THE TESTAMENT OF EVE

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THE TESTAMENT OF EVE - Introduction
To write The Testament of Eve required a level of release hitherto unknown to me.
Usually, control of a work is maintained at the technical level – plausibility,
expressibility, thresholds of knowledge and boredom – but here even these controls had
to be surrendered to the requirements of inspiration. The result? A comic masterpiece?
Gross indulgence? A profound revelation? As for me, I still laugh, grin, smile, chortle,
holler in memory. But I would say that, wouldn't I?
Enjoy it – there's goodness in it!
THE TESTAMENT OF EVE - Summary
The novel is a comedy of omissions that revolves around the little-noted fact that,
according to Genesis, Adam was only the second person to die, and the first to die a
natural death. The story opens with Adam two years abed, his descendents forced to
labour in his stead, his wife to dance attention on him. Eve determines to find a cure for
Adam‟s condition, but discovers that the man who might hold the key is one marked by a
knowledge that all fear to know, though all are curious to learn. This man is Cain, the
ruler of the city on the plain.
So Eve sets off to meet him. The result is chaos as two families encounter one another.
Old memories are dredged up, old woes lived, but new possibilities are revealed, as nine
hundred years of evasion and amnesia are literally torn away. Most seek new hideouts,
some reveal surprising awareness and even more surprising equanimity. Only Eve, driven
perhaps by the exigencies of a composition she undertakes out of unsuspected motives,
seems aware of deeper memories, deeper truths, especially of a deeper knowledge hidden
in some appalling event in the beginning, where both a profound loss and an inspiring gift
await her side by side for ever.
As a comedy of omissions there are, as might be expected, some obscurities, but given
the popularity of the Adam and Eve story readers should be able to supply most of the
answers themselves. The comedy is Aristophanic and so direct, characters graphic but
open to development as the story unfolds, Eve untiring, the ending as happy as can be in
the circumstances, everyone getting at least what they are capable of accepting.
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THE TESTAMENT OF EVE
PHILIP MATTHEWS
© Philip Matthews 1995
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The beginning is always with us.
Martin Heidegger
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THE FAMILIES
ADAM -------- EVE
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CAIN
ABEL
SETH
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ENOCH
ENOSH
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IRAD
CAINEN
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MEHUJAEL
MAHALELEEL
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METHUSHAEL
JARED
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ADAH ------ LAMECH ------- ZILLAH
ENOCH
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JOBAL
TUBALCAIN
METHUSELAH
JUBAL
NAAMAH
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LAMECH
Genesis chs 4 & 5.
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This is the beginning I know best.
While still very young, Seth asked to see Heaven. I took him to the river pastures
and pointed to the sun shining above the trees and said to him, „That is Heaven. And that
is the Lord God in his Heaven, and the trees praise him at all times.‟ Seth was satisfied
with this vision and I gathered some nuts to remind him of the occasion. Less easy to
satisfy those who followed him. To be expected; they merely want what Seth wanted.
Only Enoch perseveres to achieve his own desire.
But Seth concerned me more always. Who told him about God? The
circumstances are clearer now, of course – so much is clearer now. To see his father cry
in exhaustion, futility and lack of courage. There is a gap to be filled. You see that Seth is
innocent: how failure intimates Heaven as the one loss behind all images of loss. Seth
raising his hand to the sky, calling on the Lord God, hiding from his father‟s toil in the
fields. Adam seeing the worms in the dry clay, Seth seeing angels in the birds flying
through the air. The father crying over such a useless son.
Where is the truth is this? Adam aghast at his full cock, whimpering as he
succumbs, a labour of torment to make the next day in hell bearable. Adam is sardonic
hearing this; says that I seek too much consistency. He‟s talking about memory, his much
prized absent-mindedness. I tell him part of him never forgets: knows everything.
He snorts ruefully: too true.
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My sickness. Let us get through the misery first. Get it out of the way. There are
some light episodes, I assure you; pattern-breaking, if you like; a relief nonetheless, I say.
For instance, Seth when he speaks:
„Life is at the mercy of a principle of indetermination. You may ask how a
formless non-determination could be a power at all.‟
His brothers fall about laughing, pummel the boards with their feet, slapping one
another‟s backs with a thoroughly brutish abandon. They understand him, you see, only
too well.
Seth plum-faced in the heat of the fire, not the beer – he won‟t drink for fear of
losing his sense, he says – lips like cherries as he pouts in annoyance, eyes frantic with
the fear of body contact.
Outraged, he might shout: „The Hand of the Lord reached over the land and
smotes the darkness.‟ Raises his hand like a country preacher, one-eyed among the blind
a temptation too great to resist, not like a full gut (Adam) but more like how God should
feel at all times. I speak, I think here of the purity of power, like supervening, if your
dictionaries will permit me.
Rising hands, rising voices, rising eyes, shouting till he screams recklessly, „The
Hand, The Hand, oh mercy the Hand of the Lord reaches reaches reaches. Mercy oh Lord
on thy servant, who abides in humility and praises you at all times.‟
You know from these samples that Seth talks to himself like this day in day out,
pacing at night, too pent up to sleep, even rest. Excretion up against a hedge, a quick
bend in a hollow, quick prick in case he forgets.
Sickness now.
I vomit suddenly, my body rising to its dark place.
Not the first, not the last time. Vomit is more like orgasm than you or anyone else
will admit. What wonderful paroxysms: from fundament to mouth, from tip of toe to last
hair on my head, from the tip of my fingers to the last nerve in my belly. A fruit squeezed
in God‟s Hand, as Seth understands it, fruit his index of helplessness, God‟s own in other
words.
I vomit. The easy part, nature‟s part. The hard part:
Pain does no harm. Pain is the dumbest life force, an automatic system, a button
and a bell as an analogy. Press the button and the bell sounds. Press a nerve and pain
sounds. But pain is a motion. There is a long rod in me. Pain twists this rod – TORQUE
is the word – twisted this rod induces an experience which is not a sensation. One word:
AGONY.
That torque is unnatural, unearthly, I suspect unintended. A stupid oversight, if
you like, made worse because there is only our word for it, nothing on the oscilloscope,
nothing in the serum, no hormonal shift, no switch in polarity, no tremble even.
There is only this torque.
So I vomit and my hearts sinks. I have pressed the button again. Then amid
paroxysms, heavings, staggerings, wailings and cursings, I hear the silence enter – I wait
then.
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<„Hearing the silence enter.‟ Are you serious?>
If you can see darkness approach then I can‟t see anything wrong with saying one
can hear silence approaching. Like the shock of an earthquake, like a star falling – see a
vacancy appearing.
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I fight to speak. Do you know how hard it is to speak? I mean to speak of certain
specific matters. Is there a word you fear to use? I don‟t mean some common swear word
or vulgar description, I mean an ordinary word, like –
CARTHORSE, PORPHYRY, FIRE, DINNER.
To think is to invite sentimentality.
To write is to invite fantasy.
I cannot believe my anger.
Yet I have told you nothing yet.
What about TREE?
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DISGUST.
I said to Adam this morning:
„I‟m searching for ordinary words that people are afraid of.‟
He had been washed today (one in seven days, including shaving his withered
defeated chops), eyes oily among the creases of dry skin.
Seth is screaming in the middle distance, on top of the nearest knoll, among the
elms. Enosh screams in harmony with him. A true idiot, Enosh.
„Disgust,‟ Adam tells me now.
I tell him that „disgust‟ is not an ordinary word, like „train‟, „cabbage‟,
„coelenterate‟. When I utter „disgust‟ Adam spits up into the air, the gobbit landing on the
bedclothes down near where his balls should be.
The gobbit is viscous and laced with bright green threads, thicker yellow cords of
some other matter.
Ichor. Rotting like the carcass of a sheep the dogs feed on, eyes bled white in the
noonday sun.
„Quick!‟ I shout at my indulgent husband, wanting to kick his thin flank: „Give
me another word!‟
Another word:
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Seth says: „They are three: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael.‟
Adam says „ANGEL, my dear. How about that?‟
Twinkle in his rheumy eye. Always entering quickly in case he‟ll come too soon
as usual.
ANGEL.
Who told Seth about Angels?
I said:
„God in Heaven can be seen BY ANALOGY as the Sun high in the sky.‟
„Trees worship BY ANALOGY,‟ Adam says peevishly, having heard my
question many times before. „Any other word will do here. Angels are waving fronds.
Producing nuts. Fruit.'
„Fruit,‟ Seth says from the corner near the linen chest, where the beetles hide until
dark: „The Lord‟s fruit. His entirely.‟
„Nuts,‟ Adam says reflectively, suddenly plucking at the pillow case in an access
of anxiety.
Something he has failed to do?
„Nuts,‟ he repeats.
Seth is crying with Holy Joy.
Adam plucks at his pillow, anxious.
Why do I see ichor sliding from beneath a snow white fleece?
CONCATENATION – another word for our list.
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Have we listed your words yet?
How about TERRAPIN?
Why is it that Enosh is so close to Seth, idiot in love with pure divine genius?
Does Seth deserve Enosh – who goes everywhere with Seth; when Seth stumbles in
prayer, now Enosh, who once stared at Seth‟s histrionics in amazement, now Enosh takes
the opportunity to have a quick word or otherwise himself?
But Enosh observes Seth all the time. Is Enosh then a curse? Punishment for
looking upon the Face of God and falling blind at once?
When Seth cries his bitter faith, it is Enosh who protects him, getting him water in
the evenings, night of grief ahead, and sits by him and mutters, „There there‟ all the time
for Seth‟s comfort.
Enosh is an idiot, harmless unless crossed, and he said to me once, pointing to an
exalted Seth, „He is dancing. I‟m dancing with him, Mother. I‟m in heaven too.‟
Enosh sees his poor entrapped soul in Seth, and he tries all the time to reach it. So
he forces Seth on and on in his frenzies and lamentings; beseechments, incitements,
visions.
That is how we treat one another here, as you will see.
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Why words? Who fears words? Words with cruel and dark echoes. Night, yawn,
whale, sole, joist. Words which mock: Rich, cloud, year, over, wile. Words that shame:
white, right, might, slight, shite. Words that glow: ray, way, say, bay, may, lay. Words
that deny: God, garden, dragon.
CARTHORSE
PORPHYRY
FIRE
DINNER
TREE
DISGUST
TRAIN
CABBAGE
COELENTERATE
ANGEL
BY ANALOGY
NUTS
CONCATENATION
TERRAPIN
NIGHT
RICH
WHITE
RAY
YAWN
CLOUD
RIGHT
WAY
GOD
WHALE
YEAR
MIGHT
SAY
GARDEN
SOLE
OVER
TIGHT
BAY
DRAGON
JOIST
WILE
SLIGHT
MAY
SHITE
LAY
Do you know what the Dragon is? Consider how fiercely fire and water contend,
fire always the loser. That is the Dragon: both the comprehension and uncomprehension
of the fact, that water defeats fire.
To fear water for this reason gives us the dragon as a blowtorch supplied from
inside the earth.
Not to fear water gives us the World Dragon. This noble being bears the truth that
water absorbs fire.
You do understand this, don‟t you?
Please try to understand this: fire surrenders to water, the essence transmitted by
absorption is a DARKNESS.
WATER EATS LIGHT.
Not true, of course, but you must see this by analogy – our last analogy, I hope, to
be honest – distinguishing fire, water also distinguishes light, all light.
WATER EATS. This is the Dragon.
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WATER SEPARATES ALL, ITSELF INCLUDED. This is the action of the
Dragon.
But there is one thing that cannot be separated by water, and that is silence.
Water cannot reach silence, but silence will come to the waters in the end.
This is the slaying of the Dragon.
But there is a price for this victory, more a burden, a responsibility to be assumed.
You must uphold the world in its stead.
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If I were to ask Enoch, I know what he would say:
„You are misinformed, Mother. There are no dragons in Paradise, only
mathematicians.‟
So I ask Adam. Seth could not be asked, he would deny it, of course, and Enosh
would scold me no doubt for asking.
I find Adam, arms behind his head, smelling the spring air, looking chirpy. He
fondles me with his familiarity, and my body leaps, as said, a memory that has induced
the most violent vomits, such screams I release, such curses I pronounce, such tears of
sheer unadulterated desire run in my veins,
I can write no more today.
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To write is to fill in empty time.
To think is to fill up empty space.
Action transcends both by creating its own space and time. Best image is the
dance:
MUSIC.
Music annihilates all preceding space and time, destroys the world that entraps us.
Music invites us to make our own world, our selves.
Thus it is when Adam succumbs. Even now, writhing in agony on his bed tonight,
I still find so much wisdom in Adam.
This is my secret, kept from Adam himself, from Seth, from Enoch, from
Methuselah, my beloved.
I see in Adam that he is cursed. I see what falls away from him in love, his
weakness, his admission. I see the wound, the Dragon of Adam: a rod that turns and
turns, high torque, a rod of fire because he is afraid of dissolution, afraid of me, Eve.
This is the secret of the mother, that is withheld from all men except the wise.
The lover raises that rod of fire, source of wisdom. I make Adam rise, as I always
have done, so that he can reveal to me that wisdom. When Adam dances for me, in his
agony I see that wisdom written. And in wisdom there is truth, I see this truth in Adam‟s
reality – the fact that he is there with me.
Then I know that I am real, though I suffer so. And know, too, that all are surely
cursed. This curse keeps mankind separate, perpetually at war, full of grievance, envy,
sloth.
Now I think of Enosh again. Enosh trusts himself, and he is teaching Seth to trust,
even if only the sun in the sky, that it will continue to shine for him. Yet Enosh is cursed,
too, a will too greatly attached to sight, slave to image, and Seth seeks a much greater
trust than trust in self alone. But Seth seeks otherwise no more than trust in his senses,
that the sun is divine, the sky heavenly, that trees are archangels proclaiming divinity,
that birds are angelic, dancing before divinity.
Adam seeks to trust me. He seeks this because once he trusted, only once, but that
is always enough. We know trust instantly, and never forget it.
Thus Adam, content with that much. But this „much‟ may be more than I know. If
I could remember why Adam trusted me that once I think I would understand everything,
why there is a curse and what is to be done about it.
The word gains its power from annunciation. Annunciation surely leads to birth,
as the myth tells, the Word of God.
This is the power of speech. But speech is sound and so musical. This is the true
power of speech, not meaning as some believe, rather the power of music to create a
world for our meanings to enter, motivation, as you can understand.
To sing is divine, enhancing meaning, though a false conviction. Song enhances
the world, smearing meaning like paint on a cheap backdrop. But song also excites, body
to body, warbling a gesture of vulnerability, trembling throat, a mouth open to the very
bottom.
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You see how music creates form, shaping us to its abstract will.
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As though planned, Jared, father of Enoch, comes today with his music. A pipe of
sorts, part wood part silver and gold. Jared plays always only four notes: A B D E. From
these four notes Jared makes an endless variation, leaping first here, then leaping there.
He makes the music of the world, though under the frown of his father, Mahaleleel, who
believes his son‟s music is bewitched by Jared‟s egoism, that he plays for himself alone.
There is a secret in this music of Jared. Like the Dragon, his music tells me that
we are free at least to ourselves if not to each other. This is the secret of lovers: that in the
freedom of one the other perceives his own freedom.
But, alas, the Dragon comes breathing fire. I know this. Why then do I raise the
Dragon so often? Because once it did not breath fire, was not absent, fire now my
longing.
Before the curse, of that I am certain.
Once Adam trusted me, and once the Dragon showed me love.
Did God conceive each of us before we were created?
Who did?
We are all so strange.
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A first scene is needed now, a context.
Two years ago Adam took to his bed and has refused to leave it since. Refused to
rise one morning, in spite of our protestations and threats. Who else in the House would
work, do you think? A family of idiots and geniuses, one as bad as the other. The strange
thing is that we all do work now, leaving Adam abed at home, sniffing the air and
scratching. Seth guards, Enosh commands, Enoch counts, Mahaleleel oversees,
Methuselah and Lamech, his son, abroad, Jared under everyone‟s feet. Little gets done,
but we are happy.
Yet, why does Adam lie abed? He says he can do no more. We don‟t understand
what he means by saying that he can not do. Seth does the real work here, protecting his
father, as a son should do.
The question that arises is this: How can nature die in autumn? That is, how is the
power stopped, the power of life in this instance?
We discussed this in detail, tiresome now to recall.
Either nature‟s power is not her own or the power is rhythmic, coming in pulses,
as it does in so many ways, a spring gurgling, waves rolling, sound reverberating, bodies
jumping.
It is a good question, though none of mine can answer it. The children never know
anything, though they won‟t believe that. The children have not seen Adam in agony, in
the grip of a power that masters him.
I fretted then. It was necessary to send out agents to inquire abroad. The question
asked is deliberately cryptic:
Power to stop?
We ignore those who agreed and concentrate on the few who smiled or asked
„Why?‟ We question these even now, and I am convinced the truth will be recognised by
being new knowledge.
Even so, our world does not cease because I write in the evenings, golden lamps
slung from the ridgepoles, smell of dung and coffee, the endless chatter of harness and
dogs. The fire is tended for me, a relief. Water in a deep jug by the entrance, my beloved
guardian taking the night air, humming a ditty as he goes.
By day it is the farm. Ten thousand acres of mountain, bog, forest and stream. A
tight bitch but scrupulously fair. Here only sheep and ravens prosper, high up in a violet
land, pure because only the tenacious grows there.
How the raven courts death. How the sheep invites death, fat and vulnerable.
By day it is Seth to listen to, Enosh to admonish, Jared to scoot, Mahaleleel to
mock, Methuselah to gossip with, Lamech to pet, feeling him leap under my palm, Enoch
to clout, Adam to scold, my beloved to hold.
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By day, then, a hand to all, stone, plant, hot and cold, husband and sons,
experienced, softening, consoling, caressing, wagging, fondling, beating, shaking,
dissolving.
Understand touch. The transmission of the purest fire. Bearing reality, like a wall
in the dark, so far need you go. And yet to touch and burn the other, melting him down so
that he will not flame up extinguished. To take what remains, in a child especially, who
does not know yet of curses, and so rises to me in his innocence, giving joy. So I melt
him into my lap withdrawing him into me again, feeling fuller that any other love can
manage.
That is a son. A delusion. Soon shyness and withdrawal, anything but the mother,
a hole in the night, a hand in the bush.
But my beloved remains, with whom touch is reception too, recognition, tears of
course, bitterest tears, though there too no name, just a line drawn in the earth, in the sky,
in the water, in each other. Such touching is careful, economical, avoiding illusions. He
speaks in the evening, when the night wind blows against the tent, conversing together,
charmed and intimidated by each other, frequently hurt, often radiant, seldom down.
My beloved has a secret. I sense its absence in him. For years he has managed to
keep that secret from me.
For my part, I now ask:
Is nature cursed too, or are its periods of cessation necessary to it, a polarity?
This is an important question.
Seth chanted today:
Time and time I told Athens,
Don’t build on false rock.
He explained that they would not heed him. I was at a loss with him, because of that night
with Adam, no doubt. Adam makes Seth look merely mad.
News at last today.
It is the ruler of the city who knows. They tell me he is marked by his knowledge,
so that all can know, if they dare. None dare.
This is the man I must go to. I must leave everything here, a world I have never
left before.
You understand, another man? A man I do not know yet. Do you understand this?
I must go to a man, who have borne most men, and coddled them into submission.
His name is Cain.
They call him the Marked Man and regard him as the greatest of all men, most
wise, most sad, most beautiful.
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I must tell my beloved that the time has come. He must try to overcome shame.
Enosh‟s son, he must be exact in all he does, afraid that idiocy will break out in him like
a disease. It makes him considerate, which I like, but also discloses the secret in him,
about which I am curious.
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Care of Adam is primary. Enosh is best for this, except that he would anger
Adam. Enoch best then, steadiest even if most deluded.
Adam must be changed hourly, washed if soiled – dried thoroughly, powdered,
ointment on chapped skin, especially the creases between his legs, under his gonads –
which you must lift gently, owing to the heat – and wrapped in a warm napkin. Adam
must be fed every three hours, solids like steak and chops alternating with liquids,
whisky, beer, wine. The window remains open at all times, curtains never drawn across,
even at night. If he sleeps, absolutely no noise. Adam has never been woken from his
sleep. If he sings, then dance; if he cries, rub his head; if he laughs, scratch the hair on his
chest and watch his hands; if he throws one of his fits, keep out of his room, but take note
of what he says – I am especially concerned about this and check each session carefully.
Never but never sit on the bed. If he gets fussy about the food, give him an enema. If he
drinks too much, put pepper in his soup and sugar in his tea. If he ever wants to get up,
open the door immediately, open it wide. If anything else happens, watch him. I do this
because Adam knows more than he lets on: he can refuse.
Seth? Enosh will feed him if Mahaleleel knows of the arrangement, which he will.
Who will listen to him? Lamech? But Methuselah will insist on coming too, afraid he will
miss something. Does that matter? Methuselah is not bright, trained as he was by Enoch.
What could poor Seth tell Methuselah? So Lamech and Methuselah will listen to Seth.
Who will beat Enoch, who is not afraid of his size, a head that jams in doorways? Yet it
must be done. So Mahaleleel must do this too, scorning Enoch for his nonsense, God in
number six today, beating him about the head often, useless for much else. Enosh will
scold Adam, unavoidably. That leaves Jared.
Who will encourage Jared, to keep the music flowing? More than a hand on him
is needed, though you won‟t believe it, as usual. And who will raise my Dragon, Adam,
and my beloved, who cannot travel, remaining up here behind? Jared will suffice for the
journey, he will sit on my lap as we travel and play for me, blowing his horn all the time.
No doubt you think that music here merely attends on desire? Not so. To be
honest, it is a matter of courage, of a dark crossing,
Music is a path in the dark.
But I must be practical. Enoch will have to fetch water when he can, Lamech
helping at the hole. Enosh must then fetch wood, insist on dry wood with him, he forgets
easily. Food, food. Who will get food for them all? Seth must, while he is out and abroad
preaching. Be particular about the meat of others. Sniff their grain carefully. Best tea for
Adam, coffee for my beloved, sugar for Lamech. Whisky goes fast, faster than the wine
though not as fast as the beer. But it is easy to overlook the whisky in the morning,
night‟s nightmare. Milk the cows twice a day. I must repeat that to him. He must be sure
to lock the gates on them in the fields, and not let them roam by the river, where the
sheep winter. He must be patient with the others, for they will come to him hungry and
leave him once fed.
And who can I persuade to do all the washing? Washing needs vigour and a desire
to purge. Mahaleleel is the best for this, I think, he will be about the house all the time
keeping an eye on Adam. I will have to list out the cycle of washing we use. Bedlinen on
Monday because we spend weekends in bed, doing goodness knows what at times.
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Tuesday is for all the cleaning cloths and socks. Monday is the only day any of the men
do some work about the place. Wash knickers, shirts and towels on Wednesday, a goodtempered day for dealing with sweat. Thursday by contrast is a miserable day here,
always raining and blowing, weekend still far away. So we do the drapes, yellow muck
from them, and the carpets, a black muck here. Friday for silks and woollens: anticipation
makes the hands light and fast, excellent for silks especially. You iron on Saturday and
air on Sunday, ready for Monday again, everything suddenly dirty again.
The routine at the hole is relatively simple, though the knack needed to beat
clothes properly must be learned first. Water will be bearable to your fingers this time of
the year, but be careful of the south rim, there are some very sharp stones just under the
surface there. Use the clotheslines in rotation, starting north and working south, against
the prevailing wind. You may need help hoisting the carpets onto the carpet rack, but in
time you will develop a knack there too.
Again, iron in rotation, there is a cycle for this too, working left to right along the
irons laid out on the fire. Air in the kitchen only when it is raining. We like the fresh
smell of clean clothes.
The cleaning? Only Methuselah and Lamech left. Let Lamech do the brushing, he
never takes his eyes off the floor anyway. His father can polish and scrub.
The floors must be swept three times a day, after each meal, the yard swept once,
after the cows have been milked in the morning, keeping the fresh dung aside on the
dungheap. The byre is sluiced out each morning, too, the bucket for this is on the right of
the door. Take the water from down-stream only. Methuselah will have to ensure that
Lamech sweeps under the beds, tables and presses. How dirt accumulates in corners. And
he is not to bang the brushes against the walls or the furniture. It‟s not the damage, really
that awful noise, so aimless.
The polishing is done by priority rather than cycle. The chief rule is that the Hall
must sparkle at all times. If you see a mark, I‟ll tell Methuselah, you must clean it up
immediately. Drop what you‟re doing. The Great Table must shine like a mirror, that is of
second importance. The tiles in the corridors must never be left stained: do not remove
the mark with the sole of your shoe. All of the Main Reception should be clean to a
glance, the glass on the paintings always clear, the cavities on the carvings to be cleaned
out at each dusting. I suggest Saturday as the day to polish the whole House entire. Start
above and work down, do all the wood surfaces, all the wood and leather furniture, all the
windows, brush all the drapes and dust the sculpture.
There should be no need for formality in the near future so Methuselah needn‟t
worry about the Dining Room while I‟m away
Empty the buckets each morning first thing, and I‟ll press on him that they must
be disinfected thoroughly and then dried before taking them back up.
Is that it? Will they last out till I get back?
Cainen can do the shepherding, as usual, standing on top of a hill and waiting,
waiting, careful even in the middle of a bog.
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The prospect of my trip has affected all of them, as expected. I‟m not sure who
they will miss most, me or Jared. As a family we have not been separated before. I‟m
suddenly kinder with them, and they with me. Enoch, especially, keeps close to me and
delights when I stroke his head for him, though I don‟t believe it will do any good. Seth
hasn‟t been seen since yesterday, no word from Cainen.
I called a conference with Mahaleleel and Methuselah in the little room, behind
the pantry. I stressed the fragility of the bonds between fathers and sons, warning them of
Seth‟s condition. Enosh cannot be kept in his room indefinitely, but at the moment he
cannot be trusted not to lose himself in the mountains. We decide that Jared should be
sent to find Seth, to reassure Cainen. Then Methuselah cries, and Mahaleleel becomes
plaintive. Firmness was needed here. Adam‟s condition might be serious, I reminded
them, he has done nothing for two years. They, Mahaleleel and Methuselah, must keep
order in our little state, Methuselah watching Lamech, and Mahaleleel watching Adam
and Enosh. Then, in burst Lamech, agog with excitement. He is too wound up to speak,
so he shakes his arms violently and gurgles in his wet throat.
Mahaleleel begins to bully Lamech, threatening him in all sorts of ways, which
irritated Methuselah who wanted quiet so he could hear what Lamech was saying. I
wanted to quieten both of them, I could see the rest of the kids coming, all equally
excited, but Methuselah suddenly slashed Mahaleleel hard with his fist, in the side of the
head. The first time in years that Methuselah has struck him. I was appalled, the only rule
we abide by constantly has been broken again. We must not speak with our fists. Shout
and scream if need be, go ahead, but don‟t hit instead.
Poor Mahaleleel. He is the most vulnerable, his father out minding sheep on the
mountains, his son everywhere else with his mindless tooting. No one to protect him,
stand up for him, give him a good word sometime. Mahaleleel is jealous of Methuselah
for his son, who never leaves him, and for his father, who is always talking to him, even
if it is only about accounts. He does not envy Seth, who also has a father and a son,
because he considers Seth stark raving mad, with a wastrel for a father and an idiot for a
son. Mahaleleel would love to love Lamech and be loved in return, to compensate for a
selfish son. Mahaleleel thinks Lamech‟s simplicity is goodness. Lamech is a parsnip with
legs.
Even so, explanations do not end fights. I called for Enoch, screamed really to
signify urgency, I did not want Enosh to see the fierceness of Methuselah and Mahaleleel,
it would only incite him too, and then we would have a riot on our hands, more than
Enoch could cope with. In the meantime, though, Mahaleleel realised he had been
punched and a look of surprise, then recognition crossed his face, like a moon, glowing,
first, then for an instant like a sun, radiant, before his features collapsed and he began to
cry miserable bitter tears, knuckling his eyes in utter wretchedness,
Have you ever seen such a sequence of expressions on a face? I wonder
sometimes just what it is we cry for, how we are invaded in our sadness and grief, a
greater loss revealing itself to us then, in the pit. Something so lonesome and sad, but not
despairing or struggling, just alone and sad to be alone. Like a light unseen.
24
I have said that Enoch is a bit thick, but he has retained inspiration for all that,
even though it is usually jammed by his busy head, counting and one and one and one: in
through the door he came like a shot, his domey head catching the light of the candles
with a flash, and he must at once jump sideways, to his left, our right, to avoid prancing
Lamech. He never looks to the one who calls him – he knows that person is not his target
– so he catches the end of the tableau over beside me at the table, Methuselah‟s fist still
in the air, Mahaleleel, recoiling, face collapsing in grief, and he shouts in his tremendous
voice:
„The Lord sanctions sin, and therefore punishment. The sin is the punishment, this
the Lord told me in Heaven. See the pain in Methuselah, see the sorrow in Mahaleleel,
see Lamech dancing, Eve transfixed for once.‟
He didn‟t stop till he reached the table, leaning over, he shouted at me:
„VISITORS!‟
25
That gave pause to everything at once. Then pandemonium.
We all crowded into the little room by the pantry, Lamech dancing on the table
with Enosh, both showing off because they believed the visitors were coming to see
them, Enoch under my right arm and Jared under my left, Methuselah and Mahaleleel
jammed on the other side of the table, both in agony. We screamed and shouted in panic
at first, then in pleasure, then in terror, then worry, each of us suddenly frantic about our
appearance, our rough ways. No clothes, no food, no beds.
We work out that it will take them another day to get here, from the river. Two
people in a closed carriage. We have never as far as I can remember had anyone come
here before. We panic again, as though suddenly blinded. Strange eyes will see our
world, strange hands will touch our world. Our air will be mingled, our water polluted.
We look at our world. The shining wood of the Little Room we are in, red drapes
at the window, soft carpet under our feet, scents of flowers and spices in our nose, dinner
cooking on the stove in the kitchen. We go out into the hall and stare in wonder at all the
shining wood and stone, the darkness and the light there, a radiance everywhere from
sunshine. The tiles gleam at our feet, the air sweet with lavender. Enosh says, very
quietly though we all hear him: „This is heaven.‟ Mahaleleel tushes but Enoch hisses, so
we go on into the Main Reception. Now there is colour as well as light and dark. The
portraits, with their large areas of monochrome, especially radiate brilliantly. The green
plush drapes give a soft light – which is improving with age – and the large pieces of the
mahogany furniture, the ironwork and brass, all add their appropriate tones. The great
heraldic carpet sparkles for us, the tips of wool catching the light from the Great
Window, a bay designed to catch all the light of the day, from the earliest dawn to the last
glimmer of dusk. This is our Temple of the Son, every surface radiant. I missed Seth then
and worried about him out in the mountains on his own at night. But Jared got fidgety
and Mahaleleel snapped, „Oh do be quiet for once, will you!‟
That broke the spell, of course, so we trooped off to the Kitchen to eat. I slapped
Enoch for spilling milk on the floor and made him clean it up. He always grabs for his
food, which tells you something of how Jared reared him.
But that is how it is, and how it is for me tonight writing this. Even I cannot resist
the allure of reaching out. I slapped Enoch because of what he had said about me in the
Little Room, the spilt milk a pretext only – Enoch always slops his food, too excited to
eat properly. He knows my name is never to be spoken in my House.
Enoch knew why I hit him, though he whinged afterwards, aggrieved because he
didn't think he was responsible. But he is responsible. I told him plainly:
„You cited me as proof. That is not the Word of God!‟
We were all cross at dinner, made worse by Adam‟s response to the news that we
were to have visitors. „Two visitors, Adam,‟ he was told with emphasis. He screamed
once in holy terror and then lay out and would not move again, despite our coaxings.
Even so, Enoch upset Enosh by tossing a bone into his stew and so slopping him with the
thick mess. Methuselah rose to comfort him, and when Lamech began crying because he
was left alone Mahaleleel shouted at him, at which Jared reared up in rage, both at what
26
Enoch his son had done, in the Little Room ignoring him, and at Mahaleleel for shouting
down another‟s son.
I don‟t know how I avoided involvement, because I was worried about Adam
then, how still he had suddenly become, like a fleece now on the bed, more a memorial
than a trophy. But they were arguing as they always do at dinner – eating even so, which
is the purpose of a meal, though they all think it is a cockpit, eating inciting all their other
anxieties.
We took coffee afterwards in the Lounge, to the north and so always dark and
cool. Sunlight appears yellowed by reflection, a creamy light that as it were lay upon all
the surfaces of the room, the squared-off furniture, squared shades and hangings, the
great red abstract in aluminium and gold suspended between the two windows. The
sculpture is supposed to express the movement of the powers of the mountains we can
see from here. The rods cross in complex ways in the abstract, but I have never seen
anything of the mountains there, no birds, no water, no wind, only bare rock everywhere,
a dark rock even though I am looking at bright red aluminium rods. I never liked it,
hanging it only at Adam‟s insistence, but it does match the rest of the room, all the bright
surfaces, the wallpapers, the carpets and rugs, the oaken furniture, the scarlet drapes,
crystal clear windows.
This is the Temple of the Mother, which the sun never sees.
My sons are not aware that this room is a temple, a glorified pub for them, open
all day and all night. But they do imbibe here, intoxication if not illumination, better than
rage in place of illumination, as in the Son‟s Temple. So they lay about on the sofas and
armchairs, postprandial spreading of arms over sides and backs, sipping strong black
coffee, smoking thin dark cheroots. The one moment of rest, after their contest. I wait
until each has his brandy or whisky, then rap upon the pillar of a lamp for their attention.
This is the only time they listen to me, this is my moment, having fed them, my sons:
„Jared must go and bring Seth back. On his way out he is to tell Cainen to bring
the sheep in at once, into the valley pastures, not to the river. We must prepare to meet
these visitors, We must prepare food, the slaughter of sheep and cattle to roast on spits in
the yard. More grain to be milled now, wheat, rye, some barley, more oats. No time now
for new cheeses, but you must be prepared to make extra cheeses next week. Take old
wine from the cellar, the oldest last, remember. Fill the decanters with whisky, gin,
vodka, brandy. Prepare the soda and ice. Chop garlic and onion, carrot and turnip,
cabbage and bean, pepper and salt. Wash the potatoes, heat up the stoves. Carpets up in
Reception and Hall, straw mats for the latter. Amplification for Jared. Wood for fires.
Water.
„Be ready by dusk.‟
27
My concern then, having got rid of them all, was with Adam: How is he going to
cope with the visitation? He can‟t very well stay in bed. They are guests, he is the host.
But he complains to me that we live off the sweat of his head. „What else do you give us,‟
I responded tartly, out of patience with him now because of the excitement. To be
truthful, my overriding concern was with myself: like my sons, I wondered how I would
appear to the visitors. How long since I faced a stranger.
I cannot remember: only the experience remains. Even so, that was last night, now
I know better. In hindsight, what most concerned me while I abused Adam was the
knowledge that I knew nothing about appearance. I mean, not to know how I should
present myself to others, to a stranger. It was a silly worry, others see only what they
already know, but I did try to practice looking at a stranger. Here I look at everything and
see nothing (already knowing where everything is), with the stranger it is easier to see
than to look. Only then did I have the first intimation of just what a disaster this visit
would be for us all here. To see strangers, we would have to see the world too. Already I
could feel the beginnings of the slow-down, already a dimming of the light, failing tones,
cooling air, uneasy water. This house will look like a shambles to them, everything so
worn, animals everywhere, marginal holding.
Adam said suddenly, I had been ignoring him while he had his tantrum:
„They‟ll have no business here.‟
And so he need not get up from his bed.
I decided to be frank:
„They have business with you, Adam.‟
Adam‟s terror startled me. Paranoia, of course. He lay on the bed quivering with
fright, spit rolling from his rigid mouth. He looked like a sheep dressed for roasting.
Why, I wondered, should two perfect strangers put the fear of God into Adam? He has
never been in the position to do anyone a wrong. Not a good man necessarily, as much an
inoffensive man. Yet I could see guilt clearly written in his body, how it twisted in every
cell. What wrong could Adam have done, I wondered. Is this the curse, too? We are not
blameless, are we?
„What have you done, Adam?‟
I said this without thinking, worried by the sight of guilt. In me, as well as in
Adam. Like a cover drawn down for a mistake made. Not a question of culpability, more
like a physical law, do A and B arises. To make a mistake is always a technical matter, as
such repairable, not a moral matter that leaves a trace in the soul. The soul cannot be
mistaken.
I was relieved to see that the curse lay beyond Adam‟s guilt and mine, that in the
curse lay the cause of our false guilt, not in ourselves.
I touched my husband‟s arm, very softly so as not to startle him. He quieted,
slowly but surely, swinging back to the centre, a centre of quiet. He looked at the ceiling,
his mouth tensed to speak, obviously searching for words. Then his features dissolved
into tears, and he clutched my left hand and said, wailing loudly, „You don‟t know how I
suffer, woman!‟
A sudden insight then, which shocked me, but I retorted anyway:
„Don‟t I, Adam?‟
28
He started crying loudly again, consumed by self-pity. How many times have I
see Adam like this? I got his gonads in the span of my hand and gave them a good twist,
and repeated, taunting him:
„Don‟t I, Adam?‟
He writhes with agony now, his whole body as though in spasm. Adam likes his
balls to be massaged firmly, cock pulled hard, what I‟ve seen him do to the rams to get
them up. Now I say to him:
„I know what‟s bothering you, Adam.‟
He‟s beginning this strange laugh of his. Tittery, very high-pitched, his hands out
looking for me, eyes closed modestly. He shouts in repartee:
„NO YOU DON‟T!‟
His hands are less hard now but still big and strong, and clutch at me frantic as
always. A thumb in my left teat, the heel of the foot in my arse, hair driving my skin mad,
this is Adam getting into position. If he touches me it is to hold on, to balance himself, to
get me out of the way, never to hold me. I say now:
„You don‟t like this, do you, Adam?‟
Once in position he lays back and offers me his altar, dominated by his bright red
cock. Cock-in-the-mouth is the female equivalent to intellectuality in a man; ideas are
also tasteless. Reality tastes. That which has flavour is real.
Thoughts like this pass the time while I suck Adam on and on, he gimmering with
excitement, eyes darting to and fro across the ceiling. Sucking Adam is the nearest thing
to doing nothing that I know. However, in time we go on to Part Three.
I rub his grossly engorged cock between my two hands, up and down, up and
down. I‟ve never been able to find a trade which requires such movement: had I, it would
have given some worth to it. Nonetheless, Adam screams under this ministration, hands
clutching my arms, to stop and encourage me. I‟m wondering what else I might be doing
if I didn‟t do this to Adam. After a while I say to him acidly:
„You weren‟t asked to do much, were you?‟
If Adam was ever going to leave his bed, it would be at a point like this. The acid
tone is deliberate, the truth overwhelming: little in fact is asked of us. Adam should rise
up here and only agree for once that we weren‟t soaking him of his substance. But no, as
usual makes his grumpy sound, as though mollified, humour about to change, but in
actuality his bull below, muted of course to save energy. It also means that he must be
mounted. It is necessary from now on to keep Adam to the centre of the bed, his previous
gyrations and twistings having no effect on our service.
Adam‟s room, dingy, spare, cold, is the Temple of the Man, a bed, a pisspot,
something to hold his drink, someone to hold his prick. The bed is narrow. And when a
man is absent, everything of his remains behind, the hard things he uses, the hard earth he
works, every hard word he utters. This is how I think as I mount my husband, Adam, my
first man. About hardness, with solemnity, resentment, envy, desire. I‟m used to the
straps and once they are buckled on I lower myself down onto that hot prick, down down
down until it pierces me to the core. I rock lightly on Adam‟s body, getting all the time
closer, and scream.
Tonight I ask: scream for what? If I knew then, I don‟t know now. I don‟t know
why this is. Not a matter of forgetting, I‟m sure; I simply cannot imagine myself wanting
29
to scream like that. I don‟t know even whether it was joyful or a scream of horror. In any
case, that was it, as usual. Adam had only once succumbed completely, and like much
else we do it in memory of that happiness. Now we collapse in exhaustion, I with no
breath, Adam with no push. I hang in the harness, a detumescence withdrawing, its
departure nonetheless conveying promise, the moment at which I always think of
smoothness and how much effort smoothness requires and how it is worth it.
Adam, on the other hand, suffers his refusal very plainly, even though he is kept
from doing much to himself. That is how Adam steals a little pleasure and joy, a sight of
heaven for him, from under whatever eye it is that observes him all the time. He waits
until, after so much careful ministration and patient toil, his cock streams up of its own
condition, a massive spasm of his buttocks shooting his seed in a stream up into the air, to
fall about his wasted thighs, testicles quivering, hairs waving in the heat, a smell of plain
cheap soup. The reverse spasm grips his head, he groaning as his skull is crushed. The
inbreath is urgent and noisy, his pelvis drops like a well-oiled shaft, and on a rest, surges
up again, push this time, a tame trickle from his prick, but an almighty shout of triumph,
to be heard echoing in the mountains behind, how thunder affects me.
I drain afterwards. With relief, I think. It is not his seed I want, I‟ve made that
clear to him many times. If only he would hold me, so I could feel what a man is like:
how he ejaculates, piping, trumpeting, feeding. But the trumpet is the solo instrument,
piping in groups to be heard, feeding means someone to be fed, only one spout.
Yet no one else has his problem, the others are forever squirting themselves, when
they get the chance.
Only once did he hold me and squirt into me, not so strong then as we were still
learning. I remember that so clearly. I‟m surprised. How different he was then. How can I
see so far back?
Can I? After the curse, then. Something we were still innocent of after the curse.
What could that be?
In Adam? In his sex, in his Dragon.
Dragon.
30
The vomiting surprised everyone, except my own kin, of course. I have explained
this already. Now I think today of dragons again, and in thinking know I am in some way
being teased, by myself no doubt. I think of dragons frolicking in a meadow. Not heavy
cumbersome dragons designed to eat maidens and offer easy targets for the hero rescuing.
I mean the sinuous dragon, green and gold, ten, twenty feet long, tiny wings that allow
them the raise their foreparts above, to display what is patterned there in gold. My
dragons, and there are many of them in this meadow cruising about to the flutter of their
tiny wings and sighing of breath, the rustle of grass, carry secrets. Adam‟s dragon is a
mouse.
A mouse? Yes. Not Adam‟s Dragon, then.
Whose dragon do I remember? A Dragon of Secrets.
I must think about this.
31
I was surprised at the transformation downstairs afterwards. Shows what they can
do when they want to. But how did they get the time to paint over the damaged areas?
That prompted me to have some flair, so I ordered down the yellow drapes from the loft
and had them hanging everywhere. Plenty of candles overcame the imbalance in the light.
Then we laid skins on the floors, near the bar, kitchen, where people were likely to want
to sit or lie. A last impulse was to stack half of the remaining winter timber for a huge
bonfire behind the house.
Only one drink or so in when Mahaleleel says out loud, braying angrily at Enosh,
„Look what you are doing with your arms, you idiot!‟ Methuselah jumped up
immediately, upsetting his glass, and stuttered like a gate in a gale, very disturbed, so that
Enoch raised his head, like a cock ready for crowing, listening in that conceited way of
his, God speaking to him, and I saw how imbalanced they were without the presence of
Seth, Lamech alone quiet, sipping his lemonade at the bar.
Enosh was tearing the skin from his arms in his anxiety for Seth, blood seeping up
into hundreds of little tears. He could only crouch in terror before Mahaleleel, caught out
in some secret act. You could see Enosh‟s idiocy, something flayed by pain, a part
overwhelmed by an experience unimaginable. Methuselah got control of his voice and
began to explain Enosh‟s condition to Mahaleleel: dependency, anxiety, fear of
loneliness, a fluent description except that Enoch said suddenly, butting in on his son as
usual:
„Lo, and I will show you a gate. And in that gate I will show you a door. And I
will show you no more!‟
I missed Jared then – no one else seems to – and the fool and his tootling, which
manages to save me from the endless prattle of my other sons. Enosh does to himself now
what he usually does to Seth, that is all. If he doesn‟t do it to himself, then he would do it
to someone else. Who else? I begin to speculate: Cainen remained far away from him,
Mahaleleel fights him off, as he does everyone else. Can Enosh see Jared, I mean see him
other than as an endless piping? Enoch won‟t acknowledge Enosh, afraid I think that he
would want to join him in his heaven, too. Enosh is afraid of Methuselah, having
Lamech, who is more than a match for Enosh. Having no son, Lamech has all his time for
his father. Who else?
Endless speculation now. My time here has been spent speculating speculating. I
know it is for my own purpose that I see innocence in everyone about me – I wish to
show them how I suffer, and I don‟t want to be distracted by their own suffering. But in
showing pain like this, I witness the pain in others, and can then begin to search for the
source of this pain: what accompanies us at every instant. Is Enosh so lost then in his
blindness, an idiot in a world of light, a child‟s reach only?
Thinking of Jared under these circumstances brings to mind music. If the music,
which has always been with us since Jared‟s birth until now, were here now would this
crisis have been avoided? Music is a screen for me, but it contains no mystery and hence
no knowledge, music is effect merely, a stimulus to feeling not to mind. Music will raise
you to heaven, but it does not contain heaven. Only then, among my speculations about
the fate of Enosh, did I see that limit to music, and seeing that limit can see more deeply
into the nature of Enosh, of all my sons. In seeing this, I can see more clearly into myself:
32
There is a bond among my sons from which I am excluded, and which I have tried
hard to destroy. I was not aware of this until now. The bond of the father will always
elude me, having no father myself: Seth to Adam in fear, Enosh to Seth in ignorance,
Cainen to Enosh in resistance, Mahaleleel – the overbearing – to Cainen, the absent,
Jared to Mahaleleel in defiance, Enoch to Jared in rebellion, Methuselah to Enoch in
superiority, Lamech to Methuselah in obedience. My relation to my sons is two-fold, as
mother and as lover. I sustain them and love them: I bore them from their fathers and bear
their sons. But they think I curse them. They believe the mother condemns the son to his
relationship with his father. A tool, whether for instruction or destruction unclear
sometimes. This is unfair. I tell each of them to watch Adam closely, but instead they
watch their fathers.
Adam is not a son. My sons should try to grasp this. Adam is a man, but I am
always a mother, except to one, for whom I am a woman. To study Adam is to study
man, not the father, not the son. Adam trusted me once, loved once, worked once, keeps
his seed to himself. Me? I believed once, and I still love.
I surprise myself. It‟s a big thing to say that I still love. I do. I give service in
memory of service given. A truth I was shown, once. It appears in my loving: it appears
in my lips, only there. A kiss is a statement of truth – all is revealed in a kiss, as myths
confirm. Yes, but that is not all. I was shown something I recognised, and the result is
this love.
What do I know of this love? Goodness. Goodness? The possibility of goodness,
an addition to our nature as a revelation to us of an ability not otherwise evident. Does
Adam love? He trusts in a goodness once experienced. Yes. I am an agent to him, in the
first place selecting him, in the second place offering him a place for his trust.
But here the curse interposes. Upon Adam‟s trust and upon the place for his trust..
I can see this now, see something offered as a right.
Who offered me this? Not God. I know it was not God because the curse follows
on the offer.
It was offered to me.
Enosh of the bleeding arms, facing loss. How much I saw in that, in his terror,
bafflement, open pain, want. I said to Enoch, who sat on the big sofa before the Window
with Mahaleleel,
„Wipe Enosh‟s nose. At once.‟
It works sometimes but not now. Enosh seemed to have stopped breathing, so we
all steeled ourselves, always worse than you can ever expect, until he releases his pent-up
breath in a shrill scream, when he runs from the Reception shouting:
„You don’t understand! None of you ever does!‟
The familiar pattern. In some ways I was relieved. We could handle this party.
But given the special circumstances of strangers coming, mother departing, you might
have expected more, loss for me not for Seth. Something to look forward to, then: what
my family think of my going away to see another man. For now, we stock up on drinks
before going after Enosh. A moment of relaxation, as between scenes, at present Enosh
fleeing in disgust down long dark corridors, face fully idiotic.
33
Fine so far, but as we sat drinking in utter silence, Cainen burst into Reception
and went across to the bar, fetched a glass and filled it with gin and soda. I haven‟t
bothered to describe any of my other sons in detail, but with Cainen it is different. Taller
than the others, except Enoch, broadest, strongest, most sensitive, for reasons already
explained, most passionate, most attentive. Large hands, broad mouth, smooth thighs,
round-bottomed, profoundly pendent. A loyal man, hair in his eyes, dirt in his nails,
sheeepshit in his pores, a skilled castrator, a quick breeder, neat killer. He always follows
your conversation, chatting agreeably without impatience, chipping his hails with his
teeth, finger clearing a nostril, glass in the other hand. His eyes always hold your interest,
dark but startlingly bright and piercing, you see in them a fear of loss of reason like a fear
of blindness, and so how he savours sight, attentive to the last detail. You see how he
looks at you, seeking in you, as in all things, the assurance of his sanity.
He finishes the first glass before speaking, addressing us from the bar as he tips
the decanter, the first time in the House for years:
„Where‟s dada?‟
Mahaleleel spoke heavily in reply, as heavily sarcastic as he could manage from
the depth of the sofa:
„Sulking as usual.‟
Cainen frowned a mighty frown, corrugating his brows into thick deep cords, eyes
buried in wrinkle after wrinkle of tanned flesh, nose pinched until his nostrils gaped, lips
pressed flat and losing colour: you could see he hated his son‟s untidiness, his
coruscating feelings, a complete sucker for another‟s bait.
Cainen spat fully onto the floor – no carpet, just as well – ground the mess with
his boot, said:
„What‟s the fuss, then?‟
Methuselah answered him this time, leaning forward as far as he could towards
Cainen, intending courtesy but appearing patronising, deaf thick peasant is slow witted,
no big words:
„We are to have visitors, Cainen. From the city, it seems.‟
Cainen considers this news, looking into the palm of his free hand, a habit of his
when he wants to think something through. He glanced up at me then in that sharp direct
way of his. I think it came out of my preparations for the visitors – behind which as I
realised at that moment lay my preparations for going down to the city, to meet the man
who knows what ails Adam – but I wondered what Cainen saw when he looked at me in
that way, what truth he believes he finds there. My heart jumps now in sympathy with my
heart‟s leap then, as it always does when Cainen looks at me directly. I appear always to
Cainen in his ignorance, something in me he cannot comprehend. Cainen‟s models of life
are animals, his dogs and sheep. He looks at me as if I were an animal, but always sees
more in me than animality. He wishes that more for himself, to raise him above the curse
he bears from his father, Enosh, the idiot.
Cainen asks me: „Who asked them to come?‟
I answered candidly: „No one asked them to come here.‟ It was the truth but it did
not explain why they were coming, which I did not want Cainen to know about.
Cainen started and the crouched slightly, how I have seen him prowl in the night
out on the moors, guarding his flocks. He obviously sensed danger. Enoch waved an arm
over his own head and pushed himself to his feet, straightening himself as he faced
34
Cainen across the room. He even stuck his thumbs in his belt, something he rarely does
because usually waving at heaven, and said to Mahaleleel,
„Shame on you, granddad, to hide Enosh‟s grief. And you hide your own grief in
that lie.‟ Now he points at his grandfather, who is staring up at Enoch with his mouth
open: „You are the one who sulks, not Enosh, who like me and Lamech knows his grief.‟
I was tempted to intervene then, I did not want their wrath which they will direct
at me to rise from their grief, too easy a temptation. Even so, I certainly did not want
them to remember that Enoch had spoken of shame. We do not use that word here. We
hide shame, each of us locking this shame away deep in us, I the most shamed, knowing
better than they. Poor Enoch says he knows his grief; but he has, like all of them,
forgotten his shame.
My immediate reaction when Enoch spoke was to wonder why he used the word
„shame‟. I was struck by the seriousness of this. Mahaleleel‟s shame is for his father,
Cainen, that he deserted him out of fear of his own father. But the barb could only have
been intended for Cainen himself, he was after all facing up to him, the first time it has
happened in years.
When Cainen prowls he prowls for the wolf, the lion, the snake, he the ram of all
rams protecting his flock of sheep. Now he turned in the room, looking away from me,
his eyes flaring in the light, and straightened when he saw Enoch, his left hand opening
and extending to full extent. Cainen hadn‟t heard a word of what Enoch said, but he had
grasped the tone of his voice, the arrogance and posturing, the pedantry even if true, the
tone of judgement. In doing this, Cainen not only understood Enoch, but also realised that
in Enoch was that „more‟ he witnesses in me. More than the animal, if you remember. It
was for this reason that he fell in awe of Enoch at that moment, because Enoch‟s
judgement seemed to him in his rustic innocence to be divine. For Enoch‟s judgement to
have stopped him in a way that no animal could, to distract him from his guardianship,
meant that it was more powerful than all life, because such a tone could determine all life,
telling life what to do and what not to do.
To see Cainen yield like this, to see him step forward with his splayed hand rising
in front of him, and to see Enoch‟s certainty in what he said, the truth he believed was
there, and Methuselah pulling himself up out of his armchair, the drink in his glass
sloshing – he drinks very little – saying in his most knowledgeable way:
„You shouldn‟t fret just because you see a stranger, shepherd, as we are all
strangers to each other, strange before Enoch‟s God, and Seth‟s God, and Adam‟s God.‟
It was strange in itself to hear the word „God‟ on Methuselah‟s lips, so many
times, too, but it was the correct thing to say, under the circumstances. Cainen understood
at once, in a flash, and he turned to Methuselah, behind him to his left, and looked
piercingly at him, an expression on his face between recognition and rage.
It was a tense moment, as you can imagine. It wasn‟t clear to me what Cainen was
going to do. He could beat Methuselah, but he would have to struggle with Enoch sooner
or later. Cainen would not have believed the latter then, both in awe of Enoch‟s power of
judgement and illuminated by the knowledge that Enoch also had a God. Not until he
realises his own power will he see that Enoch must be contended with, how Enoch‟s
power of judgement lies in sin, an acceptance of guilt so manifestly absurd. Cainen‟s
35
power has arisen in this world, the power he sees in the wolf and lion, snake and dog,
sheep and the grass they eat, how life can fulfil itself. But Methuselah‟s homily assents to
this power, though Methuselah would emphasise purpose over action, so that Cainen at
once grasps both what purpose is, as he finds it in himself, and how his actions arise and
depart, flowing up out of himself with supreme knowledge and confidence to enter the
world about him, like water that nourishes a land and stimulates growth.
Cainen has an instant‟s vision of the world he builds, how bright and vast it is,
clear air, and then another feeling obtrudes, arising from the „more‟ he is beginning to
discover within himself, to him a feeling like disappointment rather than anything blacker
like despair or even the grief Enoch nurses. Cainen did not see his shame, as you no
doubt expect – animals cannot experience shame – no, what he saw was both his great
powers to achieve purpose and also the limit of that power. He suffered the special agony
of the man of this world, to know there is a limit to what he could do, and that limit
Cainen in his innocence called time, how actions used up time and nothing remains.
That is how Cainen thought as he looked closely at Methuselah, the knowledge
flooding over him, dark at first because new, then clearer as he understood, right down to
the emptiness in him where more should be.
Lamech started singing then. I think something of the charge in the room must
have prompted him, something very profound, because he sang Jared‟s song but with a
notable difference. He added another note. We all gasped when we realised this. Lamech
had found another note! He sang using Jared‟s notes, BEAD, but now added C sharp, and
as he sang on and on, we heard the new darkness there also, the darkness of Cainen, how
the C# was like a footstep in Jared‟s heaven, a dark insubstantial shadow entering into its
centre. And my first response was to say to Enoch, „This is banishment indeed.‟ To see
what both Cainen and Lamech had discovered at that moment, before the visitors came,
how dark their world of life is, an eternal rising and falling, a sea at night.
Lamech surprised me but I was disappointed in Cainen. Out in the open all the
time and never aware of the stars, ignoring the hot sun. Perhaps, I‟m thinking now, a
deeper current in these thoughts about my beloved. I went to him because of that rising
and falling. To have him heave me up, hands around arses, mouth to mouth, and then fall
wonderfully, to feel that mighty struggle within me as Cainen strives against that which
overwhelms him.
After all, that is what men teach, isn‟t it? They tell us of their struggles, their
eternal struggles, weary of their wretched struggling, but unable to stop struggling,
unable to surrender for even an instant, unless overwhelmed.
As I say, this was my first response, Methuselah‟s face was alight, father‟s pride
that Lamech had at last done something himself. Enoch and Mahaleleel were properly
chastened, recognising their share in this struggle, one with grief, the other with
bitterness, that there had been no choice.
It was Cainen who recovered first, no doubt because it was most familiar to him,
and he swung his head to look at all his relations and said jovially, that empty heartiness
of families with sins to hide,
„Well, shall we have another drink, then? I for one am parched.‟
36
Lamech continued to sing his five notes. The semitone cluttered the music at
times, though it would also add a grace. We got used to it pretty quickly, too, and noticed
that Lamech sang in long lines seeking melody, and that each attempt was brought to a
close by AC#B, a surprisingly promising ending, considering what this new music
intimated. We gathered at the bar to pour drinks, no crush and no unnecessary fuss yet
about who went first at the ice, the bottleneck at any party worth the effort.
Another break here, you notice. The Entry scene complete, now stage change:
Enosh in the corridor, fretful, sobbing as he scratches his bloody arms. Now and
then he blubbers in misery, the spittle sparking away into the gloom.
Now, Enoch goes out into the dusk and lights our bonfire, and shortly the room
glows fitful in the firelight, sparks shooting up here too. We cheer loudly, toasting one
another with exaggerated toasts, knocking back tumbler after tumbler of spirits, the party
underway at last.
This is the chatting stage of our party. Anecdote time:
Methuselah and the day the great beam fell in the barn and almost buried him.
Mahaleleel and his bitter row with Adam down by the river years and years ago.
Enoch and his angels and heaven.
Eve and how Adam built the first hut on the side of this hill, a storm threatening.
We have heard each tale many times, but we still listen to each with enthusiasm,
drinking or reaching for bottle or flask. Tonight Cainen tells us his story, how his dogs
saved him once on a winter‟s night up in the mountains, hunting a stag. All the stories,
except Enoch‟s of course, are funny, not just wry but verging on the ridiculous now,
except Mahaleleel‟s, which concerns a condition induced by Adam‟s weakness, the
failure of his influence over his descendants. My Adam was a clown, useless with
materials, so that I must help him, and Methuselah‟s beam has become a World Tree, a
great crowning menace, grotesque in its humorous import, Enoch‟s hard-on once.
You see at parties how we hope to be forgiven, how we are prepared to forgive.
And then our next scene:
37
We wanted a new entry at this stage. We needed an Entry, Cainen completing his
tale with ample gestures, hair in his eyes, mouth mobile, wry smiles from us, the
disappointment spreading from me to the others. We needed an Entry to do what Cainen
signally failed to do, to hide my departure from us for a little while longer, Cainen talking
about survival on his own, i.e. No Mother.
We had a list of potential entrants, Enosh from his dark corridor, where he
loitered moodily, his memories sweet now, Jared anxiously hurrying over the bogs,
listening for the word of God from Seth, or Seth himself, preaching in the valleys,
running home to say goodbye to his mama. Or the visitors, two in number, on what
business I can guess, with what effect I can only lament.
No one came, night coming on, garish light from our bonfire at the top of the
Back Field. The next stage of our parties, after the silly chatter and intoxication, is our
Battlefield. As we chatter happily and drink away, we each have a glimpse of our
respective heaven. By heaven I mean here that instant of forgetfulness, when a bright
light suffuses and we sense that in this radiance lies our true selves, against which we live
our lives, a model that both blesses and chides us at the same time. But the light is
unbearable, though few acknowledge this, for most respond in shame to what they
discern within the light, so familiar, like discovering a snake in the garden, scorpion in
your bed, mouse in your pocket. With this shame, rather than the truth of our unbearable
perfection, we respond to the living with a new insight: how all the living are alike,
seeing at once – again – the limit of the living in us, the shadow across our being, the
curse on us a barrier, a mist, a misdirection. No surprise then that like the living, we prey
upon each other, like fire consuming that which sustains it.
This is our Battlefield. Traduced, my sons hide their shame in grief, and then hide
their grief in a false rationality. Cursed in their capacity to love, they lose trust in their
capacity to understand. Hence, as the motive of love becomes possession, the knowledge
they gain becomes an enclosure, the instant of bliss hidden to memory by a word.
But what has been lost in love reappears in fantasy, and what has been hidden in
distrust reappears in the threat of dissolution – though the price is a terrible knowledge of
error, foolishness, weakness, like the admission of sin.
Cainen was the outsider, careful until he loses patience. Enoch was the Guardian
of the House, as Cainen guards our flocks, and he took it upon himself to head off a
possible flashpoint, if Enosh should come in a state, as he usually does, and if Cainen
should see his father in that state, who knows where Cainen might stop. He stomped
across the room to Lamech at the window and told him to sing the old song if he must
sing something.
Methuselah replied tartly, shrugging his right shoulder at Enoch, „Can‟t you sing
it?‟
Enoch couldn‟t, nor as it turned out could any of us. Always that C sharp,
tiptoeing in, darkness coming.
Lamech continued singing through all this, more than a hint of desperation in his
voice now. He was trapped in the broken interval, as though perpetually repairing a
breaking footbridge. We listened to Lamech for quite a long time, taking turns to pour the
drinks now, and bit by bit we came to see how the ending of each section, the sequence
38
AC#B, acted to complete the bridge. But only momentarily, the bridge cannot be
sustained by Lamech‟s song, our new song, only the damage can be repaired, the repair
damaging like a principle of decline.
