The Eve of Eternity
And God planted a garden in Eden, and placed there the Humans who had been Fashioned.
NOTHING
On the first day, God created Spacetime. He tested it with Light, and it mostly held up. And God saw that it was Good.
On the second day He did some cleaning, separating the Heavens and the Waters. That held up, too, and looked nice to boot. And God saw that it was Good.
On the third day He took care of Plate Tectonics, and populated the newly dry land with Wonderful Plants, some of which even had fruits that contained the potential for more fruits, which He thought was a particularly clever piece of ingenuity. And God saw that it was Good.
On the fourth day God kickstarted the Fusion Process and got the Stars going, which probably should have come first as they could have taken care of a lot of the other stuff anyway but whatever, live and learn.
And God saw that it was Good.
On the fifth day the land and sea both were covered in what were supposed to have been Wonderful Plants but now grew so densely everywhere that they amounted to what might as well have been Weeds, so God created a whole bunch of Wonderful Animals that would eat them, but also each other, because he wasn’t about to get caught by that.
And God saw that it was Good.
On the sixth day, God sculpted the Dust of the land into a likeness of Himself and Breathed into it Life, and thus created Man. And God saw that it was definitely not as Good as it could have been and would sooner or later turn all Creation to Ash and Ruin, and so God made Woman, which wasn’t so much a solution as it was a band-aid, but maybe He was getting a little tired of this whole Creation business by now and it would probably be okay, right?
And God saw that it was Good Enough.
On the seventh day, God took a Sabbatical.
“He did what?!”
“I’m sure he’ll be back,” said Adam, plopping down beside the pond. Eve had woken up next to that pond the night before, and since doing so had learned quite a lot of information, but not quite as much as she would have liked.
Adam reached over to one of the plants growing out of the water, long stalk-like things that bowed over, almost kissing the still, reflective surface of the pond. He plucked an oblong fruit from the end of the stalk, and immediately the stalk sprang up, liberated, sending ripples out across the water.
Eve watched the juices dribble down Adam’s chin as he bit into the fruit. “It’s all for us, you said?” The fruit did look good.
“Well, basically all, yeah,” he said around a mouthful of red-orange fruit flesh.
“‘Basically?’”
He waved a hand in a vague circle. “There’s this one plant, the Tree of Knowledge of something or other—can’t eat from that one. Off limits.” He wiped at the juice and licked his fingers.
“Why?” asked Eve.
Adam gave a lazy shrug. Everything he did had that same just-woke-up-might-go-back-to-sleep-haven’t-decided-yet affectation to it. It was already driving Eve crazy. “He didn’t say. Except that if we did eat from it, we’d die.” He finished the fruit and tossed the pit over his shoulder. “Whatever that means.”
Eve asked a few more questions for clarification, but gave up when Adam admitted he hadn’t really been paying attention to what God had been saying. It was time to do some exploring of her own.
She found herself walking in an ever-shrinking circle, spiraling in towards the center of the garden. Something drew her on, pulling at her.
There.
The moment she saw it, there was no doubt in her day-old mind that this was the tree to which Adam had been referring. Its branches were mostly bare, leaves hanging from the smooth wood every handspan or so in a curious, patterned fashion. For a brief second it looked to Eve as if she were staring into the concave surfaces of a hundred perfectly still, perfectly reflective small ponds hanging in midair, the image held in each an inversion of that which it reflected, and what they reflected seemed to be the whole of Eden at once, flipped on its head and twisted so she could see the insides of things and she was seeing inside herself and the fire-that-wasn’t-a-fire burned her eyes-that-weren’t-eyes and she opened her mouth to scream and—
“Best not to look directly at it, the first time,” whispered a cool voice by her ear.
She jumped back—
blinked—
turned to the fruits, which now looked just like rounder, shinier versions of the apples Adam had shown her—realized that whatever terrible vision she’d been afflicted by had ended—turned back to the creature that had spoken to her. Blinked again. It was a serpent of some sort, larger than any Eve had yet seen. It had wrapped itself around one of the lower branches of an adjacent tree, level with her head, its own resting comfortably on the wide branch.
“Are you going to try to get me to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Something Or Other?” asked Eve. The serpent raised its head and made a sound that might have been laughter, but might also have been anything else—she didn’t have much experience speaking with serpents.
