John led the way down multiple ramps, the hallways narrowing, the blue iridescence brighter, the crash of sea on sand eventually above them, sometimes distant and occasionally disappearing. Simon volunteered to push Lilly’s chair, and she enjoyed his close proximity.
As they descended, Lilly peppered the others with a barrage of questions. The Scholars seemed to love this. Unlike John, who seemed to hold ideas lightly with open hands, the Scholars had a certainty in their perspectives about most things. And when they didn’t, they seemed eager to find one.
“We are now into the storage levels,” John announced as they passed a webbing of halls. “This is where we keep the things that wash up on the shore, including yours, Lilly. You arrived on the eleventh day of the first month, and because we thought from the records that you were most likely fifteen years old, the number of your chamber is one-eleven-fifteen. Simple to remember. We took an impression of your hand so only you or a Collector could open it.”
It was a vast labyrinth of passageways and catacombs. Lilly didn’t want to think about the mass of rock and ocean above her, which only increased as they descended. The passageway filled with echoes of their footfalls, and distant thunderous booms of surf on land still occasionally reverberated. Air flowed clear and clean, but that didn’t lessen the sense of oppression hovering over Lilly.
“Tell me again what the Ages of Beginnings are?”
Gerald answered. “The term refers to events surrounding the Creation, primarily first things and first times. The roots of everything that exists today and—”
“Wait. Was there a before the Beginning?”
“Of course! If there was not a before the Beginning, there could never have been a Beginning.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” she said. “I just always thought the world exploded out of nothing.”
“Not even nonsense could explode from nothing. Nothing can’t create something, or anything.” Gerald raised his eyebrows. “No thing would be no energy, no time, no space, no information. Nothing. Since you are Witness of Beginnings—”
“It’s all too big for me.” She sighed. “I don’t understand and I feel foolish.”
Anita laughed. “It is too big, for all of us. It seems that even the foolishness of God builds extraordinary purpose into the ordinary. Miraculous and mysterious.”
“In my case, ordinary would be an improvement,” Lilly muttered.
“Truth be told, dear one,” Anita responded, “no human is ordinary.”
By the next break and rest, Lilly had formed another question.
“So, the something that created the world—that was God?”
“Yes,” answered John. “Creation was crafted inside God. Specifically, inside a Someone, Adonai.”
Her mind made a connection and it escaped her mouth before she could stop it. “You mean Eternal Man, right?”
Four shocked expressions turned toward her. “Uh, I must have heard that or read about it somewhere. I think we should go.”
Anita gave her a quick hug before they all headed down another set of ramps. Leaning in, she whispered, chuckling, “My dear, that was a surprise. Eternal Man, indeed! What else are you not telling us?”
Ignoring the comment, Lilly asked another question. “So God created Adam in Adonai. Does that mean that man was made inside Eternal Man?”
“Created and birthed,” offered Anita. “To say God gave birth would probably be more appropriate.”
“So you knew Adam was a baby?” she asked.
“Knew? Of course Adam was a baby, why would he be otherwise?”
“I thought God created him, you know, a full-grown man.”
Her companions laughed.
“Mythology is responsible for many odd ideas,” mumbled Gerald. “Did your Storytellers think that Adam was created as a young man with no capacity, a brute ready to be programmed?”
It sounded silly to her now and she quickly asked another question. “If he was just a baby, what did They feed him?”
“What you feed any baby,” responded Anita. “Adonai nursed him, of course! If God could birth a baby, you think They couldn’t feed him? The very reality of nursing an infant had to originate in God’s being, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so, but that would mean that Adonai has . . .”
“Breasts?” John finished her sentence. “Of course They have breasts, and full of milk according to the Scriptures. Mother’s milk.”
John underestimated the time it would take to descend with Lilly’s chair. Nearly three hours had passed before they arrived at a dead end, a wall of stone smooth as glass.
They all abruptly stopped except John, who didn’t hesitate. He walked straight into the wall and vanished.
