On the opposite bank from the Two Trees, Adam and Eve had constructed a small shelter of animal hides stretched over a wooden frame. The only item of consequence within the simple abode was a reed mat covering a thick layer of dried grass that served as their primary bedding. Outside the dwelling, clay pots and other storage wares lay scattered about the clearing. Piles of roughly cut firewood dotted the vicinity and nearby, an animal-hide sack hung limp from a sapling, dripping the last of its contents to the ground. Overall, the area surrounding Adam and Eve’s home was unkempt and in disarray.
Lilith flew in silently over the wellspring and over the Two Trees during the early morning hours before sunrise. She landed in a clearing and made her way through the dense undergrowth. The sound of the flowing water masked her entry as she approached the open end of the makeshift shelter.
Lilith quietly watched Adam and Eve sleep. With the exception of the handmade jewelry worn by the female, they were naked. They slept together with Adam’s arms draped over his human mate. The angel’s heart panged at the sight of Adam lying next to his new wife and forced Lilith to struggle with her storm of emotions. Adam had hurt her so deeply that she could not come to terms with it. She had been willing to be anything or anyone for Adam, but he cast her aside like refuse for the woman who now bore his child.
Lilith stood over the sleeping humans and wept. With one burst of her power, she could end their lives and solve the issue once and for all, but to do so would be in direct violation of the Creator’s decree. Lucifer’s plan was devious. The only thing required was to utilize the freewill bestowed upon humanity by the Almighty. By showing the Creator exactly what he had wrought, there would be no one else to blame but himself.
Lilith turned her attention to the eastern sky as the sun breached the horizon and signaled the dawn of a new day. Below her, Eve stirred. Quickly, Lilith spread her wings and thrust across the raging water of the wellspring’s outlet. She landed on the far bank and navigated around the massive roots of the Tree of Knowledge. Once she had chosen the appropriate branch, the angel transformed herself into a serpent. The bright green snake slithered up the bark of the tree and settled itself onto the low hanging limb.
Lilith’s snake was long and lithe. She had taken great care to distance the snake’s appearance from anything menacing and dangerous. The bright green color was festive and easy to distinguish from the bark of the tree. The head of the snake was slender and did not have the protruding diamond shape of most poisonous serpents. Lilith made the eyes wide and the pupils big enough to see so they would be comforting to the humans. Every aspect of the snake was non-threatening and pleasing to the eye.
Lilith kept her gaze on Adam and Eve. They woke slowly and spent a needless amount of time lying in bed, engaging in idle chitchat. She waited patiently for nearly an hour while they made no effort to begin, what should have been, their standard routine of the day.
Adam rose first. He was a strapping young man who had not aged a day since Lilith last saw him. He was above average in height with olive skin. His hair was almost black but retained some tamer, lighter-hued undercurrents. His eyes were deep brown with the surrounding white sclera bright like a newly driven snow. Adam rummaged through a pile of handmade belongings to retrieve a coarsely woven basket. He checked it for something to eat but discovered it empty. He made the rounds of the encampment looking for food, but found none.
Eve got to her feet to help with Adam’s search. Her skin was lighter than that of her husband’s. Her hair was thicker and richer brown than Lilith had seen on any angel. Her dark blue eyes showed her attentiveness and revealed her confident and precocious sprit. Eve giggled as she watched Adam haplessly scour the area. “Hungry this morning?”
“Yes. I was hoping we still had the fruit we collected yesterday.”
Eve yawned and stretched out her arms. “Sorry, it’s all gone.”
Adam sighed. “I’ll go and collect more.”
“No need,” Eve said. “You rest—I know just where to look.”
Adam nodded his appreciation and sat back down on the grassy bed.
Eve made her way around the back end of the spring and to the other side of the rushing water. She came to stand in front of the Two Trees and stared at the fruit hanging high on the branches of the Tree of Life. It had been so tasty that Adam and Eve had stripped the lower branches clean. Unwilling to climb into the tree, Eve turned to find another source of nourishment but stopped when she heard a very pleasant voice coming from the tree itself.