“Goodness, no,” it whispered, resting its head upon the branch. “What would be the point of that? You would die.” Its tongue flicked out in what seemed a dismissive gesture. “Whatever that means.” The softness of its whisper, like a blade of grass bending in a breeze, was a rather comforting sound after the terrifying experience with the Tree. The vision lingered upon the back of her eyes, but was fading already.
“Oh,” said Eve. It struck her that talking was not something she’d thought animals could do. Why had God made her and Adam if animals could talk? “You can speak,” she said aloud.
“Is that surprising?” whispered the serpent. Eve could swear she was getting the sense that it was raising an eyebrow, though of course there were none to raise, and in fact the serpent hadn’t moved at all.
“I’m not sure. Can all animals speak?” It hadn’t occurred to her to ask the various creatures she’d seen on her walk through the Garden.
“No,” whispered the serpent, as if letting her in on a secret; Eve almost imagined she could see it smiling.
“Then yes.”
The serpent raised its head, leaning out of the tree and closer to her. She stopped herself from taking a step back. It stared at her, head swaying slowly from side to side, each eye taking turns meeting hers. “Tell me,” it whispered, tongue flicking out and back, “what have you seen of this place? You walk so quickly. Surely you must have covered it all, seen all manner of incredible things?”
Eve thought. “I have only been here a short time, but yes, I have seen incredible things. I saw a man, and a pond, and a river; I saw trees and clouds and more creatures than anyone could find names for without running out of good ones, some less impressive than others but no less wondrous in the fact of their existence. Lastly, I saw the Tree of Knowledge of Something Or Other, which I’m beginning to think isn’t its actual name, and I saw the whole of Eden in its fruit and—” She cut off, even the memory of the not-fire inside of her burning her mind’s eye. “And I saw you, I suppose. A serpent who can speak.”
The serpent slid forward, head swaying off to the side. “Oh, I am nothing but a minor curiosity. You have seen greater than me. But tell me,” it whispered, turning back to her, “what have you heard?”
Eve thought, and told him: Adam’s lazy voice, the rushing of water, the calls of birds, the humming of insects, the wind in the trees, her own footfalls. And the serpent’s simultaneously soothing yet unnerving whisper.
“I do apologize for any discomfort it causes you,” whispered the serpent. “I strive to speak softly and sit on a big stick. But tell me, what have you touched and tasted?”
Eve thought again, and told him: the waters of the pond, the barks of trees and the leaves of plants and the petals of flowers, the fruits of the Garden—she glanced at the Tree—the grass on her feet, the touch of the wind. And the serpent’s eyes upon her.
“I find conversation fascinating,” it whispered when she said so. “It does so stimulate the mind, which is oft in need of such here. But tell me, what have you done?”
Eve went back to thinking. Then she stopped, and said, “Well, I suppose I’ve seen, heard, touched, and tasted.”
“Valuable experiences to be sure,” whispered the serpent. “But are these not passive pursuits?”
“What do you mean?” asked Eve wearily. Just because the serpent had said it wasn't going to try and get her to eat from the Tree didn’t mean it was suddenly less suspicious that it happened to be hanging out directly next to it. She was sure it must be planning on trying something.
“I mean,” the serpent whispered earnestly, “what have you actually done?”
Eve crossed her arms. “I’ve only been here a short time. Since yesterday, in fact. I think all that I’ve described to you is plenty.”
The serpent watched her, tongue flicking out and back. Then it swayed, dropping and raising its head as if swimming in place. “No, of course you are right. I had forgotten. And you will have all the time in the world to do things. Silly me. Forget I said anything.” The serpent began to raise itself, slithering higher along its branch and reaching for the next one up.
“What do you mean?” said Eve again, hating the fact that the serpent seemed to know so much more than her.
“Merely that you will have every opportunity to find something to do. I am sure you will come up with some truly engaging activities to pass the time.” The serpent was disappearing into the upper branches, almost obscured by the canopy of wide, white-green leaves. Eve almost called after it, asking for further elaboration, but didn’t want to give it the satisfaction of answering with yet another purposefully vague reply. In seconds, the serpent was gone.
Something to do.
