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. |
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.
III
Instruction did not come only from Adam. The first man could teach her little things, simple things: What to call a tree or a lizard, how to pronounce it, certain matters of behavior that inevitably made life more pleasant for both of them. (‘Do not disturb me when I am busy,’ being foremost among them.) She was in awe of him, for his ready answers and his confident manner. But Adam, for all his pomp, could not instruct her in the ways of morality.
God was an omnipresent force in the world, or so she was taught. There were times when she could feel Him, coddling her with river water, or leading her beyond a small hill so she could dance with the creatures Adam finally decided to Name horses. But there were other times when her awareness of Him dissipated, just enough to let her feel that she had privacy. She did not feel the lack of Him, for He was always in the same place when next she wanted Him: a stone’s throw from her heart.
It was God who made the laws by which they lived. These were few, for what great unhappiness could they have that required such laws? But those He did issue were unequivocal, and not to be negotiated.
When God made laws, He would first approach Adam. “First Man, thy wife must lie below you.” Then Adam would come to Isha, and repeat to her God’s words. “He has said that you must lie below.” And these words would puzzle her for some time, as she wondered why anyone might think to do otherwise, until the situation arose in the flesh, and then it seemed that God’s pronouncements were very wise indeed.
Although she could not know it, there had been other laws made before her entry into the world, spawned from Adam’s chest. Adam had heard these rules with his own ears, and presumed that Isha, being then a part of him, had absorbed their meaning as well.
It was thus that Isha came to believe that every plant in the Garden was made for eating. Every green leaf she tasted was fresh on her tongue, every fruit burst forth with sweetness. It was quite by accident that her relish in finding new foods came to be her first duty. As Adam relayed it, God had said to Adam, “Thou should not be alone. I shall make a helpmeet for thee.” Adam had explained this to her on the day of her creation. It took her some time to understand what a ‘helpmeet’ was. To help him—but with what? Her first clumsy attempts to help him had not met with approval (“Isha, I am busy!”), much in the same way her intrusion upon the ants had gone poorly. He did not want her intruding on his ability to Name and so her suggestions were unwelcome. He grew impatient when she lurked some feet away, waiting for him to need her. But what he did enjoy was returning to her to find that she had already amassed food enough for them both. Isha wandered far from their home in search of new vegetables, sometimes leaving in the morning only to return that evening, just as they were both growing hungry. Adam fell upon her and the food she brought with elation and gratitude, and so she learned quickly enough that being a helpmeet did not always been hovering nearby or inserting herself into his business, but could mean anticipating his needs instead. Adam was a good person to feed. He liked everything she brought him, whether green or gold, red or black. It became her unceasing wish to gift him with new delights, and thus it was that she, in pursuit of her duties, came upon the Tree.
It stood in the very center of the Garden, some way from the comfortable hollow of home. She would not have come across it if she had not decided that today she would cross the river. It was not a very deep river, but it was wide. That morning, Adam joined her on the near bank to sort through the many creatures that lived and prospered in and around the water. She wandered into the flow, as she did each time she felt the whim, and let her hands float just below the surface. Her torso was buffeted by the current, a not unpleasant coercion to wander downstream with it. She glanced toward the shore, where Adam knelt over a small, armored creature that raised its two pincers in greeting. He would not miss her again until much later in the day, and she had yet to find them food.
Isha looked about her for a new direction in which to explore. She had already followed the sun west, and sought out its beginning in the east. The south was no mystery, covered as it was by fields of wildflowers and wheat. She faced the north, barely half a riverbed away, and forged toward the opposite bank. It would not have been a pleasant thing to do if she had forced herself to cross on a day on which she had not already wanted to swim. But today wading felt good; the sun was still climbing in the sky, and her dark hair was already growing hot. She ducked below the surface for a moment to cool it, running her fingers playfully through the knots. For a moment she considered staying right where she was for the rest of the day, spending it in blissful idleness. But a single glance in Adam’s direction confirmed that he was engrossed in his task. If she did not bring him food, who would? It was possibly he would not even remember to eat without her reminder. Besides which, just as it was his responsibility to name all the living beasts of the Garden, so it was hers to look after him. She forded the river, emerged onto the sandy land, and thought no more of luxuriating in the cold water. She was again in unfamiliar lands, and she happily returned to her favorite task: examining the terrain for hidden wonders.