“Is not the fruit of my tree pleasing to your eyes?” the serpent asked.
Eve followed the sound to a green snake resting on a lower branch of the Tree of Knowledge. She was startled at the sight and inspected the snake. “I’ve never seen a snake such as you in the Garden before,” she said with wonderment. “And one that speaks as well.”
“Oh, naïve child,” the serpent licked, “I am unique as most things in this garden are. Surely you must know that?”
Eve was not certain what the strange snake was asking and shook her head.
“Well,” the serpent said, “this garden has many mysteries, even more than you could possibly imagine.”
Eve was captivated by the snake. “Really?”
“Yes, of course. Did you know that the Garden of Eden occupies only the smallest fraction of this world? Or that this earth is only one of a multitude scattered throughout Creation?”
Eve shook her head, in awe of the knowledge the serpent possessed.
“You see? There are many things you do not understand.”
Eve nodded. It was true she did not understand all there was about the Garden, let alone about Creation.
“May I ask you a question?”
Eve giggled. “Of course.”
“What is it that offends your eyes to the fruit of my tree?”
Eve looked longingly at the tree and then shied away from it. “Eating of its fruit is forbidden.”
“Forbidden?” the serpent asked, feigning incredulousness. “Forbidden by whom?”
“The Almighty.”
“Did he speak these words to you?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know this?”
Eve turned to look across the spring at Adam. “Those words were spoken to my husband.”
“I see,” the snaked hissed. “Did not the Creator say for you to eat fruit from all the trees and plants of the Garden?”
“Yes, but from this tree we shall not eat lest we die.”
“You certainly will not die,” the serpent snickered. “The fruit of this tree is perhaps more satisfying than that of any other. Why would he create something only to forbid it?”
“I do not know,” Eve replied. “I have often wondered this same thing.”
“Do you know the name of this tree?” the snake asked.
“It is called the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”
The snake laughed. “You admit you do not understand Creation, yet you turn your back on the knowledge you seek.”
The snake saw the indecision on Eve’s face and let the moment fester until it became a paradox of frustration. “Time is your answer.”
“Time?”
“Of course,” the serpent hissed. “The Almighty did not think you were ready to gain the knowledge you so rightly deserve, so he was saving this tree as a gift.”
“A gift?” Eve’s eyes widened. “For us?”
“Most certainly,” the serpent affirmed. “The Creator understands you have grown and are in need of the knowledge of good and evil—and that is something he wanted to share with you at the right time.” The serpent poked its nose at a perfectly ripened fruit only a few inches away.
Eve reached up to the limb and held the fruit without severing it from the branch. She looked to the serpent for approval. “Do you believe this is truly his intention?”
The serpent smiled. “Of course it is, dear.”
Eve plucked the fig-like fruit from i
ts branch and took a huge bite. The juices ran down her face and onto her hands. “This is the best fruit in the Garden!” Eve exclaimed. “I must show it to Adam!”
“Yes,” the serpent said approvingly. “Adam will be pleased.”
Chapter 6
The ride to the only available hotel in San Cielo was decidedly quiet. Renée drove the rental car as Peter sat and recovered from his recent medical episode. The hotel was nothing more than a large family home repurposed into bed-and-breakfast style lodging. As the car arrived in front of the inn, Peter took note of its exterior. There was nothing special about the building; it retained its mundane architecture reminiscent of San Cielo in general.
The lobby was small and reminded Peter of Edda’s antique store. The decade of the 1950s must have been good to the town of San Cielo to warrant such fanaticism, he thought. Period décor occupied every nook and cranny of the lobby. The haphazardly arranged items were displayed in such a manner as to make them appear more important than they actually were. A few threadbare and heavily trafficked rugs hung on the wall like priceless pieces of art. Trinkets and knickknacks housed in locked display cases gave the impression they were heirloom jewels. A reproduction suit of armor occupied a prominent place along one wall. Peter’s Italian was rough, but he surmised the armor was a leftover prop from a movie filmed nearby several decades ago. The collection was unremarkable and only of local interest at best.