“It’s an illusion.” His voice came from the other side. “Just act like it isn’t there. If you hesitate, it will hurt.”
“A little warning would have been nice,” retorted Lilly.
“I forgot. Old habits of solitude.”
Lilly found it difficult to ignore her perceptions. The roadblock looked impervious in spite of her seeing John walk right through it. When she reached out and touched it, it was firm and solid under her fingertips. She rapped on it, and the sound echoed down the corridor.
“That won’t help,” John called. “Hold on.” He reappeared right in front of her. “You’ll have to ignore it. We’re creatures of ‘seeing is believing,’ but after you’ve done it a time or two, it’s as easy as falling.”
She hesitated.
“Here, watch me,” offered Simon, who walked through the wall as if it were mist. The others followed him.
“Tell you what,” encouraged John, taking a kerchief from a pocket. “Let me tie this around your eyes, spin you about, and then at some point get you through the wall.”
It sounded like a good plan, but the thought of being blindfolded troubled her.
“Can I just cover my eyes with my hands?”
He returned the hankie to his pocket.
“Perfect,” he said. “As long as you keep your eyes shut tight. Even peeking a little might result in a bloody nose.”
“I promise.” She kept her word.
“Ready? Okay, now I’m spinning you round and round this way, and then round and round that way . . . and then I am going to push you a little ways back in this direction . . .”
Lilly felt a whoosh of wind skim her arms, and mist that wasn’t wet kissed her cheeks. She squealed as she opened her eyes to a hallway of mirrors—infinite reflections of herself and the others.
“That was kind of fun!” she yelped.
“I know!” he declared like a joyful child.
“Though you tricked me,” she accused, laughing.
“No tricks,” he said. “You can always trust me to do exactly what I say I’ll do.” He grinned at her.
A floor-to-ceiling mirror behind them marked the wall through which they had entered. More mirrors lined the entryway, and a large but cozy living space opened up before them. One side of the room was flanked by the ocean. Lights penetrated at least a hundred feet of water, enhancing corals, sea plants, and fish of every size, shape, and color. The membrane on this window space surely separated them from tons of pressure.
Lilly had no way of telling how deep they were beneath the surface, except that she could barely see shards of light reaching down from above.
“This is the Vault?” she asked. It was nothing she had expected.
“Not quite! These are the living quarters. The Vault is right down that hall at the other end of this suite.” John pointed. From where they stood they could see a massive door looming at the far end of a wide hall. “I’ll show you in the morning. For now, choose a room for sleeping. We’ll eat and rest today.”
There were about a dozen interconnected rooms here—sleeping, bathing, and sitting rooms, as well as a kitchen and a pantry.
Lilly noticed Gerald and Anita choosing their room together. As they disappeared, she grabbed John’s arm.
“Are they an item?”
“An item?” His perplexed frown was followed by a huge smile. “I suppose, if being married for many, many years qualifies as an item?”
“I had no idea. I thought that they were just friends and workmates. Married?”
“Lilly,” he said kindly, “from what I understand, married persons can actually be good friends, and some can even work together.”
“Have you ever been married?” Lilly asked.
“Me? No. I’ve befriended many women, all extraordinary and a few beastly, but marriage is not for me.”
“Beastly?” Lilly grinned.
He grunted, rolling his eyes. “One in particular, the most manipulative human being I ever met. Quite attractive, though, in a garish sort of way.” He let the distant memory take him for a moment. “But that, dear Lilly, is another story for another time. Go find a room that suits you. The item will be returning soon, and you can ask them all your questions about the mysteries of marriage.”
As she turned to wheel herself away, John stopped her. “How’s that arm?” he asked.
“It’s better,” she lied.
He nodded and they parted ways to settle into their rooms.
Lilly dropped her little knapsack in one with a bed and canopy. She hid the mirror in the dresser before returning to the central area. The three Scholars were waiting, and soon John joined them.
After checking the status of Lilly’s fever, which had neither risen nor fallen, John grunted and exchanged an inscrutable glance with Anita.
