Eve (40 page)

Every time he cried out or smacked his lips, my breasts would twinge and leak, and I would pull him close, feel him latch on and suck. He made grunting noises and danced his fingertips along my skin.

“May I?” Adam pleaded. It was as though he were jealous of Cain. “I can walk him in my arms. He’ll fall asleep. I know he will.”

I’d hand him over, and Adam would take off along the river’s edge, gazing adoringly at this new son of his. True to his word, he’d return with
a sleeping baby, at whom we’d stare in wonder until he woke again, screaming for love and attention.

Cain knew nothing of squatting in the bushes to relieve himself. He went whenever he felt the need, and this posed a problem. He slept between us, and after waking one night covered in his feces, I proposed a new plan. We would collect the fluff within the milkweed pods and mound it together in an absorbent mass. This we would deposit into the center of a small fox skin and bind it to his groin with sinew. In this way we contained his offal for easy disposal and were the cleaner for it.

I knew not how I felt about this new era we were in. I felt hopelessly ignorant and insufficient to care for this writhing bundle of love, especially during the nights full of endless screaming, and I knew these same tacit thoughts plagued Adam as well. When I nursed Cain, I worried that Adam would feel excluded or ignored, so I made him sing to the baby, for he had a beautiful melodious voice that belonged to the moon and the stars and, up until this time, only to me.

The day Cain was gone upon our waking, my terror rose up like the bear I had challenged. We found him soon enough, and I clung to him and could not let him go. He squirmed, he wiggled, and still I would not let him go.

He had learned to scoot on hands and knees, and he did so with alarming speed every chance he got. That morning he had been knee-deep in the river, splashing in the water with his chubby hands, as Adam and I slept. Deer and gazelle had come to drink too and looked at him, amused at the strange sight before them.

When Adam went after him, Cain stepped farther into the river, into a small eddy, and down he went. Adam floundered into the depths and brought him up, gasping.

Needless to say, after that, Adam had to wrest him from me, and I decided that if I could not hold him forever, I would at least be useful. I would spear a fish for both my men. This I did because there was nothing else to do with my agitation. But as I peered into the face of the river, I perceived its
darkness and cold cold heart. I was enraged that it looked so serenely back at me, almost willing me to fold, to crumble underneath its wicked gaze.
I would take your child,
it whispered,
and you would be helpless.

With a frustrated cry, I thrust my spear deep into its belly, wishing it to die, but instead, as I yanked the spear out with a wrenching gasp, I saw that I had pierced a carp and that its eyeballs jerked and its body flailed, and I sat down on the riverbank to let my tears flow.

That was all I could do.

All any mother can do when she realizes she has no control over this new and frail and shining goodness.

She sweats, she worries, she prays, she keens, she kneels, she questions, she protects, she argues, she cries, she creates, she talks, she sees, she touches, she listens, she loves, she repents, she remembers.

After all, she is a mother.

When Cain had lived eleven moons, Adam and I found a quiet patch of river purling in a cove where the water basked like a sun-baked lizard. As I walked along the shore, searching for just the right spot, Adam stood waist-deep in the water, waiting.

I carried a wiggling Cain in my arms. I had no idea if this would work, or if Cain would ever trust us again. Something had to be done, though, to protect him, because he had no fear of the water, no fear of its raging possibilities. Each time we freed him from the carrier we had made out of wood and vines, he made a dash for the water, oblivious to its danger.

“Ready?” I said.

Adam nodded.

I adjusted Cain in my arms and held him out in front of me at arms length, so he couldn’t cling to me. Still his little fists scrabbled for my skin. I looked at him, my precious baby, as I waded into the water. I wondered whether I could possibly do this awful thing. He cried then, his face bunching up like cauliflower.

“Here,” said Adam.

I tossed him into the water near Adam. His body disappeared into the river’s jaws with hardly a splash.

“Can you see him?” I said, instantly frightened. Before Adam could answer, Cain’s little head emerged. He coughed and sputtered and clawed at the air.

“Good boy,” cooed Adam. “Move your arms. Move your legs.”

Cain dipped under again. When he broke through the second time, his little eyes were blinking madly; he was reaching for Adam, wondering why his father wouldn’t pick him up, wouldn’t help him. His arms churned the water. His mouth opened to gulp in air.

“Grab him,” I cried. It was all too much.

“He’ll learn,” said Adam. “Just wait.”

“No, get him now,” I said. I started toward Adam and my bobbing blue-faced baby. “Please, he will drown. Look, he can’t breathe.”

“Be patient,” said Adam. He reached out to right Cain in the water.

Cain grabbed at Adam’s arm and held on, his little fingers like bean tendrils.

Adam peeled his fingers free, and he floated away again. This time, though, Cain started to paddle with his arms and legs, like a tadpole that’s just gotten its limbs.

“Cain, baby, come here,” I said. I clapped my hands. I smiled.

