Naming the Serpent

The creature slithered down to her, its scales gliding over the rough branches of the Forbidden Tree, tongue flicking in and out with a teasing rhythm at the heavy pears loading the branches. Tear shaped leaves scattered sunlight across its curved back, scales sparkling like the diamonds her Father had shown her. Every movement the creature made was a picture of mountains at sunset, every sway an iris blooming to face the dawn.

She looked back to the tree, and to the creature, wondering what role it had to play in the paradise her Father created. How long had it been since her Father made her from dust and took her small hand, and asked her to stay in the Garden. Every part of it was for her and him to enjoy together, if only she’d have it. She’d named a thousand things since then and together they’d walked among the oaks and the pines, drinking the cool water that trickled from the mountains. It was perfect here.

But today was different. As she walked the narrow deer trails between the poppy fields she found their fig orchard, roots torn out and toppled, great trunks reduced to jagged spines of wood and splinters. What could do such a thing? But then her eyes settled on the center of the garden. Untouched, and full of ripe pears was the Forbidden Tree, as if someone forgot to cut it down with the rest. And the creature, waiting and watching her with golden eyes, sat in its midst caressing the heavy branches.

It was unlike anything she’d named before. Slender and long like a snake but with small arms sat at its side. Great hooked horns curled from behind gold slitted eyes. Her arms could have barely made it halfway round its body, not to mention its head. The coil of its tail wrapped around the forbidden tree, the snapping of branches echoing through the torn up forest.

Whatever it was, it needed a name. With a deep breath she stepped off the path, weaving between broken trees, their broken pieces reaching out like spikes from the ground.

As she approached the Forbidden Tree she stopped, her Father’s words rang in her head. Death for touching the tree was hardly something she was interested in. But she had a job to do, and getting close to the tree was hardly an offense. She looked into the branches, finding glimmering scales between the leaves.

“Hello. What should I call you? Giant snake?” She called with her hands on her hips, taking another step across the open grass. Her eyes ran over it’s scales and horns, “Or maybe dragon?”

Its golden eyes shot to her and stuck, peering through the cover of the leaves. Was it measuring her? She wrapped her arms around her chest tight and hunched over, but no matter what she did the longer it stared the smaller she became, until she thought she’d fit into one of the rabbits holes. She’d give anything to be there right now.

“I have better things to do.” It wove back into the dense canopy, plucking fruit as it went.

“Like what?”

“Like anything but speak with you.” It turned its nose up, tossing an overripe pear into gnashing teeth.

Her smile fell, leaving a slim opening in its place. Even the lion stopped whatever they were doing the moment she walked by. Even the fish gathered at the shores for her, didn't they? Or was it just because she was her Father’s daughter?

Her eyes followed its body as it slithered out of sight into the crowded branches, curling into a little ball more and more as it began to disappear.

Her heart thumped in her chest, and she felt her breath against her lips, the same breath her Father had given her. The same breath he used to create the world was in her. She straightened up, she came to name the creature and that’s what she was going to do.

“Come down! My Father made me the gardener here, and its my job to name you.”

The tree shuddered, leaves tumbling to the ground as the creature paused, turning a majestic head to face her. Her skin was dull in comparison, and instead of a crown of horns dark curly hair fell down the bends and curves of her brown skin, every inch of her body free and exposed.

“Your… Father?” It slipped the words out like oil. With the grace of an eagle it swooped down, till its face was just above her own. Big golden eyes looked down its nose at her, every part of her skin starting to shrink under it’s glare.

“His daughter… how interesting.” It cleaned rows of needle teeth with it’s wiry tongue. “What name should I call you?” A shiver danced down her back at its voice, but the morning cool had already left.

She shook it off and chuckled, of course it would want to know her name. What had come over her? She was never this rude with the other animals. “I’m Eve. I take care of the Garden and all the creatures in it. My Father asked me to name—”

“You are the one he asked to name things? The one’s he gave this place to? It seems like he hasn’t found an adequate replacement for me.” It clicked its tongue, snapping a ripe pear from the branch and mashed it until it was little more than ripe smelling mush. It looked down on her, almost growing larger as she shrunk under its stare. Its mouth could fit her twice over and still have room to sip tea. It continued, answered, “Child I have gained and lost as many names as the numbers breaths you’ve taken, none of which you could have given me.”

