Eden by Keith; Korman Page A

I sit up instead of crawl? Can I kiss your ear?” The angry dog said nothing.
    Eden laid her head on the edge of the bed. The angry dog put his head beside her, but did not move his paws.
    â€œMy nose. You can kiss my nose.”
    Eden nuzzled the angry dog’s nose. He took a deep breath and sighed.
    Her master stood over the bed and knelt by the child, and the angry dog did not object. Softly her master began to speak into the little girl’s ear, so softly Eden couldn’t catch what words he spoke, just that he was telling the little girl how much her parents loved her, how much they wanted her to get better, how much they wanted to see her open her eyes again …
    Her master’s soft whispers went on for a long time. His voice rose and fell, reminding Eden of that time when he had counted the grains of sand in the Desert Man’s hand. And the angry dog’s eyes had closed to tight slits. He was beginning to sleep, the first sleep since their fall from the gangway, the first sleep in a long time.
    â€œI’m going to kiss your girl,” Eden murmured.
    And the angry dog murmured, “All right. All right. Just let me sleep a bit.”
    Eden’s nose nuzzled the little girl’s ear, “Everyone loves you. Wake up. We’re all here.”
    The little girl struggled in her dark sleep and her eyes fluttered.
    Eden returned to the angry dog. “Why don’t you kiss her? She’d like it, if it was you instead of me.”
    The sleeping dog opened his eyes, rose from the foot of the bed and stretched. Carefully he padded up to the child’s face and nuzzled her, saying, “I’m here now. I’m here.”
    Eden held her breath.
    The girl’s eyes fluttered again. In a corner of the room, the potter clutched his wife and she pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out. Then fell to their master’s knees to kiss his hand. The lambs had joined Samson and the crowd of onlookers at the door. Many heads and faces looked in, worried faces, gaping mouths, eyes wide in awe and wonder.
    At the doorway with the others, Judas didn’t know what to make of what he saw.
    Fear and doubt and longing fought a silent battle. Could he really believe his lying eyes? Shaken, he turned his face away … but then slowly stared again, as if he could not bear to lose this moment. Yes, no denying the child had woken from her dark sleep.
    And the girl cried.
    As though for the first time.

    The name of this man spread like birds through a field of wheat, the word of his coming flying on sparrows’ wings, swooping over the stalks.
    They came to him in flocks.
    Out from their homes and off their fields to greet the companions even miles from the nearest town, to offer them food or drink with little enough of their own to spare. Total strangers welcomed the companions with firewood or shelter for the night if only to sit and hear a few of their master’s words. For their master stopped in many places to speak, sitting upon rock or fallen tree while those who gathered listened, not only to his words but to the sound of his voice, which sustained them in ways food had never done.
    During these times Eden sat with the one called Judas, who held her in his lap as her master’s words rose and fell and people listened and learned. Some learned to pray for the first time, others to love for the first time and yet others to forgive. Many lessons were given and many remembered, but what Eden remembered most clearly were the lambs quietly grazing among the gathered, and Samson the donkey silently swishing his tail. Judas clasped Eden in his warm arms and for a spell the troubled man ceased to argue with his unseen foe.
    But seemed at peace for a time …

    One lonely night found the travelers with no shelter but the land and sky, no dwellings nearby and no human flock to keep them company in a pasture of bare rocks. A night of stars but no moon and few clouds, so no