Eve: In the Beginning Read Free

have to do: forbid her to visit the tree. It was the only way to ensure her protection. And he meant to protect her — forever. He wouldn’t let her die.

And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.
    Genesis 1:6
     
    Adam is curled up next to me when I wake. He usually stirs easily, but this morning he is heavy in sleep.
    I move away from him carefully so as not to wake him. I normally wait until he has gone to wash in the pond before I walk to my stone wall. At the back of the alcove, where I’ve hung woven leaves to keep the space cool on hot days, I’ve begun to scratch marks in the stone.
    One mark for each time the sun rises.
    It’s the only way I can keep track of the days.
    “How long will we live here?” I asked Adam once.
    “Forever.”
    “How long is forever?” I said.
    “Forever will never end,” he answered, as if it were obvious.
    I thought about his words and wondered if there was a way to count forever. But tracking the number of days and nights with my fingers did not work. Did forever have an end? If there was a beginning — the day that Adam was created — then there must be an end.
    Even if we don’t die.
    I move quietly to the back wall as Adam’s breathing fills the silent spaces. With a broken rock that I keep tucked in a corner, I scratch a line about the length of my finger. I look over the many lines I have drawn. They reach from the ground to my waist now, spanning the width of me twice over. I replace the rock and return to the front of the alcove.
    Another day toward forever is marked.
    Adam’s face looks tired, and I decide to let him sleep while I refresh myself. I walk to the pond that branches off the nearby river and wade into it, soaking myself in its delicious coolness. I drink my fill of the water, then wet my hair. Water drips down my back as I walk to the closest tree and gather the fruit. Adam is always hungry when he wakes, whereas I can wait to eat until the sun is halfway up the sky.
    But this morning I want to nourish myself for a long walk.
    Adam doesn’t know it yet, but I want to visit the borders. On the way, I can check on the cattle, and if the mist has cleared past the borders, I might be able to catch a glimpse of what’s beyond the garden.
    Returning to the alcove, I find Adam just waking up, but I wait until we are preparing to set off for the herb gardens before I speak. “Where are you working today?”
    He looks up as he places a stone tool into a basket I have woven from long grasses. “I’ll be overturning the soil between the patches of herbs in the north garden.”
    It’s something he can do by himself. “I plan to visit the cattle,” I say.
    He lifts the basket and straightens, facing me. His gaze is sharp. “I don’t want to be separated. We’ll go together to the north garden. You can help me till the ground, or you can gather herbs.” Elohim has given him the task of keeping the garden and tending to the herbs. I spend most of my time with the animals unless Adam needs my help.
    I wait, but he offers no other explanation.
    “I haven’t visited the cattle for a number of days,” I say.
    “We can visit them together, later ,” he says.
    I have never heard his voice this hard. I don’t like it. But I think if I follow him today, he’ll be more willing to go to the borders tomorrow. “All right.”
    He grasps my hand and leads the way, nearly tugging me along. Something is bothering him. My heart pounds as I realize I must be right: he did see something by the tree of knowledge of good and evil yesterday. What was it? Who was it?
    Perhaps Adam is correct; we should not be separated.
    Yet, I still want to visit the borders, and I don’t want to wait until tomorrow or another day. It has been a while since we’ve been there. Adam didn’t like my many questions the last time we went, and we haven’t been back since. I want to push through the thick trees and look