Larian, while still a young woman, began to have vague premonitions of that future. She did not question what Cain told her, nor hesitate to teach his doctrines to her children. When Cain said that only by favour of Abel could they hope to escape dire torment after death, she listened without understanding and repeated his words mechanically. When he told her that the Holy Blood demanded, by way of tribute, the eyes of a pigeon, the claws of a tiger-cub, and the entrails of a young she-goat, she obediently forced herself to perform the prescribed ritual, for to a mind innocent of scepticism everything put into words has validity. A thing said is a thought made, and between thought and fact who could distinguish? Not Larian. And certainly not Zildah, who would never have dreamed of troubling her head with such matters. But Larian, though she listened and believed, suffered no fundamental change in nature. Zildah waxed gross as time went on, gross and idle and quarrelsome, with no interest beyond her appetites. But Larian, despite the strange and ugly doctrines that were filtered through her to the younger generation, remained at bottom wise, simple, and loving. She looked on Cain with a deep maternal kindness, and asked nothing better than to do his bidding in everything. With satisfaction, if also with pricklings of unaccountable anxiety, she watched his sons and daughters growing up around him.
The river that flowed through Eden was now but a shining memory in Larian’s mind; but in this new country, too, there was a river, flanked by a broad stretch of land that was flooded twice in every ten moons and yielded two generous crops of barley. It was this circumstance, as much as anything, that put an end to the tribe’s wandering. The time was long past when they had been content to live on the fruits and roots of the earth: the slaughtering of bird and beast to the glory of the Holy Blood made it inevitable that sooner or later they should taste of flesh and find it good. But though at first the simple beasts would come at a call and suffer death with innocent surprise, with stupid patience, in time they learned enough of the changed nature of man to avoid his haunts; and the sons of Cain, forced not seldom to return empty-handed from a day’s distant hunting, soon learned the wisdom of gathering and hoarding barley against times of dearth. They hoarded, indeed, more of this precious grain than could be easily used, and far more than could be kept dry through the seasons of rains: a momentous accident, for passing one day near a barn in which a flood-ruined store of barley had been abandoned, Seelim, a son of Zildah, was attracted by a smell that was new and very pleasant to him, and following his sensitive nose he broke into the barn. His investigations took time, and he was in a state of hilarious excitement when at last he emerged into daylight again and staggered round the camp spreading the news of his discovery. Not till after he had slept, however, could his brothers get any sense out of him. Then, taking him with them, they went to see and taste the marvel for themselves. It was not long before they had devised a way of treading the grain and collecting the powerful water into drinking vessels: Seelim had filled his belly with the grain itself, but now the virtue was found to live rather in the rain-water in which the grain lay soaking. The young men made good use of their discovery, and presently Cain and the women came along, to see what they would be at. Cain at first was inclined to anger, thinking that this merriment must be displeasing to the Holy Blood; but Zildah persuaded him to taste for himself, and very soon he needed no persuasion, for it seemed to him that his vision suddenly cleared and his whole body became filled with the light of heaven. He laughed and said: I am very beautiful. I am a river of great power. I made the earth and all that is in it. The morning stars sing at my word. The sun is my servant: I say to him, Go up, and he goes up, Go down, and he goes down. I could eat him if I wanted to; I could squeeze him between finger and thumb. But why should I trouble? asked Cain truculently. He swayed uncertainly on his feet. As for you, my little minnikins, I could blow you all away if I wanted to. All away with one little breath. But I like you. I like you all. There’s Larian making faces at me. What are you making faces for, eh? These foolish words, at which everyone laughed except Larian (the men and Zildah uproariously, the other women with nervous apprehension), were grotesquely inadequate as an expression of Cain’s mood. He was exalted, his spirit released of the load that his ingenious and tortured mind had laid upon it. Happiness ran in his veins; a vast benevolence towards himself and all the world struggled for expression in his clumsy speech. The nonsense that he uttered was no more than a kind of delirium in which his heart’s gaiety sketched a crude parody of itself. He did not listen to his words and was hardly conscious of them, being absorbed in the strange delight of this new experience. He was living two lives: while one part of him knew that he was here in exile, another part was breathing again the air of Eden, walking in a world upon which no shadow of sin or death had fallen. Pretty little children, he said, smiling rosily at the company. I walk with my brother in Eden. He opened his arms wide as if to embrace them all, and then sat down suddenly. The women ran forward to help him. Hullo, Larian! said Cain, looking up at her. Why did you push me? The young men, genial as their father and from the same cause, thought his collapse the funniest thing that had ever happened. But Larian, who loved him, was mystified and frightened. Ah, she said, no good will come of this night. Resentful of her ministrations Cain pushed her away and struggled to his feet. The youngsters laughed again and clapped their hands, and when with large gestures of invitation he turned his back on the camp and walked into the dark forest they followed him gleefully, hoping that he would fall again.
