Gilgamesh (14 page)

Then he veiled Enkidu's face like a bride's. Like an eagle Gilgamesh circled around him, he paced in front of him, back and forth, like a lioness whose cubs are trapped in a pit, he tore out clumps of his hair, tore off his magnificent robes as though they were cursed.

At the first glow of dawn, Gilgamesh sent out a proclamation: “Blacksmiths, goldsmiths, workers in silver, metal, and gems-create a statue of Enkidu, my friend, make it more splendid than any statue that has ever been made. Cover his beard with lapis lazuli, his chest with gold. Let obsidian and all other beautiful stones-a thousand jewels of every color-be piled along with the silver and gold and sent on a barge, down the Euphrates
to great-walled Uruk, for Enkidu's statue. I will lay him down on a bed of honor, I will put him on a royal bier, on my left I will place his statue in the seat of repose, the princes of the earth will kiss its feet, the people of Uruk will mourn him, and when he is gone, I will roam the wilderness with matted hair, in a lion skin.”

After he sent out the proclamation, he went to the treasury, unlocked the door and surveyed his riches, then he brought out priceless, jewel-studded weapons and tools, with inlaid handles of ivory and gold, and he heaped them up for Enkidu, his friend, as an offering to the gods of the underworld. He gathered fattened oxen and sheep, he butchered them, and he piled them high for Enkidu, his beloved friend.
He closed his eyes, in his mind he formed an image of the infernal river, then he opened the palace gate, brought out an offering table of precious yew wood, filled a carnelian bowl with honey, filled a lapis lazuli bowl with butter, and when the offerings were ready he spread out each one in front of Shamash.

To the great queen Ishtar his offering was a polished javelin of pure cedar. “Let Ishtar accept this, let her welcome my friend and walk at his side in the underworld, so that Enkidu may not be sick at heart.” To Sîn, the god of the moon, he offered a knife with a curved obsidian blade. “Let Sîn accept this, let him welcome my friend and walk at his side in the underworld, so that Enkidu may not be sick at heart.”
To Ereshkigal, the dark queen of the dead, he offered a lapis lazuli flask. “Let the queen accept this, let her welcome my friend and walk at his side in the underworld, so that Enkidu may not be sick at heart.” To Tammuz, the shepherd beloved by Ishtar, his offering was a carnelian flute; to Namtar, vizier of the dark gods, a lapis lazuli chair and scepter; to Hushbishag, handmaid of the dark gods, a golden necklace; to Qassa-tabat, the infernal sweeper, a silver bracelet; to the housekeeper, Ninshuluhha, a mirror of alabaster, on the back of which was a picture of the Cedar Forest, inlaid with rubies and lapis lazuli; to the butcher, Bibbu, a double-edged knife with a haft of lapis lazuli bearing a picture of the holy Euphrates.
When all the offerings were set out, he prayed, “Let the gods accept these, let them welcome my friend and walk at his side in the underworld, so that Enkidu may not be sick at heart.”

After the funeral, Gilgamesh went out from Uruk, into the wilderness with matted hair, in a lion skin.

G
ilgamesh wept over Enkidu his friend, bitterly he wept through the wilderness. “Must I die too? Must I be as lifeless as Enkidu? How can I bear this sorrow that gnaws at my belly, this fear of death that restlessly drives me onward? If only I could find the one man whom the gods made immortal, I would ask him how to overcome death.”

So Gilgamesh roamed, his heart full of anguish, wandering, always eastward, in search of Utnapishtim, whom the gods made immortal.

Finally he arrived at the two high mountains called the Twin Peaks. Their summits touch the vault of heaven, their bases reach down to the underworld, they keep watch over the sun's departure and its return. Two scorpion people were posted at the entrance, guarding the tunnel into which the sun plunges when it sets and moves through the earth to emerge above the horizon at dawn. The sight of these two inspired such terror that it could kill an ordinary man. Their auras shimmered over the mountains. When Gilgamesh saw them, he was pierced with dread, but he steadied himself and headed toward them.

The scorpion man called out to his wife, “This one who approaches-he must be a god.”

The scorpion woman called back to him, “He is two-thirds divine and one-third human.”

The scorpion man said, “What is your name? How have you dared to come here? Why have you traveled so far, over seas and mountains difficult to cross, through wastelands and deserts no mortal has ever entered? Tell me the goal of your journey. I want to know.”

“Gilgamesh is my name,” he answered, “I am the king of great-walled Uruk and have come here to find my ancestor Utnapishtim, who joined the assembly of the gods, and was granted eternal life. He is my last hope. I want to ask him how he managed to overcome death.”

The scorpion man said, “No one is able to cross the Twin Peaks, nor has anyone ever entered the tunnel into which the sun plunges when it sets and moves through the earth.
Inside the tunnel there is total darkness: deep is the darkness, with no light at all.”

