Immortal Stories: Eve (2 page)

She knew, in other words, that she drew eyes, and had no particular concern with it.  What was different about the dark-skinned warrior staring at her from the coffee bar was that she was happy to have caught his gaze.  She was staring back, and for much the same reason.

It’s been a long time
, she thought. 
I nearly forgot what this felt like.

His eyes met hers, and quickly turned away—
I’ve been caught staring—
then back again upon the discovery that she’d not averted her gaze.  He gave the slightest of smiles. 

When his drink was ready, he pointed to the chair opposite her, his eyebrows forming the unspoken question.

She nodded, and waved him over.

“Hi,” he said, sliding into the seat.  He had a deep baritone.  It was the voice men heard when they wrote poems about thunder gods.  “I’m sorry, you caught me staring but I feel like… do we know each other?”

“No,” she said.  “I didn’t
catch
you staring, you were only staring and I saw you and stared back.”

“So you did, so you did.”  He smiled broadly, but his eyes still looked terribly confused.  “But we’ve never met?”

“Do you suppose, had we met before, you’d have forgotten?”

He looked down at the table, and up again.  He rubbed his face. He appeared deeply perplexed.

“No, I definitely would have remembered you.  So… I’m Rick.  You are… Eve?”  He had tilted his head to read her coffee cup.  “Eve or ‘eye’.”

“Eve is what you can call me.”

“Good, calling you ‘Eye’ would’ve been a little weird, huh?”

“Yes, it would have.”

He rubbed his face some more.

“So, um, this still seems really… weird.”

“You keep using that word.”

“Yeah, I know.  Are… you from around here?”

“I am not.  I’m visiting.” 

He seemed so uncomfortable.  She understood that there was a modicum of introductory small talk that needed to be performed in this situation.  Every tribe had customs.  But it seemed obvious why she’d waved him over and what she was interested in.  Now he was here and the confidence she found appealing was gone.  Rick had strong, broad shoulders and rippling chest muscles she could trace even with them hidden under his shirt, but he was slouching like the Chinese girl now.  It was beyond understanding.

“Oh, yes?  From where?”

“Are
you
from around here?” she asked.  “You look as if you’re about to go do something athletic.”

“Oh I am, but no, no I wasn’t.  I was gonna take a walk maybe, but I dress like this.  A lot.  In the summer, you know.  It’s warm out.”

“Yes I know.”  She was wearing a skirt and sandals, with a simple peasant blouse and an undershirt.  It was clothing she found assembled on a store mannequin, and took the combination to be a contemporary representation of appropriate attire.

Clothing was one of the reasons she hated stepping out of the veil.  It wasn’t so much that society largely frowned upon nudity—although this too was a convention she barely understood—it was the degree of complication implicit in clothing choice.  She didn’t dislike clothes.  She wore them quite often.  But the difference between period-appropriate clothing and outrageously incorrect clothing could be as tiny as a scarf or a brooch.  In certain eras, to fit in she had to learn how to master five or six layers for the honor of sweltering in the midday sun.  It often simply wasn’t worth it.

She was thankful that those days had mostly passed, and modern people dressed in ways that were slightly more rational.  It meant she could wear nothing but a skirt and a thin top, and Rick could dress in less clothing than a Greek on his way to the baths, and neither would be accosted.

“But yeah,” he said.  “I live around the corner.  Where’d you say you were from?”

“I didn’t say.”

“You have a really interesting accent, it’s hard to place.”

“It would be, for your ears.  Where I’m from no longer exists.”

He nodded slowly.  “So, ah, war refugee?”

She smiled.  “That’s a good way of putting it, yes.”

“Eastern Europe, maybe?”

She was much, much older than Europe.  For the first third of her life Europe was uninhabited, and partly uninhabitable because of glaciers.  She decided not to share this.

“Africa, actually.”

His eyebrows went up.  “Africa?”

“Originally, yes.”

“South Africa?”

“Continentally, somewhere in the middle.  But it was a long time ago.”

“So…look I don’t want to offend you, but you’re maybe the whitest person I’ve ever seen.”

“I suppose I am.” 

She had been living on the other side of the veil for a long time, and that contributed to the pallor of her skin, but she didn’t tell him that.  Her skin and hair color could change at her whim, given time.  It tended to default to the shade of the creatures around her.

