Eden Read online

  Samson noticed too, and perked his ears.

  The lambs gathered around the strong donkey’s legs as they often did when they felt him thinking, and this time he bid them, “Run away and play.”

  But the lambs only shuffled closer, and the animals watched over Judas for a long time. Until the man left off weeping and Eden could shake his tears from her nose.

  The Women

  Then there were the women: one who begged them to save her, and the other who cursed Eden’s master with all her might. Two women brought before them on the same day, both in a muddy street, beside the damp canvas stalls of merchants in a marketplace. The woman who begged them, they saved, and left her behind for she did not join them.

  But the other who cursed with all her might stayed with them until the end.

  That day the clouds rolled in over the sea and pelted their road with rain all morning. A troop of soldiers on horseback galloped past with the heavy thunder of hooves, kicking up wet dirt. Their faces splattered, their robes drenched, Samson the donkey a clopping mess, and Eden’s silvery fur spiky where she’d run through puddled craters. Sodden lambs followed without complaint but none of them laughed. By the time Eden’s master, the companions, Samson and the lambs entered the village they each wore the same coat of mud.

  Stone houses passed on either side. The travelers felt a kind of dank anger clinging to the town, like dirty smoke hanging in the air. Before even finding some shelter—a merchant’s stall or even the wet awning of an inn—the animals heard rumblings around the corner. The stone walls echoed with stamping feet and harsh voices.

  An angry crowd burst out into the main way. An ugly mob: townsfolk, camel boys, wicked children and righteous hags, all shouting spittle-flecked oaths. They had chased a woman into the street. The hounded woman fell as she fled; then crawled through a puddle, wailing for anyone to help her.

  Once again, Eden saw the Hollow Man standing close by.

  Their Adversary lurked in the shelter of an arcade, then joined the crowd. Coming out from the overhang into the rain, he held out a handful of wet stones from the street, going from face to face, urging anyone who met his gaze to take them from his cupped hands. Flitting from person to person like a nagging fly, he spoke in this one’s ear, gripped another’s wrist, goading anyone who would listen, “Look how she begs. Can’t you tell she’s guilty?She’s guilty.”

  The crowd reared up with a hundred clenched fists. They filled the street and rammed the stalls, jostling in all directions. The lambs were stepped on, bleating, and Samson turned his rear to kick—

  Eden recoiled at the crowd, afraid of being trampled too.

  The woman crawled on all fours to their master’s feet and clutched the hem of his robe, her spirit broken. The rain pelted down and the woman’s tears vanished on the wet paving stones.

  Fear crept into Eden’s limbs as the woman lay on the ground, too defeated to even plead for her life. But like that moment on the riverbank where Eden had seen the drowning lamb, the cluster of fear hardened to a knot of courage.

  And suddenly there was no more thinking to be done—

  Eden leapt in front to guard the woman’s body.

  And as the dog stood her ground the woman’s scent filled Eden’s head. The smell of disgrace clung to her skin as though she lived among refuse, spoiled fish heads and moldy cloth—along with the stench of abandon, the stink of men waiting at her dwelling either in shame or lust or just because they knew she was there. For all travelers crossed her threshold, her doorway open to all comers.

  Eden could see the place, a room of squalor, harsh perfume, stained curtains and threadbare pillows. A place where candle wax pooled on the tables, spilled wine on the floor and sweat filled the air. But that was just a scent that clung to a person, not her insides.

  The woman herself did not smell of evil, just desperation and loneliness. Come to grovel and beg for her life. Eden did not clearly understand the woman’s sin, but in her own way Eden understood why the crowd was angry. The woman had sinned against the pack and now the pack had turned on her.

  Eden faced the mob. The dog bared her teeth, her fur bristled and she growled low.

  “No closer! None of you!”

  Eden spied their Adversary slyly grinning at her from behind two caravan slaves. Oh, yes, he remembered her well.