At first this bank appeared much like the one she had come from, sand leading into grass that became fields edged by forests. She picked her way over outcroppings of gleaming, smooth stones, and took time at the forest’s edge to run her fingers along the petals of new flowers, richly red and velvet against her palms. She had the desire to take this home to Adam, but they were simply too beautiful to pull from their bush. On the ground lay a fallen blossom, its many layers all tilted toward the ground. As she picked it up by the stem it spun in her hand, and a shower of petals sprayed around her feet. “Glorious,” she murmured, savoring the word as she savored the bits of red drifting back to the earth. Surely such a thing was one of God’s finer creations. The next flower she cradled gently between her two hands before continuing further into the Garden.
She walked through midday, when the sun was at its highest and fierce on her skin. She drifted between the trees of the forest, which slowly began to differentiate themselves from those near her home. There, lush leaves made a high canopy of shade, and vines dripped from branches like hair drawn between stretched fingers. The air where she and Adam lived was warm and moist, misty when the sun left and the jungle cooled. But here, so far from the river, the air was drier. She could feel herself rising slowly upward as she walked, though she was unable to identify it as such. The trees were thicker toward the bottom, lower branches obscuring her view of the distance. Never did she fear losing her way home; she had never done so before, and so she never expected to.
She wandered through the strange forest long enough for the sun to begin to dip, until she came to the edge of the tree line. Beyond was light, sky… and a lone tree, rooted at the very top of the slow incline she had just spent hours climbing.
Isha stepped free of the forest, and tipped back her head to see the entire Tree. It was massive, roots twisting and curling into the soil, emerging every so often to trip an unwary traveler. The trunk alone was wider than she or Adam could ever fully reach around—even if they stood on opposite sides, their fingertips could not possibly reach. Its boughs swayed gently in the breeze that was stronger so much closer to the sky, and to her great delight, fat, round, gleaming fruit bobbed about each time their branches jiggled.
Eagerly she ran forward, dodging the roots and fallen leaves. The Nameless red flower dropped from her hands, forgotten. A startled squirrel leapt away into the forest, making the bric-a-brac rattle. Isha found her way to the great Tree’s base, chest heaving with excitement. Wonderful! These would surely make them a fabulous dinner tonight!
It was then that her pert ears sensed something else disturbing the twigs and leaves of the forest floor. Another squirrel, surely. She perched atop the gnarled roots and stretched, stretched, stretched, for the golden, gleaming fruit!
Something dropped beside her cheek and stayed in her field of vision. Quite instinctively, she turned her round face toward it, and was met with a pair of equally curious eyes.
“Good afternoon, Isssha,” whispered the serpent hanging from the lowest branches of the massive Tree, drawing her name out with luxuriant malaise.
“Good afternoon, Brother Serpent,” she replied calmly, then smiled at her own abilities—she had learned the spoken language well from Adam! She would bring him lots of the pretty fruit to thank him…
“How isss it thou hassst wandered ssso far from thy home and thy mate?” asked the serpent his flat, scaly head tilting to survey her better. The sun highlighted the colors of his skin, sending little spots of red and black and green toward Isha’s eyes. There were other serpents like him near the home she shared with Adam, but none were quite so magnificent as he. His body was long, incredibly long, his neck alone reaching from the bough upon which he was perched down to her face, the rest of him tangled impossibly in the Tree’s crown of greenery. Small arms gripped various branches, steadying the creature so he was free to peer at her without concern. Isha peered back, her own face tipping to better meet his gaze.
“I crossed the river,” she replied, assuming that this could explain all.
The serpent’s dappled head bobbed, nodding. “Of course. And where isss Ish, your man?”
“He is Naming the birds and the fish who live by the river,” Isha said happily, proud at long last to recite Adam’s virtues to another person, someone who did not already know all of Adam’s finer virtues.
“I sssee. And why have you wandered away from him?”
“To find us food for this evening’s meal,” she explained, and her eyes returned to the fruit that looked more and more delicious as every moment passed. A honeybee buzzed past her other ear, on its way to pollinate the Tree, and bring about even more splendid fruit. She could smell them on the breeze that curled temptingly around the heavy trunk. Sweet, slightly tart, and tasting of fresh sunlight and light rain.
But the serpent did not appear to be interested. “The sssun is already sssetting, Isha. If you wish to return to the river before nightfall, you mussst go now.”
