The two guests followed Gudea into the Treasure Room: Ori willingly and eager to hear the tale, Jonah automatically, as if he'd lost all independent volition. A little worried, Ori steered the speechless prophet to a chair and pushed him gently into it.

Ori looked around. The room was sumptuously appointed, like everything else in the Wassukanni palace. Fixtures gleamed in polished gold and silver. Well-appointed shelves were stacked with clay tablets or small, carved boxes. Case upon case in the room held musical instruments and craft tools. It looked like the well-appointed supply room of a temple school.

In answer to Ori's questioning look, Gudea smiled gently. 'Our friend will be all right. I expect that's his usual trance state. He's a prophet, isn't he?' Ori nodded. 'They go into altered states. This room induces a similar state in order to perform its function for the people of Wassukanni. You didn't notice because you are, after all, one of the gods.'

It was Ori's turn to stare. 'Er, well, yes, I suppose by your definition, that's what I am. I didn't mean to...er, invade your space. It's only that I promised the Akkadians I'd help them find a new home, and I have to make sure they're safe...'

Ori stopped babbling apologies because Gudea was laughing. The Shepherd held up his hand. 'Oh, don't worry! I can read minds, remember? Even yours. If you weren't totally harmless to these people, I wouldn't have let you in. Please take a seat.' He gestured to one of two chairs. Ori sat down: it was a nice chair and well-made.

'Before you tell me about the Treasure Room,' Ori said, 'Would you mind explaining why you felt it necessary to ban gods from your city? I mean, yes, if beings like Marduk and Tiamat were real, I'd see why you wouldn't want them around. But...'

A thought struck Ori: a sudden image of one of the thousand-eyed singing creatures from the Penthouse. Ori winced: nobody in Sumeria needed to see that.

Gudea laughed again. 'That would definitely be an undesirable sight in our streets. But that's not the reason. Perhaps it would be better if I told you the story from the beginning.'

Ori nodded, ready to hear the tale from this unusual human. Talking to Gudea was almost like talking to Prajapati.

At that thought, Ori heard the more familiar voice. Gudea's a good man. Listen to him. Ori nodded again.

'In the beginning,' began Gudea...

...he gods made humans, but they didn't make them very well. The reason they made the humans was that Prajapati told them to stop messing about and do what he'd made them for: to figure out what the world needed to be a Whole Thing. But the gods were lazy and only wanted to dance and sing and eat...

'I know,' said Ori. 'Pancakes.' Ori had heard that part before. Gudea nodded.

The gods, of course, made nothing out of nothing, so they took an animal that stood on its two legs and had hands, and turned it into a human. It wasn't very happy about it.

Ori thought about Ardi and almost cried in front of this stranger. Gudea gave Ori a sharp look, but continued.

The gods wanted the humans to do the work Prajapati had assigned them, so they gave the humans skills – like the ability to make clothing and build houses and farm. By figuring out things like this, the humans were supposed to figure out what the world needed to be a Whole Thing. The humans grumbled about all this work – they didn't like it any better than the gods had. But they didn't have a choice: they didn't have the same powers as the gods. But that gave them an idea.

The humans built cities for protection: from predatory animals, from the weather, from other humans. They thought out problems. Whenever they had a problem that required new technology, they called on the gods. The gods didn't want to answer them, of course: they were too busy...'

'...singing and dancing and eating pancakes,' said Ori with a weary eyeroll. Except for the pancake part, it was true.

The humans came up with a clever way to make the gods pay attention.

'Tell me it didn't involve cooking,' begged Ori. Gudea's eyes twinkled as he shook his head. 'No. Statues.'

'Statues?'

'Statues. And flattery.'

Whenever the humans built a city, they dedicated it to one of the gods. They built statues of the gods – very beautiful ones, of course, in gold and silver and precious jewels – and put them in prominent places, like gates, where the gods could watch out for the people, and temples, where people could go to ask them important questions like 'how do we store information for the future?' Each city boasted that its god was better than the other gods. That created a healthy sense of competition, which led to progress. And they told each other many, many stories about the gods and their adventures.

'Just wait a sixty-second minute!' exclaimed Ori. 'None of those gods are real! There isn't anybody up there named Marduk. Or Tiamat. They don't have husbands and wives and weird pets and magic weapons. Nobody ever elected a king. Humans made all that up!'

Gudea laughed heartily. 'Of course they did! That's the beauty of it – and the horror. You see, those statues are like...like...' He stopped, stumped for a way to describe the action of a statue on spacetime.

Tell him they're like telephone kiosks, suggested Prajapati. Ori didn't have a clue what a 'telephone kiosk' was, but shared the phrase with Gudea, who clapped his hands.