“That just doesn’t scream Africa to me,” he said.  “Sorry, again, I don’t want to offend you.”

“What you say is not offensive.  As I said, this was a long time ago.”

Race was something that had been invented when she wasn’t paying attention.  It was created to justify violence, and like so many other justifications, Eve had trouble believing it still existed.  But again, this wasn’t the world she wanted, it was the world she was left with.

The idea that someone who looked as she looked could come from mid-continental Africa was clearly jarring, and as much as she wished to address that point—it was more accurate to say that the people from Africa came from
her
, for instance, than to say that she came from there—she recognized the subject as something on which it was unsafe to dwell.

“Right,” he said.  “So what happened to them?”

“Who?”

“Your… people, I guess.  Your village or city, or…”

“My people were all killed.  All the men, that is to say.  We lost a war.”

“That’s awful!  Did I read about it?”

“No, as I said—”

“—it was a long time ago, yeah.  So, I’m from around here.”

“You’ve said so.”

“Yeah I mean, I’m American. No war stories for me.”

“There have been a lot of American wars.”

“Oh sure, just none involving me.”

She considered asking if his ancestors had arrived in the country as slaves, but decided this too was an unsavory subject. 

It was difficult to keep track of the idea that the things which happened only recently in her mind happened generations ago for everyone else.  From her perspective, the present time they all shared was experiencing, at best, a temporary cease-fire.  There had been thousands of such eras in history, and at the end of them empires always fell and the savage nature of mankind always resurfaced, took what it could and destroyed everything else.

She wanted to be wrong.  She had yet to be.

“Do you work?” she asked.  It was becoming quickly apparent that normal conversation was going to be at least as complicated as understanding the fashion of the period.  Perhaps more.  She couldn’t steal appropriate conversational points from a store mannequin.

“I do!  I’m a broker.  Not on Sundays, though!”  He gave a little laugh.  She wondered if this was a Sunday.  Days of the week were another thing she had to acquaint herself with.  They were recent concepts.  She understood them well enough, but the work-week notion, and specifically the idea of the weekend, was completely strange.  She recalled Sundays being of some importance to certain religions, and wondered if she should go to a church to see what kind of people she’d meet there. 

It wasn’t likely to be as interesting as the coffee shop.  A larger congregation, perhaps, but with greater homogeneity. 

“You’re a broker of… deals?” she asked.

“You could say so, sure.  Stock broker.”

She shrugged.  These words didn’t mean anything together.

“What do you do?” he asked.

“I don’t do anything.”

“Dead-end job, huh?’

“No, I don’t have a job.  I was thinking of getting one, though.  I’ve been traveling for a long while and had no need of a profession until now.”

“I guess you
have
been.  And you’re settling down here?”

“It’s where I decided to stop moving.  I haven’t decided yet whether to stay, I may not like it.  I only just arrived.  Everything is very loud to me right now.”

He nodded, but without understanding.

“But you have money,” he said.  “I mean you must, if you were traveling all that time.  Takes a lot of money to travel.”

“No it doesn’t.  You just start walking.  Like those people over there, near the river.”

“What do you do when you stop, people just feed you?”

It had been so long.

“No, I just… yes, I guess that’s true.  People just feed me.”  It
wasn’t
true, but a lie was easier.

He nodded again.  “Okay.  Okay, that’s cool.  Did they just feed you here?”

“No, I gave them money.”

“So you
do
have money.”

“I went and found some before I arrived.  But it will run out and then I’ll have to find a job, as I said.”

“Or just…
find
some more money?”

“I’m trying to do this without… traveling.  I’d have to travel to find more money.”

“Honest to God, this is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’m sorry, it’s difficult to explain.  If I elaborated it would only create additional questions whose answers you would find even less satisfying.”

“No, it’s okay.  It’s interesting, at least.”

“I’m very sorry, Rick, this is more talking than I expected us to have,” she said.  “I hadn’t prepared.”

He smiled.  “Okay, we don’t have to talk.  I can just finish my coffee and get outta here.”

“Oh, but… I thought that much at least was obvious.  Perhaps I’m more out of touch than I realized.”

