Chapter 43: Desire
Eve rose onto her tiptoes and plucked the plumpest, most alluring fruit from the branches of the Tree of Knowledge.
At that moment, the morning light was just rising from the eastern reaches of the Garden of Eden. Adam awoke from a dreamless slumber; he instinctively reached out beside him, but his arms closed around empty air.
"Eve?"
He snapped fully awake. Soon, the very woman he had been searching for stepped in from outside, bathed in a soft glow. Her face radiated a brilliant smile—as if she were enveloped in divine light—and for a moment, she appeared so radiant that Adam scarcely recognized her.
"Where did you go? I woke up to find you gone, and even the sweetest dreams lost their flavor."
He stepped forward to greet his wife, leading her back inside while murmuring honeyed words just as he always did.
Eve, however, was in no hurry to indulge her husband's affectionate banter—words that, to her ears now, sounded somewhat shallow. Instead, she took the initiative, clinging to Adam's arm; before he could cast a questioning glance her way, she held up the fruit she had gathered. It was vivid and resplendent, exuding a fragrance that effortlessly whetted the appetite of Adam, whose stomach was rumbling with hunger after a night's sleep.
"My dearest, there is no one here who understands my heart better than you."
He kissed Eve joyfully; accepting the fruit as if it were merely an ordinary piece of produce, he raised it to his lips, ready to take a bite.
Eve did not wish to startle her cautious and timid husband so early in the morning, yet neither did she wish to deceive him. She stayed Adam's hand just as he was about to bite into the forbidden fruit, and with gentle, delicate words, she tentatively asked:
"Adam, aren't you curious about where I went?"
"You went to find me a delicious breakfast."
"No."
Eve tenderly stroked the man's innocent face, finding him so endearing that her heart began to flutter wildly. "Though it has been but a single night, I feel as if I haven't seen you in ages. Such is the power of longing—a sensation I never knew before, and one that makes me vow never to be parted from you again."
Adam, who was just leaving faint teeth marks on a piece of fruit, felt something amiss upon hearing Eve's words. He released his bite and turned a questioning gaze upon his wife.
"Do not be alarmed by what I am about to say; please listen closely as I explain: That tree in the garden—it is not nearly as dangerous as we have been led to believe..."
"Ah!" Adam let out a sharp, piercing cry, cutting Eve off mid-sentence. "You went to see the forbidden tree?!"
"Listen to me, Adam!" Eve frowned, finding his outburst coarse and undignified—behavior that displeased her greatly. Yet, she did not realize that, in Adam's eyes, the woman standing before him now was something far more terrifying than mere superficiality.
"You saw it," the man said, sniffling and choking back a sob. "Oh, God!"
"Yes, I saw it." Since he was, after all, her only husband, Eve patiently sought to soothe him. "In truth, it is not nearly as dreadful as we imagined. On the contrary, it grants us wisdom; only a fool would blindly obey such a prohibition."
She spoke these words to Adam—that "fool"—remembering how, before she had acquired this wisdom, she had viewed him as the epitome of brilliance, worshipping him and obeying his every command.
Now, however, she felt quite differently—a thought she harbored with a newfound sense of haughty pride.
Clearly, God's motive in denying them wisdom was simply to keep them in check—to ensure they remained obedient to Him, much like mindless beasts devoid of intellect.
What a blessing! Eve thought to herself with a sense of profound relief. How fortunate that she was different. She loved Adam, and her only desire was for him to become as enlightened and refined as she now was.
"In fact, there is a precedent for this; someone has already tasted it on our behalf." Having gauged Adam's temperament, she chose a gradual, step-by-step approach to her narrative, hoping to prevent him from reacting like a wild, frenzied ape.
"Who?!" Adam demanded anxiously, his fingers clenching so tightly around the fruit in his hand that he nearly squeezed the juices from it. Eve's heart ached at the sight; gently taking the "Fruit of Wisdom" from his grasp, she replied... "The Serpent"
Upon hearing that it was the serpent's doing, Adam suddenly felt a sense of relief.
Oh—it was the serpent. That most cunning of creatures in the fields; nothing it did could possibly surprise him.
