Eve As Woman
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Content Type: Fiction, Multi-Part Subject Matter: feminism, gender, religion, romantic relationships |
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Notes: Inspired by a class taken with my wonderful teacher at Eugene Lang College, Katherine Kurs, called Womens' Spirituality and Contemporary Religion. She allowed me to read the entire piece to the class, and generously praised it by comparing it to a midrash. Midrash are Hebrew writings that expand upon the stories of the Bible. Lilith is a figure from midrash. |
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I
It began in the comforting warmth of a frame. A part of a whole, each organ working toward a purpose. Structure, digestion, breath.
A pattern was soon established. For weeks, for months, everything worked in harmony. Muscles stretched and contracted, pushing and pulling fluids from one end of the system to the other, recycling and rejuvenating. Maintenance, that was all that was required. Then one part was taken from the frame, and a new life began.
It was chilly out here; bone and flesh stirred. Need and motivation flickered into being; there were necessary tasks to be accomplished here. The new form grew; lengthened. The cold brought awareness, and desire. Pleasure came as insulation took place, nearly as comforting as being part of the first whole. New structures formed, patterned on the old, but still unique.
She drew in her first breath, still stretching into her final form. The richness of the air filled her, life spreading through every limb, to every finger and toe. The very tips of her hair curled with it. She opened her eyes, realizing that she had her own eyes now, and her head fell back to take it all in. How gorgeous! How green! Light, everywhere! Soft earth, a plethora of sweet smells. The taste of her own saliva, the sound of her own breath.
Rustling sounded behind her and she turned to see her old body rising. Adam stood, staring at her in amazement and dawning joy. After a contemplative moment, his hand rose to point first at himself, and then jab a thick finger toward her chest. “Ish. …Isha.”
Woman.
II
She wasn’t sure how long they had spent in the Garden. Time was still a slippery concept for her. Every so often she would recall that she had last seen a particular stone the day before, or several days ago, but then the relation would disappear as she became distracted. There was much to be distracted by in Eden.
Every morning she awoke beneath a canopy of brilliant blue sky. Long grasses tickled her bare skin, and soft ground cushioned her sleep. When it rained, the droplets fell like a delightful mist, energizing her into gay laughter. When the sun shone she was visited by wonders. Small, hard creatures flitted about in the air, or crawled across the plants. Large mammals lumbered across the landscape, pausing to look at her when she approached, her eyes bright with curiosity. She stared at tongues and tails, ran soft, sensitive fingers over rough skin and silken fur. She shared her food with little beggars and ran in the wake of flyers, trying to reach them with her wingless arms. When the green plants bloomed she buried her face in their beauty, and did not let the resultant sneezes stop her from smelling every flower again and again and again. She longed to discover everything. Each daybreak was a new opportunity to explore. Down every path was something new. And every uncovering sent her running back to Adam, pointing excitedly.
She skidded down a dirt trail, worn by her repeated hurrying back and forth from the comfortable space Adam referred to as ‘home.’ The dust flying up around her clouded her vision, but she burst free and into the clearing, calling wordlessly for his attention.
Adam knelt over a knot of teeming blackness that originated from a sculpted pillar of soil. His brows drew together, and his mouth contorted, tasting different sounds, trying to find just the right ones. “Ram… Arn… Nat… No, gnats were Named already…”
Isha tumbled to a stop, eagerness making her careless. She gestured wildly, pointing back the way she came.
“Not now, Isha.”
Unfazed, she tugged at his elbow, trying to draw him to his feet. He didn’t budge, and she tugged harder, planting her feet firmly in the earth—
Something crawled over, around, and below her left food, and she shrieked, letting go of Adam and falling backward in a heap.
“Isha!”
Her eyes fell on her leg, still prickling with sensation, only to find it covered in tiny black bodies crawling across her ankles. “Aa’ntng!” was her cry of distress, and she tried futilely to swipe the invaders away.
“Isha! Isha!” Adam’s huge hands clasped round her wrists, pulling her away from the creatures, which were already fleeing. She began to calm immediately, sure that Adam would put a stop to it, Adam she could trust to look after her. Wise, clever Adam—
But his hold was too tight and he shook her wrists to gain her attention. “Isha! What were you thinking? Look at what you have done! You have scattered the—the ants! How will I ever find them all again?” he said with hurt and what may have been anger. “I have spent all morning watching them, trying to find just the right Name for them!”
She stared at him, unable to understand him. Thinking? Scattered? What ants? All she could really see was that she had distressed him. Poor Adam! Her expression changed to one of apology and she pulled free of his hands to wrap her arms around him in a gesture of comfort. She didn’t want him to be upset, certainly not because of her! He was too good to be made unhappy; God’s first human creation deserved only love and joy. She could remember, vaguely, the time when she was a part of Adam, a resident deep inside his chest, close to his heart. How joyously everything had begun, how proud he was to be given the responsibility and opportunity of Naming all the creatures in the Garden! And how wounded, how confused, he—and she, inside him, an inseparable part of him—had been, when suddenly some precious thing had been wrenched away from him. That was not long before she was brought into the world, and her recollections of the time immediately preceding that event were muzzy. The best she could recall were these emotions, so strongly felt that they had left a permanent mark on her own soul. The very last thing she wanted was for Adam to feel anything even remotely like that pain again.
He was stiff at first, unwilling to give up his righteousness so easily, but the words of God filtered back to him, and he opened his heart to her once more. Thou shalt not bear grudges. Forgive, Adam, and find in this, Grace. The words had meant little to him at the time. Now, he thought he could understand them somewhat. He hugged her close to him and rejoiced in the feel of her soft body. “Isha… Please. You must not do that again.”
Repentant, she pulled back and looked him in the eye as she nodded. Whatever it was she had done, she would make sure she did not repeat it. She searched his face for some sign that he had forgiven her.
Adam could feel his discomfort melting away, replaced by clean relief. She had understood him and made a promise to change. He hugged her tightly again and smiled. “I am done here, I have Named these creatures. Ants.”
Isha peered over his shoulder, down at the pile of writhing black bodies and dirt. “Ang… ant.” The word was so like what she had shouted—perhaps speaking was not as difficult as she had first thought.
Adam’s face lit with excitement. “Yes, ants! Ants. Many of them.”
She nodded, and tried again, and again, until she had satisfied him with her first attempts at speech. Gleefully, Adam swept her into another hug, and then took her by the hand. “Come, Isha, let us celebrate! There are figs growing by the river. Did I tell you I had Named figs? You will recognize them when you see them.” Together they ran back up the dirt path worn by Isha’s eager feet, and made a feast of the pulpy fruit. That evening they exhausted themselves in idle play, and fell asleep together amid the soft grasses and sweet flowers.
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