Eve: In the Beginning Read Free Page A

out at what’s on the other side. Any time I’ve gone with Adam, it’s been too difficult to decipher anything in the mist.
    I glance at him, wondering how much I should press. His bronze complexion looks sallow in the morning light. “You’re tired this morning,” I say.
    Adam stops, as if remembering that I’m at his side, and looks at me, then past me. “I slept little last night.”
    “Were you dreaming?” I ask.
    He shakes his head, and we continue walking, more slowly now. I don’t remember Adam having trouble sleeping before. If he has, he has not told me. I am the one who sometimes wakes in the middle of the night, unable to shut out my intruding questions.
    The north gardens teem with activity. Bees fly among the flowering herbs that grow on the small hill leading up to a tangle of vines. I’ve tried to tame the vines before, but I give up when the sun grows too hot. Colorful insects hop from plant to plant, and birds chirp in a chorus of song. I hum without thinking about it, imitating the birds’ sounds.
    Despite all the activity, a few deer doze in the shade near a grouping of trees. I cross to them and stroke their short, sleek fur. They barely stir, cracking their eyes open only to see who approaches. “You are lazy ones today.”
    The deer I am stroking blinks its eyes open for a moment, and I wonder what it’s thinking. It has been in the garden as long as we have, maybe even longer. All of the animals have been. They don’t die either.
    I can’t help but glance toward the borders. We aren’t too far from them, and I can see the top of the line of trees. The morning sky is clear, and I wonder if there is mist beyond the borders today. Adam says he has never seen beyond the borders without mist.
    I sense Adam watching me, and I turn to see him smiling. I wave, grateful his melancholy has left. He’s told me many times he loves to see me with the animals.
    He doesn’t want anything to happen to me , I think. And of course I don’t want anything to happen to him, to us, or to any of the animals in the garden. I don’t want any of us to die, but I still think he is too cautious. There is no one but us in the garden, and it’s always been that way and always will be, as long as we follow Elohim’s commandments.
    Adam bends over and turns the rich earth with a stone tool, and I think of Elohim’s commandments to us. Some of them were given before I was created, and although Adam has repeated them many times, I can’t always keep them straight.
    I walk over to Adam and stand near him; I am his shade from the sun.
    “Which commandments were given before I was created?” I ask him.
    Even though his face is turned down, I see his lips quirk. “The commandment about the tree,” he says in a patient voice. I have that commandment memorized.
    “And the ones after I was created?”
    Adam straightens, squinting in the sun. He’s perspiring, and he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. I think I might help him do the tilling, but there is no hurry to get the work done. There never is.
    “Be fruitful and multiply,” he says. His memory is flawless. “And replenish the earth and subdue it.”
    I nod. I know those ones, but I can’t remember the exact order. “Are the commandments for the animals as well?”
    “They are.”
    The sun is rapidly warming the garden. I look back at the lazing deer. “They aren’t following the commandments,” I say.
    Adam chuckles. “They aren’t doing much of anything today.”
    I look up at Adam. “What does subdue mean?”
    “Just as we’re doing now.” He waves a hand at the flourishing herbs. “Caring for the plants.”
    He is right, but we aren’t really doing that much. I wonder if we are subduing anything. The plants grow whether we tend to them or not. The sun and the mist do the majority of the work.
    “Let’s walk to the river and get a drink,” Adam says.
    “Can we continue to the border?” I ask. “Just for a short while?