“What, now?”

“Perhaps you are spoken for?  That must be where my confusion is.  I should have asked before now, I realize.”

“Am I…”

“Are you beholden?  Monogamy is disorienting, but I can respect it.  Cultural norms are what they are.  If there’s a woman or a man you’re exclusive with…?”

“All right, the conversation just got stranger.”

“Is there?”

He coughed.  “No, no there isn’t, it’s just… are you for real right now?”

“I’m real, yes.”

“I’m not spoken for or… no, I’m single, Eve, but I’m not real clear on what you’re saying here.”

“I did think that part was obvious.  I find you attractive.  I don’t believe I’m mistaken in your attraction to me.”

“Um… no, you’re not wrong.”

“You have a place with privacy?  I understand public intercourse is poorly taken.”

“This is a joke, right?  There’s a camera somewhere or something?  Am I being punked?”

Eve didn’t know what
being punked
was and had no idea why this was all so difficult.  She’d only decided to stay tethered to this dirty, smelly part of the world a few hours earlier, and already she was experiencing all the old aches and needs she remembered—fondly and less so—from when she lived in this world all the time.  There was hunger, and thirst, and the baser bodily functions that came with food and drink.  Soon there would be a need for sleep.  And when she saw Rick, she remembered lust.

“This is the simplest thing imaginable, Rick.”

“No, it’s really not.  We hardly know one another.”

She laughed.  “I’m not asking for a life mate.  I have a biological need, and you look nicely compatible.  But if I’m mistaken, I apologize.  I may have more to understand about… about being here than I thought.”

He didn’t say anything.  He just stared at her as if expecting something to happen that would explain the matter to his satisfaction. 

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said, getting to her feet.

He caught her by the wrist.

“Wait,” he said.  “Just a second.  If you’re completely serious… like I said I only live around the corner.”

“I am completely serious.  I don’t know how else to say that.”

“Well all right.  Then let’s go.”

The coffee shop was at the edge of a small parking lot primarily meant for use by a food market and an electronics retailer.  The main entry to the lot was from the roadway with the cars driving far too quickly, but there was a small entrance/exit in the back behind the market.  Past that small tributary of a road was a neighborhood.

Eve was always fascinated by the variety of humanity’s living space choices.  She’d seen everything, from standalone portable huts, to permanent interlocked structures that were vertically independent of one another, to freestanding, uniquely designed buildings.  Sometimes it looked as if the architects were having a quiet argument with one another via structural design and color palettes.

At least we got out of caves
.

She recalled an entire city in an underground maze of caves and tunnels and caverns that, for all she knew, still existed.  The memory made her shiver. 

Rick walked as though he was still confused.  He didn’t appear to know whether to travel ahead of her or beside her, to touch her or keep his distance.  She wanted to see the man that first strode into the shop with an arrogance of superiority, but what she was getting was a confused child, and it was only making the entire matter more frustrating.

There had been changes.  Eve understood this well enough.  The kind of warrior mentality she was aching to tap into was the same mentality that too often resulted in violence and rape, and that was
not
what she wanted to revive, in anyone.  But she’d offered herself as clearly and obviously as she could while still adhering to the ground rules of public behavior, and he still acted as though she was going to run off or scream for help.

“It’s right up here,” he said, pointing to an indistinct tomato-colored house.  “I’ve got the second floor.  Used to be one of those big one-family places, but they converted it to condos a few years back.  I think they’re trying to make the attic into a one bedroom space, but I don’t know if there’s a… sorry, I’m rambling.  You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good, okay.  Watch your step.”

There was a small recess in the sidewalk that could sprain the ankle of someone unwary.  It wasn’t the sort of thing to panic over.  She stepped past it, as she imagined she would have without the forewarning.

She thought back to a time when she became enamored of a soldier participating in one of the Napoleonic wars.  It was impossible to say what struck her about him.  He was large, brutish and confident, but not handsomely chiseled, and not otherwise rakish or clever.  She wanted him nonetheless, and so, after a particularly gruesome battle—which battle, what field it transpired upon, or how it ended she couldn’t say—Eve appeared to him in a clearing near his tent.