  The first stone hit Eden as she stood over the broken woman, making her yelp. But she didn’t run. The Hollow Man sneered, and picked up another stone. The woman cowered at their master’s feet; she clasped his muddy ankles. Her frantic fingers picked at his worn sandal, as if the thin leather thongs might save her as she waited for the next blow. Any moment there’d be another stone, and then another, and then a dozen.

  Eden growled again and stood her ground.

  The mob’s wrath caught in its throat. They held their stinking breath.

  And no stone flew. Instead they shuffled back.

  Because of a growling dog? Or because Eden’s master refused to leave the woman’s side, standing over them both? He reached down to the woman picking at his feet, took her hands from his sandals and then raised her up as she clutched his mud-splattered robe. He wiped the tears from her streaked face with the hem of her sleeve. But in total defeat, the woman sank to her knees, clutching a length of his cloak simply to steady herself.

  A man in the front of the crowd raised a fist with a stone inside.

  Eden could see their Adversary breathing words at the back of his head.

  Yet something in her master’s manner made the man pause. The rock weighed his hand down to his side. Eden pushed up against the woman, sheltering her. The dog could feel her body tremble. Their master stood his ground and reached into his purse. Searched for a moment and brought forth the two small stones: the black stone, white inside—and the white stone, its insides black.

  He held the two small stones in his open palm; presenting them before the arc of ugly faces.

  As if to say, Take mine.

  As if to say, Use them first on me.

  The mob held back, afraid to move. But the Hollow Man was not through prodding them. The clever creature kept whispering from ear to ear, the angry crowd reacting with every word. Eden could feel him too, his false smiles and doubting frowns, whatever served his purpose, offering false courage like bad wine. And soon the wretched faces began to laugh. To sneer. What harm from two little pebbles? Let this muddy wanderer throw. Go ahead throw, Wise Man. There’s nothing you can do to us.

  As if in answer her master gently cast the two stones upon the muddy street.

  The two stones rolled beside a brown puddle. Rubbed together for so long you could plainly see the black inside the white stone and the white inside the black.

  Pick up mine, he seemed to say.

  Use my two stones.

  But no one moved to take them.

  The false courage in this pack of humans began to wither.

  “Go on!” the Hollow Man hissed from deep within the crowd. “What are you waiting for?”

  Eden’s master stood his ground.

  The rain began to lighten as rivulets ran down the house fronts like weeping tears, down stone drains, flowing away to nothing. The clouds tore themselves to shreds above their heads and many hands began to tremble. Each man or woman feeling their sins upon themselves, dousing their anger, as the clouds rent ragged slashes in an open sky. And her master stood his ground staring at the cowed faces. As if to say—

  He who is without sin …

  As if to say—

  Cast the first stone.

  Did he actually speak out loud? Or did Eden hear it only in her mind?

  He must have spoken.

  For no one in the crowd moved or said a word. Or threw a stone.

  The mob’s anger dissolved like salt in water, leaving nothing but a bitter taste. In a few moments Eden lost sight of the Hollow Man. Their Adversary seemed to give up and fade into the bowels of the crowd. And in another few moments the crowd it
self began to break apart, for nothing really held this pack together except hate for this poor woman who had breached their laws. All the life had gone out of each and every ugly face, and with it, their common purpose. Soon the street stood empty. When Eden looked for Samson and the lambs, she saw they had retreated from the crowd, standing in a knot with the companions.

  Leaving only Eden.

  Her master.

  And the woman at his feet.

  Eden licked the woman’s face and tasted the common mud of every common town. The woman smiled back at Eden with all her heart—

  A cup of thanks, filled to overflowing.

  The woman no longer smelled of sin, or the stink of strangers or harsh perfume. Her endless downfall had been gently broken by the offer of two stones, now lying by a muddy puddle. Two stones rubbed together for so long you could plainly see the black inside the white stone and the white inside the black.

  Now like every other pebble in the street.

