Eve (52 page)

Oh, the music, the wondrous music! Naava had never heard anything like it in all her life. It’s grandeur and lustiness—the harps and lyres and flutes and clappers and drums and cymbals—mingled so oddly and enchantingly The belt-attached harps and the ram-shaped lyres had strings of gut and sinew that were plucked, and out came the most soothing sound, like being underwater and hearing the soft muffled sounds of people talking above.

Naava’s family had an advantageous view from the wagon. Swarming about them, people danced and shouted, dressed in their scarlet and yellow and orange finery. Banners swayed and snapped in the breeze. They were draped everywhere, in every imaginable color. The smell and smoke of roasting meat and sweet perfume rose thickly in the air, and everywhere there were strange sounds—clangings and clashings and thunkings.

Naava thought she would never find the prince in this mayhem, but she would have all day and all night, so in that long interim, surely he would find her.

The mountain of steps had been washed clean. There was a line of people up to the very top, where the temple shone a brilliant white in the sun as the priestess in her equally white robes and Balili in his gold headdress accepted the peoples offerings and libations to Inanna.

Eve and Adam were mute; they were astounded. Never before had they seen such a spectacle. They had heard these things from Cain and Naava certainly, but they had not imagined it quite this way, Naava could tell. Eve stared at the women, all bangled and painted. She looked away when they blinked at her with their blackened eyes and long eyelashes, bashful in the face of their audacity, brashness, and wanton appearance. Naava laughed inside—oh, Eve had so much to learn. Naava saw her mother’s eyes shift to Adam, terrified of his response to these strangely exotic women, but they were the least of his concerns.

“I had no idea,” he said again and again to Cain, his head swiveling this way and that. “These people are so … so advanced, far more than I could ever imagine.”

Cain laughed and said, “I told you. You weren’t listening.”

“The buildings… the stalls… I could never have fathomed this.” Awe and fear flickered across Adam’s face.

It was at precisely this point that Naava felt another shift occur, this one between child and parent, parent and child. Now she saw for certain that Cain and she were wiser than their parents and that Adam and Eve would be left behind, abandoned, if they did not change their ways. She knew her father and mother would have called her cruel and insensitive if she were to voice it exactly like that. But her desire was overwhelming, an irresistible yearning to make her own way in the world without having to worry about the primitive customs and practices of her mother and father. It was this last thought that caused her a small amount of consternation, a pang of regret for the loss of something she was leaving behind, and only the magnificent sounds and sights of the city could sweep it away.

“Dara!” Eve stood up shakily in the wagon and waved her hand back and forth. The day marked Dara’s homecoming. “Dara,” Eve shouted again. Dara would stay until the baby was born, then go back to caring for the city’s babies. Eve had been ecstatic about it, getting her littlest back, even if it was for just a short while. “There’s Dara,” she said, pointing toward a small group of people crowding around the roaring fires that licked at charred boars and gazelles impaled on spits.

“Where?” asked Jacan. His eyes followed Eve’s finger, and once he could see Dara he waved furiously at her.

Where Dara is, the prince will be too,
thought Naava. She adjusted the bracelet on her wrist, the one the prince had told her to wear, and she sat up straighter, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. She bit her lips to draw the blood into them.

Suddenly the dancing people began parting like water for their wagon. They gawked and stared at Naava and her family and bent their heads in acknowledgment. Naava knew this was because of her great beauty, and instead of bowing her head timidly, she looked them in the eyes, as if to say,
Yes, thank you, I acknowledge your tribute, and I am grateful for it.

Wherever the wagon went, it created a wake of silence. The instruments pinged slower and slower, like raindrops after a rain, until they faltered, then stopped. The presence of Naava and her family had mesmerized the city people. There was no other explanation for it.

If only Aya and Abel could see this. The servant had done as Abel had requested and left the two of them at the city’s entrance. If they had been here, they would have seen that Naava was right all along, that there
was
something special about her. Observe all these people—sophisticated, cultured people—who knew upon first glance.
Why was Naava’s family so blind, so stupid?
They worked her fingers to the bone without one thankful remark. They made her toil at sheep-plucking time and harvesttime, and aid in all the undertakings, minor and major, that filled their dull and colorless days.
Why did they constantly fail to acknowledge the treasure they had among them?

Then the prince was up ahead, like the sun appearing from behind a gray cloud. There was something different about him, but Naava could not place it. He stood up on a box and waved for the music and dancing to resume. The frivolity returned slowly, with snippets of laughter and talk, a note here and there, until the marketplace had returned to its former din and clamor.

The prince approached the wagon with several bare-chested men who were also wearing gold jewelry around their upper arms. Their long black hair had been pulled back and bound. Two of them had paintings on their arms. One had a large black star on his back, which Naava saw as the men helped them each down from the wagon.

The two women who had visited Eve and seen her garden stood off in the distance, watching, waiting. They pushed Dara forward with their hands, and Dara ran to Eve’s side. Jacan went to sit by her, clasping Dara’s fingers in his own.

The prince bowed to Eve and Adam. He said, “Friends, welcome. Everything you must enjoy. Please, drink, be merry, for tomorrow is no matter to us.” He turned to Cain. “Show your father where the girl-houses are. Please, no coin or barter today.”

