Eve's Adam

This is a short story I've been working on. I would appreciate any reviews, constructive criticism, grammatical and punctuation points, and any tips. This is the first story I have ever shared.

  If there was ever a time more curious than any other, it would be Saturday mornings. They are neither productive or lazy, but a combination of the two. It is a time to sit and speculate while resting, dreaming of the day and upcoming week. This momentary quiet seeps into all aspects of life, including outside her window. The city streets were quiet with the humdrum routine of a typical Saturday morning. The hiss of steam engines, clanking of metal rods, clicking of gears, and trotting of mechanical wheels ceased in their ever hurried activity. The life of the city stilled, and it was within these moments, she remembered. She first remembered the smell: burned grease and metal. No matter how much her tinkerer washed, his hands were caked in engine grime and soot of the fires. He tried to keep the smell from their home, but didn’t know she liked it. His hair was always thick from the oil of running his hands through it. Then there was a roughness to his skin: those calloused hands and thick forearms that embraced her like glass. She could never let go of those memories, but never recalled them either. Only ever on Saturday mornings.

  Her story was neither unique nor unexpected. Life, no matter the amount of tinkering, is frail. Humanity clings to life like that of the drowning: head above water until treading stops and the momentary prelude before death becomes frightfully aware. The light that only reached the shallows slowly fades as the black and cold belly of oblivion consumes. It smothers and fills until all remnants of a past life are squeezed out and forgotten. That was, at least, how his death played out before her: frightful and panicked.

    Though few years gone, the moment of his death was so perfectly etched into her mind that she could recall it like the moving pictures at the theater, but if only so lucky to have no sound. She could remember how he gasped and gurgled his fears as the awareness became apparent in his eyes: he reconciled to the nothingness. His most grim realization came from the understanding that being remembered bore no substitute for his presence. In those last few moments, when he knew once he left there would be no spirits and no earthly connection, was he truly afraid. She held his hand, smiled, and kissed him goodbye. It was a simple gesture, but one she hoped spoke volumes before the rigor mortis set in. It was neither peaceful nor comforting to what awaits the end of life. And yet, this didn’t scare her.

      She and her late husband were engineers in a theosophist world. Death was a finality they had anticipated, as do all good persons of science. It was an expected and understood phenomena. What she had never expected, however, was the daily activities she now completed alone. Things as simple as a cup of coffee in the morning on their balcony above the street were so meaningless. A daily act of life. He read the paper, she tended her little garden, and they explained their duties for the day. Shopping was meaningless, an activity meant to sustain them. Sure, they cooked and loved their dishes finding artistic beauty intrinsically woven into the action. Now, she shopped for one, cooked for one, and enjoyed for one. Even the simple artistic venture of it seemed paled to its past likeness. It was a lifestyle she had gotten used to, as she must considering all manner of people do, but it was one that still brought tears to her eyes when all other practicalities had faded from the day. It was on this curious Saturday, when there was nothing left to do and no more chores to find, that she felt her thoughts focus on the one place she hoped they didn’t go: her engineer.

    They were from two very different worlds: she a tinkerer and fixer in the underbelly of the city. She fixed the machines and mended “make-do” body parts that allowed the underbelly’s toilers to continue working. She fixed the salvage brought from the miner’s pile. She worked with tools already used and only half a life left within them. She recreated the shine using hand made parts out of scattered bits. Her world as a tinkerer was to satisfy the need of the broken bits within the broken things of the life of the underbelly. He would never have even seen her and her little workshop between the broken level lift and grease bar if a commissioned piece of his hadn’t been thrown from an upper level patron. Instead, it landed by her scattered bits and she picked it up: a little toy for a little girl. It was a living doll. It was made out of fresh found brass and handmade steel. It was shinier and newer than any piece she had ever seen in the underbelly. So she tucked it away under her apron and ran to the shop, never letting anyone but her hands touch it. Nothing like it existed in the underbelly and she doubted anything like it would ever again.