Peter and his wife checked in and made their way up a steep staircase to the last room the hotel could muster. To his relief, the room was clean, large, and had its own bathroom. It overlooked San Cielo through a large window that faced the now darkened downtown area. The room’s furnishings echoed those of the lobby. An old, tube-style television anchored high in one corner by a metal arm sat above a dated armchair next to the window. The all-tiled bathroom was sparse and the queen-sized bed looked to be sagging under the weight of the numerous layers of bedding cast upon it. Peter could not complain. For a town that did not see an abundance of overnight visitors, the accommodations were a welcome sight. He set his daypack on the bed, removed his shoes, and sat down.
Renée carried her purse into the small bathroom and began reapplying her makeup. “I’m starving—I’m going to find something to eat. Do you want to come?”
Peter narrowed his vision on Renée to see if she was joking. “What?”
“Dinner—you must be hungry?”
It was the first time in a long while that Peter’s wife sounded concerned for his wellbeing. He nodded. “I am, but if you could bring something back, I would appreciate it.”
Renée finished primping her hair and left the bathroom. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, gathering her purse on her way out and closing the door behind her.
Peter shrugged off his wife’s odd behavior and turned his attention to his daypack. He reached into the main pocket and gingerly removed the leather-bound manuscript. He studied the nondescript binding and caressed its worn edges. Peter opened the book and carefully examined its coarse parchment pages. He ran his fingers across the symmetrically-spaced lettering and randomly picked a place within the main body of the work to read the Latin conventionally. When that failed, he followed the letters backwards and sideways as if trying to unscramble a puzzle. With no luck, he read every other letter and then tried diagonally—all to no avail. He flipped from page to page looking for any pattern or clue to the manuscript’s secrets. With every failure, Peter’s curiosity grew until he found himself increasingly obsessed with the ancient book.
❖❖❖
Renée roused from her fitful slumber and peeked out from beneath the heavy bedspread. “Could you turn that light off—please,” she said to her husband who was still engrossed with the old book despite the late hour.
Unwilling to give ground on the issue, Peter simply tilted the nightstand lamp’s shade further afield lessening the impact on his wife. “Better?”
Renée scoffed at the futile gesture. “It’s still on, isn’t it?”
“You do this to me all the time at home.”
Renée was well aware of past circumstances, but this was a vacation—a time for sleeping in and relaxing. Besides, she did not want to admit that her husband was right. Instead, she bypassed her admission of guilt and redirected the conversation. “I thought you couldn’t read it anyway?”
“Well,” Peter responded, happy that his wife was interested in something he was working on. “The text is Latin, but the letters don’t form words or sentences. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“So you’re keeping me up late at night because you can’t read anything?” Sarcasm permeated Renée’s voice. “Okay then, I’m sure when the doctor asked you to rest, he wasn’t thinking about you being up all night.”
Peter nodded. His wife had a valid point. “Fine, I’ll go to bed.”
“Thank you,” Renée said, pulling the blankets back over her head to block as much light as possible.
Before turning off the table lamp, Peter mulled his observations aloud for the sole purpose of pestering his wife. “You know, at first I thought it was an old puzzle book. Crusader knights would buy them to while away the long hours on their way to the Holy Land, but I’m pretty sure it’s not one of those.”
From underneath the thick layer of bedding, Renée’s muffled voice angrily quipped, “Great, now go to sleep.”
Peter ignored his wife and continued his train of thought. “There’s no primer—no beginning sequence or code.” He thumbed through the last pages of the book. “There’s not even an annotation as to the author—that’s when I thought that it might be a treasure book.”
