by Brian Godawa
They heard screaming from below. The drill had plunged and penetrated into the water table. But by doing so with the force of the drill, it had blown the log sky high and ripped a hole that caused a massive release of pressure. Water started to gush out with the force of a geyser. It slammed into the workers and washed them around like ants in a storm. The log hit the ground and crushed a few others. And then the ground crumbled inward and a huge sinkhole formed, sucking the ground first down, and then upward with the force of the releasing waters below. The hundred workers were washed away in a drowning flood and the waters began to fill the clay pits like a drain backing up into a sink.
Ishtar smiled. Ninsun recoiled in horror. Dumuzi was too broken to care.
“Why are you doing this?” Ninsun cried out.
But Ishtar was not going to explain to her that she was covering up her past. So she said nothing. And these were not just the waters of an underground lake that had been dowsed, these were the waters of the Abyss pouring in from the darkness below. What more fitting way to cover her tracks? She would create a lake that would bury forever her dishonor in the jaws of Rahab.
As the water rose to fill the clay pits, Ishtar had the portable throne carried over to the sheer edge of the pit. Dumuzi’s leash had been fastened to the throne, so he was dragged along with it.
Ishtar got off the throne and leaned down to Dumuzi, whispering, “Dumuzi, my shepherd. You have brought me much pleasure. I have much to thank you for. You rescued me from Sheol. You have entered my garden. You have plowed my vulva like a field. Your milk was sweet and thick, my bridegroom. You have made the sweetness of my holy loins quiver with delight. And I will write love poems about it one day to commemorate our beautiful union. But you have outlived your usefulness. Someone must be left behind in the Abyss to take my place as a substitution. That someone, my dear lover, will be you.”
Ishtar stood up and gestured to the servants of the throne. They picked it up and threw it over the ledge. It splashed into the water, dragging Dumuzi with it, collared by his neck, into the depths. He was the last connection to the knowledge of Ishtar’s shame.
Ishtar turned to see Ninsun’s terror-stricken face.
“Do not fret yourself, Lady Cow,” said Ishtar. “You are still useful to me.”
And then Ishtar noticed one of the servants in the entourage. A handsome man. She walked up to him and looked him up and down.
Her demeanor changed like a chameleon. She was suddenly soft and seductive with a voice to match. She breathed to him, “And who might you be, handsome one?”
“Ishullanu, the king’s gardener,” he said.
She could see he was shaking.
She said to him, “Oh, I see we have the same effect on one another. I am quivering in my nether regions as well.”
She softly coaxed him out of the line of servants, and said, “Lead your goddess to her temple. We have a garden to explore together.”
Ishullanu stepped from the crowd of servants like a singled out prisoner and walked silently toward what he knew was his own execution. Ishtar followed him, but a couple of female servants caught her eye. She grabbed both of them by the arms and dragged them through the dust on her journey back to Eanna.
Chapter 22
The storm raged on over the Great Cedar Forest. It was like thirteen different winds all conspiring to converge together in this very moment, in this very location. Gilgamesh’s party found scattered locations to try to stay out of the main fury of it all and sit out the night. But they were soaked and chilled to the bone. Gilgamesh and Enkidu hid beneath a huge fallen cedar.
Gilgamesh said nothing. He simply glared at Enkidu, who knew full well what was expected of him.
Enkidu finally offered up, “Humbaba killed and ate my tribe when I was but an infant nursing at my mother’s breast. For some unknown reason, he spared me and tried to raise me in his domain. But when I came of age, I discovered my heritage and I ran away. Into the steppe.”
Gilgamesh could not believe what he was hearing. He thought he had known Enkidu, but he had not even begun to discover the depths of this civilized Wild Born.
Enkidu continued, “I should have died. But I was found and raised by a pride of lions as one of their cubs. I was young enough and impressionable. I became as one with them and quickly lost all sense of my humanity. That was the state in which Shamhat found me. And that is why I could learn language so fast. I was simply reacquainting myself with what I had suppressed inside for so long.”
