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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,
wouldnt I?
Enjoy it theres 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 Adams
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
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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.

THE TESTAMENT OF EVE

PHILIP MATTHEWS

Philip Matthews 1995

The beginning is always with us.

Martin Heidegger

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 fathers 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. Hes 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 anothers 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 wont 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.
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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 Gods Hand, as Seth
understands it, fruit his index of helplessness, Gods own in
other words.
I vomit. The easy part, natures 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.
<Hearing the silence enter. Are you serious?>
If you can see darkness approach then I cant see
anything wrong with saying one can hear silence
approaching. Like the shock of an earthquake, like a star
falling see a vacancy appearing.

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 dont 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:
Im 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 hell 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 Lords 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?

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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 Seths 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 Seths comfort.
Enosh is an idiot, harmless unless crossed, and he said
to me once, pointing to an exalted Seth, He is dancing. Im
dancing with him, Mother. Im 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.

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
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PORPHYRY
FIRE
DINNER
TREE
DISGUST
TRAIN
CABBAGE
COELENTERATE
ANGEL
BY ANALOGY
NUTS
CONCATENATION
TERRAPIN
NIGHT
RICH
WHITE
RAY

YAWN WHALE SOLE JOIST

CLOUD YEAR OVER WILE
RIGHT MIGHT TIGHT SLIGHT SHITE
WAY SAY
BAY MAY
LAY
GOD
GARDEN DRAGON

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.
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You do understand this, dont 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.
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 Adams 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
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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
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body, warbling a gesture of vulnerability, trembling throat, a

mouth open to the very bottom.
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 sons music is bewitched by Jareds 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 everyones feet. Little gets done, but we are happy.
Yet, why does Adam lie abed? He says he can do no
more. We dont 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 natures 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 wont
believe that. The children have not seen Adam in agony, in
the grip of a power that masters him.
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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.
By day, then, a hand to all, stone, plant, hot and cold,
husband and sons, experienced, softening, consoling,
caressing, wagging, fondling, beating, shaking, dissolving.
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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,
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Dont 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.
I must tell my beloved that the time has come. He must
try to overcome shame. Enoshs 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
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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 wont
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, nights
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,
27

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.
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.
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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. Its 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, Ill tell Methuselah, you must clean it up
immediately. Drop what youre 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
29

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 neednt worry about the Dining Room
while Im away
Empty the buckets each morning first thing, and Ill
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.

30

The prospect of my trip has affected all of them, as

expected. Im not sure who they will miss most, me or Jared.
As a family we have not been separated before. Im 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 dont believe it will do any good. Seth hasnt 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 Seths
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. Adams
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,
31

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 dont 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 Lamechs 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,
32

but not despairing or struggling, just alone and sad to be

alone. Like a light unseen.
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, Methuselahs 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 didnt stop till he reached the table, leaning over, he
shouted at me:
VISITORS!

33

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
34

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 didnt 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 Adams
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
35

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
Enoch his son had done, in the Little Room ignoring him, and
at Mahaleleel for shouting down anothers son.
I dont 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
Adams 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.
36

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 Sons 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.

37

My concern then, having got rid of them all, was with

Adam: How is he going to cope with the visitation? He cant
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:
Theyll have no business here.
And so he need not get up from his bed.
I decided to be frank:
38

They have business with you, Adam.

Adams 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 Adams
guilt and mine, that in the curse lay the cause of our false
guilt, not in ourselves.
I touched my husbands 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 dont know how I suffer,
woman!
39

A sudden insight then, which shocked me, but I

retorted anyway:
Dont I, Adam?
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:
Dont 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 Ive seen him do to the rams to get them
up. Now I say to him:
I know whats bothering you, Adam.
Hes 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 DONT!
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 dont 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
40

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. Ive 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. Im wondering what else I might be doing if I
didnt do this to Adam. After a while I say to him acidly:
You werent 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 werent 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 bellow, 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.
Adams 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.
Im used to the straps and once they are buckled on I lower
myself down onto that hot prick, down down down until it
41

pierces me to the core. I rock lightly on Adams body, getting

all the time closer, and scream.
Tonight I ask: scream for what? If I knew then, I dont
know now. I dont know why this is. Not a matter of
forgetting, Im sure; I simply cannot imagine myself wanting
to scream like that. I dont 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
42

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, Ive 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. Im 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.

43

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. Adams dragon is a mouse.
A mouse? Yes. Not Adams Dragon, then.
Whose dragon do I remember? A Dragon of Secrets.
I must think about this.

44

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 Enoshs idiocy, something
flayed by pain, a part overwhelmed by an experience
unimaginable. Methuselah got control of his voice and began
to explain Enoshs 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!
45

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 doesnt 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 wont 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 dont 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 childs
reach only?
Thinking of Jared under these circumstances brings to
mind music. If the music, which has always been with us
since Jareds 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
46

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:
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. Its 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
47

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 Adams 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 Enoshs 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 dont 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
48

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.
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 havent
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:
Wheres dada?
Mahaleleel spoke heavily in reply, as heavily sarcastic
as he could manage from the depth of the sofa:
49

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
sons untidiness, his coruscating feelings, a complete sucker
for anothers bait.
Cainen spat fully onto the floor no carpet, just as well
ground the mess with his boot, said:
Whats 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 hearts
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. Cainens 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
50

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 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 Enoshs 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. Mahaleleels shame is for his father,
Cainen, that he deserted him out of fear of his own father.
51

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 hadnt 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 Enochs judgement
seemed to him in his rustic innocence to be divine. For
Enochs 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
Enochs 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:

52

You shouldnt fret just because you see a stranger,

shepherd, as we are all strangers to each other, strange before
Enochs God, and Seths God, and Adams God.
It was strange in itself to hear the word God on
Methuselahs 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 wasnt
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 Enochs 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 Enochs power of judgement lies in sin, an
acceptance of guilt so manifestly absurd. Cainens 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 Methuselahs 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 instants vision of the world he builds,
how bright and vast it is, clear air, and then another feeling
53

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 Jareds 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
Jareds 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 Jareds 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.
54

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, Im 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, isnt 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, Methuselahs face
was alight, fathers 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.
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,
55

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 winters night up in the mountains, hunting a
stag. All the stories, except Enochs of course, are funny, not
just wry but verging on the ridiculous now, except
Mahaleleels, which concerns a condition induced by Adams
56

weakness, the failure of his influence over his descendants.

My Adam was a clown, useless with materials, so that I must
help him, and Methuselahs beam has become a World Tree,
a great crowning menace, grotesque in its humorous import,
Enochs hard-on once.
You see at parties how we hope to be forgiven, how we
are prepared to forgive.
And then our next scene:

57

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
58

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, Cant you sing it?
Enoch couldnt, 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
59

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 AC#B,
acted to complete the bridge. But only momentarily, the
bridge cannot be sustained by Lamechs 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 wasnt familiar with
Jareds 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 Enochs balls
tightly, waggling them painfully with his strong hand.
Enochs shock was very great, of course, but a bigger
shock for poor Methuselah, surprised to see such joy on
Cainens 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, Cainens 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
60

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
couldnt 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 Mahaleleels 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
61

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 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. Cainens expression changes from
horror to amazement as he sees Mahaleleel, a sane man,
speaking to his idiot father. Enoshs 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
62

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 Lamechs 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
63

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 ones 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.
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
Enochs 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
64

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.