But the gap is closed immediately, a hope of sorts, I think. This led Cainen to say,
who wasn‟t familiar with Jared‟s tune, rounding on Enoch:
„But this is an old song, greatgrandson. Shepherds dance to it. The tune is called
The Fox in the Glen, though some like to call it Snake in the Grass. For humour, I mean,
greatgrandson.‟
Enoch smiled immediately, as though he felt obliged to act as though he
understood Cainen. Encouraged, Cainen added, „Snake in the grass?‟ and gripped
Enoch‟s balls tightly, waggling them painfully with his strong hand.
Enoch‟s shock was very great, of course, but a bigger shock for poor Methuselah,
surprised to see such joy on Cainen‟s face as he realised he was in the company of men.
But we had all heard the music and so knew very well what entered darkly, Cainen‟s only
gift to his family, to show them how to dance to the new music. Enoch soon danced with
Cainen, not over his surprise yet but now so excited. Like dogs? Yes, just like dogs.
Mahaleleel took me up, so that Methuselah must dance with Lamech. They often end up
together, no doubt because Enoch, Seth and Jared can upset everyone else. New music,
new dance. Mahaleleel is usually the unmoved mover, a dance-motor, as it were. But the
new music loosened him up, watching Enoch and Cainen gyrating together, an amazing
agony to behold, I assure you, pulling the balls out of one another. Once he understood,
Mahaleleel went over to ask Lamech to dance with him. Methuselah couldn‟t refuse, of
course, though Lamech could but did not. I retrieved Methuselah and brought him up to
speed. How Lamech came out of Methuselah is hard to credit. But he said to me as we
waltzed along:
„Two thirds in one third out.‟
With that he went over to Enoch and Cainen, pulled them apart with surprising
vigour and hit Enoch hard across the ear. Mahaleleel ran across the floor immediately and
struck Methuselah in the back, driving him forward into Enoch, the first contact between
them for years. Cainen reached over my shoulder and caught Mahaleleel‟s hand, holding
on to him as though for dear life. Both Mahaleleel and Enoch struggled, as you might
expect, Methuselah and Cainen eager to dance. Lamech came and sat in my lap, which I
enjoyed very much, my baby. He laid his head between my breasts and I rocked him as
he sang.
And then a coincidence. Lamech sang on, but now and again he found a new
cadence, his earlier cadence AC#B now with an ending E: AC#BE. No sooner had we
realised the significance of this than the door opened and in walks Enosh, scrubbed, fresh
clothes, his eyes settling on Cainen at once in embrace with Mahaleleel. „Sun,‟ he shouts,
pointing out the window at the great bonfire leaping up in the field. Cainen stares at his
father in horror, seeing at once that he is an idiot, that he could not be a father. The top E
was a comfort, like a way out, trivial now and getting more trivial, for pretty soon
Lamech pushed himself on to a three-four dance rhythm, two voices now, ABC# and
C#DE. The voices contended, stole from each other, sought to overwhelm the other and
adopt its voice, how one voice completed the other, but breaking down on the broken
interval around the C#. An hypnotic dance in time, finding yourself enacting a
39
fundamental truth: seen in how right must follow left, down follow up, a central
flexibility allowing alternation.
„Not the sun, you idiot,‟ shouts Mahaleleel, in reflex actually. „That is a fire.‟
Cainen‟s expression changes from horror to amazement as he sees Mahaleleel, a sane
man, speaking to his idiot father. Enosh‟s head goes down as always, waiting for the
usual box in the ear for doing wrong. Cainen grips Mahaleleel tightly to warn him of his
folly, to be seen talking to an idiot. Mahaleleel screams piteously and waves his arms
frantically, eyes closed. Dancing by with his son, Enoch says, „Proper discernment
witnesses to principle.‟ And Enosh says, still waiting for the box in the ear, looking over
at me:
„Is Seth gone?‟ Spoken in a terrific rush, like a last message before engulfment.
Methuselah was turning towards Enosh at this point, so he heard most clearly and so
replied for us all as he flew by:
„A greater going, poor Enosh, than Seth.‟
Thus said, thus acknowledged by all.
Thus ended the Battlefield stage. More blows than ever before, but also intimation
of worse to come, which always puts an end to our bickering, uniting us against a
common worry.
I needed to enter another distraction here, to keep their attention on the visitors,
and not remember my departure pending. I squeezed Lamech as I can squeeze a man, a
matter of thighs clasping at a precise point on the hips, and Lamech squirted away with a
mighty hurrah! This induced silence thereafter, dance ended, no music. There was no one
at the door, but nevertheless they all looked towards the darkness beyond the door. A
man weakest after ejaculation, most infant-like.
Cainen is most affected by Lamech‟s uproar, now evidence aplenty of active
sexuality, seeing me once again as the Inducer, the silence of his beloved mountains
within this house, and he rushes forward and grabs Lamech from my lap, throws him to
one side and kneels and embraces my thighs, pulling me from my seat down on to him.
The offence is to Lamech. Enoch shouts in outrage, „Take none or all!‟
This is the horrible moment, finally. Did you see it coming? I did not. It is true
that Enoch shouted at Cainen, who takes me, but the true taking, as Enoch acknowledges,
is my leave-taking. But Enosh turns to Lamech, misfortune a deep bond here, like a fall
from grace, united in what curses them. And so too Cainen, in case he had other ideas
here: he comes early so that Enoch must cry because he understands at last that sex is
stronger than sense, his heaven tottering away into the sin God had told him about.
Cainen falls away with his usual yelp and Enoch bends in the face of the fracture he
perceives, the sin in the room: each feeling differently, ignorant of the feelings of others,
lost in a phantasy of one‟s own feelings.
„A terrible sin,‟ he cries out, head bowed low in abasement: „A truly terrible sin,
said the Lord to me when I was in heaven with Him. A blindness like no other, the Lord
said to me, an ignorant blindness.‟
40
Even then I thought it was beautifully put, „an ignorant blindness‟. Yet, as
Methuselah immediately asked, „How can you know that?‟
Enoch straightened up, theatrically though not intended, and looked about at us
all, Lamech asleep, Cainen dozing, Methuselah anxious for his father, Mahaleleel
seething, Enosh desolate. Speaking, he brayed, his throat thrumming in a weirdly
alarming way, as though something vital would escape, saying, „Desire outstrips us.‟
Enoch was brilliant that night, in his element at last, a true prophet of doom. Even
Mahaleleel was obliged to think of what Enoch said, though Enosh bowed before the tone
of Enoch‟s voice. Into this pensive silence entered the voice of Seth:
„On the contrary, brother-in-mother, you must see that desire cannot live before
us. The image I propose for now is that of the plant, that must grow before it can flower,
must flower before seeding, must seed before growth.‟ Splendidly dressed for once,
showing off his fair locks to good effect, Seth turned in the doorway and bowed towards
me, „As usual, mother-of-us-all, you look a treat. How you achieve it eludes me and all
those I know and talk to.‟ He gives his hand to the overjoyed Enosh, nods companionably
to his grandson, Cainen, asks: „The swarth heath for courting strangers?‟ To which
Cainen replies, much relieved it would seem from the tone of his voice, „In your face,
gaffer.‟ Cainen is dark, so fair Seth is radiant to him. But it does bring us to the visitors,
at last.
41
Seth tours the room, a hand to Mahaleleel and Lamech, a smile for Methuselah,
Enosh at his side, Enoch thundering over by the window, his shadow looming in the
firelight:
„For as the snail crawls, so does its desire, as the eagle flies, so does its desire,
crawling before the snail, flying before the eagle. This the Lord tells me: Desire is the
lamp of the living, but a blind lamp, light of darkness, shining only on dark things.‟
Seth‟s display is really so first class that I had a sudden urge that my husband
Adam should see his son‟s triumph. In any case, Seth turned in a casual manner, at the
same time accepting a glass of whisky from Mahaleleel – who seems now to dote on his
greatgrandfather – nodding his thanks, and said to Enoch in a lilting voice, as though he
might suddenly sing:
„Of origins I have seen this: the first flower of spring, the last nut of autumn, and
in between the single thread of that which does not abate. In nowhere can there be
nothing. Gravity‟s name greater than light‟s. Greater than light‟s. Greater than light‟s.
Gravity‟s name greater than light‟s.‟
I missed Jared, he usually run massages for me. No point asking Lamech to run
up, he gets lost easily. Adam wouldn‟t listen to Mahaleleel and laughs at poor
Methuselah, an obedient son. I decided to go myself, there was the off-chance that Adam
might get up to see Seth in all his glory. I know he was making an ass of himself, but it
was just the distraction that I needed, and he was after all proposing a mode of existence
that he hoped will cope with my departure.
„Adam,‟ I said quickly, „You‟d want to see your son downstairs.‟
He was staring out the window at the starry sky, breathing quietly, and he did not
move, only asked:
„What‟s he done now?‟
I paused, because I knew that he would in the very least be surprised: „He‟s
preaching to Enoch!‟
Adam sniffed, momentarily irritated by the sniff, then he said:
„Two of them now? Whose fault is that?‟
Adam wasn‟t going to get up for that, anyway. I should have gone back down at
that point, but I was outraged at the innuendo.
„Well, if you got off your arse for five minutes, Adam, something might be got
done around here! Anyway, better geniuses than idiots!‟
The last is always a particular barb for Adam, but so often he permits it. Tonight,
with two geniuses in the family, and two idiots, with lookout and runabout, barker and
talking-head, he was moved to shout, his nose wrinkling ever so slightly:
„And you think you‟re the genius around here, Fucking-know-all. Well, let ME
tell you, missis, that all you moon-shiners and hip-hops, you pixies and pussyfoots, you
owls and bunnies, you think I‟m just a dumb peasant, with sweat on my head and a pain
in my arse, bent over all day, laid back at night. Well, you‟re all wrong. You‟ve got it
wrong about me. I‟m not just a scrubby shit in a ditch, I‟ve got a wire in there too, for all
you know, missis.‟
Adam‟s incoherence worried me at first, but then I saw that he was upset about
the visitors, too, as said, and about my going too. It became difficult to maintain the tone
of our conversation: Adam‟s upset was far greater than I expected, perhaps greater than
42
he expected. But you must remember that Adam knows why I have come to the city, to
find a cure for him from the only man who possesses it.
„Even Enosh makes more sense than you do when he drools.‟
You can see that already the tone was gone. I‟ve often thrown that bite at Adam,
now it felt wrong. Sure enough, Adam showed me at once what I had missed in his
speech:
„Huh. You don‟t believe me then? Well, I‟ll show you, missis.‟
He moved his arm easily, considering how long he has lain like this, and rooted
under the mattress. Paper the colour of calfshit, badly smudged, little sheets stuck
together. I had never seen anything like it before. „What‟s that?‟ I blurted out. He waved
it slowly in front of me, gazing at it with shining eyes.
„That‟s a book, woman.‟
I laughed out loud. „Some book,‟ I said, taunting him. „Not like Enoch‟s.‟ Enoch‟s
book has forty seven thousand pages. Enoch sleeps on his book, wanks on it, wets the bed
still.
When that didn‟t faze Adam, I asked, suspicious now: „Where did you get that?‟
„In the Garden. Before we left.‟
„What garden, Adam?‟
„In the old place.‟
„What old place are you talking about, Adam? Goodness, can‟t you ever give a
straight answer?‟
„Before we came here. This shit heap. It was better then, you know, girl. Grass
grew by itself there. Trees too. Lots of trees. Soft place, though. God there. He gave me
this book. Said it would sustain me in my woe, contain me in my wrath, obtain me my
heart‟s dream, detain me in life. I have always treasured this book, my dear, and look
about it always with joy and thanksgiving, that God is so good as to grace us in our peril.
Amen.‟
Adam closed his eyes with unnerving complacency and the book fell from his
hand and fluttered down to the floor. I snatched it up, my eagerness quite beyond my
control. The writing was extremely small, the print leached in places, the paper horribly
wattled and dingy. „What‟s it say?‟ I asked Adam. It smelled too, the furry smell of old
Adam.
„Secrets,‟ he said in a very satisfied tone. „Secrets of God.‟
Secrets of God, no less. Heaven help us should he decide to preach.
„Tell me one,‟ I teased him.
„Can‟t. Sorry.‟
„Only one, Adam.‟
„They‟re secrets, my dear.‟
„You don‟t know any, Adam, do you, you plonker.‟
„I told you they‟re secrets. The Secrets of God. Only God knows the secrets of
God.‟
I laughed at that, to think of him hoarding a book he couldn‟t read. The script is
strange, very regular, thirty two letters, rational. Short paragraphs, as you might expect in
a handbook. Going back downstairs, I shoved the book in my pocket. Sixteen paragraphs,
ten pages. Each paragraph has a heading in bold capitals. Only one name can I discern,
43
either ONO or KEK, of whom I have no other knowledge. Downstairs our visitors had
come. Seth was in his element:
„…thrice called, missing. Each roving comes to nought. Better the seed that
resides in its true earth. Better that seed, I tell you, better the seed that resides. Better the
seed that resides in its true. Better the seed that resides in its true earth. True earth. Better
this, brethren and cousins. All spring from one seed, though some grow afar.‟
44
And so on until I got into the room and clipped Seth one and shook him saying:
„Will you stop showing off, you little pup!‟
I chastise all my prophets, mock my fools, humour my husband, love someone
else. His half-sister minced, which put me off, but with a little treatment Jobal came on
nicely, so that he was soon sitting in my lap, warm as toast. The boys fought over the
half-sister, the war already under way when I came down, though she looked like a
clapped-out tart, fuzzy hair and too much breast, tight skirt, knobbly knees, red feet. That
was all, and perhaps it would have been all for the rest of the night if Seth had not come
out of his tantrum to scream:
„None of you ever believes me! Even though YOU‟ pointing at me dramatically,
face aflood, little teeth bared fiercely „showed it to me.‟
I rubbed Jobal‟s soft belly and asked him, archly loud for Seth to hear: „And what
did your mammy show you, Jobal pet?‟ And of course Jobal leered, his little scrotum
jumping under my hand, a sickly leer, it is true, a corrupted smile. This sent Seth into
another flood of tears, and then Enosh began to bawl too, the strain of the evening telling
on his weak spirit. Enoch puffed up and filled the gap neatly:
„For as much, you-all, the price is indeed heavy, laden with tears, on and on for
ever.‟
Methuselah seemed the most disoriented, but he looked at the floor and said in
true style:
„Some things come to an end.‟ Now raises his head to look towards Naamah,
Jobal‟s half-sister, as said, and continued sonorously: „Life is a circulation of energy, a
circulation that itself requires energy. This is the reef upon which our rationalism totters.
A high tide of names keeps us afloat.‟
Enoch was nonplussed, much to everyone‟s wonder, Enoch stumped by his son,
after all. Jobal shouted out and his half-sister did a vulgar courtesy, showing off her
handlebar hips, red lipstick over half her face. Methuselah simpered, but Cainen, not to
be outdone, went down on his knees before her, looked at her closely and laid his large
hands on her buttocks, one on one. He sighed with the pleasure of it. Naamah gyrated
suggestively. Seth screamed „I‟m first!‟ and Enosh echoed idiotically, „I‟m first!‟
I waited till the bedlam eased before saying to Seth: „First in what, Seth?‟ If God
had given a book to Adam, then Seth wasn‟t the first after all.
Seth was in a spiteful mood, rare with him but vicious nonetheless: „First in
everything, mother.‟
I sneered, deliberately: I said,
„No, you‟re not, Seth.‟
I put Jobal lying on the floor and stood up, smoothing the creases in my dress
with slow sweeps, the rapid cooling always painful. It was time to face the issue, now
that we had thoroughly distracted the visitors, Jobal a spent force for the nonce, his halfsister prick-teasing Methuselah, the others watching, creaming their pants.
Seth was watching me with a wary interest. Even Enosh was a little awed.
„You were not the first in anything, Seth. Never first at all.‟
I vomit at once, touched that nerve in me again. It was very violent and cut
through all the civet and musk, but even so Seth persisted in asking until I answered:
45
„Aren‟t I the eldest, mother, aren‟t I? Aren‟t I your first son? Aren‟t I the first son,
mother?‟ Around and around until I was sicker of him saying that than I was of myself
saying what I had said. (And sick now, too, to remember it.) So I said, gasping on the
sting of my bile,
„Where do you think Adam came from?‟
Naamah intervened then, speaking to Seth with a cousinly ease, „Down the chute,
every blessed one, Seth. I‟ve never seen different, have you?‟
Bless her, she could say what I couldn‟t say. The benefit of having a girlfriend.
She can lie for you.
I was shaken by the attack, the novelty of having visitors still strong, but I
remembered in time to say to Jobal and his half-sister:
„Shall we pop up and see Adam before we go. No doubt you will need to report.‟
On the stairs I said to Naamah, „What I dislike most, pet, is when the straps cut
into my back. There. You know what I mean?‟ She had trouble making the steps, short
legs, but she replied:
„My feet, auntie. They hurt something terrible.‟
My sons seem to fade from me now. Like detumescence. Then it‟s gone, that‟s all
going ever says. Only Adam remains clear, a persistent image I could do without. Much
rather Cainen on patrol, or Jared listening, anything else. It is strange: as they fade my
desire for them increases, though Jobal thinks it is for him. It is not alone for this animal
warmth, Jobal, that I bounce you upon my lap, your soft buttocks kneading. Not merely
for our gratification do I open myself to you. This is like an arm or a foot, identifiable in
itself but essentially a part of something complete in itself, complete only by reference to
a part constituting it, not necessarily complete with reference to all things. I melt in the
sight of my children: out of sight, they melt away.
What a fantasy children are! Only sex is stronger than sense, perhaps stronger
than life, hence animal death. But we couple in pain, tears lubricating our bodies.
How blue. So much fading, all at once now, the mountains, the rivers, the fields of
corn and grass, the cattle runs, sheep moors, the House itself and all within.
Except Adam. We crowded into his bedroom and let the visitors introduce
themselves. Adam was impressed, I could tell, though he hid it in a fit of grumpiness,
eyeing Naamah, back and forth as though there was something there he could not quite
believe, perhaps afraid to – he took to her at once, and she to him, of all things sitting on
the bed facing him. By now you would hear him up in the High Range if any of us had
sat there, but he lies there gazing into her face with the same concentration he uses for
gazing at the stars, not seeing much but enjoying the spectacle. Less interest in Jobal,
which I expected. Jobal is a bit frumpy when mobile, but it at least didn‟t arouse
suspicions. Not intentional, but handy in any case. Jobal understood at once, good for
him, and stated that he would refer to me for any information he required. Adam nodded
once.
Naamah stayed behind. We left at dawn, teeming rain.
46
So I left home, slipping away with Jobal as everyone ran to thank his half-sister
for staying in my place. Easier than I expected. Quite cosy at first, the cabin heated, as
though we could always frolic on skins, play in bed, gorge at table. Yes, like that, a
regular industry, producing premium grade satisfaction. You remember the thread that
was mentioned earlier? Twixt seed and new life? That‟s Jobal, if he survives: corrupt he
may be but he is no goer. He is an official in the city, so he doesn‟t talk unless he has to,
which is little once he had filled his long forms in, knees tucked up in his tent on the first
night out. I could hear a mountain stream somewhere off to the left, then came the call of
a night bird I didn‟t know, very sweet and poignant. That‟s when I cried first.
Foolishness, mostly, already in a strange world, never to go home again. Yet the singing
was nonetheless beautiful, repeated many times, melodious in a way I had never heard, a
bird that mimics songs.
I cry again now, a tenderness not above the suspicion of indulgence. It warms me
to cry now, so I can hear those songs again and take again the nerve to reconsider that
there is no going back ever. And I do mean „ever‟. If we were to return to heaven now,
we would find a strange heaven and find ourselves already changed beings. I cry for this,
for some reason I cannot grasp. If heaven is so close, then why do I feel it is so remote
from me? Crying makes writing this so much easier. Difference. That is the word I have
looked for. In difference lies our gift and the curse it earned. Difference appears to us in
recognition, inspiration, opposition, desire, and the curse lies on all these, not alone on
opposition and desire.
You see that the curse can be studied. Compare how opposition and desire are
cursed. You see that in us what constitutes opposition, fear of other, and desire, reach for
other, are polar opposites. Yet you can discern what unites opposition and desire, the
other, both fear of and reach for the other. If we did not reach we would not be afraid.
You see that desire engenders opposition, that the curse sits squarely on desire. So.
Blindness? Blind reaching induces fear, hence opposition.
Consider recognition and inspiration. We see and we think. Blindness there too?
But perhaps in reaching we find cause for fear? But the senses do not know difference.
The senses are processes, reversible, under outside control. Fear arises in reaching alone,
for fear is not evidenced in recognition or inspiration, here surprise is the initial response,
surprise that we can still know, after all. Explain this. Recognition and inspiration are
registers, that is, capacities always open, with no knowledge of fear. Image and idea flow
into us at all times. Here we are not blind, rather we cringe at our surprise, the best word
for the condition is reluctance. And yet the fear: how we respond to the real, our feeling
of evanescence before the actual, what we believe endures over time. Within our fear is
the threat of dissolution, of a falling away of awareness and enjoyment.
Witness my crying. See how we are cursed. We are cut off. Gifted but cut off, like
a branch sawn from a tree. A power for growth but rootless now. You see the problem of
reaching, desire now? Nothing to reach for, desire blind because no end, no object of
desire. We must overcome reaching, the impulse to always seek confirmation outside.
The curse was an action, not a magic spell having occult power.
You see the way my speculations run, fuelled as they are by my troubles. A day
away from home and already I have raised a metaphysic of freedom to cry over.
47
Nonetheless, you see how I trace the presence of the curse in my new experience? This I
do constantly, tracing it sometimes in event and sometimes on paper, as you have seen.
Sloth is the word here, not reluctance as I wrote above. Where I am going time is
slow, so perspective short. Because they are slow, gravity oppresses them and they bear
this with a melancholic fortitude. The burden is always heavier, they more weary. A
violent people, too much energy when aroused, a shrewd people, hungry.
See how I learn?
And difference? That is left for the future, it seems.
48
Do you wonder why I write this Testament? I wonder too. Why do I think this
Testament will not survive? No God to guarantee it?
No God has spoken to me, to permit me to say that the Lord told me thus and
thus. I do not even know whence such a voice as the Voice of God would come. Behind
me? Within me? Whispered in my ear, shouted among the clouds?
Only I speak here. Only my memories, visions, thinking on these pages. I do not
vouch for what I record, cannot confirm memory, but I do assure of what I think. Need I
emphasise the latter? If you are not sure what you think, knowing phantasy from truth,
then I need not, pointless to do otherwise.
I know I‟m pushing it here, but I had not intended writing this passage. I confess
to a loss of direction, as though in leaving Home my story has ended. And now that it is
ended I wonder why I bothered in the first place. I was there.
However, knowing this, I yet talk about God who for me is a silent God, and then
to cap it all assure you of my access to truth. The thought is strange to me: you must see
the truth of phantasy, the pain of good. Try then to see the phantasy of truth: the good of
pain.
49
I thought that was it, to be frank, but it seems that it is not. I write tonight on
impulse, so I believe that more can be said.
There are other people in this city. I can think of very little more to say. The city
is strange, a very strange place. In one way it is familiar, like the mountains, it is
composed only of rock and stone. It is close, compressive. If I could hold my breath
while here, I would do so. It is contaminated, bearing a horror I cannot name, like a
rearing-back from something known, not just something experienced. Already, I think, I
see the mark of its ruler in this, hidden like a secret.
I wondered about this afterwards. Do the people of the city know what their ruler
knows? Or do they merely know that a horrible truth is known to their ruler? There is no
point in asking the city people about this. Jobal simply blanks out, finding the distinction
impossible to make, though Naamah‟s brother is a bit better. He replied when I asked
him:
„Truth doesn‟t need a name. My grandfather, Methushael, would no doubt say of
our city, ‟Noxville, that something was lost at the beginning here. You see the pun? Some
letter or letters are missing from the beginning of the word we write for our city, and two:
we lost something at the beginning. You see, my dear, either our city is a mistake or the
city was built for some prior mistake. He believes we do not need knowledge of the
original mistake. We can see the effect in our lives. We can correct the mistake
ourselves.‟
That is about as far as they will give. I can see worse, much worse, but they will
not be drawn. They live with the doom of this truth in the meantime. But Tubalcain is
less optimistic than his grandfather, passive before the fact as truth, a strange abstraction:
as though truth left a trace, had a history, had effect. But truth is only a knowledge, a kind
of recognition, then gone. The secret of this city concerns something that has a future; it
can be repeated. Is that so? But the truth. Yes. The truth of that something is already
known. The truth must be terrible indeed if the ruler forbears to tell it, like an appalling
licence.
The days pass here and I wait. I am in a small house on the far side of the city.
The ceilings are low, lintels sagging over the windows and doors, but the paintwork is
bright, a lot of red. There is a small garden with some flowers. The water is piped, as is
also the gas they cook with. Less labour on that side, but more in the getting of the food
they eat. The pace is as slow as I intuited last week, a weight oppressing them, as though
they are always trying to shrug it off. There is a lot of movement, but as though in a
dream, as though something distracted them, a half-thought, a half-memory, reposing in
their faces as an entranced gaze. It was this expression of Jobal‟s that led me to believe he
was stupid. Not stupid; bewildered is closer. Tubalcain is more vigorous, a builder in the
city, but I see the expression on his face often, though he constantly wakens himself from
that gaze.
This overwhelming closeness of everything renders the urbanites promiscuous.
Do you know the kind of promiscuity I mean, that of grabbing all the time. Not taking, as
of a gift, but exerting effort as though a price had to be discharged. They hate poverty,
because it reminds them of necessity, their lack of freedom. Banal perhaps, but it reflects
50
the deeper insight that in truth we live in the shadow of poverty, the poverty of fantasy,
and how in wealth you live in the light of ignorance, the ignorance of imagination.
These thoughts come to me as I write. I have never waited before. Such
expectancy. Each day is a morning glory, each evening a consolation, Tubalcain always
helpful while Jobal goes through channels to arrange my audience with the ruler. You see
the thoughts that arise when you are doing nothing? How something else in you arises in
the absence of action, but arising in you as an anxiety, an unease, like a bird searching for
land, music, something behind you. How hard it is to resolve this unease except by
acting.
So I act with Tubalcain, and with Jubal, the brother of Jobal, when he comes too.
Tubalcain is extraordinarily exact. A meaty man, he always watches his finger tips, nails
immaculate, touching things with infinite delicacy. His black hair is heavy, hanging
almost-but-not-quite to his shoulders. A handsome man, candid, shrewd, blind, generous.
His lips are very mobile, more blue in them than you would expect in so healthy a man,
but it makes the blue of his eyes more striking, lambent in a tenuous way, as though
movement had ceased there as he looked at you. A very wonderful sensation, I assure you
if you have never experienced this: how attention is given to you, like a grace. Call it
presence, if you wish, but in Tubalcain it is extraordinary. I remember his sister, Naamah,
and how my men fought for her. Poor Naamah, men want her awake not asleep, so her
feet must suffer. Her attention will give Methuselah confidence, teasing him like that,
raising his manhood, like pumping up. Who else will like her? Adam, of course. He‟ll
have her in every day talking, lying there looking at her move. Enosh will sleep in her
lap, like a child, and so she will be sister to Seth, who listens to him. Enoch will go to
Cainen, goodness knows what they will find to do together, except try to impress one
another. Mahaleleel will love Lamech, who will wait for his father all-atremble. No
Jared.
So, Tubalcain and Jubal, who is a musician. A coincidence, I doubt. Tubalcain
comes to me as Cainen did, for a chat and a cuddle. The cuddles are wonderful, so exact,
but conversation is a tissue of evasion. With Cainen I shared a world, but Tubalcain and I
have no world to share, as though he was an abyss. His touch is like steel, embrace of
iron, copperfastened mind. I mean here not confinement but control, a mind for ideas, not
for things. Instead, he touches things, which makes him an attentive lover, always coming
but not always staying. I know this is not fully clear. I see that I am confusing
Tubalcain‟s attention with my expectation of this attention. A lover who could stay. Not
bad. A rhythm in it, even so, Tubalcain certainly dances attention on me, stimulating in
public, encouraging me to look well and think well of myself. I wear tighter clothes for
him, let him see my figure. How he purses his lips, and often, tasting me. My hair hangs
long now, the perfumes a novelty, clothes lighter down here, belts slender and slightly
cutting, but only slightly – it is as though clothes embraced me here, touching to remind
me of their presence. You see control here, of course, and that is true, but the body must
be strictly defined in the city in order to avoid serious injury. I can also expose myself,
something I would not have thought of doing before. I find I can expose any part of my
body, but not expose my body entire. Evasion, yes. But also something hidden, secret, a
part covered from view. Tubalcain and I wear a sock each when together. It is not that
they are prudish, simply that nakedness does not interest them, seeing only function there.
51
But their interest in exposure, a very keen interest, is at times painful, like something
being torn away from you.
This is how they communicate with each other, the heat of a wound not the
internal warmth I know, that leaps in me. That is memory, a trace left in you, a lesion for
each memory, but my fire is always here in me, always leaping to inspire me, reaching
not merely waiting. But their interest makes them responsive nonetheless. The response
wasn‟t clear to me until I heard Jubal perform his music, when I realised that I too dance
here with them. A strange dance, without end, without beginning, a mindless huffing and
puffing, exposing surface to touch and evaporation. He is famous for his compositions,
very strict but also very odd.
An example:
It is gone almost before it comes, stilted, but intriguing. Impressed by my
enthusiasm, perhaps through hearing the work thoroughly fresh, Jubal accepted my
suggestion that the last bar be arpeggioed, not too trippingly. You can hear their world in
this music, everything and everyone slightly broken down or out of kilter. A deeply
unsatisfying music that is absurdly complex and yet hauntingly banal. You long for a
decent interval, to get a lift, but I must admit that there is a voice there.
Another piece is the following:
An appalling piece of drivel, no expression, no movement, a ridiculously difficult
piece to perform, the chords almost impossible to play correctly. It was performed for
me, on an old instrument, many times, but I privately thought that the only way to
improve the piece would be by tearing up all existing copies of it. And still a voice, so
some principle guiding the composition though not immediately evident to the auditor. It
is entitled Discovery, and is popular.
As for Jubal himself, he was very self-effacing the first time, always ducking
behind his organ, fingering holes to make music of his breath, rubbing gut only to make
more music. Unlike Jared at Home, it is impossible to get Jubal to do anything other than
his job, like his brother, Jobal. Bureaucratic. One thing he would do for me, however.
52
Music can make a man jumpy, fretting his feelings all the time. I am his sponge, soaking
up all that movement, nights of bliss sometimes, erotic rather than sexual, but also
sometimes riddled with nameless shudderings and jerks, eyes starting up at times, as
though listening and hearing something at last. Frighteningly anonymous almost always,
making no claims, how the abyss appeared in him, in his silence rather than in his noise.
You can see what his music expresses: he believes that you cannot know unless
you are told or shown. Jubal does not want to be known by anyone. His relatives suspect
this, and listen to his music in silence. As you can see, I don‟t listen in silence, but find
increasingly that I can do little else, silently waiting for the end of the music and the
return of silence.
Jubal makes us love silence, where there can be no knowledge, not even his
Ancestor‟s knowledge, which in some way marks all of them. The music conveys no
information whatsoever, merely engenders a desire for silence. And the music itself
shows what is lost, in abandoning memory they also abandon imagination, knowledge of
heaven. Jared‟s music was a precise image of heaven, which we did not see until Lamech
introduced the shadowy broken interval, and we learned how the curse upon us bars us
from the heaven we knew. This heaven that we all still knew is the foundation of our
reality, as a principle forming all principles. Because of this knowledge we turn always to
the light, to the heat, to the beat. But Lamech showed us that the way back is blocked, a
fact of history, an event preceding us at all times, so that we could only go on forward,
looking for a New Heaven, a heaven we are worthy of and a heaven worthy of us.
So many nights now, after lovemaking and chats, while my beloved sleeps, I write
as though my pencil, my hand, my skill had a life of its own, and I write at length about
gloomy things, limitations, obduracy, when I know I should give this time to describing
the city, its inhabitants and its doings. I see more of the place each day. At night I try to
learn something else, and I realise now that the city does not interest me, away from
Home, that I am concerned only with discovering a cure for Adam, that he too will press
on with us, soured with sweat, whining, with tired limbs and heavy balls, seeing a little
more clearly every day, open to the new. Look how Lamech taught us something new.
Where did that knowledge come from? We would see a shadow in heaven pretty quickly,
remembering heaven. And Seth and Enoch mad for God, how otherwise is that possible?
And Mahaleleel‟s power of judgement? Cainen sees the animal in us, how could he see
this if he had not some principle to guide him, something all-embracing, complete,
permitting us to grasp the nature of things, what an animal is, what then we see is how we
are more than this nature, or that principle, our guide always enclosing what we know, so
that we are always outside our knowledge and so outside our reality, and know there in
our grief and agony that we are cursed, that we are stricken in that which precedes our
knowledge and reality, our being, the curse at once a sin.
How I study our cursedness, I keep coming back to it with new insight. I know I
seem merely to repeat myself, the curse is a sin because it affects us at root, pain is a
symptom of sin, how pervasive the sin is among all of you, all the discomfort, pain,
irritation, all the negatives. These are gloomy thoughts in this city, city-thoughts, how a
city confines. I ask questions about my sons, but don‟t I know them already, why do I
look for another power now if not to prop up my memories of them. They fade more and
more from me, leaving only questions, these questions merely the fading traces of the
53
truth I experienced of them. How sad are these thoughts? How far the city has entered
into me already.
That is not true, on reflection. Either my memories fade or the city obtrudes on
these memories. Which is it? The memories fade. The city could not affect me so quickly.
I should make an attempt to describe the city, but where to start? There are streets
everywhere, avenues, roads, boulevards, squares, circuses, drives, parks, ways, lanes,
paths. It bewilders me, to see all these routes from the outside. And the traffic of people
everywhere, a ceaseless to and fro, a far-away expression on every face. There was
fighting in one area, I don‟t know where, men and women, even children, shouting and
screaming, hitting out with real energy, yet their eyes blank, rolling in their heads,
something piteous in this blindness, despite all the violence. A procession outside a
church another day, statues bedecked in flowers, roses and lilies, everyone smiling in awe
and wonderment at themselves, yet I could see that the flowery statues spoke of gravity
and seriousness that the celebrants couldn‟t see, a life frozen in a gesture or expression.
Parties are likewise, no one aware of why they gathered together, behind the posturing
and attitudes, the sheer love of all being together in a little world of their own devising,
inclusive not herded. Of course they are irritating, voluble, random gestures; that is how
they are, that‟s all. They reveal themselves at their parties.
The first time, especially, the premiere of a composition by Jubal. I couldn‟t
understand what was going on at first. More people gathered here than I had previously
seen, grouped haphazardly around the hall, some talking and laughter, some arguing,
others quiet together. Every so often there would be a curious din, haunting though
dreadfully incomplete, the hesitancy ambiguous, either timid or malicious, a refusal in the
latter. It passed through the hall like a shockwave, each person responding, some aware
others not. This was Jubal‟s composition, and this is how they experience music, together
at a party rather than confined row by row. My own response was confused, annoyingly
at first, wonderingly later.
Let me write the score here, in its basic form:
Some of the clan, as I will call it, were at the performance. Tubalcain introduced
me to as many as time allowed. I‟m not sure if the sequence was planned. Adah, mother
of Jubal and Jobal, was the first to receive me. A remarkably vacant woman, soft, giving,
exuding an overwhelming attraction in the way such people do. I of course responded
warmly to this at first, embracing her eagerly, feeling the palpy nozzles of her ear tickling
mine. Then I realised that this is how a man makes her feel, the love of a husband, for
instance, receptive, and I was profoundly irritated by her, to understand how blind she is,
believing that she is perpetually in his vision: what better would he see here? Lamech
looks into a palpable hell, of his own making, only named bastard. I did not understand
this until later, so my irritation with Adah led me to spite her, watch her quiver with
54
apprehension. Tactfully, Tubalcain drew me on, until we came to the great bitter
Mehujael, august in his select circle, seated on a couch, legs crossed. He didn‟t rise, but
said, „My son will tell you that I am a pompous old man, wind for flesh, but I will tell
you, lady, that you have the most splendid figure in this room. And I will tell you that I
should know. Fat for pleasure, as you well know, no doubt.' I sat with him for a while,
and though he is pompous it did not take away from his jolliness afterwards as we played
draughts.
Next it was Zillah, Lamech‟s second wife. Spiteful, spoiled, too pretty by far and
too loose. A trophy wife, you‟d say no doubt, but there was an energy in her. As I say,
you experience this energy as hostile at first, and you react and see the disappointment in
her, then see what was disappointed, how her beauty was only an image for Lamech, as
Adah a body, and so how she suffered for her prettiness, a perfectly blameless charm
traduced, and then you see the wantonness behind all the beauty and charm, the sheer
hunger. She had Tubalcain and I sit either side of her in the sofa, lounging back to talk,
holding hands. Zillah held her son‟s hand confidently and so she could concentrate on
me. She examined me closely, without embarrassment.
„Has my grandson complimented your fat, my dear? For if he did, then I should
remind you that I cannot tolerate any runny thing at all. Even the tap makes me heave for
hours. Your hand is pretty, though, a fine width, moderation in length. Fingers slightly
only slightly tapered, so fleshy. A hand of delight, my dear, am I right? And I see this in
your calf, again a good width and moderate length. Eminently edible, I‟m sure you know.
And your waist, my dear, how it swells as it ought, and grooves in clean curves. A breast
for filling, for emptying, am I right here? Once a world for man, now an icon. Your neck
so arched, the curve under your hair, my dear, the fitness of your poise. Who has kissed
your lips? Who have you gazed on with your usual enquiry, am I right? You who
removes herself so she can observe others, what do you know? I mean, that I don‟t know?
I love every man I can, always attentive to them, straightening their clothes afterwards.
Look what it is doing to me, what a bitch I am, and look at you, my dear, radiant in the
sight of man.‟
She was so keen to have me embrace her that I had no trouble complying, putting
my left arm in under her back, and my right across her lap, and joined hands under her
buttocks and drew her bodily over to me. She was too thin for her own good, mere skin
and bone, nothing to stroke. But she resisted for a while, her face red with exertion, lined
with strain, an emphatic stare, of what looked like rage but was really surprise, and held
back until I had looked at her, the loose neckline falling down. Then she says in a low
ardent whisper, „I didn‟t realise, my dear. I didn‟t know because of my daughter, you
understand. She could never say no. But to lie without fear, as you do, mother, causes me
to hunger for your embrace. Let me lie beside you, please.‟
I complied here too without delay and she clung to me, her arms and legs around
my body, clasping me as tightly as she could, and I lay with her utterly devoid of feeling
and watched instead a woman in her throes. How her eyes don‟t see, arms don‟t feel,
cries not heard. She clung to me then, and she must have gained something from it,
because she began to quieten after a time, until she lay relaxed in my arms, head on my
shoulder, thin bottom cutting into my groin, pins and needles.
That is how Zillah came to almost worship me, expression changing suddenly if
she saw me, like a bitch in the presence of her mistress, who rubs her belly and kisses her
55
nose, fawning for more. Even so, it pleased Tubalcain, even though he became the victim
of his mother‟s jealousy. Suddenly, a tigerish quality in her, a furious possessiveness that
I found threatening, to say the least, having no champion to protect me in the city.
Tubalcain wilted before her fury and I realised I would circulate no further that evening,
that this wretched overstrung woman would never cease clinging to me.
Tubalcain offered no resistance, not unexpectedly you say, Zillah‟s
possessiveness extending to her son too, though not to Naamah it would seem, who could
not say no, either, like her sister Adah, but who could not say yes either. But I think his
trust in me helped him stand down as a man and submit to his mother. Tubalcain is
removed, but at the next step his mother replaces him. These are new toils to learn, not a
mother in this city, how a girl gets thrown about and used. So I am surrounded by luxury,
bright colours everywhere, a gaudiness all the time pending. The dance of attention is
more elaborate now. I am dressed in expensive clothes, fine wools and silks, a slippery
shifting clothing that was irritatingly noisy until I got used to it. So pampered and
perfumed, we sit on our couch and from time to time Zillah lunges and wraps herself
around me, murmuring endearments that are requests for reassurance. I stroke her hair,
dry her eyes and blow her nose, hold her hand, bear her wet face in my lap. Clothes
ruined and wrinkled in no time and we must change frequently, Zillah unconcerned about
the secret mechanisms she uses to lift her breasts so high to dart out like things on strings.
Titty sort of woman, always at them, pinching, lifting, scratching; fondling in private,
carelessly exposed all the time. She did this with no thought for pleasure, hoping only to
make them bigger in this way, eventually as big as her daughter‟s breasts, like udders full
of thick cream, enticing men away from even the most important duties, to suckle her. It
seemed a pity she had to focus on such scrawny things for her pleasure, but only later did
I realise how Zillah took her pleasure, something innocent me knew nothing about. So we
change clothes and brush out hairs again, both using the great mirror, side by side. Such a
sight, clothes horse and mare, angles and curves.
Though caught in Zillah‟s circle and no longer free to circulate, as said, there
were visitors nonetheless, others who circulated out of habit. None was introduced to me,
Zillah in hurried chats in a corner, and I remember none, at the height of my confusion
now, fearful of contamination and loss of memory. My fear of contamination was the
greater then because I believed the confusion arose in the city, among these people, not in
myself. I did not know until Jubal came to visit his grandmother and halfbrother. Jubal
was then restrained, the composition, his creation, had been played on and off for the last
three hours, and it was now due for assessment. I didn‟t appreciate this circumstance, of
course, and my joy in seeing a familiar face from the house I stayed in caused me to press
forward to him. He seemed surprised by my enthusiasm, but he slowly smiled and said,
indulgently, „You first? Then go ahead now, darling.‟
I blurted my words out rather than spoke them, his response showing my
confusion. They confused me, it was not that I confused them. Now I was in a strange
world indeed. The habit of controlling the lives of my family had made me forgetful of
what being controlled is like. To overcome my confusion I knew at once that I must let
Jubal and Zillah and Tubalcain, and all these others I meet here, lead my actions. But the
words came out anyway, even as I realised how in error I was, in my own way blind in
this city too:
56
„My dear Jubal, how will I ever hear your music amid all this din!‟
For the first time I saw interest kindle in his eyes, one of the few times he ever
looked at anything. Wonderment then, and a great relief rolls over him, see his features
change there and then, a momentary appeal, like a child reaching up, and he said,
glancing on behind me:
„Music is energy first, madame, and you feel its pulse before you hear its tone.
Ah, my father-brother,‟ in a mock-jovial voice, „not your cup of tea, I‟m afraid.
Exigencies of the working, as it were.‟
Tubalcain was wringing his hands in a grovelling way, which I had never seen
before, and he stuttered at times:
„Why the assertion, Jubal? How could it do any more than agitate everyone? What
do you hope to achieve this time?‟
Jubal reached for my hand as he replied to Tubalcain, unintentionally: „Don‟t you
see, Tubal, transformation?‟ The word spoke for me too. Music runs in Jubal and that
touch of his hand on mine was my first inkling of what the music of Jubal was really like,
and why his music is so perversely hesitant, his music a veil, a thin veil.
„Transformation?‟ Tubalcain gasped in astonishment. „But music is the weakest
link, surely, Jubal? I transform earths, father-brother, and produce the purest metals. But
Iron comes from iron-earth, and Gold comes from gold-earth. What can come from music
except music, the purest art?‟
Jubal laughed merrily at this, giving my hand a twitch that travelled up my arm
and made my breasts swing, my hips shifting to compensate, and replied:
„But the music-earth as you call it moves, my dear Tubal, hence it has influence,
moving all earths, our human-earth most of all.‟
Tubalcain was cringing by now, his beautiful hands interwrapped, and said, near
to tears, „But I haven‟t been moved, have I, Jubal?‟
Jubal raised his free hand in reassurance: „Remember, father-brother, that to free
your metal you must first heat your earth, so that your metal flows out like water from a
spring. Go with the beat, Tubal, go with the beat.‟ He turned to me then and said with
perfect seriousness, almost without tone:
„And you are my transformer, lady, you see now,‟ pointing in turn, „how Adah,
my mother, at last moved to my music. It makes her apprehensive. Then there is my
brother-grandfather, Mehujael, who was dried up and now has his fancy tickled by my
music. And then there is of course the run-in, God‟s own bitch, Zillah of the spindleshanks, on her back all the time. You have made her into a clinging child, for which I
thank you.‟
Coming away from Tubalcain‟s side, Zillah approached us directly, but glared at
Jubal, looking him up and down, and said spitefully, „A daughter is never a child, as you
well know. How young, eh? When did you take her from her father?‟
Jubal reared up before her and Zillah grabbed my free hand and pulled me
towards her. But Jobal shouted:
„She‟s not afraid of her father. She‟s afraid of her mother.‟
Now Jubal gaped. „Afraid of her mother?‟ He turned again to find his mother in
the crowd, seeing her shivering. He whispered, „Jealousy.‟
Zillah trumped even this by saying, „And see her son groping her broad thighs.‟
And Jubal looked down at my hand in his, so I said, „Jobal, not you, sweetheart.‟
57
Zillah let my hand go, said to Jubal:
„Go now. On the beat,‟ and grabbed Jubal‟s elegant shoulder and pushed him
head first into my lap. Even scrambling back could constitute groping, as my skirt rode
up, the fabric flattened between my open thighs, the silk ran under his fingers. It was a
technical victory for Zillah: the growing heat in his hands horrified Jubal, so that I was
obliged to support him until he found his feet again and could stand on his own.
Zillah said to me:
„All my daughters are fat slags. I don‟t know why, I‟m sure. Perhaps I should not
have tried to teach them to love.‟ She pauses, rhetorically, then, „Shall I tell you? I once
loved a man who had the Hands of God on him. But neither my father nor my mother
would approve. I told them there could never be anyone else but him. So we kept our
love secret until we were separated. Adah is his daughter. I was cursed for my
disobedience, until I inveigled Mehujael to create jealousy in his son. So never
underestimate the power of jealousy.‟
She smiled a quick apology for taking up so much of my attention, and said with a
shrug, „So what is it then? I‟m jealous of my daughters. They‟re younger than me.‟
I laughed at her tone, matching her wry humour, she watching me shrewdly, until
she nodded and said:
„She‟s no better than I am.‟
At my knees, Jubal said:
„Demonstrated.‟
We both looked down at him, Zillah raised a brow exaggeratedly and piped:
„What?‟
„What flows in music.‟
Jubal murmured at some point in the night: „Boredom enhances taste, as a power,
I mean, not as a refinement. Fat problem, you see, hard to move to the beat.‟
Tubalcain said from the floor, where he lay utterly supine, smelling strongly of
flowers, perhaps his scent bottle spilling: „She asked to see first, and I let her.‟
Zillah spun on him and hissed:
„I never had to ask, did I, son?‟
I said promptly, a sudden gleam of memory: „That‟s because I told him.‟ And at
once vomiting and heaving, screaming my familiar agony, everyone as usual amazed by
my behaviour. Before, this could last for hours, until I was racked and bone dry, feeling
thoroughly used, but this time Jubal rose up, hands on my knees, face soaking, and said,
„Yes! Revelation!‟ He excused himself and literally ran away, counting on his
fingers. Zillah flustered even though I told her not to fuss.
Tubalcain had witnessed my malaise before and seen it treated, but what cured me
pretty quickly was what he said to his mother as he loosened my clothes, which was:
„Out of my way, adulterous woman!‟
This was probably the first time he had stood up to his mother, but I asked him
spontaneously, between wheezes for air:
„Adulterous?‟
Lying me on my back, Tubalcain said in a mutter, perhaps catching on to himself
suddenly:
58
„Pulls anything that sticks out.‟
Generalising, I could see. A specific word.
„But adultery, beloved. She was never married, you know.‟
Tubalcain held on to me during the following spasms, wrenching spasms, as
though my spine was being dismantled. When I quietened I found Zillah kneeling by the
bed, pressing her breasts to the mattress, who said once I opened my eyes: „It was love.‟ I
was drained with that familiar lucidity, like a wet window wiped, a moist cool clarity. It
was as though I could see a new avenue opening, and I asked Zillah:
„Who told you about love?‟ As though she ought not to know about such things,
as though she would be distracted by what she could never understand.
She watched me shrewdly again. Tubalcain said, „Told her it was a helping hand,
isn‟t that right, mother? A helping hand, wasn‟t it? Isn‟t that what you said?‟
Zillah say back on the floor with a thump of bone. Her skirt had ridden up her
legs, but her thin thighs were seductively enfolded in the soft satins of her underwear,
ranging in tone from flesh to blood. She mussed her hair vigorously, signalling the end of
the evening, and then tilted her head as she removed her heavy earrings, forward for the
necklace, then the bracelets and finally the rings, laying them in a heap on the carpet. She
had a pensive, though slightly stupid also, expression on her face.
„That‟s what he said, son. I‟ll always remember. Down by the river, a wet spring,
not much spare time together. That‟s when he said, into my ear under a hawthorn in
bloom: “Love‟s a helping hand, lass.” Just like that.‟ She looked at me, our heads at equal
height, mine sideways on the pillow to see her, she bent to look at her chest, voice a little
muffled. She looked at me then and asked:
„You don‟t believe he meant it, don‟t you? Well, you might be right.‟ She looked
hard at me, drawing her legs in tight under her bottom:
„He was the only man in the world for me.‟
Tubalcain said:
„Never enough, if you ask me.‟
Zillah in her anger squeezed herself tightly and sighed:
„You can‟t say no unless you‟re asked, idiot!‟ And to me she said, a final swoon
building in her, like a memory of memories that sap you, her face spare now without all
the flashing jewels,
„God, what a family!‟
Tubalcain screamed full falsetto and ran to support her in his arms, saying, „I love
you, ma. I do.‟
That‟s how the parties end in the city. A tableau, the Zillah Burden so-called.
They treat her like a pain in the neck. They tell me, „Zillah thinks the world owes her a
living.‟ Or „Don‟t worry, it‟s just her way of staying in the game.‟ Or better still,
„Lamech‟s eyes are bigger than his belly.‟
Later in the night Jubal says: „My father is covetous. Zillah can‟t compete with
memory, so she waited for a man greedy enough for both. Not much, is it? Always
second best, our Zillah.‟
That jarred in me; as just wrong, I mean. I thought for a while, groping for an
understanding both of what I felt was more like the truth – desperate straits for everyone
not just Zillah – and of why Jubal should mislead.
59
„Naamah.‟ I said this without reflection, tip of my tongue, odd girl out at the
moment.
Jubal stopped fidgeting for a moment, too, and looked at me with a quizzical
expression, as though he had underrated some part of me: he spoke deliberately:
„Naamah will be the end of us all.‟
I spluttered. But then I remembered that Tubalcain has talked of puns, not Jubal or
Jobal, and yet I had to titter at the pun I found, Naamah the youngest.
„It‟s no laughing matter, I‟m afraid, my dear. Though it is Lamech‟s greed that
will destroy us, not my poor father-sister‟s foolishness. That‟s Zillah‟s fault, you know, I
mean Naamah and the blindness she has inherited from her mother.‟
I was dumbfounded to hear that word on the lips of a city person. It was worse
when I had time to consider what he meant. Love is a blindness here.
But only love can overcome evil. To understand evil you must understand what is
being lost, then you see that love springs from the same place. Then you understand that
evil therefore is the attempt to recreate what was lost, and see further that what is seen as
a loss was in fact a casting-off, and that love replaces what was cast off.
Do you see the curse plainly now? If the gift is love, then the curse must be [I had
planned writing another word here, I think it was PAIN. But pain is how men see the
curse, as a burden. To the woman the curse is a spoilation, failure to love, failure of light,
ageing. But the curse is more then these. I have a word here, which my hand wished to
write in place of this parenthesis, that word is DEATH, animal death, the death of the
plant, that power that can stop I spoke of before, while still at Home. This power is not
itself the curse, but it is by means of this power, by misdirection, that a being laid a curse
on us, like a twist in a weaving, an all-pervading „detuned‟ principle of that power, of no
meaning to the power itself. So that, while the things living in the universe, plants,
animals, stars, must be born and die, rising always out of its own kind specifically only to
fall down again, a wave if you like but always alternation, up, down, falling, rising, in us
human beings this power now flows, redirected there as a curse. The first effect of that
power is to move us in vivification. That is love. In moving, we fear the loss of what is
here now, which is true: we always lose the present. The after-effect of this power is, as
anyone who has loved knows, a kind of death, that which was given was lost and what
was received was also lost. „One death is enough for truth.‟]
I‟ve put the last sentence in inverted commas because I don‟t fully understand all
of its import.
Seeing me dumbfounded, Jubal explained, very succinctly:
„Lamech in his greed has fathered three sons and one daughter. First with Adah he
made two sons, one for Adah and the other for Zillah, who then languished alone, so
there would be full utilisation of available resources. But greed got the better of him
again here, and he must needs utilise that resource himself. Already I am supernumerary,
as you can see. Then with her he makes a son, not entirely to his wishes, for he must
needs then make two daughters. But Zillah issues Naamah alone.
„Now, it was assumed that Tubalcain would go to Zillah as is our tradition, so that
I would go with Naamah. The tension between Tubalcain and Lamech is palpable, but
Zillah‟s game with Lamech, of jealousy, means that Tubalcain must keep away from his
60
mother. Naamah is afraid of her brother, but I don‟t blame Naamah. There was a trade
off, Tubalcain is free to beat metal and I am free to make music, beating air in this case.
„This is the serious part now. Naamah would like to be beaten, her virginity a
steel wall. Not incest, but sharing Zillah as mother. So Naamah goes elsewhere.‟
Jubal paused, by now he was standing before me in his loose white tunic, hands
behind his back, quiet for now, handsome head inclined to me, then he said with an
increasingly wry smile:
„We believe she is with someone else, a stranger. The repercussions of this are as
yet unknown. And finally, you come here and shift the balance again. Adah has spoken in
fury to Lamech about you. Zillah lies in the arms of her son. I am in love with you.‟
He pulled a small white box from behind his back and pressed a button on it. It
began to play his latest composition. It is entitled „Revelation‟ and he dedicated it to me
as a declaration of his love for me.
I will put the score in here:
Narrative constantly modifies the foregoing, Narrative is a history, a looking
back. But music is more discreet, pretending that is has no history. The home of
blindness. Instead, it moves us. But music always has a history, its modification of the
sound wave, as constant. In moving us, we feel only the beat, the pulsation of sound, and
are made blind to the images of the tones, how pain can issue from music living, as
though music has a spirit of its own, joy and love too, or the puzzlement of both, a pain to
be recognised and a spirit to speak more freely. You see how he expresses love. Such
hesitation, such trepidation. So sad.
„Don‟t worry, Jubal, Naamah will be back, mine are dedicated to me.‟
His music was playing itself over and over, issuing with an uncomfortable squeal
from the thing in his hand. The music affected him deeply, and his face became lined
with grief, his eyes sunken, his dark hair clinging to his forehead, his mouth puckered up,
as though doing something he found extremely painful to do.
Who at home would take to Naamah? Only Lamech, who is impatient but not an
entire fool.
Jubal finally got his mouth back under control, and he said:
„I‟m in fear and trembling before you, Lady. I am speaking indiscreetly to you, to
prove what I feel for you. If you were to cook and eat me like an animal I would not be
more frightened of you. If you were to spit on me I would not be more in awe of you. If
you were to piss on me I would not be more low in your sight. If you were to listen to me
I would not be more hurt. If you were to laugh at me I would not be a greater liar. If you
were to touch me I would not be more willing.‟
But why this nexus? Why both the likes of Lamech, who will not grow for me,
and Lamech‟s brood, who stray? The names concatenate and I wonder more deeply about
61
why there is this convergence now. I see Adam lying in his bed and smell the blood of
many chickens, a foul smell so strong that I can almost taste it.
Things surely fall apart.
I thought this was bad until Jubal finally answered me about Naamah by saying:
„Not yours, darling. Someone else. I said stranger, didn‟t I?‟ He paused to switch
off his music, stabbing blindly at the button. I prompted him, suddenly impatient of
endless diddering:
„What do you mean, stranger?‟
He got his music stopped at last, looked up and said:
„She calls him the Son of God.‟
I instantly saw the effect she would have on my Home. What will Enoch do when
Naamah tells him she is in love with the Son of God? Or Seth, for that matter. What
might Cainen do to her, superstitious as he is? Or Mahaleleel, how could he find a
judgement for her? At least Methuselah doesn‟t believe her, thank goodness. But will
Lamech want to fight with the Son of God, he‟s stupid enough for that?
The other aspect of this I addressed to Jubal directly:
„Zillah. Who is she from?‟
„We don‟t know.‟
„The mother?‟
„We don‟t know.‟
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Very bad this time. Very sick. Hours of wretched spasms, muscles out like ropes.
I feel as though I have given birth to a monstrosity. But I also feel very peaceful within,
obviously a happy memory somewhere in all this. For Jubal to say that they don‟t know
who Zillah‟s mother is creates a kind of hole for me in this city, something that cannot fit
in.
To see me go like that a second time stunned Jubal. Tubalcain and Zillah helped
him, and later Adah came, I can remember her standing to one side as they tended to me.
That Jubal stayed speaks volumes on his behalf, showing that he values loyalty. Adah
seemed to swim where she was, partly hidden by folds of the drapes that backed the set.
A curious insight that lingered long through the seemingly interminable vomiting, and the
certain knowledge that two swam there, Adah and another, her phantom spirit, man
perfected. Yet Zillah thought she had come to spy on her and her son, so she was very
chastened, pretending to concern herself with me, rough hands and impatience.
These were impressions only, as I lay ill, my concern was with the cause of this
attack, not with my audience. What had impregnated me, that I would give birth to a
monstrosity? All a phantasy, I admit, but even phantasy conveys some truth. And in my
phantasy? Zillah creates jealousy in others like you would pick a foothold in a face of
rock. Zillah knows about love. In this way Zillah breeds jealousy in me, I unwilling to
share the capacity to love. I admit this readily. My reluctance arises through the shock of
the knowledge that others can love, too.
You see that Zillah ignites love in me, and my response is to want to hurt her, to
beat her, to chastise her.
What clues were in this insight into the cause of my current outburst? Between
Zillah and I there is a secret. But also between us there is a barrier, and also a bond, like
familiarity. The happy feeling lies somewhere in the last, but behind the bond, the feeling
derived from an experience unimaginably different. Take the secret first. I do not know
its content, of course, but its presence appears in how we touch each other, heat and cold,
yes, but never smooth enough, never soft enough. How touch yearns for vacancy. And
the barrier can be seen in how we feel each other, like small print or far away. How
feeling longs for presence. The bond lies along this path, between vacancy and presence,
sharing knowledge if not selves. You can see that happiness comes with presence,
experience of lighten-ing, a light coming on all the time, leaping through white to gold. In
this, I have no doubt that you think habitually as I do, that reaching for gold is what is
required of us, bonded in reaching and taking. But what of the secret? Is the secret not the
gold? No. The secret is in the hand that touches rather than takes. It is there where the self
is to be found, in the unimaginably smooth, unimaginably soft, in the nothing, self to self
present, sufficient and complete.
Completeness might seem a poor goal, the accursed ever, but consider that
completeness must partake of perfection, if only as a principle, but nonetheless
knowledge of the principle of completeness is at once knowledge of perfection, though
not of course perfection itself. It is also a step on the way, available to all without
reservation.
I see all this in Zillah‟s love. I see this hunger for perfection, and I know two
things from this. The first is that I too have witnessed this perfection, but in greater
adjacency because the perfection spoke to me, as an act of embrace and inclusion. The
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second is that my memory is clear and yet I do not sicken as usual. I remember the light,
so far back, as though in another place altogether, and I remember a taste that could see,
and such was the truth there. So clearly can I remember that, ever since mesmerised by
that light, blind to all else other than what reflects that light, the company I was in before
the light. Only I have this vision, that with the tongue the truth is known, not by speech,
like a tail wagging, but through taste as said by me before, by refinement in taste,
concentration, bliss. Taste has no dimension, not spread out, silent, like a seed.
But, this is only memory, you understand? A memory of an event long ago.
Fleeting and then gone. Now do I cry, but I still do not sicken, so I can tell you that this
perfection was darkened for spite, and for spite alone, out of jealousy. I am innocent. I
did what I was capable of doing, and no morality arose until that act was completed. I am
innocent, I tell you. For love we erred? I was shown a good, I was shown myself, I am in
all because I am like all. There is alternation here too, between being and reflection, as
before, but here you can see something of the relation that makes alternation, the third
thing, always required.
Tears cease. I read what I have written. My first reaction is to say „I know that!‟
but now I see that that is precisely the point, to recognise knowledge as memory, how
knowledge bears truth as a trace only, not symbolisation, but like a „colouring‟ of
variable strength upon the skeletal word or image. See the third thing here, how „WORD‟
means word and is yet different from word, how truth comes from elsewhere, the trace
like a thread.
