Eve (49 page)

Instead, I was left with something more grave, a settling of sorts, the silt at the bottom of the river, a knowledge that Adam and I were together as Elohim wanted but not in the
fashion
Elohim designed.

In eating of the fruit, we had desired something Elohim hadn’t meant for us to have, something
other
than Elohim and His design.

This was the error. This was the wrong. That we did not put Elohim first.

In truth, I was done pleading. I was done howling for my life that
had been.

I had Adam. I had my children. I had the works of my hands and my daily chores. I saw that I was to make a garden here, with the seeds of love and contempt, with the roots of desire and hatred. These seemingly dissonant choruses were not far from melodious. One or two notes could change, and the chant would turn from pining to contentment.

It is all in the heart and mind of the listener.

It was at this moment then, hovering over my ill husband, that my transfiguration occurred—or at least it is the moment I refer back to often. It was when I truly heard, as it were, Abel’s flute rather than Jacan’s horn, the first sounding like splendorous birdsong, the latter like crow chatter.

I realized that it was the small moments in my life that were most significant. They had accumulated over time, testament to certain directions or attitudes I had taken. Certainly I could see myself in my children, the good and the bad, and I grieved that I was unable to correct my faults before my children took them for their own. Truly, and I say this to you in all forthrightness, this is one of the sadnesses in my life, that I have imprinted my children so fully, so capably, that they may never rid themselves of my weaknesses or shortsightedness; they are so ingrained with them.

I had little hope, but it was hope after all.

Adam stirred then and inclined his head toward me. “Where am I?” he said.

“With the love of your life,” I said.

He smiled weakly. “Is she beautiful?” he said.

Cain and Naava returned that night and came into the room where Adam lay. They said little, probably fearful of upsetting the balance of things or setting off my crying.

Cain left the room shortly thereafter, his jaw clenched.

Naava went out a little while later and began to talk to Aya. I think they believed me preoccupied with Adam, so their tongues were looser than usual. Truth be told, I was a little surprised that Naava was confiding anything of her experience to Aya.

“It was a gift,” said Naava.

“From whom?” said Aya. “The prince?”

Naava lowered her voice and spoke with a vengeance I was already too familiar with. “What do you know of that?”

Aya said, “You will not find out with your hands on me like that.”

A brief silence.

“Dara said you were going to meet him,” said Aya.

Naava laughed. “You think you know everything. You know nothing.” Naava paused briefly. I imagined that she was chewing the inside of her cheek, as Adam did and as she always did when she didn’t have an answer. Finally she hissed, “Do not speak of this to anyone. Do you hear me, Aya?”

“Cain is pleased with this arrangement?” Aya said sweetly.

Naava’s voice burst forth with more urgency. “What Cain does not know will not hurt him. Besides, he will find out soon enough, without your meddling.”

Aya snorted.

There was a short silence, and then Naava said, “I need to ask you something.”

Aya laughed derisively. “Even though you have just spit on me?”

Naava ignored Aya’s comment and plunged into her request. “Do you think you could henna my hair like Dara’s? And do my eyes like hers?”
Ah,
there it is. She wants something.
I knew her false camaraderie must have had something behind it.

“So, I must keep your secret
and
give of my services,” said Aya. “It’s a wonder I help you at all. What would you do without me?” She sighed. “If I have time,” she continued. “Father needs herbs for his fever and—”

“Not now,” said Naava. “For the festival.”

Another silence. I could hear Aya unhooking her pot from her three-legged cooking apparatus and setting it roughly upon the ground. It sloshed heavily with her remedies.

“I think we could come to a satisfactory arrangement,” said Aya. “I should like a new robe.”

“Why do you need one?” said Naava. “You cannot go. They would toss you outside the city, where the lepers live.”

“I would like a robe,” Aya repeated. “A blue one like the sea. For my help with your hair and eyes.”

Naava laughed. “Whatever you wish.”

