Eve (51 page)

When I woke on the morrow, I overheard Mother and Naava talking. I sat up and strained to hear what they were saying.

Mother said, “Well, you must tell him, and in the meantime I will talk to your Father. This is a difficult situation, but maybe it is only because I did not see it happening this way.”

I stood and went to the doorway. I peered out.

Mother touched Naava’s belly briefly, then embraced Naava. Naava was crying. “There now,” said Mother, wiping the tears away.

Well, if I had not seen it myself, Naava would never have told me, for I had been right. In some way, she was getting her comeuppance.

I entered the courtyard, yawning. I did not want either of them to think I’d been spying.

Just then Mother saw the abundance of seeds piled high in the baskets. She clapped her hands and said, “Oh.” She moved closer and began to sort through them. “Oh, where did these come from? Who has given us such a grand gift?” She turned to me. “Do you think it is Abel’s doing?” she said. All good things came from Abel, in Mother’s opinion.
Was I not capable of giving her a gift?

I shook my head and told her that she could start over with these seeds from Elohim’s Garden. That they were a gift from me.

I am part of the rushing river I have spoken about. I am not without blame. I know this. Despite the fact that I have acted as the judgment of Elohim by slashing down Cain’s dates, others, if they knew of my actions, would not approve. Mother would say, “Aya, you have endangered us all,” and Father would say, “Only Elohim can judge.”

But as I see it, none of my interests interferes with anyone else’s. I am determined for Elohim to hear me. I am determined that my leg will be healed. Neither of these things requires the help of someone other than Elohim, so I am freed from the workings of my family, unless someone has sabotaged another, as Father and Naava have done to Mother and as Cain has done to Dara and Goat. Then I am called upon to administer justice.

Do you not think this is a fair arrangement?

This
word fair
is not without its problems. When we speak of fair weather or a fair price or a fair fight or someone who is fair, do we mean
agreeable
and, if so, to whom?

For example, I would say the following circumstance is
un
fair. Our river’s shores have grown marshlike, and the stench of rot has become unbearable, because the city, which lies upriver, has slowly diverted more water to their irrigation channels, to their cisterns. This is agreeable only to them, and both Father and Cain have talked late into the night of how to remedy the situation. Act now, and the city people could overcome us by force. Act later, and we shall have nothing left. Poor us.

Certainly our going to the festival will show the city people that we are an amiable folk, and having Dara working for the prince gives us some degree of freedom in our interactions. The prince, it seems, has allowed Naava a role in their festival, and this can only mean that they want an ongoing relationship with our family—or Naava alone.

The wager that Cain entered into was not wise, and although he has already failed at it, he is determined that he will overcome it by offering the best of his other crops. What I would like to ask is:
What about the offering to Elohim?
But this will be Cain’s dilemma, not mine.

The beating of the drums and the blowing of the horns sounded
unceasingly now from the north. The rhythms had swelled over the past days—it was the city’s New Year’s festival, the time of autumns harvest. Everything was dry and parched from the summer sun, and now, the city people believed, the god Enki had died and gone to the underworld. He would rise once more when the steppes and plains greened and blossomed again. This was the season of Inanna, Queen of Heaven, and they celebrated her and asked her to bless their fields and their wombs.

Now, at last, the day had come when Naava was to visit the city with her family. All summer long she had dreamed of such an occasion and her spectacular entrance into the city, ever since Adam and Cain came back in early summer, dizzy with the city’s beer.

Her robe was ready, her hair had been hennaed, and her nails had been decorated. She had taken no small amount of ribbing for this, by Adam and her 0brothers, because she had had to labor out in the fields with the rest of the family—harvesting—and with all the threshing, winnowing, and washing of the grain, it had been a constant trial to remain presentable.

The prince had dispatched one of his wagons and servants to escort Naava and her family into the city. Cain, Abel, and Jacan loaded up cheeses and sweets and beer to take as gifts.

Adam’s leg was not yet mended, but still he had insisted upon going. He was curious to see if all Cain had said about the city was true.

Cain and Abel had withheld their first fruits for Elohim, as agreed, and their sacrifices, or offerings, would take place the following evening, to coincide with the city’s celebrations and the full moon. Naava was suspicious, though. She saw Cain hefting a mysterious large basket into the rear of the wagon, and she knew that he would be offering something to Inanna, just to make sure that he had covered all the gods. Whenever he and Naava had talked about this, as Cain held her in his arms, Naava had insisted he was being irrational.
If
there were a god—“or goddess,” he would chime in—Naava said they would have known already.
Why would a god not have shown himself or herself to people he or she had made?

At least Naava had been able to convince Cain—after the prince had asked her to warn him—not to take revenge on the city men by releasing aphids into their fields. “Think,” she said. “Be not rash. The aphids will only find their way here, to
your
fields.”

“I have ladybugs, though, and praying mantises,” said Cain.

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you wreak on them will come back to haunt you,” said Naava.

Cain agreed, in the long run, and had not lifted his hand against the city men.

At least not yet.

Eve had cleaned up, the best she was able, from the hard work in the fields and orchards. Her face was scrubbed raw, and she had plaited her long hair and wrapped it around her head, securing it with a decorative wood stick in the shape of a twig insect, whittled for her by Jacan. She wore a necklace of white shells and a bracelet of silver. But all in all she was a swollen gourd, ready to be split open, and therefore would not be a threat to Naava. She looked like a servant and nothing more—although Naava felt a twinge of jealousy when she saw the look on Adam’s face, the one of bright surprise at seeing Eve so different, so lovely, at least to him. Adam kissed Eve on the cheek and said, “You are wearing my necklace and my bracelet.”

Eve nodded shyly and kissed him back.

Aya had bound her hair with grasses and had tucked a lily behind one ear.
How ridiculous,
Naava thought. She looked absolutely primitive, but how would her backward sister have known? She had never been to the city.

When Naava was about to climb into the wagon, Eve said to Adam, “Look. Isn’t it spectacular, Naava’s robe? Look how she wove the Garden into it.”

Naava twirled, smiling, and Adam studied the intricate stitches—the bright sun poking out from white billowing clouds, the blue flowing river, the green bushes, the vibrant reds and yellows of the flowers, even a gazelle and a lion. “It is very accurate,” he said softly, then turned away.

The servant was civil but surly, and when he saw Abel helping Aya into the wagon, he barked something that caused Cain to stop what he was doing. Cain and the man bickered like foxes fighting over a hare, before Cain turned to Aya and said, “It is as we feared. Sister, you will have to stay here.”

Aya did not move from where she sat. She looked at Abel, then at Cain, and said evenly, “I am going.”

Cain said, “You can’t. They won’t let you in. They think you’re bad luck.”

Abel said to Cain, “Leave us at the city gate. I will stay with her.”

Aya stole a glance at Abel. He smiled at her, and it made Naava want to retch. For a moment she was envious. But the feeling didn’t last long. With Cain at her side—his hand reaching surreptitiously into the front of her robe when no one was looking—and with thoughts of seeing the prince again, Naava was well on her way to being the happiest woman alive.

Just one problem pricked her like a thorn. Naava held a secret in her heart, which she had told only Eve. Eve had instructed her to tell Cain, that the right decision might be made. Naava would follow her mother’s advice, but not until she had had her fill of the city—and the prince.

And the glorious festival.