'Yes! Exactly like that! They're like communication devices!' he said. 'And the stories are ways to focus on the kind of message that is needed. In this way, humans bend space and time to gather the information they need. The information those lazy gods refused to use in the first place.'

'I see,' said Ori – and did. 'So in theory, once humans have gathered all the knowledge that is needed to make the world a Whole Thing, and put that knowledge into practice, then everything will be perfect? There will be no sickness, or sadness, or death, and we'll all be able to learn and grow and do, the way we should?'

Gudea sighed. 'It would work like that, if humans were doing a job they were meant to do. But they aren't. They're trying to do the job the gods were supposed to be doing.' He squinted at Ori in sudden surmise. 'The job you're probably trying to do, since you're here of your own free will.'

Ori blushed and shrugged. 'I just asked a question,' Ori said simply. 'Then there was an elevator.' Gudea laughed, and Prajapati laughed, inside Ori's head. Finally, Ori laughed, a little.

'Humans are hopelessly out-tasked,' Gudea went on. 'We're here inside a matrix of space and time that we're constantly influencing without having the slightest idea what effect our next action will have. We can't even ask the questions without changing the answers. It's a dilemma.'

Suddenly, Ori could see it: like fish in one of the ornamental palace ponds of Warka trying to figure out where they were, how they got there, and what their purpose in life was. 'No wonder most of them choose to spend their time looking for food and a friend,' Ori muttered, not sure whether 'most of them' referred to humans or fish.

Gudea smiled gently. 'Now you see why we need extra-dimensional help. You came down in the...er, elevator...and I learned to go up, just for moments at a time, by working on my thought patterns. That's also what mystics do, and prophets...'

There was a sudden sharp noise: a cross between a small explosion and the snarl of angry boar. They both turned involuntarily to look at Jonah, whom they'd totally forgotten during the intense discussion. Jonah wasn't taking part in the metaphysical discourse, but not because he was in a trance. The tired prophet had fallen asleep and was now snoring.

Ori and Gudea laughed. (So did Prajapati.)

'Okay, some prophets better than others,' said Gudea between chuckles.

Ori thought. 'This is beginning to make some sense now. Trying to figure out how to make the world a Whole Thing is far too hard for humans alone. Especially if they're only looking at one level of The Building.'

'The Building?' Gudea lifted an eyebrow.

Ori explained about The Building, briefly.

Gudea nodded. 'We each experience reality in our own way. It's when we have to talk to each other that the compromise sets in. To each his own metaphor.'

Ori got about half of that, but nodded. 'The bipedal animals that became humans? They were really nice. A few floors up.' Ori didn't say anything else, but Gudea seemed to have caught a hint of Ori's feelings. He reached over and squeezed Ori's hand gently.

Ori had another question. 'How long has this city been here?'

Gudea shrugged. 'None of us can tell. Not long, I'm guessing. I was in the desert out there' he gestured vaguely, 'when one day, I looked up and there it was, on the horizon. It seemed to be calling to me, so I gathered my sheep and went.' Gudea stroked the little lamb that was sharing his chair. Like Jonah, the lamb was sleeping, but unlike Jonah, it wasn't snoring.

Ori had a thought. 'I'll bet I know when this city came into being: right about the time the Tower of Babel collapsed in on itself.'

'Tell me,' said Gudea – and Ori did. It was Gudea's turn to beg for details, and Ori's turn to tell the story, and Gudea's chance to be surprised and enlightened.

Jonah continued to snore through the entire performance, and thus was neither surprised nor enlightened. The lamb slept on in innocence and did not care.

'That makes sense,' commented Gudea when all had been told. 'After all, Wassukanni is the City of the Source.'

Now Ori lifted an eyebrow.

Gudea said, 'It means 'source' or 'well' in the local dialect. People come here to replenish their spirits. Whatever they were missing where they were before, is supplied to them here. Those who lacked friends will find them here in abundance. Those who were unable to practise a skill...' he spread out his hand to indicate the tablets, the instruments, and the tools, 'will find plenty of opportunity to learn and make and do. Here, they can explore to their hearts' content. And perhaps, who knows? They may play a role in finding the way to make the world a Whole Thing.'

Ori smiled. 'From your mouth to Prajapati's ear.' And Prajapati murmured assent.

Gudea stood. 'Let us go and meet the others. Our friends will have prepared a meal by now. There is surely more to learn, but for now, you need rest and refreshment, and to see that your friends are happy.'

'Come on, Jonah,' said Ori, and shook the prophet gently. With a final snort, Jonah's head sprang up.

'According to the number of thy cities are thy gods, o Judah!' he shouted, confused. Ori and Gudea laughed, and bundled him and the lamb out of the Treasure Room, down the steps, and in the direction of a beautiful garden, from which good food smells were coming, as well as the welcome sound of Zena and her lyre.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

29.05.23 Front Page

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