Wives of the Flood

by Vaughn Heppner

  “I already anticipate your question,” Menes said. “To hold the bricks together, we use bitumen, or, as some call it, slime.”

  “Interesting,” Zidon said. “But I don’t see how this is the greatest thing yet seen in Babel.”

  “That’s what I wish to talk to you about,” Kush said. “And that is why I’m inviting everyone to the Hunter’s Lodge for a feast.”

  27.

  After Ham left for the feast, Rahab ate sparingly of cheese and bread. Then, dressing warmly, she set out for the Hunter’s Compound. No one stood guard at the gate, as she’d suspected. Unlike the city proper, the Hunter Compound had a small gate, little bigger than an ordinary door. Nothing went into the compound via wagon, only on the backs of the Hunters.

  She slipped into the yard where the Hunters sometimes drilled to sound of drums and horns. They practiced evolutions in marching that seemed to make little sense to her. She strolled to the main Barracks, or Hunter’s Lodge, as it was called, and slipped within. Lion, cheetah and crocodile heads glared at her from the walls. Down the corridor, she heard the sound of male laughter. She went the opposite way and took the narrow stairs up to Nimrod and Semiramis’s room.

  She knocked.

  “Is that you, Gilgamesh?”

  Rahab frowned, refusing to ask why a married woman called out another man’s name. She knocked again.

  “Enter.”

  Rahab did, into a brightly lit room. Far too many candles flickered, a waste of wax. Animal skins hung on the walls. Furs were piled on the bed, and on a chest lay Nimrod’s bronze razor, fashioned in the shape of a small axe-head. Only in the corner on several chests did womanly articles lay. But what a treasure trove they were.

  Most of the women and some men used unguents to anoint their bodies. The hot, dry summers practically mandated it. Oils and animals fats kept the skin healthy and aided comfort. The fat of oxen, sheep and geese was mixed with sesame seed or castor oil. Crushed flowers, seeds, woods and gums were added to the perfume. Semiramis went beyond that. To highlight her eyes, she used galena for black eye shadow and malachite for green. Semiramis claimed it protected her eyes from disease and discouraged the settling of flies upon them. She also kept red ochre in jars, applying it to her cheeks when she wanted to look her best. She had henna for her nails and sometimes applied it to her palms and the soles of her feet. And she never appeared in public unless she wore a necklace of brightly colored beads or a golden collar.

  A present, Semiramis lay on the bed in a revealing gown, examining herself with a circular bronze mirror and with a pair of bronze tweezers plucking an eyebrow. She lowered the mirror and raised black-outlined eyebrows. “Grandmother.” She sat up and slipped on a jacket, then rose and picked up a pitcher. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Please.”

  Semiramis poured into a goblet. “Have a seat, Grandmother. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Rahab sat on a stool and accepted the goblet, sipping, nodding. “Very good. Thank you.”

  Semiramis sat across from her, looking bewildered, finally saying, “If I open the door, I hear laughter and ribald jokes. The men feast downstairs, as I’m sure you know. I, however, am locked away so as not to upset our guests.”

  “That’s the reason I’ve come,” Rahab said. “We missed you at the street festival yesterday. I know the reason is politic, but I don’t think it’s good for you to hide yourself. Canaan will decide one way or another without this subterfuge.”

  “But what if I’m what keeps Canaan away?”

  Rahab set the goblet down and sat on the bed beside Semiramis. “There are games afoot, I think. Nimrod seems humble, yet he’s also become secretive, as are Kush and Deborah.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Rahab caught the wary look. She smiled, taking one of Semiramis’s hands. “Why not come with me tonight to the house? Join us as we sew.”

  “I can’t,” Semiramis said.

  “Don’t be silly. Alone up here, listening to the feast down there, that only causes one to brood. You belong with us, Semiramis.”

  “Thank you, Grandmother. It’s a kind gesture. But I must remain here tonight.”

  Rahab nodded, rising, winding her shawl over her head. “If you change your mind, you’re most welcome at my house.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

  As Rahab descended the stairs, she felt uneasy. She wanted Canaan to join them. Yet, at times, Babel troubled her, and she couldn’t understand why. It was most odd, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the angel of the sun.

  28.

