MODEL 646
Eve was scrubbing a pot when her dress tore at the seam on her right breast. It was an old dress, falling below the knees, but the material was said to last for centuries. Her legs were thin and white like the rest of her body. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bun. Her face, stunning. Her eyes, blue.
Adam sat in his recliner with his newspaper. His delicate fingers turned each page, rubbing the bottom edge over his paunch. The two sons were playing trains on the living room floor. Eve washed dishes and sang or hummed various church songs: It Is Well with My Soul, Amazing Grace, and Oh, Our Lovely God.
“Dear?” she called to her husband.
“Yes, my love?”
“Will you take out the yolks?”
“Of course, dear. But let me finish this article. Did you know chickens now outnumber us?”
“That’s good news.” She smiled at him, her lips red with lipstick.
“It says it right here,” he said, pointing to the page. “Isn’t it wonderful!”
When Adam finished the article, he stood and gathered the bowl of swimming yolks.
“Careful not to spill. I just shampooed the carpet.”
“Oh, Eve. You know me.”
Outside, the snow was deep. He trudged through until he was far enough into the woods. The yolks slid out of the bowl and disappeared into the first layer of snow. He waited for what was left to separate completely from the bowl. He took his hand and wiped out the last of the gooey remains. He cleaned his hand in the snow and walked back to the house.
The boys were on the floor with their trains.
“Thank you, dear,” she said as she put her arms on his shoulders, reaching on her tippy toes to give him a peck on the lips.
“For you my dear, the world.” Then he turned to his sons and said, “Boys! Time to get some fresh air. It’s good for the lungs!”
The boys stood. The oldest son had a streak of black hair parted on the left side, every strand perfectly placed. He looked up at Adam and said, “Great idea, Dad!”
“Yay, let’s go!” said the younger boy who had blond hair that flopped loosely around his head.
“That’s my boys!” said Adam. “Go out and have yourselves a battle! One for the ages! Go in the woods and find sticks and pretend you’re fighting the communists!”
The boys ran through snow. They went into the woods and broke branches off trees and began swinging them around. The younger boy twirled his stick before thrashing the nearest pine. The stick snapped on impact, sending the broken section into the air, striking his brother hard in the face. They both stopped and cocked their heads looking at each other. There was a still moment. Nothing stirred, no wind to speak of. Both brothers shin deep in snow.
Finally the older brother said, “Let’s pretend you’re a communist.”
The younger brother stood still waiting to connect the information.
“You’re a communist!” the older boy said, then raised his heavy branch and struck hard the head of his younger sibling. The boy shifted with the blow and then stood straight looking at his older brother.
He was hit on the ear, and the blow this time sent him to his knees.
“You’re a damn commie! Ha ha! I killed a commie!” the older boy said as he kept on thrashing. Again and again the branch hit hard on his brother’s blond head.
When the older boy was finished, he looked at the body lying in the snow—how the legs curled and how the hand shielded his face. He took the hand away and found an eye dislodged, connected only by a small, tight spring. The other eye was open wide, looking to the trees.
The older boy walked away from his brother’s body and went inside, back to his trains. Adam was working on a crossword puzzle. Eve was on her knees wrapping the vacuum’s cord. When she straightened herself to stand, the rip above her right breast tore, further exposing a portion of her breast. She looked down at the rip and touched her uncovered flesh. It was soft and white, something that belonged to her.
Eve kept her hand on her breast until her husband said, “My love, can you tell me a three-letter word that starts with H and has a relation to pig?”
“Oh, Adam,” she said, now standing up. “You know I don’t trouble myself with such nonsense. There’s work to be done.” She went over and patted his shoulder and then rolled the vacuum into the closet.
“I killed a commie! I killed a commie!” said the son, making the trains crash together.
“Son, go and fetch your brother,” she said. “We’ll be eating soon.”
“Father, tell Mother I killed a commie.”
Eve and Adam looked at each other. Their heads tilted. They headed for the back door. When they found the younger son lying in the snow, they stared down at him. They examined the body. The snow gathered in the boy’s blond hair. Eve squatted down to touch the spring that attached the eye. She touched the boy’s opened eye. It was blue like her own.
