1: Left Panel

“Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array.” 

–Genesis 2:1

She woke up to brightness. 

She had a vague conception that she was a she, that seemed right enough – but everything else, from the women dressed in blinding white, to the pastel-blue walls that enclosed her, and the stiff bed she lay upon, felt strange and unfamiliar. The overhead lamp bathed her in a spotlight of fluorescent yellow. She felt something scratch against her leg. When she looked down at herself, she saw that she was dressed in a paper medical gown. 

She blinked at the gaggle of women, waiting for someone to speak and explain something. One of them broke the silence.

“It’s good to see you awake, Abigail,” she said, with a cordial smile. Her hair was a sun-kissed strawberry-blonde, cascading down her shoulders in styled waves, and her grin lit up the room with an intensified brilliance. The women around her, dressed in matching white dresses, seemed to glow at her voice. 

Immediately, she felt herself seize up with resistance. My name is not Abigail, she thought, and searched her mind for another name. There was something there, something beneath the surface… 

“My name is Heaven,” the woman said, and then leaned towards the bed. “I understand that you don’t remember anything, so I’ll explain as clearly as I can. 

“I am a founder of The Garden – short for The Garden of Earthly Delights. I helped create this community as a respite from the sins of the outside world. Degeneracy has rotted the Earth, and created an uninhabitable wasteland.” Heaven clucked in chiding disapproval, as if scolding a small child.

“But you were saved here, Abigail. No need to worry about such filth.”

“Th-thank you,” not-Abigail stammered, her questions growing. The word degeneracy burned a hole of discomfort in her stomach. 

“Let’s get onto logistics, shall we? This room shall serve as your lodging for the time being–,” Heaven gestured towards various items of furniture as she spoke, “the dresser and closet – we have some clothes prepared for you, the mirror–,”

Aida. I’m not Abigail, I’m Aida.

Aida stopped listening to what Heaven had to say, scoping out her surroundings, her eyes darting around the room. There were no windows, and the only light source was artificial. An analog clock mounted to the wall read one-fifteen, but Aida had no idea if that was A.M. or P.M. The floor was hardwood. There was a desk and a chair adjacent to the bed, but without a computer or any books. It was like a hotel room, prepared for a brief guest visit – any guest, slotted in and out, with no evidence of life between stays.

Even the cheapest hostels usually have windows, Aida thought, but Heaven spoke with a finality that did not invite questions. Aida tuned back in, listening unchallengingly. The women in white all watched Heaven as she spoke, their eyes round with reverence. 

“The Caretakers will administer your preliminary medical exam, and bring you food until you’re permitted to eat in the dining hall.” 

That’s what the women are, Aida supposed, and as Heaven left through a door across the bed, the Caretakers quickly assembled, one of them brandishing an old-fashioned medical bag. 

They had her strip down to her underwear beneath the gown – and performed a dizzying series of basic medical tests, which a Caretaker armed with a clipboard dutifully recorded. Her vision, her hearing, her reflexes, her short-term memory – “We have to make sure you’re healthy, and see what kind of job is right for you,” one proffered, to which Aida simply nodded. It wasn’t as if she had much of a choice.  

“What is your name?” one Caretaker quizzed Aida. 

“Abigail.”

The Caretaker nodded approvingly, and Aida narrowed her eyes. 

–

After they left (promising lunch), Aida was told to change into clothes of her comfort. She opened the closet, hoping for jeans and a sweater, and found nothing but a series of long dresses in various muted colors. She touched one and felt cool silk against her fingertips. Mercifully, a few had small pockets, and Aida changed into a lilac-colored dress, reveling in the feeling of moving her hands within them. Pockets meant that she could hold things, have things, private things – a tiny victory in a strange new land.

Underneath the dresses sat rows of taupe-colored kitten heels, as well as a single pair of slippers. She checked the dresser for anything else, perhaps something more practical – but everything else resembled the clothing in the closet, sheen and formal, barely fit for walking – certainly not for running. Aida ran her hands against her calves, feeling bruises and sores against bronze-toned legs, suggesting something hardier than sleek gowns and modest heels – and, with a glance in the mirror, she could see bumps of biceps. I am not made for delicacy, she thought, spite growing as a lump in her throat. 

She returned to her bed, where she had felt something scratch against her leg – and found a crumpled piece of paper, which she unfolded and flattened against the desk. 

It was a legend, of some sort – matching arcane-looking symbols to letters. The words “SAVE THIS” were scrawled hastily across the top of the paper, in clumsy all-caps. 

Aida pocketed the paper.  

2: Middle Panel

“And the Lord God commanded the man, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die.”

–Genesis 2:16-17

Aida did not know how many days passed. The clock ticked, but she could’ve sworn it stopped for hours – waiting, mockingly, taunting her with its imprecision. That was her only option, as the Caretakers who stopped by refused to provide information. They gave her a bowl of rice and chicken, with cheap plastic silverware and tight, withholding smiles. 

Aida had been allotted a bathroom, with basic amenities – that and the bedroom were the only places she had, as her lodging was sealed off from the outside world. 

When the Caretakers came to bring her food, she asked for castor oil, a better brush, and a bonnet – all of which were met with blank stares by the Caretakers, with their white dresses and faces. Aida didn’t want to push her luck by asking for a phone, or a laptop – but still, it seemed as if she had crossed some invisible line. 

In the end, there was a definitive response — they left a flat iron, coiled next to an outlet like a venomous snake. 

–

A pamphlet appeared on Aida’s dresser. 

It had been left while Aida was sleeping, and when she awoke, she seized at the chance to flip through, desperate for a break from the boredom of solitude. 