  Hardwood beams that had been floated down the Euphrates lined the ceiling. Tapestries on the walls of hunt scenes added color, as did stuffed animal heads of lions, wolves, elephants and crocodiles, and crossed spears and dragon shields. Torches flickered, and a huge fireplace roared. The feasters sat at a long table, devouring pork, fish and date-palm honey cakes and quaffing dark ale. Later, the Hunters chanted songs, the last one as they pounded the tables with their fists.

  Nimrod rose near the head of the table, with a golden cup in hand. “Hail, Canaan!”

  “Hail, Canaan!” the Hunters roared.

  Everyone toasted.

  As they did, Nimrod strode near the largest tapestry, made from threads of various colors and textures, all of them cunningly woven together to form pictures of creatures, men and forts, rocks and trees. Each of the scenes had been divided into frames, some telling a running story. There were frames of a dragon, a dragon and a sprinting youth, a chariot driven by a patriarch and then a white-bearded smith hammering bronze arrows. Nimrod indicated the frames of a gate smashed by a dragon, a kicking onager and a dragon on fire.

  “Who shot the onager that day?” Nimrod asked. “Do any of you remember?”

  Zidon leaned back in his chair, with a sardonic smile on his lips.

  “Zidon, wasn’t it you who first built and then shot the onager?” Nimrod asked.

  Zidon dipped his head, and in a voice full of sarcasm said, “Indeed, Mighty Hunter.”

  Nimrod’s hearty grin slipped, and for a moment fire seemed to burn in his eyes. Then he shouted, slapping the tapestry. “I can well imagine the moment. The gate exploding and there standing the dragon, roaring, ready to devour everyone. Alone, Zidon stood between the dragon and disaster. Coolly he lit the fuse, pulled the lanyard and sent a ball of brimstone smashing into the monster’s face.”

  The Hunters howled approval, causing Zidon to lift his eyebrows.

  Nimrod strode to his cousin as chairs scraped back and the Hunters stood. One by one, the elders also stood, and Ham. Zidon rose.

  “That was nobly done, Zidon,” Nimrod said. “I salute a brave warrior.”

  The Hunters banged their cups and brayed like drunken donkeys, “Zidon! Zidon! Zidon!”

  Nimrod slipped the dragon tooth from his neck and put the leather cord over his cousin’s head. “We are the dragon-slayers, you and I, both of the blood of heroes.”

  Zidon frowned as he fingered the tooth, and the room grew quiet as men held their breath. “You leave me at a loss for words, Mighty Hunter.”

  “Then do me this favor,” Nimrod said.

  Zidon cocked an eyebrow.

  “Take my hand in friendship.” Nimrod thrust out a meaty paw. A lone ring, a band of shiny metal, circled the middle finger.

  Zidon pursed his lips, as the room grew even quieter. Some fool clattered a fork, so it rang until another man put his hand over it. As Nimrod held out his palm the moment stretched, becoming embarrassing and then awkward and finally tense.

  “Do it, Zidon,” someone hissed.

  The pressure mounted unbearably, until Zidon clasped Nimrod’s hand, saying, “You are not the man I once knew.”

  A cheer arose. More table pounding.

  “No,” whispered Zidon, leaning near so only Nimrod heard. “You’ve become crafty like a serpent, cunning before a mob.”

  Nimrod laughed as if Zidon
had spoken encouraging words, and he gripped his cousin’s arm.

  Ham plopped onto his chair, everyone else soon doing likewise. Youths then took platters away and poured more date-palm wine and barley ale, while the feasters leaned back, loosening their belts.

  “You spoke earlier about baked bricks, my brother,” Canaan said. “Perhaps before we’re all uselessly drunk, you should explain what you meant.”

  Kush rose. He wore a splendid robe and a large, golden collar. His hair had been oiled, perfumed and he had consumed little that was alcoholic. “There is a reason I begged our father to bring you to Babel.”

  “Yes,” Zidon said, “to convince us to join you. That much is rather obvious.”

  “Hush,” Canaan said. “They’ve shown us nothing but respect, and yet you continue with your slights. Your own son has been to Japheth Land. Tell us, Chin, which is more magnificent: Japheth Land or Babel?”

