Eve (54 page)

He left her then and knelt in front of the priestess. One by one, the priestess removed his jewels and the gold band around his head. Pausing to inhale, she slapped him across the face, hard, then again, until his tears flowed like a spring.

How dare she?
Naava fought back an urge to throw herself at the woman. But she had been told to stay, and stay she would, with all those eyes upon her. She focused on her family below, noticing Aya and Abel standing not far from Adam and Eve.
How did they manage to get inside the gate?
Well, good. They, too, would see her in all her glory.

The prince kissed the priestesss feet as his tears continued to flow. Satisfied, she gave a grand gesture with her hand, made a loud pronouncement,
and began to laden him down again with all his jewels and his crown, returning him to his former glory in no time. The crowd stomped their feet and cheered.

The prince held Naava’s gaze as he approached her and took her hand. He kissed her tenderly upon her cheek, and she felt the heat rise to her face.

It was what came next that was jumbled up in Naava’s mind whenever she tried to tell it later.

The priestess spoke again—it seemed like some kind of blessing—and threw a splash of scented water upon them. The prince smiled and led Naava toward the entrance of Inanna’s temple.

All Naava saw was Cain bounding up the steps, two and three at a time, yelling, “Naava, no!” Several of the prince’s men ran after him, but not before Cain had reached the top and grabbed Naava and started yanking her down the stairs.

“It’s the Sacred Marriage,” Cain said to Naava. “He wants to consummate with Inanna. It’s a fertility rite.”

Naava was confused. So much was happening all at once. “What are you saying?” she said. “He does not love me?”

Then the men were upon Cain, pulling him from Naava and pushing him down the stairs.

“Do not do it, Naava,” Cain yelled. “I love you.”

So Cain did love her, the wild animal that he was. Naava turned to the prince. “Do you intend to have me?” she said. A slight thrill trembled through her. “Will you discard me afterward, or will you keep me as a wife?”

This is what I asked for,
thought Naava.
But is this what I really want?

“You are my wife,” said the prince, as plainly as he might have said that the bracelet on her arm was his oath to her. “That was the marriage ceremony.”

Frightened and alone, Naava could not absorb this information quickly enough.
What was happening? And if she refused to go along with the prince, what would he do to her? To her family? What would Inanna do?
Already she had seen Cain seized by the prince’s men.

These things flitted through Naava’s head, and she saw clearly, all at
once, that despite her deep-seated disdain for certain members of her family, they were all she had, and, without question, they loved her and wanted her to be safe.

It was not enough, though. All these unusual and magnificent things that were happening to her were happening because of her association with the
prince.
He thought she was someone special, and he treated her that way. She knew not what he intended at that precise moment, but he would not hurt her or force her to do anything that she didn’t want.

Would he?
The memory of their first meeting in the city—the feel of him on top of her, overcoming her—rose up, and a feeble wariness set in.

The prince led her through the doorway, into the dark interior lit by hundreds of lamps, across to the far side of the temple, where a great reed mat lay on the swept mud floor. It was surrounded on either side by roughly carved wooden statues of the city’s gods. At the foot of the mat stood the largest statue of all, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. It was Inanna, Naava was sure of it, for Inanna’s presence filled the whole place. Crude ringlets framed her solid face, and she sat, hands on thighs, staring forward with bulging eyes. It was both eerie and exhilarating.

“Here,” said the prince. Their sandals were touching the reed mat. “I will help you.” He began by taking off her fancy headdress, then reached down to untie the sash of her robe.

Naava put her hand on his. “Wait,” she said calmly, more calmly than she felt.

The prince’s mouth opened, then closed. “Our union ensures many crops and strong babies. Inanna demands it.”

“Union,” said Naava, biting her lip.
So this is it,
she thought.
This is what Cain and I were practicing for.

Naava was in a daze. It was all happening so fast.

Oddly enough, she longed for Eve’s advice, but Eve was not there.

After we had eaten and drunk our fill in the city, we made our way
with the jostling crowds to Inanna’s temple, the grand stairs in the middle of the marketplace. It was late afternoon already. The sun’s heat was merciless, and we were sticky with sweat. There was little breeze, and the flies were abundant.

I recognized the plump woman at the top as the one who had killed that precious lamb when she visited us, and when I asked Cain about her, he said she was a priestess of Inanna—she took the peoples sacrifices and offered them up to the goddess. She would oversee the day’s ceremonies.

As she told their grand Epic of Creation, Cain translated for us, and I was glad to hear this account. I had always wondered about the origin of the city people. Their telling was so different from Adam’s and mine. In their version, the gods had grown weary of all the work to be done, so they formed man and woman from the clay of the earth to work for them. Indeed, I thought, Elohim had said the same about Adam and me working, but it was not so much an order as a suggestion for living. I would have to think about this.

It also dawned on me, for the first time, what Dara had meant when she said they held Adam and me in high esteem, for if we had lived from the beginning of time in Dilmun—their version of Eden—we would be
godlike. But this served only to confuse me, for if we were created
at the beginning of time,
where had
they
come from? And
when?

