Ori and Jonah stayed in Wassukanni for a week. Ori had a great time. Jonah, not so much.

Agad discovered a previously-unsuspected talent for weaving.

'The patterns make me. . . happy,' Agad told Ori. 'I like the rhythm of the work, as well.' He hummed as he worked. Ori hummed along. Pretty soon, it turned into a song.

'Why didn't you take this up before?' asked Ori.

Agad shrugged. 'In Akkad, they wouldn't let me in the guild. It was only for the members' kids. Here, if you want to try something, you can. If you turn out to be good at it you can keep doing it. This,' he pointed to his loom, 'turned out to be what I was good at. Thank you for bringing me here.' Ori patted his shoulder.

Habik also found a subject he was interested in: writing. Where boys all over Mesopotamia dreaded their schools, with the rote learning and angry teachers and endless poking at clay, the instructors of Wassukanni took a different approach.

They assumed their pupils wanted to know something.

They started with the question all learners everywhere always have about everything: Where does this stuff come from and why do I want to know it?

And miraculously, they answered the question: not with technobabble, or stories about gods, or 'because I said so!' With a bit of history.

'Of course, they prettied it up in poetry,' explained Habik with a knowing air. After all, the boy had been with Ori. He had seen some things. He didn't fall off the parsnip truck yesterday, as they say.

'Wait!' said Ori. 'You mean Enmerkar knew about the languages breaking up? Before there was writing?' Ori was puzzled. This made no sense. But then, when did human explanations ever add up? 'Go on,' Ori told Habik.

Habik nodded. 'Enmerkar got into a feud with the king of a city called Aratta. You see, there was a carp flood, and. . .'

'A carp flood?'

'Yeah, a carp flood! A big flood of all the rivers that brought lots and lots of carp. They taste good.'

'That is a matter of opinion,' replied Ori drily.

'Do you want to hear this or not?' asked Habik. Ori waved a hand, and Habik cleared his throat. 'There's a lot of poetry involved. . .'

Ori groaned.

'But I will sum things up in prose.'

'Thank you,' replied Ori fervently.

'King Enmerkar was worried about the language problem. He thought it was a barrier to trade and the. . .er. . .the economic growth of the region, that's it. Now, after the carp flood and a bumper crop of grain, everybody in Mesopotamia was feeling pretty flush, so Enmerkar decided it was a good time to collect money for his big project: a think tank to work on the language problem.


Of course, the think tank would have sumptuous headquarters. And it needed a temple. Because, also of course, Enmerkar's idea for solving the language problem involved massive whining. . .er, supplication to the gods to pretty-please-with-honey-on-top put the world's language back together so we only had one, preferably Sumerian because it's the best language. . .'

'I get the idea.'

'They needed money also to pay for mobs. . .er, organised choirs of special chanters to invoke the god Nudimmud...'

'Nudimmud?'

'Nudimmud. Honestly, Ori, if you keep interrupting I'll never finish this.'

With a supernatural effort, Ori kept a straight face and nodded – because saying anything at this point would have been impossible, even for an angel. Nudimmud, was all Ori could think. . .

'The invocation of Nudimmud begins:


"The land of Dilmun is a pure place, the land of Dilmun is a clean place,

The land of Dilmun is a clean place, the land of Dilmun is a bright place. . ."

'STOP!' Ori pleaded, wiping tears from angelic eyes. 'Just. . .go on with the story. But leave. . ..' choking 'Nudimmud out of this. I can't take it. Just. . .' more choking 'what did Enmerkar do next?'

'He sent a messenger,' replied Habik with a sniff, 'Messengers are all right, aren't they? Nothing funny about messengers. . . Okay, the messenger had to repeat what Enmerkar told him, word for word. He was like. . .'

'A herald,' supplied Ori, who had recovered enough to talk as long as nobody mentioned Nudimmud. Habik nodded. 'That's it, a herald.'

'So the herald told the King of Aratta (we don't know his name because Warka won this one) that King Enmerkar needed convertible currency in the form of precious stones so that he could build the think tank to. . .er. . .' with a quick glance at Ori 'solve the language issue, so cough up the gems tout-de-suite. The king said he'd think about it.

He sent the herald back to Warka with a list of counterdemands. Of course, they weren't like one, two, three. That isn't how kings talk.'

'Don't I know it,' muttered Ori.

'Oh, no, there were 'whereases' and 'heretofores' and a lot of 'lo and beholds' and poetry. You know, like


I want a dog that is not black,

A dog that is not white,

A dog that is not brown,

A dog that is not red,

A dog that is not pied,

To come and fight with my dog,

To see who's boss.


And then the herald ran back and forth between Aratta and Warka, over and over, and repeated all this mishmash, and then had to memorise whatever super-clever retort came from Enmerkar (remember, this is Warka's version of the story), and finally, finally, the poor guy. . .'

'Had a nervous breakdown,' said Ori.

'How did you guess?'

