Adam thinks his stepmother, Alice, is very beautiful. Her smile is the only reprieve in his life, and Adam spends most of his time at home trying to draw it out. Usually he is successful, but every time it gets a little more painful, a little less enjoyable, because Alice doesn't smile at him.

Smiling is rare in Adam's house. His brother constantly seems fixed on his father's approval, unaware of each moment he has it; his father is constantly gray, rough and militaristic. Adam himself has little reason to smile, so he doesn't. Adam thinks of smiling as this rare, beautiful thing, as a foreign sweet that he'll one day never have again. How Adam should have liked to smile, but he sees Alice's smile as so brilliant that he thinks he cannot possibly replicate it. He thinks that if he tries, if he forces a smile, something would break and the happiness he derives from her smile would be lost forever. Adam knows that smiles are not for him.

Adam doesn't smile, but Alice does. To Adam it seems Alice was allowed to smile, so he tries to get her to smile and be happy every chance he can. He tells her jokes and presents her with gifts and tells her about his accomplishments— this last one he isn't too sure about, but all of his classmates' parents seem perfectly happy when presented with a perfect grade or craft— and it never works. Alice never smiles for him. She smiles when he leaves gifts for her, or if she's all alone, but never in front of him. Really, what is Adam to think except that he is not good enough for her smile, for the one thing he treasures most?

Adam spends days on end wondering about this, nearly heartbroken, until he looks beyond himself enough to realize that she never smiles for his brother or father, either. When he realizes that, he begins to understand. Both his brother and his father have a violent streak, his brother more obviously so— and while Adam usually separates himself from them, he still shares blood. He is sure that he must be like them in some way, some way that only the good Alice can see.

Adam had previously seen his family as such: His father and brother were his antagonizers; his step mother, the unwitting savior, the God that made Adam see himself as damningly undeserving— her presence had been the sacrifice, her smiles the path toward salvation.

Now, though, he can't help thinking that he must be awful. He is the same as his tormentors, as his father that he hates and his brother that he's afraid of. Alice can see that— it's no wonder that she never smiles for him. How could she? He must be disgusting and filthy and bad, unworthy. Alice becomes a god again.

…

Adam can't fathom being like his father and brother, even if he is sure he must be, and this sudden realization is damning. He spends days doing nothing except what he must; he no longer goes outside, he no longer eats more than he absolutely must. Nobody notices, not really— Alice sees that Adam no longer needs attention and she turns it to Charles instead. Alice still doesn't smile at Charles, nor does she take interest in how he's doing, but Adam gets the idea that Charles must somehow be better than him. Charles is actually related to Alice, after all, and Alice is good.

This thought doesn't actually bother Adam that much, but it makes him think of his mother. His mother, who is not here. Clearly Adam's mother must have done something right.

Charles notices Adam's slump, and he tries to bother Adam back into normalcy. Adam doesn't respond and this infuriates Charles, this scares Charles. Charles beats him and Adam takes it with more sorrow than usual, and finally Charles says, "You're crazy. You're crazy just like your mother— I heard Father say she drowned herself in a pond one night, and you're crazy just like her," and Charles kicks him and leaves.

Adam doesn't respond to any of this, not physically. But he thinks to himself: Drowning. My mother drowned herself. What a great idea.

…

Adam steals away that night, too excited to sleep. He has found a way to leave— no, his mother has provided him a way. Adam doesn't know what comes next; all he knows is that his mother is gone and Alice doesn't smile at him, and Adam is tired of his father's endless games. Adam is tired of jumping through hoops, of entertaining his brother and father during their violent or otherwise frightening moods. Adam is tired.

He makes his way to the pond and tries to figure out how his mother must have done this. He knows it's this pond because Charles told him later that it was the pond nearest the house, but this pond is obviously quite shallow. Finally Adam gets down on his knees and tries to hold his head under water, and he waits, but he cannot do it. He wonders if the pond was deeper in better days, and then he goes home a bit sorrowful. Adam never knew his mother, but he imagines her as strong-willed. His parents must have been a fine match, he thinks, and this is further proof that he must be bad— what else could come from a match such as that?

Alice is awake, and she helps him clean up, and she smiles at him. Adam feels nothing when he sees it.

Adam tells his two sons that their mother is dead. He is unsure of what else he could possibly do, and this is his best. Adam provides his best, wracked by the guilt of having left his sons alone. When he sees them, he is sure of his choices.

Cal and Aron, outwardly at least, show no signs of the ill will that Charles and Adam had for each other growing up. They are incredibly close and Adam is glad for this. This is what Adam thinks even as they get older, and he doesn't notice when Aron gradually stops talking about Cal, or when Cal leaves the house. Cal isn't one of those kids that needs to be focused on, after all— Cal has always been fine. It is Aron Adam is worried about, and it is Aron Adam is proud of. Aron is good.

Adam, of course, doesn't think of Cal as bad. Adam doesn't think of Cal often, but Adam smiles at him and he thinks that ought to be enough. He does not realize that in his desire to create a more welcoming environment, he has allowed Cal to be preoccupied with greater things than a smile. He does not realize Cal could need anything more than that.

A/N: I wrote this because nobody ever talks about the first half of East of Eden. And to be fair, it's not the interesting half to the majority of people— but it's still really good, and it's way better once you've read the book once already. I'm reading the book for a second time and I'm much more appreciative. Anyway, a review would be great. Have a good day and stay safe.