65

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.
Seths display is really so first class that I had a sudden
urge that my husband Adam should see his sons 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.
Gravitys name greater than lights. Greater than lights.
Greater than lights. Gravitys name greater than lights.
I missed Jared, he usually run massages for me. No
point asking Lamech to run up, he gets lost easily. Adam
wouldnt listen to Mahaleleel and laughs at poor Methuselah,
an obedient son. I decided to go myself, there was the offchance 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, Youd want to see your son
downstairs.
66

He was staring out the window at the starry sky,

breathing quietly, and he did not move, only asked:
Whats he done now?
I paused, because I knew that he would in the very
least be surprised: Hes preaching to Enoch!
Adam sniffed, momentarily irritated by the sniff, then
he said:
Two of them now? Whose fault is that?
Adam wasnt 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 youre 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 Im just a dumb peasant, with
sweat on my head and a pain in my arse, bent over all day,
laid back at night. Well, youre all wrong. Youve got it
wrong about me. Im not just a scrubby shit in a ditch, Ive
got a wire in there too, for all you know, missis.
Adams 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
67

conversation: Adams upset was far greater than I expected,

perhaps greater than 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. Ive 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 dont believe me then? Well, Ill 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. Whats that? I blurted
out. He waved it slowly in front of me, gazing at it with
shining eyes.
Thats a book, woman.
I laughed out loud. Some book, I said, taunting him.
Not like Enochs. Enochs book has forty seven thousand
pages. Enoch sleeps on his book, wanks on it, wets the bed
still.
When that didnt 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, cant you ever give a straight answer?
68

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 hearts 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. Whats 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.
Cant. Sorry.
Only one, Adam.
Theyre secrets, my dear.
You dont know any, Adam, do you, you plonker.
I told you theyre secrets. The Secrets of God. Only
God knows the secrets of God.
I laughed at that, to think of him hoarding a book he
couldnt 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
69

pocket. Sixteen paragraphs, ten pages. Each paragraph has a

heading in bold capitals. Only one name can I discern, 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.
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.
70

I rubbed Jobals 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, Jobals 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 everyones 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 Im first! and
Enosh echoed idiotically, Im 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 wasnt the first after all.
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Seth was in a spiteful mood, rare with him but vicious

nonetheless: First in everything, mother.
I sneered, deliberately: I said,
No, youre 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 half-sister 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:
Arent I the eldest, mother, arent I? Arent I your first
son? Arent 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. Ive
never seen different, have you?
Bless her, she could say what I couldnt say. The
benefit of having a girlfriend. She can lie for you.
72

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 its gone, thats 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.

73

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 didnt 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.
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? Thats Jobal, if
he survives: corrupt he may be but he is no goer. He is an
official in the city, so he doesnt talk unless he has to, which
74

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 didnt know, very sweet and poignant. Thats 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
75

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.
Nonetheless, you see how I trace the presence of the curse in
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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.

77

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 Im 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.
4

78

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 Naamahs
brother is a bit better. He replied when I asked him:
Truth doesnt 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
79

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
Jobals 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 the deeper
80

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. Hell have her in every
81

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 Tubalcains 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
82

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. 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 wasnt
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
83

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. 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,
84

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 dont
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 Ancestors 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. Jareds 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
85

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 Mahaleleels
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 dont I know
them already, why do I look for another power now if not to
86

prop up my memories of them. They fade more and more

from me, leaving only questions, these questions merely the
fading traces of the 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 dont 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
couldnt 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, thats all. They reveal
themselves at their parties.
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The first time, especially, the premiere of a

composition by Jubal. I couldnt 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 Jubals 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. Im 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
88

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 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 didnt 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, Lamechs second wife. Spiteful,
spoiled, too pretty by far and too loose. A trophy wife, youd
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
sons 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
89

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, Im 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 dont 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 didnt realise, my dear. I didnt 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
90

watched instead a woman in her throes. How her eyes dont

see, arms dont 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 nose, fawning for more. Even so, it pleased Tubalcain,
even though he became the victim of his mothers 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, Zillahs 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
91

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 daughters 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 Zillahs 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
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and off for the last three hours, and it was now due for
assessment. I didnt 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:
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 mockjovial voice, not your cup of tea, Im 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:
93

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: Dont 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 humanearth most of all.
Tubalcain was cringing by now, his beautiful hands
interwrapped, and said, near to tears, But I havent 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
94

music. It makes her apprehensive. Then there is my brothergrandfather, Mehujael, who was dried up and now has his
fancy tickled by my music. And then there is of course the
run-in, Gods own bitch, Zillah of the spindle-shanks, on her
back all the time. You have made her into a clinging child,
for which I thank you.
Coming away from Tubalcains 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:
Shes not afraid of her father. Shes 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.
Zillah let my hand go, said to Jubal:
Go now. On the beat, and grabbed Jubals 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.
95

Zillah said to me:

All my daughters are fat slags. I dont know why, Im
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? Im
jealous of my daughters. Theyre younger than me.
I laughed at her tone, matching her wry humour, she
watching me shrewdly, until she nodded and said:
Shes 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.

96

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: Thats
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:
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.
97

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, isnt that right, mother? A helping
hand, wasnt it? Isnt 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.
Thats what he said, son. Ill always remember. Down
by the river, a wet spring, not much spare time together.
Thats when he said, into my ear under a hawthorn in bloom:
Loves 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:

98

You dont believe he meant it, dont 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 cant say no unless youre 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.
Thats 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 Dont worry, its just her way of staying in the
game. Or better still, Lamechs eyes are bigger than his
belly.
Later in the night Jubal says: My father is covetous.
Zillah cant 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.
99

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.
Its no laughing matter, Im afraid, my dear. Though
it is Lamechs greed that will destroy us, not my poor fathersisters foolishness. Thats Zillahs 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
100

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.]
Ive put the last sentence in inverted commas because I
dont 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.
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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
Zillahs game with Lamech, of jealousy, means that
Tubalcain must keep away from his mother. Naamah is afraid
of her brother, but I dont 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:

102

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.
Dont 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:
Im 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
103

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 Lamechs brood, who stray?
The names concatenate and I wonder more deeply about 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,
didnt 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
doesnt believe her, thank goodness. But will Lamech want to
fight with the Son of God, hes stupid enough for that?
The other aspect of this I addressed to Jubal directly:
Zillah. Who is she from?
We dont know.
The mother?
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We dont know.
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 dont know who Zillahs 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.
105

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
106

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 Zillahs 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 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.
107

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.

108

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 Zillahs 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, dont mope, you say. Pah!
She rages because she hasnt 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:
Youre 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
109

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:
Its 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 uss 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
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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. Zillahs 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: Its 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 Id 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
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reputable Lamech, husband by two father by four, potentially

by production though most likely by reproduction, always
two for one in that case, lifes 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,
Adahs 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. Dont 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
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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.
This in case he had any notions, I admire good
bloodstock but dont 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.) Naamahs 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:
Cant 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, Adahs
manners deplorable, Zillahs 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
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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 strutters 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 wasnt pleasant, not my Home, of course, but Im
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 its not. I pride
myself on my control and reserve, not cold but not involved
either. What do you expect, my husband hasnt 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
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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 cant 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 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: Daddys off again.
Jobal laughed but Jubal didnt, 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
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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 days 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. Its the
same thing for you anyway. Adah bawled out to Lamech at
once, My mothers 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 hes 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 didnt 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, Cant you do
something? And she was wry, shaking her head slowly,
beads jangling, and replied, Oh no, honey, not me. Ive
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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: Whats 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?
May I what?
May I be excused it, sweet mama?
Why? Cant 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
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distress about her eyes. Adah hates water. Zillah stood up

then and faced me, eyes widening:
You realise what this mean, dont 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 Seths religious mania, but something holds me
back, something that frightens me very much. I know that
what I see in Zillahs face I saw also in Seths 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 dont 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 dont you ever learn, Zillahfriend, 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
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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 didnt 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 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 didnt ask!
Zillahs eyes widened, like light coming up, headlights,
and she said earnestly:
He doesnt ask. In he goes. Suddenly laughing,
remembering the lovely surprise every time. I replied
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spitefully, not deliberately, I admit, but within range, If not

the tongue, then the whip. Zillah glared at me, seeming to
bristle, and snapped, Youre 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 Adams old sayings, he used to crank
them out in the evenings, a few beers after the day, If it fits,
then better wont 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 didnt understand her.
It serves me right for quoting Adam, I dont have his wily
wit. But I said in any case, Let that judge you then, Zillah. I
was mollified to see that she didnt 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, didnt I? Jobal hung his
head, deeply stung. I had been about to say that more wasnt
necessarily better, citing boils and children, but then I saw in
Adahs face a worse gloom than could infect Zillah, and
realised that Adah loves Cain, knows his mark. I said to her,
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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, wherere you
headed!
Lamech ran around in front of me, arms out, shouting,
Didnt 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
Tubalcain pressed his palm to his fathers 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
121