"The serpent persuaded me," Eve said simply, recounting the wondrous properties of the Fruit of Wisdom just as the serpent had described them to her. Then, at the very end, she added a casual aside:
"And so, I tasted it myself."
Adam had barely let out a breath of relief when he heard Eve utter those words; he nearly fainted on the spot—though, fortunately, the nerves God had bestowed upon men were not quite so delicate.
"You *ate* it?!" He stared at his wife in utter disbelief, unable to fathom how she could be so foolish.
"Must you react like that? It's not as if I didn't bring some back for you!" Eve was speechless at his reaction; yet, the words Adam spoke next left her utterly dumbfounded.
"God gave me the very best..."
"The ultimate masterpiece of all creation..."
"A miracle of surpassing excellence..."
Adam spoke with heart-wrenching anguish. With every phrase, he heaved a sigh; with every sigh, a tear fell—and soon, this emotional human being was weeping profusely.
"How could you have fallen so low!"
"How could you be defiled in an instant!"
"Father never lies! He is the Lord of all creation—what possible motive could He have for deceiving us?"
"If He truly intended us harm, why would He have created us in the first place?"
"He said that to eat of it meant certain death—and so, death it surely is! Alas, I had only just promised the Archangel that I would watch over you no matter what—yet, in the blink of an eye, you have willingly surrendered yourself to death!"
He gazed at his wife—whose expression remained blithe, showing not the slightest sign of remorse—and his tears gushed forth anew.
"My love, how could you defy Father's decree and pluck that fruit of certain death? What does it matter if we lack wisdom? Here in the Garden of Eden, we live without care or sorrow; what need have we for anxious thoughts or worries?"
Eve was startled and flustered by the sight of Adam's tears; yet, her heart—blinded as it was by the serpent and the fruit—could no longer obey Adam's every word as it once had. "Adam, my love," she wept in return, clear tears tracing paths down her delicate cheeks—a sight so deeply moving.
"All this was sought for your sake alone; without you, what else is there for me to desire?"
"I wanted you to share in the very same joy that I have found."
"Once you have tasted it, you will understand how I feel. When the veil of ignorance lifts from our eyes—when we, like the angels, possess that 'divine nature'—then you will truly comprehend me."
She held the Fruit of Knowledge, bringing it close to his lips; yet Adam kept his mouth shut tight, refusing to accept her offering.
Her hands began to tremble, until at last the beautiful fruit tumbled to the ground. Eve gazed with resentment at Adam, whose eyes remained closed.
"Very well!" she cried out aloud. "Very well! You, Adam—God's most obedient servant—cling to your own convictions, then!"
"I have defied the divine command; let God strike me down! Let solitude consume me and leave me to die alone! You need not concern yourself with me; surely, another Eve will come to take my place—to tend to your every need, in body and in soul!"
Adam opened his eyes. He looked at Eve with a countenance of utter calm—a look of one whose heart had turned to ash.
"I have already resolved to die alongside you; without you, how could I possibly go on living?"
He offered a bitter smile—a smile that revealed the last vestiges of human sanctity. The resolve to sacrifice everything for the sake of love lent his face a radiance that outshone all else.
Eve gazed entranced at her husband; suddenly, she realized that even without the gift of wisdom, Adam remained—in her eyes—the most captivating companion she had ever known.
"Our fates are inextricably bound together."
"To suffer punishment alongside you."
"To face death in your company."
"And in death, to live on."
He reached down and retrieved the forbidden fruit from the ground, then—as if swallowing a draught of poison—he placed it into his mouth.
"Adam!" Eve cried out, her heart aching as tears streamed down her face. She embraced her husband, weeping for the nobility of his love—a love so profound that he was willing to die for her sake. "If tasting this exquisite fruit is a sin, then I am willing to bear the full weight of that sin!"
"Only now do I truly understand the meaning of love. The mere fact that you love me is enough—more than enough. I would sooner cast aside everything and embrace death than see you suffer for the sake of love."
She wept and laughed all at once—deeply impassioned, yet utterly content.
"And yet, I still feel that this is a sublime sensation you simply must not miss. Since tasting it myself, every other sensation I have ever known seems utterly insipid by comparison."