  Chin seemed the worse from drink, and he rose unsteadily. “Compared to Babel, they live like ruffians in Japheth Land, kin to the forest beasts. Nor are their feasts so grand. Only in Babel does wine and beer flow like water.”

  “What of their walls?” Canaan asked. “Can the villages in Japheth Land stop a dragon?”

  “Never,” Chin said. “Only in Babel does one truly feel secure.”

  “Yet we’ve only seen one dragon in a hundred years,” Zidon said. “Is there really a need for monumental walls?”

  “What of Nimrod’s leviathan?” Canaan asked. “That proves more terrible creatures abound.”

  Zidon stroked his cheek and Kush cleared his throat.

  “I’m not one for making long speeches,” Kush said. “So I’ll keep this short. We have all felt, in one way or another, the keen loss of civilization. Yes, our parents survived the awful Deluge, only to have us thrown deep into primitivism. We’ve all heard the glowing stories of palaces and works of art, music and grand cities that were obliterated by Jehovah’s wrath. In Japheth Land, they live in crude villages. The same, I’m told, occurs in Shem’s area of influence. Only in Babel are we trying to recapture some of the lost glories of civilization. Yet it is a hard task, and we need many hands as well as unity. To that end, we need a unifying purpose, a goal to stir our imaginations.”

  Kush paused to examine the crowd.

  “Speak on,” Canaan said. “You intrigue me.”

  “Civilization means wisdom,” Kush said. “And wisdom is difficult to acquire. Yet if we could combine the unifying goal together with a search for wisdom, we would be doubly blessed. Now I’d like you to imagine—”

  “Father,” Nimrod said, rising, coming around the table.

  Kush scowled at this interruption.

  “I’ve anticipated what you’re about to tell us,” Nimrod said, “and I thought a demonstration might help them better visualize what you’re about to say.”

  “A demonstration?” Kush asked.

  “If you’ll permit me,” Nimrod said.

  Kush’s scowl deepened. “Can’t this wait?”

  “It will take but a moment,” Nimrod said.

  Kush impatiently waved his hand.

  Nimrod clapped his hands. Gilgamesh and Uruk, who had slipped out while the platters were cleared, wheeled a handcart into the room. A linen cloth was draped upon the cart, hiding something large.

  Nimrod walked to the cart, his voice ringing out: “My father has shown you baked bricks. They are the secret to a noble vision as grand as Noah’s Ark. Bel, the Angel of the Sun, showed me this vision. He said that, first, we must build a city. Then we must build a tower unto heaven, so we may build a name for ourselves that will ring throughout eternity. Though we presently scrounge for mere existence, by this building of a tower, we will never be forgotten. Our name will blaze like the sun itself. By the building of this tower, we will halt our foolish scattering. What is more, from the heights of this tower, we will learn heavenly wisdom.”

  “What kind of tower?” Zidon asked, his sarcasm forgotten.

  Nimrod whipped the linen cloth aside. On the handcart, there stood a model of the Tower. It wasn’t a mere cylinder, but a “stepped” pyramid. In ways it resembled a giant, squared-off wedding cake, with long ramp-like stairs leading to various levels.

  “An oblique pyramid built in seven receding stages,” Nimrod explained.

  Ham sat up. It reminded him of the pyramids of Antediluvian Chemosh.

  “Can such a thing be built by us?” Canaan asked.

  “I say it can,” Nimrod said. “What do you think, Father?”

  Kush looked in wonder at the model, and it dawned on him that while he had a vague notion of what to construct, the angel had given Nimrod precise details.

  “Seems like it would take an awful lot of work building such a thing,” Ham said.

  “Which is why we must all unite in this grand task,” Nimrod said. “By it, we will lift ourselves out of primitivism and into a glorious civilization.”

  “I’m impressed,” Zidon said. “I don’t want to be, but I’m impressed.” He looked around, seeming to recover himself as he did. “I’m impressed if for no other reason than it has stirred the savage hunter into aspirations for civilization.”

  “Is this why you first came to Babel?” Canaan asked Kush. “Is this why you risked tribal division?”

  Kush nodded solemnly.

  “What wisdom will we gain upon the Tower’s completion?” Canaan asked.