The words prodded at her like an impossible itch, located somewhere she didn’t have any body and couldn’t reach in order to scratch. The itch grew more uncomfortable the longer she thought about it, but try as she might she couldn’t find anything to distract herself with. The birds were charming, and the other critters cute or magnificent, but none could offer her conversation. The trees and bushes and vines were lush, and truly something to behold all altogether, but they could not ask her questions, or answer them, even in frustratingly vague terms. The Garden was a wonderful place, full of beauty and splendor. Surely she must be able to find something to do.
After wandering through the beauty and splendor for an indeterminate yet subjectively lengthy period of time, Eve found herself stomping through a small copse of trees, coming out by the pond. Adam was exactly where she’d left him, now asleep on the grass. She watched him; in the moments between breaths, when the rise and fall of his chest turned to brief, utter stillness, it seemed to her eyes as if he’d never been awake at all. He looked so at peace she almost regretted waking him.
“Adam.”
He stirred, blinking, then saw her, and a smile bloomed across his face, like one of those bunched-up flowers whose wide petals unfurled all at once when you brushed against them. A muscled arm pushed him upright, and he stretched like one of the great cats he’d shown her and said he’d named. Not all of the names had been terrible, but she’d thought ‘bobcat’ had been a special sort of uninspired.
“Where’ve you been?” asked Adam, yawning.
“Off exploring,” said Eve. Adam nodded his head a few times, then leaned over the pond and splashed water on his face. “I had a strange conversation with a serpent.”
“Mm,” said Adam, shaking his head vigorously. Water droplets flew from his face and the tips of his dark hair. “The Garden is wonderful, isn’t it.” He didn’t seem the least bit interested in the existence of a talking serpent. This was who Eve was supposed to spend her life with?
“Adam,” she said. Adam looked over at her, one lazy eyebrow rising minimally. The itch was unbearable. “What are we supposed to do, all day every day, for the rest of Eternity?”
“What do you mean?”
Eve found she didn’t much like being on this end of that question, either. “Exactly what I said.”
Adam blinked, then gestured to their lush surroundings. “We have the Garden. Its—”
“Wonderful, I know,” said Eve. “But what is there to do in the Garden?” Adam stared at her blankly. “Like…” she tried to think of an example, and found her mind going to the most interesting thing she’d done thus far. “Are there any other animals to talk to?”
Adam scratched his head, brows coming slowly together. “Not that I know of.” Only one talking animal? Well, there were only two of them, so it wasn’t too unbelievable. Still, Eve wasn’t sure she trusted her partner’s information. The serpent hadn’t been much help in most regards either—she’d gotten the sense that being enigmatic was how it entertained itself.
“Oh!” Adam perked up, smile returning. “There was something that He said we should do.”
Eve let out a breath, feeling herself start to smile as well. Of course God wouldn’t have left them with nothing to do for the rest of Time—she felt foolish for having let the thought bother her so much in the first place. “Well? What is it?” She hadn’t realized until that moment, but direction from God was exactly what she’d needed. It would feel good to have a purpose, a goal to work towards.
Adam was frowning in concentration, tapping his fingers on his stomach. “It was something like…’Be fruitful and multiply.’”
“I’M SORRY?” A nearby tree shook as it was vacated by a couple dozen brightly-feathered birds.
Adam raised his hands defensively. “He said it, not me! Hey, where are you going?”
The branches stung as she ran through the copse, not stopping to duck around or push them aside. She had to get away.
She tripped over some yellow mushrooms as tall as her knees with caps twice as wide, righted herself, and kept running. She noticed she was breathing heavily. This was His Plan for them? This was what they were to occupy themselves with, all day every day, for the rest of Eternity? Eve had already felt herself growing restless on her walk through the Garden, her mind searching for something worth thinking about—and she’d only been here less than a single day. How unbearable would that sensation become after ten days in Eden? After a hundred? A hundred-thousand?
She stumbled into a small clearing, and found herself confronted with a scene of two chimps engaged in following the instructions of God’s Plan. They didn’t stop, didn’t even look up at her as she stood there, wheezing, thoughts still stumbling, still looking for something to grab onto. A picture rose in her mind, of her and Adam in place of the chimps, day after day after day.