The woman started at the suggestion, and turned her attention to the sun. It was indeed nearing the horizon, and would set in less time than it had taken her to come to this hill from the river. Dismay made her stomach flop in her belly. “No! No, no! I must get back. But I haven’t gathered food!” she swiped haphazardly at the fruit, but it was much too high for her fragile human arms to reach. A thin, keening wail escaped her as true fretting set in. Never had she been in such a predicament before!
“Calm thyssself, dear Isha,” said the serpent soothingly. Its body and one thin arm descended, allowing it the luxury of smoothing her tangled hair away from her clean face. “I know of food near the river you may eat. If you run now, you will make it back before your man realizes he is hungry.” She nodded and listened avidly to his instructions, thinking to herself that she had indeed seen such plants when she was by the water that very day. “Those will sssussstain you. Now, return to your man,” finished the creature, something like a smile distorting its hard features.
Isha smiled her thanks in return and placed a gentle hand along the side of its head. “Thank you, friend. I will return tomorrow,” she promised, never doubting that she would With little care for her own person, still unaware of the great damages a single trip could instigate, Isha fled down the hillside, leaving the serpent and the great Tree to see to their own nightly affairs.
IV
She arrived at the river as the sun was beginning to melt into the far earth, spreading itself in a thin line of light where they touched. As the serpent had predicted, Adam was still engrossed in his work. The beach was covered in his footprints, and he was covered in sand though he did not seem to notice or care.
When he spotted her, Adam’s slim face brightened, and he waved her over to him. Isha paused on the far bank to uproot the plants the serpent had suggested to her, tall red reeds rising up amidst emerald leaves and covered in purple buds, before wading across the river to him. Adam helped her out of the water and hugged her, not caring how wet she was. “Isha! Come and see. These crabs are fascinating creatures! They have stone hands with only two fingers and they pinch things between them. Come and watch!”
Isha smiled, already catching his enthusiasm, and offered him the leafy stalks. “May we eat, first?”
Adam’s face was blank a moment, having truly forgotten his needs. Then he laughed and kissed her forehead. “We may eat while we watch them. They are rather sedentary creatures, after all.” And so they passed the last moments of the evening, Adam explaining to her all he had discovered about his newest discovery, the crab, while Isha settled against him and listened peacefully to his good-natured lecturing until they both fell asleep.
V
Adam thought nothing of her decision to explore the far bank once again. He was tempted to follow, but at last chose to remain where he was and finish cataloguing the animals there. He had not yet begun to Name the birds that dipped their long beaks into the water, scooping up water and bits of algae to sup on. As this clearly needed to be done before he could allow himself to go sight-seeing, he hugged Isha good-bye and let her cross the river alone.
She wondered at first how to find her way back, but she was an observant creature, and she soon recognized the path she had taken the day before. This time her feet had a purpose, however, and so she did not spend nearly so much time wandering hither and thither. She was again reassured as she felt the same, odd shift in her perceptions that indicated she was slowly going uphill. With this she relaxed, certain now that she was going the right way, and took time to look more closely at the forest itself. Though it was obviously a forest like that she was familiar with, it was still radically dissimilar. Even the shapes of the leaves were different. The animals skittering between branches or burrowing below fallen logs were unfamiliar, though she could see similarities between the parrot and the bright red bird preening on a high branch, its head topped by a red crown. Both such bright birds! She would have to make sure Adam saw this red creature, so he could give it an honorable, fitting name. She had to admit, it made sweeter noises than the parrot did. She made comparisons everywhere, some favorable and some disappointed, but she enjoyed the physical and mental exercise. Almost too soon she reached the central clearing, but her face lit once more to see the great Tree, and the unmistakable silhouette of the serpent dangling amidst its branches.
Isha strolled toward him, eyes bright. “Good morning, Brother Serpent.”
“Good morning, Isha,” replied the lengthy beast, eyes slit as he soaked in the day’s sunlight. He appeared to have draped himself intentionally across the outermost branches, the better to allow light to fall upon every inch of him. He dozed, not displeased to see her, but not willing to ruin his noon nap, either.