  The companions prepared to leave this ugly town. All of them felt dirtier than the muddy road or the dung splattered on their wet clothes. But their master would not leave. This town was no worse than a dozen others they’d visited. Instead he bid them find shelter under the brick arcade till the weather cleared, for it had begun to rain again. Eden scrambled underneath the overhang with the others, as did the lambs, who wandered up and down the empty arcade shaking their wet fleece. But there was no room for Samson who stood forlornly in the street as raindrops dripped from his drooping ears.

  “Well, there’s enough room for you under there,” he complained to Eden. “But they gave away my blanket to a donkey in the last village!”

  “I’d give you my coat, but I can’t,” Eden told him. “It’s attached.”

  “Oh stop,” Samson replied. “If we hadn’t saved the woman we’d have been on our way to somewhere better.”

  “Would it help if I came out and sat in the rain with you?” Eden asked.

  Samson thought for a moment. “No, send out some of the lambs. They keep my legs warm.”

  But none of the lambs were handy. Curious and restless as ever, they had wandered to the far end of the overhang and discovered they were not alone. “Oh look!” they exclaimed. “We found a person. A person! What is your name, Person?”

  A pitiful creature crouching in the shadow of the wall looked at them with dangerous eyes. Yet another woman, rags clinging to her, legs and hands and face smeared with dirt, her hair a wild nest about her head. The lambs shook their tails to show they were friendly and crowded in close bleating, “Hello, Person. Hello, Person!”

  But the ragged woman scuttled back against the wall and snarled, hands outstretched. Fingers like claws.

  The lambs broke in every direction, crying:

  “Oh my! Oh my!”

  Samson plodded purposefully over to see what the fuss was all about.

  “She’s mad,” the donkey told his lambs. And they looked at him with puzzlement on their velvet muzzles. Eden trotted back and forth to herd the lambs off.

  “Come away from here,” she warned. “You might get bit.”

  The woman now crouched by some bits of broken stone, waving invisible flies from her face, cursing at them with words Eden didn’t understand. She reminded Eden of Judas when he talked to himself. Yet Eden knew that this one, this woman, never talked to anyone but herself.

  The rain had stopped once more and the travelers gathered their slim goods together in preparation for another march. With a deep sigh, Samson turned to go. Perhaps this town was better than the empty road. Eden nudged the lambs and they followed in the donkey’s hoof steps. Then the companions, last of all, abandoned the town without a second thought, trudging out from the brick arcade and leaving the woman to her voices. Eden’s sharp ears heard the poor creature scuttle off, withdrawing to the dark safety of her stony wall, still muttering to herself.

  But they had not seen the last of her.

  They walked till sunset, and in the growing dusk Eden heard the sound of soft footsteps along the side of the road. Ah, the fox had returned, the wary fox following them as quietly as possible. Eden had sensed him dogging their trail on and off since the start of their great journey. With each sign and marvel, with each wonder she sensed him near enough to see or catch a scent yet reluctant to show himself.

  She considered asking him to join them again. But after a moment thought no; his stealthy footsteps showed that however curious he might be, the fox wanted to keep things as they were. To see and not be seen, and no animal would fault another for that.

  The travelers stopped among a cluster of damp boulders.

  So, they would sleep outside tonight. Or, not so much sleep as dozing in fits and starts. No dry wood for a fire; a long, cold camp, nodding in the clammy dark.

  More worrisome still, as nightfall’s last gray curtain fell Eden saw Judas sneak off alone. The unhappy man stood for some moments in the black shadow of a stunted tree. At first it appeared Judas was speaking into the air as he’d often done before. But then Eden smelled the fox again lying low in a scrap of brush. The fox’s ears stood up, quivering as he listened. Yes, listened patiently … creeping closer and closer until he crouched only a step away from the man’s feet. Much too close for comfort. But stranger still, Judas knew the fox was close, close enough to overhear him. For suddenly Judas spoke to the fox just as he had learned to do with all the other animals, seeing into their minds and listening to their thoughts.