11
In a later time, when her fear was fulfilled and she saw that her only daughter Kelimuth was with child, Larian’s thoughts glanced back in speculation to that wild night. But she repressed her curiosity and asked no questions. Kelimuth was now in her fourteenth year, the eldest of Cain’s daughters. Unlike her brown-haired mother she was very dark; but, like her mother, she was slim, almond-eyed, and gentle of speech. To Larian she was half the world, and Cain was the greater part of the other half. There is a baby coming to you, said Larian. If there’s anything you would like me to know you will tell me in your own time, child. But first tell me this: have you counted the moons? No, mother, answered Kelimuth with downcast eyes. You’re not afraid, are you? asked Larian. No, mother, said the girl again. Of course not, agreed Larian, and her lips shut in a grim curve, for though relieved by Kelimuth’s answer she was vexed with herself for having betrayed her own fear by asking the question. Catching a doubtful glance from her daughter she gave her a quick forced smile and said: Will it be a man, I wonder? Or another little Kelimuth? But that you can’t say any more than I can. It would be nice to have another like you. You were a pretty baby, Kelimuth, the prettiest I ever had, and the smallest by a long way. You were never red like your brothers, even the first day. Zildah helped me that time, and very good she was. But there wasn’t much help needed with you, for you were an easy child to have. And you’ve been a precious lamb ever since, haven’t you? My mother Eve would have liked to see you. She was fond of babies, and she was the first to have one, if what they say is true. Your father Cain was her first, and until he came there had never been a baby in the world. I wasn’t there to know, but that’s the story they tell. Adam, you see, was the first man of all men. But he was lonely in Eden, and so he thought of Eve, and Eve came. The Holy Blood heard the prayer of Adam, and put him into a deep sleep, and took a rib from his body, and made Eve to be a companion for him. That’s how it was.
Larian rambled on, anxious to keep Kelimuth’s thoughts away from the dangers of her situation. What those dangers were she refused to define even to herself, though she could hardly avoid knowing that they were somehow connected with Cain. She fell now into brooding thought, wondering who among the others were aware of Kelimuth’s pregnancy. But that’s foolish, she chided herself: for if one knows, all must know. Unless, she added, the one that knows is Cain. He may have seen, and he’s not the one that would tell. And in her pursuit of these speculations Larian paid no heed to Kelimuth’s question a
bout Abel, until it was repeated three times. Mother, who is this Abel they speak of? Abel? Abel? repeated Larian. What do you know of Abel, my dear? And who speaks of him? Oh mother! cried Kelimuth, impatient of her obtuseness, we have heard it together many times, and spoken it too, in the words of the sacrifice to the Holy Blood of Abel. Hush, child! Larian bowed her head swiftly to propitiate the invisible powers. It is forbidden to speak idly of the Holy Blood. But what then of Abel? persisted Kelimuth. Ah, Abel, answered her mother. Now that’s quite another story. And when Kelimuth pressed her question, asking why the name of Abel was invoked in the moment of sacrifice, she shook her head in honest bewilderment and answered: It’s a mystery, my dear: that’s what it is. There are some things we were never meant to know. But doesn’t even my father Cain know? asked Kelimuth. You leave your father alone, said Larian sharply. And don’t ask so many questions, my lamb. You’ve a baby to be thinking of now, remember.