“Now, we eat,” he said, leading them into an alcove where food and drink were spread on a table with five settings. It was a feast of fruits and vegetables, crackers and cheese, and many sauces and dips, some chewy while others smooth as cream. Water, juices, tea, and coffee were plentiful.
Lilly was pleased to have an appetite, and doubly happy when John indicated she should sample whatever she liked. She chose a plump bunch of red grapes.
Knowing that Gerald and Anita were married somehow deepened Lilly’s appreciation for the integrity of their friendship. She watched these two at ease in each other’s presence, respectful of their differences. One and then the other would defer, as if they had learned to navigate a secret language.
As John explained to Simon and Gerald about the room’s antiquities, Lilly nudged Anita.
“Married, huh?”
“Of course, dearie,” she responded, “I thought you knew. It wasn’t meant to be a secret, but I can see it made for a good surprise. I do love him, this Gerald person.”
“What is . . . love? I don’t think I know what that is.” Her question slipped out easily.
Anita touched her arm in a motherly way. “It’s both mysterious and simple. Gerald’s good is more important to me than mine, and mine is more important to him than his. We each own this conviction individually, not expecting it to be reciprocated. Healthy love looks different from one second to the next because it’s built on respect for self and for the other. A lot of work, though, getting to know someone.”
“How do you know what that is—the good for the other?” Lilly asked.
“Ah,”—Anita patted her arm—“that is a profound question, dear one, a deep mystery of all relationships. Only God Who is Good can reveal what the good is, and often He does that only in the moment such revelation is needed. Part of the great dance.”
“As I said,” muttered Lilly, under her breath, “I don’t understand what love is.”
“That’s what your head is saying,” Anita said gently, touching the girl’s cheek. “But I am convinced that you already know, somewhere inside you.”
• • •
Turns out we won’t go into the mysterious Vault until tomorrow. I’m supposed to “record” the stuff I witness but I don’t know how that works. It’s all messed up, keeping secrets about what I saw, Eternal Man and Eve and Adam and the Creation. I lied outright to John today. What if it’s true that I have lost my mind? In some ways that would be easier. I would have an excuse.
Simon told me I had to stop Adam from turning, and I told him it was too late and he looked really shocked. I did tell him that I looked in the mirror, but I didn’t tell him what I saw. Still don’t want to talk about it, or write about it. I’m trying to figure out how accepting what the mirror showed me as the truth of my being will help me change history. Change history . . . right . . .
Lilly looked up at the glorious ocean wall that filled one side of her bedroom, watching the water dance with the anemones on the coral. The peaceful scene seemed to taunt her. She added a final note to the diary.
Adonai said that I am forever found. When I think of how Anita and Gerald love each other, I think maybe that love is what it means to be found. All I know is that since I saw Adam turn and looked into the mirror, I feel forever lost.
• • •
SOMEWHERE IN THE STOREHOUSE of the soul everything is kept, and while access to remembering may be restricted, history continues to find a way to make itself known.
In the space that night between sleep and wakefulness, Lilly’s past rudely emerged. These memory spasms were vicious and violent, lightning strikes that destroyed her connections to reality, to love, to wholeness: A book being read to a young girl by a woman—her mother? The smash of a fist across the girl’s face, blood blinding as she reeled, dark shadow men stalking her, prowling with razor-sharp fingernails and foul breath, a pressure on her chest that squeezed until it paralyzed, brief bursts of trains and warehouses and screams, crouching in the dark on a dirty floor, hoping to go unnoticed. She screamed without a voice, and then watched helplessly: a little girl dragged into a room, and the door slammed shut. Safety dissolved into a tiny circle of darkness inside her heart, her only refuge from the terrors.
Her eyes opened to Anita, sitting next to the bed, holding Lilly’s hand, eyes closed and lips barely moving as if in silent prayer.
Lilly squeezed her hand. “Hi,” she rasped.
Anita squeezed back, opening her eyes with a tired smile. “Hi, little one. Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”
A rush of fatigue rolled over her and Lilly let it sweep her gently away.