After a moment Aya said, “And now you must answer a question of mine. Which brother are you seducing, Naava? I cannot tell.” Her wooden spoon banged against her pot. “I care not about Cain, but you are trampling on Abel’s heart, always making eyes at him like you do, even though he has grown weary of you.”

Naava snorted. “Abel is a shepherd. A shepherd, Aya. He herds sheep and goats.”

Another short silence. “What’s wrong with being a shepherd?” snarled Aya.

“You don’t know? Shepherds are
slaves,
Aya. They do what the priest of the city
wants
them to do,” Naava sneered. “A farmer is important. He provides barley and wheat and garlic and leeks for the people.”

“A shepherd provides milk and cheese and ghee,” said Aya.

“They’re not the same thing,” said Naava.

“No?” said Aya. “What of the prince? What does he contribute?”

This silence stretched out longer than all the others. “It’s not important,” said Naava finally. “He is a prince, and he has arranged for me to play Inanna, Queen of the Heavens, at the festival.”

All night, I sat awake by Adam’s side.

I pondered the worry in Aya’s voice, the abandon in Naava’s.
How could two daughters of mine differ in so many ways?
They were like night and day, fire and water, sea and dry land.

How powerless I felt to direct either’s course! How angry it made me that their talk of others was so scornful!

But maybe I had taught them this: to overlook the glory of what we had for the longing of something we did not possess. I cannot claim to know where the truth lies. I only know that in some way I will be held respon sible, and this makes me tremble.

Every day I learn more about Anu, the Father of Heaven, and
Enki, the Lord of the Earth, and Enlil, the Lord of the Air, and Inanna, the Queen of Heaven. I hear so many stories from Balili, from Zenobia, and from Puabi. Elohim’s name is becoming like smoke, sometimes there and sometimes not, so when Balili asks me, “Who does your family worship?” I open my mouth, but only squeaks come out. I cannot remember how Aya said to pray to Elohim. This bothers me, because I know that Aya said to talk to Him when I feel lonely or am in trouble. And Aya was the one who took care of Turtle for me.

So I start talking to Inanna, the Queen of Heaven. It might be the morning repast or the evening repast, but always, when I think of it, I whisper to Inanna, “Be with Aya and Jacan and Abel and Cain and Naava and Mama and Father… and Goat and … make your light shine upon their faces and their work.” This last part is something Zenobia says when she prays in front of the family shrine. Sometimes I fold my hands. Sometimes I can’t because I have babies in my arms, so I just mouth the words and hope that Inanna can hear me.

I am nervous that Mama will be angry at me for stealing her seeds and that she will see me at the festival and turn her back to me. Then I will have to stay with the city people all the time and never go home.

Also, I am not absolutely sure that Mama’s seeds will work. Maybe they are too old. And I am sorry I brought them here for Ahassunu instead of Mama to use. So I find out from Zenobia where Ahassunu has planted the seeds, and in the middle of the day when no one is there because of the hot sun, I find the right planter on the rooftop and dig out the seeds. I plant other seeds instead. That way, the growing will take a long time, and I will be back with my family before they are stalks. I do not want to be there when Ahassunu wakes up to baby palm trees.

I wrap Mama’s seeds in my robe and hide them in one of my clay jars. I paint a red stripe all the way around the jar. The stripe is for the Tree of Life seeds. Only I know.

Soon I have many fittings—for sandals of reed and leather, for robes that open in front or go over the head, for hairdressings of silver and gold and beads. I have to stand still for so long that I have to cross my legs so my pee-pee won’t come out. All I want to do is to go with Balili to where he teaches, so that maybe when he has other things to do, he will hand me the tablet and say, “Well, my star pupil, teach them well.” Then he will disappear, and I will have the attention of all the children. It is the best feeling in all the world to be the teacher.

When I told Aya all about it, Aya moved her nose like a rabbit and said, “This writing, what does it look like? Will you teach me?”

I said yes, but I have not been home in a long time, and Aya has not come to visit me in the city. Naava has, but Balili says she is too busy to see me.