In the months that followed it was not Kelimuth only that thought of her baby: the subject was never for a moment far from the mind of Larian herself. It provided, moreover, a topic of conversation for the whole camp. Kelimuth was envied by her sisters and admired by the young men: it was felt that she had justified her seniority. Cain alone held stubbornly aloof from these discussions, never by word or sign betraying any knowledge of a fact that was now apparent for all to see. If it were mentioned in his presence he was deaf; if Kelimuth herself passed near him he was blind. And when at last the time came when Larian must go to him and say that a son was born to Kelimuth her daughter—such a little beauty, Cain! she said with feigned eagerness—he stared at her sombrely, as if unhearing, and presently, raising a lean hand, he pointed to the distant sky. Turning in wonder she saw the sun going down in red splendour, spilling his colour upon the crest of the holy mountain to which it was the custom of Cain’s tribe to address their devotions: it was the same mountain as could be seen, in another aspect, from Eden, and many a time had Adam himself, pausing in his work or his play, looked up at it with eagle aspiration. It is the Holy Blood, said Cain. The Holy Blood has spoken. We must go.
12
The wolf-call of Cain, lonely and hollow, echoed through the sleeping camp, and the journey to the holy mountain began with the first hint of morning. The company was sixteen strong: there were Cain and Larian, three sons of Zildah, five sons of Larian, four daughters of Zildah, and Larian’s Kelimuth with her baby. The rest of the children, being too big to be carried yet too small to walk so far, had been left behind in the care of Zildah, who was glad enough to avoid the long march. Cain would have permitted Larian to stay too, but Larian insisted on being with her daughter. As they advanced through the forest it was as if the morning came to meet them, first sending shy intimations of herself, a glimpse of pearly sky, the chirp of a young bird, a gleam of gold in the higher branches. Larian, though her heart was filled with a nameless foreboding, could not be insensible to the enchantment of earth, or unaware of a presence in nature that was the more comforting to her because it was heedless of herself, and as heedless of the shadow cast by Cain as he walked, brooding and masterful, among the trees. The largest of the trees rose to so great a height that Larian, who had not since young girlhood penetrated the forest so deeply, felt that she was walking in a vast room with a high fretted roof, an endless sequence of corridors filling the world. Everywhere, it seemed, the sky was scattered with green and growing leaves. In order to spare the young mother, who would need all her strength for the journey that was ahead, Larian carried Kelimuth’s baby; and Keli-muth kept close to Larian. Often, when she could do so unobserved, Larian glanced at the girl with an anxious searching glance, trying to read the secret that lay behind her impassivity: at times it comforted, at times dismayed her, to observe that Kelimuth showed no consciousness that anything unusual was toward, no curiosity as to what this expedition boded. Kelimuth was placid and silent, happy in the possession of her child and able to think of nothing else. She smiled indulgently at the excitement of her brothers, who sang as they strode along, and struck at each other playfully, and flung out jeering brotherly remarks at the other girls; she seemed unaware of Cain, stalking silently ahead, and only turning back when the pace of those who followed grew too slack for him; and even the bond between herself and her mother was one rather of silent propinquity than of speech. Larian, with a mother’s eye, looked for signs that this serenity was of the surface only; but she found no such thing, found in Kelimuth no hint of the uneasiness that was troubling her own spirit.
The day wore on; the sun came pouring in vertical streams through the leafy roof; and a warm humming note, filling the air as with a glaze of sound, testified that the forest was at last awake in all its parts. To Larian, the smooth trunks of the trees, so cool to the hand yet so much alive that one could fancy a pulse beating under the skin, seemed moulded of pure colour, with branches of splintering green light, and gold dropping from those branches. For a while she yielded all her senses to this dream, and the yielding helped her to forget the fatigue of walking on and on, with no food and little rest, and with a baby in her arms that at times was fretful. But presently she woke to the fact that Kelimuth’s silence had persisted to a degree that was unwonted, and in this fact her unsleeping and unacknowledged fears chose to find matter for further anxiety. Why had the girl lost the use of her tongue? The question forced itself at last into the forefront of consciousness, and it was all she could do to refrain from uttering it. Yet the very fear that made her want to speak made her check the impulse. It was the baby himself who broke the silence, with a little whimpering cry.
