The Days of Peleg (69 page)

A new rustling in the brush caught their ears, but it was Bernifal. Again. They had not noticed his departure, but he now stood before them in the moonlight, holding three small rabbits. They were still struggling in the nooses that Bernifal had created from vines. He often draped such traps along the small animal paths, and when a rabbit or squirrel passed that way, their necks were caught; and when they attempted to run, a long stick attached to the other end would catch in the brush—holding them until Bernifal was able to find and collect them.

He raised his catch up in the air with a smile.

“Breakfast,” was all he said.

He placed them in a small bag which (much to Peleg’s dismay) Bernifal had fashioned from a portion of his fine, new undergarments. When they entered Ur, Bernifal would be wearing nothing under his expensive amber robes.

Bernifal arranged his mattress of fig leaves, and was soon sleeping. Peleg turned back to Shem, whose face was now shining in the moonlight.

Peleg poked at the dying embers with a stick, creating sparks.

“You realize,” said Shem suddenly, “that now that they have found you, you will be subject to the same hatred.”

Peleg dropped his stick and glared at Shem.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “And who is ‘
they
’?”

“The serpent and his agents,” was the calm reply.

Peleg shook his head furiously.

“You forget that I was
not
obligated to believe your recitation,” he said defiantly. “It was very well done—and compelling—but I will certainly reserve any judgment until after I have presented myself to Inanna and made my case to her.” But even as he spoke, shudders of doubt went through him.

Shem shook his head.

“We must find your great-grandson Nahor,” he insisted. “Your son, Reu, was incapable of receiving our message. Although he spoke accurately and was correct in his economic assessments, his great truths blind him to greater truth. We must hope that Nahor will understand—and assist us.”

Peleg stood and shook his head, dismissing Shem’s words. The aura of mystery was gone. He walked to his sleeping area and began preparing himself for the night.

“Right now we should sleep,” he said. “We can fight about what we will do in Ur when we get there.”

Shem nodded in acquiescence, and then rose from his seat.

“Sleep well,” he said.

Peleg allowed himself one more grunt, and then curled up on his leaves.

But one thought pounded through his mind as he fell asleep. He couldn’t defend the thought, but it came to him nonetheless. When someone authored a great epoch, much of it was motivated by self-glory or a desire to impress an audience. He could not reconcile this with what he had just heard.

No human could have composed that Amar.

Chapter 37

Symbiosis

“That the creation needs a Creator is obvious, but does the Creator really need His creation?”

A
great deal can happen in twelve years.

Shem’s words had created unrest in Peleg ever since he had heard them, but as he approached Ur, his fears blossomed into reality.

The sun was rising from behind the city walls, and already Peleg could see the top levels of the
Citadel
silhouetted against the morning sky. And it did not take long for Peleg to see that at least one major change had taken place during his absence.

Jutting up from the four corners of the
Citadel
were new, slender pillars which shone with a dark golden color and appeared to be made of brass. They rose above the structure, and atop each of their tapered ends was a silver crescent moon—its shining edges backlit by the sun and gleaming out across the plains.

It had actually been almost fourteen years since Peleg had ventured out with the Great Discovery expedition; launched from this city’s seaport. But as they approached the familiar skyline, he felt as if he had been gone for only a few weeks.

“It’s hard to believe that so many years have passed since I left,” Peleg said to Shem casually. “It seems as if each year is shorter than the previous one.”

Shem looked across at Peleg and smiled. They had spoken very little since they awoke that morning—and enjoyed the meal of roasted rabbit thighs which Bernifal had marinated in a garlic soy sauce, seasoned with crushed tarragon and wild onions, and wrapped in fig leaves. Somehow Bernifal always managed to create an unbelievable breakfast out of the most meager resources.

“But the years
do
get shorter,” said Shem earnestly.

Peleg glanced at him with a confused look.

“Yes,” he agreed cautiously. “They
seem
to get shorter. I was speaking as a matter of perception.”