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, dont 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:
Youll hit me first, Bonzo. And Adah said after her, And
me, husband.
A tough fight, youll 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, Im sure,
but I have a small piece, which I hope you might enjoy. Its
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.
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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 rubbish for all I
know, his family musical imbeciles. I dont 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, Ill 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.
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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, Im
afraid.
Lamech stood up and yawned hugely, arms in the air
like a monkey, Im 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 Jubals music, then Adah said to Jobal,
Run up and tell daddy that mummy has a headache and cant
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,
Hes 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
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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 wasnt incredulous at all, I do take him seriously, if
no one else does. As a crucifixion it wasnt 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 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.
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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 Jubals 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 Zillahs 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
doesnt 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 dont overrate knowledge, Eve!
I did not say that knowledge is true, Adah.
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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, Jubals
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
doesnt 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 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.
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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, Whats 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 Id tell you when I found out,
didnt I? Yes. Well, I havent 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,
Dont talk like that in front of your brother, do you hear
me? Tubalcain spluttered suddenly, leaning forward on
Jubals arm with the effort, and said, And he doesnt 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 moments rest. Like
handball. Adah said, keeping the acid up, Serves you right,
dear, for letting them know you liked it. Look at poor
Mehujael, Lamechs grandfather. So frightened now he wont
leave his house. Never in while I was there. Jubal said,
Accordingly fine for dance. Gets them going, you know,
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even if it is a nightmare. Zillah said, plaintive still, I didnt

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, Its 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? Whats the point in that? Zillah seemed stunned
by this, so I said to drive my point home: Youre like your
daughter, Zillah. Youre 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.

129

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. Its a
pity youve 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
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your father about children. Jubal tittered in an uncontrolled

way, not violent but he didnt 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 Methushaels eye and
then subsided. I dont 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.
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He gazed at me for some time and then dropped his trousers

too. I couldnt 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.
A harsh description, but I was surprised to hear
something of Jubals 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 cant keep anything in. I patted Jubals
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.
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Jubal rolled his eyes in mock wow. What, rent-boy

instead of plough-boy!
The verandah as I remember is a mirror of Mehujaels
house. If I say couch you will remember. This couch is large,
pink and blue, with a head roll, cushions, well-padded 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 once-beloved, of course, hoping the young virgin
will entice.
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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 wry, instead he became grumpy. I
said, tipping his knuckles, to cheer him up again, Go where
youre 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?
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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 Mehujaels 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. Whore you, I asked, boy. I said at his back, Its
Jubal. Adahs 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
135

pup. Jobal, greatgrandfather? Jubal piped helpfully. No,

no, not him. Regular mammys 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 cant keep his hands
to himself. You wouldnt know what he is up to half of the
time.
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 Jubals 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:

136

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 couldnt 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 Zillahs 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. Whats 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, womans fancy
not harnessed.
I said in reply: I would rather test for resolutions in the
matter, Mehujael. To be candid, I havent the slightest
interest in your problems. I have come to see your ruler,
Cain, with a question about my husband, Adam. If I could
137

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, dont
you think. So little takes ones 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 ones hand, feel the
cold moist livingness of black clay. He fell to musing,
whistling in a hissing way to Jubals music.
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
138

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 wasnt sure then if he heard me. It had been
important for me to say what I had said, but the last sentence
139

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.
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
140

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 Mehujaels 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 Adams 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
141

thinking over and over, What did he say? meaning

Mehujaels 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.
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
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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. Lets 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
143

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.
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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 dont 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 poormans 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
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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 long-gone, long-forgotten event. I am
intrigued. If there is no secret in the city, then this rune 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, Adams 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.

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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
citys 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 Ive 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.
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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.
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 shes 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
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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.
Methushaels brows shot up in surprise. He whistled
and said, No less?
No less. Irad was my favoured contact now, next step
up. Methushael closed Irads 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, Methushaels 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 Methushaels back,
I thought Id 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. Youre wanted
back at the House. I said to Methushael in the meantime:
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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,
Im 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 dont 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,
Irads voice 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
Methushaels 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
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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 Irads
carriage shot in, Irads eyes tightly shut. Methushael hid
behind me. Irad said, Come on, lad. How often do I have to
tell you to get about things. Theres plenty to be done if
youd only look. Smiling sweetly at me then, Come this
way, my dear. Im 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 Irads 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
153

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 dont know you.
And she said, as though teasing me, But I know you, little
Irad, nose-in-where-it-shouldnt-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
me then. As you can see, I contented myself there until Zillah
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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 mothers 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.
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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. Jobals 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 mothers 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:
156

Naamah?
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 Zillahs 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. Im 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.
157

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 hadnt 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 someones way. You decide to
158

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.
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:
Im 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: Its only what
159

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 Id 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 pureblooded, 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, Zillahs 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. Isnt 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:
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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. 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, Zillahs 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.
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Adahs eyes widened before Irads. 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 husbands.
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 Im told in the city. If there was further
misdirection afoot at present, I could not tell. I was
thoroughly lost in the city now.

162

163

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. Dont 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 others 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.
164

As if by a magical call, Methushael appeared and said

to me: Want me to run you home, my lady?
Irad snapped: She doesnt 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 your mother up to bed.
Methushael glared at Irad, fear of punishment still strong in
him, so he caught Adahs 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: Ill 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 didnt know already. Irad has little
curiosity, definitely a middleman here.
Irad studied me as we walked, sizing me up anew,
realising himself only now how far I had penetrated into the
city: Youve heard about traces, no doubt, we often use that
165

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?
Irad reached and caught Methushaels neck in a playful
yet domineering headlock, forcing his face down. Calculated
violence, practised. He said in a banter: Oh no, he cant.
Methushael is going to put his granddaddy to bed. Arent
you, my dear boy?
Methushael went limp in Irads 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 Methushaels
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.