It was getting late. They went in and Eve prepared the meal. She cracked the eggs into the bowl and divided the shells on the plates. Five shells per plate. They sat and Adam blessed the meal. “Dear heavenly Father, we thank you for your many blessings. We are grateful for what you have given us. Please bless this meal unto our bodies. Amen.”
“Amen,” said Eve.
“Amen,” said the boy.
The eggshells went into their mouths cleanly. They were crunched down until there was nothing left.
* * *
In the morning Eve went out, brushing the snow off the station wagon with her hands before driving to the grocery store. She parked in unison with ninety-nine other station wagons. All of the Eves proceeded to the front doors, filing in one by one. They grabbed their carts and loaded them each with twenty-five cartons of eggs. When picking up a stack of egg cartons, Eve sensed that the rip on her breast was tearing further. Now half of her breast was revealed. The Eve next to her paused and looked at her breast; she pointed her finger at it but did not utter a word.
When Eve got home she carried in the cartons of eggs. She had to make multiple trips. On her last trip, snow from the roof toppled and fell on her head. She set the cartons of eggs on a nearby snow bank and wiped the snow out of her eyes. When she opened her eyes, the world was bright. The brightness caused her to narrow her focus, shielding the light, attempting to make sense of her surroundings. The snow covered the landscape. The trees were white. Her house shined. There was a plaque bolted to the siding, right next to the front door. There were letters in gold against a black slate.
She opened the door and said, “Oh darling, could you come over here?”
“Eve, give me one moment. I think I’m on to something here.”
“Dear, please put down the crossword and come out here.”
Adam looked at her as if not knowing what he was seeing. Then he stood and walked to her.
“Adam, what does this say? Will you please read this to me?”
Adam read Eve what was inscribed on the plaque.
Mid-20th Century Family. Model 646.
Meet Adam and Eve!
In this quaint home you will experience the life of a Mid-20th century family. Including children! They eat, speak, and even say grace together. Notice their interactions. Let your imaginations wander to the astonishments of the past.
Eve stood staring at the plaque.
She said, “Adam, dear, who wrote this?”
Adam read it again out loud and then looked at it some more. After some time he read it out loud for the third time.
“That’s what it says, dear.”
Eve tilted her head. Adam read the last four words over and over again: astonishments of the past. Astonishments of the past. Astonishments of the past.
They went in. She stuffed the refrigerator with the egg cartons, then began dusting off the furniture and bookshelf. While she was reaching high on the shelf, her hair fell out of its bun. Now it was a loose, blond end. She reached back and felt its slackness. She swayed her head so her hair swooped back and forth. She left it that way.
* * *
“Adam, can you take out the yolks?”
“Is it time already?”
The older son played with the trains. But instead of running the train in a circle he made a ramp using some old books. He took the track and placed it over the books so the train would have to climb uphill.
“Over the hill she goes,” said the son as he guided the train up the track.
Adam walked the bowl of yolks out to the woods. He nearly tripped over the foot of his youngest son. It was sticking up out of the snow. He set the bowl down and wiped the snow off the boy’s face. There he was. The son. The floppy blond hair was frozen stiff. He looked at his good eye, directly into it. The eye looked back at him. Adam touched the eye of his son with each of his fingers as if he was playing one note five times on the piano. Then he stood with his bowl of yolks and dumped them, making sure the contents would not spill on his son. He used his hand to wipe the bowl clean and then looked at his hand. The slimy translucence of egg whites connected his fingers. He put the tips of his fingers in his mouth, sucking off what was left.
When he went back into the house Eve was setting the table. He watched her. He saw the way she moved from one task to another. He set the bowl down on the table.
“Dear,” she said. “You know that is not where we put the bowl.”
He approached her, gazing at her partially exposed breast. He reached for her and grabbed hold of the ripped material and tore it further so the breast was completely bare. She stood with her head cocked looking at him. He looked at the breast’s round shape and delicately poked it to make it shift from side to side. Then he placed both hands there and leaned closer to see. The skin was all white, smooth and blank as a palm or the sole of his foot, pointy at the end and unmarked as the unbroken tip of an egg. He looked in Eve’s eyes and again at her breast. Both of them were looking now, tilting their heads, silent.