“Treasure?” Renée perked up and peeked out from under her blanket fortress.
Peter snickered in disgust at one of the few things he knew would still interest his wife. “Highway robbery was such a problem that the Templars set up an organization quite like today’s banks. Travelers would give them money at the departure point and receive a coded document that would translate back to cash at their destination.”
“But this is an entire book?” Renée asked curiously, questioning her husband’s logic.
“Yeah, since it’s large, it must be something bigger.”
“You said you couldn’t read it, so now it’s a treasure map? If it’s so valuable, why would the antique store just give it away?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you stole it,” Renée said. “Edda told me her husband died a long time ago.”
“Maybe it was her son or helper or somebody?” Peter countered. “All I know is the guy gave it to me.”
“It’s great to think you might have stolen something valuable from that old lady who could really use the money.”
Peter sighed. “Fine, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll go back in the morning and offer to pay for it.”
Renée sealed off her barrier of bedding and managed a muffled and self-righteous, “Good, because if you don’t, I might have to report you to the police.”
“Good night,” Peter said wryly and turned out the light.
Chapter 7
The fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was delicious beyond measure. The red juice streamed down Eve’s face, dripping onto the fertile ground below. Her eyes opened wide and she found it difficult to contain the overwhelming sense of joy that came from eating the simple fruit.
Eve ran around the headwater to Adam’s bedside and showed him the half-eaten fruit. “Take a bite.”
Adam took one look at the familiar fruit and rubbed his weary eyes. “I’m tired of those.”
“This one is different,” Eve insisted. “Take a bite.”
“It looks the same as the others.”
“I thought so too, but it’s not.”
Adam took the partially-eaten fruit from Eve and studied it. It was large, about the size of a grapefruit, and looked like a small melon with a hint of a bell shape to it. Juice, the color of blood, leaked from the open b
ite leading Adam to conclude that perhaps the fruit was overripe. Even so, he raised it to his mouth and took a large mouthful from directly over the top of Eve’s previous sampling.
Adam mashed the fleshy pulp between his teeth and savored the richness of the fruit. The flavor was unique. It was sweet, but not so much as to be offensive to his tastes. Undertones of a bold and tangy essence spanned the gamut of anything similar in the Garden, but underneath the fruit’s physical traits was something else. Adam lowered the fruit to his lap where Eve took the opportunity to scoop it away for another bite.
Adam withdrew from his wife as he became increasingly aware of his surroundings. He watched Eve’s consumption of the fruit from a surreal vantage point he could not explain. All around him, the Garden’s animals and plant life took on new personas. Their corporeal forms were intact, but their existence—no, their purpose within the Garden—as food and shelter for the two humans had suddenly changed. Adam blinked and rose to standing. He strained to see into the Garden’s depths beyond the edge-water of the welling spring and the Two Trees. In particular, Adam could sense the lions and hear their early morning chuffing in the distance. The realization of the moment was difficult for him to comprehend. He grew frightened and took deep breaths to calm himself.
The lions of the Garden were not the friends Adam had once thought. They were killers. They killed for their food and would continue to do so when presented with an opportunity—they murdered other creatures. Adam quickly thought back to his own recent encounters with some of the wildlife in the Garden—he had murdered them for the sole purpose of sating his hunger. Suddenly and without pause, the Garden of Eden grew in complexity in Adam’s mind until he could no longer understand it. It inundated his consciousness and made him feel guilty and vulnerable.
Realization dawned across Eve’s face as well. She lowered the tantalizing fruit and took new stock of her familiar surroundings. She shivered in the damp cold that was the shore of the spring and waded into the tall grasses in an attempt to heat her rapidly cooling body. Eve spun in different directions as she tried in vain to reconcile her place in the Garden. She felt as if she were a small eddy within a raging river of change. She stared blankly at Adam as if looking for an answer to their predicament or some kind of absolution that would end the misery of her newfound awareness.
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