The book on the end was shoved back slightly, recessed from the rest, so I reached for it to pull it forward. I started a little when I saw its title: Paradise Lost by John Milton.
I heard myself mumbling the words on the handwritten note my mom had left me. I hadn’t realized I’d memorized them. I formed them free, and free they must remain til they enthrall themselves; I else must change their nature. I pulled the book from the shelf and turned it over in my hands. The pages were uneven and yellowed, and the edges of the fabric cover were frayed. Gingerly, I opened to the first page. The paper was dry and splotched with age.
Paradise Lost
A Poem in Twelve Books
The author John Milton
This Seventh Edition, Adorn’d with Sculptures
Printed in London, 1705
I’d never seen a book this old. Early editions were super rare. And expensive. Which, it struck me then, might not be a big deal for someone like North. How much would rich people pay to have their transgressions erased? A lot, I imagined. I grazed the page with my fingertips, not wanting to damage the delicate paper. Gently, I began to turn pages, one by one, not so much looking for the quote as taking in the book as a whole, its eerie oldness. When I got to the third page, I stopped. Instead of words, this page was a watercolor painting. The caption beneath it read:
HIM THE ALMIGHTY POWER
HURLD HEADLONG FLAMING FROM TH’ ETHEREAL SKIE.
It was an excerpt from the text above, and with the image I could understand its meaning. God was casting an angel down from the sky. I turned more pages, looking for more pictures. There were many, each one stranger than the last and yet oddly familiar at the same time. When I got to Book Seven, I understood why. The caption beneath the illustration was:
GOD SAID,
LET TH’ EARTH BRING FORTH FOUL LIVING IN HER KINDE,
CATTEL AND CREEPING THINGS, AND BEAST OF THE EARTH,
EACH IN THEIR KINDE.
It was a depiction of the creation of Earth. There was a lion in the center of the page, its head an exact replica of the mask Liam had worn to the Masquerade Ball, and a cluster of other animals lined up beside it, some with horns and others with antlers, some spotted, some striped, all startlingly familiar. I turned the page, looking for Adam and Eve. We’d read parts of Genesis at the beginning of the semester, so I knew they were created next. I didn’t really need more confirmation, but I got it anyway. The faces of Adam and Eve I found two pages later matched the human masks I’d seen bowing to the serpent in the arena that night.
My eyes shot up to the ceiling in wordless thanks. This discovery felt purposeful, like I’d been led here, to this moment, to find these drawings, to make this connection. Both the note my mom had left me and the masks the secret society used were taken from this book. There had to be something more in these pages. Maybe a clue to what she was trying to tell me. I held the book against my chest and willed myself to find it.
There was a soft knock. “It’s me” came North’s voice through the door. I was still holding the book when I let him in.
“Milton fan?” he asked with a nod at the book.
“I think I might be,” I replied. “I’ll let you know after I’ve read it.”
“You want to borrow my copy?”
I looked at him in surprise. “Can I? It looks expensive.”
He laughed, reaching around me to close the door. “It was. But I assume you’re not planning to use it as a drink coaster. Of course you can borrow it. Books are meant to be read. On paper.”
“How retro of you,” I teased. North dropped his messenger bag and walked into the kitchen with a brown bag. As he opened the bag, my stomach growled in anticipation.
“Ham or turkey?” he asked.
“Turkey,” I said, hopping up onto his single bar stool as he slid my choice across the kitchen counter. The sandwich was panini pressed, the cheese dripping out from between dark crusty toast.
I bit into it. It was even more delicious than it looked. I hungrily took another bite before I’d even swallowed the first. North reached for my wrist, turning it over in his hand.
“Greedily she engorged without restraint,” he teased, pretending to etch the words into my skin.
I felt myself blush as I hurried to swallow. “I didn’t have lunch!” I said between chews.
“It’s a line from Paradise Lost,” he said, laughing. “Describing the moment when Eve ate the fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”
“You know it well enough to quote it?”
“Well, that line in particular I remember because my aunt put it on the back of the first Paradiso T-shirt she ever had printed,” replied North. “The name Café Paradiso is actually a shout-out to Milton. And Università del caffè in Italy where she learned to make coffee.”
“‘I formed them free, and free they must remain til they enthrall themselves; I else must change their nature,’” I recited. “Book three, lines one twenty-four through one twenty-six.”
North’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Impressive for a girl who hasn’t read it.”
“Do you know what it means?” I asked.
“I think so,” he said. “It sounds like God talking about humanity’s free will. By making man free, he allowed the fall to happen.”
“The ‘fall,’” I repeated. “The fall from what?”
“For Satan, it was a literal fall from heaven to hell. For man, it was getting expelled from Paradise.” He flipped to the back of the book, to the final illustration. An angel who bore a striking resemblance to the statue in the cemetery was leading Adam and Eve out of Eden’s gates. The caption beneath it read:
THEY HAND IN HAND WITH WANDRING STEPS AND SLOW,
THROUGH EDEN TOOK THIR SOLITARIE WAY.
“In both cases, the created were trying to become like the creator and enslaving themselves in the process,” North explained, his voice all teacherly and cute. “That’s what Milton meant by the word enthrall—in Old English, it meant ‘to put in bondage.’ At least, a—”
“Enslaving themselves to what?” I asked, too curious to feel stupid.
“Their pride, for one thing,” North replied. “And their blindness. By believing the serpent’s lies, Adam and Eve altered their worldview. They saw the world differently after that. They could no longer see it for what it really was.” North smiled. “Thus beginning a perpetual cycle of shitty decisions.”
“But shouldn’t we be able to get past that?” I asked. “I mean, God gave humanity reason, right?”
“Reason didn’t do Adam and Eve much good,” North pointed out.
“But they didn’t know what we know,” I replied. “We’ve progressed so much since then. As society—and science—advances, shouldn’t we eventually be able to see the world for what it really is again?”
“That’s one view,” North said.
“What’s your view?”
North hesitated. “Have you ever heard the term noumenon?” he asked. “It’s Greek. From the word nous, which basically means ‘intuition.’”
Nous. It was the word the serpent had used in the arena. An eerie feeling rippled through me, almost like déjà vu.
“I’ve heard of nous,” I said vaguely. “What does noumenon mean?”
“It’s a type of knowledge that doesn’t come from the senses,” North replied. “Truths that exist beyond the observable world. Science insists that noumenon is a fiction, that there isn’t anything that exists outside of the observable world. I think Adam and Eve made that same presumption when they ate that fruit. They thought they had all the facts. They couldn’t see how little they saw.”