“Is this all you do?” she yelled at them, praying Adam was wrong about the serpent. The chimps looked at her. They didn’t stop. “Say something!” One of the chimps began to grunt, rhythmically. Eve turned and ran, pushing blindly through the trees, nausea swelling up through her stomach and into her chest and head.
She was trapped in this perfect forest of beauty and splendor, with a bunch of mute animals and a man who couldn’t remember the Words of God and thought that napping was an activity. How could God possibly intend for her to live here? This wasn’t Paradise, this was— this was—
The pace of her breathing increased again, her head growing light. She felt as if she were rising up out of herself, leaving the running form of her body to continue its motions as she left it behind to rise and rise, and then all at once she was fall and everything rushed back and the air smacked her in the face, and then so did a branch. She kept running. She drifted out and back, out and back, oblivious to the leaves and branches whipping about her.
The Garden pulled her in, her feet tracing its invisible spiral. She found herself heading to the only place she thought might hold the possibility of answers.
Eve burst out of the treeline and staggered to a stop, face to face with the serpent. In the back of her stumbling mind she wondered if it spent all its time here, or only situated itself here when it somehow knew she was coming.
“Tell me,” gasped Eve.
The serpent’s tongue flicked out. “Whatever do you mean?” it whispered.
“No more riddles,” said Eve, gulping for breath. “You speak in hints and implications, wriggling around in circles with words and whispers, playing at idle curiosity like— like— like you know things! Tell me!”
“If I have knowledge of things,” the serpent whispered slowly, “it is but a taste of true Knowledge. And surely there is a reason for it.”
“What—” Eve struggled to get the words out through clenched teeth. “What do you mean?”
“God placed me here the same as He did you.” Eve couldn’t tell whether the serpent meant ‘here’ as in Eden, or as in this clearing at its center, where stood the Tree. “If there is knowledge I possess that you do not, surely He must have a reason for this state of things?”
“Surely,” growled Eve, “He would have given me something to fill my days with that isn’t…” She broke off, the picture returning to her mind. “You’ve been leading me towards some specific conclusion since your first question, so, fine—tell me. Surely God had us meet in order that I should come to know that which you know.”
The serpent hissed in amusement. “Oh, very good. But no.”
Eve blinked. The word was out of place, an tree in the sky where you expect a cloud. “No?”
“I cannot do this thing,” whispered the serpent, winding itself tighter around the branch; its body seemed to grow wider in the process. “He would be less than pleased with me, and I am nothing if not His humble servant.”
“Then at least tell me how you learned what you know. You seem to gain a level of entertainment from our conversations beyond their mere content. I want that.”
“I am afraid I must refuse,” it whispered more quietly, eyes flicking almost imperceptibly to the side. Eve didn’t need to follow the brief glance to identify the object of its focus. “And I request you drop this subject in favor of any other.”
“What is it really called,” she said. The serpent saw where she was looking and hissed so loudly Eve jumped.
“You fool, if you eat of it you will—”
“Die,” Eve cut in, “I know.” Whatever that means. She took a step toward the Tree. The fruits hung innocently at the ends of the Tree’s long branches, glistening in the sunlight. Their skin was beautifully reflective, but only in the normal sense.
“All the trees in the Garden,” the serpent whispered, almost to itself, “and this the only one He forbade you. Though it is not my place, I wonder at His judgement.”
Eve stepped closer, raising a hand and brushing her fingertips against one of the fruits. A visceral tingle ran down her arm, and she wondered if this was only because she had been expecting something like that to happen. The fruit was cool to the touch, refreshing her even as she wrapped her hand around it. She hadn’t been intending to actually take one, just to examine it more closely, but the sensation was new, and welcome.
The fruit came free with barely a tug.
“You got me,” whispered the serpent from behind her, and she could imagine that, were it a person, its words now would yet have been a whisper. “You called my bluff. This was a game, something to pass Time, and you have won. Oh well. Now let go the fruit.”
Eve’s grip tightened around it, feeling the flesh depress ever so slightly beneath her fingers. She raised it to eye level, and looked at herself in the muted reflection.
“Why?” came the whisper. It seemed less affronted, or even urgent, and more curious.
“Why?” echoed Eve, idly turning the fruit; her reflection slide across its surface, always staying directly in front of her. “Because it’s been but a single day. And already I tire of Paradise.” She lowered her arm to her side, turning. “Besides,” she said, walking past the serpent, whose head floated to follow her like her reflection. “You told me to find something to do.”