166

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 hed 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 dont convince you. Its 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 Tubalcains face then. He said
plaintively, corrugating his forehead, Dont 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
167

like the tree outside. I said to him, pointing to the chair beside
me,
You had better ambitions, hadnt 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
168

have thought at times, but an infant. He wants to lie in his

mothers lap. A cruel interference. Insightful, knowledgeable,
patient, strong, he has all the ingredients of a good man, but
cannot see beyond his mothers 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 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
169

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 Tubalcains 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.
170

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 Naamahs
replacement of me at Home. My soul in Jobals 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.
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 Methushaels head, and
jumped up into Tubalcains 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
171

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 dont know if its true, thats it?
A voice behind me said, gruffly authoritative, All
right. That will do for now, Tubal. Off you go now, thats 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:
Theres no shame in taking what is given to you.
I dont ask fire to cook me.
He assented to this with a flick of his left eye, tried
another tack: Then responsibility.
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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 Cains 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 Adahs 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:
Mothers enough, yes?
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 youre 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
its not your game? The word sugar to me an odd epithet
for Enoch, who said then: Desperation is not quite a hunger,
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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 pre174

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 isnt
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 Adahs House, borrowing one of her
large dresses for the moment. Enoch didnt 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 mothers
fluids, a ritual self-birthing is what he would see. To him this
would mean rebirth, 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
175

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
Zillahs 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 Zillahs lover, and Adahs
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,
176

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 couldnt then decide. He touched his brow
in salute: Be sure to drop by to bathe again, wont you.
Ive just found Adams 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.
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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 didnt 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
couldnt 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
Adahs 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
Cains place when he is absent. He wasnt 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
178

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 theres food in it. Never closes it when theres 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 shes 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 Adahs house, his niece-wifes 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,
Cains presence needed in the city, in some specific form.
I think immediately of the word indignity, even as I
look as him laughing raucously, ogling Adah, perhaps
179

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
Mehujaels insight. This last was sarcastic and earned the
retort, Or Naamahs nerve. Adah pahed this very loudly.
Nerve, my foot, Mehu. Im 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 Adahs 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 didnt notice any
of this, she was playing to Irad, who she knows she can trust
to support her. Much of Enochs authority seemingly
evaporated that afternoon, seeing a mother coming from her
bathing, glowing with the elixir. Concatenation. His mothers
apotheosis, almost. Enoch, in other words, worships Adah,
180

touching in its own way, but nonetheless an error, of

judgement if no more. But Irad is used to Adahs 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 Adahs chest. Enochs 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. Dont waste
my time now.
Mehujael said at my left, Not dysfunction, lady.
Nothing can be stopped, remember? I remembered well
enough. But its 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 game. Come
181

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, dont
think we dont 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 mothers 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
182

Adah had not unknowingly given me some assistance.

Conscious that Enoch hadnt 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 Enochs 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:
Thats 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
183

was not temptation, and the curse that followed on it, that
caused my nausea:
Whats the problem, then?
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
youre just kidding yourself, girl. You havent 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
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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
dont know what youre 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 Irads urging he told me this:
Before the city named for him was built, Enochs 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?
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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, 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 dont you wait here with me, Enoch. It wont
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
186

be led, only pleasure is needed to tempt their pain that little

bit further along.
If I can get back to my account now: Adahs reaction
to my remark that they mightnt 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, Ill
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.
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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 mustnt 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?
Enoch was by now getting on to Adahs 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 Adahs 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 Adahs
face, the material now quite rigid,
Adah fell silent. I said to Methushael, You too, my
lad. Shes 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,
188

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, Adams 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 Adams cure, but that is no longer
true. There is another task now. There is Adams 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.

189

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 wouldnt 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, dont 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 cant 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.

190

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,
Hows the flute boy? Any better?
Adah said wearily: Why we bother I dont 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 hes good, dear. Hes awfully spoiled, you know.
Absolutely ruined. And Enoch looked over at her with
distaste and said, She is Eves guest.
Mehujael, who seemed in a kinder mood than usual,
then said to Adah: Youve 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. Hell 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
cant stand workers who take it easy. Adah said to me in a
191

shrill voice, Mehujaels banter having aroused her,

unfortunately, I thought then,
She can talk!
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, Methushaels, 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 didnt
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,
hows the fluting? He looked bemused, wonderfully hungry,
192

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 doesnt know
whats good for her, as Adah observed, she having handreared Jubal to the task of talking Zillah down. I said, Ive
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 youll 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. Jobals 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 ones own animality requires that you first
conceive of animality itself, for only then could you apply the
193

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.
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
Zillahs 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 hadnt 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 weeks
handjives, Anything you say, sweet. Get going when youre
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. Im easy. Saying which, I knew at
194

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?

195

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.
196

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 mothers 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 youve got gangs of kids, is that right? I left
him with a nod and went on. Zillah said to me, Look, dear.
Ive had time to consider.
197

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 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 Cains Game, the Citys 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,
Cains people?
Zillah said, No. She was surprised that I mentioned
Cain. Its 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 Adahs voice
in that, so I said:
Show me the way anyway, will you, Wilson?

198

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
hadnt 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 Adams book even then I knew that it had had no
discernible influence so far. Adams 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 wont 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.
199

I wont harp on the blindness more than I have to. I

wont say scales fell from my eyes, because though I didnt
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. Dont misunderstand me in this. I do not know
anything, only that I can see a true path, which 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
200

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, Cains, 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
201

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.
It is not Cain.

202

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, Cant 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
203

eyebrows, deeply corrugated forehead of a worrier, finicky,

all a-jitter. Well, farm, do you say? Tush, maam, 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. Its enough for a living, do you
know. Why would I want more?
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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? Dont you want to have some
fun? Aw, come on, babe. Get big.
Strong emphasis on the last word here: I couldnt
understand what he meant by big. Im 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 wasnt 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.
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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, Theres one fine girl
there, old boy; what say we try it on? You know, come on
sweet-like. Yeah, I sure did that, didnt I, girl? You got to
admit that now, dont you, girl? I tried you very hard now,
didnt I, girl? Then you want to talk about love, didnt you,
girl? Didnt want to have it big, did you, girl? You only want
to go home to your old man, dont you, girl? You want to
take it back up to him, dont you, girl? Hey, pretty babe,
whats he got that I dont 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 hadnt 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 mans 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 dont
mess with no rich mans woman, okay?

206

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?
Lets 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. Lets 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. Cans 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
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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, Shouldnt 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, then 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, lets. 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
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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.
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 didnt 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 theres a bill theres a way!
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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
210

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 natures task of equilibrium how the
remainder has effect itself, seeing that the initial state of
nature will not be the final state, 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
211

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 theres a will theres 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 theres a will theres 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.

212

You are aware that I am now writing after the event. I

hadnt 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 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?
213

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, maam, Ive known only you since
I saw you first.
His hand is a hand of bone, a birds claw, that fastens
on to you. I wasnt 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 Id roll? If you were on the block, baby,
do you think Id 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
214

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 cant 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:
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,
Im afraid.
For sticky hair and a fixed grin
Could never turn any organ-grinders,
Im afraid,
215

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 wasnt Hands of God, he wasnt 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 aint Sam, maam! 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, dont
you?
216

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 Cains 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 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 aint 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. Cains 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
217

experience of Cains self-consuming 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 Cains 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 aint 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
Im not just a bum, chum, I got brains too.
Im not just for fun, son, I got aims too,
Im not just a dress, Fess, I got speeches too.
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Im 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 peasants whine, full of someone elses
words. But I persisted, trying to get behind the novelties, and
asked:
Whats 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:
NEW TODAY! Whos to say?
Twenty four more days to go!
COME THAT DAY! Whos to stay?
Twenty four more miles to go!
TAKE THIS WAY! Whos afraid?
Twenty four more breaths to go!
PUSH TO PLAY! Whos 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
219

a moment with a dog in his arms, that whimpered in extreme

fear. Catching the hind legs, he swung the dogs 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. Maam. 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 youll 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.
220

221

Im afraid there is worse to tell you. I thought my tale

was complete, happy-ever-afters. 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 whos 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 Cains 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
Cains 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, Wheres dada?
I said to them all, Im 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 Adams
book. It was Adams book, after all, and had to be returned to
him.
222

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, cant 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. Cant
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 dont...
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? Its worse further down. Irad said, as though this was a
familiar argument: Not if you settle down to family life,
223

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
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. Youre 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, Im 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 Cains 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
224