“No,” insisted Shem. “They actually become measurably shorter as time passes. Objectively,
mathematically
shorter.”

He looked at Peleg, daring him to contradict him.

Peleg could think of no response, so he eventually asked, “What do you mean?”

Shem waited until they had walked a few more steps, and then he smiled.

“To a child of ten, one year represents ten percent of a lifetime, or zero point one lifetimes. However, by the time he reaches your age, one year will equal only point eight five percent of a lifetime. Zero point zero zero eight five lifetimes.”

Shem stopped and looked at Peleg.

“For me, a year is less than one
three-hundredth
of a lifetime, so they pass by faster than you can imagine.”

He resumed walking.

“So as you can see, they
do
become smaller,” Shem concluded, with the smug assurance of someone who has just won a bet. “It’s all a matter of establishing a proper reference point.”

Peleg groaned and increased his pace, pulling ahead of Shem.

They decided to avoid the western gate, so they walked around to the south where, by mid-morning, they reached the port gate. Soon they were walking the streets of Ur, jostling with the crowds who were going about their daily activities. There was an air of frantic business, but the people were nothing like those in Uruk. Uruk had been filled with well-dressed investors and marketers who dealt in commodities and business ventures. These were unkempt street vendors who were selling just about anything imaginable: Produce, jewelry, and an unending assortment of strange statuettes and figurines.

They were also nothing like the people that Peleg remembered. The citizens of Ur had always been calm and pleasant, with a reserved intelligence that was subtly veiled in modesty—both in manner and in dress.

Peleg thought at first they had arrived on a day of celebration or some holiday. Crowds like this just didn’t happen in this city—at least the city
he
knew. Vendors called out, rudely hawking their wares to anyone within earshot. Since Peleg and his companions were dressed in fine clothes, they soon became targets for the noisy, uncouth merchants.

As they pushed through the crowd, trying their best to ignore the din, Peleg searched desperately to try and find someone he would recognize. Many times his heart jumped as he thought he spotted an old friend or colleague, but each time, when the person turned towards him, he was disappointed.

He desperately wanted to steer Shem and Bernifal towards his home, but he felt it was too dangerous. If Reu’s warnings were true, he would have to fight his impulses and head towards the
Citadel
instead. He was quite confident that no one would recognize him in his expensive clothes, accompanied by two strangers. Also, (he had to admit, grudgingly) his appearance had changed slightly due to aging.

A young, light-skinned girl with thick black hair wrapped in a scarf was dispatched from a nearby kiosk and approached Peleg with a female figurine in her hand. She wore large, gaudy earrings made of twisted tin, heavy eyeliner, and a thick agate-stone necklace. She was dressed to appear much older than her actual age.

“You must receive this icon of the Queen of Heaven,” she implored. “When she visited the underworld to rescue her lover, she also returned with great gifts of life and vitality. We have captured her essence in this icon, and anyone who owns it shares in her abundance.”

Peleg did not know who the Queen of Heaven was, nor had he heard this story. But he did recognize superstitious myths when he heard them. He didn’t know whether he was more enraged or offended, and he instinctively glared at the girl. She was startled, never having received such an angry look from such a well-dressed traveler, and backed away slightly, but held her ground.

“I am sorry if I have offended you,” she said with a determined smile, “But I assure you this is of the finest quality. It has been personally blessed by the Queen of Heaven herself.”

Peleg looked at the figurine more carefully. It was crudely painted, as if mass-produced, but he was startled to see a slight resemblance to Inanna.
She would never participate in such nonsense
, he thought angrily. He turned and walked away, ignoring any further calls from the girl.

As he scanned the sea of street merchants selling their junk, his eyes finally noticed a lady who was offering a more refined product—one that was more appropriate for the Ur he remembered.

He approached her kiosk and began to admire the finely detailed parchments depicting various stars charts and their accompanying constellations.

“These are very well done,” he said, admiring the accuracy.

“Thank you, sir,” she responded with a slight bow and gentle smile. “My father and I work on them together.”

