She was free—free of the flesh and the terrifying weakness that had gone with it. She could see clearly now, no longer deluded by the distortions of value that had made life in that flesh so confusing. Her thoughts were not colored by it anymore. Adam was nothing but a superb vessel now, brimmed with the power of God. Her perspective had been too warped down there in Eden to realize how little that magnificent body of his mattered in comparison to the power inherent in it.
She let the cold, clear ether bathe her of illusions while the timeless time of the void swam motionless around her. She had been in greater danger than she knew; it had taken this morning dip in the luminous heights to cleanse her mind of Adam. Refreshed, fortified against that perilous weakness, she could return now and take up her mission again. And she must do it quickly, before God noticed her. Or was he watching already?
She swooped luxuriantly in a long, airy curve and plummeted toward Eden.
Adam still slept timelessly upon the moss. Lilith dropped closer, shrugging herself together in anticipation of entering and filling out into life the body she had thrown off. And then—then a shock like the shock of lightning jolted her in midair until the Garden reeled beneath her. For where she had left only the faint, ephemeral husk of a woman beside Adam, a woman of firm, pale flesh lay now, asleep on the Man’s shoulder. Golden hair spilled in a long skein across the moss, and the woman’s head moved a little to the rhythm of Adam’s breathing.
Lilith recovered herself and hovered nearer, incandescent with such jealousy and rage as she had never dreamed could touch her. The woman was clothed in a softly glowing halo as Adam was clothed. But it was Lilith’s own shape she wore beneath that halo.
A sick dismay shook Lilith bodilessly in the air. God had been watching, then—waiting, perhaps, to strike. He had been here—it might have been no longer than a moment ago. She knew it by the very silence of the place. Everything was still hushed and awed by the recent Presence. God had passed by, and God had seen that tenantless garment of flesh she had cast off to swim in the ether, and God had known her whole scheme in one flash of His all-seeing eye.
He had taken the flesh she had worn, then, and used it for His own purposes—her precious, responsive flesh that had glowed at the touch of Adam’s hand belonged now to another woman, slept in her place on Adam’s shoulder. Lilith shook with intolerable emotion at the thought of it. She would not—
Adam was waking. Lilith hovered closer, watching jealously as he yawned, blinked, smiled, turned his curly head to look down at the woman beside him. Then he sat up so abruptly that the golden creature at his side cried out in a sweet, high voice and opened eyes bluer than a cherub’s to stare at him reproachfully. Lilith, hating her, still saw that she had beauty of a sort comparable to Adam’s, exquisite, brimming with the glorious emptiness of utter innocence. There was a roundness and an appealing softness to her that was new in Eden, but the shape she wore was Lilith’s and none other.
Adam stared down at her in amazement.
“L-Lilith—” he stammered. “Who are you? Where’s Lilith? I—”
“Who is Lilith?” demanded the golden girl in a soft, hurt voice, sitting up and pushing the glowing hair back with both hands in a lovely, smooth gesture. “I don’t know. I can’t remember—” She let the words die and stared about the Garden with a blue gaze luminous with wonder. Then the eyes came back to Adam and she smiled very sweetly.
Adam had put a hand to his side, a pucker of the first pain in Eden drawing his golden brows together. For no reason at all he was remembering the scarred bank from which the earth that shaped him had been taken. He opened his mouth to speak.
And then out of the glow of the morning a vast, bodiless Voice spoke quietly.
“I have taken a rib from your side, Man,” said the Voice. The whole glade trembled at the sound; the brook ceased its tinkling, the leaves stood still upon the trees. Not a bird sang. Filling the whole morning, the whole Garden, the Voice went on: “Out of the flesh of your flesh I have made a helpmate and a wife for you. Forsaking all others, cleave unto her. Forsaking all others—”
The Voice ceased not suddenly, but by echoing degrees that made the leaves shiver upon the trees in rhythm to Its fading syllables, “Forsaking all others…all others…all others—”
And then it was as if a light ceased to glow in the Garden which, until it went out, no one had perceived. The air dimmed a little, and thickened and dulled, so that one blinked in the aftermath when the presence of God was withdrawn.
