“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, her eyes gleaming with determination. “You don’t get away from me that easily.”
“But you shouldn’t have to work today, Morganna. I don’t need my hair cut. We could go for a walk in the gardens instead, or hike up to that waterfall I’ve been hearing about.”
“You will stay in my chair,” she said with certainty. “Keeping busy is the old way, and the old ways are the best ways. If the hands are moving, the world keeps turning. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.” She adjusted the water temperature and began rinsing my hair. “Close your eyes now. Unless you want soap in them.”
I closed my eyes. Without my sight, I became aware of how exposed my throat felt with my head tilted back into the sink. The crescent-shaped wash basins used at hair salons always reminded me of guillotines. If a person were to add a sharp blade from above, the heads could be collected neatly in the sink rather than rolling around, causing a mess.
I cracked open one eyelid. Soapy water splashed into my eye immediately, almost as though the water had been waiting for the opportunity. I kept my eyes shut for the rest of the shampoo. At last, Morganna shut off the taps with a rubbery pop. Some ancient-sounding pipes nearby groaned with the pressure.
Morganna nimbly wrapped my head in a towel, righted me, and steered me over to a chair. She used a wide-toothed comb to part my wet hair and detangle it. The comb moved smoothly, not catching in a single snarl. Was that a magic power? The ability to instantly detangle wet hair? I’d sensed something magical about the woman from the first time we’d met, but her skills remained a mystery. Ah, if only it were socially acceptable for people to ask each other about their supernatural abilities. And if only it were safe to disclose your own powers without fear of persecution or manipulation or extortion.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Morganna said.
“Just thinking about swimming,” I said, which was true. I’d been imagining the tiny old woman with the voluminous hair as a mermaid, magically combing her hair while perched on a rock.
“Mmm,” she said.
“The weather’s so nice. I hear some of the sandy beaches are perfect for swimming, like bathwater. Do you swim, Morganna?”
She caught my eye in the mirror and winked at me. “Yes, I swim. Do you, Zara?”
“Not well, but I’ve recently taken up scuba diving. It’s a bit cumbersome, with the mask and oxygen tanks.”
“But worth it,” she said. “The deep waters are teeming with life you’d never imagine from the surface.”
“Do you dive?”
“I have.”
“With scuba gear?”
She gave me an enigmatic smile. “Are you inviting me to join you sometime?”
“Sure,” I said. “There’s a spot around here that’s known for its wolf eels.”
She scrunched her face adorably. “Wolf eels? The ugly ones with the big snaggleteeth?”
“I’m sure those snaggleteeth are very attractive to their mates.” I adjusted the plastic cape at my neck. “I’m in a diving group with a nice bunch of guys who I took my scuba lessons with. They’re always planning fun dives.”
“Men,” she said with a sniff. “No, thank you. Men are always getting themselves in trouble, always changing plans whenever their little brain gets big ideas.”
“That sounds like the sort of wisdom that comes from experience.”
She said nothing as she reached for the scissors and began trimming my hair. There was only the soft krish krish of the scissors and the pleasant chatter of the other clients and hairdressers around us.
After a minute, she asked, “How about you? Is there a man in your life?”
“Several,” I said. “There’s my friend Frank, at the library, plus my new buddies in the diving group. And I have a neighbor who’s becoming sort of a father figure to my daughter.”
“Careful.” Her scissors whipped by my field of view like twin daggers. “A man doesn’t take on that role without an interest in the future. Never mind what he says.”
I shifted, the pneumatic chair squeaking with my movements. What could she mean? Chet Moore had started mentoring Zoey because they were both shifters. That was all. I didn’t appreciate this woman I hardly knew insinuating otherwise.
“My daughter’s a smart girl,” I said.
Morganna smiled at me in the mirror. “Like her mother. Yes. I can see that now. Very cunning, like one of Mahra’s daughters.”
“Who?”