64
You cannot own truth. You can only follow it. There is only one truth, just as
there is only one solace, one grace, one spirit. I see Zillah‟s love in this, too. I read that I
want to beat her, to chastise her, and an unhealthy flow in me, a motive. Adah had been
talking, saying something like „obtain the green by accepting the blue‟, about golfing, I
think, or history, when Zillah suddenly changed, one moment she is sitting quietly,
holding our hands, next she is raging around my little room, bumping into tables and
chairs, upsetting lamps and slipping on the rugs. This had begun with her barking at me,
cutting across her daughter in a disgraceful way,
„Cope, don‟t mope, you say. Pah!‟
She rages because she hasn‟t got the words for this stage. In some ways it was
comical, loaded down with her stones and bars of metal, disguised as a siren, dressed for
bed, she was contorting her face, lashing out with her arms, her silken things more and
more twisted about her. Then I saw that it was just a tantrum, that her mother had taught
her very little, an ignorant mother I daresay, so I nipped over and caught her smartly on
the arm and said earnestly:
„You‟re making a show of yourself, Zillah.‟
Her face was so broken it was a sight, she not knowing whether to go on crying or
begin to smile.
„Your jealousy, Eve.‟
I could not correct her use of my name, not in the city, so I reacted to how she
strutted her body at me, on the hips, loose neck inviting, by striking her with my hand. I
had intended hitting the side of her head, near her insouciant cheek, but just then I saw
what I loved in her in that gaze and so dropped my hand and hit her on the side of her
lovely neck, horrified to have struck her where she is most vulnerable. Can you
appreciate that, to chastise just when one least wants to any longer, the cause of anger
almost faded from history. Zillah yelped, of course, though less in pain than I had
expected. She threw her arms up and she dropped and weaved away, to me like a dance,
the curves of her silk dress shifting off-true all the time. I smiled and playfully made to
chase her, grasping the back of her neck in the span of my hand, feeling her hair flutter on
the back of my hand as I gently shook, both of us laughing uproariously. She swung in to
me and put her left arm around my waist, her hand hanging limp at my hip, and I put my
arm about her shoulders, clenching them to me like fingers in a handshake, feeling the
momentary resistance, then the credible relaxation. And I wonder if anyone could still
ask forgiveness of God, but her face twists again and she grabs my side in an
uncomfortable pinch and shouts:
„It‟s easy for you to talk! You can say no!‟
I gripped her shoulders to counteract her pinch and crushed her into my side,
saying,
„I never say no.‟
She cried now, genuine tears at last, and she shook me as best her grip permitted,
and said in a soft piteous voice:
„I have never been able to say yes.‟
And of course Adah, who says yes all the time because she cannot say no, jumps
up and screams at her mother,
„None of us‟s good enough for you.‟ And wrinkled her nose to impute snobbery,
being stuck-up and keeping to herself, unwilling to share. Coming from Adah, who has
65
taken most of the burden almost since the beginning, this has an especial poignancy
because she is hiding the extreme pleasure and enjoyment she experiences with her men
from her mother, fearing her jealousy there most of all. She has told me she consented to
Lamech marrying Zillah because what she learned from Mehujael – her power over men
(perhaps her first contact with a man) – would create chaos if allowed to run free. Zillah‟s
knowledge of men is extremely limited, as you can appreciate, and they hope that her
experience of a shared, i.e. half dead, husband, will lull her again.
Poor Zillah. Where Adah hides pleasure she shows the underside of her love. She
says: „It‟s a matter of election.‟ The pride of love and its lonely wait. How Zillah loves,
you see, loving others because she loves one prior to all else, not because she loves you
or Naamah, or me. I am just a reflection for her, valuable because the reflection is
brighter here, in me she sees something of her Hands of God, less of her own
abandonment.
Adah has heard this before, many times I‟d say, so she begins to run on automatic,
something like „You think you are so smart.‟ That is, that your knowledge seems to be
more assured then mine. However, I intervened at this point by slipping my free arm in
behind hers and drawing her body in against mine. You know I intimidate her – she
melted in my arms, limp with real fright, and her pudgy in my embrace while her mother
ground against me like a bag of bones.
Who to chastise? And who indeed, because who stood in the doorway, arms
akimbo to block up the entrance – should anyone want to scurry away scot-free – but the
reputable Lamech, husband by two father by four, potentially by production though most
likely by reproduction, always two for one in that case, life‟s bounty. Adah starts
theatrically and says with a mock simper, „Ah. I came to tell you that my husband was
coming to see you today.‟
How do you treat a greedy man? You feed him, of course. I laughed, throwing my
head back, twisting the girls in my arms, gyrating smoothly. Lamech always needs to be
reminded why he is greedy: keeps forgetting what he already has. Not lascivious, which
would have been more true, Adah‟s corruption of her men, but an altogether surplus
curiosity, as though he already knew something vital about me and was checking to see if
it was true. What he learned in that first look influenced his subsequent behaviour. I say
this for his sake. It was as though he saw in me a rock, Adah like the sea, Zillah like the
reefs in that sea. But he misunderstood his image, seeing the rock as an obstruction rather
than the salvation denied him. Don‟t worry, I saw that at once, keenly aware of the
circumstances of our meeting, my arms around his wives, weakening his control,
primarily self-control. How savage his actions are can be understood at this point, the
savagery of the possessor, the callousness of putting a thing before a self. Possessively,
he sees me as a rock, a rock he thinks is real and not a symbol of the strength I bear for
him. He sees his wives clinging to this rock, Adah in complete surrender, pneumatic in
my arms by now, and Zillah clinging in grief that no man would dare approach her after
she had been with the one they habitually called „Hands of God‟ in mockery, many jokes
about the hands of God on Zillah. A lot of jealousy in this, of course: she has handled
Hands of God herself, weird for them to conceive one of their kind shaking hands with
God.
So as he came I said to him obliquely,
„Naamah and me would be four, Lamech.‟
66
This in case he had any notions, I admire good bloodstock but don‟t love it, so
much meat, better things to do than eat. Even though, as I acknowledge, it is the seat of
taste. Food bears taste like a trace, too, like words. One life is enough for truth. (As one
death is, I remember that conundrum.) Naamah‟s name caused his face to wrinkle, the
smooth skin quivering as in shock. For all the word like a man obliged to refuse
something absolutely desirable. Lust for Naamah. What Jubal failed to perceive. He
answered, matching my banter:
„Can‟t have everything, I suppose, Eve, now can we.‟ He sweeps his arms out so
that the buttons on his blazer shine at me.
„Well, your father is contented.‟ Meaning that Mehujael knows three women
while his son knows only two, one of whom is me, the remainder in my arms still. There
is a stand-off at this point. I am invited to dinner, so we all leave the little room, furniture
pushed to one side, rugs rumpled, as though we had been dancing.
Lamech had no intention of supporting my fat, as Zillah calls it, so we dined
sparsely, though plenty of wine, Lamech with his legs crossed under the table, Adah‟s
manners deplorable, Zillah‟s deliberately disgusting. Even Lamech at times slung bones
across to his dogs – one of the species he breeds – though he trying otherwise to impress
me with his house and its appointments. Deliberately sprawling to overcome the true
confinement of the city, the house was uncomfortable, everything just beyond reach,
voices too loud, a strutter‟s paradise. The girls strutted, then Tubalcain, Jobal and Jubal
came in to join us for dinner, and they too swanked it up, glasses too big, drinks too
many, food too little because it slows the voice.
It wasn‟t pleasant, not my Home, of course, but I‟m sure we make visitors more
welcome. Did we? Our men are more patient, yet we keep who comes to us, while I
impose myself here, not a penny in my purse, though not yet refused. Adah and Zillah
take from me, Tubalcain, Jobal serve me, and Jubal uses me. Seems complacent, but it‟s
not. I pride myself on my control and reserve, not cold but not involved either. What do
you expect, my husband hasn‟t moved for two years? It was different before that, not
necessarily happier but at least it was different. You had to keep Adam moving, always at
him to do things, he always complaining about sweat. Could be worse, but at least we had
things to do then, family to provide for. Now, I am offered pleasures beyond my
experience. Around the table sit Tubalcain at one end, Jubal and Jobal like a sinister joke
along the side opposite, Adah then Zillah, then myself, beside Lamech, at the head of the
table. Only one I have not yet experienced. But what are pleasures among strangers if
they are not accompanied by shadows, like the dark in the tunnel before you?
I was profoundly sad then for my Home. I had lost that innocence, seeing the
shadow here in the city contaminating my memory, everything under observation,
everything in question, reality pending, a probability only, nothing proven. Seeing me
suddenly glum, Lamech leaned across and whispered above the hurrah around the table,
„I grow my own food, you know. I can‟t abide how things come in bits and pieces
in the shops. I take my food whole, no waste on others.‟
I made no comment on this, believing he was decoying me, but Adah shouted:
„Every hole!‟
Lamech waved this away nonchalantly, and leaned forward some more, wavering.
Only then did I realise he was drunk, completely out of mind. „Do you know, my dear, I
67
still cannot understand why God made two sexes. All the trouble it creates, needing two
to make one, where one would do. Colossal,‟ he paused, seeming to have lost his tongue
somewhere, then said, „coslosal waste.‟
Jobal said to Jubal in undertone: „Daddy‟s off again.‟ Jobal laughed but Jubal
didn‟t, and Tubalcain said, „With two, everything goes in a circle of polarity.‟ They had
heard all this from Lamech before, it seemed, a ritual of response around the table by
now. Lamech swam as he tried to look at me, eyes back and forward as though on rods,
but he managed to say even so,
„Yes. All curvature, my dear, all this contortion.‟ The emphasis was strong, spittle
erupting from his mouth as he uttered it. Zillah said to me, giving me to understand that I
had broken their ritual that night, with untold consequences, „How could anything stop
for ever?‟ Jubal was looking at me, hair out of his eyes for once, light flashing on his
forehead, with the intensity of someone looking at a thing for the first time, peering into a
radiance. Zillah shook my knee under the table, as though congratulating me for this
gaze, romantic, truly ardent. And the room did seem brighter then than hitherto. Lamech
had fallen back into his chair, the arms keeping him aloft, and he seemed like one
drowning, a last breath drawing in. Every night he undergoes this tragedy at the dinner
table, an account of his day‟s work for the benefit of his slack-arsed family.
But the ritual was broken. Lamech finally saved himself and said in a fury, „Ever?
What do you mean ever, you stupid bitch?‟ Tubalcain stood up immediately, kicking his
chair away, and grabbed a glass and flung it at his father. Zillah reached and caught the
glass neatly in mid-flight, set it aright on the table top, and said to her husband, eyes
flashing in their pools like stars, „Never, if you prefer, my boy. It‟s the same thing for you
anyway.‟ Adah bawled out to Lamech at once, „My mother‟s a slut.‟ Tubalcain began to
cry miserably. Jubal and Jobal shot warning glances at their mother, even though it was
already too late. Adah waved her hands in the air above her, shouting louder again, „Of
course she is. Going on about this fancy chap she had once. Says he‟s my father. Look at
me. Some father, huh?‟
Lamech stood up, resting his trembling arms on the table, and leaned forward
towards us precariously. He ran his tongue over his lips a number of times, obviously
thirsty, too mean to drink water. Jobal leaned over and ran his hand up the inside of his
thigh, which Lamech didn‟t seem to notice. I had a very strong desire to get up onto the
table and run about like an idiot. I leaned to Zillah and asked, „Can‟t you do something?‟
And she was wry, shaking her head slowly, beads jangling, and replied, „Oh no, honey,
not me. I‟ve waited a long while to see this.‟ Lamech was trying to straighten up but he
could not lift his hands from the table, which induced and undignified stoop,
extraordinarily like someone about to sit to shite.
He said in a rush: „What‟s in a dick, dearie?‟ To which Zillah retorted, beginning
to enjoy herself already: „A better man than you, old son.‟ Lamech smiled wolfishly,
rejoinder immediately, „Better than you too, woman.‟ Zillah twitched at the last word,
and I saw a shaft get into her for the first time, her face collapsing into momentary doubt.
Then she cleared and said, „Yes. Infinitely so.‟ Zillah suddenly giggled and looked at me
in wonder. „Did I say that?‟ She was more like an orphan meeting a son, like finding a
home. Jubal said to his mother, „Can I be excused the sweet, mamma?‟ Adah said,
stamping her foot, „May, Jubal, not can.‟
„May I?‟
68
„”May I” what?‟
„May I be excused it, sweet mama?‟
„Why? Can‟t take it?‟
„Up to here, mother. But no, to my music. An idea. For tonight, perhaps.‟
Flattered, Adah let him go with a wave, and she seemed suddenly adrift. She
looked at the dirty plate before her with an expression of such utterly hopeless longing
that I felt compelled to say, „A drop more, my dear?‟ offering her the bottle. She smiled
wanly at me, her face like a moon, shadows dark, only not laughing, and said brokenly,
„Thank you, my dear. I have never before appreciated goodness, but I do so now with my
gratitude. Your very good health, Eve.‟ Raising the glass, she drank the wine in
mouthfuls, a look of distress about her eyes. Adah hates water. Zillah stood up then and
faced me, eyes widening:
„You realise what this mean, don‟t you? You see me acknowledge God.‟ Her
expression was exactly that of Seth, amazingly so. I was to write that I was tempted to
believe that Zillah shared Seth‟s religious mania, but something holds me back,
something that frightens me very much. I know that what I see in Zillah‟s face I saw also
in Seth‟s face, and that Seth is my son.
Zillah is my daughter. Is this a lunacy? you ask immediately. Do I want to turn all
these city women into my daughters, who has no daughter at Home?
I don‟t know.
Lamech stared at Zillah, mock astonishment on his face, flaring his nostrils in a
naked hairy way, and said archly: „God, no less. Whoever next, ratbag?‟ I swung without
thinking, to hear such cheek, caught him just before his ear as I do my men, and he spun
away, undermined at the arms, falling in a heap on the floor among his dogs. Tubalcain
cheered, Jobal spluttered in a vacant way, spittle out of control here too, same hunger.
Adah sat far back in her chair, feet hanging in the air, her full glass in her fists in her lap,
and began to smile radiantly at everyone.
I said to Zillah, whose head was thrown back against the rest, eyes vacant, but her
mouth pursed as though to kiss, legs fallen apart, silks flat on her narrow thighs, folding
the bone between her legs, „Why don‟t you ever learn, Zillah-friend, that Gods cannot
live, and be satisfied with what you get from him.‟ The memory was there, of course,
who else could she be speaking about? Zillah sighed with a weary contentment, another
crisis past, and said suddenly, conversational and busy with her hands, leaving her body
exposed by the silks that covered her, „What did he give you, then?‟ She was smiling at
me, warmly now, fetching her glass from the table, refilling it, drinking a long drink. „I
mean, Eve, was it only enough?‟ I looked into an abyss then, understanding shaping a
new knowledge for me. Is it enough? I could only reply, perhaps trying to keep this side
of an even worse fate, desire with no satisfaction possible, „I can love, Zillah.‟ Tubalcain
interjected, a basso seriousness in his voice, mellow as though unsure of its strength,
„Yes, mother.‟ But Zillah looked over at Lamech struggling to rise up from among his
dogs, the animals frantic, barking like mad, and said with tears in her voice, „Did he not
love you, Eve?‟
I must interpose now, for some time has passed since Zillah asked me that
question. I didn‟t answer at once, even though I knew my answer, because I was taken
with such a joy to know that he could love, and that having spoken with me he could not
69
help but fall in love with me. He will come to me, too! I want to paint these words on the
walls of my room, on the walls of the houses here, on shops. HE WILL COME TO ME,
TOO!
I said to Zillah then, in a kind of shock:
„He didn‟t ask!‟
Zillah‟s eyes widened, like light coming up, headlights, and she said earnestly:
„He doesn‟t ask. In he goes.‟ Suddenly laughing, remembering the lovely surprise
every time. I replied spitefully, not deliberately, I admit, but within range, „If not the
tongue, then the whip.‟ Zillah glared at me, seeming to bristle, and snapped, „You‟re a
worse snob than I am. At least I like speed.‟ Which is true, as far as I can understand it.
But I also remember one of Adam‟s old sayings, he used to crank them out in the
evenings, a few beers after the day, „If it fits, then better won‟t do any better,‟ I said to
Zillah. And she reached forward to me, dragging herself up out of her chair, „I know so
little, Eve. Spurned as a child, jilted as a woman, frigid as a mother. I cannot love my son
because I love someone else. Better is always better, Eve.‟
I shook my head then because I didn‟t understand her. It serves me right for
quoting Adam, I don‟t have his wily wit. But I said in any case, „Let that judge you then,
Zillah.‟ I was mollified to see that she didn‟t understand me either. Adah said, indicating
with her glass, „Lamech agrees with her on that.‟ Jobal said, „May I be excused the doom,
mother?‟
I wonder how I kept outside all this. These people could really hurt me. I think
well of myself, despite everything, but I think it is also because Home was better, how we
sat at table and fought in a forthright way, not afraid of a fist. Adah spoke from the corner
of her mouth, no change to her wan expression, „I told you never to cut across when I am
speaking to another person, didn‟t I?‟ Jobal hung his head, deeply stung. I had been about
to say that more wasn‟t necessarily better, citing boils and children, but then I saw in
Adah‟s face a worse gloom than could infect Zillah, and realised that Adah loves Cain,
knows his mark. I said to her,
„Adah, my dear, perhaps you would like me to check the children for you.‟ I
moved away from the table hands out for Jobal and Tubalcain, when Lamech said at my
back,
„I will bury you, Eve. I swear it.‟
Adah said, shoulders slacking now, „Yes. Please do.‟ Smiled wanly to say, „Thank
you so much.‟
Zillah said to Lamech, „Hey, big boy, where‟re you headed!‟
Lamech ran around in front of me, arms out, shouting, „Didn‟t you hear me? I
have vowed to bury you and put you away for ever.‟
Tubalcain said in my ear, „He frightens me tonight.‟
Zillah said, „Sucksum, dearie?‟
Adah said, „Lamech, stop shouting. The children are going to bed. Say goodnight
to them, will you.‟
Lamech wrung his hands in his insane fury, I could hear his teeth grinding, then
he said, „I have never called on God before but –„
70
Tubalcain pressed his palm to his father‟s mouth, hissing between his teeth with
the effort, muttering as though to himself, over and over „Not here, father. Not here,
father.‟
When Lamech quietened sufficiently, Tubalcain turned to me and said in a
bashful voice, as though revealing a great secret to me: „We hide from God here.‟
Lamech walked away from us, stopped then turned and, pointing at me, said
magisterially, „I cannot strike you, beautiful woman, for striking me, as the law permits. I
must therefore put you out of my sight and out of my hope.‟
I was at once defiant, and, yes, courageous, considering what Lamech believes he
has lost. I said, „You could always blind yourself, old boy. For the sake of your grave
fault, I mean.‟
Lamech came forward again, and Adah pushed my arm lightly, saying in a fussy
voice: „You go on up with the children, darling. Everything is fine here, don‟t worry.‟
Lamech came very close and said, his spittle on my face: „Yes, but I can bury
you, madame. Can you blind me?‟
What an invitation. However, I said I could not, that he would have to hit me.
Tubalcain and Adah agreed immediately, Jobal cried because there would be violence
again, and Zillah walked around me and said to Lamech: „You‟ll hit me first, Bonzo.‟
And Adah said after her, „And me, husband.‟
A tough fight, you‟ll agree. What if Lamech had been insane after all. We would
have buried him instead. As it was he acknowledged defeat at once, eased up
considerably and we had our sweet, coffee afterwards on the verandah, taking the dusky
air.
Jubal came down with a large box, which he laid out on the lawn below. He came
forward then and spoke formally:
„Ladies and gentlemen, pray your indulgence, I‟m sure, but I have a small piece,
which I hope you might enjoy. It‟s provenance was recent. Mamma, you will remember.‟
Adah nodded and said to us, „At dinner. He begged leave to compose his piece.‟ Jubal
noddled. „Thank you, mamma. Now in every life there is a moment of particular pain. A
light comes and then it goes. This experience is atonement. Ladies and gentlemen, I give
you my Atonement.‟
A moderate step is best for it. Less expressive perhaps but remember what has
been said, what could beat that? I know I seem ambiguous, the truth is I am. Jubal
appreciates my comments, but always looks for the good word only, never pausing to
question the quality of his own work, as he questions that of others. His music could be
71
rubbish for all I know, his family musical imbeciles. I don‟t like it myself, enduring only
because I am a guest here and guests are mum.
Adah liked it very much, waving her arms vaguely in some kind of rhythm.
Lamech spat out tobacco grits and said, „Nice and short, my boy.‟ Meaning, of course,
less expensive, the production a sizeable drain on his resources, but the women liked to
dance, and Jubal could make Adah and Zillah jump in time. Tubalcain leaned over and
said in a low voice: „You know what he writes about?‟ I shook my head and he laughed
in a frothy way, that would make you want to slap his self-satisfied chops, „I‟ll tell you.
Dear old Jubal knows I am after his mother, so he is trying to manoeuvre in beside Zillah
before I find out if I can get Adah. Now he is pumping you up to make me jealous and
draw me away through this music.‟ He gestured. „You see the effect you have on my
family. I have never seen my family together like this on the verandah before. For once
we are sated. This music say enough is enough, my lady.‟
Jubal approached, hands clasped before him and asked me: „You enjoyed the
trick?‟ Tubalcain ran at him shouting, „You fuck off, will you! Always butting in!‟ Adah
said, „Boys! Boys! Stop swearing, do you hear me.‟
I acknowledge the trick with a smile, slightly wry in an intellectual way, but said,
„But not the coarseness, I‟m afraid.‟
Lamech stood up and yawned hugely, arms in the air like a monkey, „I‟m off up,
folks. Have to be up early in the morning. Coming, darling.‟ This last, I noticed
immediately, was not aimed at anyone in particular. That Zillah and Adah understood
was apparent when they began to argue whose turn it was, and who was obliged for
stand-ins. Lamech swept from the room, a napkin or something clinging to his gaiter,
which the dogs chased with enthusiasm. The girls waited, all silence except for Jubal‟s
music, then Adah said to Jobal, „Run up and tell daddy that mummy has a headache and
can‟t come just now.‟ She tapped him encouragingly on his narrow shoulder, and he
leaped away, spanking himself along as though he was also a horse. Adah turned to me
and said, „He‟s such a good boy, my dear. So obedient.‟ And barked at Jubal, „Churn that
awful racket off this minute, Jubal! Do you hear me? If I ever...‟
I interrupted her here to say to Jubal, begging her indulgence, that the opening of
bar four was not right, that it was simply a novelty. „Remember what you were saying
then,‟ I censored him. He sat down at the table, picking at the remains of pudding. Adah
took a deep breath, but Zillah said, enacting weariness, „Oh do leave off at them, dear.
They are good boys, you know. You should be proud.‟ Jubal smiled his disarming smile,
which pleased me, and replied, „Two soft thighs, my dear, two soft buttocks, two soft
breasts, two soft lips. My cross, if you will. But out of deference to you, my fair lady, I
will permit the low B be played at times on the fourth string, so that the nail through my
foot is not quite so deep.‟ I wasn‟t incredulous at all, I do take him seriously, if no one
else does. As a crucifixion it wasn‟t at all bad. The body hanging below, the six nails, the
four sighs. One nail for a foot, another for a foot, one for this hand one for that, one for
his flute, another for his tongue. The sighs are for, one a cool hand, then for lips, then for
a jive, the last in relief, knowing then how bad the pain is. And the seven parts of the
body are, the foot for deviation, the hand for misdirection, sex for indecision, head for
improvisation, mouth for indignation, eye for hunger, the serpentine gut. Jubal continued
after a pause, „But I thought you, a woman, would see this differently. I thought you
72
would prefer it deepest. I forgo the lesser pain so that you might have pleasure. This is
my love for you, how we understand love in this city of ‟Noxville.‟
„A symbol?‟
„No enforced beating.‟
„A voluntary symbol is still a symbol, Jubal. For you, in this city, pain comes first.
That is why you value pleasure. Where I come from we are ignorant enough to enjoy
first, as at a perpetual feastday, and only suffer when we have to. We are wiser than you
all back Home, we do not overrate knowledge but trust also to that which we experience,
finding peace and plenty there, bright light, a world always appearing to us.‟
Adah said, suddenly irritated out of her swoon, „You are dreaming of heaven, my
dear. That is forbidden here.‟ She leaned towards me as though to impart a great secret
and whispered in a confiding gossipy way: „No way back. See that in the night coming
on, the Mark of Cain.‟ Zillah started crying quite suddenly, shaking her head violently
and drowning out Jubal‟s music momentarily. She pushed the back of her hand against
her lips and stuttered „No‟ over and over, grief-stricken. It was most peculiar that while
her pain was palpable in the open pores of her face, no hurt was there. It was not Zillah‟s
hurt, but the hurt she saw in her daughter that made her weep, crying for her. Tubalcain
came and knelt by my chair and whispered in my ear: „Mother believes there is a way,
Eve.‟ He turned his head until he caught my eye, when he placed my left hand between
the palms of his own and caressed me very gently. He then spoke clearly before my eyes:
„Mothers believe the silliest things.‟ He moved as though to pounce on me, his hand
coming out before him, and continued in a lighter tone: „Pain is always our first
knowledge. Dis-ease. There can be no heaven in pain. We cannot evaluate properly.‟ I
interrupted him briskly, „Why knowledge, then, as well as pain, what is the point?
Survival doesn‟t need knowledge. Look at all nature, where does the knowledge of the
world come from? What needs knowledge then, that we have it? We do, Jubal, if only
because we are capable of apprehending communication. We find heaven in knowledge.‟
Adah said sharply, all her earlier friendliness quite dissipated: „But you say you
don‟t overrate knowledge, Eve!‟
„I did not say that knowledge is true, Adah.‟
The sharp reply daunted Adah. I would rather not discuss truth, if I can: „How is
truth spoken? We see the truth. Truth is rational. You do not have to give me truth, I
perceive the truth in you, knowing all the shades of the lie.‟
Jubal said, spontaneously, „Oh, I say, bravo there.‟ And clapped his hands, loudly.
„And the truth?‟
I was uncomfortable here for the first time, Jubal‟s indiscretion appalling me.
Zillah said, „The way, Eve?‟ And Adah pahed loudly, brushing me away with the back of
her left hand, no rings or bracelets, a strong hand for the men there. Tubalcain watched
his mother, bewildered, saying in a mumbly way, „My mother makes me miserable. Mind
you, she makes everyone miserable around here. Nothing good enough for her.‟
Jubal said, coming off his pounce suddenly, tapping his mother lightly on the
crown of her head and raising his eyebrows in mock comedy, „Something my poor mama
doesn‟t know.‟ And Zillah said spitefully, without moving an inch, „Only if it has skin
around it!‟ Jubal turned on Zillah in mock horror, raising his bottom to her, hands turning
to point: „Zillah can never catch it. Zillah is blind.‟ And again I felt that jolt, as though
this is wrong. The word „blind‟ the wrong word, a word covering another word. This is
73
the word these people use to curse. Thus they speak endlessly of their own condition,
telling each other blindly that each is blind. I was tired of Jubal then. A curious malice in
him. An ardent lover, but never coming. A genius that spites. A son excluded from his
mother. So I said to him, though it would appear as a judgement on him, „The truth
comes. That is all you can know about truth.‟
„More,‟ Jubal implored.
„A light rising, sparking up, intensely clear and brave.‟ Adah said, „Oh no,‟ in a
small frightened voice, a look of pain on her face, hands rising, palms out, her arms
pressing her large breasts forward in her tight dress, „not too far now.‟ And Zillah mused,
„Staining backs of teeth, that was an old joke when I was young.‟ Jubal said, „Light
without pain, surely not. Whence movement?‟ And Tubalcain replied, turning and
bending to Jubal, „What‟s a punch in the dark, brother?‟ showing incidentally that
Tubalcain is a virgin still, never any darkness in sex, always colour. And Jubal looked at
him and said, „I told you I‟d tell you when I found out, didn‟t I?‟ „Yes.‟ „Well, I haven‟t
found out yet.‟ One virgin boy to another. The prospect overwhelmed me, like sticking
pigs. How I hate virgin boys for their ignorance. Adah said, „Don‟t talk like that in front
of your brother, do you hear me?‟ Tubalcain spluttered suddenly, leaning forward on
Jubal‟s arm with the effort, and said, „And he doesn‟t know either!‟ At which Jubal too
collapsed in paroxysms of laughter, loud, howling rude laughter.
I smiled and Jobal smiled, Adah misunderstanding and so smiling too, in
contentment for the moment anyway. Zillah said to Tubalcain, grabbing his arm, „I told
you to keep your hands to yourself, ‟Cain.‟ And she said to me, plaintive in a comic way,
„They never give me a moment‟s rest. Like handball.‟ Adah said, keeping the acid up,
„Serves you right, dear, for letting them know you liked it. Look at poor Mehujael,
Lamech‟s grandfather. So frightened now he won‟t leave his house. Never in while I was
there.‟ Jubal said, „Accordingly fine for dance. Gets them going, you know, even if it is a
nightmare.‟ Zillah said, plaintive still, „I didn‟t know then, daughter, that men fear
surrender in others, seeing in it their own surrender.‟ Tubalcain said, pulling at his lower
lip, a shiver crossing him, „It‟s getting chilly. Shall we go indoors. Thank you for the
music, Jubal. You should study alloys, how natures are improved by admixture,
augmenting and diminishing.‟
Adah trudged ahead of me and in the room said, „Well, I must get up too. Early
start tomorrow. Goodnight all.‟ She seemed to drag herself up the stairs, one hand on the
banister, the other holding her broken back. Zillah said to me, „Are you afraid to
surrender too, my dear?‟ I was genuinely puzzled. That was until I remembered my last
encounter with Zillah, her possessiveness. I replied undaunted, „Why surrender? What‟s
the point in that?‟ Zillah seemed stunned by this, so I said to drive my point home:
„You‟re like your daughter, Zillah. You‟re into skin too.‟
Like closing down lines of communication, the call completed. Lamech cried out
in complaint upstairs and pretty soon the ceiling was rocking. Zillah was more than tipsy
by now, so I put the boys to bed, read them a little story with bright pictures I could show
them. Jobal never let on, even then. How I content my men.
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The invitation from Mehujael was half-expected. I need to get further up the rungs
here. Jobal tries his best, as always, but he is only a messenger-boy, he cannot argue or
lie. I asked for support, but only Jubal volunteered, loyal to the bitter end.
Mehujael lives in a choice house beside the Concert Hall, one of those who use
the Hall as a lounge, large enough for the big men of the city. I could see several
possibilities, but it depended on what they expected. It is notable that there is no
promiscuity in the city, which surprised me at first until I realised that there were too
many men.
Mehujael sent his son, the wretched Methushael, of whom no one will speak, to
guide us. So pale and wooden, he would have sapped the life out of me if I had not Jubal
close by. He said to me at one point, his cold face to one side,
„Mother says you are very stimulating company. It‟s a pity you‟ve brought that
little whistler with you.‟ He is loathsome on purpose. Extraordinarily exact, too, no
wonder that all fear his tongue. I said in reply, „Does your mother need stimulation? I
would have thought she is damned with it.‟ Methushael seemed to relax a little. „Very
true,‟ he said this while he nodded sagaciously. Jubal said to me, glancing coyly at
Methushael, „Grandfather is so direct.‟ The grandfather laughed a little appreciative
laugh, which made his eyeballs bare at times, disquieting, and said in support, „On the
button, eh.‟ And a jolly laugh both had, a sneering laugh, a dirty little laugh of phantasy. I
had never seen Jubal like this before, the veneer of gentility gone, ready to spring at his
grandfather. Methushael subsided peacefully, and nodding at Jubal said to me in a doting
voice, „Never ask your father about children.‟ Jubal tittered in an uncontrolled way, not
violent but he didn‟t control it. Methushael was pausing, I noticed then, waiting for
someone to speak. So I said, „Mother turns you back too.‟ Methushael and Jubal nodded,
understanding me. Jubal said, „The man can only hold you.‟ Methushael was radiant in a
moon-like way, weird if you tried to think about it – I mean, what light was he reflecting?
Yet Jubal had a reserve Methushael seemed not to notice. Jubal was really a dirty little
boy here, lascivious for skin, too, elsewhere he was a handsome youth, an accomplished
symbolist, but Methushael was only a corrupted person, tempted to his peril but once, as
once is all that is required here. I asked Jubal, though directed at Methushael:
„Why?‟
Jubal, about to speak, caught Methushael‟s eye and then subsided. I don‟t know
who signalled, but Methushael was the one to speak, as I hoped. His voice is like rain on
stone, his face by contrast parched looking, fountainous almost. He leaned towards me:
„A man has no use for his seed.‟
How like rain that did fall. Jubal said, „Only for his prick.‟ Yours too, his eyes
said to me, condemned after Adam to dig holes for his seed. To prove he is bisexual or
making an exception for me. I asked Methushael this time,
„Why?‟
„Men wish to be sufficient to each other. Everything covered, you understand.
Quite relaxed, really, as I remember. Grandfather took my trousers down that night and
said he would show me my future. I was curious, of course. He gazed at me for some
time and then dropped his trousers too. I couldn‟t run away, trousers around my ankles.‟
Methushael looked at the floor of the car and ended: „It was big then. Really big. Like a
fist.‟
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A harsh description, but I was surprised to hear something of Jubal‟s music in
that, for instance:
How this theme of transformation is connected with pain, and you can sense the
disappointment inherent in that, as though pain was a tax. Pain, as said before, is the
punishment, rectum definitely one way, evacuation always nicer than buggery. I said,
coinciding my parting remark with our arrival at the steps of the house of Mehujael,
„No one can tell you. Tough, but true.‟ The temptation to rattle his box was strong
but also crass; instead Jubal helped me from the car, a hand here, a hand there. Hate
ignorance but love curiosity. I once stopped his hand, and he was absolutely electric,
forbidden zone for conquest. How easy it always is when it gets underway. In stopping
his hand I pressed it to me, soft fold of my side, and he lit up as expected. This saved me
from worse, in two ways, Methushael was beaten, but beaten so often that he must have
some way of evening the score. True, he did spit sarcastically at us as we crossed to the
steps, „That kid can‟t keep anything in.‟ I patted Jubal‟s bottom for him to see. He
simpered, rubbing his shoulder against mine, but I said to him, to keep our understanding
in view, „At least he protected you from Lamech, no one else would.‟
Jubal rolled his eyes in mock wow. „What, rent-boy instead of plough-boy!‟
The verandah as I remember is a mirror of Mehujael‟s house. If I say couch you
will remember. This couch is large, pink and blue, with a head roll, cushions, wellpadded back. Mehujael said jovially, raising his hands to draw me down beside him, „Ah
my dear. You have come at my request.‟ He ignored Jubal completely, so I pushed him to
one side to a chair by the window. He sulked for a while, but there was little I could do
just then. Mehujael stared at me with his jolly round eyes, then his face fell into its more
normal bitterness. I saw that I had no power over him. So great is Zillah. He said
cryptically, „Some are forbidden even that.‟ And I heard in his voice an uncertainty as
well, as though he tried to hide the fact that he had been forbidden, not Zillah. But why, I
thought at once in surprise, should Zillah approach Mehujael in the first place? Has she
not approached all the men, then? Why is she now with Lamech, who already had a wife?
I see now what is meant here by power. All the men of the city resist Zillah. They
gather together in force for this purpose, fearing her but powerless to get rid of her. No
one protects her, least of all Lamech, so what holds them is a knowledge, something they
know about her. How the boys are kept from her, from any of her love, and her daughter
goes elsewhere, stigmatised likewise. Yet even that apparent fact is in doubt now. If
Naamah is like her mother in blood then the city is powerless against her too and the
women doubly strong. So Naamah goes out in search. In search of what? The oncebeloved, of course, hoping the young virgin will entice.
I feel a truth in this. The first truth I have found in this city. There was someone
who came to Zillah long ago.
Such worthiness in Zillah, such a grace in the poor woman, to keep faith over so
many years. Not that he would come again, but that he had really been with her on a river
bank in a sweeter land, had really come to her in such a glory. Mehujael tried to look
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wry, instead he became grumpy. I said, tipping his knuckles, to cheer him up again, „Go
where you‟re welcome, I say, Mehujael.‟ Jubal tittered off to one side, hidden in the room
somewhere. Mehujael frumped a bit, caught on to himself, and raised his head. „Easy to
say, lady, but as you have just now surmised, power, as they call it, is a state of being
prepared. It is, I also agree, a partial thing, always following on some prior event. You
can then infer that some primal event put us on our guard, am I right? Thus you will look
for a beginning always. You can see how well I understand you, Eve?‟ He lay back from
me, patronising in his innocence, and regarded me with his head cocked, as though he
had succeeded in trapping me. I said, to extricate myself:
„I am a mother.‟
Meaning that therefore I would be conscious of beginnings. Thankfully, Mehujael
was diverted by this admission, while yet his own abiding preoccupation with beginnings
blinds him to the as-important question of relations. He does not query my source of
power, so I understand from this that they do not think they oppose a power in Zillah.
Have they then created their power out of themselves and not against an opposing power?
„We know what we are doing, if you infer that we do not.‟
I sensed surface strength alone, rotten within like his son and the others after him.
I feel I am climbing a mountain that crumbles like crystal as I climb, an awful miasma
flowing out, though brightly coloured. It felt for a moment as though I was conquering
the city, castle after castle crumbling before my advance, nothing living in my wake. It
was so easy to say to him, „No power can be partial, Mehujael. There is still the question
of responsibility, and if not of responsibility, then of consequences. Responsibility can be
known while consequences cannot, you agree? Which is it to be here?‟
Jubal appears behind the couch, at Mehujael‟s back. He said, „Excuse me, please,‟
and pressed another button on another white box, this time the size of a wardrobe, taking
up a corner under the stairs.
Mehujael looked back at Jubal, surprised to find him in his house. He said
abruptly, „Who are you? What are you doing here?‟ Jubal raised his arm elegantly and
pointed in my direction: „I escort my lady here.‟ Mehujael reached with surprising energy
and caught Jubal by the arm. He drew him around the couch, peering closely at him as he
drew him into him. „Who‟re you, I asked, boy.‟ I said at his back, „It‟s Jubal. Adah‟s
second.‟ Mehujael let Jubal go and sat back on the couch and coughed deeply,
cavernously, rumbles of ancient dead mucus. „Oh him. Thank goodness not that other
pup.‟ „Jobal, greatgrandfather?‟ Jubal piped helpfully. „No, no, not him. Regular
mammy‟s boy he is. Know the sort. No, the other one. The crossbreed.‟ „Oh him, sir,‟
Jubal piped, as though not knowingly. Mehujael turned heavily to me, the stuffed seat
giving off a peculiar abrading sound, like the end of a passion, and said, „Dirty little chap,
you know. Have you met him, my dear? Be warned now, he can‟t keep his hands to
himself. You wouldn‟t know what he is up to half of the time.‟
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Jubal said in the silence that followed, speaking directly to me: „This is farewell,
my lady. And this last piece is called farewell. It is lighter in tone than I anticipated. I put
that down to your good offices. I only wish we had time for more intimate relations. I do
love you, even though you think I am no better than a toy boy.‟ At the door he nodded
handsomely at his greatgrandfather and chirped, unable to miss a very last witticism: „I
must beat it now.‟ And was gone.
It took Mehujael a while to settle to the music afterwards. He was obviously no
stranger to Jubal‟s voice, sniggering once, and finally saying, indulgently, as though he
hid his feelings rather than simply ignoring them: „His charm saves him, you know.
Always has something going for him.‟ He paused, as though to think, palms together, nail
caressing his teeth. He nodded slightly to himself as though agreeing on a course of
action. He turns to me then, puts his hands flat on his knees and said with a very specific
appeal, which he voiced:
„I would like to speak in confidence with you, Eve. So that we can at least
understand each other. Will you agree to that?‟
I couldn‟t see where this confidence could be placed, I am here on an altogether
different purpose, to save Adam if I can. But I did agree, leaving to him and his kin to
assess my trustworthiness and mark their cards accordingly. He reached to shake my
hand, then said, settling down to it: „We have designed Jubal on Zillah. Lamech can no
longer bear the strain. Our strategy regarding Zillah‟s children has almost succeeded. You
see how we have trained Jubal not to expect too much. Zillah is ignorant of men, a
blindness we do not understand, and so will not satisfy men. This knowledge grows out
of my own experience, so I can vouch for it. So you can see that we must sacrifice one of
our boys to her. However, you must remember that we study Zillah in her relations with
us. Enoch says we are merely slowing Zillah down from some big experience in her
youth. No one is impressed, of course, but she is a loose cannon at this point, like a wild
beast, hopefully not a storm, over which we would have no control.‟
Big. A key word here, I think. What‟s big? Every man asks, not him anyway. Yet
Mehujael admits freely not to be impressed. Men without women, I would guess for this:
how the upper echelon in the city see the problem, woman‟s fancy not harnessed.
I said in reply: „I would rather test for resolutions in the matter, Mehujael. To be
candid, I haven‟t the slightest interest in your problems. I have come to see your ruler,
Cain, with a question about my husband, Adam. If I could undertake this task now, I
would do it and leave your city forthwith.‟
Mehujael threw up his hands as though he had tried everything and was admitting
defeat. „Oh there, dear lady. I meant only to satisfy your curiosity. You have a strong
nose, Eve, that I have found out.‟ He smiled while he permitted me to savour his nice
compliment, then resumed: „And then, of course, there is the matter of influence. I mean,
I hasten to add, influence by example only, not by intent. You are an amiable woman.
People in the country have more time, don‟t you think. So little takes one‟s attention that
one is easily pleased. I pine sometimes, especially in spring, for the open countryside, the
open spaces, to rush without restrain across a meadow, or stand on a hill and look down
at the world all around me.‟ Mehujael sighed and I began to believe that he was
fantasising and not simply diverting me again. He looked at an open palm: „To clutch
good earth in one‟s hand, feel the cold moist livingness of black clay.‟ He fell to musing,
whistling in a hissing way to Jubal‟s music.
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I was sorry then that I let Jubal go so soon. The best I could do was ask him for a
drink. He scrutinised me. „You are thirsty?‟ He looked beyond me. „The font is over
there, my dear. I should have considered.‟ Water leaped up and fell over and down in one
stream. It was sweet, even though it issued from brass. I said as I walked back to the
couch, „What about the animals, Mehujael?‟ He sucked his teeth as he groped for the
animal in the world. He smiled then, just smiled, so I said further, sitting sideways on the
couch towards him, my right leg bent before me: „The humans?‟ He looked at me with
curiosity: that I had asked the question at all troubled him more than any criticism I might
be making of the inhabitants of the city. „It is so easy, dear lady, to ask questions, not so
easy to answer them. But I will try. No animals, no humans, as you surmise. A phantasy,
if you wish. Two earths. One cold moist black. The other hot dry white. I possess the
black earth in memory of that other earth.‟ He paused, then said acutely, „You have a
beloved?‟ I nodded, of course, one promise to bury me is enough, I think. He nodded in
imitation, continuing, „Vision, you know. Most powerful of all the senses, most
corrupted, more valued than exercised, like a grand piano. In my vision of you, Eve, I see
a white fire. I see it behind your breasts, like a sun, my dear. Thank you.‟ He bowed his
head reverently and I went to the font and drank more water, opening my mouth to the
falling stream, a lovely tumbling water, cold and sweet. The water made me peaceful.
Mehujael said in a low voice behind me, „Zillah burns where you are radiant.
Only Adah is bearable to us, Eve, soft and warm.‟ I turned to him. He was standing over
by a door I had not before seen. He looked deeply preoccupied. I said, speaking my mind
here for the first time, before I had planned to, but it was absolutely necessary now:
„I think that is enough now, Mehujael. You should attend to the beginnings. You
have spoken of one beginning only. You cannot help me further. Mehujael, there may be
beginnings we are ignorant of.‟
Mehujael had been looking through the door into a dimly lit corridor as I spoke.
Now he beckoned once into the corridor. I wasn‟t sure then if he heard me. It had been
important for me to say what I had said, but the last sentence had been unexpected and its
meaning affected me strongly. When Mehujael finally turned to me, I found him smiling
in a sadly pleased way. He came and touched my right hand, wet from the water, and
said, looking closely at me, as seems to be his habit: „I admit I am a phantasist. I place
great reliance, as I have said, on sight. You see in a multiplicity of beginnings one
beginning. You are satisfied by this knowledge. But you fail to ask, before now, at least,
from whence proceeds the other beginnings.‟ I started and wanted to answer at once, but
he raised his hand, and continued once I had subsided, „Yes, I know you know of a curse,
and of a freedom preceding this curse. But is that all, Eve?‟
A man came down the corridor into the room. I slumped at the same time,
overwhelmed in some hidden way by what Mehujael was saying. The man appeared
young, but this was because he was lean and walked easily, and because he had darkened
his hair to a deep auburn, and his eyes were still steady. I said to Mehujael, recovering
myself absentmindedly, looking still at the approaching man, „Remember that you are
only a phantasist. You see only what you are shown.‟ Mehujael gave me a momentary
glance, turned to the man and said to him in a practised way, „Would you help the Lady
Eve to her house, please.‟
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Adam once said to me, a bitter mood in the early years, that he wished God had
made a worm of him, so that he could hide away in the ground. Mehujael left that kind of
feeling in me, as though his grand house in this city was only a hole in the ground. And
yet Mehujael is not afraid. How could he talk of earths and not feel entrapment, and
wonder why he was entrapped. The young man pointed towards the door, inviting me to
go with him. I was still shaking slightly, becoming puzzled by my own knowledge, not
afraid either, at that point – I note this now in irony – and I drew my hand away from
Mehujael‟s clasp and said, „Fear is not as real as you think, Mehujael.‟ I paused, feeling
the confusion again, I think a clash between my desire to look at the man at my side and
my need to complete formalities with a bore, a most tedious business. But I did hold the
thread here, and so could say finally to Mehujael: „Unfortunately you know that pain is
more real than we think. But there is more, Mehujael. I tell you there is more than pain
and fear.‟
I walked away suddenly, one moment standing close to his long innocent face,
next moment walking through the door and into the dark corridor. It was then that the
earlier thoughts about earths and burial came together for me, seeing the train from
Lamech to Mehujael of a consistent threat to me. It was a strange threat, an exercise of
their power as you might expect: they wished to „stop‟ me, as though they could refuse
for me and impose a refusal on me. Then the memory of Adam‟s prayer returned.
Worms. The corridor is long and dark, walls anonymous, and I think of worms. The
universe of the worm exists only against its skin, the worm can have no knowledge of
what lies outside his universe.
Only then did I miss the music. The silence in the corridor was complete, no
bustle of clothing or pad of shoe even. The silence was uncanny. I found I was holding
my breath. I stopped walking and reached for the wall nearest, letting my breath exhale
slowly. Now I felt the confusion again, like a cloud in my head that I could not disturb. I
was thinking over and over, „What did he say?‟ meaning Mehujael‟s more cryptic
utterances, and at the same time realised that this had nothing to do with my confusion.
I breathed deeply to clear my head. The man waited for me a few paces away,
looking on down the corridor as though there was absolutely no other way to go. I was
afraid then that I was lost, that they had perhaps gained the ascendancy. My head would
not clear, so once I had got my shivering body under some degree of control we
continued on, branching into a somewhat brighter corridor soon afterwards, the floor
covered now, the air warmer. I found here that if I did not fight the confusion I became
very calm. Walking became floating, moving with a suppleness I had almost forgotten, as
though I were a virgin again. But this suppleness bore the greater weight now, and it
lifted me so much that I thought to say to the man at my side:
„You are beautiful.‟
He glanced his eyes off me. He was amused, and said, „I must reflect you then.‟ It
was my turn to smile, a little giddy from the delicious compliment. I shook my head as
we walked along side by side and laughed:
„Your eyes are your own, surely.‟
„What they see, then.‟
„Your mind is your own, surely?‟
„Only what it knows.‟
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We reached a door, which he opened with a long slender silver key. A short
avenue led to a gate, the area lit by one lamp only. A carriage waited, its door open. He
said, „This will take you to your residence, my lady.‟ Extremely plush, I sat in a corner.
He leaned in and asked: „I will accompany you, if you wish?‟ I saw that his mouth was
certainly his own, how it twists as he speaks, adding a curious echo to his voice, going
ooo – uuu – ooo – uuu. He said „aocuompuany‟. I said, not sure now how to speak to
him, as man or slave, „Yes, yes. If you will.‟ He sat facing me in a more relaxed position,
leaning back in the seat. The carriage moved.
I must admit now that I still suffer that peculiar confusion. I write under its cloud,
as it were. A blindness, perhaps, but more like a final loss of memory. How quickly I
forget Home and family. The others here, the peevish women and spoiled children. Even
Mehujael fades, his name growing uncertain, a man fingering the rotundity of draught
pieces, a memory with no name.
The man smiled at me, relaxing further into the comfortable upholstery, almost
languid by now. He spoke then:
„There is very little crime in this city. Until now, they have had no reason to take.
Adah does not know yet what you have taken from her. Zillah does not know yet what is
being taken from her. And of course, since you are no doubt thinking this now‟ – which I
was – „you do not know what is being taken, a secret from them or a memory, from you.
One thing I can assure you now, my dear lady, there is no secret here in the city. This city
is a transparency upon which you can find traces. Why the tracing, you might ask. Let‟s
call it a debris, husk. Limits, in other words, not what appears to be roads, paths,
corridors, but a track like a rail. A trace is something you return to, that is what I mean by
rail. It is in this way that this city cannot harbour a secret. As a road is proof of a
frequented way, so memory is proof of many recalls. And also as the wayfarer is proof of
the road, so is the significance of the recall proof of the memory. And, finally, as a road
has an origin and a destination, a memory might be viewed as having an origin and a
destination. The origin of a memory is usually clear, but what of its destination? Why do
you recall this memory or that? Why this memory more frequently than others?‟
He fell silent and looked through the rear window behind me at the retreating
tracks, overhead lights flashing successively in the saloon. I assumed his questions were a
rhetorical device, a way of hiding statements and assertions. We sat opposite one another,
as I have said, and I came to concentrate my sight of him on a spot just above the ridge of
his nose, between his thick eyebrows, where the twin grooves of his forehead originated.
His face spoke of strain, his mouth showed anger, while his eyes revealed his discipline,
grace under pressure. You may think that I was merely infatuated: mysterious attractive
man, unclear if he is guiding me or seducing me. You may be right, but then I felt my
words spoken to him leap up into my mouth. A strange man: how could I cross the abyss
I felt between us, a darkness I may never cross, I fear, except by seeing him as strange,
unknown. He was only beautiful for me when I had called him beautiful. Then I invented
his eyes and his awareness, perhaps in the course inventing myself for him, the admired
woman, dignity and fat, something to hold on to now that nubility was long ago
exhausted.
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These thoughts did not put me in a good light, not at all. Why was I making this
man rather than drawing on him as I usually do? I spoke to him out of this particular
confusion, speaking abruptly into the silence he had left me: „Your mouth is certainly
your own.‟ He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement, but remained silent until we
reached the little house I occupied. He would not penetrate my confusion; perhaps, I
think now, he could not. It is the mouth of the stranger that we rely on, the words and
inflections, that much I learned this evening. I learned it with sadness, seeing even speech
fail now. At my door he paused to say, „I fear you have failed to understand me. If road is
not a good metaphor then we might try mouth, as you suggest. The mouth speaks the
truth and also lies. But no secrets, I remind you, Lady.‟
He walked back to the carriage, holding his back straight, shoulders back, dyed
hair, yet he tells me that his body is true, that it bears its secret openly.
My account is now up to date.
I have no comments to make; more accurately I have no interest in finding
comments to make. Except this, which comes to me now, about to lay down this pencil
for the night: the city bears its secret openly, and is evident in its pervasiveness.
I think now that the meeting with Mehujael, helped out by his servant or friend,
has proved fruitful. I know now that there is something to be searched for.
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A time for recapitulation, you would no doubt suggest if you could speak to me. I
answer: memory has no answer for confusion, whatever your experience might be. If you
do not believe new knowledge can be achieved, new thought I mean, then you are
condemned to look for origins in the will. But the will is dark, as explained, and so is the
perfect vehicle for your illusions and phantasies, hiding itself behind the welter of images
and narratives. You believe – and faith is your only answer to will as you know it – you
will your life, though all the time your acts of will follow the great stream of disposition,
the ideas of what you will no more than a froth on that stream. But when you think, you
go to origins in all cases, finding principles, a noble view, impressive to you at once. To
find an origin in will is to find an image previously placed – your apparent act of will –
and to find an origin in thought is to find but one origin, all principles available to you.
You will not have a thought without at once an origin appearing for it.
There is a secret in this: it is easily shown that thought is added to experience, in
reading, for example. But where does the thought come from? You will speak of
accretion here, building up concepts over generations, but how to explain the pristine
completeness of a thought, each thought shining, as though new-minted. Think of
something very familiar to you, and see how the thought of that person or thing springs
complete in your mind, all your knowledge available to you, transcending space, time,
matter.
I am writing in daytime now. I am alone here, bearing the weight of me for the
first time. You see how daylight through windows of an empty house has influenced my
thinking. The mind is more than a screen. Completeness must be grasped, that is what
completeness is, an aggregation as perfection is not. What grasps is a power, a capability,
in us and outside thought, that permits us to experience thought itself. You ask me, what
sustains this power? I reply, comprehend for yourself.
I find I can exist alone.
At the centre of this house is a courtyard, and at the centre of the courtyard a tree
grows. I don‟t know its name, but it is a curious tree. Its few branches grow out almost at
the tip and shoot straight up in an incredible cluster. There are few leaves, these are long
dark leathery things, enduring as matting, or shredded and carded for a poorman‟s suit. I
took my first step there yesterday, the rain having ceased at last. The bark is friable, of an
ugly brown colour, useless. The sap is highly prized by some, but the supply is said to be
intermittent, as the tree withdraws very rapidly from their taps. The sap is added in tiny
drops to enhance beverages. But five taps at a time is all that is required to sustain
demand, so little maintenance is needed. Then, every century of so, they climb up and
cull the branches, each piece of wood prized and hoarded for its wonderful qualities.
Planed and polished, they are mirrors, adding a lustre to their drab surroundings.
Contoured, it responds like a bell, and musical instruments are constructed with it, a
veritable science this, apparently. Burnt, it releases a powerful and sustaining perfume: I
smell it everywhere in the city, clinging even to the stone. Somewhat cloying of necessity
but a placid sweetness too, that would make you think of ripe cherries.
But then you think that this tree has no flowers, no fruit, and no seed. It is sterile.
That is how they describe it. Lamech, especially, because he can get no increase out of
the tree, for himself. I have been told that the tree is actually a memorial for some longgone, long-forgotten event. I am intrigued. If there is no secret in the city, then this rune
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is intelligible. How old is the tree? There is no way of knowing, its girth unchanged,
height varying over a century. It will not feed you, but it can make you happy and keep
you warm. What a munificent memorial, though you sweat for your bread. Why not a tree
of food instead, and let people make their own happiness instead of looking to others,
entering illusion thereby?
You see? The curse, Adam‟s sweat. This tree marks a curse, a city of stone built
around its delights. Why the curse, I ask the tree outside my window. And at once, with a
gripe of unease, I realise that the curse precedes the tree too, the event marked by the tree
arose from the curse. So far I can go in my understanding of this tree. Now I see how the
curse is anterior, but also see that it is not an origin in itself. I see that the curse is an
event, an event with an origin and so itself not an originator. Then I see why malice.
It can only be malice, why otherwise pollute, deform, neuter us in our being? Why
distort a living thing? Why – only to change its future, its destination.
Now I wonder if the tree is not eternal. But it is in motion, a lack of perfection,
though only because men take its branches.
You see the curse here too, yes? Harvesting. Another destination, growth
encouraged. So with all things in the hands of these men, stunted in order to serve. The
primal trace, one could surmise. A nature reduced to a purpose other than its own. But a
nature grows nonetheless, so it is not a nature deformed, only in its operation. Yet the
curse is a deformation. What could deform life? Nothing I know of. The living springs up
and dies down in rhythm, fast or slow, look at the plants and animals for proof of this.
Even the city‟s tree here beside me, moves, though slowly, like a big bass drum.
Defeated again. I brood now; I think. The tree changes very little in a week, one
leaf only falling, and the sky is grey again, rain intermittent, like a tired man. I write to
pass time, I think. In the evening I sit on the roof, watching the city lights and drinking.
Music is popular here, and I hear many strands rising from the surrounding dwellings.
Even when raining I make a point of spending a few hours up there, an awning I‟ve
constructed drawn out over me. I hear cars in the streets at times, sometimes calls, once
the sound of violence. I phantasise after hearing something, that a man will climb the
wall and come for me. This is how the city draws me now that I am alone. It invites me to
join in, on the streets, in cars, in rooms, talking, laughing, fighting. A city of delight, five
taps functioning at any time.
I pause now. One thought completely: five taps, viz: Mehujael has one, Adah has
one, Cain will have one. Two others. Irad and Enoch. The big men whose big houses
surround the Music Hall. This house surrounds the tree. Who works to feed them?
Who do you think? You see how they designate their offspring: Methushael for
service, Lamech for food, Jubal and Jobal to take some of the strain off him. But why do
I harp on food here, in the face of pleasure?
Because there is more truth there.
I am hungry now. Five weeks alone here. I write, I rub out and write again, toiling
through daylight hours, then drinking on the roof. I look only towards the lights of the
Auditorium in the distance, the tall structure ablaze with light all night long.
Then I see what I can do to advance my plea, and I must needs think through the
night.
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Outside my window as I work there are five taps protruding from the bark of the
tree, five hoses leading to five inlets in a corner of the courtyard. I closed one tap and
waited. Within an hour Methushael appeared in the courtyard, coming through a small
door opposite me. He went directly to the closed tap and spun the cock sharply. I called
to him, „A problem, Methushael?‟ He threw a scornful look to the sky above and shouted
over,
„Always complaining she‟s not getting enough.‟
It had been my plan to identify each tap in turn, so I could target my reminder.
Now I thought further, when I realised that Methushael had not driven here – I had not
heard a car in ages. I could go to the Music hall on foot. I went into the courtyard and
said to Methushael, nodding towards the bulging hoses, „Any of that for me, dear?‟ His
smile was immediately loose, his lower lip trembling, but he managed to say:
„Who do you want to deny, then?‟
„Irad.‟
Methushael‟s brows shot up in surprise. He whistled and said, „No less?‟
„No less.‟ Irad was my favoured contact now, next step up. Methushael closed
Irad‟s tap, unclipped the hose and motioned me forward to the spout. He opened the tap
and sure enough a clear liquid leapt up and bent over in one stream. I drank deeply,
crouched at the tap, Methushael‟s foot tapping impatiently against mine.
When I was sated, I nodded to Methushael to take his turn. He drew back in
horror. He quickly relinked the supply to Irad and said to me in a quiet voice, standing
with his legs crossed at the knee, swaying in a muted agony:
„I stole water from Irad once. When he discovered me, he punished me. Now I
must pay for my elixir.‟ He paused and smiled one of his more rebarbative smiles: „How
do you pay for your water, Lady Eve?‟
A voice barked at Methushael‟s back,
„I thought I‟d find you lazing somewhere, young one.‟ A little man in a check suit
and a red bowtie ran over to the tap and checked its flow, feeling the gurgling hose with
an expert grasp. He breathed a sigh of relief, then sparked into motion again, shouting,
„Come along then. You‟re wanted back at the House.‟ I said to Methushael in the
meantime:
„I listen. I can only listen.‟
In part an answer to his question but also in part a realisation of how the elixir
affected me. Methushael shouted, „I‟m coming. Keep your hair on, will you.‟ Then he
said to me, quietly,
„How can you bear to listen to us, my Lady?‟
I smiled, very mellow now: „I have something to learn, Methushael.‟
Irad said to me: „So you are our visitor.‟ I replied, „And you are Irad.‟ He came up
short and smiled a smile of comprehension, as though seeing something new, „And you
are Eve. Impatient as ever, I see.‟ He motioned me forward and I went with him and
Methushael through the door and down a short corridor to a large room. Two vehicles
stood on rails there, seating for one, handlebars to hold. Irad stopped by one and said to
Methushael, „Take Eve with you. Exercise great care, do you hear.‟ Methushael winked
at me, and said in a low voice: „Warm seat for you, Eve.‟ Irad shouted, „I heard you, you
little bugger! Worms don‟t eat what I weave. Worms eat earths, my boy.‟ Methushael sat
me in his lap, pulled the handlebars up, and away we shot into the dark, Irad‟s voice
85
growing faint very rapidly. Down we shot in the utter darkness, my hair streaming, and
Methushael braced himself in his seat against the pull of the bars, while I braced myself
against him, my arms also on the bars, within Methushael‟s grasps. Heat aplenty, and
very soon I rode a rail too, going down then a gentle swing and we were rising again, and
now I must push the bars to keep them from crushing me, while Methushael pulls them
for fear of falling off behind. Not detumescence, not at all possible then, but a draining of
sexual interest as we shot up again, slowing all the time until we eased into another room
and we heard steel click against steel and our carriage stopped.
We were tender afterwards, both more than a little staggered after our experience,
tottering even when Irad‟s carriage shot in, Irad‟s eyes tightly shut. Methushael hid
behind me. Irad said, „Come on, lad. How often do I have to tell you to get about things.
There‟s plenty to be done if you‟d only look.‟ Smiling sweetly at me then, „Come this
way, my dear. I‟m sure we deserve a drink after all that commotion. I am quite knocked
about, I must confess...‟ This went on till we reached his house and we were sitting in his
study, sipping elixir from tiny crystal glasses. Only one word Irad had uttered so far was
of any importance, and that was „House‟. Like I say, Home. Irad did not mind saying that
in front of me, a stranger. He gossips shamelessly, though little of it original, perhaps
intentionally. I warmed to him for revealing that word to me. We sat in silence for a time,
looking out at the coloured lights playing across the low clouds, sipping elixir raw from
Irad‟s font, of gold, with a basin for bathing.