But he was not done. Enkidu then said, “The lioness that you wounded, the one I killed…” He wanted to make sure Gilgamesh knew which one he was talking about. “She was my feline mother.”
It was like a lightning bolt going through Gilgamesh’s body. He was not going to sleep tonight. He spoke with a sensitivity Enkidu had never before heard in his voice. “Enkidu, I am sorry to have ever challenged your courage. I did not know that this was so much more for you than a mere giant slaying. In fact, I would have no regret in allowing you to stay and watch the camp for us when we seek Humbaba tomorrow. There would be no shame in it.”
Enkidu snapped at him, “How dare you steal from your servant the one thing I have left to offer you, my king.”
A slight smile crossed Gilgamesh’s lips.
“You are not my servant, Enkidu of the Steppe,” pronounced Gilgamesh. “You are my friend.”
Morning broke over a quiet forest. The storm had passed. The sounds of insect and animal life awakening filled the air as the beams of sun burst in through the canopy of foliage. But all was not as serene or beautiful as it appeared. They had lost their carts to the storm winds. Everything was destroyed or gone. Smashed and scattered to the four winds were all their food supplies and extra weapons, including their huge war net. They had only the weapons and water skins on their persons. Even Gilgamesh’s bow of Anshan had been lost.
But they had not lost their senses. They were mighty warriors, Gibborim. And they would finish the task that Gilgamesh had started. They would find this Rapha giant Humbaba and kill him, and cut down his cedars to bring home a mighty trophy of their exploits.
With the help of Yahatti’s sensitive serpent tongue and Enkidu’s animal tracking skills, they traced their huge quarry’s path to the very base of Mount Hermon. The fighting team saw before them an immense house made of cedar. It blended into the side of the mountain as if it grew out of the crags of rock, and it was the size of a small palace.
Enkidu looked up at the mighty house of timber. He whispered to Gilgamesh, “I thought Humbaba would not hurt any trees. This mansion looks like he had to clear cut the entire mountainside to provide the lumber for it.”
“Rational consistency is not a concern of monsters,” said Gilgamesh. “The loudest so-called ‘protectors’ always seem to exempt themselves from their own rules.”
“Well then,” Enkidu replied. “Let us disabuse this titanic fiend of his double standard.”
“Let us burn his house down,” smiled Gilgamesh.
The band of warriors approached the gate of the cedar palace. It was wide open. In fact, there was no gate. The monster had no fear of enemies? Was it a trap?
Gilgamesh led them cautiously inward, weapons drawn and ready.
The structure soared upward all around them and gave the impression of sweeping one up into heaven. The timbers were vertical, the opposite of an earthy log cabin design of horizontal layering. And everywhere was empty. There were no decorations, no furniture, no sign of creaturely presence or habitation. It felt like a cathedral of loneliness.
A chill went through Gilgamesh’s spine. Was this the ‘kingdom of One?’ He felt a strange connection to this beastly prince of the wood. As if he understood him, even as he was planning to kill him.
They pressed on. The next chamber was the first to show signs of residence. But it was a ghastly residence. The inhabitants of the room were dozens of creatures all standing in frozen positions. Bears, wolves, deer, boar. All of
them standing still in eternal petrified positions. But they were not stone statues or carved wood. They were the real flesh of creatures Humbaba had captured and killed. When Gilgamesh examined them up close he could see that they had been stuffed with sawdust. They were the skins of once live animals filled with stuffing to make them stand in perpetual crowd-like community.
“My lord,” said Enkidu. He drew Gilgamesh’s attention to one of the sections of stuffed creatures. Gilgamesh’s stomach turned. They were humans. Skins of once living people that Humbaba had skinned like animals and stuffed to set up in his taxidermist museum of horror.
