Eve Read online

  Lilly could hear it too. Approaching from a distance, it was a song both beautiful and slightly off-key. It was the clear and joyful voice of a boy making his way through the forest.

  “Is that . . . ?”

  “Adam? Yes! Look!”

  But Lilly glanced at Eve instead and recognized the face of a woman young and in love.

  • • •

  JOHN WAS LEANING OVER her as she opened her eyes.

  “Why did you wake me up?” she snapped, groggy and miffed that her dreaming had been interrupted.

  “I didn’t.” His expression revealed his confusion.

  “Oh,” she mumbled. “Good morning, then.”

  Under the marble-blue ceiling, John looked around and then back. “Actually, it isn’t morning. Late afternoon, maybe?”

  “Already?” She turned her neck as if looking for proof.

  “Well, look at you!” John exclaimed. “Incredible progress. All that emotional activity this morning seems to have freed up some movement between your spine and head. That’s a sign I’ve been told to watch for!”

  She tried it again. The shift in her muscles was barely noticeable.

  “Now, you be careful!” he said. “It might be tempting, but this is no time to overdo anything. We will now begin the work of removing the apparatus that has immobilized you.”

  “What sort of apparatus?”

  “Well, I told you that when I found you, you were very broken. In order for the Menders and Healers to work their kindness, we asked the Crafters and Builders to create an apparatus that would keep you completely immobile and allow them access and time to repair you.”

  “So what happened to me? What is wrong with me?”

  “Your neck and back were fractured, each in several places, among many other things. We found you in frozen stasis. It’s probably what kept you alive.” She could tell he was watching his words, perhaps sensitive about divulging too much especially after the cascade of emotions only a few hours earlier.

  “Wait.” A series of questions were coming into focus. “How long have I been here, like here here? In this room?”

  John paused, looking up, calculating. “Approaching a year.”

  “A year? I’ve been here almost a year?”

  “Yes, almost.”

  “Where did I come from?”

  “We have not ascertained that exactly, but from somewhere on Earth certainly.”

  “From Earth? You mean this isn’t Earth?”

  He shook his head earnestly.

  “So where is this . . . this island I’m on?”

  “It’s in an ocean you’ve probably never heard of. It resides in a wrinkle between worlds, between dimensions. There are many such places.”

  “John, that’s craziness.”

  “I’m sure it seems that way.”

  “Has anyone been looking for me? Does anyone . . . care that I’m missing?”

  John looked away. “Not that I am aware.”

  A new kind of fear gripped Lilly’s thoughts.

  “A year? Really? Is there a way for me to go back . . . home?”

  John cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

  “Lilly, all of this must be confusing and frightening,” he offered. “I don’t begin to understand the depths of what you are feeling, but I am deeply sad with you.”

  “John, why am I here? I’m nobody.” Her throat ached, her eyes closed, and her mind was in disarray. Without any solid memories, she could not tether any of this to something solid or real. All she had were scattered remnants of recollections that came to her in bursts. She had the dreams, but if she told John about them, he might think she was crazy. She wondered why it mattered to her what he thought, but it did.

  “Lilly, you are not a nobody,” he said firmly. “As for clarity about your coming, that will be revealed in God’s timing. You seem tired. Perhaps we might continue this later?”

  “No, we aren’t done! Don’t you dare leave!” she demanded, eyes still closed.

  He waited.

  “What exactly have your Healers and Menders been doing to me?” She rode the edge of rage.

  “They’ve been reconnecting your spinal cord to your brain and reattaching, um, whatever needed to be, uh, reattached. Things like that.”

  “What needed reattaching?”

  With a sigh, John told Lilly that only one of her feet was original to her body. The good news, as John put it, was that her new left foot was female, a detail that made the truth no less grotesque.

  When she had been found, he explained, hardly alive, among the many things broken in her body was her left foot, which had been completely crushed.