She floated on Anita’s upturned hands into another dream that was not a dream. Now Eve was sitting beside her, but Lilly’s blanket didn’t register her weight.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Lilly exclaimed, and turned her head into the woman’s shoulder.
“I am too,” Eve acknowledged.
“Mother Eve, what am I going to do? I hate not telling them, and I don’t know why I don’t. I get close, like I’m at the edge of a cliff, and just before I jump, I get terrified and hide.”
Eve was quiet before answering softly. “Lilly, hiding behind secrets is like walking across a frozen lake as it melts beneath your feet. Each step is filled with fear.”
“I don’t know how else to try and get across.”
“Keeping secrets is a dangerous endeavor. You must learn to think like a child. Children don’t keep secrets until someone convinces them that the keeping is safer than the telling. It almost never is.”
“But I’m not a child!” Lilly could not stop her own internal reaction.
Eve hugged her. “Lilly, we are all children. But once persuaded that secrets will keep us safe, we slowly fade into our hiding places and forget who we are. It is no wonder that the shadow-sickness grows in isolation.”
“So am I going crazy?” Lilly asked, exasperated. “Am I talking to myself in a padded cell somewhere? Are you the result of medications or mental illness? What happened to me? Which world is real? And everyone talks to me like I’m important and I matter, but I can’t meet their expectations!” She knew she was venting and didn’t expect a response. It was a relief to talk out loud about things she was avoiding, and she was grateful that Eve let her talk without expressing impatience or discomfort.
“I have seen this all before,” Eve finally said, “but not with you.”
“Seen what exactly? A girl with someone’s else’s foot?” Lilly lifted the hem of her skirt to look at it again. “Or someone stuck between worlds with creatures she couldn’t imagine? Or a Witness to the very first moments of creation . . . ?”
Eve chuckled. “No, many of these are a first for me too. I was referring to having seen the destiny of the entire creation, of man and beast and spirit—even the very being of God—entrusted to another girl, about your age.”
“Really?” Lilly was genuinely surprised. “So I’m not the only one? I’m not alone?”
“You have never been alone, dear one.”
Lilly looked down at her hands, lying open on her lap, and let her hair fall down around her face. “That’s not what I was asking, but . . .” When she spoke, barely above a whisper, her voice broke. “Then why didn’t—why didn’t God protect me?”
And there it hung, the question.
Eve let it hang there, suspended and ominous, the question uttered by a billion other voices. It rose from grave sites and empty chairs, from mosque and church, from offices, prison cells, and alleys. Tattered faith and battered hearts lay broken in its wake. It demanded justice and begged for miracles that never came.
Eve touched Lilly’s shoulder and the girl again felt warmth spread out inside her. “I have no answer in this moment that would satisfy you, Lilly. No words that would knit together what is wounded in your soul and in your body.”
Lilly closed her eyes but refused to cry, instead allowing the tingling comfort to climb into her tired body and calm the rising fever. Despite hearing no answers, she felt safe in this mother’s presence. Minutes passed before she spoke.
“I feel like I’m climbing a mountain that has no top. I’m barely holding on to the rock wall. I’m scared, and everyone expects me to make it. If I don’t, it’s like all that’s wrong in the world is going to be my fault.” Lilly leaned her face into the woman’s neck and whispered, holding back emotions. “What if I can’t do this and I let go? Or what if I jump, will God still catch me?”
“He will, but to you it will feel as though you hit the ground.”
Again they were quiet for a time.
“Mother Eve, do you know how this turns out for me?”
“No, neither of us has been here before. But I am not afraid.”
“Did it turn out okay for that other girl? The one my age?”
“Yes! It did. Lilly, her participation changed everything.”
Everything. It was a big enough hope for the rest of the night. Lilly slept at peace, no vivid dreams or hallucinations, no questions worrying her mind.
But much later, with no way to tell the hours that passed or even the time of day, she snapped awake, alarmed by something crawling up her arm.