The scorpion woman said, “This brave man, driven by despair, his body frost-chilled, exhausted, and burnt by the desert sun-show him the way to Utnapishtim.”

The scorpion man said, “Ever downward through the deep darkness the tunnel leads. All will be pitch black before and behind you, all will be pitch black to either side. You must run through the tunnel faster than the wind. You have just twelve hours. If you don't emerge from the tunnel before the sun sets and enters, you will find no refuge from its deadly fire. Penetrate into the mountains' depths, may the Twin Peaks lead you safely to your goal, may they safely take you to the edge of the world.
The gate to the tunnel lies here before you. Go now in peace, and return in peace.”

As the sun was rising, Gilgamesh entered. He began to run. For one hour he ran, deep was the darkness, with no light at all before and behind him and to either side. For a second and a third hour Gilgamesh ran, deep was the darkness, with no light at all before and behind him and to either side. For a fourth and a fifth hour Gilgamesh ran, deep was the darkness, with no light at all before and behind him and to either side. For a sixth and a seventh hour Gilgamesh ran, deep was the darkness, with no light at all before and behind him and to either side. At the eighth hour Gilgamesh cried out with fear, deep was the darkness, with no light at all before and behind him and to either side.
At the ninth hour he felt a breeze on his face, deep was the darkness, with no light at all before and behind him and to either side. For a tenth and eleventh hour Gilgamesh ran, deep was the darkness, with no light at all before and behind him and to either side. At the twelfth hour he emerged from the tunnel into the light. The sun was hurtling toward the entrance. He had barely escaped.

Before him the garden of the gods appeared, with gem-trees of all colors, dazzling to see. There were trees that grew rubies, trees with lapis lazuli flowers, trees that dangled gigantic coral clusters like dates. Everywhere, sparkling on all the branches, were enormous jewels: emeralds, sapphires, hematite, diamonds, carnelians, pearls. Gilgamesh looked up and marveled at it all.

A
t the edge of the ocean, the tavern keeper Shiduri was sitting. Her face was veiled, her golden pot-stand and brewing vat stood at her side. As Gilgamesh came toward her, worn out, his heart full of anguish, she thought, “This desperate man must be a murderer. Why else is he heading straight toward me?” She rushed into her tavern, locked the door, then climbed to the roof. Gilgamesh heard the noise, he looked up and saw her standing there, staring at him. “Why did you lock yourself in?” he shouted. “I want to enter now. If you don't let me, I will smash your locks and break down your door.”

Shiduri answered, “You seemed so wild that I locked my door and climbed to the roof. Tell me your name now. Where you are going?”

“Gilgamesh is my name,” he said. “I am the king of great-walled Uruk. I am the man who killed Humbaba in the Cedar Forest, I am the man who triumphed over the Bull of Heaven.”

Shiduri said, “Why are your cheeks so hollow and your features so ravaged? Why is your face frost-chilled, and burnt by the desert sun? Why is there so much grief in your heart? Why are you worn out and ready to collapse, like someone who has been on a long, hard journey?”

Gilgamesh said, “Shouldn't my cheeks be hollow, shouldn't my face be ravaged,
frost-chilled, and burnt by the desert sun? Shouldn't my heart be filled with grief? Shouldn't I be worn out and ready to collapse? My friend, my brother, whom I loved so dearly, who accompanied me through every danger—Enkidu, my brother, whom I loved so dearly, who accompanied me through every danger—the fate of mankind has overwhelmed him. For six days I would not let him be buried, thinking, ‘If my grief is violent enough, perhaps he will come back to life again.' For six days and seven nights I mourned him, until a maggot fell out of his nose. Then I was frightened, I was terrified by death, and I set out to roam the wilderness. I cannot bear what happened to my friend—I cannot bear what happened to Enkidu—so I roam the wilderness in my grief. How can my mind have any rest?
My beloved friend has turned into clay—my beloved Enkidu has turned into clay. And won't I too lie down in the dirt like him, and never arise again?”

Shiduri said, “Gilgamesh, where are you roaming? You will never find the eternal life that you seek. When the gods created mankind, they also created death, and they held back eternal life for themselves alone. Humans are born, they live, then they die, this is the order that the gods have decreed. But until the end comes, enjoy your life, spend it in happiness, not despair. Savor your food, make each of your days a delight, bathe and anoint yourself, wear bright clothes that are sparkling clean, let music and dancing fill your house,
love the child who holds you by the hand, and give your wife pleasure in your embrace. That is the best way for a man to live.”

Gilgamesh cried out, “What are you saying, tavern keeper? My heart is sick for my friend who died. What can your words mean when my heart is sick for Enkidu who died? Show me the road to Utnapishtim. I will cross the vast ocean if I can. If not, I will roam the wilderness in my grief.”