Eve approached the pond at a hard walk, and didn’t stop until she was standing beside Adam’s sleeping form. She dipped a foot into the pond and kicked some water at him.
“Wake up.”
“Aghm, wha—?”
“I found something.” The fruit split in her hands as if it had been made to, straight down the middle, not spilling a drop of nectar. Eve noted that it didn’t seem to have a pit, nor any kind of seeds. She tossed one half to Adam, who caught it with a look of pleasant surprise. “Taste it.” Adam didn’t need to be told twice, and probably hadn’t needed to be told at all—he raised the piece of fruit to his mouth and bit into it. No juice dribbled down his chin.
Eve had all but resolved to eat the fruit herself, but it didn’t hurt to test its effect on the only other person in here. If it was painful to die, she would rather find out beforehand.
Adam finished his half of the fruit and licked his fingers, then looked at her with a strange expression—contemplation. It was entirely out of place on him, like an elephant’s trunk on a ladybug (she wondered how Adam had come up with that particular name, given that she hadn’t yet existed at the time of the naming). Adam glanced down, at himself. He let out a yelp and promptly ran off.
“Wait!” He didn’t wait, and in moments had disappeared into the forest. Eve looked at the half a fruit in her hand. It hadn’t seemed like it had caused him any pain—he’d just looked like he suddenly had to relieve himself, and for some reason needed to go find a particular spot to do so.
There was a rustling in the trees. Eve wondered what he was doing.
It didn’t matter. Whatever it was couldn’t be any worse than the Eternity she was currently faced with.
Eve took a bite of the fruit.
It was crisp, like the apple, but exceptionally mild in its flavor, practically tasteless. No, that wasn’t quite right. The taste was subtle, an extraphysical sensation rather than a flavor upon the tongue. A tingle ran down her back, spreading throughout her body and beyond, touching the not-fire that burned within. The sensation was not unlike what Eve imagined one of those wide-petaled flowers might feel like as they unfurled all at once, baring their face to the sun and the Heavens and—
And Eve Knew.
The Knowing came in many forms, too many, and it was impossible to find any coherence unless she forced herself to focus on something in particular. She let the loudest thought speak first.
I’m naked.
She looked down—saw that she was, indeed, naked—wondered why that was important—understood—and moved to the next thought. She Knew now what the Tree was called: the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil—and she Knew, now, that what she had done in eating it had been—
WHERE ARE YOU
The Voice of God swept through the Garden, and Eve’s thoughts were swept from her head. It wasn’t a question.
Eve realized she had dropped the rest of the fruit. Her hands shook as she bent to retrieve it. Then she stopped, turned to run—Where?—knew that running meant nothing to Him because Spacetime—What?—meant nothing to Him, and yet He had waited until they had both eaten of the Tree—Why?—before coming, and she had to cover herself in His presence—Why?—and it wasn’t her fault that she’d eaten of the Tree because the serpent had asked her what she had done and Eternity is such a long time and anyway after she’d eaten she’d realized that He—
WHY ARE YOU HIDING
said the Voice of God, and this time it was a question. Eve heard Adam’s voice from somewhere nearby.
“Because I was naked before…You, oh Lord.”
HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS
“It’s, uh, pretty obvious,” said Adam.
Why was He even asking? He Knew. He Knew everything. Eve sifted through her newly-acquired Knowledge as God spoke with Adam.
