by James Barney
Kathleen took a seat at the table.
Eskridge flipped the book open, thumbed to a certain page, and began reading aloud. “The original King James version of the Bible, Genesis chapter six, verses one through four.” He read the verses slowly, heavily emphasizing certain words and phrases as he went:
And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose. And the Lord said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, for that he also is flesh: yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years. There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.
“Now,” Eskridge said, looking searchingly at Kathleen, “what do you think that passage means?”
Kathleen laughed dryly. “Honestly? It means nothing to me. It’s a fable . . . folklore . . . a work of fiction. As a scientist, I don’t find any meaning in it.”
“I see.” Eskridge looked away for a moment and then quickly turned back to Kathleen. “Well, let’s assume it is a work of fiction. What would you say the plot is?”
Kathleen was surprised by the question. She hesitated and then slowly pulled the Bible toward her. She read verses one through four silently to herself and then looked up. “The plot is . . . a group of men—chosen men, sons of God, if you will—marry a bunch of beautiful women and have children who grow up to become famous and powerful. Half the soap operas on TV have the same plot.”
Eskridge smiled, but he kept his eyes locked on Kathleen’s. “And what about the part about the giants?”
“Metaphor,” Kathleen said with a shrug. “Perhaps giants of industry. Political giants. Giants of culture, arts, athletics. Could be anything.”
“And the part about man’s days being one hundred and twenty years?”
Kathleen was stumped by that one. She read the passage again and thought for a while. “I have no idea,” she admitted finally.
By then, Eskridge had retrieved another book—also black and embossed in gold. “Now, here are the same four verses from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible. Listen for the differences.” He once again read aloud, carefully emphasizing certain words and phrases:
When men began to increase on earth and daughters were born to them, the divine beings saw how beautiful the daughters of men were and took wives from among those that pleased them. The Lord said, “My breath shall not abide in man forever, since he too is flesh; let the days allowed him be one hundred and twenty years.” It was then, and later too, that the Nephilim appeared on earth—when the divine beings cohabited with the daughters of men, who bore them offspring. They were the heroes of old, the men of renown.
“Notice how giants became Nephilim in the Revised Version?” Eskridge asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“And how the sons of God became divine beings?”
“Sure.”
“So, according to these versions of the Bible, the Nephilim were the offspring of divine beings and human women. And they were renowned men of old. Not ordinary men of flesh, mind you, whom God had limited to a hundred and twenty years. Do you follow so far?”
“I guess so.”
“Now, since you have that Bible already open in front of you, go ahead and look at the next few verses in Genesis chapter six and tell me what happens next . . . you know, in the plot.”
Kathleen skimmed the next few verses. “Well, it says that God saw that man was wicked, so he decided to destroy all of mankind and every creeping thing on earth.”
“What else?”
“It says that Noah had found grace in the eyes of God, so God decided to spare him. Told him to build a big ark—one hundred cubits long, fifty cubits wide, and thirty cubits high—load a male and female of every animal on board, and then get ready for a big flood.”
“Right,” Eskridge said, “the Great Flood.”
Kathleen shot him a curious look. “You know, Dr. Sargon mentioned the flood, too, the other night. He said it corresponded to an actual flood that took place in Mesopotamia several thousand years ago.”
“And he was right about that. The great flood in the twenty-ninth century BC was a singular event in the ancient world. We find it recounted again and again in ancient Sumerian texts, in the epic tales of Gilgamesh, which were handed down from generation to generation, in ziggurat carvings, in cuneiform symbology, and, of course, in the Old Testament of the Bible, as well as in the Quran.”
“All the same flood?”
“Well, that’s what many scholars believe . . . including me.” He inched closer to Kathleen. “You see, folklore is almost always based, at some level, on fact.”
Kathleen pursed her lips and weighed that idea in her mind, tilting her head equivocally from side to side.
“Take one of my favorite folk heroes,” Eskridge continued, “Paul Bunyan. A giant lumberjack from the Northwest. Legend has it he was so big that his footprints created ten thousand lakes in Minnesota. And he dug the Grand Canyon by dragging his axe handle behind his giant blue ox, Babe.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Now, did such a giant lumberjack ever exist?”
“No.”
“Of course not! But . . .” Eskridge held her gaze for a moment. “There are ten thousand lakes in Minnesota. Eleven thousand to be exact. And there is a Grand Canyon.”
Kathleen smiled slightly.
“Do you see my point?”
Kathleen nodded halfheartedly.
“Paul Bunyan is folklore, but he was created to explain true facts.”
“Okay,” said Kathleen begrudgingly. “But the ark? The animals?”
“Maybe it happened that way, maybe it didn’t. That’s the thing about folklore—you have to decide what’s real and what’s fiction. The flood—in my opinion—was real.”
Kathleen turned the idea over in her mind. It did make a certain amount of sense that the story of the Great Flood could have emanated from real events in Mesopotamia. And, if so, it seemed reasonable to assume that certain facts had been embellished over the centuries by storytellers and eventually spun into religious folklore, namely the story of Noah and the ark. Kathleen could at least accept that possibility without abandoning all notions of logic and reason.