  “I’m afraid,” the man told him. And the fox cocked his ears. “I have doubts,” Judas said.

  The fox sniffed his paw, then licked some sand from between his pads.

  “This can’t be right, can it? Am I really this alone? Does no one else doubt?”

  But the fox made no reply. And then the man knew the fox would not answer him. Sadly, Judas crept back to the group before anyone was aware of his absence.

  He sought out Eden in the cluster of rocks.

  And when he snuggled against her fur she felt that his hands were cold.

  Eden awoke to the sound of heavy breathing in the cluster of rocks.

  Another visitor had joined them in the night.

  Her eyes hadn’t snapped open to footsteps in the dark, but to the sound of the newcomer muttering indistinct words. Eden recognized the voice: the madwoman huddled in the stone arcade. She was close, only a few paces off, mumbling under her breath. Yet near enough for Eden to hear her muffled words. Many voices argued in her head.

  You know him.

  I know him too.

  No, you don’t.

  Yes, yes, I do.

  The crazy woman must have kept out of sight along the way, approaching ever closer in the dark. Eden sensed nothing evil in this creature, only like Judas, the woman was wracked by confusion and sadness and fear. And Judas seemed to recognize her as well, muttering, “Ah, the woman who talks to flies.”

  None of their master’s companions rose to greet her in the dark.

  But no one chased her away either.

  Those things were best left till morning, when the rule of night receded and you could see by daylight. These days strangers often approached from orchard, path or field. In recent months the travelers had often woken to visitors in their midst, a newcomer appearing to talk or listen, so one more body was of no account.

  But the animals felt differently about this woman, and all night they were aware of her presence. The man named Judas might argue with himself, but he always returned from that dark, solitary talking room. The woman who talked to flies disturbed them more, arguing on and on, for she dwelt in a place of no return.

  So the animals held a meeting of their own as dawn approached. They gathered head to head to share their thoughts. As usual the lambs talked over each other, crowding around Samson’s long gray nose.

  Softly bleating, “Why is she talking? Why won’t she stop? Will she herd us? Will she shear us? Will she bite us?”

  Until the donkey sternly brayed
for quiet.

  “One voice with so many tongues makes no sense whatsoever!” he scolded.

  This confused the poor lambs even more and they hung their heads, glancing at Eden to see what she thought.

  “I think the lambs are right,” Eden said, and Samson snorted in surprise. “This woman is both scary and not scary at the same time,” the dog told them.

  Samson wrinkled his forehead and twitched his ears thinking hard.

  “Let the lambs who are not afraid go to comfort her,” Eden said, “and let the lambs who are afraid stay with us.”

  “And what shall you and I do?” Samson finally asked.

  “We shall do what we always do,” the dog told him. “You and I shall guard the lambs—whether they are afraid or not.”

  Samson considered this for many long moments. He had never considered himself a guard of anyone. Always a beast of burden—to fetch and carry, to be driven, whipped and never complain. But now he realized he was more than merely a freed slave. He was his own donkey, for better or worse.

  “You are a very wise dog,” he said at last to Eden.

  “Then let the lambs do as they do, and we shall do as we do.”

  The lambs heard her clearly and they approached the madwoman with caution, the boldest at the front, the shyest behind. One lamb, two lambs, three lambs, four … soon they surrounded her. The woman of the invisible flies swatted the air about her head, ruffling her hair for invisible gnats, and kept swatting until the rising sun finally struck her face. The morning light slanted across the boulders and the stunted trees. Dawn had come, the light and warmth driving the night chill away.

  Their master made his way through the cluster of lambs and looked down. Sunlight sat on his shoulder. The woman shielded her face, and swatted more flies that did not exist.

  Eden nosed her way through the clinging lambs till she reached her master’s legs, getting close enough to see.