The sun shone down on Sumeria, just as hot and merciless as it was before the great Tower collapse – which, apparently, nobody in Warka had heard about. On its busy streets, people were going about their business as usual. Near the five-legged lamassu the same women were sitting and gossiping.

'Did you hear the latest? The foreign princess is actually opening a new school for the palace children!'

The other one sniffed. 'Well, I never! Our schools weren't good enough, I suppose. How does she get away with it?'

'She's got some kind of degree in school-running, or whatever. Anyway, I wouldn't let my children go there.'

'I don't suppose you'd get invited, anyway. Probably just the nobility.'

'Well, even if I did, I wouldn't say yes. Things used to be better. She didn't have any influence at all when Prince Nimrod was around. But he's disappeared and the palace is going to pieces.'

'I wonder what happened to him.'

'Well, I heard…' conspiratorial whisper, '…that it was aliens.'

A loud laugh interrupted their whispering. The two women looked up in alarm to see Ori, back in Sumerian scribe costume, walking past them. Ori bowed ironically in passing.

'Oh! It's just that weird young sage. I swear they get stranger every day.'

'Maybe he knows what happened to Prince Nimrod. But I'm not going to ask him.'

Indeed I do, thought Ori, but I wouldn't tell you. Leaving the gossip klatsch to work out their own salvation, if not with fear and trembling then with titbits of third-hand calumny, Ori proceeded to the market square, there to purchase a mattock, a bucketful of manure, a potted plant, and a box of sweets. Ori kept walking, toward a familiar residential neighbourhood, humming quietly, 'My lord, what a morning...'

At Zimah and Enli's house, Ori was welcomed by Zimah, who said Enli was at their food stand for the breakfast customers. Ori gave Zimah the potted plant – a lily – for her garden. The sweets were for the children, who were happy to see Ori (and to receive the sweets). Their mom let them have 'one apiece for right now, I'll hold the rest so you don't spoil your lunch.' They all went out to play except for Zu, who stayed with his mother, and Gibil, who followed Ori out into the garden out of curiosity, chattering all the way.

'They don't do things right, you know,' he was saying. 'There are rules.' Gibil was a very orderly boy and concerned with proper procedure. Ori nodded sagely while setting down the bucket of manure. Ori directed Gibil's attention to the family's fig tree, which wasn't doing too well.

'What do you reckon is wrong with this fig tree?' Ori asked the little boy.

Gibil stroked his chin in solemn reflection. 'It didn't grow any figs this year,' he replied.

Ori studied the unhappy foliage. 'Why do you think that is?'

Gibil shrugged. 'Maybe because the dog peed on it too many times. Or we didn't get enough rain at the right time.'

'What ought we to do with it, do you think?'

Gibil thought hard. Ori could see how hard he was thinking. Then he sighed. 'I guess we could dig it up and plant another one.'

Ori nodded. 'We could do that. But fig trees are expensive. And they take time to grow. Let's give this one another chance, why don't we?' And Ori picked up the mattock from the marketplace and began digging around the tree. Seeing what Ori was doing, Gibil ran to the garden shed and returned with a small digging stick. Together, the two friends loosened the soil, removing weeds and breaking up clods of earth.

'That's good,' said Ori finally. 'Now, this part may be a little smelly.' Ori scooped up some of the manure and began spreading it around the fig tree.

'What is that?' Gibil made big eyes.

Ori laughed. 'It's animal poop. But we can call it fertiliser. It will make the soil around the tree better. The nutrients will feed the tree. Can you help me mix it up?'

Gibil went to work with the digging stick and helped Ori mix the fertiliser into the soil. It was hot, dusty work and took quite a while. When they were done, Zimah called to them both to come and get cool drinks.

'And wash your hands, you two! I don't want that stuff in here!'

Ori and Gibil washed their hands and walked through the house into the cool inner courtyard for lunch with Zimah, Enli (back from work), and the rest of the kids.. Gibil proudly explained what they'd been doing all morning.

'And that's the right way to do it!' Gibil explained, somewhat patronisingly, which made the older children laugh.

'Never mind, you did fine,' said his mother when she saw Gibil frown.

Dagan asked Ori, 'Will we water the fig tree now?'

Headshake from Ori. 'No, not yet. The sun's too high now. If you water the plants when the sun is high, the water will evaporate too quickly. This is bad for the plant and will leave it thirsty. Wait until the sun goes down. Water it in the evening. Remember to pour the water at the base of the tree so that it soaks down to the roots.'

'Will you come back and show us?' Ori looked at Zimah, who nodded.

'We'd like it if you came for dinner,' she said.

Ori smiled. 'I'd like that, too. I have something else for the children and it will take some time to tell the tale.'

'Hurrah!' shouted the kids, both because their favourite 'grownup' (how grownup are angels, anyway?) was coming back, and because the purpose of the visit was to talk to them, not boring grownup stuff.