Preparing to bathe, Irad confessed that he was sometimes nervous of bathing
alone, in case he fell down and hurt himself. So we bathe together, he ignoring my body
while he gossiped for my attention.
I had heard of this practice of bathing in the elixir, a prodigious luxury to me. It is
a balm, entering your powers at once, an initial enfeeblement, then like a lamp cleansed
shining brightly, utterly at ease, transparent as the liquid itself, it seems. We dried each
other afterwards, laughing, I more reserved than he.
Now I interrupted his eternal flow:
„Denial also teaches, Irad.‟
He kicked over without a flicker, as though he was decoding his gossip for me:
„Hunger prompts charm. Charm sated is a body at rest.‟ I cut across him again, even his
raw data were boring: „Zillah is correctly informed.‟ Irad did pause then. He held his
glass to the light, seeing the crystal sparkle in many colours. He spoke slowly, more
deliberately than any I had so far met here: „How can she be so different, then, Eve?‟ He
seemed genuinely perplexed. To fill in the silence, he took our glasses and filled them at
the font. Seated again, he wished me health and wealth, drank a sip, then settled himself
in his easy chair, legs crossed as was his habit, and began:
„I must tell you the story, my dear Eve. No doubt it will fill you in and get it done
quickly. Now, a long time ago I met a young woman and I said to her, “I don‟t know
you.” And she said, as though teasing me, “But I know you, little Irad, nose-in-where-itshouldn‟t-be.” I was inflamed by her, of course, that horrible old joke bored me. “But am
I to know you, stranger?” She smiled at me, a skinny woman with big eyes and big lips,
and big everything, and reached across her left hand and touched my left hand and said
“Now you know me, sonny boy.”
„I was never allowed to see her again, try as I might. I know you think my son is a
weakling, but such a ban is impossible to deny. I would be excluded. But Adah came to
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me then. As you can see, I contented myself there until Zillah came again, this time to my
son. I think you know I took steps to preserve my grandson, Methushael, from her wiles.
Lamech we sacrificed out of necessity. Thus far we have sustained her. Now Jubal must
finally stop her, how we do not know yet, but involving the charm I have spoken about.
We have trained Jubal in the art of love, making people lie down together.‟
I shouted suddenly. „You call that a plan? Irad, you are just drifting with the tide
here. There are three sons and two mothers. Of course you want to fix your bloodline up
with Zillah again, excess son to dilute blood. But Tubalcain, Irad? How will you contain
him?‟
Irad leaned back in his seat again, tipped his upper foot rhythmically, looked at
me in the face for the first time:
„He is our gift to you, Eve. He is for you alone, my dear.‟ He raised his hands
slowly in case I outbursted in gratitude, and continued: „We have prepared your House,
as you can see, and I believe you have settled in there.‟ He paused. „Now, I am aware of
your taste for our water, so I am pleased to be able to tell you that you will have free
access to the public fountain. It is in the Arena below, I will show it to you later.‟ This
earned me a benign smile. I said, looking up at the coloured sky, „You set a mother‟s son
on me, Irad, and a mere proposer on Zillah. If you send Tubalcain to me, what will Zillah
do?‟ Irad twitched uncomfortably, the first time he had fidgeted then. I hoped Jobal
would not be mentioned. When they discover he is no longer a virgin boy, that he has
expectations that Adah cannot fulfil, what will they do? And that deed has already been
done.
I realised then (only then!) that I must move things along here, see Cain before the
trouble starts.
Irad finally huffed through his nostrils and drained his glass:
„Jobal had been planned first for Zillah, you know. Jubal tends to his mother,
where Jobal is largely indifferent. It was an extremely difficult problem. Jobal‟s
indifference puzzled us, until we discovered the nature of his relationship with Adah,
Lamech already depleted by then. That is why we sent him to fetch you, to get him away
from the atmosphere here. I must say the break has done him a lot of good. He is more
lively and attentive, and keeps away from his mother. You see that Jubal could enter his
mother‟s affections now. But Jubal is already trained, a wooer, which would never
interest Adah. Therefore, our plans cannot be changed at this stage. It is vital that
pressure is taken off Lamech, for all our sakes. He is our provider. So we are now
arranging for the reintroduction of Jobal to Adah. And already Jubal moves against
Zillah.‟ He paused to fill our glasses, take a good sip, then he bent to me and said
earnestly, his bowtie looming like a frantic moth in the shadow below him: „We are
asking for your help, Eve, you see. We are prepared to pay in return.‟ He moved
suddenly, then he was sitting in my lap, grinding down his buttocks contentedly. He
sighed: „My son told me you had beautiful thighs. Oh he is right, dear Eve.‟ Not much
staying power and pretty soon he is nestling in my arms, head on my breasts, looking at
heaven for the first time.
We both realised simultaneously that pattern had been broken. But Irad returned
to earth reluctantly, so I said to him, hardly grasping the consequences now:
„Naamah?‟
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That got Irad to his feet, fixing his clothes, eyes almost malevolent: „That tart!‟
He balled his hand tightly, face reddening with his rage: „Nothing of Zillah‟s will ever
come in here!‟ So I said at once, „Tubalcain?‟ This gave him pause. „Not into the Arena,
Eve. Never. Methushael watches all the time for that.‟ I stood up, straightened my dress
and stockings, found my hat, and doing all this theatrically, knowing that the pattern was
already broken, not once but twice. Jobal and Irad. I‟m taller than Irad, so I loomed over
him when I said: „I am excluded because of him.‟ He grasped my left hand in a practised
gentle way, as he would still the joyous dread a virgin experiences, shook it very softly as
he spoke: „No, Eve. Not because of that cur, but because you too are a stranger, with no
past that we know of, with crazed visions and religious mania, the body of an alley cat,
the mind of a child, the perception of a god.‟ He squeezed my hand now, his warm dry
skin pleasant on the cool moistness of my own. „You see, dear Eve, that you are too
strange to us. We are more frightened of you than we are of Naamah. Where she is a slut,
you are a slut. Where she is complaisant, you are complaisant. But what is a chore to her
seems to be a way of life with you. Eve, if we are not careful, you could destroy all of
us.‟
I was very pleased that Irad acknowledged the breaks in pattern and is doing
something about it. But will Naamah return? Why would she want to come back here,
having got out? Nonetheless, I could just about see a passage for me here, a gate easily
pushed open. In effect I am to live in the Arena with the Big Men, new talent, but no one
is to let on. But Irad had shown me my strength: they do not know that I can drive a man,
years of experience with my idler husband.
Anger? Oh yes anger. Not extreme, but unusual in me at all. In a second I had it: I
hadn‟t thought of the city men as lazy before now, the excitement of all the frills, I
suppose. But they are lazy too. Sitting around drinking, too, trying to get the women to do
the work. My old primitive anger with Adam. And my revenge? I make their sons work
for me.
My anger evaporates now. Not wry, rather more pleased than that. I said to Irad
then though, still shaken, but set to my purpose anyway, as always, „You promised to
show me the public fountain, Irad.‟
His fear of losing his hold on me now overcame his scruples, as I expected. He
fluffed up almightily, filled a glass for each of us, then led me out through French
windows into the Arena.
The Arena is more a way of using the Auditorium, as the Music Hall and also the
Gallery are. Where the Auditorium has music if you listen, the Music Hall has colour and
the Gallery forms. The Arena has nothing. You walk on flagged stone in almost total
darkness, all senses at full alert. Pillars loom, balustrades block your path, streams gurgle
warningly. No one talks here, almost afraid of the sound of their own breath. Echoes.
Many echoes it seems. They disorientate. In time only your skin seems alive, a sheath of
warmth separating like from like, pure surface. But this state becomes unpleasant as you
feel your skin grow thicker and thicker as though you were solidifying to stone too,
another gruesome statue to block someone‟s way. You decide to listen: there is music,
and with music comes a greater darkness so you look for light. We began to see our way
more clearly as we crossed the centre of the building, the silver spike there throwing a
faint milky light. We walked on, finding the path more easily.
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I drove Irad on across the Arena with what he assumed was impatience, incipient
addiction even. I drove him to get my business here complete. At the fountain, which
sparkled here as clearly as elsewhere, Adah said, standing and turning at our approach:
„I‟m tired of mothering this lot. Why do I always have to prove myself?‟
„Until you provide a daughter, Adah.‟ Irad hissed a laugh but kept to business,
even so I whispered to him as we came to the bank of the cistern, „To dilute her blood,
too. Yes?‟
Adah said, „Who would remain then, tell me please? Women get chased here.
Look at Naamah, though I hold no brief for that scrubber.‟
Irad said to her: „You always imply that you are unworthy, Adah. For as long as I
have known you.‟ Adah clenched herself, her soft flesh capillarating visibly, and
screamed very loudly:
„IF YOU USE THAT WORD AGAIN!‟
Irad fell back with a stupid look on his face, blinking as though he was noticing
something about himself. I could see that I was in the middle of a family row, for she
went on at him about the burden she had to bear. How she had tried by kindness to make
their lives easier. Irad sat on a bankside seat and took a deep breath, then blustered: „It‟s
only what you say, my dear.‟ She cut him shrilly: „When have I ever said that word, tell
me that.‟ She turned to me suddenly, revealing a look of girlhood, turning to someone
who is not there, her father I intuit, because she reaches out as she turns. She said with
large eyes:
„They never give me time to myself.‟ She shrugged suddenly, a solid thrill I‟d
guess, and said: „They expunge strange blood.‟ I saw that at once too: Zillah is of their
own blood, but not her daughter, who carries her share of his phantom blood. They must
be satisfied with the dilution now, to bring Zillah in.
There is a larger thought in this new perspective. Who must be satisfied with the
dilution of blood? Irad and Adah are ignorant of this policy. Tubalcain and Naamah are
pure-blooded, as are Zillah and Cain.
Who is the father of Tubalcain and Naamah? The daughter already safely at
Home, is that it then? No mystery man in the wings, Zillah‟s Hands of God?
I broke pattern again. I said to Adah and Irad:
„Tubalcain is what?‟
Adah threw Irad a glance, and he said amiably, looking very tired now:
„Tubalcain is a bad mistake, my dear.‟ He sighed and looked companionably as
Adah. „Isn‟t that right, my pet?‟ Chuffing her just under her left breast, obviously a habit
of his, feeling the weight as he did when young. She sat beside him and dragged across
another chair, inviting me to join them, and Adah told me about the great passion of Cain,
the whole shameful story:
Cain is a man of renowned beauty, tall, fair, with a radiant smile and gentle
compassionate eyes. Once he lived in heaven and there grew to love his daughter in an
improper way. It came to the point that he could no longer stay in her company, fearful of
what he might do. He left home and worked in the city for many years, waiting until
Zillah would have settled down in marriage. His mother and father welcomed him back,
and on the first night home a woman slipped into his bed and wrapped herself about him.
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Cain was startled, then frightened, fearing his daughter had desired him too all these
years, so he asked: „You are not Zillah, are you?‟ A small voice answered at his ear, hot
breath, „Yes, Cain.‟ A night of passion on both sides, all night long. In the morning Cain
asked her, admiring her beauty and grace, who she was.
„I am Adah, Cain, Zillah‟s daughter.‟
Then, apparently, Cain did a terrible deed and was marked by the evil of the deed.
Adah gave birth to their son, „who is Enoch, after whom our city is named.‟
Irad allowed me to digest the essentials of this before continuing:
„Unfortunately, Lamech can prove he is not the father of Tubalcain. Why he runs
rampant.‟
I said wryly, more than a little jealous for some reason, when it might be the only
road open to Zillah: „Grand passion, eh?‟ My memory said no such thing, spoke of much
frustration and waste.
Adah‟s eyes widened before Irad‟s. „Who else sleeps with his daughter here, Eve?
Naamah ran away.‟
I asked, „And you?‟
„We are afraid, Eve. We are not evil.‟
So I took the opportunity to advance my case further: „I will need to speak to
Cain, you realise. And soon.‟ I was brisk deliberately, keep them over to their side as it
were, intervening on their behalf rather than on my husband‟s.
Still, the scenario had shifted pretty drastically in a very short space of time, so I
felt obliged to go carefully. I had to remind myself that I did not know this Cain, and
could not trust anything I‟m told in the city. If there was further misdirection afoot at
present, I could not tell. I was thoroughly lost in the city now.
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Slippery is the word, I think. An announcement of a new piece of music by Jubal,
which he entitles „HAIL‟ and dedicates with his love to Zillah. The score itself will tell
you everything, reluctance as well as his usual hesitation, but attempting to break pace.
What I wondered, as I listened to the music going round and round, would Zillah make of
it? Living with Jubal far away from here? What would Cain make of it, if the current
scenario is correct?
Adah began to cry into her hands, she feeling her son being torn away from her
for another woman. She stopped suddenly, startling both Irad and I, looked up and asked:
„Is he pure, do you think?‟
She began to cry again, a sad congested crying, the pain not easy now. I said,
moved by compassion: „It is what he is good at, Adah. Don‟t you worry now.‟ She
answered through bruising sobs, „Why must we always have to give, Eve?‟
Irad came with three glasses on a bright salver and gave each of us a glass,
cocking his eyes up towards the music and saying, „Why does he always falter?‟ We
drank each other‟s health, Adah blubbering uncontrollably into her elixir, but doing her
best to join the toast.
It was time to go. I said to Irad, „Can I have Methushael run me home?‟
Irad paused in mid-sup, took the glass from his lips and said: „Him? I had
forgotten him, Eve. No. Go home on your own now. No more mischief here, my dear.‟
Adah snuffled wetly and said in a small strangled voice: „Some people get all the luck.‟
As if by a magical call, Methushael appeared and said to me: „Want me to run you
home, my lady?‟
Irad snapped: „She doesn‟t need you. Go away.‟
Adah staggered and moaned, her hands bunched under her breasts. Irad glanced at
her and said to Methushael, obviously well-rehearsed, „Take you mother up to bed.‟
Methushael glared at Irad, fear of punishment still strong in him, so he caught Adah‟s
arm and propelled her away towards the end of the Arena. Irad said, „I will walk you
down, my dear. Get some air before bed, you know. The evenings here are at their most
pleasant now. In the winter there are covered walks, some quite extensive.‟ I said to him,
„Irad. Show me one sign of truth here.‟ He continued walking, holding his arms
somewhat stiffly in the cool air. He smiled without looking at me.
Methushael caught us up, we had been walking slowly, and panted still as he
spoke to me: „I‟ll run you over, my lady. No trouble. I have a spare moment now.‟
Irad thundered at him, the voice that prompted Methushael to cringe in daydream,
hoping he would go away: „She does for herself now, pup. Go and see if father has taken
his dose. Do it at once!‟ Methushael threw me a last clinging glance as he raced off into
the night. Irad said, „You put a spring in his step, you know. Good thing that.‟ He stared
away in the direction his grandson had taken. „He likes to be impressed.‟ As if I didn‟t
know already. Irad has little curiosity, definitely a middleman here.
Irad studied me as we walked, seizing me up anew, realising himself only now
how far I had penetrated into the city: „You‟ve heard about traces, no doubt, we often use
that word. Well, there is a trace in Methushael that is primary. Not originary, mind, only
a supervention upon other traces, informing parts of them.‟
As I half-expected, Methushael caught up with us again, at the door to the carriage
room, and said to me, „Leave you at home?‟
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Irad reached and caught Methushael‟s neck in a playful yet domineering headlock,
forcing his face down. Calculated violence, practised. He said in a banter: „Oh no, he
can‟t. Methushael is going to put his granddaddy to bed. Aren‟t you, my dear boy?‟
Methushael went limp in Irad‟s arms and said in resignation, his face showing a
grim hopelessness, as though the best was long gone:
‟Yes, grandfather.‟
Irad walked off with his arm around Methushael‟s shoulders, bracing him,
encouraging him in his louder voice, little legs toddling along under his over-long jacket.
Wickedness contains more gross immaturity than you sometimes know.
Already Enoch was taking on a shape for me. Nearer to the sin is Enoch, a sinner
himself, I suspect, but a phantasy that is ripe there.
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Tubalcain has reacted badly to the news concerning his parentage. I was surprised
at first until I saw that his annoyance was directed at Lamech, whom he called a „drunken
old groper‟, and to whom he had deferred for years in the belief that he had the full
authority of the father over him. He went on about this for some time, I was dozing off
and wished he‟d get done with it and let me go to bed. Why is he such a twerp? Jubal
makes music and Jobal dances. Even his sister can get them going. I know he beats metal,
but he rarely shows the joy of it. I told him bluntly to shut up. I should talk of the
confusion here, their elixir lowers a level so more can be seen. But when I look now I see
the words LOWER FOR MORE, a neat meaningless slogan driven by an inane rhyme.
You see an element of the confusion here: a knot, how rhyme knots. It happens now as I
write this, their drug permeating me, the sap of the tree outside my window. Fingers
folding to grasp, that too is a knot, an entanglement. I feel I don‟t convince you. It‟s like
potentially knowing everything but unable to discern the individual strands of knowledge,
yet knowledge flowing into me, always, even now.
This insight is prompted by the memory of the confusion that appeared on
Tubalcain‟s face then. He said plaintively, corrugating his forehead, „Don‟t you want him
talked down?‟ I sat down. Drinking tires. The fatigue was overpowering, and I lay
listless, as though I was being squeezed into a tiny ball. Yet my head began to clear, I
grew lighter felt brighter. Tubalcain was standing about six feet away before me, one
hand flat on his thigh, the other brushing back his oily black hair. I laughed. He looked so
like the tree outside. I said to him, pointing to the chair beside me,
„You had better ambitions, hadn‟t you, Tubalcain?‟ He leaned his arms on his
thighs, looking quite solid in this crouch. He spoke with his more usual clarity:
„Metals are principles anterior even to the crystal. They cannot grow, they have to
be made by a transformative power. The mystery, Eve, is to discover what metals are for.
I mean,‟ he added hastily, „what they are in themselves, not for us. As an example, take
iron. We use iron for its strength, but is that all it is in itself as iron, mere cohesion?‟ On
the matter of sin, I said, as though in parenthesis, „Iron bars.‟ He thought with pursed lips,
then nodded and said:
„Lead weighs. Tin is cheap. Gold is sticky. Silver is soft. Copper burns.‟ He
looked at me appreciatively, „How apt you are, beloved.‟ Invited, I completed:
„Mercury coils.‟
Tubalcain smiled fondly, and said, „I do like a good wit.‟
Then it was coils and coils and I fell asleep in the middle of it.
I awoke knowing I was in prison, Tubalcain guard rather than lover: he prefers
holding cold iron, dirty lead, sharp tin, clinging gold, evasive silver, dying mercury. How
long will I be isolated this time, I wonder. It will certainly be more boring. I am revolted
by a quality in Tubalcain, a kind of gloating, leering attitude that pervades all he does. He
is not a particularly attractive man, but he is built well, not unhappy in that. A restriction,
most likely, barred from his mother from early on. Tubalcain is not an idiot, as you might
have thought at times, but an infant. He wants to lie in his mother‟s lap. A cruel
interference. Insightful, knowledgeable, patient, strong, he has all the ingredients of a
good man, but cannot see beyond his mother‟s body, a play of surface, soft, warm, moist,
living, metals his only refuge there, combining metals to find an earth for himself.
These thoughts revolted me, so I made myself get up off the bed and walk to the
window. The sun beams today onto the tree, an uncertain burnish, but nothing like a
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shine. I thought at first that I resented being stuck with the booby prize, but then I
realised that I had no mother. A curious abyss in me, I have no mother, yet I know what it
is like to have a mother.
Thought dissociates then and I think of being in prison, how I cannot take that
seriously. I have never been enclosed. Then I remember boredom, which I could take
seriously. I say to Tubalcain, who is standing over by the door, arms akimbo like a
spinning top:
„Water, please.‟
He goes to the tree, and with copper and lead he tapped the tree on the blind side
and laid a pipe to a font in the room. A glass was procured and I had my first sip of the
day, crystal clear, shining like a bell.
How many days have been like that? It seemed many at times, as though sliding
down a long slope, at other times I found myself in conversation with Tubalcain, and
once with Methushael, over on some spurious errand. It seems that the tree can bear a
sixth load for only about ten days, when it cuts off one of the taps. Adah cut off and panic
stations within minutes. Mehujael came this time, accompanied by his son. He looked
closely at Tubalcain, as if measuring him, and said to Methushael, „Fucking water-babe,
hand-on-the-tap-sort.‟ Tubalcain told me this afterwards, and both Mehujael and
Methushael were astonished to discover that he had not taken one drop of elixir. As for
me, I was in a pretty deplorable state by then, at least not raving, only listening
apparently, again according to Tubalcain, as though someone told me interesting things. I
have no memory of this at all, deep sleep only, complete blank. By the time I recovered
supply to Adah had been restored, though it took them a long time to break into
Tubalcain‟s pipe, and we were alone again.
The struggle to break the desire for the elixir lasted another twenty five days.
Such time to change disposition, our powers are as yet puny there. Very tired then, almost
dispirited once, as though the energy might fail. Only afterwards did the real hell begin.
The monotony of the days, the length of the nights. I no longer sat on the roof and
observed the city life. I sat in my room, looking out at the tree as if in a trance before a
divinity, feeling a basal bitterness, like salt on your lips, or more eatingly like an acid of
sulphur, paradoxically nacreous, bitterness a surface like the surface of the sea. I was
trapped in this vision, I knew, and I could enumerate almost all the clues and faults that
bespoke the vision. A boundary-condition, an edge, not simply a border. For two days I
dwelt in that vision, the surface continuously retreating to surface, proving that surface
alone, form, will not explain stopping. Then I smiled, at last, and called Tubalcain to tog
out for a trip.
I connect rails and coils then, and understand a great deal. I see now a period of
preparation, degrees, revelations each time. How my spirit is expressed in Naamah‟s
replacement of me at Home. My soul in Jobal‟s warmth and so on. A momentary fear,
then: the truth must indeed be terrible. Even so, this pattern must be broken too, perhaps a
requirement of this Introduction. But I doubt all this, and wonder then why I thought of it.
„And so on‟ came back with force. And so on, Tubalcain my guardian angel, Jubal my
angelic guide. Adah? Zillah? Lamech who separates, judge. My girls pleading for me,
protecting me.
No more. Jiggery-pokery. Labels, words, words.
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I turn off the tap to Enoch. Like pressing a doorbell. Methushael was here in
minutes, still panting after his race to the station. I shouted to Tubalcain „The carriage!‟
while swinging my fist at the side of Methushael‟s head, and jumped up into Tubalcain‟s
lap and released the handlebar. I shouted at him to hold on as the carriage dropped away
into the utter darkness. Unfortunately, Tubalcain held on to me, not the bar, crushing me
with his strong arms. He was too frightened for anything else. The upshot of this is we
had to cling together in a complicated way, I holding him so I would not fall down, he
holding me so he would not fall back. He held me with everything, every retaining
surface he could find, a mad scrabble of feet and hands, head up as he screamed loudly.
But as we rose again, he came to clutch at me, feet in the air, driving his groin down
under me all the time, my arms coming out of their sockets. Then the Arena. Luckily I
knew the way, coming to the silver spike pretty soon, then running forward to the
fountain, on my knees gulping it down.
When I said coils and rails, I should have added water. I mean ordinary water here
as a concept, not the elixir. Liquidity, that is, flowing. I said to Tubalcain, „Drink now.‟
He recoiled. I grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the fountain and shouted at him,
acting a part, I realised just then, not really interested in whether Tubalcain drank the
stuff or not.
„I said drink it!‟
He began crying as a way of overcoming a dilemma. Loyalty to me in conflict
with some knowledge he had that I had not. „Why?‟ I asked him. He shook his head
slowly, staring at me with open eyes. I pushed my face close to his, baring my teeth, and
said insinuatingly,
„You don‟t know if it‟s true, that‟s it?‟
A voice behind me said, gruffly authoritative, „All right. That will do for now,
Tubal. Off you go now, that‟s a good lad.‟
„Right, sir,‟ Tubalcain piped strenuously, then galloped away into the gloom.
My head bowed slightly, though I resisted it, and the man appeared, tall,
cavernous face, long bare hands. His mouth is so stiff that a laugh looks like a sneer, but
he only smiled for me, almost imperceptible movement, and said, less gruffly:
„There‟s no shame in taking what is given to you.‟
„I don‟t ask fire to cook me.‟
He assented to this with a flick of his left eye, tried another tack: „Then
responsibility.‟
„For ignorance?‟
He bent carefully and sat on a bankside seat, inviting me to do likewise. He bent
forward to look into the clear pool, bracing his broad palms on the edge of his chair. „No
smartness then. Fine. How do you do, Eve? My name is Enoch. I am Cain‟s son by the
abominated Adah, bearing her accursed blood in its plenty.‟ He paused and waited with
stony patience, studying the seamless liquid at his feet.
It is true that they breed out Adah‟s tainted blood. But why? Why deny Zillah for
so long? I remembered then, so I said: „Still no daughter, Enoch?‟ He shrugged, and said
without malice, „You too, I believe, Eve.‟ I relaxed then, seeing the possibility of truth
without bitterness, like a sea without salt, life without pain. I said, not complacently but
to jeer him up:
„Mother‟s enough, yes?‟
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He gave a huge sigh, looking in his grey suit and drab tie like a worn rock, no
virtue in endurance: „You think so, Eve? Let me tell you that long ago Zillah once said to
me, „”Come when you‟re ready, sugar.” Such a need in her voice, then, I can tell you.
Perhaps she was only learning what the score was. Her exclusion, I mean.‟ He said
something else, but he seemed to garble it rather hurriedly, as if having second thoughts.
But liars always say too much: truth is simple, adding truth is always an excess. Where is
this case lay the extra? Exclusion. Definitely this word. I said to Enoch, finding it hard to
feel sympathy for him, a cop-out should be its own reward: „In or out, what difference
when it‟s not your game?‟ The word „sugar‟ to me an odd epithet for Enoch, who said
then: „Desperation is not quite a hunger, I know, but I think that we in the city here
believe we are ignorant of something.‟ This caught me out badly and all I could do was
ejaculate an „Eh?‟ He looked over at me with a shy expression that could easily have
been read as hesitation. He shrugged in mock guilt: „Oh I know you think we are ignorant
of nothing except what we have forgotten, Eve. You must see our problem, miss.‟ He
pointed a long thick-boned finger at me, nail curved around tip, „You,‟ indicating weakly,
„will see our lives as a game.‟ My head came up with a snap, fearing the repeat of the
word „game‟ here, but Enoch insisted:
„What can you do when you look for truth?‟ He lowered his head again, now
leaning his hands on his knees and bracing forward, almost as though he was tempted to
fall forward into the pool at his feet. I began to suspect that all his body language was
intended to distract me, to diffuse my reactions to what he was telling me. It was true, I
could no longer gather in his words in the way I am used to, and test all his words off
each other. His words came in series to me now, as though each word had a separate
meaning from all others, an occult insight, surely, but used here by Enoch to mislead me,
to give me instructions as operations of will rather than give me knowledge for my own
benefit. I concentrated on my memory of his words, feeling in me that assent to his words
which is the perversion of grasping meaning, but behind „truth‟ I found, as it were,
„game‟, closed systems like logic and number, like a drug or a belief.
Enoch said, „Rules, miss, beyond our invention.‟
My reaction was instantaneous, first „invention‟ shot me back beyond his meaning
– as discovery of a thing pre-existent – to one that leapt as origin, both meaning of
„invention‟ and of a principle comprehended. The light induced immediate nausea and I
vomited forwards, leaping up (no one trained to help me here) and slipping over into the
pool, my scream cut off by engulfing elixir. The pool isn't deep so I thrashed about there
screaming and trembling violently, all orifices excreting as usual. A severe attack but not
long-lasting for all that. For the first time, I seemed strong enough to retain a semblance
of that light and doing this eased the symptoms of terror. I recovered with a new
fortitude, confident that I was more courageous now, less easily daunted, yet knowing
also that I was even more confused than hitherto, not ignorant but becoming aware of a
blindness in me.
I cleaned up in Adah‟s House, borrowing one of her large dresses for the moment.
Enoch didn‟t know what to make of the event. He would admit omens, which is an
interesting insight. Their deepest wish is that God would speak to them again, even if it
was only to curse them again. Enoch alone saw me in the pool, swimming in a mother‟s
fluids, a ritual self-birthing is what he would see. To him this would mean rebirth,
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something like repetition, and would make me a saviour, like new blood. It was
Methushael who helped me to my feet, holding me close despite the state I was in. Then
Adah came and held me until Mehujael and Irad contrived to carry me. What of their
experience?
Adah gave my hair a thorough brushing: a new experience for me, though she and
her mother had taken turns to while away the long evenings. I took the hint and brushed
her hair then. I had not realised how intimate that experience is, both of us in a glow of
light as though hair can radiate. But I realised also that some kind of capitulation was
afoot, hair brushing an opening preliminary. Our conversation was light, about clothes
and colour, children. Only once did Adah speak to me, and then with surprising authority,
though friendly here, saying as I made the first tentative brushing through her long hair,
„Of course, with children you must always insist on right manners. Hands,
especially, must be taught reserve. The mark is in the hand. The secret is in the hand, you
see, Eve, because only the hand has the right power.‟ Then more homely gobbly-gook,
until later, taking a sup before dinner, she said:
„Putting it in the hands of God that way. No, up, for heavens sake, up, up!‟
I was still shocked from the attack, horribly fragile and ready for a quiet night, but
this piece of childish tattle thrust me off as a tangent, and I wondered then why I assumed
that Zillah‟s mystery man was the same as my mystery being.
It was only then, as Enoch predicted, that I saw the edge of the game. A real man
was Zillah‟s lover, and Adah‟s father. No one here is expecting that man to return. A
genuine puzzle here. How can they be so sure that this man will never return? How could
they make a man do that, I mean, go away and never come back? The word jumped into
my mind:
Cain.
And Zillah? This particular scenario has the amiable quality of being interesting in
itself. Two men, one woman. Too few men, too high expectations, the woman runs away,
gives up the field to another woman. But sons will fight where fathers do not, not
knowing any better: where was the father who could separates them? Or the mother?
An uncomfortable thought then, seeing no first-parents above them, Cain and
Zillah as though springing from nowhere, brother and sister, not husband and wife.
Behind this insight there seemed to curve away into a gloom a silver thread. It came to
me as an after-image, almost, that I had forgotten about it until just now. It is true that I
did see that thread, seeing it with equanimity, knowing that at the end of that thread lay
very great pain, terrible knowledge, but also one truth, lighting all else in its sublime
glow. How the word „glow‟ hides „truth‟, while „lighting‟ echoes „pain‟, not pleasant.
The end of my envisioned thread will be like that. I will suffer it, remember that for the
future.
I return to what I can see in this game. Two men and one woman. How to requite
such enmity, a burden too great otherwise, surely? It was Irad who brought me to earth
again, asking me:
„Thinking you have got in again, no doubt, my dear. Confidentially, I, for one, am
glad.‟ His eyes were furtive, playfully or not I couldn‟t then decide. He touched his brow
in salute: „Be sure to drop by to bathe again, won‟t you.‟
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I‟ve just found Adam‟s book again. Taking a break from my desk I decided to
tidy through some clothes, where I found it in the pocket of the smock I wore when I was
last with him. Same blank pages, blank for me, blank for Adam also.
As it happens – omen or destiny? – Methushael was through on an errand and he
happened to spot the book lying on the side table. I didn‟t notice this, it was only when
Irad appeared shortly afterwards to have a drink and a chat and promptly „noticed‟ the
book, his hand already rehearsed as he reached for it.
„What is this, my dear?‟
I told him it was a book, then explained what a book is, what writing is, showing
him this script, scripting these words for his enlightenment, seeing writing even if he
cannot read it. He asked me if he could show it to some others. I couldn‟t refuse, by now
Irad already knows far too much about it. Even so, the book itself might help to make a
difference, another break in the pattern.
I am unwilling to return to my account of the party in Adah‟s House, a boring
affair, they have gone through this routine so many times now, first this group, waltz
around, tableau, another group nattering away. I was like grit in an axle, as you might
expect, pulled along here, left there, dragged over that way, pushed this way. The table of
course was the especially testing point, a real rivalry in Adah then. The placings are
fixed, five places, clockwise, Cain, Mehujael, Irad, Adah, Enoch on his right. Methushael
takes Cain‟s place when he is absent. He wasn‟t there that night, but an extra place had to
be created for me in any case. Six places changed the balance around the table
considerably, I sitting between Mehujael and Methushael. I faced Adah, watching her
gorging herself quite unselfconsciously, eyes darting from one food source to another.
Enoch nibbles his food, breaking it up with his fingers as he raises it to his mouth. Such a
sense of decay, as though some part of himself was utterly missing. I may have seen this
absence only because I had previously understood that exclusion is impossible. But the
absence is in him, see it also in how he turns to stone in order to survive, afraid of
dissolution here too, like a plug pulled in a bath. Apropos of flowing, he is abstemious
with the elixir, unless he stocks himself up.
Irad cuts and dissects, straightens bones, chews in a frenzy of watchfulness,
fearing theft. Never opens his mouth when there‟s food in it. Never closes it when there‟s
not. Methushael said to me at one point: „Watch Adah. This happens every night.‟ We
waited and watched as Adah spooned gravy out of sequence, the hot thick liquid flowing
neatly into her cleavage. Methushael nodded brightly to me, pleased it had gone so well.
Adah tears at her clothing, screaming that she‟s scalded, and Methushael falls about
laughing, then Irad joins him, Enoch looking from one to the other with disfavour. I
surmise from this that Cain does not eat in Adah‟s house, his niece-wife‟s house. Nor –
have you seen this? – does he drink elixir, his font the public font.
There was so much in this. Cain knows what the elixir is for, and yet it will not
serve him. Because he knows why the elixir exists, knows the reason for its existence.
Cain does not eat here, yet he has a place and a deputy, Methushael. To what extent is
Methushael a sign for Cain in other ways, Cain‟s presence needed in the city, in some
specific form.
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I think immediately of the word „indignity‟, even as I look as him laughing
raucously, ogling Adah, perhaps because he is the youngest, though not next in line. I say
to Irad, picking up this thread:
„Does punishment have a destination?‟ But it was Mehujael who replied,
„Punishment aborts destinations. Negative though not polar, if you follow me.‟ But Irad
answered too:
„A boundary and a lesson, my dear. I do not have Mehujael‟s insight.‟ This last
was sarcastic and earned the retort, „Or Naamah‟s nerve.‟ Adah pahed this very loudly.
„Nerve, my foot, Mehu. I‟m having no more children.‟
This was the first they had heard of this, too, and it threw them into some
excitement. Methushael leaned over and whispered, „She got Jobal back last night.‟ He
winked, then said, „Want me back too, sweetheart?‟ I made as though to brush him off,
except that my knuckles caught him nastily on the fleshy part of his nose, making him cry
out in misery. Not an accident. Too much happening, pressure at the top here. At least it
put him out of the game for a while.
Indignity. I saw that Methushael wanted me to approve of him, to treat him as
though he were a man. But how can I do that, when he does not behave like one? I said to
Enoch, who was looking down at Adah‟s exposed breasts beside him with a look of real
fear: „How do you stop sin, then, Enoch?‟ When he looked at me, I could see that his
eyes wanted only to slip back to where they had been. Adah didn‟t notice any of this, she
was playing to Irad, who she knows she can trust to support her. Much of Enoch‟s
authority seemingly evaporated that afternoon, seeing a mother coming from her bathing,
glowing with the elixir. Concatenation. His mother‟s apotheosis, almost. Enoch, in other
words, worships Adah, touching in its own way, but nonetheless an error, of judgement if
no more. But Irad is used to Adah's skin, bathing with her too, with anyone he can
persuade.
Enoch said: „So skin governs, you say, Miss?‟ I looked at him closely, feeling an
indiscretion in his utterance, his resentment of the interruption just below the surface. I
took sugar and threw it in a cloud onto Adah‟s chest. Enoch‟s eyes shot away after it,
seeing how the fine white crystals adhered to the moisture of her flesh, her breasts
plopping her arms as she ate in haste, gravy smeared over her belly like a marinade. I say
to him:
„As a broken wheel governs a cart, Enoch. Don‟t waste my time now.‟
Mehujael said at my left, „Not dysfunction, lady. Nothing can be stopped,
remember?‟ I remembered well enough. But it‟s not clear whether he is teasing me or
prompting me. Adah said, red-coloured jelly on her chin making her mouth extend in an
alarming way, as though she would eat us next,
„Speak for yourself, chum, and for those like you. You just wait and see.‟ Enoch
said in a refined priestly way, all cold white cloth, „No, Miss Eve.‟ His tone alerted
everyone. He pushed himself to his feet, pulled the napkin from his collar-band and threw
it on the table:
„I can no longer sit and watch these goings-on, my dear Miss, you quite destroy
all our hopes. Do we live in sin, is that what you charge us with? We are restrained, Miss.
We understand control and government.‟ I heard „invention‟ again, and the path
(metaphysical, of course) appeared again for me, which permitted me to say darkly, „Of a
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game. Come on now, Enoch. You are among adults here. You will have to recognise that
you are no longer playing a game.‟
Irad said, „Elaborating which, I presume, we should then admit to our ignorance
and immaturity,‟ He slapped the table peremptorily with the joined fingers of his right
hand and said, „Right, then. Admitted.‟ He looked at me with a bright tense smile, rows
of teeth glistening: „What now, smart lady? Want to play momma here too. Bucolic ease.
Oh, don‟t think we don‟t know. Frolicking with your sons one and all.‟ Enoch coughed
warningly, but Irad turned on him instead and said: „I accuse her of frolicking, of taking
pleasure and so contaminating a duty.‟
I said: „No blood sport.‟
That stopped one line of attack, but the charge of licentiousness hung over the
table still, Enoch ready to lick sugar on his mother‟s body, Irad to claim Methushael
again, Mehujael as usual left to his draught pieces, black and white, endless struggle of
his own invention.
I said to Methushael: „The crime of necessity indicates justice, not the
punishment. A matter of origins, of where to start, sonny boy.‟
This brightened him up a bit, as I expected, so I pushed on at Enoch again, their
weak link, though I had believed before then that it was Methushael:
„Why the piety, big boy? What are we side-stepping, eh?‟
Irad said sharply, beginning his attempt to master me: „Encourage devotion,
achieve regularity.‟ This was deliberately off the point, so I was forced for a while to
divide my attention between the two, daunting perhaps if Adah had not unknowingly
given me some assistance. Conscious that Enoch hadn‟t answered yet, I said to Adah,
„Bound to duty, sister?‟ and to Irad: „Bound to habit, kid. Do you keep your socks on?‟
Enoch finally spoke, suddenly aware of the moaning Methushael, and said to me,
„Temptation.‟
I laughed, like a fence drawing in around me. The swift fear told me how
uncertain my position was here now. They knew they could send me away somewhere
else, back where I came from. A tightrope, getting trickier, like trying patience to the
limit, encoding this new limit on patience.
I was about to ask them how on earth they were ever tempted, when Enoch‟s
expression took me aback, looking at Methushael, who had eyes for me only, permitted
Enoch to reveal a face to me, of a helpless woe, a knowledge again here unknown to me
in its specifics. An event, in other words. Threads, threads. I said, to speak his thought for
both of us:
„One temptation only is required.‟
Enoch nodded emphatically, and said with a quiet but complete satisfaction:
„That‟s it exactly, miss. There you got it.‟
Sin has a beginning. Like a curse. Like pain. All pervert origin. What is meant by
stopping here. Stopping is an evil to them, even though they suffer constantly. Like kinks
in a weave, making a bad cloth, but cloth nonetheless otherwise there is waste.
I asked, provocative for two reasons, I was at last becoming impatient again, and
it was dawning on me that it was not temptation, and the curse that followed on it, that
caused my nausea:
„What‟s the problem, then?‟
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Adah reacted first, and strongly. She had some kind of thick liquid in her mouth, a
pallid sherry in colour, and she spattered the entire table with the stuff, her eyes trying to
express how she felt in lieu of words. She looked as though she was falling, as though
sinking down into a sea. Then she was as if falling forward, a lurch forgotten in the terror
of falling that way, to have sight forced on her: „You are such a smart bitch, Eve. You
think you are so different from us. But you‟re just kidding yourself, girl. You haven‟t
lived yet.‟
It was this banal, even as she fell forward, her breasts squashing into the mousse
or whatever she had been eating, but nonetheless the degradation of body was evident,
seeing herself as an animal, fit only for consuming, and calling me a girl because she
thinks I am innocent as yet, not a degraded woman. Adah hiccupped and her kin tried to
pull her back from the table, fearing worse, but she raised her eyes to me, the blue
suddenly bright, and she said in a neutral tone, imparting information as an aside: „Here
you pay first.‟
Mehujael caught my left wrist and shook it to attract my attention, when he said:
„Our suffering is real. It rises in us, no one gives us our pain.‟ I was reassessing my
concept of the problem, as I called it, as rapidly as I could, parts of earlier conversations
returning, like rooms lighting up, especially Mehujael himself saying, „a curse and a
freedom preceding this curse. But is that all, Eve?‟ I realised then that they referred to a
different temptation, one that is in their bodies. „What Adah means, Miss,‟ Enoch said
with a grating ponderous tone, not having spoken for a while, „is that we have hope of
salvation.‟
Methushael nodded vigorously, then Irad closed his eyes slowly, his chops filling
as he clenched his teeth. I was genuinely puzzled and said without thinking, „Why pay?
You don‟t know what you‟re letting yourselves in for.‟
A sentence needs a stop, otherwise the words would take over.
I was interrupted today without much ceremony by Irad, who was accompanied
by Enoch, the nearest to joy in his eyes. They were peremptory out of excitement not
anger, and it was easy to calm them. Irad had me tell Enoch about books and writing. I
had to write for him too, showing him words as though lines on a page windows. He was
certainly impressed by the power of writing, and also I think somewhat frightened of
contamination. At Irad‟s urging he told me this:
Before the city named for him was built, Enoch’s father had told him that his own
father had a book from the hand of God. The book was small but contained all the
knowledge of this world. It also revealed the purpose of life, and the role of mankind.
Cain often lamented that he had not been able to read that book, and so had not been
able to tell his descendants the truth.
Enoch asked me where the book had come from. I said plainly, „My husband.‟
Irad asked Enoch, „Is it the same book, father?‟
They meant copy, of course, and I was about to tell them when I suddenly saw a
catastrophe if I told them who my husband is, for on the heel of the growing implication
came something much worse, a sudden sickening realisation, and then I was overcome,
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puking all over Enoch and Irad, the scream more a habit this time as I found I was
grasping something within that appalling realisation, something I can only describe as
„raw‟. Once I grasped this, I felt better. I found a chair to sit on and said,
„Perhaps if you were to ask Cain?‟
Impatience again. I felt wonderfully aroused, as if the energy gathered for a good
puke was being diverted, en masse, to another seat in me.
I said to Irad, „You are the quicker. Go ahead now. You have my permission to
show your grandfather the book I brought.‟ Enoch turned to go too, his eyes already
anxiously ahead to their far destination, but I said to him:
„Why don‟t you wait here with me, Enoch. It won‟t take too long.‟
Once Irad had clattered off to the station, Enoch said, „Between mother and a
tainted woman, really, Eve. I mean,‟ I cut him off and said, „And an untainted woman?‟ I
clasped his cock through the thin fabric of his pants and drew him down to me. I was hot.
I sat on him, the only way in the long run, a man can concentrate there, and a woman can
keep him there. An obedient man, earnest, endlessly capable, but how boring to be
serviced by a machine again in this city. Every which way you like, only you have to tell
them what to do all the time. Blindness, again, you see here: they are willing to be led,
only pleasure is needed to tempt their pain that little bit further along.
If I can get back to my account now: Adah‟s reaction to my remark that they
mightn‟t know what they were letting themselves in for was trenchant:
„We are making payment.‟
I was distracted then by the thought: who waits? I tried to think it back, but the
word „wait‟ unusual for me. Waiting is a kind of stopping. But to wait means also to
remain as you are. „Remain‟ taxed me then, conscious that the others were getting ready
to speak also, and I grasp at „remain‟ and I see darkness between lights. Irad says:
„Pleasure is an instalment of heaven.‟ I looked at Methushael and said jovially, to hide
my intent, „Like coming home?‟ and Irad said earnestly, redundantly, „In pleasure we
perceive our heaven.‟ I said, „I‟ll show you.‟ I picked up the mousse before me and
swung it off the plate in such a way that it struck Adah full between the breasts mashed
down onto the table. Even Mehujael laughed at that, though Adah said to Irad, „More
than you ever did, Sid.‟
Surprisingly, that broke Irad, who then sat glum in his red bowtie and jittering
clothes. Adah said to Methushael in acknowledgement of this, „And you thought he
scared you.‟ To me she said, finally drawing herself back from the table, a hopeless
confusion of foods and liquids coating her entire chest and face, running down across her
belly into the bush,
„I would call you divine, Eve, if I could believe you, even for a moment.‟
I was charmed by that, to see Adah change her mood so wonderfully well. Enoch
began to lick the thick paste that coated her left shoulder. Adah laughed, suddenly,
genuinely surprised for once, and said, „Oh, Enoch, do leave off, dear. Your father is
coming.‟ Enoch went on licking contentedly, working back towards her arm, so Adah put
her hand on his face and said, „Now, Enoch, dear, you mustn‟t do that. Remember what I
told you the last time.‟
Mehujael said, prompting me again: „I never imagined I would see this.‟
To which I replied, „Not even when you inflict pain?‟
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Enoch was by now getting on to Adah‟s left breast, and she was still pressing her
right palm to his face, fingers splayed over his eyes, but now her left hand cupped his
chin. Adah was saying: „Now, darling, remember what I told you about doing wrong?
That daddy would be cross with you?‟ I said to Mehujael, „Food builds.‟ Irad was awake
again, now nibbling over Adah‟s stomach, eyes strictly down the way he was going.
Mehujael stood up, frowned over me: „There is always only limited accommodation. We
must learn patience.‟ Then he went around and began to lick Adah‟s face, the material
now quite rigid,
Adah fell silent. I said to Methushael, „You too, my lad. She‟s your mother too.‟
He leapt and went in under the table. I walked in the Arena then on my own. It was like
following a contour, like a wave of some density. A boundary of light and dark, towering
Houses in one direction, an opening in the other, and you followed this boundary, each
time along a different strand, depending on your temperament on the occasion. That night
I wove in deeply to the dark, following the ground very closely to the very last sparks of
light. How intense one light alone is. Only once was I anyway frightened. For an instant
there was no light. I was tempted to panic and search frantically, but I made myself stop.
I stopped. For an instant in that darkness, everything stopped. Only that far do I
understand what happened there. Suddenly there was absolutely nothing. It was only
when I realised that I could go on, into the darkness, penetrate it as I penetrate light, that
my terror hit me like a lack of confidence, a lack of energy, a lack of understanding.
But I did move nonetheless, knowledge of a task to be done, Adam‟s cure,
brought me back to memory of light, and at once I retreated slowly, until light began to
glow again in the crystalline rock. I say Adam‟s cure, but that is no longer true. There is
another task now. There is Adam‟s Book, for instance. Or extraction from this city. I
cannot unroll what has happened since I came here, I can only make the best
preparations.
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Zillah came to see me this evening, a tedious journey to judge by her expression,
and plopped with a thud onto a chair by the table. Only tea, definitely not the elixir. No
explanations or apologies, simply, „No.‟ She said, looking at me intently:
„I wouldn‟t have thought you were a glutton for punishment, Eve dear. I mean,
you get away with it.‟ She laughed and held up her hand, and continued, „Oh, I know all
about them, my sweet, don‟t you worry. Jobal, Jubal, Tubalcain, Irad, Methushael, and
now Enoch. See? Am I right or wrong?‟ I laughed a tight tittery laugh, really irritating,
and snapped:
„It can‟t be taught. Twit.‟
Now it became the two of us coming up sharply against a brick wall. Zillah
hitched her skirt on her thighs as though she was going to dance, she did rub her knees
together from time to time, and said, „A nice man, really, with gentle hands, like he was
stroking a fur or a fleece.‟ I saw Cainen at once, up in the loft of his hut, the heat of sheep
a convenience to us, skin to skin all night long. I was powerfully aroused again, for the
second time today, and felt randy, though not urgent, thank goodness. I nodded to the
gaping Zillah and said: „Cock, lovey. Keep to the essentials.‟
Zillah asked: „Pardon?‟ Then she caught sight of Enoch for the first time and
screamed to see him lying there, absolutely still, his long cock limp between his thighs.
She screamed, even after I managed to rouse Enoch up. She had her hands over her ears,
pressing in as tightly as she could.
Enoch went for the others. Afterwards they all stayed back for dinner. I had
contrived a hurried meal, plain food, poor wines, but Irad got onto a talking jag, trying to
talk to both Adah and Zillah. Adah looked tired, Enoch shamefaced, only Methushael
jolly at all, sitting up beside me as usual, closer each time we sit together.
After the main course of dry meat and peas, Irad said to Zillah, opening what was
obviously a rehearsed gambit, „How‟s the flute boy? Any better?‟
Adah said wearily: „Why we bother I don‟t know.‟
Zillah says, „He tries, God bless him.‟
Before the others could respond, I said to Zillah, leaning around behind Mehujael:
„Does he still play?‟
Then Methushael said behind me to Enoch, his aversion to Zillah evident in his
voice: „She cannot be permitted to blaspheme here.‟
Zillah said, rolling her eyes up in mock alarm, „Only when he‟s good, dear. He‟s
awfully spoiled, you know. Absolutely ruined.‟ And Enoch looked over at her with
distaste and said, „She is Eve‟s guest.‟
Mehujael, who seemed in a kinder mood than usual, then said to Adah: „You‟ve
never been expected to bother, mother. Only a brother because of Zillah here.‟ I said to
Zillah, „Remember, dear, that he is a composer not a performer. He'll need
encouragement, if you ask me.'
Zillah looked stupid for an instant, the effect of her cosmetics really, then said:
„Cock, you mean?‟ I nodded and she said, „But that would be a pistol, my dear. I prefer a
man to be good with his hands, you see, so I can keep him busy. I can‟t stand workers
who take it easy.‟ Adah said to me in a shrill voice, Mehujael‟s banter having aroused
her, unfortunately, I thought then,
„She can talk!‟
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Enoch looked at me with a beseeching expression, evidently ghastly tired now, as
though what he desires rises from an emptiness in him, overpowering him. My mouth
was dry, no elixir here only sour wine, and the feeling of revulsion was overpowering, to
see such decrepitude in Adah as well as Enoch, already eating into Irad, relaxing even
Mehujael. I said to Zillah, „Bring the car.‟ I might be running. But it might be something
else, like another glimpse of the path, dark here in a dark place of bone idleness. Zillah
smirked at once:
„Right on, sweet.‟
A nod in a moment and then we slunk away from there, the last voice,
Methushael‟s, shouting in despair, „What about me?‟
You might well ask, Is this a new scenario?
I think this is real, I mean, real for me, Eve, who writes this. Zillah is real, Jobal,
Jubal and Tubalcain are real. But only during that night, awakening from a deep sleep,
did I see how my task is best served by taking Zillah from the city, to bring new life to
my Home, rather than stale news from the city. Tubalcain insisted on coming, as did
Jobal. We didn‟t press Jubal, who was jealous of both Tubalcain and Jobal, but I think in
the end he preferred his brothers and joined us.
I approached Jubal with interest and said, „Hi, big boy, how‟s the fluting?‟ He
looked bemused, wonderfully hungry, and put his arms around my shoulders and lay his
cheek against my neck, whispering,
„Wooden, love, beholding your charms. I expire in your arms, to see you so
unexpected.‟ Spoiled? Spoiling more likely, to be roasted before he goes off. Zillah
doesn‟t know what‟s good for her, as Adah observed, she having hand-reared Jubal to the
task of talking Zillah down. I said, „I‟ve got a replacement team. You can stand down,
Jubal.‟ I managed to get to Tubalcain before Zillah did, who was still tailing Jubal in the
hallway, and to whom I said: „Back on track, boy, OK? Shiftwork, but you‟ll get used to
it.‟ I left Zillah to work on Jobal.
Jubal is practical, which is a relief. There should be a lot of organising to do, but it
was hard to find things to organise, if you see what I mean. I knew the city could resist, if
not stop me. Jobal‟s memory was intermittent about the journey. Naamah had driven out
but Jobal had only followed the tracks back. So I sent him to find the track for us, to hunt
the perimeter of the city, looking out for mountains in the distance.
They were anxious days. I admit I allowed myself to be diverted from some very
serious considerations. I was aware that light darkened for me, Jubal resistant, Zillah
vague, Tubalcain dumb. I can think of them now, to my relief, but then I hungered for
elixir on tap, dinner parties, vicious chatter, half in love with decrepitude itself, like
finally losing all patience, and so all restraint, to be like an animal alone. But to find
one‟s own animality requires that you first conceive of animality itself, for only then
could you apply the concept and so know it. Only this insight sustained me then, that first
day, pacing the main room, sustaining me like a brightness in their darkness, as I fought
my desire to submit, to return, to step down, to try to stop again. Later, I was helped by
the confusion, for then I understood the confusion, like eating air or breathing milk. Elixir
is a switching mechanism, putting you on the down line.
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Only then did I realise that the boys were with us because they were
uncontaminated, Lamech abandoned, malice there useless to anyone. I wanted then to
barricade Zillah‟s house, and gear the boys for a fight. Zillah, too, was willing, but
always in the wrong clothes, fearful of getting hurt.
It surprised me that she had agreed so readily to come back Home with me. I
hadn‟t forgotten about her conviction that she had touched God, but the benefits greatly
outweighed the dangers. She will be my daughter there. She defers to me already, has
always done so, if you remember.
She said when I asked, second evening here, drinking whisky in her lounge, a
horrible sexy den, full of last week‟s handjives, „Anything you say, sweet. Get going
when you‟re ready, OK?‟ Her gestures are more expansive, not alone drunk but a true
dimension appearing, a queen denied a kingdom. Then I gave thought to her rivalry with
me. For a while I did waver in my decision, until I asked, „Rivalry for what?‟ She is
welcome to share-and-share-alike in my Home, fair for everyone if possible. So I said,
„We have to find a way, Zillah.‟ Her head lolled for an instant, then she caught herself up
and said, peering from her mascara caves: „Anyway suits me, dearie. I‟m easy.‟ Saying
which, I knew at once she was not. I retorted, „Since when has anything been easy for
you, Zillah?‟ She came over and hugged me, a curious lumpy experience, like meeting
yourself, but when did I last embrace a woman full frontal? She said, taking a speck from
the side of my nose with a long nail, „Since you came, Eve. Give them someone else to
look at.‟ I laughed to see her old wit and I chucked her chin, feeling the hardness of her
bone there, a dark sensation, that made me wonder all over again, about Hands of God
and what he left her, an overburdened daughter in place of his absence.
It made me think again of betrayal, but as ever it was difficult to place the
betrayal, how it occurs and who was most damaged. I said, „Mine will do more than look
at you, apple. Wait and see.‟
Zillah laughed again, „Shift-work?‟
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Thus far in the confusion. Unable to break Zany Zillah, unable to break Equable
Eve, either. Two slick chicks together, long legs, lean hips, small hard breasts, leather,
get it? More two mothers with their children on some eternal coffee break. We were
giddy, missing husbands, toddling the kids from time to time to keep our hands in, boys
raring to go, sticking their little dicks out at each other. Fun? They were mindless. By day
four, Zillah and I had about got through Jubal and Tubalcain, and we were tending to
spend time together alone. She was more racy on her own, no need to play up to the boys,
and I could ease myself into her company, like lowering yourself into a vat of hot oil,
how a fish might feel.
Zillah has an advantage in this: she has a daughter and so knew all the politics of
the relationship of mother and daughter, while I had mothered sons only. But Zillah could
not remember her mother at all, and I had no mother, so she treated me as Adah had
treated her, while I treated her as I treat all my sons.
There was cheek here that had to be punished, sharp slaps that took an effort, but
were rewarding. She was far more resistant than my sons, standing up to me to an extent
that surprised me, until I asked:
„No one forced you, Zillah.‟
She hung her head suddenly: „No one asked either, Eve.‟
„But forced, Zillah?‟
She slumped down, as though a conclusion had been reached: „No. Welcomed.‟
Zillah cried all that day and into the night. I kept her company, though there was
little I could do for her, letting the boys in to play for a while, Tubalcain a bit stupid in
the face of his mother‟s tears, sitting with her hand in his.
That is how it was when Jobal came back with the directions we should take. I
was still fully convinced that I was fulfilling a better task this way, seeing the good that
would come of it. I said to Zillah, snapping her out of her tears, 'Load the car now, Zillah.
Jobal will drive.' She went at once, tissue drying her face, sniffling, Tubalcain and Jobal
in train like lambs, and Jubal came over to me to say, „Harmony holds the balance
between melody and rhythm. I would prefer to make music, if I may.‟ I looked at him
closely, seeing him utterly unchanged despite his recent drastic experiences. He mistook
my look for a gaze of enquiry, and so continued: „Song uses harmony to conquer rhythm,
while dance strives to imitate melody, harmony in the latter a concern of instruments
rather than of music. Only as song does music find its way, hiding harmony so melody
can be alone for a while.‟ I said then, nodding to him as though I had only seen him now,
that even Adah dotes on his music, who hates him, „You fire away, boy. Go big, OK?‟
We were no sooner in the car than Jobal wet himself, and we all had to decamp
again, clean him up and go ourselves after all the fuss. Tubalcain said in the hall, his flies
already undone, his meaty hand rummaging in his pants, „Mammy says you‟ve got gangs
of kids, is that right?‟ I left him with a nod and went on. Zillah said to me, „Look, dear.
I‟ve had time to consider.‟
As a flash, the scenario came to me. One word, already mentioned: betrayal. I
said, suppressing my chagrin, „Cain?‟ This was his play. A long game, you see? All the
boundaries, each a step down in a degradation, each an unfolding of another world, a hell
on earth. You see then that I duck this insight, clutch at some kind of living, witnessed in
108
Zillah, as a remedy for what frightens me in this hell. Now this remedy is withdrawn and
a space appears, a place for another saviour.
I know you say to yourself, „Right! Got that.‟ But I see more. Why a saviour?
Why someone else to do what we each can do perfectly well for ourselves? Remember, I
said this was Cain‟s Game, the City‟s Game. It is a game of the fallen: let me step on
your back, chum.
I had stepped upon so many backs here. Was it now my turn to be walked on, the
final initiation into this society, Cain‟s people?
Zillah said, „No.‟ She was surprised that I mentioned Cain. „It‟s only that this
place is sacred to me. It was here that Hands of God came to me for the first time. I
worship that memory, Eve. I cannot leave it.‟
Strike off Zillah, and strike off Tubalcain. I said to Jobal, „Got any reservations,
Joker?‟
He looked up at me for the first time. „Do you know, you are bad news, lady. You
are one hell of a swarm of bees, a groping hand, a fiddler and a haver.‟ I heard Adah‟s
voice in that, so I said:
„Show me the way anyway, will you, Wilson?‟
He not only showed me, he drove me out to it, on the far side of the river. I got
out of the car and started walking, the land rising gradually towards wooded uplands.
Except for shoes, I had made no earnest preparations. I hadn‟t bothered even to
consider contingencies. Very careless or what? I started up that road like someone
abandoned, never once looking back at the city below, resigned in a way that comforted
me deeply. An evasion, you will reckon, as I did then, the blindness of the city remaining
in me. I walked under a high sky, clear up there, sun on my right, smelled flowers and
trees, heard birds. I remembered writing at the beginning of this Testament about how I
leap to see the sun and the moon, land and sky. I leaped there, but the more I responded
the more the source slipped to one side, as it were, and the other concern appeared: I had
forgotten something. The best I could work out was that it had to do with Adam. No, not
Adam‟s book – even then I knew that it had had no discernible influence so far. Adam‟s
curse, I thought then, and it is true that it was this realisation that upset me, more, I mean,
than the constant realisation that I had been given some bad news about Adam in the city,
which I had forgotten.
You see I leaped one way, slipped another. What would I tell Adam? Would it
worry him and make him worse that usual? Perhaps he won‟t care one way or the other,
as he usually does. How you think as you walk, plodding thoughts for worry. But also for
relief. I felt myself rising again out of the city, each step on this track taking me further
away. Nonetheless I was still confused, still worrying as I have shown, and above all
blind.
I won‟t harp on the blindness more than I have to. I won‟t say scales fell from my
eyes, because though I didn‟t know it at the time, the scales had already been removed. I
was blind up to a point, a trivial circumstance, then I was no longer blind. Don‟t
misunderstand me in this. I do not know anything, only that I can see a true path, which
109
has a destination inferior to its truth. For the sake of the truth upholding this destination I
am willing to encounter this local end, this attempt at stopping.
Then, however, I was still blind, on a road of petty self-serving worry, diverted, as
indifferent to Cain now as Zillah is. But this is not how my blindness manifested itself; if
a man appears not to want to meet you, there may be good reasons for this. No, what I
would call a darkness then blinded me. You saw how I tested this darkness in the Arena,
learning from Adah how to divest myself of skin. And how I jousted with the others on
this very point: confirming all of them in their ignorance even as I understood their
blindness, how Mehujael served, Irad stole, Enoch took, Adah suffered, and so on down
to Methushael the romancer, the only one of them hard-working.