“Now,” Eskridge continued, “let’s talk about the Nephilim. What do you think: fact . . . or fiction?”
“Fiction,” Kathleen said quickly.
“Are you sure?”
Kathleen rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Dr. Eskridge. Divine beings breeding with humans? What are we talking about? Angels? Demigods? Aliens? I’m sorry, I just can’t accept it.”
Eskridge shook his head and sighed. “I think you’re missing the point. The question is not whether angels actually came down from heaven and bred with humans. The question is whether that story was created to explain something real. Something that people in ancient Mesopotamia actually observed but were unable to explain . . . at least not without resort to mythology.” He paused for a few seconds. “Think about the Grand Canyon. Think about the ten thousand lakes in Minnesota. Those were real things that people observed, and then invented myths to explain.”
Kathleen sat motionless in her chair as the wheels in her head began to spin. New thoughts were forming quickly, bridging to old thoughts, connecting previously disjointed ideas together. “Okay,” she said slowly. “So what you’re asking is . . . Why was the Nephilim story created in the first place?”
“Precisely.”
Kathleen became aware of a new idea percolating just below the surface of her consciousness. Every time she tried to grasp it, however, it evaporated. It was as if this new idea could not break through the thick barriers of logic and reason she’d constructed in her mind through years of dogged scientific inquiry.
“Before you answer,�
�� Eskridge said, standing up, “let me show you something else you might find interesting.” He repositioned the stepladder to the other side of the room and climbed all the way to the top rung. Then, stretching his arm to the highest shelf, he pulled down a bound academic paper, two inches of yellowed typewriter paper sandwiched between two brown covers. “Your mother, Becky, wrote her Ph.D. thesis on this exact question.” He descended the ladder and returned to his seat.
“What question?”
“The meaning of the Nephilim story. Who created it, and why.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. It’s right here.” Eskridge held up the binder momentarily, then opened it and read aloud. “ ‘An Anthropological Study of the Origins of the Nephilim in Sumerian Mythology. Rebecca A. Sainsbury, Department of Anthropology, Harvard University. Presented May 12, 1971.’ ”
Kathleen stared blankly. It was strange to hear her mother’s name spoken aloud. “Sainsbury,” just like her own.
“I was her thesis advisor,” Eskridge added.
Kathleen was suddenly lost in thought. Her mother—an expert on . . . Nephilim? It seemed beyond coincidence, beyond serendipity. It seemed downright inconceivable. Did fate bring her here tonight? No. She rejected the idea instantly. There’s no such thing as fate. She cleared her throat—which had begun to tighten involuntarily—and gestured toward the thesis. “What does it say?”
“A lot, actually,” said Eskridge, jabbing the bound volume with his finger. “This thesis was really groundbreaking stuff at the time.”
“How so?”
Eskridge drew a deep breath and put the thesis aside. He picked up the Bible again. “Let’s start with some biblical ages. Remember our friend Noah?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m reading now from Genesis, chapter seven, verse six. It says here that Noah was six hundred years old when the flood of waters came on the earth.” He glanced at Kathleen over his glasses. “Pretty old, huh?”
“Sure, if you take it literally.”
He flipped back a few pages. “Noah’s father, Lamech, was one hundred and eighty-two years old when Noah was born, according to chapter five, verse twenty-eight. Pretty virile guy, wouldn’t you say?”
Kathleen shrugged.
“Here’s Genesis chapter five, verses thirty and thirty-one. ‘Lamech lived after he begat Noah five hundred ninety and five years, and begat sons and daughters. And all the days of Lamech were seven hundred seventy and seven years: and he died.’ ” He looked evocatively at Kathleen.
“Those aren’t literal,” she said, already sensing where he was going.
But Eskridge ignored her; he was on a roll. “Lamech’s father, Methuselah . . . nine hundred sixty-nine years. Methuselah’s father, Enoch . . . three hundred sixty-five years.”
“Okay, I get the picture. They were old.”
“Yeah, really old. Now let’s talk about Noah.” He thumbed forward a few pages. “According to Genesis nine, Noah was nine hundred and fifty years old when he died. He had three sons before the flood, all of whom survived the flood with him. Shem, Ham, and Japheth.”
Where’s he going with this? Kathleen wondered.
“According to Genesis ten, those three sons divided the land after the flood and spread out to rule their respective kingdoms.” He scanned the page, apparently looking for a particular verse. “Ah, here it is, Genesis ten, verse thirty-two. ‘These are the families of the sons of Noah, after their generations, in their nations: and by these were the nations divided in the earth after the flood.’ ”
Kathleen shrugged and held out her palms. “Sorry, I’m not following.”
“Shem survived the flood and lived a total of six hundred years. But if you look at Genesis chapter eleven, none of his progeny after the flood lived anywhere near that long. Over eight generations, their life spans dropped steadily from about four hundred years to about two hundred years.” He paused. “Now, that’s not bad, mind you . . . but nothing compared to Shem . . . and Noah . . . and Lamech . . . and Methuselah.” He peered over the top of his glasses. “You know, all those pre-flood guys.”