Isha waited expectantly for him to say more… and waited… until finally her shoulders slumped in disappointment. She had been so very happy the day before. No one had ever conversed with her in such a way as the serpent had. She was not sure either man in her life was capable of such a conversation, something that did not concerns virtues or animal behavior. Adam was her teacher. God was her Lord. Neither of them were interested in speaking in friendly tones, sharing small details about what made their lives so interesting. But she sensed something different in the serpent; she had perceived a deeper interest for her within it, and she was heartbroken to be so easily put aside. She turned away and prepared to make the long walk back down the slope, where she might sample more of the river’s vegetation. Hopefully Adam would not mind.
“Where art thou going, wife of Adam? I have been looking forward to our visssit.”
Happily, she ran back to him. “I thought thou wer’t sleeping.”
“I am awake now.” To demonstrate, he uncoiled himself and performed the reptilian equivalent of a stretch, sliding to the ground and pooling himself amidst the raised roots. “Tell me. How did the man like his dinner lassst night?”
A new smile broke across her face. “He enjoyed it! And thought me most clever for finding them on the far side of the river.”
“Did he, now?” mused the serpent, resting its head upon a root so he could look at her directly. “And what do you think of it?”
“Well, I—“ Isha paused. “It wasn’t really I that was clever… Thou suggested it.”
This pleased the serpent. “An honessst anssswer.”
Isha sat on a root opposite him, resting her elbows on her knees. “I suppose I just wanted to feel… like I knew as much as he does, for once.”
“Than Adam?”
“Yes. Adam knows so much,” she sighed, partly from pride and partly from resignation. “He knows the Names of all the creatures in the Garden, and he bestows Names on those he does not know. He is beloved by God, as the first man. I am always learning from him.”
“From God?”
“From Adam. And God!” This talking was harder than she had anticipated. Isha hugged her arms about herself and thought, trying to puzzle out why it was that what she thought and what she said did not always sound the same, why she felt she could not—or should not—say out loud what she opined internally. The first luster was wearing off her new skill.
“Isha,” said the serpent, slowly moving forward until its bumpy neck brushed against the skin of her knee and his face rose to meet hers. “Have you ever wondered why it isss that God and Adam hold ssso much knowledge? And you do not?”
She opened her mouth to answer and then promptly closed it. “No. No, I haven’t.”
The serpent nodded sagely, as though this explained everything. “I sssee, I sssee. Poor girl-child…” He paused, and then slid behind and around her, his long form sliding alongside her legs and hips until he had come back around to face her. She blinked back at him, not comprehending. “Isha, would you like to know as much as God or Adam? Really know?”
At first her hands flew open in delight at the prospect—then she reconsidered. “But if I were wise as God or Adam… what would their roles then be? Who would proclaim what is right and moral? Who would Name the creatures? Who would fashion new men and beasts?” The idea baffled her, made her question—
Apologetically, the serpent used one of its feeble, spindly arms to bring her hand to his face and dart his questing tongue across her palm. “I am sssorry, Isha. I’ve taxssed your poor mind. Do not think of it again.” He dropped her hand.
She was truly distressed now. “But—“
“Not another word,” insisted the serpent in the kindest way possibly. “It isss better you not worry about it. Or with anything today. It is my fault, after all.” The reptile unwound himself from the human woman, who looked on, completely bewildered. He rose back among the limbs of the tree, little hands gripping at minute inconsistencies in the wood. With expert ease, the end of his long tale curved around the stem connecting one luscious, plump fruit to its mothering tree, and squeezed. “Catch it, Isha!” She barely darted forward in time to keep the fruit from smashing all over the roots that had supplied it with nutrients bare moments before.
Utterly confused now, she looked to the serpent for an explanation. “Brother Serpent?”
If reptiles could laugh, this one surely did, its long body shaking with each chuckle. “Take it back to your husband, Isha. Let him taste of the fruit… and make sure you taste of it as well.”
The fruit was heavy in her hands, hard and thin-skinned, not like the oranges or bananas she peeled to unearth soft flesh. The smell she had caught on the breeze the day before wafted toward her sensitive nose: sweet, slightly tart, and hinting of fresh sunlight and light rain. Her mouth began to water.
“Don’t sssit here and drool over it,” insisted the amused serpent. “Take it home. Share it with thine man. And then… we shall sssee.”
Isha smiled at him, for the gift she could not attain on her own. “Thank you, Brother Serpent. I shall see thee again tomorrow.” She wobbled to her feet and returned to the clearest way down the hillside.
The serpent watched her go, and then resumed its drape across the mighty Tree’s branches, the better to sunbathe and warm its cold bones.
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