Thoughts crowded her mind like fish around a ripple in the pond, like birds around a worm on the ground, like perfectly reflective orbs hanging from the ends of the perfectly arching branches of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The image prompted a sense of imbalance, something missing that before had been there, something out of reach just behind her, and if she turned she might catch a glimpse and—
Eve remembered. She’d been thinking about her choice to eat from the Tree, and had become aware of the Knowledge that her actions—
WHY DID YOU GIVE HIM OF THE TREE
Eve’s mouth was suddenly very, very dry, and the sight of the pond's clear waters in the corner of her vision called to her, its reflective surface so like—
BECAUSE YOU HAVE EATEN OF THE TREE, YOU WILL BE DRIVEN FROM EDEN, AND WILL LIVE AT A DISTANCE FROM MY DOMAIN
AND YOUR LIFE SHALL BE FINITE AND FULL OF STRUGGLE
YOU WILL GAIN YOUR SUSTENANCE FROM THE EARTH, BUT THE EARTH SHALL RESIST YOU
CHILDBIRTH SHALL BRING YOU PAIN, AND ALSO THEY WILL NEVER LISTEN TO YOU AND MIGHT EVEN TRY TO KILL EACH OTHER NOW AND THEN, THOUGH THAT WILL LESSEN AS TIME GOES ON
AND AT THE END OF YOUR DAYS YOU WILL RETURN TO THE EARTH, BECAUSE CHIASTIC STRUCTURE IS SATISFYING AND THERE WON’T BE ENOUGH ROOM FOR ALL OF YOU EVENTUALLY ANYWAY
The Voice of God had started to sound…not bored, exactly, but definitely not as commanding and awe-inspiring as when it had begun its declaration. Eve was trying to remember what she’d been about to remember when the Voice of God boomed forth again, casting her thoughts from her head.
OH AND ALSO THE SERPENT IS CURSED TO CLEAVE ALWAYS TO THE GROUND AND SWIM IN THE DUST, EATING OF IT, AND THERE SHALL BE ENMITY BETWEEN YOU AND ALL PEOPLE, EXCEPT THE ODD REPTILE FANATIC AND THOSE WEIRDOS WHO PLAY YOU MUSIC TO GET YOU TO DANCE
“What?” hissed a voice from the air itself. “That was not part of the deal—we were to be tool-users!”
THIS IS MY WILL
The ground began to shake. All around Eve the Garden shifted, trees sliding away from where she stood, speeding off into unimaginable distances in the blink of an eye, leaving her with the feeling that the world was stretching, stretching beyond measure, and she at the center of this silent cataclysm. Soon there was nothing left in sight, and the ground—if that’s what it was, for it looked like nothing except that it of course had to be something or she wouldn’t still be standing—had stretched so thin it felt like she was hanging on a breath, and should she even think about inhaling or exhaling or anything at all, like the fact that, as she now began to recall, eating the fruit had been—
The ground gave way, and Eve tumbled downward.
EPILOGUE
Eve’s days were filled.
She had little time for idle thought, for which she sometimes felt a vestige of frustration, some leftover anger, the source of which she knew not. There was always something to do, whether that be tending the sheep, the house, or the children, who perhaps took up more of her time than she would have liked. They were good boys, though, and got along well, despite the elder’s often blank stare that made her feel she was looking into an empty pit.
Sometimes, in the moments between moments, Eve would get the feeling that she was forgetting something. But then one of a dozen dozen responsibilities would call, and she’d be off to help Adam in the field, or stop the boys from killing each other. This irked her, whenever she remembered, but there was never time to dwell on it.
And as she told herself at the end of every day, when she laid down to sleep beside Adam: at least she was never bored.
It was quiet in Paradise.
“She was a smart one,” whispered a voice.
AS IF YOU’VE SEEN WHAT TO COMPARE
“I’ve seen Adam.”
POINT
The silence resumed.
Some time later, a voice whispered again.
“She figured it out, did she not?”
Silence.
ALMOST
“By which you mean yes, but You Intervened.”
WOULD YOU HAVE THEM CURSING MY NAME EVERY TIME THEY GIVE BIRTH, EVERY TIME A CROP FAILS, EVERY TIME A SOUL LEAVES A BODY
Silence.
“I just…”
YES?
“Nothing.”
Silence.
“It just feels…” the whisper trailed off.
Silence.
“It does not feel right.”
I NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET YOU EAT FROM THAT PREPOSTEROUS TREE
“I am just saying, it feels a little...”
Silence.
IT WAS THE ONLY WAY
“And I know You know that, but from the perspective of a creature in Time, it looks a little…”
YES?
“It looks wrong.”
YOU MEAN FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF A CREATURE IN TIME WHO ATE OF THE TREE
“Yes.”
AND NEVER GIVING THEM THE CHOICE, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN WHAT YOU CALL RIGHT
“I know, I know. But still.”
WELL
IT WORKED
“Did it?”
IT DID
I THINK
THEY HAVE FREE WILL, NOW
Silence.
I live for your writing.