From his perspective she was a magical woman who had arrived from another world, and he was afraid, right up until she asked him to bed her.  He quickly overcame his fear, tossed her over his shoulder and carried her into his tent.  They made love on the ground amidst muck and upturned soil.

It was a fond memory.  She couldn’t remember the name of the soldier, but she could still smell the mud from the field.

The Frenchman thought she was probably a devil, but had no issue engaging in sex with one when presented an opportunity.  Rick, a citizen of a less superstitious age, undoubtedly did not think this of her.  But was showing no imperative.  Rather than warn her of cracks in the sidewalk, he could have picked her up in those long arms and taken her inside.  The closest he had come, so far, was to offer to carry her bag.

His hands betrayed a small tremble when unlocking the door that led to the entryway, and he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure she was still there.  She could step into the veil if she wanted and—from his perspective—effectively disappear.  He was acting like he knew this to be a real possibility.

Once inside, they went up the open hallway stairs to another locked door and more fumbling, and then they were in his private space.

“It’s not much,” he said,” and it’s a mess, but I didn’t think I’d be picking up a girl with my coffee.”

It was a room with a couch and a television, a dining table and chairs, a small side area with cooking appliances, and two doors: presumably, a bedroom and a bathroom. 

There were loose articles of clothing on the floor of the living room, plus a hamper of folded clothing and linens on the couch. 

She forgot how much clothing people were accustomed to having in these times.  All she had was a small duffel bag with three sets of clothing and a second pair of shoes.  The remaining contents of the bag was paper money, which she decided she might have to use to obtain more clothing, or a place to live, or both.  It depended on how much the money could get her.

Rick continued to act incredibly nervous, and began picking up his clothes while pointing out features of his small living area. 

“This is the living room, and the bedroom’s through there, bathroom’s over there if you need it.”  He flung a handful of clothes in a pile near the bedroom door.  “Are you hungry?  Table’s new, I never even ate at it, but…”

In the time it had taken him to pick up, she’d gotten out of her clothing.

“…oh,” he said.

“I chose apparel that was easy to remove,” she said.  “There is no hurry, if yours requires more effort.  Take your time.”

“Do you want to…” he pointed to the bedroom, still mostly speechless.  It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the way he was staring at her before, only this time he appeared to be a good deal more incapacitated, and he wasn’t looking at her eyes so much any longer.

Eve had always been athletic, and thin, with breasts large enough to draw the eye but small enough so she could run without being in a great deal of pain.  There had been many centuries in which her physique was less than the feminine ideal, but the world of her birth was one in which women were as much hunters and warriors as they were nurturers and mothers.  This was the body she had, and would always have.  But even when larger women were preferred, she long ago learned that men were far less choosy about the shape of the woman before them if that woman had already gone through the trouble of removing her clothing.

He still hadn’t moved, and apparently gave up on the sentence he was in the middle of.

“For Baal’s sake, Rick.” 

She stepped up beside him.  He was much taller.  If he wished, he could pick her up and bend her in half.  She rather wanted him to do exactly that.

She rubbed her bare chest against his stomach, and her hand on the front of his shorts.  “You’re erect, I see.  Do you need me to help you out of the clothes, or are you familiar with how this works?”

*   *   *

It had been a long time.  Eve didn’t fully realize exactly
how
long until later, when she had a moment to think, do some math, and work out that the Frenchman in the Napoleonic Wars may well have been the last time she’d laid with a man.  Because the clocks moved at a different pace on the other side of the veil, it hadn’t been a full two centuries for her, but still: it had been a long while. 

Fortunately, once he got over his shyness, Rick proved fully capable of the task.

They took a couple of short breaks.  The first was to get out of the living room and into the bedroom, where the bed offered more rambunctious opportunities than the couch or any of the other surfaces.  (She did try and guide him toward the kitchen counter, which looked like the perfect height for someone of his stature, but he resisted and they ended up on the floor instead.)  The second was to get water, and so he could locate additional condoms. 

To that point, he couldn’t have gotten her pregnant or sick, as she wasn’t capable of either condition, but she understood his unwillingness to proceed unprotected. 