'I've dealt with these people,' the angel replied. 'So what did Enmerkar do? I'm assuming, because it's Warka's story, that he gets to do the clever thing.'

Habik nodded vigorously. 'Of course! When the herald got completely tonguetied, Enmerkar had an idea. He took some damp clay and made marks on it. Then he taught the herald how to read the marks. The herald was very grateful for the memory aid.'

Ori laughed, clapping. 'Excellently told! So that's how writing got started?'

Habik beamed at the praise, which he hadn't had enough of in his short life. 'Yes! Well,' he said thoughtfully, 'I imagine most of it is made up. But you know what? It's a good story. It tells us that the reason we write things down is to remember them – but also to communicate. If we write things down correctly, other people who aren't there can read them, and then they will know what we know.'

He looked at Ori earnestly as if imparting a confidence. 'You know, I think writing things down helps keep business honest.'

'How so?'

'Well, if Merchant A is supposed to send Merchant B 60 bushels of barley, and they count them out at the beginning of the journey, and the donkey-man signs that he got 60 bushels of barley, and they get to Merchant B's house and only count 59 bushels, then it's a pretty good guess that somewhere along the way, the donkey-man lost a bushel.'

'Or his donkeys got hungry,' suggested Ori.

Habik nodded. 'Either way, it's clear who needs to make good on the transaction. I guess that's one of the reasons we do writing, even if we don't want to invoke...'

'Don't say it!'

'Nudimmud!' shouted Habik, running out the door. Ori ran after him, laughing.

'Look at this,' Urda held out the round object for Ori's inspection.

'Very nice,' commented Ori, and meant it. They were in the family's new apartment, part of a small complex with its own water source and gardens which they shared with a dozen or so other families. The group voted on all decisions involving care and maintenance, and paid a small fee to the city government for such services as waste removal and pest control.

Of course, the neighbourhood got a discount on the pest control fee now because they now owned cats. This had made Urda and Omer very popular with their new neighbours. When it was discovered that Omer possessed skills in irrigation design and Urda knew how to make linen lace, the couple were plied with baked goods and dinner invitations.

Now Omer sat happily near a window, playing with a cat that had followed him companionably into the dwelling, while Urda prepared their supper. Ori joined Omer at the window. The two of them sat watching the kids playing below. From a nearby building came the sound of Zena's lyre. She and some friends were rehearsing their new number for an upcoming festival. It was a somewhat satirical song.

There's a place you go

When the water's getting low,

And you dance for the god

Like the people in Akkad.

And you really shake your booty

As you call to Nudimmudi,

If you sing real good

You might get a big carp flood!

Habik appeared in the doorway. 'Ori! You wrote that, didn't you?'

'Guilty as charged!'

After dinner, Ori told his friends regretfully that he'd have to be leaving Wassukanni soon. 'But I'll try to visit when I can.' It was more a hope than a promise.

All would be sorry to see their friend go. 'But you've got to get Jonah to his destination,' Habik remembered. Ori assented.

'He can't stay here much longer,' Ori said. 'The place. . .isn't agreeing with him. I've left him with Gudea for the most part, and everyone has treated him kindly. But he's hardly said two words together since we got here, and that's not like him at all.'

Agad laughed. 'Whenever you say anything to him, he starts to disagree. "But. . ." and then nothing. He gets that frustrated look on his face and then subsides.'

'I think it's Wassukanni itself,' said Ori. 'The very field that makes it possible for so many who come here to find the opportunity to fulfill their purposes in life seems to be keeping Jonah from expressing himself freely.'

'It's the me,' said Habik. 'Our scribe instructor explained it to me. Do you know what a me is?'

The others shook their heads.

'The mes' Habik traced the character on the table with his finger, 'are a set of rules – sort of operating instructions – that make civilisation work.'

'Oh, like work rules,' said Agad.

Zena was thoughtful. 'You know what? I'll bet in most places, like Akkad, people say the gods made those me rules.'

Habik snapped his fingers. 'That's it! But most of the time, they're lying. They're making up the rules as they go along.'

'And probably cheating to take advantage of the poor and less powerful,' commented Omer.

'Does anybody want another honey cake?' asked Urda. 'There's a gracious plenty here.' Cakes were passed around. Date wine was poured.

Ori reflected. 'But somehow, Wassukanni has a better me. One where nobody takes advantage and people work together, not against each other. And it works.'

'Do you think this is all the doing of humans?' ventured Omer. 'Maybe it's because they decided they could do without the divine and rely on common sense. . .'

Before Ori could reply, Habik spoke up. 'Then why can't Jonah speak? I get the feeling he wants to contradict everyone. But when he tries, he fails.'

'That's a good sign that somebody, somewhere, is looking out for us,' said Zena. 'I'd like to tell them thank you.'

Somewhere in Ori's mind, there was a soft chuckle and the faintest murmur. It sounded like aww, thank you, sweetheart.

'Just do the Nudimmudi dance!' suggested Agad with a grin. Their laughter filled the neighbourhood.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

05.06.23 Front Page

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