Venus For A Day

Chapter 5

"Who is Lillith?" I ask again, standing in line at the post office. Buying stamps was the only errand on my list today, before Venus arrived, and we were driving by. She agreed so readily, so eagerly, I became suspicious. Does she have a thing for post offices?

As post offices go, this is a good one, I suppose. It's new, replacing the old cinder-block building that both intrigued and scared me when I was a kid. On the one hand, in the old building, the people were friendly, talking to you about all the goings-on about town, and how their sister is doing in Muncie, and how the new folks moving in at 617 Smithfield Lane are so very interesting. There were lollipops and huge posters of neat-looking stamps.

On the other hand, as you waited in line you spent your time eyeing the most-wanted criminals list. You wondered if one of them might not show up right there, right then, just when you were buying your one lousy stamp.

This new post office is a different story. More like a store in a shopping mall than a government building, you can buy everything from packaging tape and stamp collections to stuffed teddy bears with flags emblazoned on the chest and padded envelopes that look like gift wrapping. There are still posters of stamps, but there are also bold, red-slashed warnings of all the deadly things you cannot send through the mail, lest you be the next criminal on the most-wanted list. There are six stations instead of two, including a stamp-only lane. The workers are still friendly, but not because they know you. Probably just policy, these days, meant to keep the atmosphere positive but the performance efficient, so that when the lines are long, as they always are, everything moves along quickly.

Even so, you can still imagine a stressed-out worker going postal. But I guess that is true anywhere these days.

I ought to save the Lillith conversation for a more private venue, but the idea of there being any kind of snake-woman in me is increasingly intriguing.

"Lillith," Venus replies with what seems genuine admiration. "Now there is a primordial human. You have heard of Eve and Adam, I assume?"

"Adam and Eve, of course. The first man and woman."

Venus scowls. "You see how your language has shaped you? I said Eve and Adam. You immediately transposed it to Adam and Eve. Adam First."

"That's just the way everyone says it," I argue, sure everyone in line would agree. Already one man behind us, and two women ahead, are listening. I can tell. Other than those three, Venus does not seem to be drawing an audience. I'd have to watch for a little while longer to be sure, but it looks like she turns the wattage of her glow up or down at will.

"The unconscious use of language," Venus instructs, "shapes and furthers your current patriarchal culture. All the ancient religions, the ones alive long before your Judeo-Christian traditions, knew the first creator to be a creatress. SHE did not create Eve as the first woman."

The woman two places in front of us has a huge box on the floor, which she keeps pushing forward with her well-dressed foot. It makes an irritating sound, but I'm thankful for how it interrupts Venus' voice to our eavesdroppers. The line is moving fast enough that I can time the movement to my words.

"Who says SHE didn't create Eve?" I ask.

"From as far back as 2400 BCE," Venus informs, "writers were acknowledging Lillith as arriving before Eve. Though the Sumerians called her a storm demon."

"The Sumerians?"

"Oh yes, stories about Lillith can be found all over the world. The Hebrews called her 'The Night Monster Who Haunts Edom,' the Talmud called her a 'Charming Woman,' and in the Kabala she is still called 'The One Who Taught Wisdom to Adam.' The Babylonians called her 'The Evil of Love and Sexuality,' yet the Arabs called her a 'Holy Lady.'"