What is it, my little frog? murmured Larian. Come, Kelimuth, you’d better take him now. He’s hungry, poor soul. And no wonder. Boys! Call to your father and tell him we must rest. The little one wants feeding. Without waiting for Cain’s consent she squatted down, and Kelimuth with her. The young mother received her child and guided his mouth to her nipple. She sat very still, enfolding him, her mouth curving tenderly as she bent over him. Her large eyes were brimmed with the soft light of her ecstasy. Ah, he’s a brave man, she said. Ah, he’s a beautiful man. Look at his little fingers, how they dig into me. How greedy he is. See, mother, how greedy he is, the monster. He can’t drink the milk fast enough. Kelimuth glanced up to find her mother’s eyes intent upon her: intent, and with an intentness that seemed to veil some mystery. He’ll be a great hunter when he grows up, mother. But why do you look at me like that? Huh, said Larian, can’t I look at my own daughter when I like? You’re not the first woman that’s had a baby, let me tell you. There, said Kelimuth, grandmother is angry with us. I wonder why. Don’t you want him to be a hunter, mother? But I think he will be, all the same. See what beautiful strong legs he has, and how his toes curl in. He was a terrible one for kicking and fighting before ever he was born. Do you remember, mother? It gave Larian an unaccountable pang to hear the girl speak of her recent pregnancy as though it had all happened long ago. Kelimuth lived so utterly in the present moment, a moment filled with her child and his beauty, that yesterday was already an old story for her; and she was ready to smile with kindly derision at the simpleton she had been before motherhood came to crown her with joy and importance. Yes, mother: he’s to be a hunter. He’ll run faster and climb higher than all the others, even than our father Cain. Hush, child! said Larian: you must not talk like that. I must and I must, cried Kelimuth wilfully. He’ll be stronger than all the others, mother: you’ll see. And he shall bring you his first kill. Won’t you be proud of him then? Oh, I’m proud of him, answered Larian, in a half-grumbling tone. I’m proud of him, proud enough. But there’ve been babies before him, and there’ll be babies again: that’s what you seem to forget, my chick. Larian was a little weary after her much walking, but it was not weariness that brought tears to her eyes.
The daughters of Zildah now came crowding round the young mother, the brothers staying near Cain, whom they eyed anxiously, from a respectful distance. Cain was deep in thought.
His mood seemed dangerous: he rejected all food that was brought him. At last, however, one of the girls succeeded in persuading him to eat a little: at which the whole company breathed a sigh of thanksgiving, for until Cain consented to break his fast everyone must wait hungry. Now they all began munching, and tongues were loosed. The girls chattered like sparrows. The boys, with sly glances in the direction of this chattering, nudged each other and sniggered; and sometimes there was a shout of laughter that for a moment roused Cain from his sullen brooding. The girls that were gathered round Kelimuth eyed her and the baby with a mingling of envy and distaste, pleasure and curiosity. The baby was very small and sweet, they thought; his smile was angelic, and at sight of his liveliness, his candid eyes and dimpled limbs, a warm spring of delight gushed in their hearts. But they hated Kelimuth for somehow stealing a march on them, and the presence of Cain made them oddly furtive in their attitude to the baby. Because he might be watching them their smiles of pleasure became self-conscious smirks, and their thoughts strayed into the very paths he had forbidden them. The baby was a man. They thought what delicious fun it would be to take his wrap off. They whispered to each other, and glanced at Kelimuth out of slanting eyes. Kelimuth stared back at them, red but defiant; but for Larian, true daughter of Eden although in exile, those meaning glances had no meaning: their burden of innuendo was something she could never learn to understand. Nevertheless, she was aware of Kelimuth’s discomfort and was glad when presently the journey was resumed. Come, come, cried Cain impatiently. We have wasted too much time. We must hurry if we are to get there before nightfall. But why hurry? thought Larian. Who cares whether we get there before nightfall? Cain, as if answering her unspoken thought, cried out in a loud voice that it was the will of the Holy Blood that they should reach the mountain crest before the sun went down. And we’re not yet at the foot, he complained. We must hurry, do you hear? It will be a long climb. At mention of the Holy Blood, everybody, even Larian herself, bowed the head and muttered a form of words that Cain had drilled into them. Yes, even Larian. She had long ceased to identify the Holy Blood with the young man Abel whom she had seen both alive and dead, and this made it easier to ascribe malignity and power to that unseen deity, whose active interference in human affairs had long been taken for granted by the whole tribe.
Eden River Page 6