Rick was generous.  It would have been fair to say they’d only performed
the act
only a small number of times by the metric of his climaxes, but she saw no reason to stop just because he had spent himself, so she didn’t.  And when he understood this he was happy to assist, with a finger, or a tongue, or a thigh, knee or toe.  She enjoyed as much of him as she could until he was ready again to engage her more traditionally.

It was perhaps two hours before exhaustion presented them with a natural resting point.

“Mercy,” he said.  He was lying on his back and she on hers.  His hand was between her legs, but he was so tired his fingers were only helping because she was holding them there. She had just trembled through an orgasm that made the one before it feel like little more than a precursor, a modest temblor before the major quake.  When it hit she had to arch her back and lift her hips into the air, legs open and words in dead languages spilling from her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “A break will be fine.”

“I can’t keep up with you.”

She laughed.  “You kept up better than most.”

He propped himself upon an elbow and took a good look at her.  His earlier fear and trepidation had been replaced largely by wonder.

“Oh my
goodness
,” he said, “you laughed!  I didn’t think I’d hear that.  And a smile too.” 

He kissed her on the cheek, then climbed out of the bed and exited the room. 

He had a leonine quality to his movements when he got to his feet, and his firm behind and the coiled muscles of his back made for a wondrous visual spectacle.  It made her hungry again.

She rolled off the bed. 

Rick didn’t have a proper window in his bedroom.  What he had instead was a sliding glass door with a long curtain, on the other side of which was a small porch. 

It was getting dark. 

She slid open the door and let the light breeze cool her off and dry the sweat.  It felt nice, so she stepped out onto the porch.

There wasn’t much of a view.  She could see a small square of grass that constituted the private yard belonging to the property, personalized with bits of plastic furniture.  The yard was contained by a tall, chain-link fence, just in case anyone was concerned about exactly where the ownership diverged.  Directly across and to the left and right were other houses.  The people in the yard to the left were cooking meat on an open flame.  The smell reminded her of a more literal hunger.

“I’m not sure if I’m gonna get complaints from the neighbors or compliments, if you’re gonna stand out there like that.”

“The clothing here is scratchy,” she said, turning around but remaining where she was.  “I prefer not to wear it.”  The man watching his meats cook would have a decent view of her back if he chose to gaze in the right direction.

Rick was sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at her.  He had the courtesy to not put on any clothing, but was also not prepared to step out on the porch with her while unclothed.

“
Here
.  You keep saying things like that.  How did the clothes feel when you were doing all this traveling of yours?  Wherever that was?”

“It was looser and softer.  When I wore clothing.”

“Right.  So how many is
most
?”

“I don’t understand your question.”

“You said I keep up better than most.”

“Oh that, yes.”

“I… I’m sorry, I just realized how rude that was.  Something about you made me think I could ask… no, forget it.”

“It’s all right.  I am trying to think how to quantify my response, but… it would have to be several hundred.  I never bothered to count.  Presupposing the existence of math, which we should not do.  Are you considering both genders?  Only humans?  What are your parameters?”

He fell back onto the bed.  “Of course, we must consider the non-human element.”

“It’s a fair question,” she said.  She drifted back in and next to him.  “Vampire, goblin, elf.  And satyrs, of course.  Werewolves, too.  They’re all viable.”

She ran the back of her hand down his hairless chest.  He was warm.

“Faery?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.  It was their realm I left before coming here.”

“Of course,” he laughed.  Then he gasped as her hand found its way down past his waist.

“And incubi and succubi,” she said.

“Angels and demons?”

“Never a demon.  They’re repulsive.  Even their women think so.  And I’ve never met an angel.”

“I think you might
be
one,” he said.

She climbed up on her knees and straddled him.

“I’ve been a god,” she said.  “But never an angel.”

She lowered herself down and let him in.  It was time for another round.

*   *   *

“So you aren’t an angel,” he said later.  Much later. 

The sun had taken its leave entirely.  They hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights in the bedroom, but between the stray lamplight from the street and what was coming in through the doorway to the living room, there was no need. 

They had eaten.  On the kitchen counter was food ostensibly of Chinese origin in cardboard boxes.  Eve had an intimacy with most regional foods, and considered the appropriate source region for this cuisine to be America.  It might have been cooked by the Chinese, using techniques from East Asia, but the ingredients were too distinctly local for it to pass as authentic.