  She asked from where her new foot had been harvested. The answer was as gruesome as she feared. The metal box in which she was found contained other almost-frozen bodies.

  “What?” Lilly felt nauseated. John was talking faster, as if speed would stanch the flood of shock.

  “The Healers and Menders immediately deduced that the only option, other than to have the Builders create some sort of prosthetic, was to attempt to match an existing foot from one of the most recently deceased girls. Perhaps it would help to imagine it as a sort of organ transplant?” he suggested, but Lilly preferred not to think about it at all.

  “John? What do you think happened to us? To me and to the other girls?”

  “I could only guess,” he began, then paused. “Lilly, every theory makes me furious and desolate to the core. Whatever was done to you was wrong in every way I can imagine.”

  Like the last leaf on the autumn tree, Lilly could feel herself being swept away. In order not to fall, she tried to quickly change the subject.

  “And when exactly did they do all this . . . reattaching? I don’t remember any Healers or Menders. Besides Letty, you’re the only one I’ve seen around here.”

  “While you slept.” John took a breath. “Every day for months they have been working meticulously to put you together!”

  When Lilly didn’t respond, John continued, “They designed and built this special room for you. Almost every night it’s sealed up, airtight. Then it’s mostly filled with a breathable liquid. Much of the work requires you be turned over, facedown, but they can’t turn you unless you are weightless. In the morning they turn you back over and drain the chamber. You can’t see from where you are, but there are all manner of mechanical devices—ladders and things that allow access.”

  Lilly was silent. For at least a minute she lay there and again resisted slipping into a mental abyss that offered her safety and relief. John came into sight, a look of concern written plainly on his kind features.

  “Anything else you’d like to ask, Lilly?”

  “I’m done! No more questions.” She hesitated. “Wait, one more, for now. Why me?”

  That elicited a smile. “Ah, Lilly, why not you?”

  While that did offer another way of looking at her situation, it was not what she had asked. “I don’t mean why me in a cosmic sort of sense. I mean it more personally. Why would you go through all this trouble for me? You don’t even know me. Why me?”

  He thought for a moment before he spoke again. “I believe you have come into my life because God loves me.”

  “Because God loves you?”

  Another grin. “Yes, because God loves me, Lilly. The how and why of our connection is a mystery, but it is no small thing! You matter! You are Eve’s daughter.”

  “Eve’s daughter?” Was John somehow aware of her visions? “Eve, like Adam and Eve, that Eve? That’s just a story. A fairy tale.”

  “Ah, now the stew is thickening, as they say.” He shook his head. “Lilly, fairy tales and myths are born inside imagination’s storehouse; just because something is considered to be ‘a story’ doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  Once more Lilly resisted the opportunity to open up. However, his words did make her wonder about something.

  “So, you think the story of Eden is true? It always seemed unreal,
like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.”

  “I do.” John’s expression was bemused. “Lilly, would you like me to read you the story from the Scriptures themselves, where it was first recorded in writing? I have it nearby. It would only take a minute to get it.”

  “If it’s not a bother,” Lilly said, trying to hide her curiosity.

  He ducked out and returned quickly with an old leather-bound book. “My apologies, it’s not an original manuscript, but at least it’s in the original language, which I can read and translate for you as best as I am able. Better if we had a Scholar. Would you rather wait?”

  “I’d rather you read it,” she encouraged him. John dragged a stool next to her. He opened the book from the back and then read it backward.

  “In the beginning,” he began, “Elohim created . . .” John looked up. “Lilly, did you know that in the original and ancient language Elohim, God, is plural, and Ruach, the Spirit of God, or breath, or wind, is feminine?”

  Lilly’s silent reply was to raise her eyebrows and shrug her shoulders.

  “Perhaps, it is better if I simply read it. In the beginning,” he began again, “Elohim, God, created the heavens and the earth . . .” and so John read on through the first Creation account.

  “So it was all good and God rested?” Lilly asked, lost in her own thoughts and images awakened by the words.