Cain’s cheeks and neck turned a pomegranate red. Naava wondered what these girl-houses were and what Cain and Adam could want with them.

The prince looked to Eve. “I need your daughter. She can come with me, no?” He reached out and touched Naava’s arm.

Eve looked up, startled, and nodded.

“No,” Cain blurted.

“No?” said the prince.

Naava found this amusing, two men fighting over her. Of course, she wanted the prince to win. This is what she had been waiting for. Because she knew that someday, when he would marry her—devote his entire life to her— she would be inexpressibly happier living in the city. If her father knew what she and Cain had done, he would insist that they be married. But he didn’t know, and she did not care, anyway. They couldn’t force her to do anything.

Cain said, “On this special day, we would like to be together as a
family
.”

The prince glared at Cain. Then, in an even voice, he said, “We will ask Naava.”

Eve and Adam turned to Naava, questions in their eyes, concern etched on their foreheads. “Naava?” said Adam.

Naava barely heard her father. She had been chosen by the prince, in the presence of her parents. Her heart felt as though it would burst with joy as she blinked and nodded her head.

“Yes?” said Adam. “You want to go?”

Naava said “Yes,” but she did not look at the prince directly, for this would have indicated her joy in having her dreams realized. She did not look at Cain either, for she knew what she would see. There would be fire, an all-consuming fire in his eyes, for which she would pay later. But she was not thinking about later.

Cain leaned close to Adam and whispered, loud enough for all to hear, “You do not know what he wants.”

Adam dipped his head to the prince to give his permission, then replied to Cain, “Leave your worries behind. The prince is our host. He has promised his protection”—here he glanced at the prince with upraised eyebrows—“has he not?”

The prince nodded. “She will not be harmed.”

Cain glared at the prince. His fists were clenched, and a vein throbbed near his temple.

The prince continued, ignoring Cain’s anger. “My men will take you to the food stalls first. Fill your bellies. Enjoy the festivities. We will join you
later.” He led Naava away from the wagon, down an inner street, away from the room where they had previously met.

“Where are we going?” said Naava.

“My house,” said the prince.

Naava looked behind her and saw the two familiar women following, with their children, at a distance. “Why are they following us?” said Naava.

The prince did not answer.

Naava wondered at the prince’s brusqueness, his hurry. She had time to study his face again, and suddenly it dawned upon her. He had blackened his eyes like the women, and he was painted like them too—rosy cheeks, swollen lips. “What have you done to your face?” she said.

“Soon you will know.”

They made their way through the narrow dusty streets, encountering drunken revelers and cavorting couples and mangy dogs lingering along the sides. Everyone else—the families, the children, the shepherds, the farmers, the artisans—had hastened toward the city’s middle, the marketplace.

Soon the prince halted in front of a carved wooden door. Naava was astonished, for never before had she seen such a thing.
Where would the prince have gotten such a large piece of wood?
All Naava had seen were the scrawny willow and poplar and tamarisk trees that grew by the river, nothing like this solid piece of whatever-it-was. She reached out to feel it.

“You like it?” said the prince. “It is from the north. Oak.”

Naava nodded, allowing herself to be led inside.

The room was not stark and bare-boned like home but splendid. Naava struggled to accustom her eyes to the cool darkness. Woven rugs of reds and blues hung on the walls and covered the dirt floors. Several chairs of the same heft as the door and tables made of wood carved with magnificent beasts had been artfully arranged into small seating areas. A thin wisp of smoke rose from a clay pot, its smell sweet and musky.

But Naava had little time to look, for the prince was dragging her to the back, through other rooms with columns—oh, they were magnificent!— to a staircase. They clambered up, exiting out onto a lush rooftop bordered by green and flowering plants in large clay vases alongside wooden benches. Off to the side was a stack of rolled-up reed mats, similar to the ones Eve made for her own family.

The rooftop was scorching hot, and Naava shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun. She was able to see Inanna’s temple from where she stood. Naava turned to the prince. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

Right then, the two women and their children who had been trailing behind the prince and Naava hurried out onto the rooftop.
What was their business with the prince and her?

The prince turned to Naava. “They will—how do you call it?—
prepare
you. You must be ready when the sun is three-quarters to the horizon.” He pointed to a position in the sky.

Confused, Naava looked at the women, trying to remember their names, then back to the prince. “Do you not like how I look?” she said, the disappointment evident in her voice.

The prince ignored Naava and spoke to the women in his tongue. He grabbed Naava’s shoulder and twirled her around, so the women could see her robe. The women nodded and
ooh
ed and
ahhed,
all the while raking their eyes over Naava’s entire length. They waved their hands about her face, pinched her cheeks, and brushed her eyebrows with their fingers.

She would not stand for it. “I want to go back,” she said to the prince, in the strongest voice she could muster. “Can we not meet later, in the usual place?”

The prince lifted his hands, as if he’d given up. “They will make you Inanna. You want this, no?” He waited for her answer, his eyes imploring.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “But won’t you be with me?”

The prince leaned close and kissed her, and his lips were wet and soft. He drew back and held her chin but said nothing.

Naava stared at his eyes, black like her mother’s Tree of Life seeds, letting this moment sink into her innermost being. She would be Inanna, and she would be adored.

The prince kissed her lightly upon the cheek, like the brush of a butterfly wing, and with that, he was gone, down the stairs.