Peleg nodded and began looking at the details along the lower margins. He noticed a strange seven-column matrix that was delicately painted with planetary symbols heading the top of each file. They were in a strange order, but he was pleased to see that Nibiru was not among them.

He ran his fingers across the characters with a quizzical look on his face, contemplating their arrangement: Utu, Suen, Nergal, Nabû, Enki, Inana, Ninurta.

“What is the significance of these symbols?” he asked. “Why are they displayed in this order?”

“Those represent the wanderers,” she answered, patiently, seemingly surprised at the ignorance of this well-dressed traveler.

“I know that,” Peleg responded with far less patience. “I mean, what do the planets have to do with this matrix?”

She giggled softly.

“Those are the days of the week, sir.”

Peleg took a moment to comprehend her words. The days of the week had always been ‘named’ Day One, Day Two, Day Three and so forth. No one knew where the seven-day standard came from, but everyone always looked forward to Day Seven which typically was reserved for leisure, entertaining, or parties.

It suddenly occurred to him that, according to Shem’s
Amar
, the
Creator
had rested on Day Seven, after announcing that his creation was complete.

“When did we start using planet names for the days of the week?” he asked.

She laughed lightly again.

“You must be from far away, sir,” she said, “The unifiers brought much knowledge with them. As the stars and planets pass overhead, they affect our lives, bringing success or sadness, love or loss. Those who have accurate charts, such as these, can use them to foretell which influences are to come. We honor the wanderers and their unique attributes by giving them a special day each week. If you know under which sign a child is born, you can chart future events for their entire life.”

Peleg stared at her incredulously, desperately looking for some indication that she was joking. But she continued to look sweetly up at him; never for a moment suspecting the turmoil she was creating.

Finally Peleg choked, “Unifiers?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Great sages accompanied the warriors from Babylon. They brought much useful knowledge about the heavens. My father was trained by some of their best.”

Peleg just stood there, dumbstruck, for several seconds. Finally he turned away quickly and walked off, leaving her stunned and surprised, and most certainly wondering how this wealthy traveler could be so unaware.

Peleg scanned the crowd, trying to find Shem and Bernifal. Eventually he discovered Shem speaking with another vendor, and as he approached, Shem saw him and waved.

“Over here,” Shem shouted. “This man sells armbands for Nahor!”

Peleg was shocked to have found a contact for Nahor so quickly, but he was also not very excited. He wanted to press towards the
Citadel
, and he had hoped to get there
before
Shem had found Reu’s grandson.

The vendor waved vigorously at Peleg, urging him to come closer.

“See the twin circles of silver and bronze,” he said, presenting a simple armband consisting of two metal rings held together by a simple tin braid. “The spirits of
Lahmu
and
Lahamu
are captured within this fine arm amulet. The ‘rim of heaven’ in the silver band rests upon the ‘horizon of the earth’ in the bronze band. As
Anshar
and
Kishar
meet, special power and protection are given to the wearer as the unity and peace of the cosmos descend whenever these two metals are sealed together.”

Peleg was stunned as if betrayed. He knew the fable. During one of the violent earthquakes of the Great Calamity, the pure waters (
Apsu
) from under the Earth had disturbed the salt waters upon the Earth (
Tiamat
), creating a powerful mixture of slime and mud (
Lahmu
and
Lahamu
) from which all life emerged. To create a home for this life, the heavens and earth had been separated, creating the horizon—which this charlatan was attempting to represent with his armbands. It was the same thinking that Tizkar, their
tonga
driver had displayed so many years ago: the idea that all life had originated from the turbulent seas of the Great Calamity just over two centuries ago.

But what offended him more than someone exploiting and profiting from such nonsense was the implicit suggestion that the sky was simply an inverted bowl resting upon a flat earth. It was inconceivable that someone could promote such idiocy—especially here in Ur; and it was all the more incredulous since his own travels had been
proof
that such thinking
was
idiocy.