Original Sin

                                      1.

        The weather outside was beautiful.  He gazed through the
transparent rectangle of glass to the green lawn, edged by
flowering bushes.  The sky was bright blue, and birds were
singing in a maple tree.  The branches were swaying in the
morning breeze, and from his bedroom he could hear the gentle
rustle of leaves.  Then he remembered -- today was his birthday!
 His heart jumped as he slid from bed and hastily put on his
favorite jeans and shirt.  He was so happy that he forgot to
smack his shoes together over the garbage can, and bits of mud
and dust flew about the floor.
        When he emerged from his bedroom, he saw his mother, still in
her night gown, leaning against the refrigerator.  She was
sipping steaming coffee from a mug and humming peacefully to
herself.
        "Hi ma!"
        She turned around with a start.
        "Morning!  And how's the birthday boy today?"
        She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, and he giggled.
        "Pretty good.  I'm goin' outside."
        His mother moved out of the way as he ran to the door.  He
bounded onto the lawn and barely heard his mother say "Don't be
gone too long!"  He skidded on the dew laden grass and inhaled
the Spring air, still heavily perfumed with pollen.  His mother
continued to sip her coffee as he disappeared behind the maple
tree and was gone.
        The little boy played until lunch time.  He climbed a tree,
hunted for fish in a stream, and played with the neighbor's big,
black dog.  He went to his friend's house, and they played in an
old tree house until they were bored.  Then they rested on a
tree branch.
        "So, what kind of presents do ya' think you'll get?"
        The little boy let his feet swing a big further.
        "I don't know.  But I sure hope I got a bike.  You know, the
one we saw that day after school?"  He looked up into the tree
branches, and the sunlight flickered among the leaves.  He
thought of the red frame, the chrome spoked wheels, the silver
bell on the handlebar.
        "Do ya' think your parents will let you have your own bike yet?
 My mom said I'd have to wait another year.  Maybe when I'm
eight, I'll get one too."
        The two of them sat for a while longer, in silence, each
dreaming of how wonderful a bicycle would be.  When he got home,
his mother was stringing a rainbow of balloons around the back
porch.  He helped her.  It was several hours later when his
friends began to arrive.

                                     2.

