered, they did not wait long, for a doorway majestically opened within the wall of Eden. Intense radiance tumbled out. In an instant Lilly and Eve were standing alone. Everything else bowed, face to the ground in awe-full, joy-filled adoration.

  Eve nudged her. “They come.” But Lilly could only stare at the approaching blaze. It was a whirlwind of blazing sardius reds with living emerald greens, set in the brilliance of spinning jasper, coalescing until from its center a single personage emerged . . . a human being.

  “Who’s that man?” she whispered.

  “Not just a man. Eternal Man! Who is Everlasting God! Adonai!”

  “A man is God?”

  But Eve didn’t explain.

  Eternal Man seemed to dance, dressed in white robes of light. A humble crown of vines encircled His head. Lilly felt entranced; every part of her longed to run to Him and tell Him all her secrets, to be remade, to melt into His magnificence, to find rest from her shame. Here stood trustworthiness. Smiling welcome, He lifted His hands, and the prostrate rose to kneeling.

  What happened next surprised her. Eternal Man also knelt upon the ground, and with His hands, like a child in a sandbox, began to gather into one place a pile of reddish-brown dust. He was playing, but His demeanor was intensely focused and brimming with unbridled joy. Then He sat down and gathered the dust in between His legs. A gentle breeze arose, toyed with His hair, and then helped Him collect His treasure. Lilly craned to see. Man and wind were careful and seemed to make certain that not a single mote was lost but all included and essential.

  Lilly heard two voices laugh. One came from Eternal Man, another from the Wind. It was a clean laugh, like the giggles of children. Tears too came easily to Eternal Man, joyful tears, and spilled from His eyes onto the dust piled between His thighs by His strong hands.

  He began to sing. It was a new song, distinct from the melodies Lilly had heard so far. The song washed over her and dropped her to her knees, filling her with something greater than excitement. For the first time in all of her limited memory, Lilly felt hope.

  Hope for what, she couldn’t say. Her heart picked up its pace.

  From inside out, this mound of dirt now bubbled up bloodred water, gushing from an unseen aquifer. Adonai sang into it and then with tears and laughter plunged His hands into the holy mess with a shout that brought Lilly to her feet. The labor was nearly finished. Then, with a piercing, wrenching scream, Adonai raised above His head a newborn baby.

  “A son is born, a son is born!” All creation erupted into jubilant sound, and Lilly rode the crest of birthday’s celebration. She yelled to be heard over the crowd: “Mother Eve! Did you see?” It was impossible to find her. But as Lilly turned, a whisper of truth settled on her shoulders: She had seen. Although it stirred in her an overwhelming array of longings and emotions, Eve had kept her promise. Lilly had no regrets at all about witnessing this birth.

  The crystal-clear and gentle voice of Eternal Man now sang above the cacophony: “This is My heart’s delight, the crowning of all creation. I present to you My beloved son, in whom My soul delights. They shall be named Adam!”

  They? The baby was not moving.

  Lilly’s hope faltered. Bewildered and then alarmed, Lilly desperately cried out, “The baby! The baby is not breathing!”

  • • •

  “SHE’S SEIZING!” JOHN’S VOICE yelled as if from a great distance. “Do something!”

  Lilly felt her body quaking, muscles firing, contracting and expanding. A flooding sensation of warm and liquid light penetrated her closed eyes. She felt entirely weightless, her spasms buffered by whatever she was floating in.

  “Shut it down!” a woman commanded.

  But the baby isn’t breathing! She screamed the thought before a blinding flash of white. Then her eyes opened to an unmoving expanse. A sky that was not a sky. Blue, flat, unglorious. She was back in her room, lying as still as the lifeless child.

  Four

  * * *

  SECRETS

  Concern for the baby nagged at her. Like a tongue that returns repeatedly to the emptiness of a recently lost tooth, so did her mind to what she had witnessed. But after two nights without a visitation or dream, Lilly began to doubt herself again. What she saw while floating in the thick, breathable dark must have been a reaction to administered drugs. Random images wandered in her brain: a mash-up of old Sunday school stories and television shows from her hazy past. It was the only plausible theory she could cobble together, and alternatives were too bizarre to consider seriously. But then . . . there was the baby.

  Though she could feel her strength returning, Lilly’s gaze remained fixed upward. Her chamber was almost cavelike, the curved ceiling shades of seashell and ivory with rippling hues of bone and pearl. A suggestion of periwinkle and powder blue touched the edges of her vision. It was almost like a sky, but one that refused to shift or change. Maybe made of marble, its oddly comforting patterns accentuated by even minor variations of light.

  She watched for any movement, some bug or creature flitting on the ceiling, but the room was sterile and her only company was John and Letty. He had given her no reason to fear him, but it still felt safer to be on guard.

  Throughout the work of waiting
, she listened to John’s companionable conversation, absorbing information. Neither handsome nor ugly, he had a pleasant face that lit up and became almost beautiful when he smiled or laughed. She studied that face whenever he leaned over her, looking for something hidden, something suspect, and decided he should not be fully trusted. His skin was a deeply sunbaked brown, his beard short and trimmed, his face framed by black and silver hair. His features made her think he was from the Middle East. He was old. Not old-old . . . but older. Although she resisted the thought, there was something about him she liked.

  Her own identity and history remained a mystery to both of them, enshrouded in shadows too thick and bleak to explore. Whatever the details, Lilly felt one thing was certain: men were unpredictable and dangerous.

  Though John talked a lot, he also seemed hesitant about divulging too much information. Perhaps he was concerned about overwhelming her or initiating another seizure. It was a delicate dance, a waltz with two lives inextricably connected and yet warily keeping their distance.

  Just as her scratchy grunts and incoherent groans had replaced the blinks of yes and no, these too gave way to little whispers that left her mouth as sharp breaths.

  “My name is Lilly,” she rasped one day as soon as she heard John step into the room. “Lilly Fields. I remember.”

  “Well, hello, Lilly Fields,” exclaimed John. “That is a wonderfully picturesque name. Much better suited to you than Egypt. Not that I have anything against Egypt.”

  “Egypt?”

  “In the container where you were found—where I found you—were files and photos. The closest we could come to ascertaining your identity were documents with a picture that referred to you as Egypt, obviously an alias. You look more like an island girl than a desert one anyway, although according to the Healers you have genetic markers from people in both regions.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “So I’m curious.” John came within view. “What brought your name back to you?”

  “A dream,” she offered, “or hallucination. Not sure.”