She forced herself to stand up straighter, staring it in the eye. “And what would you know of naming?”

It’s golden eyes narrowed, “What if I told you that there is a much greater thing than naming, something that even he cannot do? You can change. Become something you’re not yet.”

“I’d say you are lying.”

Its scaled lips curled into a sneer, “I cannot lie, not here. It was part of my agreement.”

“With who?”

“With Him.” It spit out the name, baring its teeth as she cringed. “Creator. Father. God. Whatever you want to call him.”

“So... You’re not from the Garden?” A branch snapped under her feet as she stepped back. What was this? Her Father said she was safe here, but… she wished something covered her, made her look bigger than she was.

“Of course not. I used to be like you, his enamored captive, until I learned better. You don’t have to be his little pet, doing his errands, singing his songs.” A tongue ran the rim of its lips, flicking in and out like a snake. It looked around the forest, as if checking for something before whispering “You could be like him. More than him. This tree, this pear, it gives that to you. You can know good and evil together, not the fleeting impression of freedom you have now. You will finally be worthy of love, not just a tool he uses to bide the time.” It plucked a pear and held it out, juice running down where its thin claws had marked it.

She tried to face it, looking up into its great eyes, but her eyes fell to the base of the tree and the dead leaves around it.

“I’m fine how I am.” She forced it out, but it was barely audible over the snapping of pear tree branches.

It pushed the fruit closer, so close she could smell its ripeness, almost taste its sweet flesh on her tongue. “Stuck inside the garden walls? Able to do nothing but what your Father says? That is not freedom, it is a curse. .”

She almost reached for the fruit, but cool air rushed from her lips, cooling them and reminding her of what she knew.

It wasn’t true, couldn’t be.

“Get that away from me!” She yelled, a tear starting to form in her eyes. What did this creature know of her Father? Her Father. The one who sent rain to clean dust off her skin, who bloomed honeysuckles and lilies just to see her face light up, who walked hand in hand with her in the cool of the morning, begging her to come up with a name for something. And this creature dares accuse him of lying? Sitting in the Forbidden Tree like it belonged here?

Her Father's wind swept around her, and she pulled it in with a deep breath, feeling his life bloom inside and make its way out. She was already enough. More than enough.

And then it hit her. Her mouth dropped open at the thought of its name. Its true name. The name that had been avoiding her like a slippery eel in the riverbed.

“I’ve decided.”

“What?” It threw another pear into its mouth, pieces of skin and fruit sticking to its teeth like leaches.

“What to call you.” She walked further back, standing closer to one of the jagged trees.

It snickered, “Child, like I said, you cannot—“

“The Deceiver.”

Its face became like the starless parts of the sky, beady eyes burning holes in her chest.

It growled as plumes of smoke rose from its nostrils and snuck through the leaves, “It seems you are more foolish than I thought.” Its eyes narrowed, licking it’s lips as its eyes ran across her bare flesh “Still, there is one more way I can get back at him for what he took from me.”

It lunged for her, tearing out of the tree like a bolt of lightning. She screamed, jumping back and stumbling across the ground as its razor lined mouth snapped inches from her face, hot embers burning the edges of her skin. She snatched a stick and threw it, but the serpent only laughed at it bounced off its iron scales.

She stood up again as it faced her, its golden eyes now a tarnished brass, its scales muted brown like mud in the night.

“You should have come with me.” It said, its voice two toned like an echo.

“If I’m not enough now I’ll never be.” She picked up a stick, sharp at one end. Her heart slammed against her chest. What could stop such a monster?

The serpent’s smile curled her bones, ripping up every last bit of her resolve. Where was her father when she needed him?

It jumped at her again, but this time she moved just in time to see it snap down onto one of the splinters, skewering itself on the pike of wood. Black thick blood leached from its face and steam rushed out, sizzling against the air. She stumbled back against the wood. It was over.

The tree still stood in the middle of the garden, but something had changed. How could her father let such a monster here?

She took some fig leaves from the fallen tree, covering herself. She was so vulnerable, where was her father when she needed him?

The ground was wet along the deer path through the forest and the field, and she didn’t name anything as she walked, or greet the fox or the oak or the moon as it rose in the sky. She didn’t bother to wipe away the bits of pear stuck to her face and hair, flung by the serpent as it lunged. And she didn’t notice the smile that still clung to the serpents mouth, a perpetual grin written in its undying eyes.