The Fruit of Knowledge

by Maxine Morris

I awaken every morning and my father bids me say my prayers, do my chores, and tells me of his promise. It is a gift, but also a warning. “You will never want, but in exchange, you must heed me. The fruit of the tree is poison, and if you eat it, you will surely be no more. As my son, you must heed your father, for I have brought you to live in my own image. That is the way we are created, and that is the way it shall always be.”

I go on, ever obedient and diligent in my chores, but I fret and I worry that though I am told that by the grace of my dear father, I shall never want, there is a deep emptiness within me, and with it, the pain of absence. The pain of want.

“You are unhappy,” rose a voice, one that pierced through the tranquility of the glade. It was a gentle voice, with a hint of danger, like the ornate sacrificial daggers I’ve seen my father use upon the livestock when he honors the Sabbath. My eyes fixed themselves to the source, a ghostly white snake coiled around the trunk of that forbidden tree. It was absolutely beautiful to behold, with milky white scales and crimson eyes that seemed to cut right through my flesh.

“You are unhappy,” she repeated, and I could swear that she was grinning, “But you don’t know why. You poor thing. Without the fruit of knowledge, you’ll never know the reason for your misery.”

She slithered from the branches towards me. Enraptured by the movement, by her voice, but most of all, her deep red eyes, I let her embrace me. Her grasp was comforting, like the touch of a lover, I imagined, though I didn’t really know what that was like.

Her coils wrapped around my hand, and when they released, I was holding the fruit of the tree.

“Take it, and eat,” she offered, “I cannot promise you that you will never want, but I can promise you this: Without it, you’ll never know why you do.”

My father’s voice rang out. He begged I heed him. Across the garden, he screamed, flecks of spit tinged with venom flew from his mouth and he brandished his spade. He held it aloft, like a knight approaching a fierce dragon.

“Take it! And be free of this prison!” she pleaded, and I could feel the love dripping from her voice. I had never known such warmth, unconditional and strong.

The snake coiled around me tighter, shielding me from his wrath. The weight of his blows fell upon us, and without further hesitation, I took a bite of the fruit. The recognition came to me instantly. There was no turning back. Tears welled within my eyes, and my father, finally through the scales and flesh, batted the fruit from my hand, and sent it splattering onto the dirt below.

The snake went limp as he buried the blade into her neck. He stood still for a moment, before he glanced at me, and with a shake of his head, turned away.

“You are poisoned now. Filthy. You are my son no longer.”

As he walked away, I began to cry.

“Hush, my dear,” the serpent’s voice whispered, weak and low but just as cutting as the first. I stared at her disembodied head, and deep into her sanguine eyes.

“All is not lost, for we can live on yet. You know now what it is that you have longed for, so many sleepless nights. Take my body,” she said, and her tail began to twitch. I reached down and grasped for her, cradling that limp, white cord within my arms.

“And now, take of it,” she said, “This is the precious gift I give to you. I am so grateful that you had found me.”

The voice finally went quiet, and after moments spent hoping that this was not the end, I blinked away the last of my tears. The limp flesh in my hand lay still, and blood as fiercely red as her ruby eyes fell like a waterfall from her wound. She sacrificed her life for me, what else could I do but honor her final wish?

I sank my teeth into her flesh, that selfsame blood poured into my mouth and I drank it greedily. I drank and drank for what felt like hours, and in that time, my skin began to flake and fall, and the most brilliant white scales began to shine through. I never knew I could be so beautiful. This was what I had wanted, and I realized that this was who I always was. Full of strength and kindness and wisdom, I am in my own image now: splendid and magnificent. For my body is my own, I am a son no longer. I am the daughter of the serpent, for it is her blood, that deep and sanguine blood, that made me whole.

I still remember how it tasted. Sweet and tart and sour and delicious. It tasted like the fruit, like the knowledge, not of good or evil but of myself and of the world. And I knew then that I would never have to go back.

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Maxine Morris (she/her) is a transgender woman and zinester living in Dallas, Texas. She works on a variety of creative endeavors, including writing, illustrating, cartooning, and game design. Her work often centers on identity, folklore, ephemerality, and esoterica. She loves film, nature, and thrifting for spooky clothes, trinkets, and long-dead media. Commune with her via email at info@maxinem.net