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 Adams 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, Im 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! Cains 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
225

dropped to his ankles. She saw for herself, dad. Im telling

you.
I said into this bombshell. But not you, Cain, Im
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. Ill say that for you, chicken, you
dont half want Gods hand on you too. Turned to Enoch and
continued, You see here, son, that this was dreamed up
before Zillahs 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 dont 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
226

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, Adams 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
227

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, thats 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 Cains
door now?
There was nothing to help me then, except what I have
gained already, so I said, A secret keeps me, Cain. Isnt 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
228

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:
Dont 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 Methushaels 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
Adams 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
anothers service, Adams 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 Adams book, we know it is a book, but we cannot
read the book. The book, you see, performs its text, and so all
229

things perform their natures. But as a book performs, so also

all things perform for their creators only. Enoch reads
Enochs book, but God reads Adams book.
Here I hide myself, a guardian of that knowledge of the
secret of Adams 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 Zillahs
chatter, Once it comes, you mean. I tousled Zillahs stiff
hair, ran my nail over the ridge 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 womans body as of a mans.
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,

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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,
Thats not much of a help, really, Eve. I mean, tell us
something we dont 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 Adams book into my arms and said to
Methushael, Ill 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 Adahs 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
whats 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
231

one of the other, but only in my mind. Not returning was the
obvious import of Adahs 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 didnt 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, that 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 dont 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?
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.
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Weird, was my first thought, but then I realised that

Lamechs son would be almost purely of my blood, Adams
blood a receding remainder, on the outskirts of decimal
numbers always, just like Cains.
These thoughts took time, as you might expect, and we
stood there like a tableau, left arm cradling the book, my right
hand on Adahs arm, her mouth open, eyes uncertain, and I
said,
Cains 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 havent 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,
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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 rouse-up,
eh, dearie. Jobal sniggered, and I reactively clipped his ear,
eliciting a howl of pain. To Tubalcain I said, Theyre 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 Cains house, that I might not get
Home again. You will chide me for this apparent cowardice,
but I know that Cains 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
234

lurking, not a disease picked up in the city, but a truth

learned, that we can forget. I said to Jubal, Whats the score,
sunshine? He shrugged, disappointed in himself but no loss
of talent thereby, and said,
My fingers couldnt reach all the keys.
I shrugged, getting a whiff of my clothes after such a
busy morning, and said, Theres a little touch there, sonny.
As big as a womans 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.
235

Later Jubal said, when Methushael was sleeping that

night,
Performance always repeats a prior performance. A
composition is a beginning.

236

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 didnt 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, Cant you look
after a baby even?
Methuselah said from the couch, She cant 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, Whats 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. Its because he
cannot use a certain word. Isnt that right, Tomtit? This
237

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. Dont
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 dangers 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, Im sure you will be,
sweets. Cainen caught my glance and looked over at
Methushael, then dropped his head sheepishly and said, I get
238

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 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 Cainens 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
dont mind honest business, honest use. Enoch said, loudly,
back in the clouds after Naamahs 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 two-time.
I lied in the murk of dayclothes once, froze to death another
dock, alas. Methuselah was saying to Methushael in a low
voice under Enochs 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
239

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-adub.
Seth said at the door, to Enoch as much as to me, If
you want it, get it, if you dont, 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:
Dont ask, Eve, too boring, darling. Do nothing for them and
theyll 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
240

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 Naamahs arm and propelled
her out into the yard, into the cold dark air of night.
You wonder at my callous behaviour. I didnt 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? She reared back, ever touchy, and stared
at me in the light streaming from the side door, Youre the
one to ask. After you like innocent dogs. There. Competition
at Home. Hard to take, Im 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. Ive been shouting
myself hoarse. Voice echoing in the bare room for once.
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When did you ever do anything else?

Shes a slut. Wont do anything shes 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.

242

I rouse them out at dawn, a clear bright morning with a

stiff fresh wind. Seth I sent to clean out Adams 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 sorrylooking, 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 Gods 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 couldnt 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. Dont you
think I have tried, pussy?
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Not exactly non-plussed, more surprised, realising that

my first insight into Cains 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? Theres 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
244

surmise that Cain discovered something new about animal

death, something that affected God deeply.
I could have given more thought to the clues I might
glean from this reasoning. How specific Cains curse is; how
it relates to his act and its inferred nature. What Cains
condition tells me about Adams 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 Id 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 theres 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 theres 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,
245

visibly impressed by me and mine, and says, as correctly as

she can:
I heard Jubal was coming up and I couldnt 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 couldnt 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? Everyones here now its 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: Ill 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:
246

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 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.
Im not sure how long we stood like that, but time
enough for me to remember Zillahs 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,
Its 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 Zillahs 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,
247

for those who wait, for those too small, for those too lazy.
Look at them, Eve, arent they irresistible?
I looked down at her, a bit stunned again by crossed
lines, and said, Depends. But its a no-win scenario your
way.
Methushael ran into the room. He was gazing at me
ardently so he didnt see Zillah at first. When he did he
asked:
Werent you told before not to bare your bosom,
Zillah? You know its 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, dcor must be seen not tamed.
Whos talking abut decorum here, I wondered. I said to
Zillah, Stitch yourself back in, poppett, and lets 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
248

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:
Hes 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. Youre in for more than that now, dreamboat.
Wait for Mister Right is my word for you.
Zillah wiped her hanging breasts with a tissue and said,
looking over at Methuselah, But hes 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, Im sure of it remember: Good enough for
him, Hands of God. But not the obvious.
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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 Jubals 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 anothers. 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 Adams room. I marched in and said, Heres
that book you asked me about, old cock.

250

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.

251

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 didnt 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:
252

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 doesnt know. Remarkably,
Naamah understood, because she looked at me in an earnest
pudding sort of way and said, Im 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,
253

Splendid idea, twints. Lets. 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 didnt 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 hasnt
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, Dont worry,
sweetie, therell be no shortage of sons while my daughter is
254

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 mothers 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 dont know. I thought of it
then as a rather stupid witticism, mocking what I saw then as
Zillahs stupidity. But when Zillah retorted,
Whos 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?
255

Too right, sis. Too fucking right you are, sister.

256

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
Zillahs 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 Zillahs 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.
257

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 Adams 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, dont 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.
It didnt 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
258

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 Lamechs 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 cant
you get up and see?
Seth asked behind me, not clear who it was directed to:
And when you get up to see?
259

But Jubal said, Naamah coming over to him

defensively, her mothers trait,
Be is where its 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, Sharks bait every time, Bailey. So I said to
Zillah, over Enoshs 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 didnt cause his misery. Thats 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 Methushaels
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?
260

Jubal shrugged, helping Lamech grasp a crust, and

said,
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 mothers 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
Enoshs 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. Ill 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 Enoshs 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 Enochs 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
261

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 dikes 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 ganders, ol.
Zillah says, suddenly back too:
I dont know, Eve old girl, but I cant take this
daytime drinking at all. Reminds me too much of home. If
you dont mind, dear, Ill 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 well rise up
together into a flatter bray. Naamah was picking bacon from
between her teeth, fingers gleaming, perfect nails
momentarily useful, as she spoke.