The knowledge that I could go into the darkness should I wish, living there as I
live in the light, was new and more than a little unnerving, as you might appreciate,
though in fact more senses available there. Sight excludes all other perception but the
crudest, that supports it. Sound far away, smell close by, taste already within, touch
engrossing: in the dark, smell and taste rule, unknown languages yet. Sound surrenders to
scent and only the tongue touches, taste like eyes.
It was wonderful to glean this kind of knowledge from my experiences, but above
all this lay the awareness that I was interrogating principles now, when events were in my
situation the important factor. It was agreeable to find an intuition confirmed, that the
dark is a place too, as light is, but how does this on one hand change the fact of the curse,
and on the other guide me now, stepping it out towards Home?
How most of all approach again that which sickened me so violently, uncertain
now whether there was only one event, a curse enacted there in the city, or two events,
one in the city, Cain‟s, another above that(...)
I broke off then. Not the nausea. I sent for coffee. I went to the window and
looked out at the trees around us, not seeking inspiration as much as looking for a place
to hide a thought.
My curse.
Only symmetry. I see two curses, one in Cain and so one in me. Who else does he
relate to? It was as painful a thought then as it is now. Then I saw spurious reasoning,
feeling suddenly futile, stupidity rolling back towards me.
Why Cain, anyway? I thought, as a way out. Why assume an attractor? I mean,
why do I believe I was drawn to the city?
Jealousy. This word I have been thinking about. This is what I learned in the city.
Cain is the strange man, and I am jealous of those who already know him, most jealous of
Zillah, least jealous of Adah. I see him in all their faces and bodies, the trace of his
presence to them, like a memory. I see most of him in Adah, least of him in Zillah, and so
most jealous of imitations, which after all is what jealousy is, to be replaced.
But I ask myself, astounded: All this for a stranger? A man I have never met, that
I do not know, except in the signs of his presence in the city. I am truly amazed by all
this. I could search only for what I know. Something I have lost, here once now gone.
Even so, I am not convinced. Why jealousy? I came to the city on behalf of my husband,
Adam. I did not: I came to the city to meet a strange man.
I cry now. But he is known to me, I would know him if I saw him again.
110
It is not Cain.
111
I tired towards evening, almost at the forest, and found a rock to rest on, nibbling
a biscuit and drinking clean water from a nearby stream. It was sweet and clear,
anonymous as water always is, its virtue. The city was hidden from me by shoulders of
the mountain nearby, but a dark vapour hung over it, which I could see, an inert mass,
rank and slick.
A car came up the road, the first that day, and it stopped beside me. The offside
door swung open and a man leaned over on the bench-seat and asked:
„Need a ride, honey.‟
I hopped in beside him, glad to get a lift part of the way at least. He was pulling at
some silver paper, extracting blocks of chocolate. He leaned across me to check that the
door was locked, pressing down on my thighs as he tested the leverage there, winking,
„Can‟t be too sure now, can we?‟ Under way, he took another piece of chocolate, and
pushed the packet across to me, „Here, have some chocolate. Get cool, huh?‟ He gave out
a raucous cry in a strange chanting voice, a warcry, certainly a supportive cry like „Get it
off!‟
We sucked chocolate for a while, the road now entering the forest, cooler and
purer then. He said after we had settled down to the improved conditions, spanking along
a stretch of new blacktop, „You go far, babe?‟
„Home,‟ I said.
He leaned over to me and said, „And I might go a ways myself, now,
honeybunch.‟ His eyes were an honest green, active and appraising. He was unshaven,
dust clinging to his brow, nails chipped by manual labour. I smiled at him and eased him
off that way, and said „Do you farm hereabouts?‟ to ease him off some more. He
scratched his brow, raising his eyebrows, deeply corrugated forehead of a worrier,
finicky, all a-jitter. „Well, farm, do you say? Tush, ma‟am, I own the whole frigging lot
out there!‟ He looked at me with a wild expression, as though an unpleasant memory had
come to him, and went on: „I own all that your eye can see, baby.‟
I said promptly, taking another opportunity here, „Do you own the sky too?‟
He broke into a broad smile, his chagrin well enough hidden, except in his mouth,
which is red and deep, full lips that will not settle, and said:
„Well, there you are now,‟ throwing his arm out towards me, hand open. „Do you
know, I thought you would be the one to know, missis. But I will tell you in any case,
seeing that you got it so near. When I get up to the sky I will own it.‟
„And the stars?‟
He nodded grimly, hopelessly mad now:
„The stars too, sweetheart, as many as we can gather.‟
That quietened me, as it were. We were climbing now the long slope up to the
lower pass, still in the forest, evening coming on. I sat and watched the trees flash by,
first on one side, then on the other. I think I dozed once, slipping into it quietly, coming
out again as quietly. It was near dark before he spoke again, looking forward out the
window as he spoke, so that I could not see the expression on his face:
„Actually, when I say own I mean only that I have free access and use of my land
and seed.‟ He nodded at me now, face dropped, unusually. „It‟s enough for a living, do
you know. Why would I want more?‟
112
His words sounded so true. I leaned over and shook his arm companionably,
saying in a matey voice,
„What more could you want?‟
He raised the arm I had grasped and looked at it in a stupid, dumbfounded way,
shaking it from time to time, to make sure it was his arm. Then he touched the spot gently
with the fingers of his right hand, and said in a low voice: „A man could want
everything.‟ I smiled, looking forward at the last green light of a momentous day, and
shook his shoulder chummily, saying to him in a wry tone:
„With love provided?‟
He was looking at his shoulder now, where I had touched him. He was still
astounded, looking as though something had come alive in him. He stared at me with his
honest eyes and said, amazement evident in his voice:
„Hey, what gives, honey? Don‟t you want to have some fun? Aw, come on, babe.
Get big.‟
Strong emphasis on the last word here: I couldn‟t understand what he meant by
„big‟. I‟m a little wary now. So far I have managed the game with him, waiting for his
pitch, now my failure to understand what he means by „big‟ threw me off my stride, as it
were, with curious consequences.
I said, an instinct where nothing else would do:
„Big?‟
I trusted that he wasn‟t sure himself of the meaning of the word. As expected, he
defined the word for me, doing it promptly:
„Yeah, sure, babe,‟ rolling his lips out to reveal his teeth. „You know, get it off.
Get in and do it. Get on with it. Get on the track. Like that.‟ He looked at me in sudden
anxiety, „You understand that?‟ He leaned back, forcing out a hearty laugh, slapping his
hands flat on his thighs, a painful crack through his thin work-cloth trousers. Then raising
his right hand to me across his thighs he explained:
„Why, sure, babe, when I saw you sitting real pretty on that rock, why I thought to
myself, There‟s one fine girl there, old boy; what say we try it on? You know, come on
sweet-like. Yeah, I sure did that, didn‟t I, girl? You got to admit that now, don‟t you,
girl? I tried you very hard now, didn‟t I, girl? Then you want to talk about love, didn‟t
you, girl? Didn‟t want to have it big, did you, girl? You only want to go home to your old
man, don‟t you, girl? You want to take it back up to him, don‟t you, girl? Hey, pretty
babe, what‟s he got that I don‟t have, girl?‟
Funny time to think of it, but what is wrong with how Adam is now? This peasant
put me in mind of that, when he asked me what Adam had that he hadn‟t got. I said
mischievously, though intended kindly:
„Time to rest, hayseed.‟
His response was so theatrical that I knew he had been deeply hurt by my simple
truth. He threw up his hands, as though throwing something back over his head, his lips
now jutting forward, anger in his green eyes:
„Rich man, huh?‟ He pointed: „You a rich man‟s wife, hey?‟ He drew a line
between us and said, looking forward as though sighting for a marker at the kerb on his
side, „I don‟t mess with no rich man‟s woman, okay?‟
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The car left the road and followed a dirt track up to a small stone house. He said,
opening his door then pausing to speak: „No messing, okay? Understand that, lady.‟
He helped me from the car, hands on my shoulder, hands on my waist, hands on
my bottom. Contradiction? Let‟s be subtle here, this far in:
Signals: divergence of carrier waves. He says „no messing‟, so what does he do?
Remembers. Touching what he has touched before.
On my feet, I say, „Thanks, big boy. Let‟s have our beans now, Benboy.‟
He led the way, saying in a wearily singsong voice, end of working day, at last:
„Full cuisine here, queen: every comfort our civilisation can provide. Soft beds,
easy chairs, deep pile, low lights. Menu in five minutes, honey, drink now, kiss later,
okay cherry?'
He was gone. I was dizzy, like walking on air, a fresh feel to the house, well
provided for, pale yellow walls appropriate to the location, as I found out, the enclosure
here a comfort for the first time since leaving Home. He shouted from somewhere,
„Room on the left, honey. Can‟s miss it. Some clothes in there, if you like dress for
dinner.‟ Shower, too, I found out. I laid my dirty clothes on a chair, boots underneath, and
got myself clean and sweet. The dresses were all too small for me, so I made do with a
silken wrap, securing it at my waist, canvas slippers for my feet.
A drink waited for me, so dry it tapped my coccyx. I sucked lemon as I chose
from the menu, going for the trout immediately, sure to be fresh out here. I had just
tipped the last of that first drink when he reappeared, black shirt with loud white stitch
edging, trousers with a thick black grid on a glaring blue. He has trouble balancing on his
cowboy boots, because of the narrow heels. Seeing me over by the table, he looked me up
and down frankly and said appreciatively: „You sure are a handful, honey. Wish I had the
money.‟ He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes open theatrically again, green eyes
smiling with fun, then said, „Shouldn‟t say that, should I, baby? Your kind think money is
vulgar.‟
He had come closer so that the sudden mean tone in his last remark threatened the
show. Again I had failed to understand a signal. I mouthed the only word that seemed to
point the way:
„Nothing wrong with money if love backs it up, is there, George?‟
„More like money backing you up, if you ask me, precious.‟ He was momentarily
glum, the raised his arms to indicate merriment. „Ready for another, love?‟ I was glad to
see that he had cleaned his hands thoroughly, and filed the worst damage to his nails.
Shows he can keep his horns in. Nails tell.
I said, „Sure, let‟s.‟ Another hit to my body then we got onto the whisky, sitting
about casually, talking with generous emphasis, smell of cooking food coming in not
long after, making both of us very expectant, hot in the bum. We did talk, but as often
silent, as though diverted by something trying to attract our attention. I was aware that
both of us had this experience: judging by his behaviour, we were both recalling
memories, they coming in slowly, reluctance on our part, the word „different‟ suddenly in
my mind. A strong presence, the word itself as though spoken to me, DIFFERENT, but
its meaning like a congestion ahead, changing lanes or entering a new place, with new
rules, requiring effort on my part, no guarantees unfortunately out here.
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The word pointed to difference. Do you see this? Once the word came to me, then
all the strangeness of my recent history became apparent, like shadows revealed by a
beam of light.
He said at one point, long finger jutting out from the tumbler in demonstration,
„They used to say round here, years ago, mind you, that madness was an act of kindness
for some. My mamma used to say that the mind has its means.‟
We had been talking about the virtue of drugs, how caffeine brightened while
alcohol dimmed. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask about the elixir of the city, but I
suddenly realised that I didn‟t know him. His reference to his mother concentrated my
mind wonderfully, the awareness that he had a mother lowering him in my estimation. I
wondered then if the world contained only sons, that is excepting my Adam. If so, then
the world contained many mothers.
I replied, we had eaten by then, a hurried meal determined by hunger, and were
enjoying some brandy with our coffee, „And the will, Bill?‟
He toasted me cheerily, careless in his cups, a man who sought to escape,
shooting his mouth off for the sake of hearing himself speak, as though he found a trace
there of another voice:
„Where there‟s a bill there‟s a way!‟
I laughed at his pun, punning my play on words. An enjoyable evening, quiet and
chatty after all the tendentiousness of the city. The house is very modest, only three
bedrooms, compact rooms, for sleeping only, as though designed for children. The
parlour is very pleasant, though, a cottage feeling, flowers in a garden outside, forest
looming across the path. I have become aware of birdsong, especially a robin that sings in
the garden in the evening, who comes to the window at times during the day to see what I
am doing, sitting at this dining table, the thick cover rolled back to clear a space for my
paper.
I want to think about finding a memory, why this man finds a memory in my
body, but I find instead that I concern myself with strangeness and difference. It is very
quiet here, even intensely quiet, during the day while he is out working his land, raising
grain and vegetables, harvesting fruit and making wine. The crowns of the trees sway in
the wind, bask in the sun, welcome rain. All flowers look to the sun. All birds study the
ground from the air. They also fly for pleasure, which astonishes me for some reason. To
see doves tip up and glide away, wings tense for adjustment, and whizz down until they
lose control or bank for another glide, to see the hawks and crows give up their work to
suddenly flutter their wings and glide away down the wind. Then I see this excess in the
flowers and trees, colour, grace, economy, but also a filling of space, a curvature sought
to overcome polarity, how a tree built of segments can yet sweep. And I see it further in
how nature softens all corners, see how it seeks to be a surface only, both soft and
transparent, like a reflection. Like water, I realise now, seeing the stream flash over a bed
of stone in the garden outside, the water permitting my vision of the stones, keeping the
stones clear for view.
You may ask, where is the strangeness, the difference in all this? I know they are
in me, but then I am not natural, but I witness in nature‟s task of equilibrium how the
remainder has effect itself, seeing that the initial state of nature will not be the final state,
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though I can see no such destination in sight. I wondered then if nature could ever know
itself, or understand difference. Something, a power or a motion escapes nature at every
instant, the excess I witness, but also a potential. We can know more than nature. The
strange is our first experience of this potential in nature, between rotting fruit and
germinating seed, for instance. We can make connections: we witness to strangeness at
every instance, the fact of our consciousness the power to integrate this strangeness easily
by acknowledging our awareness of it. We use words mostly to do this, but there is
another way:
Who goes ahead to prepare the way? An immensity, I agree, when you think
about it, prepared for anything. Like a being with a language, so he can point out the way
to go to all things, mere existence the criterion for literacy. Is it within or without?
I readily admit that these thoughts verge on the paranoid. But I am thinking about
strangeness and difference, after all, so what can you expect other than these outrageous
abstractions? You see how I try to interpose a barrier: surface for nature, God for us? Yet
there must be a connection, a bridge, something shared between differences. (I smile at
my inadvertent pun.) Knowledge of difference is our only bridge now, but if we look we
can see another bridge, how events are dovetailed, how disparate events can add up
significantly, how will fulfils.
The last words made me wry. I have spent two weeks here thinking about the
strange and end up repeating his last words to me: „Where there‟s a will there‟s a way.‟
Such anguish then. Am I so impressionable after all, that the first man I meet can
tell me what to think? Like having a baby: he puts something small in you and later you
give birth to a magnified copy of it. I was bitter for a while, and even wondered if Adam
had led me on like that. It was a drab time, tainted with unworthiness, haunted by a dark
wave rolling towards me, the revelation of my true ignorance. I was crying by then, at
this table as it happens, a sheer misery, wet and dark, that would still be here if I had not
seen that I was remembering not learning.
A voice said in my memory, softly, brave, though apprehensive: „Where there‟s a
will there‟s a way.‟ And it was then that I grasped difference, knowing at once that the
speaker had done something which made a difference, and that I knew what this was. But
could I get it back then? However hard I tried I could only hear a word echo: sill rill bill
pill mill nil lill zill will dill till fill hill kill jill gill quill. It threatened to become a chant,
of my own devising, because its very inanity charmed me, a refuge from something
worse.
You are aware that I am now writing after the event. I hadn‟t intended to
dramatise it so much, but my feelings during the crisis are important too, as you can
appreciate. My feelings are as though water borne, quick in response, otherwise placid.
While I watched for the familiar and the unexpected, I examined the words he had used,
too, not mine alone. He had suggested delusion as a refuge from what can in this case
only be a truth, but delusion is uncomfortable, an energy or power wasted. I try not to
delude myself. I see a curse, but see something brighter behind that curse, that was
annulled by the curse, could not be annulled. Why delude myself, knowing this? We have
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achieved something by our own effort, a power in us augmented as a consequence, the
increase begrudged. I know, too, that someone, another person, showed me the way.
Do I understand this by reasoning or is this another memory? As one memory
grows here, does another, and greater, memory grow up behind it, its light pouring
forward over the darkness that comes about me, closer every day? I fear delusion, of
course, but delusion is always familiar, too familiar, while here I see something as though
for the first time. You see that I relish the experience, the pure unfolding of memory,
blind copy, having deepest curiosity satisfied, my curiosity about myself. But I watched
its approach with dismay, seeing only the darkness then, grief in reserve, pain all set to
go, nerve raw, piddling about, as I believed then, with thoughts about abstractions, but –
and here I touch that paranoia again – were not these abstractions guides also? Did they
not alert me to my situation, and provide me with a means to attend to it?
Acknowledge difference. I decided to do that this evening, over dinner. I said to
him after some amiable chatter about farming, „Do I know you, Hugh?‟ He started at this;
I realised I had breached some rural code about direct questions, and he overcame his
shock quickly and smacked the table and shouted, „If you knew me, baby, do you think
you would be sitting here with me now!‟ That startled me, until he began a wild laugh,
when I knew it was just another empty expression he used. A vacant man, yes? „Do you
know me, then, Ben?‟ He quietened in a vicious way, pent up power, and instead went
bashful and leaned over and caught my wrist, saying, „Shucks, ma‟am, I‟ve known only
you since I saw you first.‟
His hand is a hand of bone, a bird‟s claw, that fastens on to you. I wasn‟t sure if
he was pulling me towards him or drawing himself towards me. I said, „When, Sven?‟ He
suffered a small frenzy, his eyes unfocused, which brought him to his knees at my side,
saying: „If you were on a rock, baby, do you think I‟d roll? If you were on the block,
baby, do you think I‟d stroll? If you were on a jock, baby, would I keep control? If you
were on a dock, baby, would I be a troll?‟ I scrutinised him closely. He appeared to be
serious about his nonsense, so I said,
„Only then, Ken?‟
He began a loud bawling, like a child in abandonment, and he washed his hands in
his tears, skin soon glistening wet in the houselight. I could not interpret this gesture;
pain, yes, but much more here, more specific. This went on until I prodded his shoulder,
he pushing back in testiness, and asked him what he was going on with:
„If I was on a rock you would be too small, baby. If I was a bird you would be too
slow, sister. If I was on a cloud you would be too heavy, girl. If I was on a star you would
be too dark, sugar.‟
It was far too complex to explain, obviously, like sightings on a stormy night, but
I said, taking up the last point out of convenience: „Are you a star, Yar?‟ He can‟t make
irony at all, poor man, so he must thresh through all his hypocrisies:
„Love by night, smile at dawn, laugh by day, cry at eve, lady. Crying beats loving
too soon. Crying beats loving too soon!‟ He repeats with a shout, looking mad again, as I
had once seen before, when he had dreamed of conquering stars. Now, however, he was
expressing an experience, that was obvious in what he said: only the innocent,
unfortunately, want the opposite, to love first. So I ask, grasping the code now, music of
necessity must hide its beginnings, most subject to time:
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„Who loves who, Lew?‟
So the tiresome litany went on, I conscious that the food was getting cold, the
wine sour:
As the doorbell is to the man in the moon,
So also is clipboards to stew, far away,
I’m afraid.
For sticky hair and a fixed grin
Could never turn any organ-grinder’s,
I’m afraid,
too.
„Are you shy, smallfry?‟
Hey hey out there!
You want to join us here?
Okay okay just sing along here
Right down on the line:
Hey! Hey! Altogether!
COME ON OVER TO MY PLACE!
I lost patience and told him to sit up to the table again. He had taken all this
perfectly seriously, as I cautioned earlier, and seem settled to go on like this for ever. I
decided to break this pattern as soon as I perceived it, saying smartly:
„Is your name Cain?‟
No supersensible knowledge, as you might fear, simple deduction instead: he
wasn‟t Hands of God, he wasn‟t in the least more than a son, and he had news for me, I
was sure.
I write in depletion, as you may have noticed, like an interest used up, another in
preparation, hopefully. Having uttered his name, I felt a task completed, a curiosity
satisfied, an expectation disappointed.
This was Cain: „Well, it sure ain‟t Sam, ma‟am!‟ You think that this is another
role, like those of Seth and Enoch, Lamech and Adah, that somewhere in there a real
being will step forward, a comforting bearer of the sad tidings, don‟t you?
So I rested in trepidation, a coldness following the darkness, filled with an urge to
be elsewhere, doing something altogether different. I was under considerable strain then,
you understand, and the desire was so strong that I wished I was elsewhere: suddenly a
voice said, as it were unrolling before me, saying so cunningly, „A way needs a clearing,
woman.‟ So quiet was the room that the voice pierced me, I watching Cain‟s face
working as he chewed up a piece of crust, and I at first thought that this was information,
a piece of advice, about setting off again Home. Then I was electrified to discover that
this was a memory, an explanation once to explain everything, now alas a copy, context
not available yet. But coming, I felt, like a light streaming in from an open door, the
visitor the only shadow there. That is how I saw it then, a door opening, naively, but it
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nonetheless helped me bear with the moment Cain finally got around to speaking again,
to concentrate on what he was trying to say:
„You got religion, babe?‟
I shrugged, annoyed by the irrelevancy, and said, „I have two prophets, Cain.‟ He
jerked his shoulders uncomfortably, the loud checks of his trousers as though grating
together with screetches, and said in a sulky voice, „Sure thing, honey. Some of us ain‟t
even got that, sweets. Okay?‟ He paused. „Then what would you say if I told you that
God asks questions, honeybunch?‟
The silence was palpable. Cain‟s eyes blazed at me, honest green light there, but
red-rimmed eyes like fire-fronts, something burning up that a another greater might be
seen. Even then I knew that two memories collided in my experience of Cain‟s selfconsuming eyes, his own identity a fuel to maintain the memory of something those eyes
had once seen. Reading those eyes enabled my memories come loose, but freed
simultaneously, as though linked by a third memory. In one memory I see blood pour
from his eyes; in the other memory, his eyes spin, each on its own centre, a lesson there
utterly beyond my comprehension, even now, each eye flashing off sharp white lights
edged by deep darkness. But two eyes: is one disc not enough? Then I saw only the
spinning eyes, then Cain‟s green eyes again, still blazing with anger as he waited for my
response, like a strict schoolmaster testing knowledge.
„We must have answers, Cain. Knowledge that God lacks.‟
He jumped to his feet and reached his hands towards me, at once in his role here
and also another figure, remote, reaching for that difference I wrote about yesterday. A
concatenation here too, an idea pursued till it reveals its origin, not alone the gesture of
Cain, anger here becoming amazed joy that bears a duplicity, that is a false joy, masking
guilt, but also in a similar way in the action of my sight, how I see: my curiosity bearing a
memory of something worth looking at. He clicked his fingers and shouted, „Garn, I
knew it, honey, I just knew it. You ain‟t just a goodlooker, babe, but you sure are smart
too!‟ He halloed out loud, like a shark finding a good accountant, and sang out raucously
I’m not just a bum, chum, I got brains too.
I’m not just for fun, son, I got aims too,
I’m not just a dress, Fess, I got speeches too.
I’m not just a front, runt, I got corners too.
After all the yelling, the silence seemed slow to come, a constant grinding of cloth as he
rubbed himself down afterwards, brushing off all traces of his speech. An unworthy
voice, he believes, a peasant‟s whine, full of someone else‟s words. But I persisted, trying
to get behind the novelties, and asked:
„What‟s new, Andrew?‟
At his suggestion we went and sat on the little settee in the parlour, drinking thin
port before our coffee. He crossed his legs, arranged his hands on the wide check of his
trousers, froze there, determined to behave with some decorum now, hands meaty, red
and nicked from work. He smelled strongly of stale sweat and sour saliva, the ear beside
me clogged with dried eczema. His voice rasped as he spoke, like bone grinding down,
the dimmest part causing greatest irritation:
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NEW TODAY! Who’s to say?
Twenty four more days to go!
COME THAT DAY! Who’s to stay?
Twenty four more miles to go!
TAKE THIS WAY! Who’s afraid?
Twenty four more breaths to go!
PUSH TO PLAY! Who’s to pray?
Twenty four more shows to go!
I did listen to him, matching his seriousness as best I could, but I could only say
„Pardon?‟ when he finished, the evasion palpable. He got up and left the room. He
returned in a moment with a dog in his arms, that whimpered in extreme fear. Catching
the hind legs, he swung the dog‟s head against the chimney breast, smashing it open in a
gout of blood and brains. He dropped the twitching animal on to the floor, rubbing his
spattered clothes fussily, a man moving faster than he wants to, but the job done now
anyway. He looked at me intently, eyes shining, and said pointing over behind him,
„There. Ma‟am. And good night to you.‟
Not irony. He assumed I will sleep deeply in my bed, as he believes I always do,
sleeping the sleep of the Dead like him. Before he left the room, I looked at the broken
animal closely, seeing the blood most clearly, glistening in the light as it flowed out, and
said to him: „Not Adam, surely?‟ He went and hawked and spat into the fire, a wretched
gizzling sputter on the coals. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spreading
blood across the lower part of his face, submerging his unstable lips, so his eyes shone all
the more, and said, nodding to me:
„Then you‟ll have to put up with him, sugar, is all.‟
I am relieved now, both for having completed a difficult account and for having
completed my task down here. I hope the account is true for you, in the way my question
was answered by Cain, that you discover all there is to learn there, but without believing
for a moment that it is anything like the whole truth.
That said, I can look forward now to my return to Home, mission completed,
Adam abed forever.
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I‟m afraid there is worse to tell you. I thought my tale was complete, happy-everafters. Not so.
The first sign of this appeared the following morning, a loud honking in the
clearing, a large red coach backing in, Lamech driving, Adah waving, all the others just
staring out, looking thoroughly sick. Adah screams, pointing at me:
„Look who‟s here!‟
They stumbled out of the coach, stiff, the older ones showing signs of withdrawal
already, and my very first thought signalled dread at being held up by them. They were so
worn down, as though being shaped to small boxes. Like an evacuation, see Cain‟s mark
in them: the vacancy sought, an absence too, but an absence before a picture only ever
coming into view for his descendants. They hold back from Cain‟s knowledge, though
dreadfully curious, seeing in his face the madness induced by the experience that
rendered that knowledge. Mehujael said, looking very liverish, „Countess, we have you at
Home already, we here to see how Cain is now.‟ Zillah bypassed him and came to me
arms open, „Every day I see you, dear, is a day greater for me, which I keep before me for
ever.‟ Enoch said, passing me with a nosy, aggressive air as he looked down the hall into
the kitchen, 'Where's dada?'
I said to them all, „I‟m just on my way out, my dears, final lap.‟ I went up and put
on the road clothes, smell of dust, sunburned sweat still clinging. I felt strongly that there
was something else to take. Suddenly I remembered Adam‟s book. It was Adam‟s book,
after all, and had to be returned to him.
I was agitated then, torn between the desire to go on Home and the obligation to
get the book back for him. It would be necessary to speak to Enoch. Downstairs was in
turmoil, Adah screaming in the kitchen, the incisive tones of Irad in the parlour, a hand
slapping wood hard in there by way of emphasis. Jobal and Tubalcain were slouched in
the hall, hands dug in their pockets, glaring at me as though I had interrupted a serious
conversation. I chucked them both under the chin to show them, and went back and said
to Adah: „Those kids are useless, you know, Adah, can‟t even get their hands out of their
pockets now.‟ Jubal turned to me with a smile, hand out, and said:
„With some interval always another note, Lady Eve. My mother thinks only of the
labour, never of the end.‟
Adah screamed at him, „Never a slut, though. Can‟t think where you got that
from, Jubal. JUBAL ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?‟ I said in the small gap available
here: „Enoch with some urgency,‟ but Jubal turned to his mother and said, „Uncle Dick
told me, and if Dick knows it then I can tell you that I don‟t...‟
In the parlour I asked Methushael, who was fidgeting by the door, eager to slip
out and play in the hall with the other lads, „What glows, sunshine?‟ The atmosphere in
the room surprised me, dark with an unholy terror. Methushael said in reply, cocking his
head back towards the table, „Some day, no doubt, Lady.‟ Lamech said to the others at
the table, unaware of my presence in the room: `‟How can you hold on? It‟s worse further
down.‟ Irad said, as though this was a familiar argument: „Not if you settle down to
family life, Lamech, and let yourself spread out.‟ Then Lamech saw me, and he said,
staring at me with an undefinable expression, between genuine hatred and an
overpowering fascination, between pinning up and pinning down, „One seed gives you
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five, zeros for ever.‟ I said to him, before anyone else could get in, „One seed proves all
seed, one life proves all lives, buster.‟ To Zillah I said, „Sight of blood I leave you,
sweetest.‟ And Mehujael said to Lamech,
„No road without an ending, grandson. You‟re on the way already, you see,
moving along with the rest of us.‟ I said on the tail of this, favouring Irad for his
rationality, at least, speaking loudly, „Beguile your time here, I‟m sure, but Enoch is of
immediate concern to you, no?‟
Irad said promptly, „Cain. We await his return, gracious lady.‟ And Lamech
reacted by saying, „And only his return, you hear?‟ I left the room at once and went
upstairs. The corridor leading to Cain‟s room is in any case dark, so that when I opened
the door I went from dark to dark, and stood inside this place – I had been curious about
it anyway – hearing Enoch saying,
„as is to me, you hear, dad? If you thing I brung shame on you, then I can only say
that if the real fruit ever gets trout then you will have a lot of exclaiming to do. Adah is
stupid now, daddy, but she was not always so stupid. She remembers.‟ I moved forward
slowly towards his voice, then a low light from a small pan, charcoal glowing, and I came
to see Enoch standing before his father, hands outstretched. Cain sat on a hard-backed
chair, a table beside, a bottle of whisky and a glass at his elbow. As I watched he took the
glass up in hand and poured some of the liquid into his mouth, his eyes tracking away
from son to me. He seemed more weary than drunk, cringing a little from Enoch. He said,
as though repeating a lesson, „What else can she remember, Enoch, that she does not
already reveal?‟ Now Enoch cringed, a lesson he will surely forget again, and I said,
peremptory on purpose, ready for anything in my street clothes:
„Give me Adam‟s book, at once.‟
Enoch spun around, alarmed, trying to guess how much I had heard, and said,
struggling now between my attention, riding him, and something he now realised I bore,
something dark, where being ridden had unheard of connotations, like extraction, or
consumption, or a real evacuation, great loss but long anticipated – you see how well I
had measured Enoch, his urge to surrender himself.
„A mistake, miss, I‟m sorry. To say what he said, I mean. About stars, if you
remember. About madness, too, it comes to me. What of the Word of God you say, no
doubt, too. Yes,‟ Cain interrupted Enoch, raising his glass to forestall him:
„No words here, son. Not in my house, as I have told you before.‟ He swung his
glass towards me and closed one eye, the better to see me, no doubt, and said, „Not to a
lady, moreover, you pup!‟ Cain‟s voice appeared to cut into Enoch, like a knife into a
roast. He quailed and gestured weakly with his right hand, saying in an insinuating tone:
„This lady cooks, dad.‟
Cain filled his glass, expertly in that gloom, took a sup, then laughed sarcastically
and said, „As if you knew what cutting is, you wanker.‟ Enoch fumbled and then his
trousers dropped to his ankles. „She saw for herself, dad. I‟m telling you.‟
I said into this bombshell. „But not you, Cain, I‟m afraid. A new hope I cannot yet
begin to grasp. Another can come. The good man.‟ Cain shrugged this off, but looked
away from me, even so. Enoch said, „How can you look to goodness, miss? Goodness is
without hands.‟ Cain said, judicious after a pause to digest what his son had said, „A
taker, too, honeybunch. I‟ll say that for you, chicken, you don‟t half want God‟s hand on
you too.‟ Turned to Enoch and continued, „You see here, son, that this was dreamed up
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before Zillah‟s time. You are right to call goodness handless, though. How the woman
loved to be embraced failed you, on the other hand, leaving her to do the embracing. If
the woman embraces you she will lose goodness.‟
I found that so astute that I involuntarily said, „Hear, hear.‟ But then another
thought: Goodness gives a bearing, frees you on the way. I said then, the dull red air
suddenly congealing as my first sound came on the air:
„You don‟t know goodness until you enter into it.‟ I paused to see who was
listening. Both were, which gratified me in a novel way, and I think at that instant I
experienced love, like an impartation, like an intelligence encountering another
intelligence, the flashes of recognition, I mean. So I said to ease them as best I could:
„Goodness cannot be traduced. It remains true once given. I give you both my
love.‟
Enoch looked closely at me, shrewd in that harmless way of his, and asked, „Like
a mother, you mean, Eve?‟ I smiled, seeing that temptation at once, and said, „No, not
kindness, nit. Remorseless, if you can figure that. Can you?‟ I waited, watching him as he
excogitated like a fish, opening then closing his mouth. Finally, he said,
„Sustain.‟
I said to Cain, „Adam‟s book, please. Now.‟
Cain drew it from a bag at his side and handed it over. He pointed to it as I drew it
towards me, saying, „We just recovered it for the esteemed Adam, and set the pages anew
for his enjoyment, a pleasure for ever.‟
They had used materials from the tree, bark, leaf, wood and juice. The book
sparked, now yellow as for sin, red as for pain, green as for sickness, blue as for heat,
silver for joy, gold for justice. The leaves had been reset in a foamy white substance, the
letters like stepping stones, to be followed closely. The book opened easily now, lying
flat at your opening, leaving your hands free.
Cain said to Enoch, „A beautiful piece of work, son. So well put together, easily
handled, open flat out anytime, full of new things, a treasure.‟
I said to Cain, „I see goodness in this. A happiness added here.‟
Cain said, „I once saw a book and was afterwards separated from it for ever. I
would not wish that frustration on Adam. This book will last forever, I tell you, though
none can read it.‟
Enoch turned to relieve a tension in himself, and Cain said to him, in a gentle
voice, „You run along now, son. Eve and your father have some private business to
transact now.‟
The door closed audibly at my back. I found a chair over beside the little coal,
vaguely heated by it, a comfort I had to risk. Cain reached into his pocket, then stepped
over to me and put a bar of chocolate in my hand. „There,‟ he said, with a quick kindly
expression, „that‟s better than any old drink. You just suck it now, sweetheart.‟
I sucked the chocolate as instructed. The coal propagated a scent, as of a burnt oil
on one hand, so acrid and stinging, but otherwise also extremely delicate, like an
entrancement, coaching to stay. It cleared my head wonderfully. I could hear the wind
outside in the trees, call of birds, Adah shouting again, Zillah crying. I said, „Whatever
else, Cain, I am returning Home today.‟
„Who would keep you?‟ he replied at once, making me suspect that this was
another gambit: what is outside Cain‟s door now?
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There was nothing to help me then, except what I have gained already, so I said,
„A secret keeps me, Cain. Isn‟t that right?‟
He shook his head, „No. Not a secret, babe, only what was divulged here. Like
what you have learned here.‟
Cain had become menacing, but I counted on this being a new role for him, a new
strategy, purpose as yet unknown to me. Candour was best, finding the appropriate
context somewhat difficult at first until I realised that the partiality of the image would
serve best. I said, the language I used twisting in me, in my body, a giddy unease,
gloomy,
„You live a lie, Clive. Your lie, Earl. With your lie you infect your whole family.
Tell them what you did, Sid, and let the devil take the hindmost.‟
I put the book back into the case they had made for it, of the strongest steel,
invisible hinges, bar lock. It was not heavy in my arms as I had expected. I stood up, I got
that scent again, ascerbic here, compelling there, and my head cleared again. I
remembered the chocolate, in my pocket, and I broke off some and sucked on it. As I got
to the door, Cain said at my back:
„Don‟t you think I have tried, pussy?‟
I stopped and considered, getting the most terrific buzz from the box in my
embrace, and turned back to Cain and said:
„Tough luck, Buck. So you try again, Cain.‟
Enoch stood in the corridor, behind him Methushael, eyes agoggle. I said to
Methushael, „Steal a car, John, we must make tracks now.‟ I had words for Enoch, but in
seeking the appropriate tone, the words flew away and I was left looking at him looking
at me. Nonplussed, I tapped his shoulder and went down the corridor in Methushael‟s
wake.
I moved then as though knee deep in dread, getting darker yet. My mouth was
open and I could not close it. The box in my arms grew hot and heavy, but I carried it for
Adam‟s sake, not mine – I was a servant to an obligation in this and so made the effort.
The lapse of memory troubled me, like a thread broken, the way lost.
Then I knew that I moved in darkness, hiding myself in another‟s service, Adam‟s
for the sake of an unintelligible object, to know what a book is not to know what a book
means. This must be true of all things, both a form, if you like, and a nature; a nature
different from form. This is the secret of Adam‟s book, we know it is a book, but we
cannot read the book. The book, you see, performs its text, and so all things perform their
natures. But as a book performs, so also all things perform for their creators only. Enoch
reads Enoch‟s book, but God reads Adam‟s book.
Here I hide myself, a guardian of that knowledge of the secret of Adam‟s book,
the Word of God surely. This knowledge does not dissolve the darkness about me, rather
I feel suspect, some evasion here, and I see light and dark side by side, like mirrors,
origins elsewhere. I laid the book on the table, beside Zillah, and looked at the expectant
faces around the table, and said, pointing back at Enoch, now coming into the parlour,
„Truth will never go away, brethren. Rest content in that.‟
Zillah put her hand around my right thigh, her hand coming to splay itself up the
front of my leg. „What a girl, lads, eh,‟ Mehujael said, looking up at me, ignoring Zillah‟s
chatter, „Once it comes, you mean.‟ I tousled Zillah‟s stiff hair, ran my nail over the ridge
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and down. Her thumb twitched from thigh to thigh at my crotch, which irritated me
suddenly, seeing just how impossible Zillah was, as ignorant of a woman‟s body as of a
man‟s.
Lamech put his glass down and said across to Irad, „Dykes retain water,
greatgrandfather, and water does not die from being still.‟
I said to Zillah, „So far reached the Hand of God, eh.‟ She went still, her arm
falling away from my leg. I squeezed the thin flesh of her shoulder, seeing her breasts
pendulant by means of a loose neckline, and added,
„It would reach a man certainly, Zillah. Try and see, dear.‟ I looked over at Enoch
again, aware that Zillah had seen him naked, had seen the size and shape of him entire.
Zillah was looking at her right hand. Irad said, testily, speaking to me but
throwing a wary glance at Lamech,
„That‟s not much of a help, really, Eve. I mean, tell us something we don‟t know,
will you.‟
The drag I felt in my legs still was draining me. I could see no spare chair, so I
leaned on the table, hands fisted for support. I had to shake my head to clear it of the
darkness there. I could only say to all of them, the truth as I understood it:
„I came with a question, looking for an answer, not a problem. I am not marked by
Cain.‟ Methushael appeared at my left shoulder and nodded once. I smiled for him,
noticing that Zillah was over talking to Enoch, trying to feel him up. I took the box of
Adam‟s book into my arms and said to Methushael, „I‟ll be out in a moment. You go
ahead, love.‟ Adah was still screaming at Jubal in the kitchen, wagging her forefinger at
him now. I said loudly, touching Adah‟s arm:
„Bewail the loss of a son, Adah.‟
I shot my eyes from Jubal to the door and he understood at once, waiting only for
me to distract Adah so he could fly the room. She turned on me immediately, looking
very cross indeed, screaming at me:
„Huh! He came back the last time, hussy. He knows what‟s good for him.‟
I thought at first it was the nausea, but soon realised that only my head was
affected this time, the same twists and torments, dark and light mixed furiously without
absorption one of the other, but only in my mind. Not returning was the obvious import
of Adah‟s words for me, why bewailing occurs. An almighty fear just then, sensing too
late the danger in Adah, a horrible obvious threat that I simply could not focus. A
disposition if you will.
Then it came to me in a very strange way. I saw that Adah struggled endlessly to
expunge an impurity, like a taint in the blood of her children, a second son because she
was losing patience, not because she didn‟t know any better. Second son was the obvious
import here, the fault here different, cupidity over duty.
Fine, I thought, still looking at Adah, both of us appearing stupid to an onlooker I
daresay, then I saw almost simultaneously, first, the Adah was the daughter of the Hands
of God, of that seed, and second that duty was love then, like a candle in the dark. Should
I have cried then? I still don‟t know for sure. But Adah was so different in so many ways.
She had cares and obsessions totally alien to me, unimaginable pressure on her at all
times. I could cry for Zillah, feel her tremoring hands on my skin, trying to touch her
breasts to me, to give herself a sense of reality. You see? Who would hold Zillah? Who
could after Hands of God had been over her?
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But Adah was another matter. She hits those who cry in her presence, afraid of
tears though capable of crying even so. It makes everything so trying for her, her
irritation a constant source of arousal, lover after lover put aside in depletion. The word
here is „distillation‟, an alchemy of blood, a process of purification, the man that which is
purified by the blood of the woman.
Weird, was my first thought, but then I realised that Lamech‟s son would be
almost purely of my blood, Adam‟s blood a receding remainder, on the outskirts of
decimal numbers always, just like Cain‟s.
These thoughts took time, as you might expect, and we stood there like a tableau,
left arm cradling the book, my right hand on Adah‟s arm, her mouth open, eyes uncertain,
and I said,
„Cain‟s madness is his way of keeping in touch, sweetheart.‟
The problem of difference is acute only in the matter of an evil. We overcome
difference by acknowledgement, a game of signs, and take upon ourselves the difference
as the strain of consciousness. But if we acknowledge evil, then it partakes of this strain
in us, and permits it to shape us. This is the wrong in doing evil, you permit then by
acknowledgement of evil the entry of evil into you, informing you like an infection,
permitting evil now by will.
Adah replied tartly, the flesh of her arm quivering with the force of her temper,
„Cain likes his own company only. Or haven‟t you noticed, Eve?‟
My eyes were following Jubal as he went down the hall past the corner-boys and
out to the car, waiting for us in the sunshine. Adah said, pulling away from my grasp: „I
thought he loved Zillah, you know. But he loves someone else, someone far away.‟ I
waited until Jubal was in the car before moving away from Adah, saying as a distraction
to my departure,
„Like a banishment, Adah dear, to be sent away for ever from your Home.‟
I shuddered as I walked, feeling how curse could be laid on curse, but with what
limit? Tubalcain said in the hall, ankles crossed, leaning against the wall, „A jolly rouseup, eh, dearie.‟ Jobal sniggered, and I reactively clipped his ear, eliciting a howl of pain.
To Tubalcain I said, „They‟re still waiting for you to show up, sonny.‟ Though I
welcomed the sunlight in the yard, I still felt encumbered by the weight dragging my
body, the darkness still in me. You might think I was reluctant to leave the company of
the girls, but I assure you that I was conscious of taking treasures from that city, eager to
leave, held only by a thread of memory, a final revelation already in me. I did not want
this memory, afraid it might keep me here in Cain‟s house, that I might not get Home
again. You will chide me for this apparent cowardice, but I know that Cain‟s fault does
not lie with me, that therefore what I do not know concerning Cain need not count.
A cry behind me caused me to turn at the car. Adah stood in the doorway, her face
brightened with a smile, waving. Zillah came out in the company of Mehujael, arms
about one another, I was glad to see. I shouted spontaneously, regretting the sentiment
even as I spoke:
„You must come visit soon, now. Weekend in the country, maybe. In the spring.‟
Jubal closed the door behind me and asked, looking intently at me, „Why take me
if they can come?‟ I said to Methushael, „Move it, boy.‟ The dark fell away within me,
everything familiar again, a relief in me, but also a pain lurking, not a disease picked up
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in the city, but a truth learned, that we can forget. I said to Jubal, „What‟s the score,
sunshine?‟ He shrugged, disappointed in himself but no loss of talent thereby, and said,
„My fingers couldn‟t reach all the keys.‟
I shrugged, getting a whiff of my clothes after such a busy morning, and said,
„There‟s a little touch there, sonny. As big as a woman‟s tongue.‟ I showed him by mime,
then practically when he failed to grasp my hand signals. Methushael said after a while,
not looking back, „The road, Eve?‟ When he got no answer, he looked back, then stood
up and came over.
„Anyone can do that for him,‟ Methushael said, bending and pulling me away
from Jubal. He lay on me and penetrated me sharply, saying, „I told you, Eve. I told you.‟
An earnest penetration, hard and interested, Methushael working to prove something.
Jubal knelt at my head and stroked my face and neck, saying once in a moment of rest,
„Hard-working like music, eh?‟
But later he was more careful, once the other reflex in Methushael came into play,
his balls fondled, bottom sized up. I lay between them like a frontier they could fight
over, each claiming specific jurisdiction, Jubal fearing pain more than Methushael and so
always losing ground on my body. A fair war, you ask, but consider the alternative:
Methushael would rape a cat. Nonetheless, Jubal retained territory not interesting to
Methushael, his fingers delightful to me unknown to jealous Methushael, whose hands
guarded the all too obvious.
Later Jubal said, when Methushael was sleeping that night,
„Performance always repeats a prior performance. A composition is a beginning.‟
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Home. Arriving late in the evening, I found a drunken riot, an unbelievable
uproar. Lamech crying in the hall, his clothes filthy. How long had I been away? I didn‟t
know. I told Jubal to take care of Lamech and signalled to Methushael to follow me. I
grasped the situation in the lounge at a glance and went over to Enoch and hit him hard,
once. I nodded Methushael to Cainen and he strode over to him and said, „I have never
seen a more glorious specimen of the peasant before, my good man.‟ To Mahaleleel I
said, „Hands!‟ and turned to Naamah and asked, „Can‟t you look after a baby even?‟
Methuselah said from the couch, „She can‟t even look after herself, mother.‟
Which was true, considering the state of her, stained pink slip only, flip flops, also pink.
Her flimsy feathered dressing gown lay as a ball over by the door. Methuselah was stark
naked, Mahaleleel a shirt on, no more. Only Enoch was dressed halfway decently, an air
of having recently entered the room.
Seth ran into the room, face aglow, arms out, crying „Mamma!‟ followed by
Enosh, arms out like a blind duck stealing a landing. I let him kiss my cheek, followed
dutifully by Enosh, kiss, kiss. So sweet. Then Enoch got his breath back:
„Forasmuch that flimsies lair use I will profligate my trousers.‟ He paused to think
and I said to Naamah, nodding towards Enoch, „What‟s this, a new language?‟ Naamah
looked absolutely cute, a harmless sneaky look in her eyes, so that I suddenly reached
and touched her brow with something like relief. She said with a smirk, „Oh no. It‟s
because he cannot use a certain word. Isn‟t that right, Tomtit?‟ This interested me
enormously, so that I got down beside Naamah and asked her: „One word?‟ She looked
ironic, a feeling in me of crossed wires, as though she was plugged into another game,
more suited to idiots, and told me, „Connotations, Cherry. Dictionary gutted, double even
triple jobbing. Don‟t know what he means until he does something.‟
I turned to Enoch, who at that same instant opened up again, „Forasmuch that
shrills shall season sauces, Sally, then also grime will graze our greens. Oh boy, Susan,
but outrage opens on offered oil, taking trouble to tangerine tricks. Worse there is here,
Sheila, ducking danger‟s droll discoveries dreadful, but botched butcheries break brittle
bone. Selma, coming cores consisting copious carolling canaries, missing mothers
making misery many Mondays.‟ I paused until he had quietened sufficiently, then asked
him, „No one is asking you to, buddyboy? All for those who want, you know.‟
Methuselah stood up and Mahaleleel followed him, clambering noisily as though caught
red-handed, and Methushael brought Cainen over, leading him with a gentle hand. Seth
said, standing at my side, the heat from his limbs radiating, „Let him talk to those who
want to hear him.‟ But Enoch snapped, „Throw out the weeds in the corner, to grow by
neglect. Charabancs were only white then, sun every day, work at night, oh boy, reel after
reel. Hey, you bet.‟
Cainen said, reaching to kiss, „Brought the Army? Am I not good enough, lover?‟
I ruffled his long hair and glanced at Methushael by his side, saying, „I‟m sure you will
be, sweets.‟ Cainen caught my glance and looked over at Methushael, then dropped his
head sheepishly and said, „I get in practice, Princess. As much as I can consonant with
staying in tiptop condition, you know.‟
Seth said at my side, resisting the desire to push Cainen away too, „And a right
tiddle-de-bump man he is, Auntie, frolicsome, gazing always at delectable rump, hair
waving in the wind.‟ And I saw with a rush of affection how Seth could still convey his
images of heaven, seeing after his words how he keeps his brothers in harness, punishing
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them even as he pleases them, here marking Cainen down as a beastie, do anything for a
handful, not specific, as Methushael already knows, his hand now setting Cainen‟s hair
for him to his best advantage. Jubal brings a cleaned up Lamech in, he chewing
contentedly on a crust. Jubal says to Seth: „I repeat myself, I know, favoured lad, but
identity will always be a falling off. Where you land has strict roots in origins.‟ Naamah
said, „I don‟t mind honest business, honest use.‟ Enoch said, loudly, back in the clouds
after Naamah‟s voice:
„Fear not, Figgins, we are bashing tantrums in the grove tonight. Come, come,
come on along, what a task, my beloved sister, is verbals plastinated with argument twotime. I lied in the murk of dayclothes once, froze to death another dock, alas.‟ Methuselah
was saying to Methushael in a low voice under Enoch‟s roar „is frozen is not a tissue
where hail is on hand.‟ I said to Mahaleleel, „Connote.‟ Mahaleleel listed, „Oranges,
frostbite, finagle, salmon, door, moss, dirty knickers.‟ He paused to think, so I said to
Seth,
„How do these differ from your pictures, birdbrain?‟ Enosh wailed on cue and
Enoch leaned over and said, misery in his eyes suddenly, „Who can compete with
heaven?‟ Methuselah got to his feet again and began rummaging for his clothes behind
the couch. Naamah said, „Early night, boys. Off.‟
Without a word, they all rose to their feet and started rummaging also for their
things, except Enoch, who wailed,
„Upon glorious lore as glowery as a dark drizzly evening, bacon for dinner, pissed
on beer afterwards. Heavenfold lines the gutter, if you ever get there, scrub-a-dub.‟
Seth said at the door, to Enoch as much as to me, „If you want it, get it, if you
don‟t, forget it.‟
Naamah cocked up her head at me, dragging herself to her feet, pressing the
wrinkled slip in against her body, heavy breasts swaying sullenly, as they always do.
„Fancy a cup of coffee and a bite, honey?‟
She pulled her gown on, tightly binding herself with a silken cord at her waist. If
she was overweight, then no one seemed to mind. In the kitchen she said in the brighter
light, running her hands through her hair and fighting a yawn: „Don‟t ask, Eve, too
boring, darling. Do nothing for them and they‟ll do anything for you. Now, have some of
this cake, right?‟
Chocolate cake, thick with rich dark cream. After our first helping Naamah asked,
„Why the Joker? Have you a problem, dear?‟ I felt tired now, the old familiar tiredness of
limbs, as though sleep had many tentacles, but I felt an obligation to Naamah so I said,
„Your escort, sweets. What goes down can come up again?‟
Naamah looked at her immaculate nails, considered, then said, „Okay. Give me a
few days to ease off the feed, huh?‟ I leaned over and put more coffee in her cup, then in
mine. I was sugar high, caffeine open, chocolate easy, but I said, following a plan that
unfolded swiftly, „Now, toots.‟ I shouted, „Jubal!‟ I ate cake with some concentration,
improving pleasure but also distracting me from Naamah and her theatricals. When Jubal
arrived, I said, „Get the car, now. Hop to it.‟ I stood up, caught Naamah‟s arm and
propelled her out into the yard, into the cold dark air of night.
You wonder at my callous behaviour. I didn‟t then, consumed by my plan of
action, do this, then that, as though to shore up a reality changed: I can get Naamah away
from sight but not from memory. I say in wonderment then, „How do you do it, chick?‟
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She reared back, ever touchy, and stared at me in the light streaming from the side door,
„You‟re the one to ask. After you like innocent dogs.‟ There. Competition at Home. Hard
to take, I‟m afraid. I dread the sight of my room.
I put her in the back of the car and tell Jubal to take her home. Goodbye curt, door
slammed.
Jealousy makes me nasty.
On the stairs up to Adam I remembered his book in its serviceable box,
remembered that it probably lay at the feet of Jubal and Naamah right now.
A wasted journey? Destiny? I remember that there is always destination, at least.
The immensity comes again, though I am less paranoid this time: destiny just a
boundary condition, like a horizon on land, your context, setting, situation.
Adam said, „Hah, help at last. I‟ve been shouting myself hoarse.‟ Voice echoing
in the bare room for once.
„When did you ever do anything else?‟
„She‟s a slut. Won‟t do anything she‟s told.‟
„Did she ever have to, Panderer?‟
I looked around his room. „Seth will be up first thing in the morning. Stand by till
then, tosh, okay.‟
„The book?‟
I ducked: „Do you want to blind yourself that way too?‟
„No one cares about me at all.‟
I opened his window for him, showed him the stars come out for him, like a treat
for being patient all this time, kicked his pot to gauge its load, said, „I do, husband.‟
My room was untouched, though the flowers had long wilted. Sleep came as I lay
supine, fresh night clothes, soft down.
I was Home, and I never once remarked it. But I was glad then to be Home, and
fell back into my own bed with a profound gratitude, able once again to turn my back on
the world.
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I rouse them out at dawn, a clear bright morning with a stiff fresh wind. Seth I
sent to clean out Adam‟s room, Enosh was enough to help him, good at sharing loads. In
the meantime I got Mahaleleel to clean out the kitchen. I gave Methuselah the task of
cleaning upstairs, Enoch to do downstairs and Lamech clean the yard and byres.
I called Methushael and sent him to help Mahaleleel, incidentally setting barb on
barb, and when he was out of the way I told Cainen to take the sheep back up to the
moors.
I walked out in the park during the morning, confident as always that the boys
will do what they are told once they know I want them to do it. Spring was late, grass still
sorry-looking, half drowned, but the air was fresh and I walked up towards the high
mountains behind, grey rock giving way to scintillating snow, breathing deeply, eyes
closed, feeling the keen cut of God‟s own air, the only gift from my first park.
Later, returning along the river, I fell to thinking about the absence of Jared, that
his absence was completely unnoticed. Even I couldn‟t remember what he looked like. I
hear only his diddly music, a jolly little chap there, dancing all the time. Then I remember
Cain, and stop suddenly, seeing all at once the affection that grew between us, how much
of himself he showed to me, how much of myself I showed to him. Then I realised that
his presence haunts me, a pale figure surrounded by darkness, a gesture with his hands
that I do not understand, beseechment, despair, rejection. As he was in the room when I
left, but something in the gesture so familiar, as though I have seen it many times. „Don‟t
you think I have tried, pussy?‟
Not exactly non-plussed, more surprised, realising that my first insight into Cain‟s
city told me that it was a lie.
Cain lies.
This I saw beside the river:
Anything Cain says must be a lie, because everything denies what he thinks is
true: that he is in eternal exile, a useless exile. This is his curse, but this curse is different
to the act that brought down the curse. My interest lay solely in trying to discover the
nature of the act, and had nothing to do with his belief that he is in exile.
I agree, however, that Adam is also in exile and seems differently affected by the
experience. I am with Adam in exile. I am in exile. But the curse is different, to affect a
different action. Adam is not alienated from that which cursed him, Cain is.
I sat down.
Cain knows who cursed him.
This was not to be controverted. It explains so much, who Cain is speaking with,
in conversation with God. No wonder the vacuity disturbed me, like a hole in the dark,
cold and distant. Cain acted in the absence of God, an act of defiance, an act of
revelation.
Yes, I know, but I do not understand it. I see bleeding eyes, and I am shown the
killing of an animal. Is this a truth that makes the eyes bleed? Ah. Not a knowledge, as I
assumed, the dead animal is an analogy. But an analogy of what, only the animal can die?
There‟s nothing new in all this. So, why the curse of exile from God?
I thought about this for the remainder of the walk, the Home dogs running a mile
out to meet me. I could only surmise that Cain discovered something new about animal
death, something that affected God deeply.
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I could have given more thought to the clues I might glean from this reasoning.
How specific Cain‟s curse is; how it relates to his act and its inferred nature. What Cain‟s
condition tells me about Adam‟s and my own: Cain cannot prove his curse, Adam can.
Cain sees God behind his curse, I see something that gave me the gift of love.
A fine sentiment to end a long walk on, until I saw that the car was back in the
yard. I was immediately furious at the idea of her creeping back here after I‟d gone out,
with the connivance of that little jack, no doubt. I expected the house to be in uproar, but
no, everything fresh and clean, a blessed silence, everyone at breakfast by now. Lamech
was standing in the hall, his hand up to attract my attention. I nodded to him to speak, and
he stammered, swallowed a lot, but managed to say,
„Please, miss. But there‟s a sadie to lay you in the little room.‟ This was so
unusual that I asked Lamech to repeat it, in case he had made it up on the spur of the
moment, perhaps picking it up from that bitch.
„Please, miss, but there‟s a sadie to lay you in the little room.‟
I patted his head and went, like an automaton, one step, two step, three step, four
step, fearing to think who it might be, who I might want it to be. Zillah, sitting demurely
as she could in the big sofa, her legs leaving the ground, skirt riding up, her knees
knocking their old siren song. She jumps up, visibly impressed by me and mine, and says,
as correctly as she can:
„I heard Jubal was coming up and I couldn‟t resist the opportunity. Just to see you
again, my dear.‟ Begins to cry as she continues, breaking into splutters, her tissue soon in
shreds, an awful humiliation in a few seconds:
„I am most awfully fond of you, Eve. I couldn‟t stay away, even if you sent me
away.‟
I was strongly moved, though, by what she said: she would refuse. I said,
practicality best here: „Where will we put you, Zillah darling? Everyone‟s here now it‟s
winter.‟
Zillah smiled suddenly, believing I was merely teasing here, her face at once
radiant, her eyes more lost again by contrast, and shouted gaily, playing a game she
believes she recognised: „I‟ll sleep with you, my dear. That will be room enough for me,
my pet.‟
I turned my head at her, part anger, part incredulity, and said, acutely as it
transpired:
„Lamech was right, after all, Sadie. You dig the girls, yes?‟
„What,‟ Zillah says, in character, „who says I am? Tell me her name.‟
How well Zillah can communicate her message even so. Her. But wrong. I say, to
mislead her for now:
„Hands speak for themselves.‟ As in Hands of God, as in fondling is your limit
anyway, another instance of a lack of specificity. Zillah flutters here, sets off her
jewellery, ringing precious metal, scratching stones, clinking chains, looking down at
them. She said, in all seriousness:
„My hands are temples to the Hands of God. My hands bless, heal, restore. I
touched God and was not cursed.‟ She laid her hands on my forearm, her fingers curving
down to grasp me. Her eyes were closed, and I wondered momentarily if she was having
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a fit, the pull on my arms the weight of her falling backwards. I went to support her, and
she embraced me too, pulling herself into me, head on my shoulder, heaving ecstatically.
I‟m not sure how long we stood like that, but time enough for me to remember
Zillah‟s desire to press someone to her breast, another act of the Hands of God, no doubt.
Standing there, her heavy perfume in my nose, bits of metal and stone digging into my
flesh in various places, I saw that Zillah was engaged in a re-enactment of her joy: now
sharing the first embrace, her breasts crushed to him, an alarming arousal in her, like an
initial warning of something dire to come, the boundary already crossed.
When I separated our bodies and laid her arms back along her sides, she threw me
a venomous glance, like an animal interrupted in its eating, but I said,
„It‟s cock after this, for sure, sweetie.‟
So much for candour, for Zillah replied:
„My breasts shall feed millions, serial survival, two teats only.‟
I smiled at this for Zillah‟s benefit, the enthusiasm of the virgin, who is not aware
of what lies between such pride and the hungry lips, while thinking again of two, why
two teats, when either one or four would have been better.
By now Zillah had freed the front of her dress and exposed her breasts. She cried
at me, „For those who hunger, for those who wait, for those too small, for those too lazy.
Look at them, Eve, aren‟t they irresistible?‟
I looked down at her, a bit stunned again by crossed lines, and said, „Depends. But
it‟s a no-win scenario your way.‟
Methushael ran into the room. He was gazing at me ardently so he didn‟t see
Zillah at first. When he did he asked:
„Weren‟t you told before not to bare your bosom, Zillah? You know it‟s vulgar.‟
She turned abruptly and spat at him:
„It was good enough for him, pumpkin. Long before your time. So suck on it.‟
Methushael leapt forward, but my slap to his ear sent him off on a tangent,
continuing until he fell across an armchair. In response to the commotion, little Lamech
ran in and said to the sprawled Methushael:
„Push, décor must be seen not tamed.‟
Who‟s talking abut decorum here, I wondered. I said to Zillah, „Stitch yourself
back in, poppett, and let‟s go eat with the boys.‟
Breakfast was pretty well over by the time we got there, only Mahaleleel at the
table, loitering over a last cup of tea, looking particularly obstinate today, a respite before
cleaning up. We sat down to a large meal, I hungry after my walk, Zillah too excited to
notice anyway.