  “Yes,” John responded. “It was all good, very good.” He hesitated as if to say more and then decided against it.

  Standing and clearing his throat, he said, “Now, truly, you’ve had enough excitement for one day. If you like, I’ll read more another time, but for now it’s past time for you to rest. All things considered, today was a good day. Now blessings on your dreaming.” He pushed the necessary buttons to dim the lights in the room, and as if he had drawn a curtain or flipped a switch, her eyelids shut.

  Even in her sadness Lilly recognized the increasingly familiar and welcome touch that was lifting her and carrying her to somewhere.

  • • •

  “ADAM HAS GROWN MUCH since you watched his birth,” Eve said. It was as if there had been no interruption. Lilly was with Eve listening to an approaching song.

  She watched a young man emerge from the forest, slim and tall, ebony-skinned with a deep tinge of dark brown-red, and thick black hair woven and matted with clay. He was striking, even more so as he danced and jumped his way through the trees, singing at the top of his voice. He was clothed in light.

  His nakedness made Lilly uncomfortable. She averted her eyes, conflicted over whether to watch. “I see why you like him, but why is he . . . naked?”

  “Naked?” Eve smiled back. “He was born naked. Adam has no need of any covering other than God’s love. There is no shame in being entirely weak and vulnerable.”

  “He doesn’t look weak.”

  “I don’t speak of physical weakness but of his complete dependency on Elohim.”

  “Okay, that makes no sense,” Lilly commented. “And I don’t understand a word he’s saying.”

  “You will hear and see whatever it is you are here to witness.”

  “Can he see us?”

  “No. Your presence has not been revealed to him, and you haven’t truly even been born yet, so why would he?”

  “But what about you?”

  Her mother did not answer this question.

  They floated along above Adam as he continued to sing and dance through a tall grass meadow, stopping to speak occasionally to things Lilly couldn’t see. Ahead of him, a small stream bubbled its way toward the river. Hopping into it with all the glee of a little boy, he suddenly stopped, his attention riveted.

  She turned toward the sound of approaching voices singing the same slightly out-of-tune song as Adam’s, accompanied by a rising breeze that blew warm and embracing. They were clearly voices he recognized, because he sprinted in their direction, leaping and gyrating to the rhythm.

  “This is their time to walk and talk,” Eve explained. She anticipated Lilly’s question. “God and Adam. Every day near its new beginning they celebrate and laugh and take joy in each other.”

  Eve paused, listening, it seemed, to a conversation that Lilly couldn’t hear. The woman grinned.

  “Lilly, why don’t you join them? Adonai is inviting you.”

  “Me? Inviting me?” She felt exhilarated and then terribly shy. A million excuses rushed her, whispering and exposing her unworthiness. “Do I have to?” she asked.

  “Of course not. Dear one, this is an invitation, not a demand.” The look in Eve’s expression was sympathetic and open, accepting of whatever Lilly might decide.

  “I can’t,” Lilly mumbled. “I don’t belong here. I wouldn’t know what to say. I can’t.”

  Eve hugged her. “The invitation will always be there for you, when you are ready.” There was no hint of disapproval in the woman’s voice. Lilly felt sad and also relieved.

  A flurry of fire and water blown by gusts of wind engulfed Adam in an embrace. The only figure, other than Adam, that Lilly could clearly perceive was Eternal Man. The blood and dirt of Adam’s birth had become part of the white light that clothed Him, like an embroidered ornamentation.

  Lilly yearned to experience the hug herself. Eve reached out and steadied her.

  Adam and God sat down, backs each against a tree near the forest edge. The substantial presence of Fire and Wind danced around them. When Lilly and Eve also sat down on the grass not twenty feet away, Adonai looked right at them, smiled, and nodded in greeting. The rush of acceptance blew through Lilly like a torrent. She did not resist, nor did she want to.

  “He sees me,” she whispered, barely moving her lips. “Eve, He sees me.”