“Mahra. She’s from an old story, about the four Eves.” She combed my hair forward and back with a single stroke each way. The comb seemed to bend in her hand to conform to my scalp.
“Did you say four Eves?” I felt the spirit within me reacting. I couldn’t recall the tale, but I sensed it was one of Jo Pressman’s favorites.
“Jo loved that story,” Morganna said.
Was she reading my mind?
She added, “Almost as much as she loved stories about golems.”
“Golems?” There was a sudden acrid taste in my mouth. Jo might have loved stories about golems once, but not anymore—for whatever that was worth.
Morganna kept combing and trimming. She asked, “Lovely daughter of Mahra, what do you know of golems?”
I knew what I’d read about them in the DWM’s Monster Manual. Golems are creatures with no humanity, formed from clay by powerful beings. They can appear to be human but are given away by their inability to speak.
“Not much,” I said. “One time I saw an X-Files episode with a golem. Very scary.” That part was true. I’d been a young teen when the episode had aired, and the idea of a soulless, zombie-like creature bent on revenge had given me nightmares for a week.
The look on Morganna’s face changed. Her fine wrinkles swept away. Suddenly, she was eighty going on twenty, with bright eyes and a crackle of energy about her.
“The old ones believe Adam was the original golem,” she said. Even her voice sounded younger, with none of the dry cracks of age. “Adam was made from dust, the same dust to which we all return, eventually.” She got a faraway look in her gleaming eyes. “Well, some of us.”
Color me fascinated. I’d been reading up on myths and legends, but this was a new one for me.
“Morganna, if Adam was a golem, what was Eve?” And were there really four Eves?
“That is a long story, and you said you only wanted a trim.” Her eyes twinkled. She was begging me to come up with some excuse to stay in her chair longer.
I reached up and touched my silky smooth hair. “Does my hair feel dry to you? Like I should get a deep conditioning treatment?”
She felt the ends of my hair. “As you wish.” She grabbed a plastic squeeze bottle from the counter next to her. “We will deep condition your hair, and I will tell you a story called The Four Eves.”
Chapter 20
THE FOUR EVES
All of humankind sprang forth from one man and four women, and that is why women are more divided than men. (At least according to Morganna Faire, as per the story she told me while I enjoyed a deep conditioning hair treatment.)
The old gods and goddesses had been trying to make humankind for ages, but they kept getting stalled because they couldn’t agree on the nature of the female. After a great many long and contentious meetings, they agreed to form subcommittees then create multiple women and then let Adam decide. Adam, meanwhile, kept dying after a hundred years of waiting around. It wasn’t until the twentieth iteration of Adam that the females were finally unveiled, one at a time.
The first woman was Quenya. She was taller than Adam, and had great big breasts that he assumed were muscles. Naturally, Adam perceived of her as a threat and immediately stabbed her through the heart with a spear. She died muttering the world’s first expletive, which is unrepeatable.
The goddesses smote Adam in retaliation, which the gods did not appreciate. But eventually, the male gods came around and agreed that the parent of all humanity should not start off as a ki
ller, even if a good lawyer might have gotten Adam off on a self-defense plea. The gods and goddesses all had a good chuckle. The next morning, they started over with Adam Version Twenty-One.
From here on, the goddesses and gods worked closely together. For lack of a better term, both the female and male deities shall henceforth be referred to as a whole, as “the gods.” Really, they’d never actually had gender in the first place, because for an all-powerful being who can construct anything, gender is also a construct.
Once Adam Version Twenty-One was up and running, the gods introduced their second version of Quenya. Same model. This time, however, they gave the fellow some warning before trotting her out. Also, they beefed up Adam with a few extra inches of height so he wouldn’t be so terrified.
He was still terrified of the woman, but he covered for it well by strutting around and urinating on rocks in plain sight. Quenya had already spent some time with the gods, so she was not unfamiliar with this sort of behavior. Ignoring Adam, she got to work organizing her surroundings and shaping the world into a home. She had been blessed with some of the gods’ own tools of creation. Soon there was a cozy and rain-resistant yurt, soft straw beds for sleeping, bark toothbrushes, and a nice stew—nice being any sort of stew lacking in poisonous mushrooms—bubbling over the campfire.