Methuselah came out from the Garden and asked me, „Will the quest require a
balloon mama?‟ I stared at Methuselah, and asked him to repeat himself, this time to see
if he could sustain that mincing tone: „Will the best require a tantaroom?‟ I was ready to
spring up and twist his ear for his nonsense before our visitor, making a show of us again,
when Zillah caught my shoulder and said, nodding sympathetically towards Methuselah:
„He‟s only shy, dear. Give him a chance to get a hold of himself.‟
I show scepticism, with the merest hint of amusement to betray myself, as it were,
and say: „He only wants to muck around, Trixie. You‟re in for more than that now,
dreamboat. Wait for Mister Right is my word for you.‟
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Zillah wiped her hanging breasts with a tissue and said, looking over at
Methuselah, „But he‟s interested, my dear. Nothing beats interest, my dear. Something
for nothing, I always say.‟
So I said to Methuselah, glancing to see if Mahaleleel was listening:
„In for a pogo in for a shuttlecock, champion – on your heliotropic embrasure
now, loud-ringing three blind mice.‟
Methuselah pointed at Zillah and asked,
„Embolismically, now?‟
I spun my finger in the air: „Over and out, scout.‟
Over another cup of coffee I said to Mahaleleel, who worked with a will cleaning
the ovens,
„An investment. Can we afford it?‟
Mahaleleel continued scrubbing as he reported in a loud voice: „Nothing withheld.
Nothing taken.‟ I think I was right to worry about Zillah and Methushael squabbling. A
distraction here, baring a breast, as you may have guessed. And yet a signal, I‟m sure of it
– remember: Good enough for him, Hands of God. But not the obvious.
Yet another level: where was Jubal? I shouted „Jubal!‟ and a tiny voice piped from
the lounge, „Here!‟ a gaggle of titters around him in there. But Jubal‟s voice reminded me
and I ran out into the yard and checked the floor of the car, finding the box shoved off
into a far corner, hard edges unwelcome. While I search I dither, the mood in the car
affecting me, like a heat trying to be a fire. In one dizzy instant I see love there. Love is
the power to do good or evil. Love comes to us as an opening, an offering. Love is our
view of a soul, often our own, sometimes another‟s. When we encounter love we pause
and choose. It is a very great gift, only love can stop us.
In the car I was both enchanted and stunned, a knowledge there once
inconceivable. Now, however, the question arises, If love can stop us, what does our
cursed love do to us? I mean, how does it stop us?
Tonight I said to Adam, during a break in the operation, „You gave a lot that time,
Chuck.‟ Testy as ever, he replied immediately, „What else, angel?‟ It took Enoch to add,
„The tie in, obligado, a semper simper, never say never. I wish I could do it that well, you
know.‟ Adam squeezed my hand in the dark. You see, nothing more need ever be said
then.
In the car then I resumed my search, found the box and hauled it up to Adam‟s
room. I marched in and said, „Here‟s that book you asked me about, old cock.‟
Adam stared at the bright steel box, seamless, recessed lock and hinging, and
shouted in astonishment, „What kind of fucking book is that, raisin?‟
I pressed the hidden catch to reveal the book within, saying impatiently, „There it
is, tucket.‟
Ecstasy in his face. Well worth the trouble.
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To my room then to dress for the day. Continuing bright, wind easing, pale yellow
light everywhere. A day for silks, blue silks. I dress for the occasion, I know, a useless
tussle with Zillah for blind hearts. Zillah with her hands on all of them by now, bare tits
like a beacon. Only Jubal, perhaps, unmarked. It was the wild phantasy, novel only for
the new characters on stage, that possessed me while I prepared myself for the day.
Nonetheless there was a definite content: only Jubal and Methushael available, the Army
as before. But why, I asked myself with returning rationality, is Zillah the enemy? I
should have known this all along, but I must like the power of jealousy. I had driven
Zillah to make a fool of herself, and now I was afraid of the consequences, that she might
be more attractive than me.
I decided not to dress down, as you might feel tempted to, but no jewels, no
perfumes, wrapped in raw silk. In the hall, Enoch came out to say,
„Elvers all of us cab disgrace of God.‟
I understood that: Elders always have the grace of God. I showed him I
understood by saying:
„Juniors always by the grace of God.‟
Enoch spun about and went back into the Little Room. Curious, I paralleled him
and went into the Main Reception, hurrying down the Hall. Zillah sat in court,
surrounded by Enosh, Lamech and, once again, Enoch. They didn‟t say anything, only sat
there together at rest, Enosh especially thrilled, out on his own today, making a play like
any man. But where, I wondered, is good old Methuselah, glad to leave her with her own,
no doubt, nothing in it for him. I say to Zillah, „You rested, porter?‟ To which she
replied:
„I draw the line at my knickers, ducks. Safest then.‟
I nodded in understanding, „Knickers need incontinence, but incontinence does
not need knickers, if you see what I mean, flasher.‟
There I left it until I got to the Lounge, and saw Jubal and Naamah sitting side by
side, watched only by a resting Seth over by the bar. Even before I spoke to them I knew
that a victory had been won, that Zillah in her modesty had teased me. I said to Naamah,
anger at once at the sight of her, „I brought untold, you too, stairway from ear!‟ But Jubal
raised his free hand in peace and said,
„We want you to be the first to know, Lady. Naamah and I are husband and wife
now. We are going to take a house of our own out in the suburbs and have lots of
children, like you.‟
I was stunned by my own speech, words issuing from my mouth different to my
intention. I had intended saying that she was to stay away from here, but what I did say
was that I had a secret that she doesn‟t know. Remarkably, Naamah understood, because
she looked at me in an earnest pudding sort of way and said, „I‟m a married woman now,
like yourself.‟
Jubal, having taken his breath, continued,
„We plan to hold a reception to mark this occasion, and we would like you and
yours attend, full rigout.‟
Naamah was pumping his hand vigorously, absolutely delighted with herself, her
wide face strangely innocent now, as though she fitted in somewhere now, if only as a
wife. I said,
136
„Splendid idea, twints. Let‟s.‟ I shouted to Seth to man the bar at once, bringing
Jubal and Naamah over, telling them they could have anything they wanted.
The understanding of the victory, when it came, faithfully echoed my earlier
premonition. Zillah had escaped the compunction to mother, passing it on to her
daughter, as you saw. I went immediately to the Main Reception, taking the short cut
through the Ballroom and so entering through the Great Doors. Like a scene transformed,
room of light, late morning sun still sweet, Zillah filled with delightful delight, like a
child on holiday, Enoch watching her back, Lamech watching her legs as Enosh watched
her breasts, a tit-man in the making. She smiled as I approached, raising her arms at her
sides, hands bent back, as though to say „Fancy that!‟ but she said:
„I have won over Cain.‟
I didn‟t understand, so I asked „To what, Zillah?‟ She studied me, as though
seeing me anew, and said, still gazing at me,
„I have beaten Cain. I will breed millions. One daughter is worth six sons, let no
one tell you differ, dear.‟
I was appalled. To hear that said. Even Lamech hasn‟t grasped that yet. „But what
if you need a son in a hurry? How would you restart against so much blind desire, like
pissing in the wind, you know.‟
Zillah stood up and took my right hand in both of hers, her head swaying
uncharacteristically, as though in thought, and said in a confiding tone, like courtiers,
„Don‟t worry, sweetie, there‟ll be no shortage of sons while my daughter is working.‟
Towing her away, through the Great Doors, I said, „No daughter would permit it, that I
know, Susie.‟
Methuselah came out of the gloom in the Ballroom and said to Zillah,
„I heard what you said, honeybunch, about bleeding up but good.‟ I cut in and
said, „Off, Beany. Once out out for ever.‟ He quailed and I took the opportunity to push
him off towards the Main Reception, out of the way for the nonce.
Tripping behind, across the Ballroom, Zillah asked me finally after a number of
failures,
„Permit what?‟ It was as though she had been blinded by what I said, something
grasped in one direction, nothing understood in the other. I answered her frankly, though
more an article of faith with me:
„Give her son to her mother, are you kidding? Bringing up her mother‟s eggs is
one thing, Biddy, but giving them back is a distinct other. Got that, Dorethea? Speak up
the line is going down now.‟
Why I said the last I still don‟t know. I thought of it then as a rather stupid
witticism, mocking what I saw then as Zillah‟s stupidity. But when Zillah retorted,
„Who‟s talking about presents, honey?‟
I heard a tone that chilled me, a hatred breaking through here, now that some
assuagement had been given. I waited in silence, stung by the sharpness of that hate, like
a searing hot blade, and was rewarded when she spoke again:
„Fuck, honey, sure only a bit of meat!‟
I stopped and faced her, feeling such disappointment for her and I said to her
plainly:
„Palmistry practised, hey, babe?‟
„Too right, sis. Too fucking right you are, sister.‟
137
You see that Zillah is loyal to experience, forgoing sight, and that she is trying to
put her daughter to this experience, hence the rumoured Mystery Man. This seemed off
the point at the time, I thought then that Mystery Man was Zillah‟s Hands of God,
banished but hanging around the border, keeping in touch as I wanted him to. But a
„rumoured Mystery Man‟, how do I interpret that memory? First thought or reported
sighting?
Are you with me?
Here I would be on my knees, bent over, puking at full strength, screaming when
let. My Mystery Man is different from Zillah‟s Mystery Man. No man could stay away
from Zillah, however little she gives. You see, instead of springing back in terror, I now
actually look on a new plane of understanding, seeing now that words are echoes too, but
I still think that words are no more than mirrors, they do not bear meaning in themselves.
A word is a program, an ultimately endless program, and words interact as programs,
copying here, sharing there, unaware elsewhere. These programs contain truth. Matching
programs for truth is painstaking, but often an illumination of other truths too, as though
adding light to light, candle to candle, until there is sufficient light to witness to the whole
truth, one truth.
Jubal came forward to us as we entered the Lounge. It was a sorry sight, more so
because it had occurred so quickly, Seth polishing glasses, talking to himself as usual,
Naamah already waiting, and Jubal with „ABOUT TIME‟ written across his forehead, so
I said,
„Cut for drinks, Sucker.‟
I waved discreetly at the others to hurry in before the disaster became irreversible,
hitting Enoch as he passed, shouting at his enquiry,
„Fingers not in your mouth, maggot.‟
That stirred them up proudly, exciting the women as usual. Drinks all round,
general chatter for a while, until I began to feel anxious, though for no discernible reason.
I listed everything off, stopped when I reached Methushael, plonked my drink on the bar
and raced up as best I could in that dress to Adam‟s room, to find him there shouting for
someone to come and get him some more rumtuck.
No Methushael. Dashed back down, grab Mahaleleel in the kitchen and sent him
to serve Adam his rumtuck. Through the kitchen to the Hall, empty, but in the Little
Room I find him sitting on the settee, day-dreaming. I said to him, „So you think you
know it all, Friday? You think someone is going to come in to see you here, don‟t you?‟
And stopped short, as we say as a curse, but only in extremes.
I had come in to see Methushael, but only to say pretty savagely, to see his thin
city clothes just flatten everything they touched, making stony, „Who let you in here,
poor boy?‟
He said, tears in his eyes, „Longings as long as your arms, hurting like heels on
ice, falling like business paper.‟ I took the poor lad in my arms, ready servant, loyal
friend, sometime lover, if memory serves. We took the long way round by the Main
Reception, the transition of the Ballroom calming him as it had done Zillah.
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It didn‟t take long to get the reception retanked reasonably well, so that it could
run by itself for a while. Zillah was letting Methushael talk to her, she often making
asides to Naamah and Methuselah beside her. Only Enoch could have broken through
there, but I hauled him off to see to the luncheon. The others are like bubbles in her froth,
Enoch the only stone, so you can see that he could have her in small doses only, run him
out from time to time to have a look at Naamah. Jubal said to me when I came back from
the kitchen, having got Mahaleleel and Enoch to work,
„I did this because I am not Lamech‟s son, not because I facilitate Zillah and her
schemes. I would have proposed to Naamah long ago if I had known that. Naamah and I
are destined, you could say.‟
I called out that luncheon would be in ten minutes, set up another round, and went
back to Jubal, suddenly hearing a piece of his music:
and experienced again the lonely anticipation, an innocent interest, yet no more than a
treadmill, tinkling away to a fatuous B octave, sharpness too much blood.
I write blood now, troubled all at once, evading the horrible images that are now
within me. I feel the evasion as a curse, then I saw it as a man before something
stupendous, and so I said to Jubal, after illustrating the chord, „Why can‟t you get up and
see?‟
Seth asked behind me, not clear who it was directed to:
„And when you get up to see?‟
But Jubal said, Naamah coming over to him defensively, her mother‟s trait,
„Be is where it‟s at, baby. The way it is.‟
Naamah smiled for him, lifting her head towards him in what was intended as a
promise of better times to come, and said to me, „Shark‟s bait every time, Bailey.‟ So I
said to Zillah, over Enosh‟s shoulder, „Brimful, baby.‟ Enoch said from behind her, at her
back whenever he can, „Regular crumpet of the boys of the Gourd, bonging stout raisen.‟
I ignore him this time, focusing instead on Lamech, the only sober person in the room,
and told him to tell Methushael that he must go home now, before it gets dark.
Plan? you ask. No, not one that I know. Simply that Methushael was reacting
badly to the happiness in the room and Zillah was having to bear that weight. Why should
she, I thought, she didn‟t cause his misery. That‟s why I had him shifted, bad for the
party. I hate party weepers. Enoch was glad to help Lamech and pretty soon the car had
gone, Zillah had settled into the company of Methuselah and Naamah, Jubal and Seth
facing one another on couches, Seth babbling away, a drunken Jubal listening intently,
learning the topography of heaven.
Luncheon was delayed, owing to Methushael‟s departure, but we soon sat down
to some excellent bread and cheese, greens, one of our younger wines. Zillah became
especially bright there, boisterous and jolly, still Naamah and Methuselah at her side,
which made me ask Jubal, late into the meal, well into our wine,
„Who gets to see, Joker?‟
Jubal shrugged, helping Lamech grasp a crust, and said,
139
„Your advice, queenie. Remember? Do it by shift.‟
More strange, perhaps, was the peace among the others, no one jealous of
Methuselah for hogging both Zillah and Naamah, Enoch too shy even for jealousy and
Enosh too stupid, Lamech content in his mother‟s lap, Seth too busy talking to Jubal
beside him, utterly unaware of Naamah on his other hand. I glanced over at Methuselah
and asked „Shifting what, spot?‟ Jubal started and glanced away from Enosh‟s rapt face
to say to me,
„Testicular world. All the time I mean. Too beautiful for words in my wife. Wait.‟
He paused delicately, finger movements quickly becoming mincing, then continued,
„Wait. I‟ll show you.‟ He called across to Methuselah and said, „Coming up, boy,
eh?‟ Methuselah was very drunk by now, but he managed to say from the corner of his
mouth, „By unending pursuit, Officer, flat on the board you go.‟ Jubal laughed loudly at
this, and Methuselah lost his balance and tumbled onto Enosh‟s vacant seat and rolled
down under the table. I said to Enoch beside me at once:
„Bring him up, will you, Williams. Park him pretty in the sun.‟
Decimation: Lamech slides off my lap as I lean forward to watch the operation. I
say at Enoch‟s back, „Lamech too, Douglas. Step on it.‟ Seth is border-line, but hard to
judge, never having seen him evangelise so.
I say to Naamah, „A bumper with you, my pretty. Bottoms up.‟ New perspective,
a wife must have bottom, like an anchor, for her but also for her husband, until at least
enough boys are set out to bear the strain. She drinks heartily, eyes and skin very bright
thanks to the alcohol and general heat, liquid running on her cherry lips all the time.
Zillah is watching Enoch manhandle Methuselah, cursing him from heaven for his
relapse. I say to her now,
„A frisk with you, scrumptious,‟ raising my glass to her. She drank in response,
then said „A dike‟s response is always to hold back, sugar.‟
„Looking for favour, Clothilde?‟
„Favoured once.‟
This could have gone on all day, except that Jubal came back on air and said to
Seth,
„Scrimshawing as praying about the stern, joy knows.‟ He looked at his greasy
plate and sighed, slid to the floor under the table. Enoch was already scrambling down
from the other side. I say to Seth to console him,
„Mother goosed is another gander‟s, olé.‟
Zillah says, suddenly back too:
„I don‟t know, Eve old girl, but I can‟t take this daytime drinking at all. Reminds
me too much of home. If you don‟t mind, dear, I‟ll just go and have a snooze. Hold the
farce till then, children.‟
I say to Naamah, „Cuddle a whale, would you, princess. Merciless discomfort in
that, they say.‟
„Let me pray, he said to me, Gammer, and we‟ll rise up together into a flatter
bray.‟ Naamah was picking bacon from between her teeth, fingers gleaming, perfect nails
momentarily useful, as she spoke.
Even if she were my daughter, I could not love her more. How promising the poor
girl always seen approaching, outstaying her welcome everytime, to be sure.
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I say to Seth, „Someone hiding. Make him wash up, and have one yourself
anytime.‟
I slept for two hours solid, stomach high with the fried bacon, sour breath,
Naamah on her back snoring beside me, I believe.
I woke up thinking, What a mess! A chatter of voices in my head, a momentary
fear of being overwhelmed until I decided to pass it all off as novelty. Then I opened my
eyes and saw the late afternoon sun, and realised there was still the evening to go
through. Just as I began planning for all conceivable eventualities I clearly heard Adah
shout,
„And you cocked a snoot at us, ragbag!‟
I pushed Naamah back, she kicked in reaction, raised my head to see Adah in my
room, Lamech over at the door, fretfully picking at the paintwork. I said, wearily as I
started up again, „Truth always appears as an impoverishment at first, Adah dear.‟ And
barked at Lamech, „Why did you let her?‟
Adah said, „Never had a chance, poor lad.‟
I wanted most of all to soak for an hour, to clear myself for the evening session,
but all I could do then, rolling myself off the bed and onto my feet, was to say to Lamech
in exasperation,
„How could you?‟
He ran across and caught Adah‟s hand and clung to it, his back to me. A loud
shout of anger downstairs then, Enoch‟s voice rising in crazed admonishment, and I
grabbed a wrap and said, as much to myself as anyone else, „That‟s where he is.‟ I said to
Lamech in the pantry,
„My turf, sonny,‟ and smacked him sharply across the ear. To Enoch I said,
„Mahaleleel?‟
„Clinging.‟ I led the way, Lamech‟s ear between thumb and forefinger, Enoch by
the hand, and went in to see Mahaleleel. He was preparing the potatoes, humming testily
to himself as he worked at the sink. I said to him, dragging Lamech forward, „Out, boy.
Wholesale.‟ „Oh beautiful sinners,‟ Mahaleleel intoned.
I was seething by now, wanting only to bathe, but obliged to run around the
House like a madwoman invested by demons, the chatter not a novelty at all but a
gruesome memory. But even as I churned with anger I wondered in the always cool part
of my mind if this door could ever be closed again after that first opening on Jobal and
Naamah. I knew that this rarefied warfare underway as two families came in contact was
not the significant issue, which had to do with the truth about Cain, not Zillah or Adah.
It would be later in the night that I would understand that I was wrong to look in
Cain‟s family alone for the fault, forgetting about my family and especially about myself.
Until then all my attention was on Cain, seeing in his family then only a reflection of him
and so not worth study in themselves. Zillah stopped me in the Hall and asked, „Can I
help, Eve?‟ I did not see Zillah herself, only part of a fractured picture of Cain, this
fragment probing a specific part of me, and so I answered Zillah as I would have
answered Cain, had he asked me the question:
„Goodness, what help could you give, sweetest? Run along and look after
yourself, dear.‟
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Actually patted her bottom as though she was a little child, and sent her into the
Main reception, the room she likes. Enoch was still in the Hall, spare now that Mahaleleel
had taken charge, and the sight of him reminded me of Jared‟s absence and how we were
down in figures, with Cainen out on the moors. Nonetheless, I felt obliged to send Enoch
in to keep Zillah company for a while, giving her what happiness I could here in my
House. But I went and searched out Seth and sent him up to fetch Cainen, the best master
available. Then I threw Jubal out of my room and went and had my bath.
Later. Yes later. I find it hard to discover where I should start. I could not shake
off that sense of being overwhelmed, like a wall of water suddenly on your head, but of
being overwhelmed by something connected with Cain himself, not with his family. I had
the manpower to deal with them, everyway. Prophets, philosophers, geniuses, idiots, big
men, little men, beauty and the beast, cocks all sizes. Naamah is suborned by Methuselah,
Adah by Lamech, and Zillah perchance by Cainen, Jubal by Seth, and Lamech by
Mahaleleel. Enoch and Enosh, who always imitates Enoch‟s fighting, are my reserves.
But the first thing I discover downstairs is Methushael hanging about the door to
the kitchen, trying to swap gossip with Lamech working inside with Mahaleleel. There
goes the reserve, I thought, until I saw Enosh listening to Jubal and realised that for the
moment I was over-stretched. I would have to sit in somewhere until Seth returned with
Cainen. I slipped smartly into the Garden with just a nodding smile for Methushael, and
went round that way to the Main Reception, going in the little door under the tree. I said
to Enoch, „Wash the wall in the Hall, Hal.‟
I sat down opposite Zillah, poured myself some tea, and said to her:
„Movement is like the Joker in the deck.‟
She wrinkled nose and replied, „A problem examined is not a problem solved, my
sweet.‟
I nodded, hearing Cain there, and then Zillah said,
„You see better than that, angel, even I can tell that.‟ She nodded abruptly over
towards the rest of the House, all her jewellery jangling, and said earnestly,
„Queen of your realm, I should say, I‟m sure.‟
I saw Zillah herself for the first time then, separate from Cain, his daughter but
not cursed with his curse. She was cursed with another curse, I knew that, but it was not
Cain‟s curse, that was the point then. I saw Zillah talking about something beyond Cain‟s
knowledge, both in her admiration for my House, which Cain had never seen, and her
recognition of due regard, extinguished in Cain when he was cursed by God.
That is how I first came to know Zillah, a great revelation to me, and a source of
deep pleasure. I said to her then:
„You haven‟t done too badly yourself, considering, Zillah dear.‟
Zillah raised her left hand to her face, interposing splayed fingers of rings and
stones like the armour of the homeless, and replied,
„Get them well started, I say always. Get them out of the house. Bit of time to
myself now. Do the things I‟ve always wanted to do. Do you know, I‟ve always wanted a
garden, a rising lawn north, catching the light of the sun in high summer.‟ Zillah faded
into her image, her hand before her mouth, eyes downcast, silent. It hit me just as she said
it, „Like your Garden, my dear.‟
I said immediately: „But I‟ve an army here to take care of it, darling.‟
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Zillah wagged her bottom energetically, elbows on her knees, and said
emphatically, „You do it yourself, lovey. I can tell.‟
I hadn‟t been aware before that I tend the Garden myself. The thought surprised
me in a profound way, but I didn‟t think then of it as a memory but more of a knowledge,
something new about myself. I said to Zillah jovially, to cover up my surprise, „I‟m so
used to it myself, don‟t you know. In and out of it all the time, I daresay.‟ I babbled on
uncontrollably, „If I got a penny for every time I did gardening, missis, well, I‟d be very
rich indeed. I still like to get stuck in, like, pulling out weeds, sticking in seed, growing
the fruit, mowing the grass to keep us tidy.‟
Zillah nodded patiently, absorbing all this with interest. Then she said, „My
mother once told me that all life started in just such a garden, around a wonderful tree of
life, that a rainbow stood to the north above the tree, and that angels not clouds drifted in
that sky.‟
I was astonished to hear my memory recounted so vividly. Does everyone dream
that dream? I wondered then, but I remarked to Zillah,
„What else, dear? What else would a mother dream‟ – I stopped the sentence,
caught in a mesh of contradictions. What a mother might dream for her daughter, but I
have no daughter, so how could I have this dream? I continued hastily – „except a
phantasy of her life.‟ I hoped I had escaped by means of the word ‟phantasy‟, but no,
Zillah says acutely: „No. She lamented the loss of memory, Eve.‟
„You remember, Zillah?‟
„Not till I saw your Garden, Eve.‟ She watched me, seeing my mind in my face,
and then reached a weighed hand to catch my right wrist, shook it gently to calm me and
said, „No. I do not know who my mother is, Eve. Cain will not tell me, if he even
remembers now.‟
I caught the hand that embraced my wrist and squeezed it, feeling the stones cut
into my palm, and said slowly to mask my urgency:
„You must remember some circumstance, surely, my dear?‟
Zillah tilted her head back, as though breaking a spell and said with a false cheer,
„Oh loads of circumstance, as you call it, Eve. Plenty of that, I can tell you, my
dear. Only one other man in the place and my father had to go and ruin it for me.‟ She
began crying a very fresh painful cry, her face twisted in real pain as this memory ran her
through, some overpowering experience there that she could not name.
I went and sat beside her and embraced her thin shoulders as she wept openly.
After a while, I whispered to her: „But you have Adah, Zillah.‟ She stopped crying and
considered this, then began crying again. Next I said, very deliberately pacing this, „She
has cleared his blood out, Zillah.‟ This did quieten her, wiping, wiping her makeup, tears
and snot away, as she reflected on this. Then she gave a great wet slicky snuff up her
nostrils, swallowed, and said,
„I know, I know, Veronica.‟
I said the remainder as a question: „Their purest man in your grasp?‟
Zillah clapped her hands together, danced with sudden refreshing delight on her
altogether twitchy bottom, „Exactly!‟ she cried.
I nodded in acknowledgement. Nonetheless, I asked her, „Why not yourself?
Don‟t you deserve the treat, Zillah?‟
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Zillah shook her head, the generosity evident now in how she put everything into
herself, making it her own and so caring for it.
„Oh no. Cain marked me too, Eve. In a different way, though. The refusal of a
father, dear, worst curse for a girl, I think. Let the men do what they like anyway.‟ She
began to splutter and cry again at this, more like water pouring out this time, anguish
rather than the pain itself. „Do you ever hear two men together without hearing the
snarling? It is we who get hurt, not them, they only stay angry. Do you understand, Eve‟
– she suddenly shouted at me, arms out now, her face a red mass of tears – „what kind of
hands a man like that has, do you? Such a will for doing something once and for all.‟
Zillah calmed somewhat and borrowed my handkerchief to mop her face, her
lovely eyes like flowers in a livid stream, jewels in fire, souls in torment. She gave
another great snuff up her nose and continued:
„A girl is only the first hurdle, more an obstacle then a test, but setting the track
for the rest. To taunt a young man with “Hey, what do you know, boy?” is to invite his
anger, and so test him for what he does know, the strength of his conviction, the
exactitude of memory. A boundary condition, where another seeks what one has found.
What happens when one man finds another.‟
Suddenly she stopped talking, and stood up, saying, „But I really must go now and
dress for dinner, my dear. It was a dreadful time but it is over now.‟
I stood up and said at her back,
„But, Zillah, what if he came back to you?‟
There was absolutely no expression on her face when she looked back. I
wondered if she had even heard me. I popped into Mahaleleel on the way upstairs and
asked him how things were going. The food smelled heavenly, and I picked up some
pieces of fruit in spite of Mahaleleel‟s frowns, but watched Lamech closely while his
eyes were turned.
„Methushael, Naamah, Lamech, Zillah, Jubal, Adah. Descending.‟ I nodded,
Enoch doing some good work, hopefully not too demanding, no one to watch Enoch as
usual. So I asked him, „Jubal?‟
„Ballroom.‟
Lamech inserted suddenly, rearing up, „Wanking again, I bet. Dirty little fellow,
that.‟
Mahaleleel‟s dishcloth caught him across the chops, shutting his mouth good.
In the Hall I wondered if I should run up and change again, as though Zillah‟s
tears had stained my gown. I decided we were already launched and went out through the
Garden to the Ballroom.
I was surprised to find that everything there was still closed and dark. I called out:
„Jubal!‟
His little cry came from the other arm of the room, out of range of vision anyway.
I didn‟t fancy looking for him, for fear of dirtying my clothes, so I called to him:
„Come here to me, at once, Jubal.‟
His cry came back: „Can‟t!‟
„Whyever not, Jubal?‟
Again his little cry, losing power as he lost interest:
„I‟m undergoing conversion, dear Lady.‟
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I laughed out, „In the dark?‟
He didn‟t answer. My thought was: that frees Enosh. This, I thought, might tip the
balance. I found him out sitting in the Yard, trying not to look at the sun, a large evening
sun. I said to him: 'Godborming alley. On.‟ We went around the House in search until we
discovered her in the Lounge, Enoch a drunken heap in her lap, Methushael a drunken
heap on the floor, Adah toying away to her heart‟s content. Disaster. No other word, then
or now, whole game blown away on that thick twit. Not a word out of him, trousers
around his ankles, being dandled, revelation anew for the poor lad. I said, correct
strategy, „Take him home with you, my pet, but you‟ll have to feed him, and change his
napkin, and put up with his crying, and submit to his fists.' I wondered if any other cover
was blown, especially worried about Cainen, but enough to worry about immediately
when I thought of Methuselah‟s constant proximity to Naamah, how she is nowhere to be
seen this evening.
I said to Enosh, „Naamah?‟ He shrugged, examining the ground to avoid seeing
his grandfather get wanked by a strange woman, „Fusilier Methuselah reported, mam‟,
cocking his head now because his father makes a strange woman.
Things fell into place like a load of bricks: my front was sagging badly. So I
considered wipe-outs, mutual cancellations, reciprocity. Strike Methuselah and Naamah,
Enoch and Adah, what‟s left? Two good men down here, none there.
I said, „Lamech?‟
„Enough is enough for him, I guess, Evie,‟ she replied, panting: „Training shows, I
don‟t doubt.‟
I laughed at her, relieved to see a limit in all this, and said to her conversationally,
„Will you retire, too, Adah, now that you have the spare off your hands at last?‟
She rested down and said after a moment‟s reflection, „You know, dear, but I
haven‟t had a chance to think about it. I only heard a while ago. I haven‟t had time, you
see.‟
I nodded understandingly, pouring myself a drink, the first of the evening, and
thought, Here goes, and knocked it back, and said to her: „The blood is pure now, Adah.
Your task is completed.‟ I thought of Adam then and searched for some completion in
him, but found none. That didn‟t trouble me at the time, and saw only specific tasks
facing Adah and her mother, a superb strategy, exhibiting great patience and tact, the
merciful obliteration of Cain‟s blood. I shelved the question of why Adam had retired,
and waited instead until Adah said at last:
„Am I saved, Eve?‟
„I told you, no curse on you, except the curse we all bear, Adah.‟
Adah smiled in relief: „Then I can keep Enoch, can I?‟
I turned away, suddenly aware of something else, and said to her, „Yes, of course,
dear. I always keep my promise.‟
By the time I got to the kitchen the other thing began to become clear. The word
was „pace‟, a no-win situation, conserve remaining forces. Music would serve well here,
get everyone into step. Then I think of Jared again, and lament his absence, his music
lacking the knowledge of Jubal‟s best, calling to an experience instead, the sharp cee a
pin that pricks touch, a thin thread across an abyss. I say „abyss‟ here because I saw at
that moment how things had already changed. I said to Mahaleleel,
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„A good meal makes a table, Puck. But a bad meal induces shame, Buck.‟ The
only way to prevent a rising is to create a depression, yes? This is what you call politics:
the control of hunger. Here I try to control satiation, to curb interrelationship, a torpor to
cool any lust. I will make them reluctant to come here again.
Mahaleleel titters in response as he strained to mix a thick paste in a large bowl,
but Lamech, who is only mopping the floor, chips in, „Drown your sorrows all you want,
I say, but you‟ll never get rid of them.‟ Mahaleleel flicked his ear and he screetched and
ran away into a corner, hand to his ear, evidence of excruciating pain in his face.
The sight of Lamech moved me, so I broke my rule and said to him, „Go to the car
and stay there, now.‟ To Mahaleleel I said, „Lamech?‟ He replied,
„Adam.‟
I was surprised by this for some reason. What would they find to do together? I
had planned on going upstairs earlier, so I went up now, slipping into my room to freshen
up first. Zillah was dressing, her spine sticking out as she bends, and she said very loudly,
„I couldn‟t find the pads, dear. Where are they?‟ I showed her. She said as she dressed,
dragging the skirt up her legs as though it was reluctant to come any further, her hatred of
clothes, all concealment.
„These stone rooms are very airy, dear.‟
I didn‟t stay any longer than I had to, nipping on down to Adam‟s room. The
press surprised me at the door and I had to push through rather forcefully, Naamah an
especially recalcitrant bitch at times like this, till I could gain the presence of the great
man himself, watching the evening stars appear and breathing regularly the clean fresh air
of the mountains. I shouted at the crowd of them, „Can‟t you give him a bit of peace? He
has a right to that, hasn‟t he?‟ The second question was for myself, I was surprised at
having the right to peace. But Jubal said then:
„It happens that I am talking to Adam, my dear.‟ Jubal turned in such a way that
he distanced himself from all of us, yet had our attention too, we curious why he had
moved, and said further:
„Adam is a holy man, wise, patient, intent only on the highest things.‟ Methuselah
nudged Adah and whispered beside me,
„Adam thinks up is a place, somewhere to go.‟
Jubal glared at Adah until she quietened, then continued: „Adam says, Highest is a
rotary motion…‟ I interrupted him by saying, „Enoch, empty the slop, will you.‟ But
Adah said immediately. „Hey, you can‟t do that anymore. You gave him to me,
remember?‟
Was I staggered? What have I been doing, I wondered then, dreaming? Only then
did I realise that I had given up Enoch, my soldier prophet. I said over to him, on the far
side of Adam‟s bed, „What is it to be, big boy? It‟s your choice now.‟ Laws are strict for
whiners, so Enoch said without grace,
'That you could think of saying it, mother.‟
Methuselah said, come up beside me quietly, „That it should need saying, for
shame, mother.‟
I acknowledge that I tried to persuade Enoch, and, yes, I was ashamed, misusing
love. But the question had been asked, and Jubal noticed this too, for he piped suddenly,
looking away from Adam to Enoch,
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„I, for one, am dying to know.‟
Enoch swallowed and furrowed his wide brow, looking from me to Adah and
back again, and said, „I will go, of course.‟ He came and sat on the floor beside Adah,
reaching up his right hand to grab her left.
Naamah said, over beside Adam‟s feet, by the window, dressed in clothes that
made her seem merely fat, „Better than renting, mother.‟ Adah flared with a venomous
stare,
„Better than fingering, you slut.‟
„On wheels, mama.‟
Methuselah and Jubal started, Adah looked down at Enoch, sitting beside her like
a turnip. Adam said,
„She‟s a good girl, really. Misunderstood.‟
I said to Jubal, pointing, „Slops, now.‟
In the corridor I remembered that I had not spoken to Adam. I went back to the
emptying room and leaned over to say,
„Complete bomb out, Rich.‟ Out the window I saw a torch on the track from the
High Moor, and saw then the two figures running swiftly, slope assisting them. „A
massacre.‟ Adam looked where I looked, and said:
„I told you before, girl: play with what you have to play.‟
Zillah came in to Adam‟s room and joined us looking out the window. She said
with interest, „I can smell him already, my dear. You are such a considerate woman,
Eve.‟
You see irony, at least in my hand now, but not a bit of it: she was already
thanking me for another of my sons, Cainen this time. My prime bait, not a prize catch
already lost. But when she continued I knew that she was appreciating my consideration
generally, showing again her independence from Cain, able to acknowledge a quality in
me unknown to Cain:
„But what for you is an original, that I am glad you have for yourself from among
all those whom you might have, is for me a copy, a happy copy, but original to me, Eve.‟
She paused very slightly, tilting her face suggestively, and said, 'Tubalcain?'
The prospect wearied me, so I said:
„You can‟t just buy back, Zillah, you know. The complexities now, to be honest.‟
As I spoke I had an image of Cain. He was standing in his room, his hands free, held out
before him as though reaching. I felt acute nausea, not the wipe-out of past occasions, but
a deep reaction in my stomach, as though a switch was thrown and something started,
Adam said to me, „I appreciate what you had done to God‟s Book, wife, and I
appreciate your good wishes. Thank you.‟
Zillah stared at Adam – she had never heard him speak before. She said, „Can you
repeat that, please?‟
Adam said: „I realise that Cain‟s condition upset you. It wasn‟t expected that you
two would get that close.‟
Zillah breathed: „Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful!‟
I said to Adam: „We are not marked by Cain, Adam.‟
Adam seemed to munch for a moment, running his tongue from side to side
between his gums, then he said in a cackling voice:
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„By what he knows, yes, Eve.‟
Zillah said, „How quixotic, loves, this secret language of yours.‟ She paused, then
said, jabbing the air with a metalled arm:
„Cain don‟t give a fuck.‟ She sneered at me. „Don‟t waste your precious time
there, girlie.‟ Adam looked at Zillah in surprise, recollected, then said,
„But of course, Zillah. You know part of the story, don‟t you?‟
I was turning away from Zillah in my surprise: how could she know that, I mean,
how could she know something like that. How does she know that Cain is impotent,
except through some experience? Zillah said at my back:
„You‟ll talk about killing, Adam, I know. But what about dying? About never
coming back?‟
Zillah kept herself under admirable control, I thought then, considering Adam‟s
expression. He said sternly:
„It won‟t be gainsaid anyway.‟
Zillah moved back in an unconcerned way as though she had totally forgotten
Adam‟s face of a moment ago. She said at the door, „There‟s more to it than you think,
gaffer. I promise you that.‟
Adam said into the darkness outside the window, still the torch tracking the path,
no running figures to be seen now,
„Don‟t worry so, Eve. I‟ll be alright.‟
I marvelled at how he could accept himself so completely. I kissed his old brow
spontaneously and said, wiping the skin I had moistened, leaving the warmth alone:
„Who else to worry about you, lunkhead?‟
Downstairs then and into the Lounge for another shot. Before I could touch glass,
Methuselah said from down the bar, already well oiled,
„Closing time, tonight, mamma?‟ I said to him, „Well?‟ then got myself a double
in the interval of expectant hush, blew a hole through my throat, and continued,
„What‟s with that bitch, Methuselah? I thought you had retired, too.‟
Methuselah twirled his glass reflectively, his fingers now quite deliberate, then
said, „I‟m the best soldier you have, evidently. I mean, I give her some distance, don‟t I?‟
I disliked how he turned the last statement into a question, as though I am to
blame for his inability to be affectionate. I said, ruthlessly, „You prefer pleasure anyway.‟
Why Lamech is the child he is, I realised then.
Methuselah‟s superciliousness first surprised me, why skin happiness, as though
happiness couldn‟t look after itself? Then it annoyed me, seeing just how shallow he
really is. I added,
„Like a pussycat, lickspittle, on your knees all the time.‟
I turned my back on him and said to Jubal, who was inside the bar taking down a
new bottle of whisky, „What‟s your pleasure quotient, sugarplum?‟
It looked then as though I would be the troublemaker tonight. Jubal waited until
he had opened the bottle, poured himself a drop, sipped it, before retorting in a shrill
voice:
„As often as needs be. I‟m always ready, as you well know.‟
I looked around the Lounge as though searching for a face I could hardly
remember, someone missing even so.
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Naamah was saying to Enoch, the pair of them facing each other at the little table
in the corner: „Report all movements like a factory.‟ She gestured with her hand, Enoch
staring at it with fascination. I was cheered by this, and I said to Adah,
„We dine in the Ballroom tonight, my dear. I would be grateful if you could
refrain from shouting in there. The acoustics are especially good, you see.‟ Acoustics
made me think of music. I stared into my glass in an uncertain mood, as though I was on
track to get horrendously drunk tonight, and the time for getting off, if I wanted that, was
fast approaching. I said to Methuselah, „Did I send for Lamech yet, do you know?‟
„No. I don‟t know, Mother.‟
„Well, get him now, will you. Here. Be sharp, Methuselah.‟
He moved away quickly enough, to my relief.
Seth came into the Lounge, breathing deeply, windburn making his skin glow,
crossed over and gave himself a shot of gin.
Behind me, Zillah was saying, „Oh but she didn‟t tell me you were such a big boy.
It was very naughty of her, now wasn‟t it? Such a lovely boy you are.‟ She had an arm
about Cainen‟s waist, rubbing her right breast into his side, her free hand vainly clearing
hair from his brow.
Seth said out of the corner of his mouth:
„Coach party. Late night, I fear.‟
He drained the glass and leaped over the counter and began sorting washed
glasses, muttering to himself fussily as he tried to catch up. I said, for confirmation,
„Coach?‟
He spat into a sink,
„Tourists now. What next?‟
Cainen said at my shoulder,
„Beloved, when will I be good enough?‟
I patted his lovely innocent shoulder, and moved around him to face towards
Adah, but said at parting:
„When we all are, loverboy. Never you fear.‟ To Adah I said, „Shop time, sweets.
Then we feed, shay?‟ I nodded at Zillah, said to Enoch, overcoming my reluctance to act
here in a flash of anticipation,
„Zillah knew Hands of God, Enoch-prophet. Wet hands, for all love.‟
Naamah said, „Oh not here too, mammy.‟ But Enoch stood up to his full height,
raised his hands in the air and shouted:
„Behold the path is made clear, the way prepared. Vindication comes!‟
I said to Cainen, „Wait in the yard, like a guardian, yes? Go, baby, go.‟ I patted his
boyish bottom, imagined the jangle of his machinery as he ran off, was content for the
first time for what seemed like forever. My good loyal Cainen.
I said to Zillah, „Your play, baby.‟
Adah cut across her to say:
„Maybe not, girls. I‟ve done my bit by now.‟
Zillah said, turning her nose up cuttingly: „Possession induces resignation,
coagulation, honey. You‟ll become a vegetable if you‟re not careful.‟
Enoch said, breaking into a kind of song:
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Girls all found me tedious
Girls all found me dire
Girls all found me cowering
Girls all found me tiring
Found me tiring
Found me tiring
Girls all found me tiring.
Now I got to thinking
About some countersinking
Some monkey bus’ness
Some funky dizz’ness
Like
In every woman’s arms
Lies a child man or boy
Between every woman’s legs
Lies a man young or old
In every man’s arms
Lies a pillar thick and tall
Between every man’s legs
Lies a rail licking and falling
Hey-yo! Take this down:
From right on high it come
Counterbracing our flight
Here in this like flotsam
Here in that like bile
Like nowhere man no more baby
No more baby
No more baby
Like no more sugar never never
Again
Never ever again
No sugar once
Then never again
Stung, Adah shouted, after a pause to ensure that Enoch was finished, „And you
can‟t keep your mouth from dribbling either!‟
Jubal said to Enoch, „Don‟t you find beating helps?‟
Zillah said, „It‟s in the hands, sweetie. I always told you that, remember,
chicken?‟ Adah put her hand to her throat and stared at her mother with a real fear. I
wasn‟t worried at first, I thought I was the Joker tonight, and so who else could make
trouble? But Adah screamed loud enough to tear her throat open, „I told you before not to
make me unworthy!‟ I saw at once how much different to all of them a part of her is, her
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father, the Mystery Man, her proof of the Hands of God upon her. The preoccupation
with worthiness, of a blessing tarnished, was very evident, as though she was down
among the losers now. But Enoch, bless him, my loyal son, reared up and shouted, as
though in Hosanna:
Of one sin all guilty
Of anger are some
Of low self-esteem is one
Methuselah arrived, bushed and alone. Before I could speak to him, Mahaleleel
came in and shouted in his most venomous tone:
„Dinner!‟
Utter chaos then, hungry dogs, stuffed hams, marinated ribs, gaping mouths. I
made no attempt to control what happened then, except once, as you will see, too many
seeds sown by now, crop uncertain. I‟m wry now, then I was, well, astonished in a
bemused rather than blinded sense, and I watched how my family grabbed the best seats,
nearest the Kitchen Yard, air fresh, food hot – while our visitors gazed at our Ballroom,
the finest floor, resonant plain walls, reverb roof.
Their food was cold, the room was stuffy, the light bad, no one would talk to
them. Seth was holding forth at that stage, in that strange gobbledegook of his. Enoch and
Cainen sat rapt, Methuselah with his hand up Naamah‟s thigh, Jubal holding her other
hand, Enosh in Adah‟s lap, Zillah saying bitchily, looking down her nose at the little fool,
„Just as well it‟s a warm part of the room.‟ She paused to look up above her
daughter‟s head, then continued, „And dark, dear.‟ Mahaleleel joined us at that moment,
sweating still after his long labour, so sitting at our cooler end, and Zillah asked him in an
oily inviting tone, just like something frying in a pan, „Though we could all do with
another bit of heat, like you, Bonzo, yes?‟ Mahaleleel leered once at her and then dived
on the wine, gulping it in his thirst. Wiping his mouth with a large white napkin, he
retorted:
„Or to tincture gold?‟
„Or to keep out the cold?‟ Methuselah intoned drunkenly.
Gales of laughter at all this, even Seth making an acknowledgement:
„Supercharging semper alles, plastic action, gradations of movement at zero+
Rearguard really though they insist on watching.‟
Some merriment then, getting ready for a relieving dessert, something flavoured
cool, with Zillah especially merry, shouting anyway – the reverberation quite remarkable,
especially when Enoch joined her basso, a cacophony for the ear, of course, but what a
rebound for the body. The more we shouted the more we loosened, and the more we
loosened, then the more we reached out, and the more we reached out...
Methushael, squeezed between an excited Zillah and an excited Jubal, finally gave
vent to his rage, jumped up shouting:
„Will nobody feed my son?‟
I was shocked, of course, but before I had time to speak Mahaleleel and Enoch
had jumped up and hurried out to the kitchen. Mahaleleel was doubly upset at having
forgotten about Lamech, he had praised the bit of work he had done for him, and felt he
owed him for that. He chose all the food himself, packed it carefully, and brought it
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himself out to the car, laying out the table and serving him the first course, a final glass of
wine together.
How had I forgotten? Why do I punish him so? What secret link permits this?
Even so, conversation picked up, certainly when Adah said, more than a little
tipsy by now, a surly expression appearing, the bitch showing face at last,
„I‟d toddle my tiddler, dears, just you watch me.‟ A thick flavour in my mouth
suddenly, sweet but slow, like an evacuation, relief. Zillah said at her side: „Keep your
hands clean, eh? Call that purity, you cluck?‟ Enoch said to me, leaning forward to
confide:
„I hear husbands coming, mamma.‟
I smiled and replied, glad we had got through the chaos in reasonable order, „Then
let‟s hear wives going, eh?‟ And I thought, just like that, imagine a mother not feeding
her son?
That was shame, indeed. It subdued me. But still the question, why did I do it? I
sent him to the car and he did it at once, his capacity for obedience, I now see, his blood
almost pured of Cain. Even now I marvel at how that obedience shines in him at all
times, always on the go. But then I denied him sustenance, as though he had been buried
alive in the ground beneath us. But it was only when Adah shouted, „Baring your breast
to everyone, call that pleasure, chicken!‟ that I understood. Zillah was furious now, a rage
I had never seen before, connected with the word „chicken‟ I think. She pointed at Enosh
in her lap asleep, altogether cosy, and barked:
„Better keep your pussy clean, little boys can only pee, my dear.‟
By now I was trying to work out which of them was the Joker, but while
knowledge can be verified by intent, too, here I was obliged to sink deeper into an
experience for verification, they soon leaving, so stag tonight as usual. I said to Zillah as
though inter alia, „Tact can work wonders, my dear.‟
„The only tact here, lover, is the truth,‟ she replied smartly, her anger still there,
and I wondered what had disappointed her, making a baby not love? So I stayed Adah
and said gently, to ease the dangerous passions here in these two women,
„I spoke of understanding the truth, beaver, not of truth alone.‟
Zillah stopped and looked at all of us, beginning to nod with emphasis, then
spoke,
„I do not understand what happened. His blood on my hands.‟ Not Zillah, then, so
I concentrated on Adah:
„A house in the country?‟
She breathed, „Yes!‟
„Lively neighbours?‟
„Yes!‟
„More men?‟
„Yes!‟
„No women?‟
Adah smiled wryly, „How astute, Eve.‟
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That was that. End of dinner. I said to Methuselah, „Off to bed. Chop chop, sonny
boy.‟ To Adah I said,
„No coats, eh? Good. Then straight out to the car. Enoch, Cainen. Get on with it.‟
The quickest way was across the Kitchen yard and out the Kitchen door to the
side of the House. Out they went in a toddling line, Adah, Methushael, Naamah with
Methuselah and Jubal, Zillah trailing. It was during the melee of loading them that
Lamech escaped. But Cainen was on to it quickly. He stirred up the dogs to a fine deep
roar, assuring me it would keep him away in the open for half the night.
Car loaded, then pause while the coach pulled in and debouched its passengers,
then send the car off down the track, Jubal the least drunk driving. Seth and Enosh to
greet the tourists, as Seth sees it, fool and idiot to beguile them. Seth talks his nonsense to
them, and Enosh looks all the time behind them, as though he all the time expects more
tourists to come through the gate, expressing Seth‟s real anxiety, that he might not be
able to cope at the bar, and things could go seriously wrong if that happened. They drift
them, like dogs guiding sheep into the Lounge, sit them down in order, Enoch, then
Mehujael, Tubalcain, Jobal and Irad, a drink in every hand, Seth and Mahaleleel, who
helped him at this stage, exchanging banter to rouse up the travel-weary tourists.
When I got to the Lounge at last, I found an already frozen tableau, families
facing one another, fathers against fathers, both eager for combat, believing honour is
involved. I went and sat under our Icon, between the windows, the great drapes drawn, a
splendour of scarlet tonight. Like a throne? Yes, but also a magisterium: a case to be
tried, no habeas corpus anymore, dicky witnesses so far.
Understand that I didn‟t choose this. I found myself as though a border between
two forces, my sons facing Adah‟s sons, a true battleground. We cleared our lines,
sending the support units back, firmed up at centre with deep wings. In Tubalcain‟s taunt,
directed at Enosh, then deep in conversation with Jobal, „The stunt rattles too, whatever
next, I‟m sure I don‟t know.‟ we saw their disposition, subordination of flanks. At once I
saw the power of our array, and said, „No stunts, punks, only fronts.‟
Mahaleleel moved out like a pike on a perch, a parrot on the trot, Enoch laughing
at the fat sanctimonious peasant until Mahaleleel said to him: „Not wavy anymore? Like
it used to be, I mean.‟
Enoch‟s retreat was tumultuous, I don‟t believe he had prepared for just what he
had been put to that evening. But the other flank was troublesome, as I expected once I
saw Irad Bugger Boy talking to Cainen, definitely thinking he had a chance tonight with
this innocent little lad. I was about to put Enoch and Enosh into their centre and so break
their lance, as it were, when Zillah walked in with a little grin on her mouth, sat facing
me across at the Main Doors, and said to her son,
„No cause for you to complain, ‟Cain. This woman has always been good to you.‟
Given Zillah‟s presence, we did roll them over, leaving Enoch with some little
comfort, closest to me, touching glasses even, while Irad trembled with infatuation, and
permitting Tubalcain to swap a few words with his mother, longest time ever apart.
But Seth‟s anger communicated itself to Enoch, fuelling the battle high he was on,
and he stood up, drained his glass – tossing it behind him – and pulled his shoulders back
and shouted,
153
Design a gate! Plan a way! Brethern,
Come on down
To trouble Town
Kick a can beat a man!
And Seth at last leaped up, shouting pitched above Enoch‟s:
Pissheads all!
Irad said emphatically, „How can you bear to be with such a rabble?‟ Tubalcain
answered him, leaning across an already oiled Jobal,
„We should fill our own glasses, chums.‟ Nodded at the ferocious Seth, „Who do
you think washes up?‟
Irad shouted, „Drink!‟
I could feel that Seth‟s anger had another source, that he had jeered them because
he could not bring himself to do or say something else. I have never seen Seth behave
like this before, perhaps intimidating to those who master others as a matter of course, the
kind of utter amazement that can switch to ferocity in an instant. I, however, went to the
bar and took the bottle of very bad wine, reserved for the ignorant to save waste, and
went from glass to glass, saying, „You must drink all this up before you get another drop
in my House.‟ I filled the glasses of Irad, Jobal, Mehujael, Enoch, sloshing the piss to the
brim of each glass, ruining old port, old brandy, and peppery whisky.
Seth watched them while we fixed another round for ourselves, doing the decent
thing by Tubalcain, but leaving him in the other line, if only for harmony.
Enoch spoke then, unforgivably gloating I know, but this was a defensive action:
Hoping for the nipple, are you?
Soaking up your dribble, are you?
Fraid to cause a ripple, are you?
Sitting in your piddle, are you?
Can’t hold your tipple, can you?
Seth obliged again, another tremendous chorus:
Pissheads all!
They drank the stuff, knowing full well what they were drinking, because it was
going to be a long hard night of it, no women to hand. And they drank from the same
glasses all night, the stench of old resinous piss hanging over them.
They played Mehujael next, evasive action, who said in his longwinded way:
„A moment, please, if I may. We had expected strangeness here, madam and
gentlemen. We expected you to be ignorant, noisy, drunken brutes, the savage offspring
of a savage woman. And what do we find? We are greeted on arrival with warmth and
courtesy, one man wonderfully informative, the other closely attentive. We are taken to
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this capacious waiting room, seated in broad comfortable chairs, the scullion coming to
help with the serving of us. Now, while waiting we are entertained by the ragged bruising
wit of the countryside, served a constant stream of refreshment, you name it, you got it, if
you see what I mean. Then you come in to hold court with us. A warm reception, you
will agree, my lady, but I believe both parties have found their feet, as it were. Then that
potboy bitches because he has to wash up afterwards. You make us drink your piss.
Why? What else do potboys do but clean up behind us?‟
Mahaleleel laughed out in genuine glee, shouting theatrically:
„What? Our piss? Not on your life, mate. That‟s first class old stale congealed piss
of the oldest sourest ram up in those mountains. Ha! Ha! Ha fucking ha!‟
And Enoch pronounced, getting a little riotous, I helpless for once,
Fill no gap in the other, brother.
Seek not in the mother, brother.
Find out from another, brother.
Seek not in the brother, mother.
Rah! Rah! Rah!
Do it!
Seth intoned more softly this time, in pitch:
Cold invigorating winds
Come first in spring:
Hail to awaken the earth again.
At last they found something agreeable to everyone, so we could drink a few toasts. Size
one another up more closely.
Now Irad had his say, still smitten with our Cainen, as you will notice:
„Fonder in the hand, my boys, as some of you might agree, but superior in the
rear, if you will believe me. Walls of brick, walls of stone, still we are superior in the
rear, never you fear.‟
I forestalled Enoch, pointing at Tubalcain, „Let‟s finish up our glasses, lads, and
have another drink, brother. What do you say to that, Pat?‟ As they drank, poor Enoch
most wretched – hadn‟t touched a drop of it before now – I said to them all,
„Cain has no magic.‟
Meaning, of course, that they were out on their own, suckers for their own
propaganda, no troubles, Bubbles. I should have seen this coming, fooled by thinking
they were stronger than they turned out to be, but I wasn‟t surprised to see Mehujael
stand up, drain his glass and say before wiping his mouth:
„You persist in misunderstanding the nature of the problem, Eve. There is a
greater case to be told, if you wish to use this analogy: a greater court to sit, a greater
crime to judge.‟
Enosh suddenly piped up in his bright idiotic way and said: „Pillage if not true!‟
I said, irritated by the twit‟s interruption,
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„What Cain did was true. Not a curse on Cain then: he could still choose.‟ I knew
what I said was true, but I didn‟t know how I knew it was true, no verification, nor do I
remember such a moment in Cain, seeing his power of choice, its operational weakness.
Jealousy. That word comes to me again now, seeing Cain‟s jealousy only now.
What do I remember, I wondered then: what do I remember about choice?
Only now I remember: love breeds choice, do good to the beloved or do evil to
the beloved. And, yes, I know I evade the question here, do you blame me? We are
cursed for this love, I fear to learn what I cannot change. I live in the hope of overcoming
this curse.
Again, only now do I realise that this is the greater crime that Mehujael spoke of:
the curse placed on us. Then, not knowing this, I followed a different strategy, harking
back to another word that accompanies „misunderstand‟ in my memory of the event, that
other word, „Destination‟. I said to Enoch, a truly sour look on his face, utterly revolted
with himself,
„Cain has no destination now. You have wiped him out, gentlemen. We salute
you.‟
Enoch then, his Alleluia of Jays:
Three jays all in a row
Seizors all out for jays
Jay’s is prized, right? Alright!
Two jays strapped to a line
Says one jay, I’m fine
Says the other jay, Me too!
One jay alone on a spire
No more to conspire
Or rattle a wire
Singing fall de lal de loll!
Singing fall de lal de loll!
No jay now on anyone’s pipe
All gone where good jays go
Singing full de lul de lill!
Singing fill de lul de loll!
Enoch wiped his soiled mouth and said sternly, „Not a punishment, miss. A
memory expunging, as it were, fair lady.‟
Goodness. Drinks all round again. I missed the music, neither Jubal nor Jared here
right now, and scouted for a diversion. Seth said to Enoch‟s back at the bar: „So what are
you doing here if you don‟t want to know?‟ Good question, but I knew also that we were
outgunned in this department. Zillah said from the floor behind her settee – looking for an
earring – on her hands and knees in that beautiful dress of mine,
„Shine a light anyway, baby, I‟ve lost some metal.‟
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Tubalcain ran over in panic, found the earring at once, attached it to his mother
again, and said,
„Brackets. Must be in stronger brackets.‟ He balled his fists in an empty gesture of
his panic, so I said:
„Swells all the time, sunshine. Can‟t keep it up, world‟s whine.‟
Now Irad leaned forward, beginning to stake the middle ground between us:
„The case may be molestation, interference. Might be buggery, breaking and
entering. Might be a bad harvest, refugees already. Might be Saturday night, a night for a
fight. Might be hurrahs, might be hurrys, might be hellos.‟
I risked Cainen, that he would succumb to the old queen, by saying smartly:
„Find your own level, buster. We do, like everyone else.‟
Zillah was back in her seat, fixing her earring still, a complicated procedure. She
said to Cainen, „Give us a hand here, dear, will you.‟
Irad said, too late by then, „You must offer some guarantees, Missus.‟
I waved him away, able to dismiss him: „Let your intentions be your judge, jury,
endurance, gaffer.‟
Zillah said to Irad, „Reconsider your options, sweetie. Consider halves today.‟ To
Cainen she said, „You too, dear.‟ She stroked his bare arm, her hands bent in a tense way,
fitting rather than feeling.
Jobal was prodded into action now, his usual peaceable nature perturbed by strong
liquor, and now he said to me, plaintively,
„Adah either wants chutney or else she asks for sauce. But I just want some of the
cream.‟
That interested me. Was he surrendering, or was this a strategy to suborn me? If
the latter, then they must believe they have no better to offer me. I decided to cut deeply
then, to bring their case into the open,
„Pussy‟ll show you cream, boy, never you mind.‟
Irad leaned towards me and spat: „You are insatiable. You truly are.‟ He turned to
his fellow fathers and said, nodding in laughable earnest:
„Out of our city anyway, men.‟
But Jobal, interrupted, became cranky, whining to his father-brother beside him,
„Tries for the boy, gets the mother instead. Ped‟s worst pash.‟
Tubalcain hardly moved, staring at the tips of his boots: „Tries for the mother,
gets the sister instead. Son‟s best catch.‟
Zillah stands up and turns away, walking slowly towards the bar, shouting:
„Tries for the brother, gets the son instead. The risk in the frisk, you know.‟ Bottle
above her head, „Drinks?‟
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The sadness of Irad. How he was trained to keep men away from women, to
prevent contamination. I said to him, in comfort, just as Mahaleleel went rogue: „Try for
the boys, if you please, but only after me, poor sod.‟ Mahaleleel was otherwise, draining
his glass and throwing it behind him in careless abandon, mincing it good and all:
„Perturbation, you low animals! Masturbation, you little weeds! Interpretation,
you glass-eyed fucks! You think that because you have a mirror at home that all‟s safe
with the world! You think that because you throw away your shite that your world is
pure! You think that because Sunday comes once a week that God must have created the
world so that he could put Sunday in it! You think that because pricks come first on
Saturday nights that God made Sunday for men, anyway! Insensation, the brick killing
you while the heat keeps you alive! Impersonation, the dick thrilling you while the beat
keeps you on jive! Here‟s to Saturday night, lads! Hey-ho! Hey-ho! Hey-ho!‟
Irad was bright-eyed again: he said in a confidential tone, „Capacious pockets for
money, always. You know, in and out frequently.‟
„Admitted that all our actions have purpose,‟ interjected Enoch, then turning to
me, as though to remind his pals of their purpose here tonight, „so that all actions have
histories. But it is not that our purposes become history, our world, if you like, miss,
rather that we cause no accidents.‟
Tubalcain coughed, pushing himself upright in his seat, the carpet about his chair
stained dark in some way, then said laughingly:
„A broken wheel is an accident, surely?‟
Mehujael wrinkled his long snouty face, dark eyes glowing in an accident of light:
Who weaves eternal toils
Who reeves internal coils
Who leaves infernal boils
That spout most precious oils?
Enoch roared, only for effect, though I suspect he was also testing the field: „How
well do you know your actions, Brethern? Reflexivity! Regression! Digression! Get on!
Set in! Going soon come later! Lovely!‟
Seth was certainly startled, jumping up in great agitation, saying quietly, after all
the din: „Miss blisten all boys cannot ink?‟
Mahaleleel had by now recovered enough from his last outburst to be tempted to
try again, censure this time not praise: „Redeem every last buck brothers! Esteem any
good luck mothers! Supremely awestruck fathers! Ice cream every fast fuck, suckers!
What is strange? What‟s in range? Brothers! Brothers! Get this down! This is how it is!
Always bag lining gaffers! Always in orange uncles! Always on toast sisters! Here like
five! There like wafer! And then like layer! Then severe! On a rail boys! All the way
okay! Alright!‟
I expected Enoch to join in here, but he seemed somewhat bewildered, as though
surprised he couldn‟t understand Mahaleleel, much less Seth, and so it was left to poor
Irad to stick out his neck again, always chatting men up: „On a rail, did you say, guvner?