I think I knew the truth about my daughter when she appeared at the top of the steps and I recognized the prince at her side, but my heart was slow to understand what my mind was telling it. What was she doing up there? Why was she adorned so? What was the priestess saying? Cain had stopped translating long before then, but I could see he was agitated.

My heart told me that we had been naive not to trust Cain this time.

As Naava and the prince turned their backs, Naava glanced somewhat apprehensively over her shoulder at us, and Cain tore up the stairs, two and three at a time, yelling, and I thought I would die of embarrassment
and
fear. Embarrassment because here we were, guests at a magnificent event, and one of my own was interfering with the sacred celebration. Fear because I knew not what the prince intended with my eldest daughter.
But,
I thought at the time,
Cain must know something we do not.

The prince’s men bounded up the stairs after Cain and seized him at the top. There was a scuffle as they forced him back down, and I could not distinguish Cain in the blur of limbs. The next thing I knew, Cain was plunging headlong down the stairs, arms and legs askew and head and body pummeled mercilessly by the sun-hardened steps.

I grimaced as he landed in a heap at Dara’s feet.

I ran to him. We all ran to him. Everyone was pointing and jabbering. A circle of city people had already formed around my son, as if Cain were a stone dropped from the sky into a river and they were the ripples.

Cain groaned and tried to get up, but he could not. Wildly, he looked around at all of us, his eyes meeting Abel’s. “Brother,” he said. “You must save our sister. The prince will take away her honor.”

No, it couldn’t be. Certainly Cain was wrong. Naava would be sworn to Cain, now that they had lain together. Elohim had said that Adam and I were to cleave to each other—as man and woman, as one being—and I assumed this would be the case for my children once they found their complements.

Abel leaned over his brother. “How do you know this?”

Too anguished to explain, Cain fell back upon the ground. “Go. Now.” Then he whimpered and held his head. “I would do it for you,” he said.

Abel and Adam looked at each other, taking stock of the situation. Together they started up the stairs, where their path was immediately barred by the prince’s men. I watched their hands and their faces, knowing they were explaining they wanted Naava back. They wanted to settle this reasonably, but of course, without Cain, neither side could understand the other, and time began to slip away. I clung to the twins, fearful of what might happen next, and felt Aya’s protective arm on my shoulder. Naava and the prince had already entered the temple at the top of the steps, and the door had closed behind them. Adam and Abel’s distress became more apparent, and eventually they reached down to withdraw their daggers from the straps on their legs.

A riot followed. The prince’s men retaliated by drawing their daggers, and they set upon Adam and Abel, jabbing and slashing the air with their weapons. Adam didn’t last long—he couldn’t have, with his recent injuries—and very quickly he suffered a severe wound to the upper arm, which sent him sprawling down the steps to a place not far from where Cain lay. I thrust the twins into Aya’s arms and ran to him.

“Cain,” I cried. “Get up. Help them. They cannot do it alone.”

Abel was steadfast in his defense, but the men were advancing upon him, and soon he would falter simply because he was outnumbered. I bent over Cain and shook him.

He did not respond.

A voice from the crowd yelled something.

“Mama,” yelled Dara. “Run!”

I couldn’t leave my sons and my husband. I knelt and put my ear over Cain’s mouth. His breath was warm, but he had lost consciousness. I slapped him across the cheek. “Cain!” I screamed. “Cain!”

His eyelids fluttered open, and as he struggled to focus on my face, he groaned.

The crowd closed in then, tightly. Their faces were grim and accusatory. Several roughshod men pushed their way into the inner circle and spit on Cain.

“Aya,” I cried. I scanned the crowd all around me frantically, hoping that my children were close. “Dara! Jacan! Aya!”

I heard Dara scream, then a man’s exclamation of surprise.

I saw Aya briefly through the crowd. She was being dragged along the ground, kicking and protesting. “Elohim! Elohim!” she screamed.

I stood and saw that two men were hovering over Adam, one with a knife pressed against his throat. Abel was nowhere to be seen, in the midst of the men surrounding him. I thrust myself into the crowd, but their reaching, gripping hands held me fast. I heard myself screaming my husbands name. I scratched at my captors’ faces; I clawed their arms; I would stop at nothing to get to Adam. Someone grabbed my arms firmly and brought them around to my back. They yanked up on them, and I bent over, crying out in pain. “My husband,” I cried. My face was now wet with tears, and I could no longer see Adam. “Please. My husband. My sons.”

It was too late. Quickly, I was bound and gagged and thrown upon the ground, with two brutish men to stand watch over me. One picked his teeth and watched Abel continue to fight; the other leered at me.

The prince slipped Naava’s robe off her shoulders and pulled it
away from her, so she could get her arms out. Freed of its burden, she was naked, standing in the middle of a beautiful and terrifying place, surrounded by all sorts of ceremonial articles clustered along the feet of the statues, some glinting in the flickering light, some smoking with incense.

Naava covered her small breasts with her hands and shivered. Never before had she had so many eyes looking at her.

The prince pulled her hands away. “No,” he said. He held her hands out from her body and clicked his tongue with approval. He let go of her arms and began to undress.

Naava watched with interest. She had entered a time and place in her mind where her family did not exist, where Cain did not exist, where no one but she and the prince existed. It was a pleasant place of freedom, this place, and she began to relax.