The way they were arranged, all looking forward in the same direction, reminded Gilgamesh of the statues that he and other worshippers made of themselves to place in the temple sanctuary of Eanna and Eanu. The purpose of the little votary statues was to make sure that they had a representative of themselves always before the presence of the deity. Like these mummified trophies with gem stones for eyes, the votary statues had their large eyes wide open as if to give the deity their perpetual awareness. Or maybe their souls, as the eyes were the windows of the soul of man. It struck Gilgamesh that these figures were like an audience of the living dead for Humbaba. They were the closest thing he could have to real creaturely company.
Because this was the first chamber with something of attention, and because they had gotten used to the vastness of the architecture, they had neglected to gaze upward in this room. And because they failed to do so, they did not notice the large net that now fell upon them from above. It was their own huge war net they had brought to capture the giant. Humbaba must have come to their camp during the storm and stolen the net out from under their noses as the winds howled and raged around them, drowning out all other sounds. Now they were ensnared in their own net. So it had been a trap after all.
Gilgamesh and Enkidu looked over at the stuffed trophies and knew what fate lay in store for them.
Chapter 23
Humbaba brought his captives deep into the heart of his mighty wooden palace, hidden away at the point where the mountain rock met the wooden timber. It was a sanctuary, large regal tapestries hung before the mammoth cedar doors as curtains. They were probably confiscated from one of Humbaba’s slaughters of kings.
The forty warriors were hanging from the stone wall like captured game ready to be gutted and cleaned. Although Humbaba enjoyed feeding the terror of captives as he skinned them and ate them alive one by one, he was not taking any chances with this trained team of fighters. So he had killed them all. Their lifeless corpses were like phantoms overlooking this sanctuary of death.
Gilgamesh and Enkidu were restrained to large tree columns at their torsos. Their hands were bound before them in strong vines so they could not secretly work to release themselves. Humbaba the Terrible sat watching them with his back up against a huge terebinth tree that grew out of the ground and spanned the ceiling height like a garden atrium. Beside the tree was a cave opening into the mountain.
Humbaba mused over them with humor, “The tall grown sapling and his angry ox stand ready for combat.”
Humbaba followed the looks on their faces and explained, “This is a holy terebinth tree. I built my cedar house around it because it is a talisman of communication with deity. That opening leads into the very throne room of the mountain of the gods.”
Gilgamesh and Enkidu looked at each other.
Humbaba was quite talkative. After all, he lived without human or giant company for so many years, there was no telling how much he might talk their ears off before eating them.
“Your army, I will skin and stuff and add to my friends. But you, king Gilgamesh, and your ‘Right Hand,’ you are much more important. You, I will bring in to the assembly of the gods to offer as a sacrifice.
Well, Gilgamesh thought, It was my intent to find the assembly of the gods. I just did not think I would end up there in quite this way.
“What are you thinking?” said Humbaba to Gilgamesh.
Enkidu thought to himself, what kind of monster wonders what his prey is thinking? He must have severe confidence problems.
Gilgamesh engaged the giant, “Perhaps we could strike a deal, you and I.”
Humbaba laughed. “And what could you possibly offer me that I could not take for myself?”
“True enough,” responded Gilgamesh. “Not only are you in control of our lives, but you have everything you want and need right here in your domain. It is your kingdom. You rule above all things. No one can compare to you. No one dares to come near your greatness. They leave you alone, all alone in your mighty pre-eminence and solitude. Your appetite is that of a mighty king, insatiable, unquenchable. There is nothing that can fill these hollow halls with meaning. Nothing that can satisfy the eternal desire.”
Enkidu watched Gilgamesh with admiration. He was not only a warrior of courage, he was a master of the tongue. He was using flattery to uncover the emptiness and misery of Humbaba’s soul. It sounded so insightful of the human condition to Enkidu.
It was insightful because Gilgamesh had been speaking of himself.
Humbaba said, “I find you interesting. We kings have much in common.”
“Then consider an offer of royal marital alliance.” It was not unusual. It was quite common for kings to marry their family members to vassal kings they have subdued in order to maintain the continued allegiance of the vassal king. But this was a gutsy move. Gilgamesh was the vassal making the offer. His bet was on distracting Humbaba by exploiting his loneliness.