Cain held up his chin and sucked in his lips. He was working hard but going nowhere.

I cheated and inched closer. I held out my arms.

“You’re not helping,” said Adam. “He has to do this on his own.”

“Come, baby, come to Mama,” I said.

Cain’s face was so determined, so petrified, it broke my heart.

After a few tense moments he began to find his rhythm, the proper cadence of flailing limbs, to aid him in moving forward.

I reached down and pulled him up into my arms, to hold him close. He melted into me, his body slack, his head resting on my shoulder.

“That worked better than I thought it would,” said Adam, coming up out of the water.

“He’s concocting some scheme now to get back at us,” I said. I still
feared for my child. I knew not whether Elohim would require the life of this child too from me.

Adam didn’t answer. He wrapped his wet arms around me, and we stood there, exhausted with all the questions, aware that we were—like Cain was to us—Elohim’s children, floundering in the torrent of life.
When would He reach out and pull us from it? When would we have learned enough?

Well, the little sister came home in a flurry of donkeys, jewels,
glorious linens, and curtained platforms. She brought with her clouds of dust and the clatter of visitors.

Accompanying her were two women of the city, Zenobia and
A
-something-or-other, and their two annoying children—Puabi the dark-eyed and Shala the disobedient. Naava tried to pronounce their tongue-twisting names to prove she was not an idiot, but it was nearly impossible.

Naava noticed that Aya stayed in the shadows, not wanting a repeat of the unpleasantness that had greeted her when the women first visited. Amusing, given that when Aya heard of Cain’s dates, she was crazy enough to insinuate that she herself would ride to the city alone to arrange a peaceful compromise.

Of late, Aya had been acting stranger than usual, constantly going to the river to wash and wincing when she sat or stood. Eve, despite her own hurt arm, had offered to take over the cooking for a while to ease Aya’s workload, but Aya insisted nothing was wrong, that she was fine and not to mind her. Cain laughed when Naava told him what Aya intended to do. “They would take one look at her and drive her beyond the walls, out to where the lepers are kept.”

The women from the city disembarked from their conveyances first, then reached behind to catch their girls and to swing them to the ground.
They bowed to Eve with a strange deference, Naava thought. The women’s splendidly colored robes billowed about them in the wind—how
did
they get those colors? They kissed Eve’s good hand, the other being bound up because of Cain’s shove a week ago. Their girls kissed Eve too and bowed low to the ground. They offered up gifts—an exquisite box inlaid with the pearlish glint of dried shells, a drinking cup made of pink metal forged in a fire, and bracelets set with breathtaking stones.

Dara was next. She descended from her platform, half a finger taller than when she left. Her eyes—oh, what had she done? They were black-rimmed like tigers’ eyes, and her hands—
her hands!
They were adorned with reddish-brown curliques and circles and flowers, and her hair had been dyed like Naava’s wool, glossy and shiny brown. And look! There upon Dara’s nose. She wore a stone—was it turquoise or lapis lazuli? When had she acquired it? Ah, Eve would not approve, being the woman of decorum and simplicity that she was. Oh, and see there, upon Dara’s toes, tiny shiny rings that made her feet dance in the sunlight.

Naava decided she would enjoy Dara and Eve’s reunion immensely.

But, no.

With only a barely visible froglike blink, Eve embraced Dara with her good arm and hugged her tight without once saying anything at all about her atrocious appearance—well, not
atrocious
exactly, maybe
ostentatious
or
pretentious.
Eve kissed Dara on both cheeks and said, “My little butterfly, you are back. I have missed you.”

Dara handed Eve a lumpy sack. She said, “Because you lost the other one.”

Eve worked the top open and peered in. She smiled and glanced quickly at Aya, then back at Dara. “Thank you, my child. What a sweet gift.”

Well. That was the way the river flowed. The little sister went and got beautified, while the older daughter, the more responsible one—the one who clothed this family, in fact!—stayed at home and cared for the ailing mother. Yes, this was how it always was. The river did not flow uphill, unless buckets were used or a dam was built.

Naava
was
building a dam, of sorts, that would help her get upriver toward the city. The Garden robe, after all, would have no equal. Naava
would work harder and longer, until her fingers blistered and bled and fell off.

Never before would anyone have seen anything like it, and never again would they. It would be a splendid cataract, a gush of heaven, a wash of joy. They would say,
Oh, dear Naava, your radiance and beauty are unmatched. The stars and moon bow down before you. They shine only for you. Please, sit, so we may look at you, admire you, and give you sweet and succulent things to eat.

Dara turned and saw Naava. “Naava,” she said, and held out a small wooden box, plump birds carved on all sides.

Naava was surprised at Dara’s confidence.
What was she playing at, the little imp?

Naava took the box. “Thank you,” she said.

“Open it,” said Dara, clapping her hands.

Naava wiggled the lid free, and there inside was an opened mussel shell, holding a black substance resembling pitch.