Ahhhh! Now Kathleen got it. He was comparing the pre-flood life spans in the Bible with those after the flood. She remembered seeing something about this on the History Channel. She nodded her head emphatically, indicating her understanding.
Eskridge continued. “In fact, by the time you get to the ninth generation after Shem—a fellow named Haran—he up and died before his own father. Genesis eleven, verse twenty-eight.”
“Okay . . .”
“In Genesis twenty-five, the Bible says Abraham lived to be one hundred and seventy-five years old. His son Isaac died at one hundred and eighty. Then there’s Jacob, one hundred forty-seven; Joseph, one hundred ten; Levi, one hundred thirty-seven; Kohath, one hundred thirty-three; and Amram—Moses’ father—one hundred thirty-seven. Moses, himself, died at exactly one hundred and twenty. See a trend?”
“They’re going down.”
Eskridge fanned through a series of pages, quickly finding a different section of the Bible. “By the fifteenth century BC, when Psalm Ninety was written, we have this account of the prevailing human life span at the time:
The days of our years are threescore and ten;
and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years,
yet is their strength labor and sorrow;
for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.
“Three score and ten—that’s only a seventy-year life span, eighty if you have good strength. Not much different from what we have today, right?”
“Right . . .”
“So, by the fifteenth century BC—fourteen hundred years after the Great Flood—it seems the longevity gene had plumb petered out.”
Kathleen’s eyes widened. “The longevity gene?”
“Sure. Your mother laid it all out in here.” Eskridge held up the thesis and shook it slightly. “She said the Nephilim myth was created to explain an actual phenomenon that people of that era observed, or at least had heard about from their recent ancestors.”
“The long life spans.”
“Yep. A small group of people—perhaps just a few families—who seemed to live for centuries while the rest of the population lived and died in just a span of decades. At that time, there would have been no logical explanation for such a phenomenon. So, as people often do, they attributed it to the supernatural—the Nephilim. The author of Genesis simply incorporated that mythology, borrowing it from common Sumerian folklore.” He arched his eyebrows and peered deeply into Kathleen’s eyes. “Remember, folklore is almost always used to explain something real, which is otherwise inexplicable.”
Once again, a vague notion was swirling around in the recesses of Kathleen’s mind, just below the surface, just out of reach.
“And by the way,” Eskridge continued, “it’s not just the Bible where you find this marked decrease in life span after the Great Flood. Have you ever heard of the Sumerian king list?”
“No.”
“It’s an ancient Sumerian text, recorded on clay cuneiform tablets, which lists all of the kings of Sumer in chronological order, practically from the beginning of recorded history.” Eskridge flipped open the thesis, scanned the table of contents, and then turned quickly to a particular page. “The Sumerian king list records about twenty-five anteduluvian kings.”
“Antediluvian?”
“Pre-flood.” He placed his finger on the opened page and read aloud. “Now, here are some examples of kings from the First Dynasty of Kish, along with the length of their reigns. Jushur of Kish—twelve hundred years; Kullassina-bel of Kish—nine hundred and sixty years; Nangishlishma of Kish—six hundred and seventy years; En-Tarah-Ana of Kish—four hundred and twenty years; Tizqar of Kish—three hundred and five years. The last king of that dynasty was Aga of Kish, who reigned six hundred and twenty-five years. Pretty long time, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“After that, the Sumerian k
ing list indicates that Kish was defeated and the kingship taken to E-anna, a rival city in ancient Sumer. Thus began the First Dynasty of Uruk.”
“Uruk was in Iraq, right?” Kathleen remembered that from her conversation with Dr. Sargon the other night.
“That’s correct. The first king of Uruk was Mesh-ki-ang-gasher, who ruled for three hundred and twenty-four years . . . until something very interesting happened.”
“What?”
Eskridge turned to the next page in the thesis. “This is a direct translation from the Weld-Blundell Prism. It’s a baked-clay four-sided cuneiform prism, the most comprehensive Sumerian king list ever found. It was discovered in 1922 near Babylon in Iraq. Today it’s on display at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford.”
“Okay.”
Eskridge read aloud from the thesis, moving his finger along as he did. “ ‘Mesh-ki-ang-gasher of E-ana, son of Utu, went into the Sea and disappeared.’ ” He paused. “Sound familiar?”
“The Great Flood?”
“That would be my guess. And now, look carefully at the reigns of kings after that event.” He spun the thesis around and pushed it across the table toward Kathleen.
Kathleen studied the page carefully, tingling slightly at the idea that she was looking at her mother’s writing from nearly four decades ago:
Enmerkar, who built Unug: 420 years
Lugalbanda of Unug, the shepherd: 1200 years
Dumuzid of Unug, the fisherman: 100 years. Captured En-Men-Barage-Si of Kish.
Gilgamesh, whose father was a phantom, lord of Kulaba: 126 years
Ur-Nungal of Unug: 30 years
Udul-Kalama of Unug: 15 years
La-Ba’shum of Unug: 9 years
En-Nun-Tarah-Ana of Unug: 8 years
Mesh-He of Unug: 36 years
Melem-Ana of Unug: 6 years
Lugal-Kitun of Unug: 36 years