‘Go on my dear,’ urges the snake. ‘Take one. Hear it? “Pluck me,” it’s saying. That big, shiny, red one. “Pluck me, pluck me now and pluck me hard.” You know you want to.’
‘But God,’ quotes Eve, putting out feelers for an agent provocateur, clever girl, ‘expressly forbids us to eat the fruit from the tree of knowledge.’
‘Ah yessssss, God . . . But God gave us life, did he not? And God gave us desire, did he not? And God gave us taste, did he not? And who else but God made the damned apples in the first place? So what else is life for but to tassste the fruit we desire?’
Eve folds her arms head-girlishly. ‘God expressly forbade it. Adam said.’
The snake grins through his fangs, admiring Eve’s play-acting. ‘God is a nice enough chap in his way. I dare say he means well. But between me, you and the Tree of Knowledge, he is terribly insecure.’
‘Insecure? He made the entire bloody universe! He’s omnipotent.’
‘Exactly! Almost neurotic, isn’t it? All this worshipping, morning, noon, and night. It’s “Oh Praise Him, Oh Praise Him, Oh Praise the Everlassssting Lord.” I don’t call that omnipotent. I call it pathetic. Most independent authorities agree that God has never sufficiently credited the work of virtual particles in the creation of the universssse. He raises you and Adam on this diet of myths while all the really interesting information is locked up in these juicy apples. Seven days? Give me a break.’
‘Well, I see your point. But Adam will hit the frigging roof.’