The woman drew closer to Adam’s side, putting out uncertain hands to him, frightened by the quiet, tremendous Voice and the silence of the Garden. Adam dropped an arm automatically about her, stilling her fright against his shoulder. He bent his head as the Voice ceased to echo through the shaken air.
“Yes, Lord,” he said obediently. There was an instant more of silence everywhere. Then timidly the brook sent a tentative ripple of sound into the air, a bird piped once, a breeze began to blow. God had withdrawn.
Bodiless, trembling with emotions she had no name for, Lilith watched the Man and the woman alone on the moss bank she had shared last night with Adam. He looked down at the frightened girl huddling against him.
“I suppose you’re Eve,” he said, a certain gentleness in his voice that made Lilith writhe.
“If you say so,” murmured the girl, glancing up at him under a flutter of lashes. Lilith hated him. Over her fair head Adam looked out across the quiet glade.
“Lilith?” he said. “Lilith—”
A warm rush of answer focused all Lilith’s being into one responding cry.
“Yes, Adam…yes! I’m here!”
He might have heard her bodiless reply, it was so passionate an answer to his call, but at that instant Eve said with childish petulance:
“Who is this Lilith, Adam? Why do you keep calling her? Won’t I do?”
Adam looked down uncertainly. While he hesitated, Eve deliberately snuggled against him with a warm little wriggle that was Lilith’s alone. By that, if by no other sign, Lilith knew it was her very flesh God had taken to mold this pale girl from Adam’s rib, using the same pattern which Adam had designed for Lilith. Eve wore it now, and in that shape knew, without learning them, all the subtle tricks that Lilith’s age-old wisdom had evolved during the brief while she dwelt in the body. Lilith’s lost flesh, Lilith’s delightful use of it, Lilith’s Adam—all were Eve’s now.
Fury and wild despair and an intolerable ache that made the world turn black around her blinded Lilith to the two beneath the tree. She could not bear to watch them any longer. With a soundless wail of despair she turned and flung herself up again into the limitless heights above Eden.
But this time the ether was no anodyne for her grief. It had been no true anodyne before, she knew now. For a disease was upon her that had its seed, perhaps, in the flesh she wore briefly—but too long. God had made Adam incomplete, and Adam to assuage his need had flung out a net to trap some unwary creature for his own. Shame burned in her. The Queen of Air and Darkness, like some mindless elemental, had fallen into his trap; he had used her as she had meant to use him. She was a part of him, trapped in the flesh that was incomplete without him, and her need for him was so deep that she could not escape, even though that body was no longer hers. The roots of her disease had been in the flesh, but the virulence had spread into the very essence of the being which was Lilith and no bath in the deeps of space could cleanse her now. In the flesh or out of it, on earth or in ether, an insatiable need was upon her that could never be slaked.
And a dreadful suspicion was taking shape in her mind. Adam in his innocence could never have planned this. Had God known, all along? Had it been no error, after all, that Adam was created incomplete? And was this a punishment designed by God for tampering with his plan? Suddenly she thought that it must be. There would be no awe-inspiring struggle between light and dark such as she had half expected when God recognized her presence. There would be no struggle a
t all. She was vanquished, judged and punished all at a blow. No glory was in it, only this unbearable longing, a spiritual hunger more insatiable than any hunger the flesh could feel for the man she would never have again. She clove the airy heights above Eden for what might have been a thousand years, or a moment, had time existed in the void, knowing only that Adam was lost to her forever.
Forever? She writhed around in mid-ether, checking the wild, aimless upward flight. Forever? Adam still looked out across the Garden and called her name, even while he held that pale usurper in his arms. Perhaps God had not realized the strength of the strange unity between the man and the first woman in Eden. Perhaps God had not thought that she would fight. Perhaps there was a chance left, after all—
Downward through the luminous gulfs she plunged, down and down until Eden expanded like a bubble beneath her and the strong choruses of the seraphim were sweet again above the Garden. Adam and Eve were still beside the brook where she had left them. Eve on a rock was splashing her small feet and flashing blue-eyed glances over her shoulder that made Adam smile when he met them. Lilith hated her.