        The last of the guests had arrived.  The little boy was tired
of kissing his aunts and grandmother.  He patiently accepted
each of the gifts they bore, and he placed them into a pile on
the picnic table.  Then he ran to his friends, and they played
in the yard.  They drank the fruit punch that his mother had
made, and his father fired up the charcoal grill, on which he
prepared hamburgers and hot dogs.
        It was the best birthday he had ever had.  The weather was
beautiful, and, as he ate supper, surrounded by his best
friends, he watched the colored balloons dancing in the wind. 
        After eating, the older relatives remained at the picnic table
and talked about their jobs, their children, the vacations they
hoped to take.  The children went off and sat beneath the
spreading branches of the maple tree.  The little boy sat in the
middle, with the colorfully wrapped packages scattered about
him.  He began to open the presents, starting with the largest
box first.  His friends watched on, each waiting anxiously for
the moment when the little boy would pick up their gift.
        He listened to the crinkling noise as he ran his fingers along
the edges of the wrapping paper.  He thanked each of his friends
for the presents.  His father came up to him and whispered
"Don't you think you better thank grandma and them for the
presents?"  He reluctantly left his friends.  He had to kiss all
of the old women again, and his grandfather helped out when he
held out his strong, old hand.  
        The little boy ran into the house.  He walked down the hallway
and passed into the living room.  He stopped.  There, high on
the bookshelf, something was shining brightly.  It was a crystal
paper weight, one his father had received many years ago.  The
setting sun cast its orange rays into the crystal, and they
reemerged in countless intricate ways.  One of the rays just
happened to fall upon the little boy's eyes. The crystal
shimmered.  He walked over to the bookcase and gazed upward at
what now appeared to be a chunk of glass.
        Then the little boy remembered. His older brother had once been
caught playing with the crystal, and his father had gotten very
angry.  "I've had that for twenty years," he had shouted, "and I
don't want someone smashing it on the floor!"
        The boy heard his mother call him from the back porch, and he
ran to his original destination -- the bathroom.  Minutes later,
when he opened the back door, he could hear his friends, all
expressing wonder at the last present he was to receive.  His
eyes opened wide, and he walked cautiously over to the gleaming
red bicycle.  Without a word, he climbed onto the leather seat.
His parents stood at his side, large smiles on their faces.
        "Happy birthday, son," his father said. He patted him on the
back, and the boy leaned over and hugged his mother and father
while still sitting on the bike.
        "Thank you, mom and dad!" he kept repeating. He grabbed onto
the chromed handlebars.  One of his friends said "Go ahead, ring
the bell!"
        As the shiny metal lever moved beneath his thumb, a bright
tinkling sound emerged.  He rang it again, so pleased by this
sound, better than rain beating softly upon the roof at night,
better than the singing of birds in the morning.  He sat on the
bike for a long time, bathed in the warmth of the setting sun,
laughing with his friends and talking about where they would all
ride their bikes the next day.
        As night fell, the boy's mother brought out his birthday cake. 
The aunts and grandmother rushed to help light the candles. 
When they were all lit, and grandma was sucking on her scorched
forefinger, everyone sat down again at the table and sang the
birthday song.  He gazed with wonder into the pink and white
candles which smelled of molten wax.  Everybody's face flickered
in the candlelight as a breeze passed over them.
        Just as he made his wish and pursed his lips, he looked at the
icing fruit blossoms which outlined the cake.  He blew.  The
candles went out, and they all smelled smoke.  Everyone ate, and
the boys and girls consumed the sweet icing and cool ice cream
until they felt sick to their stomachs.
        The boy sat at the head of the table, his head capped by a tall
cone made of foiled cardboard. He was playing with one of his
presents, a box of miniature plastic animals.  His favorite was
a bright green giraffe, which he moved around his plate.  As he
played, he wondered if a giraffe of such a color really existed.
        The party gradually disbanded, as each of the children said
they had to be home by eight o'clock.  The relatives climbed
into their cars and drove off.  The boy was left alone on the
porch for a while.  As he sat and thought of all the presents he
had received, his mother emerged and busied herself with
cleaning the table.  He walked into the house.
        He was in the living room when he remembered the paper weight. 
He saw it on the bookshelf.  It had lost its magic, and it now
seemed more touchable, begging his manual inspection.  He looked
around and realized that his parents would be outside for a
while.  He moved a chair from the dining room table to the front
of the bookcase.  Standing carefully on the chair, he was
suddenly staring directly into the paperweight.  It was bigger
than he had imagined from down there.  The crystal was flawless.
 The facets were wonderfully symmetric.  He saw his own
reflection in one of the facets.  Around his face he saw the
distorted view of the living room, the ceiling and floor bent
wildly at the edges of the crystal.
        He reached out.  He saw the angry look in his father's eyes. 
He saw his 1older brother standing with his head bowed down, his
gaze cast upon the carpet in shame.  The little boy felt afraid.
 His fingertips touched the cool glass.  And then, ever so
carefully, he lifted the crystal from the shelf.  It was
wonderfully heavy, so smooth to his touch.  He noticed every
facet, every contour on the glass surfaces.
        The voice of his father shattered his hypnotic fascination, and
the little boy replaced the crystal hastily upon the bookshelf. 
He jumped down to the floor and replaced the chair at the table.
 He tried his best to leave everything as he had found it.  He
breathed heavily and looked to the shelf again.  His father was
just passing through the door when he noticed that the crystal
was slightly to the right of its original position.  And he had
left fingerprints upon the crystal faces.  The boy fled to his
bedroom and closed the door.  He foresaw his father's anger, a
shaking finger in his face, the raised voice.  Then he thought
of something.
        A lie.
        Maybe his mother had moved it while dusting.  Perhaps one of
his friends had played with it while the others were outside at
his party.  It would be impossible to say who.  He sat on his
bed and thought a while longer until he saw the opened presents
lying in front of the dresser.  There were so many new toys he
had to play with!  He sat down upon the floor, and, as he
played, the memory and worry of his deed faded.
        His father knocked on the bedroom door sometime later.  As he
entered to tell his son goodnight, he saw him sitting on the
floor, a collection of brightly colored plastic figures spread
out before him.  After his father had left, Adam continued to
name the animals.