Quenya would have preferred to instruct others to perform these homemaking tasks, for her personality was that of a warrior maiden who ascends to become the queen of all that is and will be. But, since there was nobody else around yet, and Adam was “too busy” to help with the chores, she did what had to be done.
That night, with their bellies full of stew, she did her best to reassure Adam that she was there to rule, sure, but it would be by his side. She convinced him of their equality by lying next to him, both of them on their sides, while he performed multiple acrobatic maneuvers that he hoped would impress her. She was not impressed, but she sensed her approval was important to him, so she tried to match his enthusiasm. When the sun rose, she awoke with her head on his shoulder and his hair in her mouth. Original Adam was much more hairy than modern man, so she was not at all surprised by the hair, but she was surprised by how comfortable it was to snuggle up next to him. She surprised herself further by giggling and suggesting a recreation of the previous night’s fourth and most successful acrobatic maneuver.
Hours later, their late-morning breakfast—the world’s first brunch—was cut short by the arrival of the second woman.
This one’s name was Mahra.
Not that Adam asked. Oh, no. It was up to Quenya to handle all the introductions as well as the grand tour of the home camp.
Mahra’s breasts were smaller than Quenya’s, and both nipples pointed skyward in a constant salute to the gods. Quenya suddenly remembered that there was a rule about covering the breasts, and she quickly fashioned a top for herself as well as one that Mahra could borrow. As soon as Mahra pulled on the top, which was tight and pushed her breasts upward like two over-ripened cantaloupes, Quenya wished that she had fashioned the top to be less flattering. Up until that point, she’d never considered the idea that clothing could be flattering or unflattering.
The two women looked each other up and down and then exchanged the world’s first insincere compliments.
Then Adam walked between them to urinate on a nearby rock.
The two women watched him for a moment, then turned to each other and exchanged the world’s first female-to-female knowing smirk. Without a single word, they mutually agreed to be best friends forever.
Throughout the day, the women changed some things around the camp. Adam didn’t like that they were changing things without consulting him, but they did it anyway, telling him to just wait until it was finished before he passed judgment, and don’t make that face. Adam could tell when he was outnumbered, so he went off in search of someone to take his side. There was no one, so he stayed out until darkness fell with that thunderous thud it used to fall with back in those days.
When Adam finally returned to camp, there was a new person sitting by the campfire.
Dinara sat with her chin on her fist, staring into the flickering fire. She barely glanced up at Adam. She was deep in thought, worried about the future. Her anxiety was only at half capacity at this point, as she had no past yet over which to ruminate.
Adam sat next to Dinara and told her about the good old days, yesterday, when the rocks were arranged differently. She furrowed her brow and continued to stare at the fire. Adam didn’t like the way her breasts just hung there, seemingly unaware of his presence. He found one of Quenya’s shirts in a laundry basket, and without knowing what either a shirt or a laundry basket were, he knew to help Dinara get her upper area covered. With her unresponsive, un-cantaloupe-like breasts covered, he noticed that she had some of the same things he did. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. Ears. Dinara said that the rocks probably were better in the old days, and the two of them laughed and bonded over this for many hours, until it was time for bed.
Adam joined the three women on the soft beds, and did his best. Mahra had been prewarned by her new BFF Quenya, so her expectations were low, and the two women kept shooting each other knowing glances. When it was Dinara’s turn, she surprised everyone by tossing her shirt aside without any self-consciousness, and straddling Adam the way one would stride a tame water buffalo, except in a sexual way—not for transportation. Well, at least not transportation very far, anyway. Maybe six inches. Nine inches, if you believe Adam’s version.
In the morning, the four people awoke to find a fifth person in their camp. Was it a camp? The place was becoming more of a village now, what with all the people and their garments and bark toothbrushes everywhere.
