Christmas Outside of Eden | Page 6

the cave she could see nothing; she was too weak even to crawl to

the entrance. As he did his best to comfort her, "If we could only again
find God----" she kept whispering.
So at last, having ordered the dog to guard her, the Man departed on his
hopeless errand. It was brave of him. He believed that in trying to find
God, he would get so lost that he would never be able to retrace his
footsteps. Before he went he kissed the Woman tenderly, begging
forgiveness for all the misery he had caused her.
"But I caused it, too," she confessed. "It wasn't your rib that was to
blame. It wasn't you at all. I wanted the fruit and we ate it together."
It was the first time she had acknowledged it; until then she had
insisted that the fault was his solely. So in the moment of farewell she
restored to him one little ray of the great, lost sun of flaming happiness.

VI
The air was so thick with falling snow that he was well-nigh stifled. His
eyes were blinded as though they were padded with cottonwool. The
flakes brushed against his cheeks like live things. At his sixth step from
the entrance he had lost his direction. His feet commenced to slide;
against his will he went avalanching and cavorting down the path.
At the bottom he lay panting for a time; then, because he was cold he
picked himself up and went blundering on, not in the least knowing
where he was going. Bushes clutched at his feet. Trees slashed across
his face. He was inclined to weep, but checked himself, remembering
that on one of those sunny afternoon walks God had told him that to cry
wasn't manly. "And I must find God. I must find God," he kept
repeating to himself. The only way he knew of finding God was by
pressing forward. God had once confessed to him, "The reason I am
God is because I show courage."
"Then I'll show courage, too," he thought.
Presently he found himself in the heart of the forest and began to
breathe more freely. Avenues of giant trees stretched before him, which
criss-crossed one another and faded into the gloom of twilit,
colonnaded tunnels. He could almost feel the gnarled trunks bracing
themselves and the crooked branches linking arms to bear up the
weight of the down-poured roof of whiteness. As his eyes grew
accustomed to the dimness, he saw the animals strewn flat among
fallen leaves, their noses pressed between their paws, shivering with

terror. Overhead birds and monkeys sat in rows, squeezed side by side
for companionship, weeping silently. Of a sudden he regained his
majesty, being filled with contempt for their cowardice. "For I am
Man," he reminded himself, "so like to God that I could easily be
mistaken for Him--and these are the creatures who dared to talk of
punishing me."
Throwing out his chest, he strode valiantly past them, utterly ignoring
their presence.
From behind him a voice called whimperingly. It was the lion's, the
King of Beasts, squeaky and falsetto with panic. "Master, thou art wise.
What has happened? Tell us."
Had he known how, the Man would have laughed. But the laugh comes
later in the story. Without turning his head, still going away from them
he answered. "It is a punishment for what thou and thy people have
done to me and my Woman, oh, lion."
He had made the answer up on the spur of the moment; he knew no
more than they did what had happened. But he loved inventing and was
never so content as when he was pretending that he was God.
Immediately they forgot the wrong answers he had given them and how
he had deceived them in the past. The leaves rustled as they lifted up
their heads from between their paws. Their voices trembled as one
when they besought him, "Master, stay with us. We are in terror. Make
it leave off."
Turning slowly, he blinked at them through the dimness. Folding his
arms, he regarded them thoughtfully with his legs wide apart. He did it
as he supposed God might have done it. He spoke at last. "It's only just
begun. Why should I make it leave off?"
"Because thou art strong and we are repentant."
Their manner was so humble and adoring that he felt sorry for them.
They had begged his pardon in the same words that he had intended to
beg God's. And then he was just--the only just creature that God had
created. In his heart he knew that he had merited their revenge--there
was scarcely one of them at whom he had not hurled his rocks. He
came back walking in stately fashion