More like a nail from here, old chum.‟
Zillah put Cainen down and struck Irad on the shoulder in mock-playfulness,
„Speak for yourself, Babu. What do you know what women can do?‟
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Mahaleleel cocked his head, Zillah‟s voice bringing him up this time. He walked
down to Irad, bowed low in mockery and said loudly:
„If you will pardon me, mister, but I don‟t see that that is any way to speak to an
angel!‟ Bowing low to Zillah in a profound practised gesture of courtesy, head back,
locking hot eyes onto hers. Irad said at his side, pointing at Mahaleleel as though he was
mad, „Fly-boy, lads, watch his hands now.‟
Mahaleleel said to Zillah, loudly, „A woman‟s worth her keep, that‟s what I
always say, sweetheart. Always at it, by all accounts.‟
„Oh don‟t worry, chuckles,‟ Zillah yells in false heartiness, „a man‟s better than
his keep if you feed him up proper, bursting with energy to spare. Ha! Ha! Ha bloody
ha!‟
Rebuffed so smartly, Mahaleleel went off to find his glass and get another round
for all of us, back in his place finally. Usually the most reserved of man here, the visitors
have completely thrown him out. He must cook and skivvy for them, must fall in love
while in this menial role.
Now Enoch came in, very quietly, turning to me at his side: „Your beauty
surpasses all that I see, miss, if you will forgive me.‟
Seth was on my other side, sitting forward in case he might hear some interesting
conversation, as though God might someday appear in one of us. He said to Enoch,
twisting his glass between his two hands,
„Why forgive blindness, sir? How would that serve, I ask.‟
Caught out, Enoch could only withdraw stiffly: „My rudeness, then, in
extenuation? I do wish you well, you know. No one else cares about my father, you
know. You love him all you can.‟ His hands went on waving after he finished, as though
he would have liked to say more. Mahaleleel said to someone, „I didn‟t take it. Look, I
only cleaned that bit. Look, you can see how clean it is there.‟ I looked down at Zillah,
see her sitting like a frump. The battle seemed to be over, all their guns fired off, pretty
useless bunch, after all, so I felt we could afford to relax for a while.
On my way to the bar, I said to her in passing, „Like to help, Trudy?‟ She bounced
up, all a-glitter, saying in a screetch:
„Oh yes let‟s do!‟
I poured her some special port, got it into her pretty fast, filled her glass again,
then said, looking at the lights reflected in the countertop: „Where away, sailor?‟ This
made her gloomy, unfortunately, and she moped over her drink for a while, that is, until
Mahaleleel came in to recharge his tray and saw her. All his old peevishness had come
back, the disappointment very deep now, touching a bitterness. He said to her directly, his
right hand fisted on his hip, „No gap in the line, please, Madame. I‟ll fill you in turn if
you would just be patient.‟ To me he said beseechingly,
„Mother, don‟t start now, please.‟
Zillah caught his hand, her right to his left, pulling him back, shouting, „Whoa
there, boy. The Queen might be dead but I say every time, long live the Queen, sunshine
and hail afterwards.‟
Mahaleleel shouts, more frantic now, „Mother! Oh for goodness sake mother!
You‟re not listening to me are you? You never listen to me, no matter what I say!‟
But Zillah kept hold of him, drew him back to her, as though she was the
permission for an attractor to come into operation in him, that then impelled him towards
159
her. Down, down he went onto her knees, into her bony lap, unbelievably warm for all
that. A last strangled cry of „Mamma!‟ and Mahaleleel was gone, a shapeless pile in her
arms, her hands communicating with him, telling him her awful news.
I knew Mahaleleel would be away for a time, Enoch only needed quietening, not
just then but shortly after when his head of steam blew the safety valve. I was interested
at that point: Enoch had new experience to communicate to God in his heaven, perhaps
God might tell Enoch something new, too. In the meantime, Seth opened for him by
preparing the stage, as it were:
Seth’s scenes whimsical: Yo!
Flimsy frolics frantic: Yo!
Trim sheets for his head: Yo!
Seven pigeons done in red: Yo!
Many omissions mantic: Yo!
Comical musical: Yo!
Only Mehujael remained in resistance. He crossed his arms and shouted at Enoch beside
him:
„An army not a committee! I told you!‟
I looked about. Some army, only one casualty. I was almost three down, Cainen
by the door to the Garden, Enosh under a chair somewhere, Mahaleleel under assault.
Nevertheless, Seth‟s nonsense was a diversion, sowing further seeds of discord, as Enoch,
Irad and Mehujael fought their bewilderment, arcane negotiations becoming drunken
puff-ups. Then Enoch got the go-ahead and he bellowed:
Sugary shingles, leopards coke,
Drink malt liquor; chancery
Patience, bandits’ bewilderment:
New product new prod prod
Act now overcome cashews.
Thrice in the frost once in the front
Sent in the post found in the font:
Crazy juniper mere castigations
New product know it when you see it:
Talking soap dancing stool frowning –
Beat any pride meat any offals.
Could I be fairer, Sammy? Three
Days say could it be any stranger?
Don’t tear the curtain!
Don’t stare don’t dare don’t care…
That was Enoch in flight, suddenly over the top. Genuinely frightened. I had
feared he would throw himself about as he always does when it‟s just family, but no,
160
restrained to the end, large as ever, but keeping margins to help the cause. And that was
it. With Enoch out I had only Seth left, not much in the circumstance, so I decided on a
final ploy, my own play. I stood up and said to Enoch,
„Off you go, Cherry. Take your brothers with you. Seth, see them off. Mahaleleel,
clean the place up before you go to bed.‟
Luckily the chair was in my way: I would have fallen flat on my face when I
turned abruptly to march from the room. Lucky also, because this was not the way out of
the room, our famous Icon, the High Mountains, was behind my chair, and behind the
Icon was the thick northern wall of the Lounge, the two Great Windows flanking. To
cover up twice over, I took a deep interest in the night outside, drawing the heavy drapes
back for the purpose. I had forgotten that I was on my way to a colossal drunk. My head
was sore already, body parched, a weakness unto surrender in my legs, a violence in my
arms: my reaction, finally, to our visitors. Nothing to hug, nothing to beat. I turned at the
window, clutching the thick drapes: Irad was pulling Jobal from his chair, the youngest
beginning to whinge, hours to get home, Irad dismal. I stated as clearly as I could, the
room like a battlefield, an untidy irresolute air, a mucky fight, finally seen to be halfhearted:
„If not the truth, then goodness.‟ I felt like breaking into a Zillah-kind of weep in
front of the lot of them. But would they notice me either? „Don‟t say you haven‟t been
warned!‟ I screamed at them, trying that way to get through to them.
Each had his head down. Mine watched Cain‟s brood with expectation: this was
my last bolt. But I must record that I had a feeling about the Joker again at that moment. I
thought then my outburst had brought back my fear that I was the one to stir things up
tonight. However, all expectant or trying to conceive in that room, when Lamech says at
the door:
„Men are not pillars to anchor women‟s emotions. Fight destiny some other way,
Eve.‟
I smiled wryly to hear this, but it was overwhelmed by the fury that rose in me on
hearing his wretched grating voice, that put-upon tone, the false modesty of a man who
knows he‟s on to a good thing. He was very dirty, scraped and red from exposure: a
sandwich in one hand, a glass of beer in the other. His kin stared at him, Enoch whispered
to Irad and Tubalcain: the latter glanced at me, an involuntary naïve act.
I said to Enoch, „Make sure you take him with you.‟ I turned towards the door,
seeing the gleaming ovens in the Kitchen, saw that the path through was clear and so set
off. I walked slowly, intense delicacy was called for. Lamech said, watching my
approach with interest:
„You can‟t deny me, can you?‟
I looked down at him, at his raw face, stubby nose – feeling the Joker again:
„And you can‟t deny me, either, you worm.‟
And with that I sweep from the room, good night‟s sleep, awake sparkling on the
bright morn. No. Enoch decides to start up again:
Ingredients: Sugar again and again.
Heat the tin, sprinkle to the brim,
Let us in or let us on. Can. For two
Hours. Eat the remains, all do. Skulking
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For crumbs touch for a drink meat for
The other Enoch cracked Enoch hard on the head, Seth kicked him behind his knee,
felling him. Mehujael said, „Rise up cousins! You‟re nothing but booze on the brains
mates! Take a tray there please!‟ Irad ran away, but Tubalcain said to me across the fallen
Enoch, a whimpering Enoch, and a busy Seth:
„If I lose a mother, Eve, what do I gain?‟
Lamech said, barking at Tubalcain with customary impatience, „A step on
another, done-a-bit.‟ I looked at Lamech in astonishment: so did Seth, who said to him:
„Lording it over hives, don‟t you? No dice?‟
162
I made tea in the kitchen. Middle of the night, everything clinking and clicking
with sharp-cornered sounds, darkness utter beyond the window. I wondered what Adam
was doing now that the stars are hidden. I wondered if he had been liquored and fed, then
I shrugged that concern off: Adam could always come down if he was hungry enough.
Then I thought with a new startlement that Adam could choose. I didn‟t have to worry
about him anymore.
Lamech was perched on the side of the table, swinging his feet, eating another
sandwich. He said to Seth:
„Brilliant flights coming in. Quite stumbling. I bad two left odour sheep, you
know. Never thrown angle-ring dikes before.‟
Seth replied:
„There sat wrack, up and over, neither coin, I guess. Winsome.‟
Having remembered Adam, I decided to go up and drink my tea in his room, hear
what he had to say. In the Hall Enoch sat slumped against a wall, Irad pleading with him
to get onto his feet. Mehujael sat on the bottom step of the stairs, the cold stone step, head
in hands, not used to alcohol anymore. I kicked his thin thigh and urged him to go into
the kitchen, where it is still warm from the ovens: „Tell Seth I said you were to have tea.
Carminative if not outright miraculous at times.‟
Tubalcain was talking as I came into Adam‟s room, but stopped abruptly,
swallowing as he tensed to say to me, „You haven‟t answered my question yet, Eve.‟
Adam said hootingly, really irritated that the visitor should use my name freely: „Your
hard on jelly here, my boy.‟ Zillah looked rested, perhaps she does enjoy Mahaleleel, a
curious even intriguing couple, and said tartly to Tubalcain:
„When the mother comes to want the child is time for getting out quick, Quigly.‟
She got up from her perch on Adam‟s bed, and went and fixed the drinks. I drank my tea,
black, hoping for a miracle, otherwise I was going to crash in about another hour. The
strain was like a heavy dark plank of wood, so big, so heavy, so alien, that I could not
begin to separate out all the strands of memory, voices, faces, furnishings, the tree, the
city, Cain, most of all Cain. I sat in the chair by the window, facing Adam almost
directly, as he lay looking out the window at my side, even though nothing to be seen
tonight. I could not move then: the memories crowded on me, the overwhelming
familiarity of Adam‟s form, stretched out before me on the bed, like a screen that
permitted my recent experiences to return to me with such force, each memory begging
for something, completion, approval, explanation, judgement.
I heard Jubal‟s music, that strange nonsense, how Mehujael appeared on our first
meeting – stuffy – I could see the tree clearly, as viewed from the room I worked in, the
window facing into the courtyard lighting up at times in a wonderfully crystalline way.
But through all this went a dark thread, composed at times of my experience of the city
itself, but as often a clear picture of Cain sitting at his little table in the dark, consumed
by some deep bitterness, that rejection I felt in him.
They left me alone to brood, only Adam a bit concerned, never having seen me
like this before. For Cain I felt pity, a true profound pity, for him as much as for what he
had done to earn rejection by God. If Cain had been in the room, I would have embraced
him tightly. Then I saw the extent of Cain‟s blame: could anyone else do what he did? I
realised immediately that the whole point of the secrecy was that the action could be
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repeated, perhaps easily – Cain is not a genius. And yet no one does it, inadvertently or
otherwise. So where did Cain get the idea from?
I said to Zillah, inserting myself into a gap in their chat:
„Where did Cain get the idea from?‟
Adam glanced over at me with his oh-there-you-are face and said:
„From his brother, dear.‟
Zillah‟s face went radiant, her eyes rising, full of adoration, as she breathed:
„Hands of God.‟
Adam cocked his head towards Zillah as though to indicate the subject of what he
said then: „Like Cainen‟s. The shepherd, I mean.‟
Tubalcain said: „Handful of wool better?‟ Then more loudly to the room at large,
as though he had just gone mad:
„Like Iron, mates. Thick iron bar, cold to touch but fucking durable, mates.
Right?‟
Enoch replied at the door, tired but game still, good lad:
„Light it is said can shine forever if let, sunshine. Toss me a bottle, Billy, and I
will buckle down to it.‟ He began to shout now, a bit indulgent I think, but he was very
tired and I suppose he needed something to keep him going:
„Yoke my steam, pity heaven, a rain of conifers, glad tides at sea. Brindles, canes,
mortimers, all glinting to heaven too. But my Lord said, Have hope, brethern, everywhere
you see me. Underweight, to be sure, my lords, but feel that flesh. Juicy, eh? Get on with
it, how much better do you want, eh? Go on, get it inside you!‟
Adam chuckled with about as much indulgence and said: „No use railing in here,
my lad. I‟m deaf in one ear and can‟t be bothered using the other.‟
Zillah said, „I think it is time I was off. I said I‟d be back about four. You know
what I mean? Doesn‟t mind me going out in the evening so long as I come back and give
him a good time.‟ She laughed indulgently too, confident that she has a good handle on
her husband.
Tubalcain was watching me watching Zillah. He said, suddenly his old shrewd
self, man of iron, cold to touch but going to last for ever:
„As good as gold?‟
I almost called him the Joker, the tea making me a little too bright now, but I
checked myself and reinterpreted what he had said, so that rather than complimenting his
mother, he was asking me why a mother would cling to a child. I answered both
questions to see which he would choose:
„Woman like to toy, boy.‟
Tubalcain smiled, put up a finger, licked it and held it out towards Zillah, saying:
„Zillah likes to flog it. Don‟t you, mother?‟
She laughed a full laugh, quite content with herself, and at the door she turned and
blew a kiss, hitched her hip suggestively, and laughed again with the delight of it all, and
strutted away on her thin shanks to their bedroom down the corridor.
Enoch said to Tubalcain, „You seriously consider the specifications of God.
Hands of God, God in heaven, God giving curses…‟ I interjected, sudden memory
guiding my tongue:
„God asking questions?‟
Enoch turned to me in astonishment,
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„Can God lie?‟
Adam said, looking over at me for an instant, clear eyes, „Who says God knows
everything, chuck?‟ He continued after a pause of appreciation for himself, at home with
his memories:
Who are you?
How do you know you are vulnerable to me?
What did you do, woman?
I went to the head of the stairs and shouted loudly: „Enoch! Get up here this
minute!‟ I was gratified to hear an instant bustle in all the rooms downstairs, unsteady
step in the hall already. I turned in the room and said, „Just hold everything now. Easy.‟
The tea was magical, everything too bright, missing a lot of detail in the glare. I shouted
at Enoch, stumbling up the stairs, „Come on, big boy, let‟s see how it stands, Dan.‟ I
caught Enoch‟s elbow and moved him smartly down the corridor to Adam‟s room, he
with a lean to the right, as though about to skid into the wall opposite.
„Now,‟ I said to him in the presence of Adam, suppressing my breath to speak
plainly: „What question did God ask your father, Enoch?‟
We let him sink into a chair by the door, and Tubalcain was good enough to fetch
him a drink of water. When he was sufficiently rested, we waiting in utter silence, he
said: „Best I remember, miss, it was.‟ Paused, cleared his throat, holding up his hand to
forestall us further, going on then to obviously recite a story from his childhood:
“Why are you sulking: puss on the ground, spiting yourself?” Then Jefe
said to Cain: “Better the swan of goodness than the duck of desire, do you
hear?” And then Jefe said to Cain: “Where is your brother?” And Cain,
detained by Jefe, said in reply: “I do my own work. You do yours.” And
then Jefe said to Cain: “What have you done?” And Cain heard the world
under his feet groan as if in pain. And Cain began to feel the pain in
himself. So Cain went and lived away from the Land of Pain. Cain did not
tell Jefe what he did. But then Jefe did not tell Cain what his secret act had
done: that henceforth and forever Cain will witness to Jefe in pain only.
Analytical: forgive the irony of Jefe knowing the result but not the cause.
Thank you for listening to me.
Only Tubalcain seemed to understand what Enoch called „Analytical‟, and he
smiled broadly and applauded. He said to me, smiling at my puzzlement, „Cain‟s act is a
secret he keeps from God.‟ Enoch wiped his mouth after a decent toast of selfcongratulation, but he said at once: „Cain says he does this to make atonement to his
descendants for the awful curse he has placed on them, though no one believes him about
the curse. Virgin curse is hardly anything at all, if you think about it, miss. If you‟ll
forgive the crassness of “virgin”, not a nubile woman of great promise, but an unused
power, unknown because unwitnessed.‟
„Gee-up!‟ shouted Enoch, jealous for once, new show in town.
Now Irad came into the room, looked over the men and said to Adam: „Where the
boys hang out, yeh?‟
Enoch said severely, „Now, none of your dirty chat in here, my boy. We‟ll have
respect from you for the head of the House.‟
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I had gone back to my chair by the window, where I could rival the stars in the
eyes of my husband too, and had started into a second cup of tea by this stage, and I
replied by way of a parable to inaugurate Irad into our regime:
„Boys hung out once on the main street, every night, you get it? Anyway, this
evening a tall blond came up to them and asked if one of them might have change. One of
the boys said in reply: “Ain‟t got no change, miss, but sure got a lot of what comes
before. Haw! Haw! Haw ruddy haw!” So, hung tight, I ask you: Got any of what comes
before hanging out on the street, Skeet?‟
Irad feigned shyness, until Tubalcain said, „He taught me the Two Hand Reel, the
Up and Over, Milkmaids-a-Milking, Mermaid‟s Gallop, Succubus Blues, Gondolier, over
here! Sugarstick, and, of course, everyone‟s favourite tap, Boots and Buckles Boys.‟
I said to Tubalcain, „Are you serious?‟
Irad said anyway:
„It was my job.‟ He shook a finger at Enoch slumped by the door on a chair too
small for him really: „Don‟t you deny that, you! You said, Enoch, to me: “Bugger boys.
Such a nuisance, always jumping up and down.”‟
Enoch tried to draw himself up in his chair before replying forcefully:
„No such thing, you filthy man!‟ He leaned and stuck his head out into the
corridor and shouted very loudly:
„Methushael!‟
I said, „Out.‟
„Still?‟
„Has anyone seen him?‟
„No. Did he go back with the women?‟
Enoch said, „Did he go? asked the Lord. Every day, I say alarmed. Did he come?
asked the Lord. Only when called, I stalled, wondering what going is if coming is so
wanting.‟
Methushael said at the door, grovelling for some reason, perhaps shocked by the
depredations of alcohol he had witnessed, asking, „Where is she?‟
„Who?‟
„My Zillah.‟
„Zillah is married.‟
„Who to?‟
„To whom, twit. Mahaleleel, butcher, cook and canister.‟
To me Methushael said plaintively, „We‟re running out of girls, mamma baby.‟
Adam said, „Run out of dick first, don‟t you worry sonny boy.‟
Enoch said, severity in his voice again,
„Irad, Methushael. Report assessment. Headlines and topical features only, if you
please. It‟s already very late.‟
Like a fountain spewing water, Methushael said: „Shy of girls. Understandable.
Once with Adah is often enough, you know. I should know, I onced too. Ha Ha Ha
heaving Ha!‟
Enoch said to Irad, „Trousers down, my boy. Let‟s see how it all hangs together
there.‟
Irad breaks into a stutter, feet tripping under him, „Stay stuck foff hif you fink I‟ll
oil any feels in here, oh no. Not that kind of party for me.‟
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„Puff puff,‟ Tubalcain mimicked, cruelty in Cain‟s brood.
„Come on, you guys, pick on someone else, say?‟ Looks around in desperation:
„Hey let‟s see how the big boy shakes out, okay. He sure looks well equipped, boys. Hey,
what you say, we go an‟ hang out with the Big Boy.‟ Mimes the Big Boy, like a woman
in his arms, legs wrapped around his thighs, trying to get off into the air.
Adam says to no one in particular:
„Birds for dark lanes. Cows for bells. Geese for cars, like a giraffe in prayer.‟
Enoch intoned, intensely, „Right on!‟
Tubalcain said, „If you‟ll forgive me saying it, Irad, in such a public place, but it
is common knowledge that you wank into a thimble.‟
Methushael said, suddenly furious, „Finger alone fantastic, he said. Yes, I said to
him afterwards, but ten is not tenfold, no way José.‟
„Grüss Gott,‟ Enoch said in exasperation: „Look Methushael, keep your sordid
transactions to yourself, will you. And wash your hands. How many times have I told you
to wash your hands before as well as after. You don‟t know where your hand has been
sometimes. Now, bear up brightly, lad, and answer me this question: “If willy winks for
me, what does wally do for you?”‟
Methushael seemed to know what Enoch was saying, for he replied: „Woolly
slipover often, Great Gaffer.‟
Irad shouted: „Misrepresentation. I protest most strongly that I am being wilfully
and knowingly misrepresented here.‟ In the ensuing silence he continued lamely: „No
hand of mine was made unwelcome.‟
Enoch shouted derisively at Irad, pointing at him in contempt:
„Nor welcome either, trickster.‟
I looked at Enoch in surprise. Was this the Joker? Irad? I nodded to Enoch and he
blocked the door, and then I said to Irad, „Alright, Johnnie Fire Cracker, let‟s get this over
with the minimum of fuss.‟
Enoch caught him from behind, pinning him about his chest, holding Irad‟s back
to him. Tubalcain caught his pants at the bottom and pulled them down, Adam pushing a
quick hand up under his shirt, and shouting „Wowee! Get a look at this, boys.‟ Irad‟s shirt
was drawn back to a gasp of astonishment. We studied Irad‟s equipment until Enoch said,
shaking his head slowly:
„My my. Bluebells. Whatever next around here?‟
I said, catching poor Irad‟s eye: „Nothing to be ashamed of now, you know. Steep
them often, like peas, you know.‟ To the rest of the room I said: „So, end of Irad‟s
Mystery. Methushael‟s phantasy, contemptible outsider, superior because rejected, Cain
as virtue, not so funny is it, you ginks?' I raised my hand, then first finger:
„One, God asks about a woman‟s action. Two, God asks about a man‟s actions.‟
Irad was by now frantic in Enoch‟s embrace, but I noticed he was embraced with an
element of delight at novelty, the shameless wantonness that disproves by its excess,
impacted colon in memoriam, though not enthusiastic for such a handout. I raised my
third finger and said „Third,‟ paused. „Well, third then, what is the third then, boys? Well,
I tell you, boys, it‟s like this. God expects answers from us, and only from us. So what‟s
his third question?‟
Silence. I thought then that perhaps we had gone as far as we could without
Cain‟s evidence.
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I said to Methushael and Enoch:
„Get Cain out here. Priority.‟
Later in bed, I said to Tubalcain,
„Act upon fact, is that it, chisler?‟
He nodded, smooth again:
„Before tact, before pact, paddywacked. Sleep tight, honey. Byee.‟
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I woke fresh, a spring morning at last, roused out the House and set them to work,
cleaning and polishing, in teams:
For cleaning the stonework: Lamech, Enosh, Jobal, directed by Enoch, hardly up
to working today. For polishing the woodwork, Seth and Irad, with Tubalcain and
Mehujael for the furnishings, Cainen for the yard, and Lamech for the drains. I
concentrated on the new room for Adam, downstairs so he could be among us more now
that I understood what he had done, how he had made a choice.
It took me some time to work out where best to place Adam downstairs. He would
need to be south-facing again, but the smaller room would give him no privacy, opening
directly into the Hall as it does. The Ballroom seemed excessive at first, but I moved the
furniture about to create a focused intimacy, a place where that which is seen does not see
who watches. Adam can receive his friends with greater comfort, room to sit down and
relax, spread out about behind him as he lies abed in the Great Window, eyes tracking
east to west and west to east, watching the universe rolling on for ever.
So it was after breakfast that I could arrange my men in a relay to bring Adam
down to his new room, first Enoch lifts the head of the bed, then Lamech lifts the foot,
Enosh rolls forward, the bed travelling across his back, the head being taken by Jobal.
Now Enosh springs up and takes the foot of the bed, while Jobal rolls underneath, this
time Mehujael taking the head, followed by Enoch and Irad on the stairs, then Seth in the
Hall, Lamech in the Yard, Cainen in Reception and finally Tubalcain in Adam‟s New
Room.
Most of the view from the window was familiar to him from his time upstairs, but
the breadth of the range of view delighted him, as I thought it must. We experimented
with sitting about as though visiting him, which became a form of musical chairs, the
possibilities of which at once began to intrigue us. You see the pattern, don‟t you? All of
us running wild behind Adam‟s back.
Afterwards, as we cleaned out his old room, which I will let Enoch have now, I
found the restored Book of the Secrets of God thrown in a corner. I was surprised and
hurried down to Adam‟s New Room and asked him why he had thrown the beautiful
book away. It took him a while to collect himself, looking up at the ceiling, muttering,
„Patience, patience, patience, patience.‟
Then he said: „I didn‟t throw the fucking thing away! It slid off the bed and
slipped into the corner. Besides,‟ he huffed, „shows how often your lot cleaned the place
out, doesn‟t it?‟
I was caught off-balance there. I decided to go, but said to him anyway,
„Patience comes from nowhere, Rollo. Not from a knot in your cock, sucker.‟
I put the book on his bed, it promptly slid off and slipped across the floor to the
window. Adam shouted, „There!‟ even as I wondered if I had seen Adam‟s leg move. I
was astonished by the very notion, how could Adam move again, having once stopped?
After a moment of silence Adam said, „It slipped in the exact same direction.‟ I went to
the window at that point and looked down. It was a clear day, so I could see down across
the foothills to the plain below, the River snaking down its centre, the city directly in my
line of vision, glinting in the afternoon sun.
Adam said behind me, „The city, I bet.‟
I nodded and he exulted, shouting, „I knew those buggers wouldn‟t let go!‟
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I picked up the book and held it to my breast. The city below suddenly glowed
like a great field of precious stones, glinting a myriad of colours, shapes, forms, images.
That was enough for now, I put the book down again on the floor and said to Adam,
making it sound like an obscure joke:
„It must smell.‟
Adam looked out the window again, his last words like some residue draining out:
„To high heaven, my dear.‟
I picked up the book again and held it tightly to my breast, and saw the city again
light up, and all the fantastic forms, then images, and then words, letters flowing over all
that colour, words forming, commas, semicolons, full stops, rolling before my eyes yet
meaningless to me. To come so close and yet fail moved me to tears, and, crying, I held
the book even closer, squashing it to my breasts and belly, and then the roll of language
seemed to slow down and words became clear. But the script was unfamiliar to me, and
this agitated me so much that I ground the book into my body, feeling the material give
way slowly to my embrace. Now the script is clearer to me, but the words now strange,
like a language broken up and redistributed arbitrarily. It was the arbitrariness of the last
play that alerted. Arbitrary distribution, no retrieval.
I wondered then if this was the point at which Adam had thrown the book away,
seeing it for the joke he had expected.
When I finally calmed down, I opened the book out of curiosity. I found that the
script was familiar, not in itself, but by means of a kind of overscript in another mode,
that most likely had been added by the science of the city. Then I could see why he had
thrown the book away: the book was full of numbers, following one another without
break from first to last page.
I said to Adam, „A Book of Numbers, you chick. Fancy that.‟
As I was leaving the room I heard a sound behind me, like a recognition, but very
compressed. Ironic now, but I did think after the sound, in wry acknowledgement of his
taste for economy, that he must be very far away if that is all we get to hear now.
I met Zillah in the Hall, wandering along in a silk bathrobe, cup of coffee in her
hand. I said, part teasing, part admonishment, „Got the little boy out at last, have we,
sweets.‟ Roused up, she shouted at my back, laughing uproariously,
„Hey! Too right, sweetheart!‟
I was only too glad to have Mahaleleel for the kitchen and so carried on up to
clean Adam‟s Old Room out and leave it prepared for Enoch tonight.
All of us finished at about the same time, so we met down in the Lounge for a
drink before dressing for dinner. Things were fine for a while, chatting about what we
had done and how wonderfully well everything looked on this fine spring day, bless it
with many toasts. Then Irad had to say to Cainen, „You up to it yet, boy?‟ He moved his
forefinger suggestively, but I managed to leap in before it went any further by exclaiming
in my dizziest voice,
„Sardines!‟
I distracted them long enough to move Cainen over to talk to Tubalcain, while I
set Seth to watch Irad, see that he keeps his hands to himself. I wondered if Seth was
even up to it, missing my soldier Enoch now, but I could see no other way to keep them
apart. I saw that Enosh and Jobal were comfortable in the company of Mehujael, whose
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son is homosexual, while Enoch on the other side kept an eye on him. Lamech sat on
Zillah‟s knees in perfect contentment.
I know a contrary table when I see one, so I steeled myself for this evening. But I
felt someone lacking, to balance for me, I mean, at the table, and thought of all who were
away tonight, Adah, Methuselah, Jubal, my Enoch with Methushael, Naamah, and poor
poor Jared, still absent when I remember him. Who of them could counterbalance my
three queens, Mehujael, Zillah, and Irad? Who could stand beside Enoch here on my left,
who would stand on my right? Not high magic as you might think, more like preparations
for war. I thought the situation serious, prey finely balancing predator, but it was a roller,
giving one way only. What goodness could be offered to Zillah, or Mehujael, or Irad, but
gratification that consumes everything except itself?
Enoch perhaps. Enoch to Enoch. But also, when you think of it, Naamah too,
because it is all the same to her anyway.
After the soup I said to Zillah, as it in reply to a question: „Heart is left, actually.‟
Mehujael echoed me, tone surprisingly exact, „Tis left, actually.‟ Zillah was momentarily
confused, genuinely confused, a look of wonder in her face as she glanced from me to
Mehujael, fearful of a joke, fearful of betrayal. Then she admitted, looking at Cainen with
a fond simper, „It‟s the shift work, Eve. It‟s very demanding.‟ Irad said, reaching to touch
Zillah‟s arm, „Work then play, I say. Shifting them, ooyay!‟ Cainen snarled audibly and
ground out between clenched teeth,
„I‟ll do the shifting, thank you!‟
Tubalcain said to Seth behind Cainen‟s back:
„A correspondence of terms must signify, Jonas, don‟t you think so?‟ But Enoch
said at my left, his most severe tone, ice forming about us:
„Dickheads think they have cocks dipped in sugar.‟
Irad answered in a wrangling tone, as though he wanted to have something out
with his father, „Just because you think you discovered incest don‟t run away with the
idea that all this is being done just for you, as though you discovered how to punish your
father for what he did.‟
If Enoch‟s words had been icy, then Irad‟s buried us in a world of dark ice, frozen
from even remembering what he had just said.
It wasn‟t clear then if any of the others had spotted the trick or let Irad‟s chill
chase them away. I replayed his words, stopping at „discovered‟. I turned to Enoch,
waving Irad back impatiently, and asked him, „Who told you about incest, dear?‟
Enoch looked at me in surprise, asked abruptly, „Don‟t you know, ducks?‟ Irad
said down to me with biting emphasis,
„Cain claims to have married his mother, his granddaughter, but not his daughter.‟
Mehujael said ungently in reply to this: „Where do it say that, Joker? Not in my
book it doesn‟t. There, brother, it says, if my memory serves me right: And Cain knew
his mother and granddaughter, but his daughter remained without.‟ Mehujael settled
down in himself, now that he had got this far: „The question of what the daughter did is
immaterial until the question of how he could know his mother and his granddaughter
without knowing one of the persons involved, a daughter or a son. But we have a
daughter, and there is no son. Thus Cain did know his daughter, but not in the full sense.‟
Enoch grunted impatiently and shouted at Mehujael beside him: „No! Cain was
stopped! Cain had to content himself with his granddaughter, another man‟s woman
171
again. No man has ever known his daughter in our city. This is Cain‟s Ban on us. Father
and Lover never worth the trouble, incidentally, smoothness less interesting than
expected. Try it for yourself sometime. Lamech should, but Lamech won‟t.‟ Lamech
happened to be clearing up after the main course, we settling back contentedly with a fine
wine, to await our trifle. He said to me,
„That scrub-a-dub!‟
I waved him back to his position in the room and said haughtily,
„You‟ll scrub plenty of dubs here, Joxer, never you mind.‟
To Irad I said, „Why not, bumboy?‟
Irad began sweating at once, counting the rings on his fingers, rivalling the queen
beside him: he said disjointedly:
„Macaroon, so hard to remove evidence, actually. Seize her on first opportunity,
on his knees for days. Says he shites his trousers at the sight of her. A dangerous hoor, he
calls her. Full stop. End of signal.‟
Zillah said, looking over at Lamech at the wastebin by the Garden Door, „We
should tear them off afterwards. Hate stale cock. Nothing sets so fast as a man‟s prick;
hosepipe, iron bar, sugar-stick, once and then for all.‟ Zillah suddenly screwed her eyes
up tight and screamed very loudly, so that the ceiling fairly vibrated, and began to pull at
her clothing. She shouted, „I hate you all, you tired bunch of suckers! I‟m going to show
you what I think of you all!‟
Naked, she sat back at the table, and got to work on her trifle, the sway of the jelly
intensified by the weight of cream, sugar and icing balanced on it. She is extraordinarily
skinny, a credit to her talent as a dresser. Her little breasts looked as though they had
always drooped, her thighs had no stretch marks whatsoever, though you could see her
thin little groin, with its pathetic bush, clearly, vulva drooping as though nothing worth
enclosing there.
Lamech immediately brought more trifle to her and Mahaleleel filled her glass
again.
A voice at my right said softly in my ear, „How good of you, Eve, to have
contrived to keep me a place at your table.‟
My heart leaped there. Cain‟s words, „a place at your table‟, moved me deeply,
and I saw the conjunction of his words, his observation, and my earliest deep wish, and
felt then how deep my longing is.
I am glad I witnessed that longing when I did, though it hurt me deeply to make
that witness.
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We made a second table for the others.
„Worse being lulled than gulled,‟ Adah said loudly as she plomped herself down
on her seat. They had not been long in the House, knowing their way around, but it was
then that I had the first intimations of the vast change under way among us. But even as I
registered this insight, I had the thought that a memory is like a branch of a tree, that the
earlier it is the greater it can become. With Cain seated at my right hand side, an easier
expression on his face, these thoughts concatenated and I suffered a confusion worse than
before, a horrible sinking feeling, and I knew that the thought was true, that we are
marked for good by our first experience of being alive. Blindness, always blindness, that
is our first experience, that we cannot do something sets the tone of our lives.
Cain said to me, discreetly, „Adah always warns against excessive trust. A
completely different person when out. It always amazes me.‟
I had paid attention to Cain only, so I did not see Zillah‟s transformation, only the
end product as she ran around the table and threw herself into her father‟s arms. Naamah
said at my back: „Oh goodie! Opera tonight!‟ Zillah was naked, Mehujael opposite
appalled by the sight of her bare arse wiggling and bouncing madly as she tried to climb
up onto Cain‟s lap, crooning over and over:
Oh daddy it’s been so long
They all told me you had gone
But I put it down in a song:
Of fatherhood you are the paragon.
Cain was taken aback at first, his hands on a naked woman against all vows, but
he was quick to recognise extenuating circumstances when seen, and he was moved to
say moderately,
Rules of Engagement trouble me not
Acts of Estrangement tumble me out
Tracks if Derangement probably rut
So rover don’t go far
So lover don’t go far.
Mehujael, disgusted, shouted airily:
Give your life for a love they ask me each day
Miss your wife for a dove
Kiss your dog for a bone
Shine out bright lad they cry to me each day
But I make it with the boys
Finger first honest then you guys.
I told Lamech to dress Zillah, Mahaleleel refused to do it, but she fought him
fiercely, so that we had to content ourselves with her back in her chair, naked still,
sulking because her daddy spurned her.
Away behind me Enoch sang out to Mahaleleel:
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Heaven favours blessed lovers
Pure in deed sure in need
Seven angels wait on such lovers
Three to two four to one
Oh pain of love
Indeed such toil love tasks us
Honeyed you will come oh pain of love
Three to two for a team
Four to one for a scream.
Over laughter, Seth said with a lilt:
One to two three two four
Makes three and twenty six all told
But two one to eighty one
Gives one and a nought too as you can see.
I piped in then, getting into the swing of things, the lower table quiet as they
gobbled up their food:
Contrary wives tell you lies my loves
Ascertain you know take it slow dears
Feel your route in the night mates
Don’t stop till you’ve struck rock Jock
Silly little Jim keeps his head in
Silly little Jane steeps her migraine
In vinegar
Sing vinegar
In vinegar
In vin
In vin
In vin
Egar.
By then we were under way, good meal behind us, plenty of spirits left: we
cleared places in front, keeping our glasses upright. I seemed drunk no doubt, as bad as
any of us, but not so. The confusion remained in me. For instance, I understood perfectly
well what was being said, but I could not understand why we had to speak in such
absurdly exaggerated ways. I had enough of it with one ridiculous outburst and I didn‟t
want to do that again, at least not till I‟m better ready for it.
It‟s not nearly as easy as you may think, my dears. Perhaps my blitheness, my
control, is for your convenience only, not to offend your susceptibles, to give you a jolly
little read at rest-time when anything else would be too much trouble. What do you think?
Are things worse than I say?
Will you not be punished if you fall?
174
You know the answer in your heart
So, I repeat, I could not understand why we behaved as we did that night. I
remember that Zillah came on next, slumped in her chair:
Hard chair blues
My arse is done sore baby
My nose is gone sour lady
This is hard chair blues
Hard chair blues
This is hard chair blues
My mouth is long sore complainin.
Tubalcain rang out hastily:
Pillars of bars bright like stars
Pieces of gold like banalities
Sugarstick ladies saddled uptight
The jockey is eager the nag all affright.
Adah now entered for the first time, bawling from her side of the Ballroom, over
near the Yard:
Rolling rolling hayfields at night
All else flowing but the grass is stuck
In the ground only a stupid wind for company
So roll on roll on bewildered grass
Nod to the wind kid the wind that you know what’s said
All that’s said all that’s said
By a stupid wind.
Vehement is the word, Adah also feeling free to complain in my House.
Jubal replied to her in a mock soprano:
„Nectarine onions,‟ faltered and then suddenly broke down in tears, waving his
hands over his head. This seemed to give him inspiration, because he suddenly started up
in a bass:
Binding by brass buckles and stays
Where a mother might prefer golden chains
Belted by beef straps and leather
Where a brother might expect bold claims
Prompted by preyful bushes and bulls
Where another might expect old games.
Then:
Prettified stuffing for goose and gander
175
Where a mother might expect cold stains.
Naamah jumped up, clapping her hands hurriedly, and jumped over to the angle
between Cain and I, to say sweetly:
„Consistent persistent,‟ Suddenly jumping up in the air and shouting:
Going down
On the town
Pulling up
Take a sup
Who to say who to know
Getting on
Having wan
Sing along
Keep it strong
Who to say who to know
Where’s he from
It’s heaven high
What’s he do
What he does
Who to say who to know.
Zillah rose in consternation when Naamah dropped her big bottom into Cain‟s lap.
He was very surprised, staring at his hands lying across her thighs, but she jumped up
again with a little, slightly mad, laugh, as though she knew what she dared.
If I say that Zillah was piteous, stark naked and all bone and limp flesh, now, my
pity was as much for her obstinacy as for her desolation. I said to her in a soft voice:
„Put something on, honey, otherwise they get used to it.‟
The third act is about solutions, resolutions and such. I could see no solution even
though I knew perfectly well that our masquerade would propose one, like a court in
deliberation, then judgement, always punishment. I was thoroughly at Home now, even
used to the new-found function of the Ballroom.
Methuselah opened now, once Mahaleleel and the other one refreshed the tables
for us: he sang in his intellectual tenor voice, as though his tongue pricked his mouth:
The sun rises sweet at dawn
Water stirs leaves hang
The day commences with a bang
At once light colour and motion
Sailing alone oh sailing alone
All alone on a high blue sea
Laying about oh laying about
As steady as a yellow cheese
176
It comes it goes it’s still it blows
The fire it gutters before catching
The water warming in the woman’s palm
Dissolved drunk love like wood glows
Love like wood loyal love like wood holds.
Cain whispered to me in a plain recitation, looking intently down to the lower
table: „Do you usually eat like this, Eve? Or is this something completely different?‟
Before I could reply to assure him, the trio of Enosh, Jobal and Lamech drowned
out every other sound in Adam‟s New Room:
Bury my bush in your sweet mush
Honest dearie I do
Play like a boy over every little toy
Ray ray really we do.
Then I replied to Cain, moved by his now haggard face, the momentary relaxation
of a man who no longer believes in himself:
Alone we fight
Half of the night
The other half
Drinking drinking
When friends come round
We clean up the ground
Sit quite still
Talking talking
When the gang’s here
We hit the beer
To each other
Singing singing
So let’s sing a song
As we drink along
Together
All loving all loving.
The nausea was light, mainly I think because singing as I was distracted me, a
response to a sudden image and a word in my ear. The image was uncanny, as though the
sun shone out of Cain‟s face, not Cain‟s doing but another power. The word was
„ground‟, my utterance echoed clearly to me as I sang „gang‟. I said to Cain, „Did God
ever touch you?‟
It was the turn now of Cainen, who stood up for his piece, grinding it out like a
good peasant:
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Speak of night then speak of silence too
Speak of who waits at the door of silence too
Think of the thread you hold think where it leads
Think of the place you inhabit now
Why a thread if you are not lost
Speak of drips then speak of stars too
The starry roads oh the starry roads
So many rights on so many ways
Find a road oh find a road
The thread a place to begin with in your palm.
He bowed formally, his innocence for once reminding me of his father, Enosh,
and I wondered for the first time if Enosh‟s idiocy was not a kind of grace. But then I
wondered, what kind of experience would require such a grace? Cain leaned over then
and said: „A God who curses need never touch, Eve.‟ I nodded in agreement, thinking
again of the glow I had seen in him. I asked, „And so unmarked?‟ Cain looked at me
shrewdly, re-evaluating his estimation of me, but said in any case as he clearly had
intended: „Marked?‟ He stood up, loosened his gown and let it fall to the floor. Loudly,
he said to us all:
„I am unmarked! I am unmarked!‟
His skin was pure, its smoothness remarkable by contrast with his worn face, flesh
still in tone, but no life in him, no response.
No one paid any attention to Cain, drinking and eating heartily again. I said to
him, my disappointment evident, I‟m afraid:
„As stupid as you ever were, Cain. As blind, as fearful, as lost.‟ I signalled that he
was to dress. My disappointment was deep, despite the fact that I knew very well that
Cain did not interest me in himself. And yet pity remained, for his burden if for nothing
else. God had sent him away and God had marked him at the same time. To his bowed
head I said:
„Cain, I saw the mark of God on you. It is brighter than the sun. God did touch
you.‟
I touched his brow, kissing my fingers first.
Then a bustle at the Yard Door and Lamech and Mahaleleel run in, mops in their
hands, to chant:
Oh well we scrub and scour pots and pans
While you make merry hell in here
We won’t keep you long oh boys no
Not long at all will we keep you here.
Love’s like this so hang on there
Dirty work for one recuperation the other
One mucking for a mother the other her mother
So in love we are for the fun for the fun.
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Tubalcain said to me:
„Why is Cain crying, dearest? Did you not want him after all?‟
Cain raised his wet face to us, his eyes so steady and seeing for once, and said:
Am I to believe you, Eve? Why should
Your faith be greater than my error?
Your vision more true than experience?
Irad and Methushael sang from opposite ends of the room:
Sweet joy with my little boy
Browsing the night away
Come the day as it may
When my boy sprouts oh boy oh boy!
I shrugged at Cain, half turned towards Enoch on my left, but said before turning
away:
Induced curse, perhaps. No error ever made.
Persisting in goodness against all odds, mate.
Enoch started then, with surprising vigour:
Finale’s come and then we’re out,
Well here I go in a rousing shout:
There’s one marked with the mark of another
Whether by God or the blood of a brother,
Who’s to say who’s to say: he can’t say.
There’s another all in a muck
Can’t stay dressed can’t stay can’t stay!
So to a daughter mother of a brood
Got to go got to go: can’t say no!
A man now for a change: old hand now
First son of the first one to sleep with mother
Susceptibility there. Now another
Big and bold sight of God light of man
Absolutely fascinating believe it you can!
Three more before you go: one’s
An idiot, another a fool, the third
The salvation of man, three fish all at sea.
Perhaps another three by your leave:
He’s smart she’s a tart he’s a fart
179
Even yo-yos are tripartite. Now it’s late
I agree but just another three:
These are scrubbers three, one on his knees
One on his toes the last out on a hill.
Are there more you ask: a few I say
And with your indulgence here they are:
This one’s adaptable not knowing where to begin;
These are yang and yin a wheel in a spin
One into the ground the other heaven bound.
The axle you ask: him the one heaven-bound.
Last of the lads father and son of a father’s curse
On that father. And the choice bit, friends:
Raise up your hands and give a cheer
For the girl that I speak of might otherwise hear:
On wings she sings
On legs divine she glides
A haunch I could eat
A breast I could drain
A waist fit for squeezing
A body fit for seizing
A ready wit for teasing!
I returned the compliment by saying:
A story’s end could never be told
If it were not already retold.
I put on record that even then I knew that the vast change had not occurred. I
admit that I didn‟t fully understand Cain‟s situation. What blinded him was still not clear
to me, was it his act, the result of his action, or interference by God? What did I see in
him? I looked again and again after that first experience, but only the memory of that sun
came. I called it the Mark of God, a trace in him, seen before in his eyes, as I now
remember, but the mark I saw then as now the mark of God‟s attention to Cain,
impressed on his whole being. How Cain hungers for God‟s attention again.
In the Garden, as we streamed out over the grass to the Hall and out to the cars, I
asked Cain, a quiet moment:
„What error, Cain?‟
He was limping slightly, perhaps a muscle pulled, head down, lank hair about his
ears, but some peace in him, some trust in me. He glanced up, checked to see who was
near, and said, enunciating each word with care:
„Don‟t use the blood. Pass the word on, Eve, won‟t you? Blood‟s no good.‟
He balled his right hand at his side and tensed every muscle in his face until he
looked like a statue of himself. Raising the clenched fist to me he said hoarsely, „This is
the power of the blood, Eve! Blood rules blood only: gift to man, curse to man.‟
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Then he saw that I did not understand him and he went limp, staggering forward a
step or two. I caught up with him, took his elbow to steady him, losing my wrap at the
same time, and observed:
„Tell me something I don‟t know, Cain. Out with it.‟
He stopped and looked at me closely, an amusement twisting his face. He nodded
indulgently. „So you want to know, do you? Have you asked yourself why you don‟t
already know? No?‟ He gave me no time to answer this question, a good question with a
good answer, but said, „Blood is life!‟ He smiled with satisfaction, his lips working up
and down as though words should be following right then. Seeing that, I saw the worst
now in Cain: his shame. I said:
„Hardly a tautology, Cain? Not after all this effort.‟
He shook his head slowly, his look now appraising me, vaguely sinister in the
light from Adam‟s New Room, and said:
„You are persistent, Eve, I‟ll give you that. Very well then, another notch: An act
cannot be tautological.‟
I sniffed at his condescension:
„Nor anything else. Skip it.‟
He stiffened his shoulders, moving me away from the others towards the darkness
under the tree in the corner.
„Alright, Eve, alright. Look, what do you want me to say? Give me the words
then, woman.‟
I said: „First: fall.‟
Cain concentrated, then said:
„Jealousy.‟
I nodded in appreciation and said:
„Second: grace.‟
Again he concentrated, making a game of it now, I think, then said:
„Love.‟
Smiled at him, definitely liking these answers:
„Third: curse.‟
He replied immediately:
„Darkness.‟
I shook my head wryly and left, none the wiser, after all.
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That was that you‟d think, and I walked away across the grass to the door to the
Main Reception. I was prepared to clear off to bed for the rest of the night, but a sense of
incompleteness gripped me, a conviction that I should try harder with Cain‟s problem. As
you no doubt noticed too, experience blinds Cain to truth. He believes an experience
speaks to him, tells him what it is. His experience told him he was worth less than
nothing, a shameful man with a shameful secret. Someone who made a bad choice, but
who believes he could never make a good one now; a victim of his own freedom,
perpetually in thrall to his own actions, his will a matter more of history than choice.
Truth is of choice, not of act, what Cain will not accept. Why did Cain do what he did,
with blood? Jealousy. Jealous of what? Love. Then darkness, loss of love, almost all of it,
seemingly.
Writing this, I begin to see what joins Cain and me, what we after all have in
common. Though Cain succumbed to jealousy, I did not, but instead succumbed to
curiosity. Temptation and surrender, there we are joined. But I have not stopped out of
fear, but go on to choose again, finding good as well as evil there. That night, I asked
myself why Cain was unable to choose again, seeing no further then.
I stopped Adah in the Hall about this, anxious, an obligation to try one last time,
and asked her: „Is it only a matter of blood, dear?‟
She flustered, caught off-guard, I am pleased to say, because she said
involuntarily,
„No, Eve.‟ She touched my arm, a nervous sympathy, fearing rebuke, „Enoch will
not stay.‟
I stared at her, seeing the mask I was failing to understand. Adah added, „He can‟t
be mine if God wants him, now can he?‟
I said to this, as though responding to an invitation, „And if God didn‟t want
him?‟
Adah put a finger across her lips in canny assessment, then smiled complacently
and replied:
„Speaks for itself, dear. Now doesn‟t it?‟
I went to Zillah, catching her as she boarded the coach with Mahaleleel, and asked
her, as a last resort:
„Don‟t you eat what you bleed?‟
Zillah cringed before me, so that Mahaleleel said with visibly enforced restraint:
„Make your imputations to me, mother.‟
Rebuked, I turned away, saw Cain come through the front door supported by both
Enochs, each grave as though they conveyed an icon, an analogy, a metaphor, a piece of
evidence in itself though only a copy.
Zillah said at my back, after muttering her husband out of her way:
„Even accidents involve choice, Eve.‟
I turned to her. She shrugged, peering at me against the glare of light from the
House, lighting up the Drive for them as they go: „How it is out on the track, honey.‟
Enoch called over to me, „My father would like to speak to you, miss. Would you
join him for a moment?‟ I waited till Cain had made himself comfortable in his corner
and we were alone in the car. He rubbed his brow tightly, a habit, I think, not a response,
and said with his eyes closed:
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„Adah will tell you Zillah‟s jealousy is to blame, and Zillah blames Adah‟s
jealousy. But I tell you, Eve, to have shut of the whole subject once and for all: my
jealousy is to blame. He was more loved than I.‟
I said to him, hoping to convince this last time: „Yet he left you a mark, Cain.
Why do you hide it behind the burden of a secret?‟
Cain slumped again, looking at his hands. He said in a low weary voice, „What
secret, Eve?‟
„What God doesn‟t know, Cain.‟
Cain looked at me as though he had made a serious mistake about me, as though
he has been talking to the wrong person, after all. But he said nonetheless, a kind of
inevitability he failed to recognise in what he told me, fate in him as much as in me:
„God knows everything, Eve. God asks questions.‟
I was disappointed, of course. Cain is not a thinking man, so he over-rates
knowledge, believing that knowledge is enough in itself. So I said, „But questions imply
ignorance.‟ I paused to see how he would react. He reached up his right hand, as though
to touch a sacred object suspended about an arm‟s length right from his brow. I said
before he could formulate his response: „Misunderstanding, at least, is possible. Lies are
also possible. Evasions, phantasy.‟ Cain deflated, his arms and head falling in a way they
had often done before. In this I read that Cain connected his own error with these
strategies, giving God the power of truth, making a question of man.
It was possible then for me to ask Cain for the truth entire. I was prepared to do it,
but then I remembered that there was nonetheless a secret involved, and that if not a
secret from God, who asks questions for confirmation only, then it is a secret from us.
Cain was dazed, as much the aftermath of his night out hitting him, as the course our
discussions were taking him. I had time to think there, the Enochs guarding the door of
the car, the fading hum of the coach outside. The question for me was this: should I trust
Cain‟s judgement, that he ought to keep his secret from all mankind? It was a valuable
time. I saw a boundary in myself, between what I could know and what I should know.
You see there the limitation of knowledge? The question of what to know. Before this I
had understood the limit to knowledge to exist in what goes before knowing, in actions
that must be interpreted. Not I see the limit lies in how we interpret actions, an action
never nakedly before us, always covered by one name or another, wrongly or correctly,
lies or phantasy.
This line of reasoning brought me to see Cain‟s secret in a different light, of
course: I had already seen how the present Cain is a copy of the Cain who acted, now I
saw that his secret is also a copy of what impelled him to create the secret itself. Yet I felt
that the secret was somewhere in Cain, like a trace, a startlement of some kind, the
instance of knowing a revelation of an origin not merely a recognition, after all.
I spoke to Cain in a wise way in order to impress him, making a slow sweeping
gesture with my right arm, my fingers as though uncurling to him: „The seed leaves its
mark everywhere.‟
Cain nodded abruptly, like a key to open a door, and said: „His blood cried out to
God, but it cried his name, not mine.‟
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He looked at me with a final candour, arms resting on his knees, head slumped
forward, like an animal in its lair, and asked: „What name does the blood of the lamb cry
out, Eve?‟
I said at once, almost biting my tongue as I did, seeing the witticism take on a
horrible truth, „It‟s mother‟s of course. Who else does any lamb know?‟ As I spoke I saw
the truth: human blood is like that of the animal. I spoke again, before Cain had time to
reply, hastily, frightened by this new insight: „But we have names, Cain. We have the
power to make names.‟
I wanted to leave the car then, I was even preparing lines for the Enochs, to lull
them, but Cain suddenly sat up and rasped:
„What has that to do with making a mistake?‟
The disappointment with Cain was much greater this time. It was then that I
realised that I was not the one to question Cain, his preoccupation with error confuses me
in a particular way: I have said before that his error, such as it is, serves to hide the secret
from scrutiny. I was assuming that if I could persuade Cain that no error was committed,
that an act was committed – one with dire consequences for us all – then perhaps I could
glimpse the secret itself. Now I realised that it was out of shame that he kept his secret, to
protect himself, not us.
I stood up and walked over to the door, saying to Cain behind me:
„Let me know when you find out, dummy.‟
No Enochs at the door after all, so some lines went wanting. We were further
from the House than I had expected, but I attributed this to the profound silence of the
night. The air was unusually sweet for early spring, and I breathed it in deeply as I
walked across to the House.
I was quite close before I realised it was not our House.
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That I write this is a signal of my return: you‟ll see what I mean. Is this a
phantasy? No. Not from my perspective. I went into the Hall and looked into the Kitchen.
Spotlessly clean, everything in its place, a haunch being hung on a hook in the wall. The
Little Room was bare, a desk and a chair, no more, but the wood gleamed a rich
strawberry hue. I went through to the Main Reception. Here the colour predominating
was yellow, the yellow of flowers, daffodil, primrose, dandelion, set out against a
background of woodwork. Rarefied, perhaps, but I felt it more like an appeasement, an
end to resistance. You might find in this a kind of symbolism, fire and wood perhaps, but
you could also see the good sense of a welcome at first warm then reserved, letting you
know that the house if yours while you are there, the first principle of hospitality. So the
Ballroom is very fine, silvery, attenuated, crying out for warmth and colour, as you would
expect of a true ballroom, always too big for a few. But it was only as I crossed the room
that one memory from the preceding room came to my mind, and I saw the pattern of the
wallpaper in the Main Reception, the furious interlacing of the deepest and the lightest of
the yellow tones against a clear background, and saw how the primrose paled and paled, a
restless surge in the room of very great power. At once I felt that power here in the
Ballroom, the matt whites as though in motion with the shining whites, like a clear water,
a river, for instance, flowing all around me, inviting a similar flowing, how you might
dance in that room.
Then the Lounge. As a lounge should be, permitting people to gather in intimacy,
groups of seats so that you always looked at one complete group of other, never seeing
chairs in random spreads.
The question of his name in important, so I will deal with it here. He gave me no
name, and I had only two strange names, those I thought I had deciphered from Adam‟s
Book, the names ONO and KEK, strictly alternative readings of one script, though by
now quite separate names, designation unknown as yet. But on that night I could not
remember those names, only the letters, which repeated to me in an endless
anagrammatisement. I suspect this was a trick to play with myself, to distract me from
something. So when he stood up and gestured to the chair beside him, I saw the name
Okekon as though wrapped around him. I was dizzy after the tour of the House, and
obviously I thought of the word so intensely that I, as it were, invested him with this
name. The upshot is that he ceased to be the Beautiful Stranger, but became the beautiful
Okekon. This thought, intended as ironic, suddenly became an unwitting truth, for he
smiled and said, reaching his right hand to escort me to my seat, „You are beautiful
tonight.‟ Seated, I replied, looking as closely as was polite at him, „I must reflect you
then.‟
„Your eyes are your own, surely.‟ We both enjoyed the duel of compliments, each
aware of this in the other. „What they see, then.‟
„Your mind is your own, surely.‟
„Only what it knows.‟
We drank for a while, a pale sherry, very minute and modest. There was music
being played somewhere, as though at the top of the house, in an atmosphere, even a
world – the music was so strange – very different from what prevailed down here. I asked
him, „Are we very far from ‟Noxville?‟ He smiled at the mention of the city and said in a
neutral way, lifting his hands so as to show me his palms, „Pretty far in fact, Eve. Far
enough for you, I suspect.‟
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I readily admit he lulled me, the sherry, the politesse, the music I strained to hear,
the aftershocks of the previous rooms. Even when he began to twirl his glass at its stem,
watching the liquid react, I did not see where he was leading me. Not until he said, „What
you think is something like jealousy.‟ He nodded as though nodding like that answered a
question, and went on: „But it is more like the excess in knowing, how knowing
something wants to be more than the thing known, as though there was any more to
know.‟ He filled our glasses from a silver flask, the cap satisfyingly tight, concentrating
on this task, as though he was conscious of the possibility of talking too much. His hair
was softer tonight, the dye less evident, but I saw more clearly the texture of his skin,
more thick than I had expected, giving it a soapy quality, of a very soft but strong skin, a
power of endurance indicated. When we had sampled this new sherry, enjoying its initial
freshness, giddy but promising, he continued:
„I know you think you can choose between irony and hypocrisy, but both serve to
obscure, one by indirection, the other by misdirection. Even so, they are the rails you
ride.‟ He paused and drank again. My disappointment surprised me, the last thing I was
prepared for. Was this man, I called him Kekoon then, a definite word though an anagram
as I explained, no more than a copy either? I put my glass down carefully on the little
table and stood up. I said, „I must go.‟ He indicated the door at the back of the room,
where it usually is. As I walked away, he said, „Damage is always done, Eve.‟ I knew he
was crying. At the door I looked back and saw he was holding his face in his hands, water
streaming out over his fingertips and falling down onto his clothes, turning white to grey.
As I expected, the Back Yard was joined by the Kitchen Passage, between the
Ballroom and the Lounge, and so on to the Back Door, a slip catch and I was out on the
grass. The horizon before me glowed a dull red, not of the sun I knew at once, but as
though a city at night on fire. Konoke called from the door at my back:
„Not that way, Eve. It‟s not safe for you.‟
I stepped out on the grass, breathing the night air with a measure of relief, free of
the spell of the House. I said without turning around, „Is that a fire?‟
„It‟s not true,‟ he said in a tone of recognising a limit in me, but not touched by
disappointment. I turned to him and said, „I loved you once.‟ The nausea completely
overwhelmed me.
You see what I mean by survival now. I spoke matter-of-factly, the memory
arising first in my tongue, both taste and speech, and it was only as the nausea struck me
that I realised what I had said, felt my face lift, saw his brow relax in a profound relief.
The nausea was severe for a short while only. A feeling of inevitability in this
finally brought me to recognise that I must understand what causes the nausea. My first
awareness then was of the Kitchen, my head in a sink. Then I remembered his relief, and
then remembered what I had said. When I had recovered sufficiently and was sitting
down with a welcome brandy, I said to him, seated on the other side of the table: „But
you are a stranger.‟ I had not fully collected my wits at that point, more acting out of a
memory that remained otherwise dark in a troubling way. He replied forthrightly:
„Not to you, Eve.‟
I was wry, despite a resurgence of the nausea, seeing even myself copied out now,
how I appear to him who loves me. I said to him on an upswing in my spirits: „I‟m a late
edition, I‟m afraid.‟ Onkoke stiffened at this, not clear if he disliked the crass tone or the
186
new limit I betrayed. He smiled nonetheless, saying: „Your time in the city is having its
effect. I love you, Eve. That is not a copy of anything.‟
The nausea was obviously intended to act as a sponge, to absorb shock. Now I
could use it in reverse, to protect me from the shock I created when I replied, just as
smartly as before: „Except your pride. That you control love, I mean.‟ We went into the
Main Reception, where he took a blue gown from a press and wrapped it round me, my
clothes destroyed by the nausea. Walking though the Ballroom, he said to me, „If you
have more to say, then please do. I want to hear you, Eve.‟ I chose to oblige him, mainly
because the truth would have a permanence here:
„Because you know that love is a gift, you have concluded falsely that there must
be a donor. You made yourself the Donor of love and in so doing interrupted the fated
flow of love. Banished, you have become the Tempter. You generate a love in me that
mirrors your own self-willed love.‟
Seated again in the Lounge, a fruit cake and wine, Okkone observed, having
paused to see if I intended continuing,
„But it is love, Eve.‟ I heard his word, „real‟, again in that, so I stiffened in turn, a
new duel, whether in play or earnest I wasn‟t sure. I said, breaking cake with my fingers
to hold his attention:
„A love of your making only. Not mine.‟ I held my hand up to forestall him. „No.