  “If we knew,” Nimrod said, “we wouldn’t have to build it.”

  Laughter rang out, and Canaan rubbed his smooth chin, his eyes alight as he studied this fabulous possibility. “Yes,” he said. “Let us build this Tower as Noah once built the Ark. Let our names ring throughout the ages as civilization’s architects. Let us no longer scatter across the Earth for the animals to devour, but let us be as one in our endeavor as we labor for heaven’s wisdom.”

  “Let it be so!” Nimrod cried.

  Festival

  1.

  A season passed. Canaan and his clan moved to Babel, although some hardworking sons remained in the Zagros settlement, with the task of collecting ores and various rare timbers to caravan later to Babel. The city on the plain grew. Kush, Nimrod and Anom the Architect, a son of Menes, worked out a blueprint for the Tower, and that winter they measured off the foundations.

  “So vast as that?” Canaan asked.

  “A monument to the ages cannot be meager,” Nimrod said. “It must stagger the imagination. It must awe and terrify. And it must draw the others to us, as honey draws a bear.”

  “It will take ages to build,” Canaan said.

  Nimrod shook his head. “Not so long as that, eh, Father?”

  Kush brooded. He slept less these days. He pondered an imponderable, wondering on the treasures of heavenly wisdom. On the Tower’s completion, what would the angel impart to humanity? He lusted to know. Impatiently, he wished to begin construction today if possible, baking the bricks himself and smearing them with slime.

  “Clay, wood and bitumen,” rumbled Kush, “in immense quantities.”

  Canaan agreed. “Reed bundles won’t fire a quarter of the brick-baking kilns before we denude Shinar. You must send teams north and hew a forest of wood, stockpiling for the future. We must gather materials like Noah once did when building the Ark.”

  Kush turned to Nimrod. “Will the Hunters go north?”

  Nimrod grinned. “Before the next floodtide, look for a deluge of logs.”

  2.

  Opis worked apart from the other girls. They laughed as they waded barefoot into the Euphrates, soaking clothes on a sandy shore and pounding them on boards. Alone, by a flat rock, Opis beat her woolens clean, reeds behind her swaying in the wintry breeze.

  Her father Lud had made it harder again for Gilgamesh to see her. Visitations were permitted only at certain times, and always with an escort. “What if someone else ends up marrying her?” Lud had told Gilgamesh. “My daughter must be above any slanderous charge. Now, now, I kn
ow you are an honorable man. But as Opis’s parents, we must take the proper precautions.”

  Gilgamesh had been furious. She knew from the fire in his eyes. Yet he was a Hunter. He knew how to bide his time. Then Ramses said that Father had spoken again with Uruk’s father, thus making everything doubly difficult and uncertain.

  She lifted a tunic out of the cold waters, beating it against the rock. If only Gilgamesh wasn’t so glory-mad, so keen about valor and deeds of honor. He could take up a trade then, a craft, and gain cattle or fields and pay her purchase price. Sometimes his ideas about glory, his Nimrod-fueled delusions, drove her to despair. Why had she fallen in love with such a dreamer?

  Behind her, the reeds rustled. Two black birds exploded from cover, startling her. Then from the reeds a face emerged, one with lean cheeks and a flashing smile.

  “Gilgamesh.”

  “Shhh,” he said. “Or the others will hear you.”

  She glanced right and left and then threw herself upon him, showering his face with kisses.

  He returned her ardor, holding her tight, saying, “I can no longer meet on the sly, wondering if this is the last time we embrace. The thought of losing you to another drives me into a frenzy.”

  “You’ll never lose me, my love.”

  “Listen,” he said. “I’m to leave next week to go logging up north.”

  “I heard,” she said, standing on her toes to kiss him again.

  “Opis, please, you must listen.”

  She blinked. He seemed grimmer than usual.

  “In a week, I leave. But on the third night, I’ll return, here, to this very spot. You must meet me here as the moon rises.”

  She hesitated. He was always filled with thoughts of daring, never considering what might happen if they failed. “I want to do as you say. But think of the risk. If my parents catch me slipping out of the house, they’ll know I mean to see you. Father already suspects such ploys and talks about going to Kush, to the elders, to have Nimrod restrain you.”