     He found the doll through the glint of a window on a rare occasion that the sun filtered through the smog and smoke of the gutters. He disguised himself  in underbelly garb least one of them find he was of the upper levels. Mugging was common here.  He pulled his coat collar closer to his intentionally dirtied face, only to grin at the fact it was no more dirty in this dreadful place than his very clean shop. Immaculate as his work station may be, he lost track of how many times he’d wipe his hair out of his eyes or the sweat off his brow, leaving stains of grease and soot on his face. That doll had been an entirely new creation of his. So new, in fact, he was nearly dumbfounded when it worked. Steam worked quietly within a perfectly made wind-up engine within the body of the doll. The brass was smooth and melded to the copper perfectly: the consolidated form of all manner of shiny metals. Even the eyes, the light up turquoise eyes brought from a trader by a neighboring outpost fit perfectly into the wired sockets allowing the creation to blink. He knew, and yes he knew very well, the toy was a metal wind-up machine, but it was still life. He had created through flywheels and gears and steam a living doll that blinked and cried and smiled. It was one of the most perfect things he had ever created and regardless of the use of the thing, meant so much more was capable. And, he needed it back. The petulant child of the patron had decided the hair and shoes were wrong, and like the spoiled rotten thing she was (which is why he preferred machines in the first place!), threw the perfect machine out the balcony.

    It was lucky he had his hands in salvage. The scrap and scattered bits from the remnants of miner piles often proved fruitful for his drafts. He could melt and fasten a piece of metal to fit perfectly as a first design, then weld it out of purer materials. Pure materials were rare and only given to an engineer if: 1) the patron paid for it themselves, or 2) it was a necessary item for a commissioned machine by the high regent. Pure materials, such as the doll, would fetch a beautiful price in the underbelly - which is why he always paid handsomely for loyalty and services. It seemed as though those extra pieces from his pocket paid off. One of his little grease monkeys told him to look for the tinkerer’s shop, specifically whispering in his ear as if it was unthinkable to mention, she’s the female one. Although the upper levels were accustomed to women within academia and professions, the underbelly often found this remarkable, if not taboo. So it was, that he found himself wandering the underbelly looking for the tinkerer’s shop. He wished, for nothing more than convenience, that women were held at higher expectations than family and mothering so her shop would be easy to find. Instead, it was nestled next to the city’s level lift and a grease bar so it was out of the way of trouble.  

Author's Note

This is the first story I have ever posted anywhere. I am nearing the end and still on the fence as how it will be finished. Any reviews, constructive criticism, points, tips, punctuation/grammatical errors corrected, and all help is welcomed. Thank you.

Reviews

[chimetime]

You mix emotion and fantasy into your descriptions incredibly well. Normally, I get bored when people describe settings, but I was engaged and curious about this steam punk world. Furthermore, I like how you include details that both inform and engage such as the doll's mechanism. Excellent first chapter.

I can only offer shortening as room for improvement.

"That doll had been an entirely new creation of his. So new, in fact, he was nearly dumbfounded when it worked." could be turned into one statement.
The doll was a novel creation; dumbfoundedness, not expectation, followed its production.

[Meat of Dog]

I like the intro to this; I never really thought of it but I agree with your idea of Sundays. What a speculative day. I really like your descriptions. They’re very fluid and create good imagery. “when he knew once he left there would be no spirits and no earthly connection, was he truly afraid” This really got to me. I worry about this a lot, and I think most people do also. We spend so much time building our life on earth, our possessions, and fearing death because we can no longer make a mark on people and the earth. The part describing her lost husband was very desolate and lonely (as it is when you lose a loved one, especially someone who’s a fixture in your life). It was also interesting to read a steampunk setting, as I never have before.


Some paragraphs could be broken up a bit, as they’re a little long. People get a bit intimidated by blocks of text. This is honestly one of the best written things I’ve read in a while. It’s very vivid and thought out. If this were a book, rather than a story, I would certainly read on. I was like aw, no, more man! Thanks for sharing this!


Suggestions:

~ “neither productive or lazy” Productive nor lazy”.
~ “He tried to keep the smell from their home, but didn’t know she liked it.” The comma is not needed here.
~ “Then there was a roughness to his skin: those calloused” I would use a semi colon rather than a colon here but that’s kind if a nitpick.
~ “the fact it was no more dirty in this” No dirtier.
~ “first design, then weld it” And then.