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THE TRUTH ABOUT EVE

I am Eve. Last night, Adam and I made love under a waterfall. First time we tried that. Water sprinkled over rocks onto our bodies. It’s definitely my favorite way. We made love more times than I can remember since I was created.

Today, Adam and I studied ants. Adam is naming all the animals. I go with him, but I don’t study the animals. I spend my time thinking in abstractions to understand life.

God created me six glorious years ago. Each year means one rotation around the Sun, and each rotation means the stars return to their first position. It’s difficult to explain since I studied it only for the past two years. In the beginning, I measured time by the shifting shapes of the moon, but then I discovered years better for longer periods. Time is the word I use to tell the difference between what is happening now in this spot and what happened yesterday in this spot. If there was no time then everything would happen at the same time.

Adam said he liked the idea. When he talked to God about it, God said, “A day is like a thousand years, and a thousands years are like a day.” God is different from us and doesn’t see time the way we do. When God looks at the Earth, he sees history happening at the same time. Time helps Adam and I keep track of events.

After Adam finishes studying, we pick fruit and search for a spot to watch the sunset. Thick garden plants often force us to climb trees to see the close of day. Other times we find a cliff and hanging our feet over the edge, we gaze as the blue sky is painted over with brilliant colors purple, pink, orange, red. Orange blossoms fill the evening air with fragrance.

To organize my mind, I categorize things. When I make a discovery, I put it into a category where I can study it in relation to the similar discoveries. I learned how many creatures create new creatures. This does not involve God creating a new creature. There are several different methods of procreating. Adam discovered procreation and asked me to categorize the methods. He often needs my help; I am happy giving it.

Whenever I make a discovery, I talk it over with Adam seeing if he has seen it. If it is too hard to grasp, which often happens, then we decide to ask God. God comes down and walks in the garden in the mornings occasionally. Rarely God will answer our questions; instead he tells us to keep studying and figure it out ourselves.

I study all the time. I must understand this world into which I am created. Adam was here, from my calculations, for three years before I was created. God made me from a rib of his. Adam was very happy when I was created. He likes me better than anything else in this world. I like him very much too, and we like doing things together and understand the world together.

Two trees stand in the middle garden. One is green and large; the other is silver and small. I often sit in sight of them after a long day of studying. The grass stops 300 feet from their bases. They stand with the tips of their branches almost touching each other.

Animals don’t crawl on their branches, and birds don’t nest there. The fruit of the trees hangs from the branches, and no creatures go near it. Pale-yellow oval fruit, big as bread plants, hangs from the green tree. Aqua-blue smaller fruit hangs from the silver tree’s. The trees give off a glow, which is why I like coming here after sunset.

“Are you looking at it again?” Adam says, gazing at the green tree.

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t”

“Why?” I say.

“Because God forbade us to eat from it. If we do, we’ll die,” Adam says.

“What does dying mean?”

“It means not being here anymore,” he says.

“What about the other tree?”

“That’s the tree of life. It gives you eternal life.”

And yet we both find ourselves drawn here. The soft glow grows as the night slowly darkens. I lay my head back against his chest and look up at the star laden sky for a few moments before I turn my eyes back to the luminescence of the trees.

Then a shadow begins to descend the green tree winding its way down from near the top. It’s long and thin. I sit up and wonder what kind of creature could be there. I look at Adam sleeping, and then slowly crawl closer to the edge where the grass stops. The shadow moves quickly towards me. As it gets closer, I see its glowing eyes and its long cylinder shaped body with small legs. A serpent. Adam and I studied them before, but this one has intelligence in his green eyes. Its skin is a dark green. It stops ten feet from me, head raised. Disbelief widens my eyes. Animals don’t act like this.

Opening its mouth, words emerge, "Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden'?"

"We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, 'You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, or you will die.' "

"You will not surely die," the serpent says. "For God knows that when you eat of it,” he looks at the green tree he just descended and continues, “your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil."

Knowing good and evil? The serpent crawled past me and then passed sleeping Adam. I sat back down next to him. A strange encounter, and I almost wonder if it was a dream. No animal spoke before. This one talks and says strange things. He says God doesn’t want us to be like him. God knows all. How many times have I wanted God to tell me things, but he wouldn’t? If I eat of it, I will know all.

The green tree’s fruit contains all the knowledge I have been looking for, and the silver tree has eternal life. Being like God sounds very good. I stand up, walk towards the huge green tree. As I get closer, its branches begin to over hang me. Not many leaves cover the glowing green bark and the yellow fruit. I close in on a low branch near the trunk and reach out my shaking hand. I reassure myself: soon I’ll be like God. I smile. God won’t be able to do anything about it. I take the fruit. It’s huge and heavy. I pull hard to rip it from the tree. The skin is soft to the touch. Still glowing softly, it comes off and I fall backwards from the snap. I look over and see Adam sitting awake. I walk over to him holding the hefty fruit in my hands. Sap drips out of the broken stem. Its smell is between rhubarb and pineapple.

“We shall be like God!” I say loudly as I open my mouth and sink my front teeth into the soft skin. Sweet as honey the fruit dissolves on my tongue. I hand it to Adam, and with no hesitation he takes a bite too.

