Eve Read Free Page A

grinned and waved back, then realized that the top of her robe was gaping and Abel had been staring into its dark recesses. Shocked, and slightly pleased, she blushed and looked down to put herself in exactly the same position she had been in when Abel— what had he seen? She glanced up, but Abel had vanished. She straightened her neckline and tucked the panel firmly under the sash—but not so tightly that he could see nothing.
    Lately when Abel took to the pastures at night, she thought it was due to his fear of her—or fear of himself around her. He smelled of rain and earth and wet wool and starlight. How could he not? And how Naava loved that smell and wanted to smother herself in it.
    She thought what a tragedy it would be if something should mar that beautiful face of his, for it would be sad to look upon a ruined countenance day after day. She wanted him whole, intact, and lovely. She did not want to give up her dream of having him to herself. For she would have him someday, at the right moment, and she would brush up against him, or place her hand in his, softly, tenderly, and whisper the words into his exquisite whorled ear, “I love you.”

    The shout had not been Abel’s.
    By the time Cain’s slurred singing reached their ears, the oil lamps were sputtering out, and Naava’s weft—her burgeoning piece of fabric—was the width of her smallest fingernail. Naava dropped her threads and duckedquickly out of her room. Eve and the children glanced up at the sudden movement, rising from their places at the sight of Naava’s eager face.
    “They’re back,” Naava said.
    Eve tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smoothed her robes. She grabbed the little ones’ shoulders and pulled them back to her.
    Naava opened the gate and disappeared into the night beyond the courtyard walls. Even in the darkness, she could see that Cain floundered like one of Abel’s newborn lambs. Adam had one arm around Cain’s waist and the other firmly locked on his forearm.
    “Hold the gate,” said Adam. His voice was stretched tight, like the knots he used to tie up his unruly grapevines.
    Adam supported Cain through the entrance, and together they stepped into the yellow circle of lamps where Cain, with an ill-timed belch, held out a new wineskin to Eve. It was shiny and ready to burst. Eve half-laughed at the ridiculous sight before her, knowing Cain could not be so happy if there was trouble with Abel, and Naava saw the furrows in her mother’s face grow smooth again.
    “What is it, brother?” Naava called. “Surely you didn’t go out to raid our storehouses.”
    Cain turned to her and gave a delighted snort. “We have guests! To the north of us. Real live people, just like us. They have tents, sheep, dogs, timber—you should see the building materials they’ve brought!—blue stones, and boats: these hollowed-out contraptions you put in the water, like floating logs, but better, more efficient!”
    Naava paused. She wondered how she felt—thrilled or alarmed? The family, the whole lot of them, looked astonished, of course. Eve had her hand over her mouth, while Dara and Jacan examined the new wineskin with eager hands. They thought they were the only ones that Elohim had created. Maybe there was a mistake. Naava’s first guess was that her family was no longer special. Elohim had made others, just like them, to work the land and be His laborers. He had no particular affinity toward them, exactly; He simply loved to create, and create He did, because, look, there were more of them. Her second guess was maybe He did love them after all and had seen fit to send them companions, or better yet, friends. More like themselves, more faces who could take away the infernal repetition oflife in the desert, for it was outrageously dissatisfying to Naava, day after day, seeing and doing the same things over and over again.
    “There will be problems,” said Adam gravely. “They are very different from us. They look