After lunch, the family went off for a nap (it was too hot to be messing about this time of year), and Ori, who didn't mind the heat, headed back to the temple scriptorium. There, Ori spent some time writing and copying a new text ('one without any fart jokes') and having a long, intense conversation with Bidi. Ori swore Bidi to temporary secrecy by the most solemn oaths of the gods, and somehow managed to keep a straight face while doing it. Bidi bound himself by powerful vows of honour to follow Ori's instructions to the letter and to make sure that the cuneiform tablet with which he had now been entrusted would never be altered or interfered with in his lifetime.

Of course, Bidi was in seventh heaven about all this. After all, this was BIG. How many Sumerian priests got to be the bearers of revelatory, even prophetic, texts like this? This was a career high for Bidi, and he began to carry himself with extra added dignity after this.

Ori, chuckling, went back to the apprentice priests' quarters to wash up and collect a few things. Ori looked around the place for the last time, thinking how surprising this particular part of the journey had been.

'Thanks for everything,' Ori whispered. 'I wish I could take a picture for those future archaeologists, but it wouldn't be fair.' There was a quiet chuckle, which only Ori heard.

Evening came to Warka. Ori sat with Zimah and Enli and the children around a brazier. They'd had a tasty dinner and watered the fig tree. Gibil felt that it already looked healthier. Now it was time for Ori to give the children their present.

Ori took out a cuneiform tablet. Zimah and Enli looked interested but the kids looked disappointed. They were hoping for something more exciting, like maybe a camel.

'I have a legacy for you,' said Ori solemnly. 'You're going to be the story-bearers for your generation.'

This sounded more important: the kids perked up. 'Do we get to read it to people?' asked Anunit. Ori nodded.

'You have to learn to read first,' scoffed Zana.

'I can read!' protested Anunit, 'and I can write my name!'

Ori smiled. 'You can take your time,' said Ori. 'And in the meantime, Dagan can read it for you. Would you like to read it to us now, Dagan?' Dagan took the tablet and frowned over the text. Clearing his throat, he began to read.

And the whole Earth was of one language, and one speech….

'Wait!' protested Gibil. 'You can't tell it like that!'

'Why not?' asked Ori mildly.

'That's not the way it's done! You have to say things like, King Hashemi, ruler of the five waters, defeater of enemies, beloved of the gods, ruled long and wisely in the lands of the plains, 400 years he ruled, feared by his foes, worshipped by his people…'

There was a groan from Dagan, who heard this sort of thing in school. The rest of the family laughed. Ori smiled.

'Gibil, you will make a wonderful scribe one day. But let me tell this my way. I want even the uneducated to understand this tale.' There was general agreement that this was a good way to start the story. Eventually, even Gibil was convinced – well, sort of – and Zu started chanting, 'One language, one language…' until his mother gave him a sweet.

Then everybody had to take a sweet break before Dagan could continue.

…the whole Earth was of one language, and one speech.

And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they found a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there.

Gibil approved of 'and it came to pass' as a suitably official-sounding phrase. Enli commented, 'I'm beginning to see where this is going.' Ori nodded encouragement at Dagan.

And they said one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them thoroughly. And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for mortar.

'Go to!' giggled Anunit and Zu said, 'Go to!' until he got the hiccups. Zimah rubbed his back.

'At this rate, I'll never get finished!' complained Dagan, and Zana agreed. 'It will be way past our bedtime if we don't let Dagan read.' So everybody settled down.

And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.

And the Builder's Messenger came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of men builded…

(Ori had done some creative wording here.)

And the Messenger reported to the Builder and said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and if they keep this up very long, they will make an unholy mess out of the universe;

And besides, they won't learn anything, because they don't have the right words. Also, they don't know the answers because they haven't figured out the questions yet. And people are getting left out of their stories. What we need here is more diversity.

There, they'd said it.

Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech.

So the Builder scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth: and they left off to build the city.

'That's all,' said Dagan, and bowed to his audience, who applauded. They were quiet for a long minute as each one tried to absorb the import of what they had heard.

'So that's what happened,' said Zimah softly. She squeezed her husband's hand.

Ori nodded. 'More or less. But don't worry, all the people are safe. The non-Sumerian-speaking ones have, er, migrated elsewhere.'

'I'm glad we didn't go,' said Zana. 'I would miss my friends.' The other children nodded.

Ori hugged them all. 'I'm glad you didn't, too. There's plenty of time to go wandering when you're bigger. In the meantime, please keep this tablet for me. You can tell the story to all your friends.'

They promised.

After that there were snacks, and a bit of singing, and a lot of laughter. All too soon, it was time for the kids to go to bed. Ori and the adults sat around the fire, reluctant to end the evening. Ori explained that there were errands to run, and places to go, but promised to try and return if possible. Enli and Zimah wished their friend safe travels. There were tears at the door.

Walking through the now-quiet city, looking up at the stars, Ori thought, Let the party begin…

At the end of a blind alley where no one was looking, the Paternoster waited. Ori got in.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

10.04.23 Front Page

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