Amora had both bare arms outstretched in worship of the sun, whom she regarded as her mother. This was flawed thinking on Amora’s part, for the sun is a giant burning mass of molten pizza toppings, and not anyone’s parent. But they say ignorance is bliss, and Amora was the human embodiment of bliss. Over the coming days, the others would find that Amora was never happier than when she was completely wrong about everything. But at least she was happy, and she brought a positive energy to the group.
Amora was the pioneer of love. She loved everything. She loved the way the sun gave her loving spots on her retinas during her morning dances. She loved the rustling in the bushes of the eerily intelligent raccoon-like creatures who were even now plotting to exterminate humankind as soon as they could grow their hands long enough for strangling. She loved the way Quenya made up rules and enforced them. She loved Mahra for no reason other than she reminded Amora of her mother, or someone’s mother, or a mother, whatever that meant. Amora even loved Dinara for the adorable way her forehead scrunched up when she fretted about both yesterday and tomorrow at the same time. And she loved Adam because Amora had been made to love, and if it was wrong to love a big hairy guy who was often too busy for her unless she wanted to take his side against the others and all the changes they wanted to make, well, if loving a guy like that was wrong, she didn’t want to be right.
Time passed, the five who were humankind kept waiting, expecting for more people to show up. And more people did eventually show up, but not in the usual fashion. The new people were very small, and instead of simply appearing by the campfire or walking out of the woods, they emerged from all of Adam’s favorite dark places in a manner that made him suspicious of those once-loved places, but not for very long.
These new humans could be organized into two groups: those who urinated on rocks and those who gave each other knowing looks. They were unlike the original five in that their personalities were not always immediately apparent. One might seem to be a thinker, like Dinara, but then suddenly grow out of it when they discovered how to swing on vines and yell at the same time. Others, however, were exactly who they were right from the start. The miniature human who had come from Quenya’s dark and narrow place was so much like her mother that Quenya didn’t like her very much at all, and traded her for
one of Mahra’s offspring. Mahra came to regret the trade, for she was the most maternal of all the women, and would have taken all of the babies if only she had more limbs and breasts. But the tribe—as they called themselves now—had rules, and one rule was no take-backsies. This was in direct contradiction with their rule that nobody owned anything, and therefore could not purchase, sell, or trade, but if Quenya was ignoring one of the rules, that meant the others could as well.
The tribe lived for many days and nights and months and years. As soon as they invented numbers and counting, they were able to tell they had all lived a thousand years. With no basis for comparison, they didn’t know if they should be proud of themselves or worried about the signs of aging that were creeping up. Adam’s chest hairs turned fully white around the ten millionth time Amora told him she loved his hairiness no matter what color it was. That was such an Amora thing to say, but she meant it, for she was the embodiment of love—sometimes smothering, occasionally inappropriate, frequently wrongheaded, but always true.
Quenya ruled over all with her rules and her ways of enforcing them. She bore few children and favored even fewer, but Amora loved her insufferable yet regal sister-wife with her whole heart, so everyone else took the cue and loved Quenya as well. Peace was important in those times. Especially with the ongoing threat of raids by the raccoon-like creatures, whose hands were getting longer each decade.
Mahra was mother to all, yet she was also to be feared. She was the giver of life, and she was also the taker of life. Her justice was swift, as was her mercy, both dispensed with a sharp blade. She could kill with her right hand while her left suckled a babe. Being ambidextrous, she could do it as easily in reverse.
Dinara found more to worry over with each passing year. Sometimes she composed long letters to both apologize for as well as defend her actions during some incident that took place years earlier or hadn’t yet happened. Nobody would listen to her readings until she changed the names around and made them stories about other people, people who lived very far away and wouldn’t mind being talked about around the campfire. The stories were wonderful, because Dinara, when she wasn’t worrying, was by far the most prolific dreamer. Her imagination broke all bounds and drove innovation in too many ways to list.
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