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I press a hand to Adam’s open side. He does not move, does not wince.

He again looks above for direction. God seems to have vanished momentarily. Perhaps he is on to another creation.

“You can talk, can you not?”

He meets my eyes with his own. “Of course. But what am I supposed to say?”

“What happened?”

“…You?” He lifts his arms and really looks at it. “He took something and made you.”

“Are you hurt?”

“What is that?”

Admittedly, I don’t know. “Do you mind?”

“It is his to take, is it not?”

“It is you. Are you not your own?”