262

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.
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?
263

He ran across and caught Adahs hand and clung to it,

his back to me. A loud shout of anger downstairs then,
Enochs voice rising in crazed admonishment, and I grabbed
a wrap and said, as much to myself as anyone else, Thats
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, Lamechs 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 Cains 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
264

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.
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
Jareds 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 Enochs
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
265

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, Im 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
Cains curse, that was the point then. I saw Zillah talking
about something beyond Cains 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 havent done too badly yourself, considering,
Zillah dear.
266

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 Ive
always wanted to do. Do you know, Ive 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 Ive an army here to take care
of it, darling.
Zillah wagged her bottom energetically, elbows on her
knees, and said emphatically, You do it yourself, lovey. I
can tell.
I hadnt been aware before that I tend the Garden
myself. The thought surprised me in a profound way, but I
didnt 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, Im so used to it myself, dont 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, Id 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
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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
268

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? Dont you deserve the treat, Zillah?
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
269

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 Mahaleleels
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?
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Ballroom.
Lamech inserted suddenly, rearing up, Wanking again,
I bet. Dirty little fellow, that.
Mahaleleels 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 Zillahs 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 didnt 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: Cant!
Whyever not, Jubal?
Again his little cry, losing power as he lost interest:
Im undergoing conversion, dear Lady.
I laughed out, In the dark?
He didnt 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 hearts content.
Disaster. No other word, then or now, whole game blown
away on that thick twit. Not a word out of him, trousers
271

around his ankles, being dandled, revelation anew for the

poor lad. I said, correct strategy, Take him home with you,
my pet, but youll 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 Methuselahs 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, whats 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 dont 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 moments reflection,
You know, dear, but I havent had a chance to think about it.
I only heard a while ago. I havent had time, you see.
I nodded understandingly, pouring myself a drink, the
first of the evening, and thought, Here goes, and knocked it
272

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 didnt 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 Cains 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 Jubals 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,
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.
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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 youll 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 couldnt 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 didnt stay any longer than I had to, nipping on down
to Adams 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, Cant you give
him a bit of peace? He has a right to that, hasnt he? The
second question was for myself, I was surprised at having the
right to peace. But Jubal said then:
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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 cant 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 Adams bed, What is it to be, big boy? Its 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,
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
275

course. He came and sat on the floor beside Adah, reaching

up his right hand to grab her left.
Naamah said, over beside Adams 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,
Shes 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 Adams 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
276

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 cant 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
Gods 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 Cains condition upset you. It
wasnt 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:
By what he knows, yes, Eve.

277

Zillah said, How quixotic, loves, this secret language

of yours. She paused, then said, jabbing the air with a
metalled arm:
Cain dont give a fuck. She sneered at me. Dont
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,
dont 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:
Youll talk about killing, Adam, I know. But what
about dying? About never coming back?
Zillah kept herself under admirable control, I thought
then, considering Adams expression. He said sternly:
It wont be gainsaid anyway.
Zillah moved back in an unconcerned way as though
she had totally forgotten Adams face of a moment ago. She
said at the door, Theres 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,
Dont worry so, Eve. Ill 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?
278

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,
Whats with that bitch, Methuselah? I thought you had
retired, too.
Methuselah twirled his glass reflectively, his fingers
now quite deliberate, then said, Im the best soldier you
have, evidently. I mean, I give her some distance, dont 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.
Methuselahs superciliousness first surprised me, why
skin happiness, as though happiness couldnt 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, Whats
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. Im always ready, as you well
know.
279

I looked around the Lounge as though searching for a

face I could hardly remember, someone missing even so.
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 dont 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 didnt tell
me you were such a big boy. It was very naughty of her, now
wasnt it? Such a lovely boy you are. She had an arm about
Cainens 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.
280

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. Ive done my bit by now.
Zillah said, turning her nose up cuttingly: Possession
induces resignation, coagulation, honey. Youll become a
vegetable if youre not careful.
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Enoch said, breaking into a kind of song:

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 busness
Some funky dizzness
Like
In every womans arms
Lies a child man or boy
Between every womans legs
Lies a man young or old
In every mans arms
Lies a pillar thick and tall
Between every mans 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
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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 cant keep your mouth from
dribbling either!
Jubal said to Enoch, Dont you find beating helps?
Zillah said, Its 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 wasnt
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 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
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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. Im 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 Naamahs thigh, Jubal
holding her other hand, Enosh in Adahs lap, Zillah saying
bitchily, looking down her nose at the little fool,
Just as well its a warm part of the room. She paused
to look up above her daughters 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?
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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 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?

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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,
Id 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 lets 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
286

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.

287

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 Seths 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
288

throne? Yes, but also a magisterium: a case to be tried, no

habeas corpus anymore, dicky witnesses so far.
Understand that I didnt choose this. I found myself as
though a border between two forces, my sons facing Adahs
sons, a true battleground. We cleared our lines, sending the
support units back, firmed up at centre with deep wings. In
Tubalcains taunt, directed at Enosh, then deep in
conversation with Jobal, The stunt rattles too, whatever next,
Im sure I dont 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.
Enochs retreat was tumultuous, I dont 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 Zillahs presence, we did roll them over, leaving
Enoch with some little comfort, closest to me, touching
glasses even, while Irad trembled with infatuation, and
289

permitting Tubalcain to swap a few words with his mother,

longest time ever apart.
But Seths 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,
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
Enochs:
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 Seths 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
290

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?
Cant 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:
291

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 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. Thats 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!
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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, Lets finish
up our glasses, lads, and have another drink, brother. What do
you say to that, Pat? As they drank, poor Enoch most
wretched hadnt 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 wasnt 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
293

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 twits interruption,
What Cain did was true. Not a curse on Cain then: he
could still choose. I knew what I said was true, but I didnt
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
Cains 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:
294

Three jays all in a row

Seizors all out for jays
Jays is prized, right? Alright!
Two jays strapped to a line
Says one jay, Im 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 anyones 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 Enochs back at the bar: So what are
you doing here if you dont 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,
295

Shine a light anyway, baby, Ive lost some metal.

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. Cant keep it up, worlds
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.

296

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,
Pussyll 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. Peds worst
pash.
Tubalcain hardly moved, staring at the tips of his
boots: Tries for the mother, gets the sister instead. Sons 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?

297

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 alls 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! Heres 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?
298

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? Whats 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 couldnt
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.
299

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?
Mahaleleel cocked his head, Zillahs 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 dont 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 womans worth
her keep, thats what I always say, sweetheart. Always at it,
by all accounts.
Oh dont worry, chuckles, Zillah yells in false
heartiness, a mans 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
300

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 didnt 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 lets 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. Ill fill you in turn if you would just be
patient. To me he said beseechingly,
Mother, dont start now, please.
301

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! Youre 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 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:
Seths 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!
302

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, Seths 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?
Dont tear the curtain!
Dont stare dont dare dont care

303

That was Enoch in flight, suddenly over the top.

Genuinely frightened. I had feared he would throw himself
about as he always does when its just family, but no,
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 half-hearted:
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? Dont say you havent been
304

warned! I screamed at them, trying that way to get through

to them.
Each had his head down. Mine watched Cains 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 womens 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 hes 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
nave 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 cant deny me, can you?
I looked down at him, at his raw face, stubby nose
feeling the Joker again:
And you cant deny me, either, you worm.

305

And with that I sweep from the room, good nights

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
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! Youre 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, dont you? No dice?

