Back to Methuselah

The Garden of Eden. Afternoon. An immense serpent is sleeping with her head buried in a thick bed of Johnswort, and her body coiled in apparently endless rings through the branches of a tree, which is already well grown; for the days of creation have been longer than our reckoning. She is not yet visible to anyone unaware of her presence, as her colors of green and brown make a perfect camouflage. Near her head a low rock shows above the Johnswort.

The rock and tree are on the border of a glade in which lies a dead fawn all awry, its neck being broken. Adam, crouching with one hand on the rock, is staring in consternation at the dead body. He has not noticed the serpent on his left hand. He turns his face to his right and calls excitedly.

Adam

Eve! Eve!

Eve’s Voice

What is it, Adam?

Adam

Come here. Quick. Something has happened.

Eve

Running in. What? Where? Adam points to the fawn. Oh! She goes to it; and he is emboldened to go with her. What is the matter with its eyes?

Adam

It is not only its eyes. Look. He kicks it.

Eve

Oh don’t! Why doesn’t it wake?

Adam

I don’t know. It is not asleep.

Eve

Not asleep?

Adam

Try.

Eve

You say we must not cease to exist. But you used to complain of having to exist always and forever. You sometimes sit for hours brooding and silent, hating me in your heart. When I ask you what I have done to you, you say you are not thinking of me, but of the horror of having to be here forever. But I know very well that what you mean is the horror of having to be here with me forever.

Adam

Oh! That is what you think, is it? Well, you are wrong. He sits down again, sulkily. It is the horror of having to be with myself forever. I like you; but I do not like myself. I want to be different; to be better, to begin again and again; to shed myself as a snake sheds its skin. I am tired of myself. And yet I must endure myself, not for a day or for many days, but forever. That is a dreadful thought. That is what makes me sit brooding and silent and hateful. Do you never think of that?

Eve

No: I do not think about myself: what is the use? I am what I am: nothing can alter that. I think about you.

Shuddering. Why do you remind me of it? I forgot it when I saw your beautiful hood. You must not remind me of unhappy things.

The Serpent

Death is not an unhappy thing when you have learnt how to conquer it.

Eve

How can I conquer it?

The Serpent

By another thing, called birth.

Eve

What? Trying to pronounce it. B-birth?

The Serpent

Yes, birth.

Eve

What is birth?

The Serpent

The serpent never dies. Some day you shall see me come out of this beautiful skin, a new snake with a new and lovelier skin. That is birth.

Eve

I have seen that. It is wonderful.

The Serpent

If I can do that, what can I not do? I tell you I am very subtle. When you and Adam talk, I hear you say “Why?” Always “Why?” You see things; and you say “Why?” But I dream things that never were; and I say “Why not?” I made the word dead to describe my old skin that I cast when I am renewed. I call that renewal being born.

Eve

Born is a beautiful word.

The Serpent

Why not be born again and again as I am, new and beautiful every time?

Eve

I! It does not happen: that is why.

Adam looks worried, like a farmer. Eve, better humored (having given up worrying), sits and spins and thinks.

A Man’s Voice

Hallo, mother!

Eve

Looking across the garden towards the hurdle. Here is Cain.

Adam

Uttering a grunt of disgust. !!! He goes on digging without raising his head.

Cain kicks the hurdle out of his way, and strides into the garden. In pose, voice, and dress he is insistently warlike. He is equipped with huge spear and broad brassbound leather shield; his casque is a tiger’s head with bull’s horns; he wears a scarlet cloak with gold brooch over a lion’s skin with the claws dangling; his feet are in sandals with brass ornaments; his shins are in brass greaves; and his bristling military moustache glistens with oil. To his parents he has the self-assertive, not-quite-at-ease manner of a revolted son who knows that he is not forgiven nor approved of.

Cain

To Adam. Still digging? Always dig, dig, dig. Sticking in the old furrow. No progress! no advanced ideas! no adventures! What should I be if I had stuck to the digging you taught me?

Adam

What are you now, with your shield and spear, and your brother’s blood crying from the ground against you?

Cain

I am the first murderer: you are only the first man. Anybody could be the first man: it is as easy as to be the first cabbage. To be the first murderer one must be a man of spirit.

Confucius

It cannot be explained. It is not reasonable. Therefore I do not believe it.

The Accountant General rushes in, looking ghastly. He staggers to the middle of the table.

Burge-Lubin

What’s the matter? Are you ill?

Barnabas

Choking. No. I⁠—He collapses into the middle chair. I must speak to you in private.

Confucius calmly withdraws.

Burge-Lubin

What on earth is it? Have some oxygen.

Barnabas

I have had some. Go to the Record Office. You will see men fainting there again and again, and being revived with oxygen, as I have been. They have seen with their own eyes as I have.

Burge-Lubin

Seen what?

Barnabas

Seen the Archbishop of York.

Burge-Lubin

Well, why shouldn’t they see the Archbishop of York? What are they fainting for? Has he been murdered?

Barnabas

No: he has been drowned.

Burge-Lubin

Good God! Where? When? How? Poor fellow!

Barnabas

Poor fellow! Poor thief! Poor swindler! Poor robber of his country’s Exchequer! Poor fellow indeed! Wait till I catch him.

Burge-Lubin

How can you catch him when he is dead? You’re mad.

Barnabas

Dead! Who said he was dead?

Burge-Lubin

You did. Drowned.

Barnabas

Exasperated. Will you listen to me? Was old Archbishop Haslam, the present man’s last predecessor but four, drowned or not?

Burge-Lubin

I don’t know. Look him up in the Encyclopedia Britannica.

Barnabas

Yah! Was Archbishop Stickit, who wrote Stickit on the Psalms, drowned or not?

Burge-Lubin

Yes, mercifully. He deserved it.

Barnabas

Was President Dickenson drowned? Was General Bullyboy drowned?

Burge-Lubin

Who is denying it?

Barnabas