Even as I swallow the fruit, as it moves down my throat to my stomach, I feel strange awareness. I look at Adam and I notice he is naked. No thick fur covers his brown skin. I feel a flush of indignation. I look down at my breasts and stomach which also are bare. I am embarrassed. My body looks different to me. I never realized how awkward my breasts were, or how my thighs appeared. I dropped the fruit and looked at my body. It was, well, it was completely naked!

“I am naked!” I scream.

“Me too! We need to make coverings quickly. Follow me.” Adam says.

We run through the garden until we find a fig tree, and using vines we sew the leaves together making garments. We sit staring at the ground. I am waiting for it to happen. Either we are going to die or we are going to become like God. I rock back and forth, my arms wrapped around my knees. Anxiety of God finding out fills me with dread. I now understand death, to be gone and non-existent here. I don’t want to die.

Adam is quietly staring at the ground with wide eyes. His silence annoys me. He and I talk about everything. Now he is too afraid to talk to me.

“Adam.” I say sharply.

He looks at me with those wide panicked eyes and swallows hard, “What.” He says.

“What are we going to do when God comes?” I ask trying to sound innocent. I understand the meaning of innocent now that I have lost it.

“Why are you asking me? This was your idea.” He says. Anger grows in me steadily as the dawn slowly comes.

Still staring ground ward filled with hate and fear, we hear God walking through the garden. We both get up and run in opposite directions away from the sound. Terror fills me as I run. Then he speaks, "Where are you?" I stop running and listen. I faintly hear Adam answering, "I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid."

God says, "Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree that I commanded you not to eat from?" I sneak closer to hear what Adam will say, "The woman you put here with me-she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it."

I get up and run over to where Adam is, so outraged at his betrayal. I notice Adam is lying on the ground with his face in the dirt. I stand right next to Adam and fling my head back to look up at, at …at the Almighty. I am struck dumb at his brightness. I stand there and say nothing.

Then God says to me, "What is this you have done?" I tremble with fear at his booming voice. I fall down and lay on the ground next to Adam. In the quietest voice muffled by the dirt I manage to squeak, "The serpent deceived me, and I ate."

Then I lift my head a little and see him – the serpent moving along on his small legs in his wave like movement, which first enraptured me. He looks at me with a smile in his green eyes. His tongue comes out and slithers; then is sucked back in.
God says to the serpent, "Because you have done this,

"Cursed are you above all the livestock
and all the wild animals!
You will crawl on your belly
and you will eat dust
all the days of your life.
And I will put enmity
between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and hers;
he will crush your head,
and you will strike his heel."

God then says to me,

"I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing;
with pain you will give birth to children.
Your desire will be for your husband,
and he will rule over you."

To Adam he says, "Because you listened to your wife and ate from the tree about which I commanded you, 'You must not eat of it,'

"Cursed is the ground because of you;
through painful toil you will eat of it
all the days of your life.
It will produce thorns and thistles for you,
and you will eat the plants of the field.
By the sweat of your brow
you will eat your food
until you return to the ground,
since from it you were taken;
for dust you are
and to dust you will return." ¹

God stops and all is silent. I lay there thinking about how pleased the serpent looked when I hear animals moving near by. I look and see two deer nibbling grass. God moves his hand over them. Their heads lift up, and then they fall to the ground lifeless. We are next, I think quivering.

The skin comes off of the animals leaving bright red corpses. I never saw anything like it before. The skins separate into pieces in midair, and are sewn with sinews from the animals. The garments hang in midair and we get up and take them.

God says, "The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever."

Then again God says, “You both are banished from the Garden of Eden. Now go.” We walk and he follows. I didn’t look at Adam for fear. We walk for a long time. My body hurts as never before. Sharp stones cut my feet.

When we pass all the parts of the garden familiar, we come to a thick wall of trees with a massive golden gate. We pass through the gate and walk onto a hilly countryside like nothing I’ve seen. There are trees here and there, but they aren’t as green or healthy as the garden’s. We turn around and look back. A cherubim with a flaming sword flashing back and forth guards the gate; we proceed out into this strange new world. There is a harsh dry wind to greet us.

I cry and cry feeling alone. God doesn’t talk to us anymore. I lay in a hut Adam made for me and weep. Adam leaves me alone. I feel ashamed looking him in the eyes. I learned too much by eating of the fruit.

I learned what it means to disobey God. I learned the price of pride. I wanted to be like God, to know good from evil. Now I know good from evil; before I only knew good. Evil is a terrible thing. I learned the purpose of our creation is to glorify God and enjoy him forever, and I hadn’t done that.

Months pass, and still I mourn for my sin. Suddenly, I remember something God said to the serpent. It was a curse, but it was also a promise.

My offspring will crush the serpent’s head. I still have work to do before I die. If mankind, the thinking and talking species God created, is to survive I must give birth. The promised one must be born to crush the serpent’s head and so fulfill the prophecy and restore our relationship with God. There is a reason to live. Approaching Adam, I take his hand and say, “There is hope.”

¹ Genesis 3