“Adam!” squealed Eve as the plunging Lilith came into hearing. “Look out—I’m slipping! Catch me! Quick!” It was the same croon Lilith had put into the throat of the body she had lost. Remembering how roundly and softly it had come swelling up in her throat, she writhed with a vitriolic helplessness that made the Garden dance in waves like heat around her.
“Catch me!” cried Eve again in the most appealing voice in the world. Adam sprang to clasp her as she slid. She threw both pale arms about his neck and crowed with laughter so infectious that two passing cherubs paused in midair to rock with answering mirth and beat each other over the shoulders with their wings.
“Adam…Adam…Adam—” wailed Lilith voicelessly. It was a silent wail, but all her heartbreak and despair and intolerable longing went into it, and above Eve’s golden head Adam looked up, the laughter dying on his face. “Adam!” cried Lilith again. And this time he heard.
But he did not answer directly. Association with women was beginning to teach him tact. Instead he beckoned to the reeling cherubs. Rosy with mirth, they fluttered nearer. Eve looked up in big-eyed surprise as the plump little heads balanced on rainbow wings swooped laughing toward her and poised to await Adam’s pleasure.
“These are a couple of our cherubs,” said Adam. “Dan and Bethuel, from over toward the Tree. They have a nest there. Tell her about the Tree, will you, boys? Eve dear, I’ll be getting you some fruit for breakfast. Wait for me here.”
She obeyed with only a wistful glance after him as the cherubs burst into eager chatter, squabbling a little as they spoke.
“Well, there’s this Tree in the middle of the Garden—”
“Tell her about the Fruit, Dan. You mustn’t—”
“Yes, you mustn’t touch—”
“No, that’s not right, Dan. Michael says you can touch it, you just can’t eat—”
“Don’t interrupt me! Now it’s like this. You see, there’s a Tree—”
Adam went slowly off down to the brook. A lie had never yet been spoken in Eden. He was hunting fruit. But Lilith saw him searching the dappled spaces between the trees, too, a certain wistfulness on his face, and she came down with a rustle of invisibility through the leaves.
“Adam…Adam!”
“Lilith! Where are you?”
With a tremendous effort Lilith focused her whole being into an intensity so strong that although she remained bodiless, voiceless, intangible, yet the strength of her desire was enough to make Adam hear her dimly, see her remotely in a wavering outline against the leaves, in the shape he had created for her. She held it with difficulty, shimmering before his eyes.
“Lilith!” he cried, and reached her in two long strides, putting out his arms. She leaned into them. But the muscular, light-sheathed arms closed about her and through her and met in empty air.
She called his name miserably, quivering against him through all her bodiless body. But she could feel him no more than he could touch her, and the old ache she had known in mid-ether, came back with a rush. Even here in his arms, then, she was forbidden to touch the Man. She could never be more than a wraith of the air to him, while Eve—while Eve, in her stolen body—
“Adam!” cried Lilith again. “You were mine first! Can you hear me? Adam, you could bring me back if you tried! You did it once—you could again. Try, try!”
He stared down at her dim face, the flowers on the hillside beyond visible through it.
“What’s wrong, Lilith? I can hardly see you!”
“You wanted me once badly enough to bring me out of nowhere into the flesh,” she cried desperately. “Adam, Adam—want me again!”
He stared down at her. “I do,” he said, his voice unexpectedly shaken. And then, more strongly, “Come back, Lilith! What’s happened to you? Come back!”
Lilith closed her eyes, feeling reality pour marvelously along her bodiless limbs. Faintly now she could feel grass underfoot, Adam’s chest against her anxious hands; his arms were around her and in his embrace she was taking shape out of nothingness, summoned into flesh again by the godhood in this image of God. And then—
“Adam…Adam!” Eve’s sweet, clear voice rang lightly among the leaves. “Adam, where are you? I want to go look at the Tree, Adam. Where are you, dear?”