Let me finish this time. I loved you because you brought me something I needed for a
condition I was ignorant of. This is the love you bear as the being you are, not the love
you invent to suit yourself. You bear love as a knowledge, hence your great beauty –
which I thank you for disguising this time – giving to the one you love that knowledge, of
what love can do, evil as well as good.‟ I paused, watching him listen intently, then
continued:
„Such a love need be given only once. Then something shared for all eternity. And
freedom to love again, to impart that truth to another.‟
Nekook nodded deeply, a child-like gesture, more his natural self, I surmised, not
so erect or watchful. He spoke slowly, thinking as he did:
„I see always my first glimpse of you, Eve, under the tree, carefree, flowing like
water, responsive as a butterfly, immediately curious. I see how intelligence entered your
eyes, lighting them up, as you approached me, and I understood at once why God is
afraid of you. And you?‟
I had entered his memory vividly, feeling like water yet floating freely. I said at
once, as though taking up a narrative: „I saw my power over you but I was good to you.‟
He nodded, resuming:
„Did you see God?‟
In the garden I saw God as a wall of fire. „In jealousy.‟ I paused again, waiting to
see if he wanted to speak, then concluded:
„Worse than ignorance.‟
Ekonok nodded deeply again, saying:
„I saw God in love, Eve. Now I see him in the love only. You see? Unlike you, I
need someone to hold on to, to raise me up again.‟
I thought of Cain‟s banishment by an unloving God and saw how much worse the
punishment of a loving God is. I slipped back to the urban patois, trying to break this new
gloom in the room: „Want to play God, Tod?‟ I knew at once that this quip was altogether
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wrong, that its putative truth was an addition by me, to resolve a problem I wanted to
avoid. He said, a little crushed in fact, which did surprise me though I wanted a greater
shock:
„I don‟t want to forget, Eve.‟
This, I think, was the turning point of our meeting. Up to then I believed that I had
defined my relationship to him in a way I could handle: once and for all, a glance, a
distraction, abstraction, now let‟s be friends. Okenok began to cry again, silent tears that
once again flowed over his hands and down onto his clothing. There was a childlike guile
in this too: how tears answered a question without admitting anything.
Like a secret. That phrase jumped into my mind as I watched him cry for me.
There could well be a secret, but there was still a question to ask: „Why isn‟t goodness
enough?‟ He wiped his eyes with a large white handkerchief, pocketed it carefully, as
though not used to clothing, before answering:
„And stop searching, you mean?‟
Now I made a fish for the secret: „Why search?‟
He made an emptying gesture with his arms, as though to say this is the lot, and
said:
„The memory holds the key for return.‟
„Why spread the memory? Not for our good, I daresay.‟
He was wry now, upstaging me:
„Could you love nothing?‟
I was frank, „You cannot love nothing. Love calls out to love, not God or man.‟
He looked at me as though in a trance, his eyes glazed, as though staring down at
some great vision. He said, still in his trance: „You place three powers, Eve, one pure,
two accessory.‟ I interrupted him, perhaps, but I was afraid of his numbers, that the
natures would be lost in arithmetic: „One power, if you please. And one principle, of
choice. Choice the transmission of love, to good or evil, for one or for all. This is the will.
This is how we shape our actions. This is how we know we are alive.‟
He was interested in what I was saying, yet I felt a growing impatience. What I
was telling him had no interest for him. Whether what I was saying is true or not was
immaterial here, and I was agitated by this, how he didn‟t question my assertions at all.
Enokok only fuelled my anger when he said: „Your need for shadow is understandable in
the present circumstances. But why otherwise?‟
I stood up, trying to control myself, more than anger now, a growing grief. I said,
bitingly, as much to catch his attention as hurt him in any way:
„This is not a theory. There is no otherwise here.‟ He jumped up at this, waving
his hands in placation. „Wait, Eve. Wait now. Don‟t jump to conclusions, my love. I‟m
sure something can be done about it.‟
I was staring at him in a kind of dumb awe, wondering what on earth he was
talking about. I laughed and drained my wine, took a slice of fruit cake, and made my
way out to the Hall, through the Main Reception. The cake was delicious, my temper
mollified, and I thought then, perhaps sentimentally for what he had done for me, that I
had been too hard on him. He was not crying this time, not at least that I could hear. He
was in fact behind me when I turned in the Hall. The smartness in me made me want to
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laugh at him, a defence, of course, but also a truth, Kooken blind to an obvious truth. I
said to him instead: „You cannot go back.‟
I was relieved that the car was waiting for me outside the Hall Door. I had banked
on its being there out of the knowledge that I had nothing to lose than with any great
confidence. He walked me down from the door to the car, opening it for me. He said, „I
see it differently, Eve.‟ I nodded, looking away beyond the car to the dark night, not wry
anymore, I‟m afraid, seeing the difference in his beauty, in his experience of love, his
living bond for ever. An end in itself, but originating in him.
You might think I am playing with words here. I am not certain, to be honest.
Love as an end in itself I can grasp, always in its own sphere. But can he see love like
that? He found love in God, seeing love forever after as an attribute of God, an attribute
of himself too, in correspondence with God in their mutual love. God cannot be separated
from love, but love can be separated from God, as he did, making God an object of
knowledge. I said to Nokeko, a bit pompous on purpose, to impress his growing
impressionability:
„You think love of God made you a god too. You think God is jealous of you, as I
do, but you also believe that God still loves you. All I know is that God cursed you twice,
Adam and Cain once each. God did not curse me but I do not believe he loved me, even
so. But I love as much as I can, while you love least, arousing desire only before
absenting yourself. You steal love in the belief that you can add it all up into a God-like
love, a passport into Heaven.‟ I leaned into the car and said to Enoch, „Tell him about
heaven, son.‟ Enoch came out and said,
„Down the path, over the sea, up in the air, waiting for me. What‟s keeping you,
Bat?‟
I reached my hand to Knekoo, saying, „Drop in anytime you‟re passing.‟ He took
my hand and looked at it, bent to kiss it fervently. Tubalcain said inside the car: „Hands
always out for traces, never you mind, Sam.‟
He looked more himself now, not attempting to impress me anymore, something
of his old curiosity back at least. He said slowly,
„You begin to understand, Eve. I do not strive in vain.‟
I turned into the car, sitting in the nearest seat, catching the last glimpse of
Onekok as the door slid shut. I said to Tubalcain, „No jokes about the stuff, if you can
help it, goblin mine.‟
189
PART THREE
190
My remark to Tubalcain was sheer bravado, the word „stuff‟ replacing a more
complex idea, modelled on sexuality but connoting also an instant birth, no gestation
needed. But the word served in one other way, it created a memory for me of that
complex idea. This was necessary, because his last words induced a deep shock in me
like some muscle deep in my body which responds only to what he said. It was that
specific, so that I knew exactly what he meant, but without ever having experienced it. A
word came to me, „cessation‟, driving the other word out even as I spoke it, and I knew
that there was a choice even there.
Though Tubalcain quipped in return „Goblins help no end in the mine, sweets,
never you fear.‟ I did not respond, but sat in a profound daze, the words coming to me in
series, first „stuff‟ and then „cessation‟, a mad concatenation, but I did understand that
cessation was animal, while the stuff persisted. His words did frighten my body, but he
had already reassured me, that love has a new lesson, about convergence, not choice, two
becoming one, not one becoming two. I understood this in a short time, not so the other
lesson here: He knows what convergence is like, I do not. But it is like being one with
God, either a great conceit or a redundancy somewhere, that being one is sufficient. This
took a long time to unravel, the others sleeping through the night, most notable the
question of his experience, though once again the old problem of interpretation – is this a
memory or does he still experience this union? I think it is a memory I witnessed to, but
he holds to that memory as though it is a promise.
In the end I grasped the limit in all this, a pure experience forever unknown. A
concept, of course, but where else would you find such an idea. The point for me was that
cessation was real in some way.
I fell asleep then, very tired after such a long day.
The thought is arcane and only written here to serve as a clue, as it did for me, to
understanding the reality of cessation. I don‟t imply that cessation is like that alone –
merely something beyond comprehension – but also indicating a kind of stopping, that is
its reality. An ending like autumn, spring never coming again, like the last word at night,
morning never coming again.
Like a divergence, yes, but also in its own way a unity; diverted from here, but
then where are you?
I don‟t know. I slept with that knowledge. I was content, for once, believe me.
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In the Hall, Naamah stopped me and said: „Fat chance a dance, gammer.‟ I‟m
going forward a bit to report this exchange because it was only then that I caught a
glimpse of our new problem. I mean, what the problem meant to us. I replied, in a rush
and so irritable,
„No rock to roll, honey, eh?‟
„No meat to beat, mamma.‟
We arrived back early evening, which surprised me, I had expected early dawn
sun‟s glare behind the mountain peaks, instead a warm evening, steady gold sun. I was
cranky with the shock of the night, too much to absorb, impatient with Enoch fiddling
with the door and downright rude to Lamech, who charged out of the Kitchen as we
entered the Front Door, and shouted in a vile temper:
„I can‟t cook Mahaleleel...‟ Here he had a fit of coughing, his whole chest
rumbling with ancient mucus. Cainen came out of the Lounge and glared menacingly at
Lamech, saying to me, „Tell him he has to do it. Tell him no one else can do it here.‟
I said to Lamech, „Cainen says do it.‟
There was uproar in the Lounge, made worse by the presence of Zillah and
Naamah, Enoch cosy in Zillah‟s lap, Lamech extremely comfortable in Naamah‟s. Seth
in full flood, who to unclear at first. I rumpled his hair and said in a derisive tone, „There,
there, little lad.‟ Tubalcain said at my back, speaking to Cainen as he passed me on his
way over to the bar: „Tender mercy, shepherd, what?‟ The mock-joviality helped slow
Cainen down. Seth said in a whinging voice:
„Struck down in an act of grace, I ask you, maman.‟
Naamah said to Cainen, „Do everyone this time, you cluck.‟ Enoch said to Seth,
earnest with sympathy, „Grace needs context here too, buster. Never forget that, you.‟
Cainen was apparently to serve everyone, another surprise, to see how he could
curb his rough ways at her beck. I said to Naamah:
„Having an interest helps, sure. While the hours away, I mean.‟
Zillah said, hoisting her new drink with anticipation: „Huh! Promises, promises.‟
She drank and swallowed appreciatively, toasting all, then said to Naamah: „Find a brake
soon, dear, else you‟re out on your own.‟
Enoch was looking out at the evening, at the golden mountains above, and he
shouted back at us, rather than turn around, saying:
My Lord has such a fine nose
That he sprays nectar wherever he goes
My Lord has such a fine eye
That mickle a muckle escapes his spy
My Lord has such a fine ear
That he hears the bubbles in your beer
My Lord has such a fine touch
That he softens even the hardest butch.
Thank you thank you thanks very much.
Naamah shrugged in reply and said, „Turn and turn about, I say, old girl.‟ She
sniggered in a deliberately provocative way, then continued: „Keep your hand in, like.‟
I said, as gently as I could, conceiving an affection for Naamah then,
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„Keep your hope up, anyway, won‟t you?‟
She was trying to sneer at me, then she switched, becoming winsome, a genuine
appeal that illustrates how and why she kept her hand in, as she termed it. She asked
guilelessly:
„Should I, do you think, Eve? I find it harder each day to remember why I should
continue to hope.‟
Lamech put his head around the door and bawled:
„Slops!‟
Enosh rolled off Zillah‟s lap and was gone in the wake of our cook. Seth settled in
his place, thumb in his mouth. Cainen said to Naamah, back at the bar, his work done for
the moment:
A happy lap is cheap
Fill a seat till you eat.
Zillah tittered but Tubalcain cut across her to say:
„If cheap leaps are in the air, Gloria, are chopped logs for the fire, Ginger?‟
Naamah shook her head furiously, her hair racing out in oily coils as she screamed
theatrically. I sighed and decided to go to see Adam. In the Hall Naamah caught me up as
I have described, and it was only on the word „meat‟ that I remembered that Adam was
now in his New Room, over half of the universe available for his study. I said absently to
Naamah, turning around now to go to the Main Reception,
„We brought Adam down the other day, didn‟t we?‟
She followed me into the Main Reception, Enoch rising at our entry, Adah simply
staring, as in a trance, speaking as though fascinated:
„You two are the spitting image, do you know that?‟
Enoch turned stiffly to survey us, glancing back at Adah from time to time before
saying:
„Your incarnate no doubt, my dear, but there will be only one Eve, do you hear
me?‟
Again I was delayed, my irritation mounting, a larger dissatisfaction looming, like
a desire for rest from strangeness, so I said to him ambiguously:
„I‟ll always remain, bank on it boy.‟
There was a lot of bravado in this – obviously, I think – and it soon went horribly
wrong for me as I saw Enoch‟s face become mournful, Adah coming into my line of
vision, pulpy face from too much weeping, so I was obliged to continue:
„If the boogie man can‟t get you, no one will, gang. Tough but true.‟
Grotesque, the only word for it. Enoch grips the neck of his dress and pulls the
garment apart with little visible effort, tore again and again until it hung as ribbons from
his waistband. Adah tore at her face with already broken nails, her breath screetching
through her nostrils like a dragon. Naamah says at my back, „Down, Mother, and run.
Tuck in now.‟
I trusted her judgement, and with a sneer for their cravenness, we went on into
Adam‟s New Room. Methuselah seemed to be walking aimlessly about, touching the
backs of chairs with hypersensitive fingertips. Cain sat by the bed, looking away out at
the glorious evening, the sun a great red ball to his right. The light in the room was eerie.
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The matt surfaces glowed like fire, while the glazed surfaces gleamed of blood, an
unpleasant – and unanticipated – side effect of the room‟s new design. Naamah said to
Methuselah, „Pat me back if you like, Dick.‟
Cain turned slowly in his chair. I said to him, taking in Adam‟s steady gaze
heaven-wards, „A word before you go, Chip.‟ From the corner of my mouth I said to
Naamah, „Say it now.‟
Naamah continued forward until she was nose to nose with Cain. She said, to him
as much as to me:
„I saw him once like the noonday sun.‟ She kissed Cain on the lips, patting his
shoulder to calm him as she did.
He said, „She‟s put you up to this!‟
I said, drawling, enjoying his discomfiture:
„No one cares but Naamah. My, aren‟t you a lucky boy after all, Cain.‟
Methuselah came trotting by, shouting out in a forced hilarity, 'One two three, all
the same to me.'
Cain said, looking after Methuselah, „Is that boy mad?‟
Tubalcain called over from the door to the Lounge: „Not from the Perspective,
Nuncle. Anything is all, you know, sweet fucking anything is all.‟ To me he said,
„Without you to mutter then utter dust.‟ I wondered why he was so maudlin. I went over
to him, catching his arm in against my breast:
„Let‟s dress for dinner, Skinner.‟
He replied calmly, an index of his foolish trust: „So spoon a tune, sugar, let‟s.‟
Tubalcain‟s mood did not lift but once I saw that he was dealing with a problem,
not a dissatisfaction with himself, I let him be. Later, over dinner, Adah said to him,
grease mingling with her tears now:
„If a plume sticks out, what does a spume do, Tubularcock?‟
He laughed, first time for ages, and said, recovering some of his usual good
humour, „Spume flicks quick, don‟t you think?‟ Even so, he gradually settled into a
quieter mood, more than a hint of impatience in it.
But earlier, during the main course, Enoch had said across to Tubalcain, „You
can‟t beat bars for fun, you know, Teaser.‟ The very obscurity of the remark was enough
to rile Tubalcain, an inability to understand Enoch, that he preferred to be mad rather than
bad, so he shouted back:
„Can‟t beat them for noise, either, George.‟ The red sunlight was still pouring in
through the Great Window at that point, stirring us all up. Seth, seated beside him, said
into Tubalcain‟s ear, loud enough to annoy: „Not a tourist trap, fuck you!‟
Cain shouted down the table, fury in his face, almost apoplectic,
No anger on this fabled night
No fuss now the story’s right.
That‟s when the vast happening began. I knew it at once, heard all the words roll
out to remind me: carthorse porphyry fire dinner tree disgust angel concatenation terrapin
train cabbage coelenterate fruit analogy nuts night rich white ray yawn cloud god way
right whale garden might say year dragon over tight bay sole joist wile may flight ray lay
music stops power visitors no you don‟t me ono kek word hall rise but he will come to
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me too if you use that word hail about time too. They were accompanied by a sensation
of wrenching, as though part of me was being torn out, a horrible reverberation in my
bones, my teeth grinding, hands and feet trembling violently. There was nausea too. But
the nausea, lacking the support of a reason, an explanation, induced a deep loneliness in
me, as though I was now alone with my body, my strength, my intention. I said to
Tubalcain, as though seeing him for the first time, first response a deep pity for him,
seeing the limit of his sight, unheeding, his touch restricted to metal: „Better than beating
the meat, surely?‟
Naamah, in a spin because of Cain, an abandon in her now she has found what she
believes she was looking for: „When love commands all might?‟
I said, firmly, as I suppose how a mother would speak to her daughter, „So long as
you know where you are going, sweetheart.‟
Adah snorted, a depressing rattle, and shouted over to Zillah,
„Wednesday‟s blues on Monday!‟
Lamech said, „Slops on Sunday?‟
Then the dread came, suddenly like a net dropping over everything, like a shadow,
a strange darkness. The world seemed to slow down as it darkened. This was my first
intimation of what I have come to know as boredom. I could not fight it at once, lulled by
its comfort, but soon a rage rose in me, like a trapped animal would, and I said to Enoch
beside me,
„Not much fun in this one anyway, Cobber, is it?‟
Enoch was suddenly quite serious, for once, and he shook his head sagely and
replied:
„No, not this one, mother. The next one is better, believe me, mother.‟
Then he started shouting again, as usual, arms extended to include everyone in his
audience:
This one rots this one weeps
This one coughs this one wheezes
Disappointed love lasts longest
Ending once and only once
Love’s an ember glow for ever
Love’s a river love’s a drop
Love’s an Arab love’s a Jew
Love’s a Jane love’s Andrew
Love’s a costume love’s an eye.
Methuselah said to his father: „And love‟s a hand where it belongs.‟ Adah turned
to Methuselah, beside her, and said smartly:
„Not where it is, Ostler, is that not so?‟
Enoch observed to Zillah beside him,
„Testiness startles, like a reminder, don‟t you think, missis.‟
Zillah gave a great screetching gale of laughter, startling poor Lamech opposite,
and said over to Seth: „Testicles, what‟s next, I wonder, rewinders?‟ Seth said to Cain,
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the silence helping his frail voice, „Sir, do you approve of your daughter‟s knowledge? If
you do, then you, sire, are a nincompoop!‟
Amid the laughter that bathos received, Cain said, smiling widely at Naamah:
Nuptials make merry on love
Uncreased sheets at first
All stiffness banished at the end
Guaranteed – bless you – for life.
Tubalcain led the applause, magnanimous as ever, and we all followed him,
Enoch crying out in ecstasy:
The next one, brethern,
will tell you the truth,
will sell you fruit.
The next one, kin,
will take you in,
will forgive your sin.
The next one, cousins,
will pack you in dozens,
will bake you in ovens.
The next one, all,
will give you heaven
will charge you eleven,
not seven as tendered.
More laughter, some mystified, but laughter nonetheless, and we settled into a
jolly mood. Except poor Adah. She cried out in very real pain:
„You cannot increase without a decrease corresponding. Going round and round
like a top. Oh, mother, Have I done wrong? Your brood lusts for you.‟
Zillah threw up her right hand in an expansive salute, and replied:
„Bon appetit!‟
Cainen took this in good humour, looking down at Naamah, „And in so doing,
does that which is directed, I mean, historected, or was it genuflected, neglected?‟ Before
his vacant face – Cainen with a toehold in civilisation, all to impress a woman – Zillah
said with a smile, as though rattling something between her palms, „Like nuts in May,
screwdriver, ho!‟ Naamah blushed, actually blushed, at this, and put her hand across her
deep cleavage, saying:
„Like all the time, mechanist.‟
We cheered this sally, none more pleased than Naamah by our affection, and Seth
said, „If a number two can have you, all number twos can.‟ Naamah said smartly: „A
number three can go free, too far for number two, daytrippers.‟ Methuselah replied at her
side: „Lie on your back, girl, give it a twirl, dear, first one for free, scale of rates
thereafter.‟
Another bathic, jeered as usual, Methuselah taking it all in good fun. In a more
mellow tone Enoch said: „Blood is one, takes two to make one.‟ We all nodded in
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agreement, actually dismissing the whole matter of lineage in this vote. A large step, you
will agree, but I have said that a vast change was underfoot here. Lamech came out of the
kitchen to shout,
„Bread for increase! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!‟
We fell silent in the face of that. I asked, honestly, of everyone present:
„If one cannot do, can billions?‟
I was surprised that Enoch replied, staring at me with honest conviction, „One
doesn‟t lose by addition, mother.‟ I sighed as quietly as I could, not wanting Enoch to see
my disappointment. I had always sensed this limitation in him, that he could not move by
his own power. Nor can he make music, as his father does, so instead he shouts the most
colourful fantasies to impress us and to impress himself, to affirm his immobility. The
latter is obscure, I know, but consider that Enoch is my biggest son – you can see how
gravity would appeal to him as a way of keeping his brothers down. In his big-ness
Enoch feels God-like, better than everyone else.
Are his visions true? you ask me. I can only answer, they might well be. But if
you ask me if their truth is valuable, then I can only say no. Enoch bears a memory of
excruciation, as all my descendents do, Adam‟s talk, Adam‟s memory, of loss, of
abandonment, of rejection, cursed, damned, duped. And as Adam viewed this horror
against a background of a fair garden of which he was lord, like a God in his heaven, so
Enoch – like Seth before him – sees his pain in heaven, his God telling him about sin, but
not about love. My reply was intended more for the others in the room than for Enoch
himself, who has less need of it, if Adah spoke truly about his impending departure to the
Lap of God:
„One remains unchanged, but distracted by reflection.‟
But it was Enoch who responded first, leaping to his feet in agitation to say to me:
„If there is not one to begin with?‟
I leaned back in my chair away from the looming Enoch, genuinely surprised at
the extent of his knowledge. He interpreted my surprise as my shock at hearing this
terrible news for the first time, that another power challenged us. He bent closer to me
and spat out in tyrannical rage: „I speak of a danger, mother, not of a mere opposition.‟
Enoch thought I cringed before his judgement, in fact I was avoiding his hot livid
breath, a stale fire, old dragon of the Garden. But Zillah in any case answered him,
speaking in a low firm voice, as though teaching a lesson: „What constitutes the
difference, Enoch?‟
Adah screetched suddenly, not at once clear if she was answering Zillah, the
words garbled a bit by the food in her mouth:
„My sin I confess is that I like it. There! Do you hear? I like it! I like it! I like it!‟
Zillah said tartly, „So what‟s new, you silly girl?‟ And then to Enoch, to remind
him that her question was for him, „What do you do when you are up against it, soldier?‟
Enoch shuddered all over, his eyes rising to heaven, a broad grin on his face. He
squawked, „Again!‟
Zillah seemingly obliged him by saying, „When your back is against the wall,
sailor?‟ because Enoch shuddered again, this time shouting out in ecstasy,
„Again!‟
„When you‟re going flat out, spud?‟
„Again?‟
197
„When it‟s in the bag, man?‟
„Again!‟
This would have gone on for ever if Adah hadn‟t interrupted them by climbing on
to the table and start to take her clothes off, shouting: „So you don‟t fucking-well believe
me, do you, you rotten bastards? Well, I‟m going to fucking-well show you.‟ Naked, she
strutted down the table to Naamah, squatted in front of her, pudenda hanging, tits
sagging, and shouted at her, „I fucking-well like it too, you dirty little tart!‟ Then she gets
up turning, swaying slightly with all the drink she‟s had, and marches down the table to
me, bent over, waggled her hanging dugs and screamed:
„You just wait and see, queen bitch, when I get going here, ALRIGHT?‟
She straightens up, turns and walks down the table again, this time more slowly,
waggling her heavily creased bum, lifting her breasts, asking,
„Who‟s first? Who‟s first?‟
Cain said as she approached him, hurt in his face for her madness, „They‟ve all
had you already, you dope. Stick with Lamech, he came twice, he might come again.‟
Naamah said, to complete poor Adah‟s deflation, „Fat old slag.‟ Methuselah climbed onto
the table to support her, an act of kindness initially, but supporting Adah is very little
different from embracing her, so they fell into a heap on the table, scattering food and
utensils all over the place as they thrashed about, Methuselah then on top of Adah, riding
her with delight, she working hard to bear him up. There was a lot pent up in Methuselah,
after hanging around with Naamah and Jubal for so long, and it all came out then, he
shouting over and over. „The hoor‟s monkey! The hoor‟s monkey! The hoor‟s monkey!‟
until Adah got really going, her arms and legs wrapped around him. The men at the table
groaned in sympathy, reminded of their own humiliation at the mercy of Adah. The
exception was Tubalcain, who was in a position to say,
„Who taught him, I ask.‟
I gave him a playful cuff on the ear, which drew me a quick shy smile, feeling my
old affection for his essential modesty, and said to comfort him, „But we needed Naamah
to switch him on.‟
I think it was Naamah and Cain who led the exodus to the Lounge, not a gesture
to the pair rocking and rolling on the table, should you think that, but simply another
stage of the evening, now that all the food had gone we had nothing else to do but drink.
Naamah didn‟t interfere this time, so Seth ran about pouring drinks for us as we
settled down in groups for a chat and a natter. There was the Top Table, which always
appears at our gatherings, despite all our efforts to prevent it. That night, though, we
formed groups as though a masque rehearsed, Tubalcain and I with Naamah and Cain up
near the bar, Zillah with Enoch, Cainen and Lamech at the middle table, and Enoch and
Enosh stuck around the far table waiting patiently for Seth‟s attention.
Zillah said, provocatively, pulling her tight skirt further up her thighs in order to
relax,
„Is it my turn next time?‟
Enoch leaned across the table to whisper shrilly, very angry:
„Who said there‟s a next time, rewinder?‟
Lamech, beside him, lisped in mockery:
„Goose and gander is a wet time, reminder?‟
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Naamah contributed next, cutting in just as Cainen opened his mouth in
annoyance, saying with a merry laugh:
„Was it ever any other way for you, mother dear?‟
Enoch shouted up, a drink in his hand at last,
„It‟s everyone‟s turn next time, gang!‟
Enosh at his side said, chortling at his own excellent wit:
„Everyone‟s turn all the time, bang!‟
Tubalcain whispered to Naamah, „Who would you save, sister, since saving‟s
what you‟re set on?‟ I turned at once and caught Naamah looking at me with a peculiar
stare in her eyes, as though her eyes were a picture and yet true, bright green like grass.
Tubalcain was still looking at his sister, only becoming aware now of his gaze, so I said
into that blind moment, eye to eye with her,
„We‟ll do our own saving here, daughter.‟ I smiled pax and Naamah relaxed,
nodding, her full lips pursed in a momentary peace, and Tubalcain said, wryly,
„Who wants to be saved?‟
Finished up in the kitchen at last, Lamech came in to join us, smelling strongly of
sweat and relentless toil. He said, throwing his hand up in a vain attempt to appear grand,
„I do!‟ He walked over to Zillah, grabbed Cainen and marched him down to join Enoch
and Enosh. He came back and grabbed Enoch and dragged him down to the far table.
Returning, he caught Lamech by the scruff, hauled him down and plonked him in
Enoch‟s lap. Crying, „Seth! Seth!‟ he brushed Zillah‟s table clear of the glassware, drying
it off with his large handkerchief. When Seth came he ordered whisky for himself and his
wife, „Hop to it, boy!‟
He paused then before looking at us, his eyes settling on Cain, as our weakest
link. He braced his broad shoulders and squared off to Cain before barking aggressively:
„Out of your sulks then, Ancestor? Hope it doesn‟t take too long to get back into
the swing of things, yes? The old parties, I mean. Remember, Ancestor, the wild parties?
Are you ashamed of them now, Ancestor? Bow-wow! Bow-wow! Bow-wow!‟
The latter hardly does justice to the actual sound, if a dog could sing the blues it
would have come out like that. A happy blues; dogs like being dogs, most of them
anyway. The intelligent ones. I wonder why I repeat myself. What else would a dog want
to be?
A strange thought, both for the indirection of its source as for the indirection of its
import, and I let it prompt me to say to him, not challenging Lamech yet:
„What else would a god want to be?‟
Even so, he took this badly, whirling in his chair to face me, staring until I turned
to face him, when he spluttered:
„I don‟t impute bestiality. I do apologise, a metaphor was intended, the
promiscuity of dogs, no more, I assure you, no bestiality, I swear on my grandmother‟s
name.‟
Naamah interjected quietly, but obviously, to me anyway, intent on pushing this
through:
„Then bow-wow, junior. Bow-wow now.‟
Zillah said, rubbing her hands with an ambiguous glee: „This I want to see, oh
boy, oh boy!‟
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Seth arrives just then, and we all decided to go again, and in the general fuss and
bother the promising confrontation was avoided, at least, as it turned out, for a little while
anyway.
Enoch roused it all up again once we had started into the new round, by jeering
Cainen, the one most likely to fight him:
„When I put them down, greatgrandgaffer, they have to grow to get up again.‟
Cainen looked intently at Enoch, to judge his true mood, then replied: „What I put
up stays up until it‟s ready to come down again, greatgrandson.‟
Enosh said aimlessly, „Fucking tush, greatgreatgrandson. There.‟
Lamech said, lolling in Enoch‟s lap, gonads providing greater warmth than
hitherto recognised, „Up your noodle too, spot.‟
Cainen was strongly tempted to go for the weakest of them, but he knew that the
other two would gang up on him. So he punched Enoch in the face, at the junction of
brow and temple, swung about and pulled Lamech out onto the floor. Enosh went under
the table, Cainen bent to deal with him, Enoch pushed Cainen in the side. Cainen falls
over under the table, squirming in panic, banging his legs against the legs of the table and
chairs in the vicinity. Enoch‟s sight cleared in time to see Enoch push Cainen, so he
marched over and landed a huge haymaker to the side of his head, so that he shot out of
his chair and slid across the floor, bare boards down there.
Tubalcain was engulfed in merriment at the sight of all this, guffawing
uncontrollably, and he managed to jerk out to us three that
„One sees solutions everywhere.‟
At this point Cainen got his feet under him again, vengeful now, ready for
mayhem. Enoch came up to him, trip-hopping as he approached, ready for anything
himself. Cainen‟s impulsiveness let him down at first, but his capacity to sustain
punishment allowed him to ride out the assaults Enoch hurled down on him. Enoch‟s
weakness lay in his blindness, he knew what to do but not where to do it. It was only a
question of time then, would Cainen succumb to pain or would Enoch succumb to
exhaustion?
Enoch was beaten for the first time in his life.
Cainen walked up to the Middle Table and sat down on Zillah‟s left, breathing
deeply, some cruel bruises and cuts to his body. He gasped to her:
„I want to be saved too, Lady. I‟m rough, I know, but by God I‟m always ready!‟
Lamech sneers from his side:
„Fucking mountain-men now. What else out on the reservation, Tinsel?‟
The back of Cainen‟s hand kept Lamech from going further, fairly rattling his
teeth and sending him sprawling onto a rug beside his chair. Cainen raised his hands in
the air, mad with victory,
„I am a free man! I can have what I want!‟
When Lamech got up off the floor and brushed himself down, he was staring at
Cain, not Cainen, he now tempted again to pick on the weakest. Tubalcain said, „My
sister first, Joker. Got that?‟
Cainen jumped up, pulled Cain from his chair and took his place. He leaned
across the table, upsetting the glassware, and implored, „Oh yes, please. I have always
wanted to. Ever since the first time I ever laid hands on you.‟
200
Naamah appraised him for a while with a remote, almost royal, face before
signalling that he was to come and stand beside her. He leaped up, of course, and stepped
to her side. Naamah called to her mother: „Zillah, can I have a big ring, dear?‟ Then
Naamah said to Cainen, „Drop your pants, buster. We need access.‟ She pulled a long
thread of silk from the front of her dress, deepening her cleavage, wound one end around
the ring Zillah threw to Tubalcain to pass to his sister, and then wound the other end of
the red silk thread around the neck of Cainen‟s cock. The ring pulled his semi-erect organ
down, a dismissive gesture to inflict on him.
But Naamah rumpled his sticky balls and said, rubbing her fingers together before
sniffing them, „Carry this always, Cainen of the sheepfold, in memory of me. Go in peace
now, back to your pasture, and as you go watch the gold ring sparkle as it dances on the
end of your tool, you fool.‟
Tubalcain sniffed Naamah‟s fingertips then and commented:
„Honest sweat, my dear. Can‟t fault that now, can you?‟
You probably wonder by now what humiliation has to do with salvation. I did not
ponder that aspect at all, lulled by the familiarity of the carnival atmosphere, but followed
instead Naamah‟s intention, more curious then about her true objectives. Not a palace
revolution, too many potential supporters disabled. I looked for a secret plan, mapping
Naamah and Tubalcain, together for the first time, I believe, from Zillah and her phantom
lover, seeing at once of course the burden of Enoch‟s warning of danger. What if they
have strange blood, I wondered, thinking of my polynomial suitor. Not the women alone
does he stir up, men too, prodding them with hot pins all the time. This sounds like a
phantasy, but consider how dissatisfaction spreads in a group, a drop in morale,
revolutionary metaphysics and new vision. How Zillah bears distance as a kind of
snobbery, the modesty of her children the modesty of the father.
Is this still phantasy, I wondered then, too lost in my insight to pay attention to the
others. I clutched at „modesty‟, treating it as a trace of goodness, and said to Naamah,
„Not honest love, cherry?‟
Naamah‟s eyes glazed, almost as though someone else used them now for a
higher purpose, but she said sweetly, as though running in neutral:
„I wish he would.‟ Then she said impatiently, „Get on, get on, time‟s tight. Only
one more night.‟
Tubalcain said seriously:
„Out.‟
I looked around me. Only Tubalcain and I, Naamah, Zillah and Enosh were still in
our seats. Nothing like what I had planned, nothing at all. What a horrible mishmash of a
family. I said, „Home!‟ I told Seth to fetch the coach around and begin stacking them out
in the Hall. We repaired down the Hall first to the Little Room by the Front Door. I
served them tea here, light fragrant tea, hot and sweet. We sipped for a while, hearing the
commotion in the Hall outside as Seth made preparations for departure. Then Adah and
Methuselah came in, stark naked, fondling one another, and sat over by the window
together, drinking port and toying and chuckling like two children with a secret.
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You‟ll frown on that description, I know, believing that Methuselah‟s victory over
Adah deserves some praise and goodwill. Well, if I didn‟t give it to them, no one else did
either. Naamah said roughly, spattering herself with drops of tea from her cup,
„Get him by the throat, then by the goat, that it, Tina?‟
Adah ignored her, head bent to Methuselah, giggling as she whispered loudly,
„Tar brush now, Meths.‟ Both giggling uproariously then. Naamah said to me, making
what appeared to be her play at last:
„Refugees, yes?‟
The pathos was unmistakable, but harder then to judge her sincerity. To recognise
a refugee you have to be at home somewhere yourself. Was something on offer here,
Polynomial coming into the open at last, perhaps. I was sceptical. I could afford to be
philosophical, everything already lost or everything to gain, and watch the movement of
forces around me, love, curses, lies, mistakes, sincerity, seeing how even he swam in this
ocean of fault, greater perception perhaps, but same exile. So I said parabolically,
„Give excess to another, in measured force, remember?‟
Tubalcain said, as though he had rehearsed this conversation already, „Mutuality
implies exchange between equals.‟
Zillah said, „I‟m actually glad for the mummy, you know. I think she genuinely
likes Methuselah.‟
Naamah said: „Give us what God will not give us, please.‟
I pointed at Adah and Methuselah and said, „What‟s keeping you, honey? Go for
it!‟
Naamah spread her hands out before in real pathos: „But you must give us love
first, don‟t you see.‟ She balls her hands suddenly and shook them in the air, shouting,
„Why can‟t someone start me up too?‟
Adah said patiently, „But everyone has tried, dearie.‟
Seth came into the room then to report that everything was ready for departure,
luggage loaded and so on. Zillah looked little Seth up and down and asked,
„Can you push turnips, lad?‟
Seth responded with a never before seen leer, how the tourists are corrupting him,
I think, believing that they all come to see him, saying,
„Depends on the turnip, I say, gorgeous.‟
That stopped Zillah for some reason, not merely surprise at Seth‟s odd behaviour,
also some awful memory invoked, a dire humiliation I knew nothing about. Naamah took
advantage of the interlude to ask him:
„Could you start me up, do you think, sonny?‟
In a louche tone Seth retorted:
„I only play with mothers, little girl.‟
Naamah ran up and slapped his face with all her strength. Seth easily rode this
out, but when she screamed at him, „How dare you talk to me like that, you dirty little
boy!‟ he was genuinely surprised, never having before heard a sister fight with a brother.
Then he grabbed her hair in a great hank and pulled her over. Her eyes widened as he
drew her in to him, waiting for the right moment to bring the flat of her palm down across
his hateful mouth. Seth fell back onto his bottom, becoming frightened now, thinking that
Naamah had gone raving mad, even as he felt obliged to retort:
„I‟ll say what I want!‟
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Naamah grabbed his ears now and began shaking Seth‟s head from side to side
with vigour. Now Seth‟s lips swelled with the first rage, boiling up into his eyes, and he
lurched forward and butted Naamah‟s brow. Now Naamah‟s eyes narrowed, nostrils
flaring, and she said emphatically, „That‟s it!‟ She paused, then said, „That‟s it, I say! I
tell you to stop swearing and you hit me.‟
Seth stopped hitting her and said with a practical emphasis, „You hit me first.‟
Naamah‟s eyes widened now, and she said in her most truthful voice:
„I did not.‟
Now Seth‟s eyes opened even wider and he lunged forward again, but this time
Naamah side-stepped and pushed him hard to one side. She ran after his staggering form,
shouting, „Tell me who started this! Tell me, please, tell me who started this! Go on, go
and accuse me if you like, but I‟m telling you that I didn‟t do it.‟
I could see Seth heading for disaster, so I nipped over and unspun him into a
chair, and turned on Naamah, suppressing my joy to be speaking directly to her again:
„Not bad so far, darling. Try for more disjection, will you.‟
Naamah turned to me quickly, a light, as of recognition, suddenly in her face, and
if I did not love her before then I loved her from then on, as she said in a curious
contralto voice: „But I don‟t see myself in him, Eve, honest.‟ I caught her shoulders and
braced her, my smile broadening in admiration of her beauty, the lightness of her lines,
the fullness of her surfaces, the purity of her complexion. Impulsively I touched her
mouth, feeling how her lips gave to my fingers, and I said, forefinger tracing the ridge of
her nose, „He is our son, Naamah, Adam and I. Our blood only.‟
Naamah shook her head in wonder of me, eyes as though mesmerised, light
clearer than before, the blue of clouds heralding a storm. She said in an empty tone, as
though knowing what she said, entirely knew, „No daughters, Eve,‟
I remembered then, in a vivid flash of memory: He said to me, I will show you
something. He stood before me and said, you can do what you like with me. I said,
„You are beautiful.‟
I fall in love in an instant, and he says, „Three things only I have for you, one is
this love, two is this knowledge of the power of trust, and three is this assurance that I
will cleave to all our descendants, to guide them, protecting you against the worst,
showing you the better in relief from pain.‟
It really was a flash, but it impressed itself on me indelibly. The blue had cleared
in her eyes, resolution of anxiety for me, I understood then, how expressive her eyes are.
Once I grasped this, I relinquished my hold on the deeper memory, and said to her,
„You‟re a daughter, Naamah. It‟s in you too, not in heaven.‟ I put my arm across her
shoulders and drew her down to my neck, feeling the flush warmth of her skin, how she
pulsed in my embrace, her arms around my back. It lulled both of us, sinking away into a
peaceful repose. Then we recovered ourselves enough for me to say to her, into her ear,
my eyes devouring all the curves and whorls there, shining cartilaginous flesh so perfect
for nibbling, „You‟re right though, honey, not Seth. It has to be Lamech, most pure blood
in him.‟ Naamah stiffened and looked around the room in growing heat. I said hastily,
„No, Naamah, not him. Mine.‟
203
She gave me a wry look, but I knew she would obey me. I ruffled her hair in
affection and hugged her tightly, laughing out in my joy to be with her, and again she
returned my hugs and braces, so that I felt the full shape of her wrapped across my own
body, a shape I will always want to feel again. I said, „You switch him on. Some poetry in
that, surely?‟
Naamah bowed her head as she smiled at the irony in that, already planning ahead
I could see in the set of her mouth, how the join of her lips curved smoothly, down and
up again, a little kink in the centre, the bulge of her upper lip creating a smaller curve
there down and then up, reminding me of handle-bars, a bite, a bird in flight.
I sent Tubalcain to get Lamech and bring him out to the coach, and walked with
the others into the yard. Zillah was very subdued, I‟m sorry to say, a mood I could not
fathom, still brooding on her memory no doubt. Adah was in remarkably good form, and
I fervently hoped it would last. People are always better happy. Methuselah doted on her,
hardly a glance for his mother, though no harm in that if the mother is up to it. Then
Naamah and Tubalcain came out together, arms around one another, a shy glow on their
skins as they approached me, both now walking with the same gait, throwing arms and
legs out as though they walked on air. Naamah nuzzled my ear with her gentle nose and
said, after a big kiss on my lips,
„See you soon, baboon.‟
I touched her right breast with the back of my left hand and said, laughing,
„Takes one to know another, darling.‟
I kissed her lips, my left hand around her waist, she turned and pressed herself in
tightly to me. In my ear she hissed with tremendous excitation: „Baboon see you soon,
bank on it, baby.‟
I leaned on Tubalcain as I watched Naamah climb into the coach, and he said in a
whisper, though no one else around,
„Sucker for the image, too?‟
I caught his cheek between thumb and forefinger and tugged his elastic flesh
lightly, „And sucker for you too, if you wish, Tubalcain.‟
He was suddenly serious, stepping back from me, and then stepping forward, as
though to create a field between us, and then saying,
„I know, Eve. Anyway, I‟m into metal, not meat. I‟d be a poor substitute for such
flesh. No. my duty is to my mother. I enjoy your companionship and your playing, and I
intend to continue to.‟ He raised his hand to stop me, „Listen, Eve, please listen for once,
will you? My mother has given her daughter to you. Let that be the extent of your victory
over her.‟
I did stop and I did listen. I signalled to him to lead me and we boarded the coach.
Zillah‟s cabin was second down on the right. She was watching Naamah take Lamech
into her cabin, next door. She shouted,
„Is that all you got out of her?‟
I said at her back:
„What do you mean by that?‟
Naamah looked out into the corridor and said,
„Look at the one you brought home, hardly fresh, was it?‟
204
Zillah quailed before this taunt, not sure whether to cry out or put up with the
truth. She caught me by the arm and pulled me into her little cabin. She put her fingers to
her lips, cocking her ear, hearing Naamah coaxing Lamech next door out of his torpor,
then whispered,
„Are you sure you haven‟t forgotten to do anything, Eve dear?‟
I stopped and thought what a funny question that was. How could I possibly
answer it? Then, ping, and I was saying:
„Adam. I must do that before turning in, That‟s all tonight.‟
Zillah stood up and pushed her skirt down on her hips, wriggling almightily, then
she chuffed her hair, sprayed herself and said, still some party mood left,
„Can I come with you, dear? To see him, I mean.‟
I was surprised, and said a little sharply, „Whyever would you want to see him,
dear? Sure he is no relations of yours.‟
Zillah relented a little and said,
„Oh to be with you for a few more minutes, if you must know.‟
I responded to that, but reserved judgement, conflicting assessment, „Why not
then, chuck. Perhaps a nightcap.‟
She waved drunkenly around her and said loudly, „And they‟re in no hurry
anywhere, I can tell you, Eve.‟
I relented now and nodded for her to follow me. I set a good pace down the
corridor to the exit, but slowed a bit in the Yard when she caught up with me. She seemed
to be struggling with her clothes, her skirt twisted one way, blouse another, bra riding up
and knickers slipping. She said to me, „Eve,‟ hesitated, and then with a shout of „Oh
damn!‟ tore all her clothes off, a fierce struggle of twisted straps, rucked zips, sticky
grooves. Once she was naked, she danced up and down the Yard in the starlight, prancing
like someone resurrected, shouting out over and over, „This is great! This is great! This is
great!‟ She was like a child again, sportif, slender, grace not touch, beauty not feel.
She quietened in the Hall, but would not return for her clothes. Very well then, we
set off up the stairs, down the corridor and into what I only then remembered is Enoch‟s
Room, his great dome jutting up from the pillow, snoring loudly.
I pulled Zillah from his room, then from Enosh‟s, then from Cainen‟s, then got
her down the stairs, the two of us suddenly hilarious, the result was loss of some of my
clothes. But she was right, it hardly mattered. In the Hall, I stripped off the remnants, and
we set out across the Garden to the room we now called Adam‟s New Room, where he
can see half of everything nearly. But in the Garden, Zillah said in agitation, pulling on
my left arm,
„Promise you won‟t tell anyone. Go on, swear that you won‟t tell anyone, Eve. I
want to tell you something secret.‟
It was dark in the shade of the tree, but Zillah would not come out under the stars,
wanting to mask her face and body as she spoke,
„My mother was not jealous of me while my father was around.‟
I nodded in understanding, pleased that I had come so close to knowing what it is
like to have a daughter. When she seemed to have finished speaking, I drew her on into
Adam‟s New Room.
I was satisfied by how clear and tidy everything was, superb work by Lamech and
his slops. Our feet slapped then on the parquet flooring, sounds for all the world like cold
205
fish hitting the ground, as we approached Adam‟s bed. There he lay, studying the
heavens as ever. I said jovially to him, to cover for my prolonged absences from him
recently,
„What‟s up, doc, who‟s down ice scream?‟
Funny thing to say, really, even funnier, if I can be ironic first of all, to see that
his eyes were white and milky like cream. The smell was strong. Zillah said,
„Where is it?‟
I was irritated by her interruption, and said, „Where‟s what, for heaven‟s sake,
Zillah?‟
She pointed, „His cock, where is it?‟
I looked. It had shrivelled up into his pubic hair. I pointed closely, „There. Is that
what you came to see, Zillah? You could have asked me. Save you a lot of trouble.‟ She
nodded as she peered closely. She glanced at me guilelessly, „Can I give it a kiss, Eve?‟ I
was surprised by this, and nodded only. She kissed his tiny cock and then stood upright
and said with a wry nod, „never too late unfortunately.‟ I said, uncomprehending
completely,
„For what? What on earth are you talking about?‟
Zillah was up on the bed, straddling Adam, easing herself down onto Adam‟s
little dick with a long drawn sigh of happy relief. She shouted down to me between
bumps,
„Adah – and – I – used to – to spec – ulate – about – Adam, Eve – Eve. You know
– ow – what it – tit – was like – like – How – How – big – big big – he – he – he – was –
you – you – you know – ow – ow – EVE!‟
I lifted her down then and laid her on a settee over near the window. I went out
into the middle of the Garden and called softly for Seth. When he got to me, I grasped his
shoulder and propelled him the rest of the way to Adam‟s side. I turned him to face Adam
and asked him without any fuss:
„Do you understand Adam‟s condition?‟
Seth looked at Adam‟s eyes, pressed the lower part of his buttocks, listened to his
nose. Then he nodded as much to himself as to me, and went one way then the other,
suddenly saying testily, „What‟s next, oh what‟s next? I fear to think. I fear to think.‟ He
looked at Adam‟s face again as though for information. He clicked his fingers and said,
„Got it!‟ He paused, gathered his wits, and recited:
Silver thread from here to hell
Silver thread from here to Eden
Deserved in all cases with one
Exception darkness there secret too
A reversible egg we wait to see
Gloom and toil her friends consume
Treacle’s back sweet and sure good for you
Boom boom.
Seth grinned to himself in private triumph, the rictus making his already plain face so
ridiculous that I had to laugh at his antics. Hearing me, he said emphatically, „Yes! Yes!‟
206
So it goes. Good. Next in line now.‟ Heaving a great breath, he plumped up and sang in
bass:
If you’re as glum as my bum
Then we’ve got to hold your chum
With trick sublime to fill the time
Till it comes your go Bimbo
Now Seth dived in a fury under Adam‟s bed, and we heard muted ructions as he
searched through all the rubbish there. Zillah said from the settee, as a kind of last gasp:
„Hands of God no match for Adam‟s smooth cock, my dear. I was right to insist in the
first place, wasn‟t I?‟ Poor Zillah, I thought as I listened to her, she knows so little about
men, always jealous of other wives only. I said to console her:
„I‟m jealous of other women too, Zillah. But I don‟t let that stop me loving your
daughter.‟
She stood up, straightened an imaginary tight skirt on her hips, then moved
tenderly, smiling as the pain eased, whispering over and over, „Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh
wow! Oh wow!‟ As the pain eased she walked faster, so that by the time she was going
through the door to the Garden she was running, whooping loudly.
I studied Adam then while waiting for Seth to get on with his business. Marbled
green flesh, blue lips, white eyes, black bottom. Only his hair and nails unchanged. What
a great lesson, I thought, unable to see beyond that appearance. Then the gap appeared
and disappeared, a real gap, I swear to you now, like a thin black band sweeping past me,
sweeping past all of us, like something ended then something begun, little loss in the
relay, only my Adam gone.
The shock of memory was very great, obliging me to sit down. All my knowledge
of Adam passed though me, seeing obedience written on each memory, obedience to
enticement, obedience to Judgement, obedience to curse.
I stood up again and said to Tubalcain, as he approached, „Adam‟s blood has
ceased.‟ He unbuttoned his dark blazer and shoved his right hand deep into the pocket of
his slacks, and said, regarding me fondly, „What are we waiting for then, sweetest?‟
Seth came round Adam‟s bed with the stainless steel box, the one that had held
Adam‟s Book, in his arms, whistling tunelessly, happy with himself yet. Seeing
Tubalcain, he said cheerily, „Ah, there you are Tubal, just the man I need. Look.‟ He
brought the box over and laid it at Tubalcain‟s feet and looked up to say, „Can you help
me open it. Can‟t find the confounded lock anywhere.‟ I said to the distracted suitor,
shafting it on Seth‟s nonsense:
„New game, lover. Fat boys are out this season.‟
Obliged, Tubalcain made himself bend down to Seth and say, „Fat boys have
incentive to wait.‟ A flick of his finger and the steel box sprang open to disclose an old
pair of work-trousers, smelling strongly of piss and sweat. We all recoiled, but Seth took
a deep breath and pressed on, gingerly uncoiling the trouser legs to reveal a small piece
of what appeared to be a black mouldering wood, very pitted and fibrous. Seth ran back
to show us this, singing melodiously,
Mould I’m told makes things grow
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For growing and growing one must sow
Forgive the mould be bold take a bit
Best piece on offer so go for it!
Only I took a bit. It was still sweet, lingering flavour, melt in your mouth, a jazzy liquor
on your tongue, dizzy in your throat. Whatever it contained it opened you up, like tea
only stronger, and in the new clarity I saw that Adam had known about death, even when
he obeyed me, so I said to Tubalcain, „Adam knew, you know.‟
He looked away for a moment towards the window, actually towards Adam‟s
Book lying there. He said to me, still looking away: „To be candid, that was the game.
Love is stronger than death, as you might expect, but we underestimated the power of
human love, especially his love for his God.‟ His expression was wry when he did look at
me, staring intently at me, his blue eyes bright, and he said:
„Or their lust for each other.‟
I smiled, feeling a triumph for some reason, and I qualified him: „And for
strangers.‟
Tubalcain nodded slowly, as though listening, then he said, expanding his arms
before me, a sweep of feeling represented thus,
„For all, Eve!‟
I tilted my head at him, feeling at once that this was becoming a silly conversation
– this was my embarrassment at his clumsiness – and also that it had a direction that
frightened me, like discovering a joke where a secret was intended. Interrupting me, Seth
said at my back: „This has to be seen to be believed!‟ I said in any case to Tubalcain:
„Once is enough. Pass it along.‟
Seth was fiddling under Adam‟s ear, muttering, „Curses, curses, can‟t find the
flicker.‟ Tubalcain said at my back, „Great party, Eve. Never seen the gang so flat out.
Jolly good.‟ A click and Adam‟s mouth opened. Seth was bubbling with triumphant
mirth, and so I said to encourage him, „Going good, Jimmy. On and on, boy.‟
Seth was bowing, raising the mouldering stick above his head in an uncertain
gesture, shouting in a treble,
Trick in this
Co-glow wormed
Uptake sure
Else sorry
New trick then.
He rammed the stick into Adam‟s open mouth and stepped back hastily, expecting
something sensational. Tubalcain said at my back,
„The word is better times coming.‟
Nothing happened to Adam. I turned to Tubalcain in a flat mood, knowing my
expectation was a phantasy, gulled by Seth‟s antics, but a disappointment nonetheless. I
said to him, suddenly feeling my naked body as though a disposition, that way of being
rather than another, that it was alive, that it could be dead,
„Are they needed, Junior?‟
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He smiled, nodded again, this time to assent to a strategy, and took his clothes off,
throwing them in a pile beside the bed. We walked side by side down the Ballroom, arms
grazing, conscious of one another. He said, „Bristles make me tight, Dinky. Like a soft
brush, a veritable caress, on my hair.‟ I said, looking down, „What makes you big, boy?‟
He smiled in false-embarrassment, glad to talk about himself now:
„Funny you should ask that. Say when, honey, then you‟ll see.‟
Being on the subject I asked: „Has Zillah seen you?‟ Tubalcain shook my wrist in
his strong hand, hammer hand, „Mother keeps her eyes closed.‟
I laughed at this, so absurd, and swung the astonished Tubalcain around by the
hand that restrained in sheer jubilation that there was a joke here, remembering the old
adage, catastrophically wrong for Zillah, Sex is like having your eyes closed.
You don‟t believe this, I know, thinking I have finally gone mad too. Think about
it. No sex without baring, no bearing without sex, am I right?
Suddenly now I am frantic, the confusion worse now.
Nothing has changed, only a new knowledge. But now everything is changing. I
have seen that gap, that suddenly appears in your love, to see how death can sweep
through love. But beside Tubalcain in the Ballroom I saw it differently then, believing I
had crossed the gap already and that it was already gone. The puzzle, which so perplexed
me yesterday, appeared in a kind of originary form then, for I said in half tease, „When?‟
I looked up at him and said, „Your poor mother‟s an innocent.‟
Speaking of whom, Zillah came running through the Garden Door and runs past
us sobbing, shouting,
„I‟m coming! I‟m coming! I‟m coming!‟
Tubalcain looked back at her and said, „My mother‟s a fool, Eve.‟ I stopped and
looked at the receding Zillah too, and said to him with a slight severity,
„Remember who she is, please!‟
He glared at me: „She was made a fool of.‟
Zillah climbed onto Adam and began jumping up and down vigorously, shouting
a gay nonsense, not distinct to us. I deflated again, and said as the last joke left, and tired
of it:
„Found something harder. You should know that, Iron Man.‟
We turned away and resumed our walk to the Garden Door. Tubalcain was silent
at first, straddling a bit as he walked to make space for his big bag, and I thought he
might feel a bit rejected if he sought any insinuation in what I said. But no, on the
contrary he said, with a cavalier gesture to my belly,
„Huh, hot rodding? Use a screwdriver, I tell you, like my sis.‟
A scream behind us, then an utterly ecstatic cry from Seth, and his feet were
pounding the boards towards us even as we stopped at the door and turned. He came up
screetching at the very top of his voice,
„You won‟t believe this! You will not ever believe this! But something‟s
happened to Adam!‟
No false hope left, I said to him, tilting my head to look down at him, his frenzied
features, clawing fingers, twisting toes, „What is it, Seth?‟
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He caught my arm and started to pull me forward with all the impulsiveness of a
child, shouting hysterically, „Now! You‟ve got to see this for yourself, mammy! Please
come! Bring your friend if you like!‟
Tubalcain nodded to me his assent to this, being gracious only. I walked a pace or
two with Seth, then asked in a moment of lull in him, „What is it, Seth?‟
He turned to me, radiant with excitement, his little even teeth glowing in his soft
pink mouth, dribble on his chin as usual,
„Oh, A TREE! A TREE is growing out of daddy! Oh look mummy! See how it is
going up and up in the air! Isn‟t that great? Isn‟t that absolutely marvellous, mommy?‟
I shook him quiet, pushed his hair over to one side and said to him, in an even
matey voice, „See one seen them all. Sorry.‟
Seth looked at Tubalcain with renewed hope, who said, „We have one at home,
I‟m afraid.‟
Now Zillah arrived, absolutely stunned, saying over and over, „Getting bigger,
getting bigger, and getting bigger.‟ She looked back at Adam and the tree growing out of
his mouth, and said in a confiding tone,
„Glad I insisted on getting in early, Eve. I wouldn‟t be able for that.‟
In the Garden, Zillah said to me, we flanking Tubalcain, whispering behind his
back:
„How did you manage, dear?‟
I mimed belts and buckles on Tubalcain‟s body to show her, saying, „I made the
harness myself. Reduced friction, you see. Frightfully sensitive.‟
More of this in the Hall, how you must surrender secrets to departing guests.
Zillah said, almost babbling, a lot to drink that night, „I always get them to try again,
dear.‟
I shook my head, leading into the Narrows by the Little Room, some shadows to
navigate, saying, without much guile:
„I always let them go again, dear.‟
Tubalcain said at my back, I could feel him draw close to his mother, as much
from necessity as the Hall narrowed suddenly as from his desire to protect her.
„It‟s not a club, as you seem to think, Eve.‟
I put my palms together, resisted the urge to rub them together in exultation, and
stood in the door like a good hostess. I said to Zillah as she passed me without a nod,
going stupid-drunk very quickly now,
„Come any time you like, honey.‟
To Tubalcain I said, „Come when you want, Spitfire. Just say when.‟
Zillah fell down in the Yard and Tubalcain was obliged to hoist her up in his
arms, easily embracing her frail body, and carry her aboard the coach.
I turned away before the door closed and went into the Kitchen to make tea.
Lamech lay sprawled out on the floor. I kicked his heel until he woke up, when I ordered
him to go home at once. He jumped up, hands before his face in modesty, saying
desperately, „But I‟ve got a job here, haven‟t I?‟
That troubled me, but if he didn‟t want to go I couldn‟t make him. I pondered as I
made the tea, loaded the tray, and had it hoisted up on my hip, when I said to him, „Don‟t
sleep down here. Find a bed upstairs. Go.‟
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He had the uncertain smile of one who is rarely thanked for his efforts, so I
playfully buzzed his cheek, and said, „So long as you get up early.‟ He cleared off
forthwith, scurry of his boots on the stairs, then slamming doors for a while, some
shouting back and forth, and contented silence once he found a bed for himself alone.
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That was about it that night. I went up to my room pondering the extent of the
changes that had occurred, Methuselah, Lamech and Mahaleleel off my hands. Proper
cook at last. My new friend, Adam‟s death.
You expected that event to be the catastrophe, didn‟t you? As you have seen, it
was an anti-climax; we didn‟t know what to expect. But it was the vast happening I had
sensed approaching, at least it accompanied that vast happening.
Forgive my qualification. I think one thing and by the time it is written down I
have thought something new. No. The vast event was simply the understanding made
available by Adam‟s death. Let me explain, if I may detain you a short while longer. I
knew from almost the beginning that Adam and I would die. This is the curse of God on
us for having recognised our capacity to love, our power to choose good or evil, pleasure
or pain, truth or lie. In Cain I saw the more frightful truth, what he had sought to keep
from his family, that mankind can exercise this curse as a power over one another, that
anyone can kill anyone else.
Now in Adam‟s death I feel the curse of God touch at last on its real objective, our
capacity to love. How is it possible to love beyond death? The gap that appears at death is
very deep, can love cross it?
Does it need to?
My thoughts fogged then, the confusion now like an enveloping glove, a white
haze and deep deep blue behind and above. This is how it appeared to me last night.
I asked if love needs to cross the gap of death. I have thought about it often today,
each time my theories and speculations fading before a kind of unity, like a body of light
of which I am the tip.
I can see no more than this now, only perhaps the word „capability‟ and the image
of always being in action, like vigilance, like skilful, like dispassionate.
Not much consolation to a grieving widow, you might think, but after a while,
lying in bed now, I see something else there, crucial: no stopping it, ever.
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Adam‟s Tree went through the roof during the night. I got up and looked out.
Already the branches were spreading out under the hemisphere of stars, reddish
leaves like palms unfolding. I was heartened by this, seeing a more willing Adam there. I
said, as though musing:
„Knows where he is going this time.‟
Sure enough, Tubalcain stirs himself in the warm bed, on his feet in no time,
yelling fit to rouse the whole house:
„Is that the word, Eve? Is it? Is it?‟
Only his face pressed to the pane shut him up.
„I said once is enough, Tubs, didn‟t I?‟
Great satisfaction all round.
October 1995
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