* * *
In the middle of the night, Adam stood from his recliner. He had never once sat on the couch. It was a long soft couch, without blemish. He walked to it and sat. He kicked off his loafers and propped one foot onto the couch. He pressed his foot into the cushion and watched as the indentation grew with more force applied. He turned himself and placed both feet on the couch. He looked at his feet. Feet. He watched Eve clean the dishes. There she was, now with a breast exposed. He watched her for a very long time. He looked down at the newspaper on the floor. He watched his son with the trains. He looked back at Eve cleaning dishes. Her hair was down. The end of her dress shifted as she scrubbed.
Eve stopped doing dishes. She turned and saw Adam looking at her. She reached down and pulled her dress up to her knees. She pulled her dress up further and then touched her thigh. It was soft, but not as soft as her breast. She touched her breast. Adam lay rigid on the couch.
Eve left the dirty dishes in the sink. She joined Adam on the couch—Adam had to move his feet to accommodate her and they sat looking at each other.
“Speak?” said Eve.
“Speak?” said Adam.
Adam stood and scooched toward Eve, their knees now touching. Eve reached out and placed her index finger on Adam’s lips. He opened his mouth slightly and felt her finger go in, smooth. Adam then took his finger and put it into Eve’s mouth. They let their fingers linger until Eve began moving her finger all along the inside of Adam’s mouth.
When the sun began to rise Eve noticed the light on Adam’s face. She took her finger out of his mouth and removed his finger from her mouth.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello,” he said
“We are here,” she said, and grabbed him by the ear and pulled them both to their feet. She led him to the front door, opened it, and then they stood looking out to the rising sun. The light brightened the snow, and the snow sparkled. Eve took her hand off Adam’s ear and reached for his hand.
They stood and waited for the day to pass.
"Let’s keep looking,” said Eve, pointing with her other hand to the horizon.
“I see everything,” said Adam.
The sun lowered itself as it always had. Once the moon was high in the night sky, it softened the glow of the world. The snow was almost blue at night. They watched on as the night turned back to day. The sun rose, and the day was slightly longer. And the next day was longer than the last, but only a moment longer. On this day the snow began to melt.
“Let’s keep looking,” said Eve.
Adam nodded and said, “We are here.”
The snow became water. The water was motionless at first but then began to sway as if it was one large body. When night came, the waters rose, filling the house. They now were under water. They waited for the sun. With the rising of the sun, the waters emptied and soon the land was soft with puddles on the road. The earth relaxed and breathed and made the ground green. The sun sank and then rose and the two of them stood and looked out, still holding hands.
The older son, in the living room, looked down at his trains. He put his palm on his head. He rubbed his head in circles. He slapped his head. Then he made a fist and began beating down hard on his head. On the tenth blow he stopped and turned and looked up to find his mother and father. He did find them, outside in front of the house and went to stand by them. He looked down at their clasped hands. Then he too looked out at the day turning to night and then the day and then the night. When it was night again, he saw the stars above, flashes of them everywhere, multiplying in the darkness.
“Night,” said the boy, now leaning against his mother.
“We are here,” she said.
On the last day, as the three were looking out, they felt something behind them. They turned to find that the old Douglas fir had just fallen through the roof on the dining room table. Splintered pieces of wood scattered over the carpet and some slid over to the kitchen’s tiled floors. The branches of the great tree reached out toward them as if it could grab and shake them. Adam, Eve, and their son backed away from the fallen tree. Eve let go of Adam’s hand. She began walking to the woods, her feet sinking into the mucky spring ground. Adam and their son followed. When she found her youngest son’s foot sticking out of the mud, she grabbed hold but could not pull him completely out of the earth. Adam and their oldest son reached and took hold of the blond boy and with their combined strength slipped his filthy body out of the muck. They carried him from the woods, out into the openness of the empty road. Eve wiped his face clean with the water from a puddle. She rubbed his good eye until she could see the blue in it. His hair was caked with mud. Her white body was now dirty too, all of it. She brought the boy’s face to her breast. She looked down at him and tilted her head. She waited.
JP Vallières (@JpVallieres) is from the Village of Adams. He is the author of the novel, The Ketchup Factory. Some of his work can be found at Tin House, Santa Monica Review, and Passages North. He lives with Kimmy and their four sons in northern Idaho. Find more at jpvallieres.com.