306

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 didnt 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 Adams room, but
stopped abruptly, swallowing as he tensed to say to me, You
havent 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
307

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
Adams 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 Adams
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 Jubals 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
308

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 Cains blame: could anyone else do what he did? I
realised immediately that the whole point of the secrecy was
that the action could be 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.
Zillahs 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 Cainens. 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:
309

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. Im deaf in one ear and
cant be bothered using the other.
Zillah said, I think it is time I was off. I said Id be
back about four. You know what I mean? Doesnt 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. Dont 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
310

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,
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, lets see how it
stands, Dan. I caught Enochs elbow and moved him smartly
down the corridor to Adams 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?
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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, Cains act is a secret
he keeps from God. Enoch wiped his mouth after a decent
toast of self-congratulation, but he said at once: Cain says he
does this to make atonement to his descendants for the awful
312

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 youll 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. Well have respect from you for the head of the
House.
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: Aint 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-aMilking, Mermaids Gallop, Succubus Blues, Gondolier, over
here! Sugarstick, and, of course, everyones favourite tap,
Boots and Buckles Boys.
I said to Tubalcain, Are you serious?
Irad said anyway:
313

It was my job. He shook a finger at Enoch slumped

by the door on a chair too small for him really: Dont 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, Were running out
of girls, mamma baby.
Adam said, Run out of dick first, dont you worry
sonny boy.
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Enoch said, severity in his voice again,

Irad, Methushael. Report assessment. Headlines and
topical features only, if you please. Its 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. Lets see
how it all hangs together there.
Irad breaks into a stutter, feet tripping under him, Stay
stuck foff hif you fink Ill oil any feels in here, oh no. Not
that kind of party for me.
Puff puff, Tubalcain mimicked, cruelty in Cains
brood.
Come on, you guys, pick on someone else, say?
Looks around in desperation: Hey lets 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 youll 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 Jos.
315

Grss 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 dont 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, lets get this over with
the minimum of fuss.
Enoch caught him from behind, pinning him about his
chest, holding Irads 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. Irads shirt was drawn back to a gasp of
astonishment. We studied Irads equipment until Enoch said,
shaking his head slowly:
My my. Bluebells. Whatever next around here?
I said, catching poor Irads eye: Nothing to be
ashamed of now, you know. Steep them often, like peas, you
316

know. To the rest of the room I said: So, end of Irads

Mystery. Methushaels 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 womans action. Two, God
asks about a mans actions. Irad was by now frantic in
Enochs 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, its like this. God expects
answers from us, and only from us. So whats his third
question?
Silence. I thought then that perhaps we had gone as far
as we could without Cains evidence.
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.

317

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 Adams New Room.
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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, dont you? All of us running
wild behind Adams 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 Adams 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 didnt 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,
doesnt 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 Adams 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
319

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 wouldnt let go!
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.
320

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 Adams 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
321

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 son is
homosexual, while Enoch on the other side kept an eye on
him. Lamech sat on Zillahs 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.
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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, Its the shift work, Eve. Its very
demanding. Irad said, reaching to touch Zillahs arm, Work
then play, I say. Shifting them, ooyay! Cainen snarled
audibly and ground out between clenched teeth,
Ill do the shifting, thank you!
Tubalcain said to Seth behind Cainens back:
A correspondence of terms must signify, Jonas, dont
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 dont 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 Enochs words had been icy, then Irads buried us in
a world of dark ice, frozen from even remembering what he
had just said.
It wasnt clear then if any of the others had spotted the
trick or let Irads 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?
323

Enoch looked at me in surprise, asked abruptly, Dont

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 doesnt. 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 mans woman again.
No man has ever known his daughter in our city. This is
Cains 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 wont.
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,
324

Youll 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 mans 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! Im
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.
325

My heart leaped there. Cains 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.

326

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
Zillahs transformation, only the end product as she ran
around the table and threw herself into her fathers 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 Cains lap, crooning over and over:
Oh daddy its been so long
They all told me you had gone
But I put it down in a song:
Of fatherhood you are the paragon.
327

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 of Derangement probably rut
So rover dont go far
So lover dont 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:
Heaven favours blessed lovers
Pure in deed sure in need
Seven angels wait on such lovers
328

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
Dont stop till youve 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.
329

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 didnt want to do that again, at least not till Im
better ready for it.
Its 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?
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:
330

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 whats said
All thats said all thats 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
331

Where another might expect old games.

Then:
Prettified stuffing for goose and gander
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
Wheres he from
Its heaven high
Whats he do
What he does
Who to say who to know.
Zillah rose in consternation when Naamah dropped her
big bottom into Cains lap. He was very surprised, staring at
332

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
333

It comes it goes its still it blows

The fire it gutters before catching
The water warming in the womans 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 Adams
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
334

Talking talking
When the gangs here
We hit the beer
To each other
Singing singing
So lets 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 Cains face, not Cains 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:
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
335

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
Enoshs 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, Im
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.
336

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 wont keep you long oh boys no
Not long at all will we keep you here.
Loves 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.
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!
337

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:
Finales come and then were out,
Well here I go in a rousing shout:
Theres one marked with the mark of another
Whether by God or the blood of a brother,
Whos to say whos to say: he cant say.
Theres another all in a muck
Cant stay dressed cant stay cant stay!
So to a daughter mother of a brood
Got to go got to go: cant 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: ones
An idiot, another a fool, the third
The salvation of man, three fish all at sea.
Perhaps another three by your leave:
338

Hes smart shes a tart hes a fart

Even yo-yos are tripartite. Now its 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 ones 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 fathers 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 storys end could never be told
If it were not already retold.
339

I put on record that even then I knew that the vast

change had not occurred. I admit that I didnt fully
understand Cains 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 Gods attention to Cain,
impressed on his whole being. How Cain hungers for Gods
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:
Dont use the blood. Pass the word on, Eve, wont
you? Bloods 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.
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 dont know, Cain. Out with it.
340

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 dont
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 Adams New Room, and
said:
You are persistent, Eve, Ill 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.
341

He replied immediately:
Darkness.
I shook my head wryly and left, none the wiser, after
all.

342

That was that youd 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 Cains 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.
343

I stared at her, seeing the mask I was failing to

understand. Adah added, He cant be mine if God wants
him, now can he?
I said to this, as though responding to an invitation,
And if God didnt want him?
Adah put a finger across her lips in canny assessment,
then smiled complacently and replied:
Speaks for itself, dear. Now doesnt it?
I went to Zillah, catching her as she boarded the coach
with Mahaleleel, and asked her, as a last resort:
Dont 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:
344

Adah will tell you Zillahs jealousy is to blame, and

Zillah blames Adahs 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 doesnt 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
arms 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.

345

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
Cains 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 Cains 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.
346

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.
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, Its mothers 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:
347

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.

348

That I write this is a signal of my return: youll 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 is 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
349

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 Adams 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
350

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.
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.
351

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. Its 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?
Its 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 matterof-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
352

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: Im a late
edition, Im afraid. Onkoke stiffened at this, not clear if he
disliked the crass tone or the 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.
353

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 wasnt 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?
354

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 Cains 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 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 dont 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 lets 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.
355

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 isnt 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 didnt
356

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. Dont jump to conclusions, my love. Im 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 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, Im 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.
357

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. Whats keeping you, Bat?
I reached my hand to Knekoo, saying, Drop in
anytime youre 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.
358

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.

