Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand: A Novel of Adam and Eve Read Online Free Page B

them to exist?”
    â€œMaybe so you would accept that it isn’t possible for you to understand everything.”
    Eve pondered that. She had crossed the meadow under the attentive gaze of the buffalo and the elephant that had begun to follow her. When she reached the center of the Garden and stood at the foot of the Tree, she saw that many animals had followed her, at once alarmed and fascinated. She looked all around. She wasn’t even sure that she would have the courage to do what her conscience dictated, but she had no alternative. The entire Garden was waiting.
    â€œFirst I will touch the tree. We will see if it’s true that it will cause my death.”
    â€œLook at me. I am leaning against it, and nothing has happened to me. It is not so easy to die.”
    â€œI saw death and I did not like it. What will I feel if I die?”
    â€œYou will feel nothing. That is precisely the problem. You will never feel anything again. Death has a terrible simplicity.” The Serpent smiled.
    Eve hurried. Her hands were sweating. It seemed that the air had stopped moving. There was barely enough to fill her chest. She held out her right hand. She felt the vegetal skin of the Tree against her right palm. She wiggled her fingers. She heard the throbbing of her body, ready to burst. She closed her eyes. She opened them. She was still standing in the same place. She was alive. Nothing had changed. She was not going to die, she thought. She would eat and she would not die. Emboldened, she walked to a low branch and took one of the dark fruits in her hand. It was soft to the touch. She put it to her lips. She felt the sweetness of the fig along the length of her tongue; the smooth flesh spilled honey among her teeth. The ephemeral white petals that fell, light as foam, from the sky seemed no more than insubstantial matter compared with the penetrating juice and aroma of the forbidden fruit. She bit down. She felt the fragrance spread inside her. Pleasure from her taste buds reverberated through her body like an echo. She opened her eyes and saw the Serpent, still in the same position. The animals. Everything just the same. Greedy for more, she took another fruit. The nectar dribbled down her chin. She yielded to euphoria. She threw one fruit, then another and another, to the animals, defiant and content. The animals merged together. One by one they came toward her and drank the figs’ juice from her hand. She wanted them all to eat; she wanted to share the new flavor, the sensation of for the firsttime doing what her body asked her to do. Not only had she not died; she felt more alive than ever. She heard the Phoenix swooping above her head. She called to it. She held out a fig. The bird did not descend. It flew away. In the distance she heard its sorrowful call.
    Leaning against the trunk of the Tree, the Serpent stared at her without altering her usual ironic, composed expression, keeping her distance from the frenzy that had seized Eve and the animals.
    Adam knew what it was the moment he heard the sound of revelry in the distance. His body stiffened. He walked faster. He feared he would find himself alone again, without a companion. He feared he would get there and find Eve struck down by Elokim’s fury. He began to run. As he ran, a cold emptiness bored into his side. Without the woman, he would not be the same, he thought. If she, who was bone of his bones, flesh of his flesh, disappeared, he would wander incomplete and desolate. He had almost no past, and what he did have was filled with her.
    Eve saw him coming. She trembled when she saw he was running toward her. His skin was covered with gleaming sweat. She noticed his strong legs, the thrust of his feet, his look of alarm. She crossed her hands over her breast. She faced him.
    â€œI did it,” she said. “I did it and I did not die. I gave the fruit to the animals and they did not die. Now, you must eat.”
    She held out a ripe fig.