  “He always does,” Eve quietly stated. “Not only does He see you, He knows you.”

  “Son,” Eternal Man said to Adam, “you are the center of Our affection and the radiance of Our glory.”

  “And You are my joy! I love You too,” Adam said with all the enthusiasm of a child. “I’ve been exploring.” He described creatures he had come across in his adventures. He demonstrated—grunting, growling, whooping—how he had even communicated with them. For all his youthfulness, Adam was smart, grasping ideas easily and with a depth that left Lilly astonished. The ease of their laughter and flow of conversation washed over Lilly like gentle, warm waves.

  When Lilly glanced at Eve, she was surprised at the tears rolling down the woman’s smiling face. Reaching out, Eve pulled the girl into her side, and without taking her eyes off the gathered community leaned in and whispered, “Thank you, Lilly.”

  “For what?”

  “This is the first time I have ever seen him like this, a boy in love with his Creator. You have given me this priceless gift. You, Lilly.”

  “I don’t—” Lilly began.

  “Shhh. Listen now. This is important.”

  Adam was saying, “Eden is fruitful of its own accord, so is my tending and cultivating important?”

  “Yes, important but not necessary,” stated God, a twinkle in His eyes.

  “Then what about my keeping, my keeping and protecting? Is there . . .” Adam paused as he looked for words to express his question. “Is there something outside the boundaries that I must guard against?”

  “You ask thoughtful questions, my son. Besides growing in stature, you are growing in Wisdom, which will help you serve and steer creation into maturity. Take each moment as it comes. Wisdom will guide and teach you. Like the tending, keeping is significant but not necessary. With your restful keeping and your tending, you worship and adore Us.”

  “I do adore You!” Adam yelled, and scrambled up into the lower branches of the tree.

  “As We do you!” Adonai too climbed into the tree until both were perched on branches looking out into the garden. Adam raised his hands, balancing himself, his laughter as pure as mountain springs.

  After a moment to catch his breath, he asked a different question.

  “Why can’t I
fly? I have been watching creatures that soar through the air and I have tried, but I am more like a stone than one of them.” With his hands he made the motions of falling straight down.

  “There are good powers and forces that hold you to the earth. One day you will explore these and subdue them while still submitting.” God smiled. “I have a question for you. Are you free to walk through these?” He knocked on the tree against which they leaned.

  “I am free to attempt it. See?” laughed Adam, pointing out a small bruise on his forehead. “I am not so skilled as the Messengers.”

  “Adam, the life and freedom that is yours, and all who are within you, are bound inside your relationship to Us. As long as we are face-to-face, you will have life and freedom easily and always.”

  By the perplexed look on Adam’s face, Lilly could see that he was wrestling with a new thought. As he did, he grasped the branch beneath him and let himself tumble forward. He hung for a second before dropping lightly to the ground. Adonai was right behind, and Adam turned to Him.

  “How could I ever not keep my face fully turned to Yours? My heart and soul and spirit have life only by dwelling in You. How could I . . . ever . . . ?”

  God gently reached around His son, embracing him.

  “Love takes risks, dear one. You have the freedom to say no to Us, no to Love, to turn your face away.”

  Adam frowned. “And if I did such a thing, what would happen?”

  “In turning you would find within yourself a shadow. This darkening would become more real to you than I am. From then, until you re-turned your face to Mine, this empty nothingness would deceive you about everything, including who We are to you, and who you are to all creation.”

  “Is there a name for such a shadow, a name for such a turning?” Adam asked, only a few inches from the Oneness he loved.

  “It does not deserve a name,” whispered Eternal Man, “but it would be called death.”

  Lilly felt as if a powerful and icy hand had gripped her chest and was slowly crushing it. She forced out words: “I know death. Eve, we have to warn Adam.”

  Eve took her hand and squeezed. Lilly could feel warmth radiate out, confront, and then advance against the cold. Fury was carved into Eve’s creased brow.