Adam let out a low sigh; hesitating no longer, he took a bite of the fruit held between his lips.
In that instant, storms began to gather beyond the borders of the Garden of Eden, while the deities dwelling in the Ninth Heaven turned their gaze toward the World Tree within the Great Cathedral.
It had blossomed.
A heady, intoxicating fragrance permeated the entire Great Cathedral, gradually drifting downward. Every angel who caught a whiff of the scent felt their cheeks flush crimson with embarrassment; yet, upon the face of God, there remained—as always—nothing but cold, detached serenity.
He unleashed His divine power, binding the restless stamens of the tree, and with a simple, forceful gesture, quelled the ensuing commotion.
Within the Garden of Eden, however, the fervor showed no signs of abating. Having consumed the forbidden fruit, the humans' hearts swelled with an unprecedented joy—a rapture born of the imagined divinity they now felt coursing through their veins...
Their souls drifted and swayed amidst a blissful, ethereal haze—from dawn till dusk, and from dusk till dawn again; on and on, in ceaseless repetition.
Until, at last, they grew weary—until the illusory beauty bestowed by the fruit finally faded away.
Silence—heavy with shame and awkwardness—settled between the two of them.
On one morning—ordinary, yet profoundly extraordinary—the humans suddenly awakened to a sense of shame. They stared at one another in bewildered confusion, then frantically attempted to conceal their nakedness—yet their efforts were entirely in vain.
The innocence that once served to cloak their sins had vanished. They had awakened from their dream of transgression, only to discover that there was no longer any way to return to the way things used to be. "On this wretched morning," Adam spoke haltingly, breaking the awkward silence, "I am glad that eating it did not result in our immediate death; yet, it has left us utterly—*naked*."
"I should have known that no good would come of this," he lamented. "The fruit was potent, indeed—but the knowledge it imparted is a curse."
"We have been conquered by lust, wallowing in impurity; how, then, can we now face our Father and the angels?"
"What 'fruit of wisdom'? The *fall* is real; the *wisdom* is a lie!"
"This was a trap laid for us—one I had foreseen all along! Yet how was I so blinded by this so-called 'love' that I allowed myself to fall into this wretched predicament?" He seemed to have lost his wits, muttering incessantly to himself.
"Our innocence is gone."
"Our loyalty is gone."
"And our purity is gone, too."
"That serpent beguiled my wife, and my wife beguiled me! Eve—you venomous, deadly serpent—why did God ever create you to be my companion?"
It had been a moment of unbridled passion—an experience that, however dreamlike and blissful it felt in the moment, dissolved the instant they awoke, leaving behind only a crushing, doubled sense of shame.
Eve could scarcely bear to hear Adam speak in such a manner. Though she had initially felt a pang of trepidation, by the time she heard these words, her fear gave way to a surge of indignation.
"What nonsense is this? You cast the entire blame upon my head—but how can you be so certain that this fate would not have befallen *you* as well?"
"Had *you* been there, how can you be so sure that *you* wouldn't have heeded its words?"
"That serpent is cunning, indeed," she retorted, casting a scornful glance at her husband. "I shall bear the consequences of my own actions alone; had *you* remained steadfast and unyielding back then, I would not have sinned and dragged you down with me."
Adam stared in utter disbelief at Eve, aghast at her ungrateful and callous words.
"Is *this* how you repay the love I have shown you?"
"It is *you* who were too weak."
Eve retorted stubbornly. Thus began an endless quarrel between them—a bitter exchange in which neither was willing to accept the blame—until, at last, a voice rang out from beyond the borders of the Garden of Eden.
"Adam. Eve."
Perhaps it was born of a guilty conscience, but to their ears, the divine voice—which they had always known as cool, clear, and captivating—now sounded stern, cold, and filled with an awesome, terrifying majesty. They tumbled from their beds in a panic—too distraught to even spare a glance at each other's undignified state—convinced that a deity had descended upon them.
Under no circumstances could they let a god see them in such a state.
[You have provided the work]: *Hebrew Mythology: The Arduous Chronicle of a World's Upbringing* by the renowned author Dan Mu'ai.