Printed on glossy pages was a description of the community – The Garden of Earthly Delights, “a sanctuary dedicated to the Care & Protection of its inhabitants”. The information was mostly dry, reading like an advertisement for a cross between a luxury resort and a nursing home, all with a vaguely evangelical sheen. The pages commended the virtue imbued within careers of Caretaking and Protecting (the former reserved for women, the latter for men). All new arrivals, the pamphlet dictated, had to be in mandatory quarantine, but would be integrated into the Garden and assigned fitting careers after a “reasonable waiting period”. 

Within the pamphlet, there was a crude map – irritatingly simple, it depicted the Garden as an amorphous green blob with rough jewel-toned circles indicating the various buildings within the premises. They were mostly unsurprising – a dining hall, municipal building, medical center, recreation building – and a small blob indicating the lost and found building, colored in unassuming khaki. Aida didn’t know why, but it caught her attention, and she scrutinized the map, her gaze returning again and again to the lost and found. She supposed it was because she was lost herself.

She was interrupted by a knock on the door, which she knew was from a Caretaker. Sometimes, they liked to knock, although it was only for the sake of politeness – they would enter anyway. 

“You have been cleared to take a tour,” the Caretaker said, as means of introduction. Aida didn’t remember this Caretaker – her pale face was dotted with freckles, and her blonde hair was pulled back in a French braid. Her lips were drawn in a serious expression. “You’ve been given a pamphlet. Is there anywhere you would like to go in particular?”

“Lost and found,” Aida blurted out. 

The Caretaker responded with an even stare. “Are you sure?”

“Well…it wasn’t officially cleared, but we do try to satisfy all requests. I suppose it’s alright. Come with me, Abigail.” 

–

Aida rode in the backseat of a car. 

For the first time, she saw sunlight – weak it was, filtering through graying clouds — and the sky, an uncertain blue, wavering in the face of possible rain. 

It was irresistibly beautiful, and for a while she could do nothing but stare with her face pressed against the window, soaking it all in. The windows wouldn’t roll down, to her frustration – but this, at least, was something. She was beginning to ground herself in her surroundings – she had been living in a small carriage house, painted a dull mauve, tucked away from the rest of the polished suburban houses in the Garden. The houses went on for miles and miles, all sporting trimmed lawns, many with white picket fences. A few people – women in dresses, men in shirts and pants – wandered through the streets. 

The Caretaker drove, utterly apathetic to it all – but it must be nothing special when that’s what you see every day, Aida figured, and felt jealousy and longing pricking at her chest. 

Eventually, they stopped in front of the lost and found – an unassuming building painted the same tan color that had been depicted in the pamphlet. It looked like a library that had been shoddily refurbished. 

“While we’re here, I lost an umbrella,” the Caretaker said, musing out loud as she parked. After she stepped out of the car, she opened the door for Aida – who barely resisted bolting through the wooden doors to get inside, forcing herself to slow down to not look suspicious. 

The air in the lost and found building was stale, and thick with long-accumulated dust. There wasn’t anyone else inside, and minimal furniture – the room held nothing but rows and rows of various items. Tote bags, water bottles, jackets – they all seemed so deeply, wonderfully human, all these strange old things that proved the existence of real people far more than the stone-faced Caretakers. Aida felt herself tearing up as she clutched the fabric of a moth-eaten hoodie. 

She looked through the various knickknacks, watching the Caretaker in the back of her eye. There was only so long the Caretaker would tolerate this, she knew – the woman’s left hand gripped her located umbrella, and her blue eyes were trained upon Aida like a hawk. 

Finally, Aida found it – something that rang a bell, loud and clear, in the back of her mind. It was an old backpack, embroidered with a bird on the front. The fabric was the color of heather, a faded but proud pinkish-purple. 

The zippered mouth of the bag was empty, but as she rifled through the smaller compartments, she found a small notebook, barely bigger than her hand. She discreetly slipped it into the pocket of her dress and turned back to the Caretaker, shrugging while baring her empty hands.  

“I was just curious,” Aida said, “Lots of stuff here – I wanted to learn more about the Garden.”

The Caretaker stared back at her with an unreadable expression. “Curiosity killed the cat,” she said.

3: Right Panel

”So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken.”

–Genesis 3:23

Back in her room, Aida opened the notebook with the delicacy of opening butterfly wings. The pages shimmered with a fragile beauty. 

Once she began to read, she saw nothing but strings of strange symbols – the strange symbols, she realized with a sharp gasp – in her legend! (Yet, despite her surprise, there was a part of her that felt as if it was nothing but confirmation. Her memory was beginning to restore itself.) 

She sat at the desk, and began a mad dash of translation, her heart pounding – this was a diary, she learned, her diary – more of a political diary, a record in the time of despair. Some of the pages had been torn out, and scant words had been wasted on personal affairs, but there were countless opinions and concerns logged in careful pen. This past Aida had opposed the Garden of Earthly Delights, condemned the creation of a water-wasting, fossil-fuel-burning oasis as the world suffered from climate catastrophe. She had penned her concerns about the founders, deceitful, bigoted ex-televangelists who sold eternal salvation with the same salesperson pitch they used to peddle weight loss products. 

And – Aida’s hands began to tremble violently, and bile rose within her throat – she had condemned the memory serum that had been used on refugees to the Garden. She had doubted that these poor people were dosed consensually – and even if they were, how could someone consent to that? How could someone consent to losing all recollection of their friends, families, loved ones – losing the sheer magnitude of their mind? In the past, she couldn’t even fathom the trauma of such an absolute loss. In the past. Her head began to split with a migraine, and bile trickled from her mouth. 

Aida stared at the floor below. Her mind tunneled an exit. 

“Before them the land is like the garden of Eden,

behind them, a desert waste—

nothing escapes them.” 

–Joel 2:3