“Hurry!” urged Lilith desperately, beating her half-tangible hands against his chest.
Adam’s arms loosed a little about her. He glanced across his shoulder, his handsome, empty face clouded. He was remembering.
“Forsaking all others—” he murmured, in a voice not entirely his own. Lilith shuddered a little against him, recognizing the timbre of that Voice which had spoken in the silence. “Forsaking all others—” God had said that. “Forsaking all others but Eve—”
His arms dropped from about Lilith. “I…I’ll…will you wait for me?” he said hesitantly, stepping back from her half-real shape, lovely and shadow-veiled under the shadow of the trees. “I’ll be back—”
“Adam!” called Eve again, nearer and very sweetly. “Adam, I’m lost! Adam! Adam, where are you?”
“Coming,” said Adam. He looked once more at Lilith, a long look. Then he turned and ran lightly off through trees that parted to receive him, the glow of his half-divinity shining upon the leaves as he passed. Lilith watched the beautiful, light-glowing figure as far as she could see it.
Then she put her half-real hands to her face and her knees loosened beneath her and she doubled down in a heap upon the grass, her shadowy hair billowing out around her on a breeze that blew from nowhere, not touching the leaves. She was half-flesh now. She had tears. She found a certain relief in the discovery that she could weep.
The next sound she heard—it seemed a long while after—was a faint hiss. Cloaked in the tented shadow of her hair, she considered it a while, hiccupping now and then with receding sobs. Presently she looked up. Then she gasped and got to her feet with the effortless ease of the half-material.
The serpent looked at her sidewise out of slanted eyes, grinning. In the green gloom under the trees he was so handsome that even she, who had seen Adam, was aware of a little thrill of admiration. In those days the serpent went upright like a man, nor was he exactly non-human in shape, but his beauty was as different from man’s as day is from night. He was lithe and gorgeously scaled and by any standards a supremely handsome, supremely male creature.
All about him in shadowy outline a radiance stood out that was vaguely an angel shape, winged, tremendous. It invested the serpent body with a glow that was not its own. Out of that celestial radiance the serpent said in a cool voice:
“The Queen of Air and Darkness! I didn’t expect you here. What are you doing in that body?”
Lilith collected herself, hiccupped once more and stood up, the cloudy hair moving uneasily about her. She said with a grim composure:
“The same thing I suspect you’re doing in
that one, only you’ll have to do better if you want to deceive anybody. What brings you to Eden—Lucifer?”
The serpent glanced down at himself and sent one or two long, sliding ripples gliding along his iridescent body. The angel shape that hung in the air about him gradually faded, and the beauty deepened as it focused itself more strongly in the flesh he wore. After a moment he glanced up.
“How’s that—better? Oh, I came down for a purpose. I have—business with Adam.” His cool voice took on a note of grimness. “You may have heard a little trouble in heaven yesterday. That was me.”
“Trouble?” echoed Lilith. She had almost forgotten the sounds of combat and the great battle cries of the seraphim in the depths of her own grief.
“It was a fine fight while it lasted,” Lucifer grinned. “Blood running like water down the golden streets! I tell you, it was a relief to hear something besides ‘hosannah’ in heaven for a change! Well”—he shrugged—“they won. Too many of them were fools and stood by Jehovah. But we gave them a good fight, and we took part of the jasper walls with us when they hurled us over.” He gave her a satisfied nod. “God won, but he’ll think twice before He insults me again.”
“Insults you?” echoed Lilith. “How?”
Lucifer drew himself up to a magnificent height. Radiance glowed along his scaled and gleaming body. “God made me of fire! Shall I bow down before this…this lump of clay they call Adam? He may be good enough for the other angels to worship when God points a finger, but he isn’t good enough for me!”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Isn’t it reason enough? I have a quarrel with this Adam!”
“You couldn’t touch him,” said Lilith desperately. “He’s God’s image, and remember, you were no match for God.”
Lucifer stretched his magnificent, gleaming height and glared down at her.
The Best of C.L. Moore & Henry Kuttner Page 24
