"Kress, Nancy - Unto the Daughters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kress Nancy)

"No, I'm going to call him Silas," Eve says. She knots the end of her spider-thread and bites it off. "I love the name Silas."
"You're going to call him Cain, and he -- "
"Do you think it would be prettier to embroider roses on this blanket, or daisies?"
"Eve, listen, if I can foretell the future then isn't it logical, isn't it reasonable for you to think -- "
"I don't have to think," Eve says. "Adam does that for both of us, plus all the forest-dressing and fruit-tending. He works so hard, poor dear."
"Eve -- "
"Roses, I think. In blue."
I can't stand it anymore. I go out into the constant, perpetual, monotonous sunshine, which smells like roses, like wisteria, like gardenia, like wood smoke, like new-mown hay. Like heaven.
* * * *
Eve has the baby at nine months, thirty-two seconds. She laughs as the small head slides out, which takes two painless minutes. The child is perfect.
"We'll call him Cain," Adam says.
"I thought we might call him Silas. I love the na -- "
"Cain," Adam says firmly.
"All right, Adam."
He will never know she was disappointed.
* * * *
"Eve," I say. 'Listen."
She is bathing the two boys in the river, in the shallows just before the river splits into four parts and leaves the garden. Cain is diligently scrubbing his small penis, but Abel has caught at some seaweed and is examining how it hangs over his chubby fists. He turns it this way and that, bending his head close. He is much more intelligent than his brother.
"Eve, Adam will be back soon. If you'd just listen ...
"Daddy," Abel says, raising his head. He has a level gaze, friendly but evaluative, even at his age. He spends a lot of time with his father. "Daddy gone."
"Oh, yes, Daddy's gone to pick breadfruit in the west!" Eve cries, in a perfect ecstasy of maternal pride. "He'll be back tonight, my little poppets. He'll be home with his precious little boys!"
Cain looks up. He has succeeded in giving his penis the most innocent of erections. He smiles beatifically at Abel, at his mother, who does not see him because she is scrubbing Abel's back, careful not to drip soapstone onto his seaweed.
"Daddy pick breadfruit," Abel repeats. "Mommy not."
"Mommy doesn't want to go pick breadfruit," Eve says. "Mommy is happy right here with her little poppets."
"Mommy not," Abel repeats, thoughtfully.
"Eve," I say, "only with knowledge can you make choices. Only with truth can you be free. Four thousand years from now -- "
"I am free," Eve says, momentarily startled. She looks at me. Her eyes are as fresh, as innocent, as when she was created. They open very wide. "How could anyone not think I'm perfectly free?'
"If you'd just listen -- "
"Daddy gone," Abel says a third time. "Mommy not."
"Even thirty seconds of careful listening -- "
"Mommy never gone."
"Tell that brat to shut up while I'm trying to talk to you!"
Wrong, wrong. Fury leaps into Eve's eyes. She scoops up both children as if I were trying to stone them, the silly bitch. She hugs them tight to her chest, breathing something from those perfect lips that might have been "Well!" or "Ugly!" or even "Help!" Then she staggers off with both boys in her arms, dripping water, Abel dripping seaweed.
"Put Abel down," Abel says dramatically. "Abel walk."
She does. The child looks at her. "Mommy do what Abel say!"
I go eat worms.
* * * *
The third child is a girl, whom they name Sheitha.
Cain and Abel are almost grown. They help Adam with the garden dressing, the animal naming, whatever comes up. I don't know. I'm getting pretty sick of the whole lot of them. The tree still has both blossoms and fruit on the same branch. The river still flows into four exactly equal branches just beyond the garden: Pison, Gihon, Hiddekel, Euphrates. Exactly the same number of water molecules in each. I stop thinking He's theatrical and decide instead that He's compulsive. I mean -- really. Fish lay the exact same number of eggs in each river.
Eve hasn't seen Him in decades. Adam, of course, walks with Him in the cool of every evening. Now the two boys go, too. Heaven knows what they talk about; I stay away. Often it's my one chance at Eve, who spends every day sewing and changing diapers and sweeping bowers and slicing breadfruit. Her toes are still pink curling delicacies.
"Eve, listen -- "
Sheitha giggles at a bluebird perched on her dimpled knee.
"Adam makes all the decisions, decides all the rules, thinks up all the names, does all the thinking -- "
"So?" Eve says. "Sheitha -- you precious little angel!" She catches the baby in her arms and covers her with kisses. Sheitha crows in delight.
"Eve, listen -- " Miraculously, she does. She sets the baby on the grass and says seriously, "Adam says you aren't capable of telling the truth."
"Not _his_ truth," I say. "Or His." But of course this subtlety of pronoun goes right over her head.
"Look, snake, I don't want to be rude. You've been very kind to me, keeping me company while I do my housework, and I appreciate -- "
"I'm not being kind," I say desperately. Kind! Oh, my Eve ... "I'm too old and tired for kindness. I'm just trying to show you, to get you to listen -- "
"Adam's back," Eve says quickly. I hear him then, with the two boys. There is just time enough to slither under a bush. I lie there very still. Lately Adam has turned murderous toward me; I think he must have a special dispensation for it. _He_ must have told Adam violence toward me doesn't count, because I have stepped out of my place. Which, of course, I have.
But this time Adam doesn't see me. The boys fall into some game with thread and polished stones. Sheitha toddles toward her daddy, grinning.