“I have two sisters,” said Gilgamesh. “Enmebaragesi and Peshtur. Very beautiful. Very tall. I am from a family of giants after all.”
Gilgamesh used a tone of sumptuous memory, as if he were remembering the most pleasant meal he had ever eaten.
Humbaba got impatient. “What about them?”
“Well,” replied Gilgamesh. “I think they would be perfect for you. They are large, well proportioned, and beautiful of face. You could have one as your wife and the other as concubine. They are obedient, provide splendid company, and they are quite the conversationalists.”
Humbaba was actually tempted by the offer. He had been so lonely for so long. He was actually a sociable creature who needed the company of others, but had been made to dwell alone by the gods for the purpose of focused guardianship. He often thought his bitterness and hatred came from this deficit. He thought he had gotten used to it. But he really had not. Always in the back of his soul, lurked a loneliness and despair that he could not shake. And at some moments it so overwhelmed him that he had thought of killing himself. But he did have a responsibility that always brought him back from the brink. He was Guardian of the Great Cedar Forest, and more importantly, Guardian of the abode of the gods.
Enkidu was impressed with the wisdom and insight of his king. He had sized up their captor’s psychological weakness with great cunning. It was uncanny. It was like he knew Humbaba as he knew himself and was simply sharing his own soul.
Gilgamesh threw in, “And let me just add, I taught them myself how to fulfill the peculiar sexual hunger of giants as well.”
Enkidu could see Humbaba was aroused at the picture painted by Gilgamesh. Which was impressive storytelling since he knew Gilgamesh had no sisters.
The giant considered the offer. He stroked his tusks as one would a beard.
Gilgamesh threw in, “I swear by the life of my mother, the goddess Ninsun and my father the holy Lugalbanda, we would be kinsman. You would receive flour for baking bread, cool beer for your belly, large sandals for your feet, and many sparkling gemstones of precious value.”
Enkidu thought Gilgamesh was talking a bit too much, filling in nervous silence, when he should be letting Humbaba chew it over.
Humbaba said, “Unfortunately, your offer is problematic as I would have to let you go in order to get your sisters. This is unacceptable as I do not put much value in oaths.”
“Hold the bodies of my men as a surety,” said Gilgamesh.
Gilgamesh said, “Enkidu is not expendable. He is not merely my Right Hand, but my adopted brother and my only true friend in all the world.”
Humbaba looked at Enkidu. He could indeed see that Gilgamesh was not exaggerating. A creature of loneliness could spot the intimacy he longed for a mile away in those who had it.
“I would come back for him,” said Gilgamesh.
“This, I believe,” said Humbaba. “and with an army ten thousand strong no doubt.”
“But with Enkidu as your hostage,” said Gilgamesh. “My very life would be in your hands. Surely, you understand that for him to die in my place while I lived would be a fate worse than my own death.”
Enkidu watched Gilgamesh and knew that now he was not speaking words of deceit to trick the Rapha. He was speaking the truth. Gilgamesh was making his last desperate attempt: Pure undefiled honesty.
Humbaba looked at Enkidu and again knew it was the truth. He could see these two men had a bond so close, it was unbreakable.
“Well in that case,” said Humbaba. “I will send Enkidu in your place, and he should be capable of bringing back your sisters as well. And if he brings with him an army, he will have the distinct privilege of watching his king burned alive in a fortress of cedar.”
It was a fate worse than death for Enkidu. And a brilliant tactical move by Humbaba who had nothing to lose because he had nothing to live for. Going up in blazes holding the mighty King Gilgamesh of Uruk would insure his miserable pathetic existence a place in history, or better yet, a place in mythology. And he would get his revenge on Enkidu by the same act.
“No!” barked Gilgamesh. “I beg of you. Do not do this, Humbaba.”
Humbaba grinned. He knew he had the upper hand now.
Gilgamesh blurted out, “Enkidu cannot be trusted with my sisters! Remember his past! He is still a sexual Wild Born!”