"C. L. Moore - Fruit Of Knowledge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore C. L)

his golden brows together. For no reason at all he was remembering the scarred
bank from which the earth that shaped him had been taken. He opened his mouth
to speak.
And then out of the glow of the morning a vast, bodiless Voice spoke quietly.
"I have taken a rib from your side, Man," said the Voice. The whole glade
trembled at the sound; the brook ceased its tinkling, the leaves stood still
upon the trees. Not a bird sang. Filling the whole morning, the whole Garden,
the Voice went on: "Out of the flesh of your flesh I have made a helpmate and
a wife for you. Forsaking all others, cleave unto her. Forsaking all others-"
The Voice ceased not suddenly, but by echoing degrees that made the leaves
shiver upon the trees in rhythm to Its fading syllables, "Forsaking all
others. . . all others. . . all others-"
And then it was as if a light ceased to glow in the Garden which, until it
went out, no one had perceived. The air dimmed a little, and thickened and
dulled, so that one blinked in the aftermath when the presence of God was
withdrawn.
The woman drew closer to Adam's side, putting out uncertain hands to him,
frightened by the quiet, tremendous Voice and the silence of the Garden. Adam
dropped an arm automatically about her, stilling her fright against his
shoulder. He bent his head as the Voice ceased to echo through the shaken air.
"Yes, Lord," he said obediently. There was an instant more of silence
everywhere. Then timidly the brook sent a tentative ripple of sound into the
air, a bird piped once, a breeze began to blow. Cod had withdrawn.
Bodiless, trembling with emotions she had no name for, Lilith watched the Man
and the woman alone on the moss bank she had shared last night with Adam. He
looked down at the frightened girl huddling against him.
"I suppose you're Eve," he said, a certain gentleness in his voice that made
Lilith writhe.
"If you say so," murmured the girl, glancing up at him under a flutter of
lashes. Liith hated him. Over her fair head Adam looked out across the quiet
glade.
"Lilith?" he said. "Lilith-"
A warm rush of answer focused all Lilith's being into one responding cry.
"Yes, Adam. . . yes! I'm here!"
He might have heard her bodiless reply, it was so passionate an answer to his
call, but at that instant Eve said with childish petulance:
"Who is this Lilith, Adam? Why do you keep calling her? Won't I do?"
Adam looked down uncertainly. While he hesitated, Eve deliberately snuggled
against him with a warm little wriggle that was Lilith's alone. By that, if by
no other sign, Lilith knew it was her very flesh God had taken to mold this
pale girl from Adam's rib, using the same pattern which Adam had designed for
Lilith. Eve wore it now, and in that shape knew, without learning them, all
the subtle tricks that Lilith's age-old wisdom had evolved during the brief
while she dwelt in the body. Lilith's lost flesh, Lilith's delightful use of
it, Liith's Adam-all were Eve's now.


Fury and wild despair and an intolerable ache that made the world turn black
around her blinded Lilith to the two beneath the tree. She could not bear to
watch them any longer. With a soundless wail of despair she turned and flung