359

PART THREE

360

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
361

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 dont 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 dont know. I slept with that knowledge. I was
content, for once, believe me.
In the Hall, Naamah stopped me and said: Fat chance
a dance, gammer. Im 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 suns 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
362

Lamech, who charged out of the Kitchen as we entered the

Front Door, and shouted in a vile temper:
I cant 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 Zillahs lap,
Lamech extremely comfortable in Naamahs. 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 youre out on your own.
363

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,
Keep your hope up, anyway, wont 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 Zillahs lap and was gone in the wake
of our cook. Seth settled in his place, thumb in his mouth.
364

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, didnt 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:
Ill always remain, bank on it boy.
365

There was a lot of bravado in this obviously, I think

and it soon went horribly wrong for me as I saw Enochs 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 cant 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 Adams 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. The matt
surfaces glowed like fire, while the glazed surfaces gleamed
of blood, an unpleasant and unanticipated side effect of
the rooms 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
Adams 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:
366

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, Shes put you up to this!
I said, drawling, enjoying his discomfiture:
No one cares but Naamah. My, arent 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:
Lets dress for dinner, Skinner.
He replied calmly, an index of his foolish trust: So
spoon a tune, sugar, lets.
Tubalcains 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, dont
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 cant beat bars for fun, you know,
367

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:
Cant 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
Tubalcains 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 storys right.
Thats 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 dont me ono kek word hall rise
but he will come to 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
368

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,
Wednesdays 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
369

This one coughs this one wheezes

Disappointed love lasts longest
Ending once and only once
Loves an ember glow for ever
Loves a river loves a drop
Loves an Arab loves a Jew
Loves a Jane loves Andrew
Loves a costume loves an eye.
Methuselah said to his father: And loves 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, dont you think,
missis.
Zillah gave a great screetching gale of laughter,
startling poor Lamech opposite, and said over to Seth:
Testicles, whats next, I wonder, rewinders? Seth said to
Cain, the silence helping his frail voice, Sir, do you approve
of your daughters 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.
370

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
371

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 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 doesnt 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
372

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, Adams talk, Adams
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?
373

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 whats 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 youre going flat out, spud?
Again?
When its in the bag, man?
Again!
This would have gone on for ever if Adah hadnt
interrupted them by climbing on to the table and start to take
her clothes off, shouting: So you dont fucking-well believe
me, do you, you rotten bastards? Well, Im going to fuckingwell 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 shes 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?
374

She straightens up, turns and walks down the table

again, this time more slowly, waggling her heavily creased
bum, lifting her breasts, asking,
Whos first? Whos first?
Cain said as she approached him, hurt in his face for
her madness, Theyve all had you already, you dope. Stick
with Lamech, he came twice, he might come again. Naamah
said, to complete poor Adahs 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 hoors monkey! The hoors monkey! The
hoors 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
375

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 didnt 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 Seths 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 theres a next time, rewinder?
Lamech, beside him, lisped in mockery:
Goose and gander is a wet time, reminder?
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,
Its everyones turn next time, gang!
Enosh at his side said, chortling at his own excellent
wit:
Everyones turn all the time, bang!
Tubalcain whispered to Naamah, Who would you
save, sister, since savings what youre set on? I turned at
376

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,
Well 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 Enochs lap. Crying, Seth! Seth! he
brushed Zillahs 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 doesnt 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
377

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 dont impute bestiality. I do apologise, a metaphor
was intended, the promiscuity of dogs, no more, I assure you,
no bestiality, I swear on my grandmothers 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!
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 its ready to
come down again, greatgrandson.
378

Enosh
said
aimlessly,
Fucking
tush,
greatgreatgrandson. There.
Lamech said, lolling in Enochs 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. Enochs 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.
Cainens impulsiveness let him down at first, but his capacity
to sustain punishment allowed him to ride out the assaults
Enoch hurled down on him. Enochs 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?
379

Enoch was beaten for the first time in his life.

Cainen walked up to the Middle Table and sat down on
Zillahs left, breathing deeply, some cruel bruises and cuts to
his body. He gasped to her:
I want to be saved too, Lady. Im rough, I know, but
by God Im always ready!
Lamech sneers from his side:
Fucking mountain-men now. What else out on the
reservation, Tinsel?
The back of Cainens 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.
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,
380

and then wound the other end of the red silk thread around
the neck of Cainens 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 Naamahs fingertips then and
commented:
Honest sweat, my dear. Cant 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 Naamahs 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 Enochs 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.
381

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?
Naamahs 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, times 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.
Youll frown on that description, I know, believing that
Methuselahs victory over Adah deserves some praise and
goodwill. Well, if I didnt give it to them, no one else did
either. Naamah said roughly, spattering herself with drops of
tea from her cup,
382

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, Im 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, Whats
keeping you, honey? Go for it!
Naamah spread her hands out before in real pathos:
But you must give us love first, dont you see. She balls her
hands suddenly and shook them in the air, shouting,
Why cant someone start me up too?
383

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 Seths 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:
Ill say what I want!
Naamah grabbed his ears now and began shaking
Seths head from side to side with vigour. Now Seths lips
swelled with the first rage, boiling up into his eyes, and he
384

lurched forward and butted Naamahs brow. Now Naamahs

eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, and she said emphatically,
Thats it! She paused, then said, Thats 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. Naamahs eyes widened now,
and she said in her most truthful voice:
I did not.
Now Seths 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 Im
telling you that I didnt 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 dont 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.
385

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, Youre a daughter, Naamah. Its 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,
Youre right though, honey, not Seth. It has to be Lamech,
most pure blood in him. Naamah stiffened and looked
386

around the room in growing heat. I said hastily, No,

Naamah, not him. Mine.
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, Im 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.
387

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, Im into metal, not meat. Id 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. Zillahs 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:
388

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?
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 havent 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, Thats 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
theyre in no hurry anywhere, I can tell you, Eve.
389

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 Enochs
Room, his great dome jutting up from the pillow, snoring
loudly.
I pulled Zillah from his room, then from Enoshs, then
from Cainens, 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 Adams 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 wont tell anyone. Go on, swear that you
wont 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,
390

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 Adams
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 fish
hitting the ground, as we approached Adams bed. There he
lay, studying the heavens as ever. I said jovially to him, to
cover for my prolonged absences from him recently,
Whats up, doc, whos 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, Wheres
what, for heavens 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?
391

Zillah was up on the bed, straddling Adam, easing

herself down onto Adams 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 Adams
side. I turned him to face Adam and asked him without any
fuss:
Do you understand Adams condition?
Seth looked at Adams 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, Whats next, oh whats next? I fear to think. I
fear to think. He looked at Adams 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
Treacles back sweet and sure good for you
Boom boom.
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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!
So it goes. Good. Next in line now. Heaving a great breath,
he plumped up and sang in bass:
If youre as glum as my bum
Then weve 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 Adams 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 Adams smooth cock, my dear. I
was right to insist in the first place, wasnt 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:
Im jealous of other women too, Zillah. But I dont 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
393

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, Adams 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 Adams bed with the stainless steel
box, the one that had held Adams 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
Tubalcains feet and looked up to say, Can you help me
open it. Cant find the confounded lock anywhere. I said to
the distracted suitor, shafting it on Seths 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
394

appeared to be a black mouldering wood, very pitted and

fibrous. Seth ran back to show us this, singing melodiously,
Mould Im told makes things grow
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 Adams 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
395

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 Adams ear, muttering,
Curses, curses, cant find the flicker. Tubalcain said at my
back, Great party, Eve. Never seen the gang so flat out. Jolly
good. A click and Adams 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 Adams 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
Seths 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,
396

Are they needed, Junior?

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
youll 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 dont 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
397

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 mothers an innocent.
Speaking of whom, Zillah came running through the
Garden Door and runs past us sobbing, shouting,
Im coming! Im coming! Im coming!
Tubalcain looked back at her and said, My mothers 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,
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You wont believe this! You will not ever believe this!
But somethings 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?
He caught my arm and started to pull me forward with
all the impulsiveness of a child, shouting hysterically, Now!
Youve 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! Isnt
that great? Isnt 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, Im 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 wouldnt be
able for that.
399

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 Tubalcains 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.
Its 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
400

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 Ive got a job here, havent
I?
That troubled me, but if he didnt want to go I couldnt
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, Dont sleep
down here. Find a bed upstairs. Go.
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.

401

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, Adams death.
You expected that event to be the catastrophe, didnt
you? As you have seen, it was an anti-climax; we didnt
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 Adams 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 Adams 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.
402

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.

403

Adams 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, didnt I?
Great satisfaction all round.

October 1995

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