The Building - Chapter 11: Scared Geometry, Part I

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Chapter 11: Scared Geometry, Part I

A parade in ancient Sumeria.
After the kingship descended from heaven, the kingship was in Eridug. And Alulim ruled 8 sars.

Ori sighed while copying. What is this nonsense? asked Prajapati.

'The King List,' said Ori.

And how long is 8 sars?

'28,800 years.'

Oh, brother.

The list went on, from antediluvian to postdiluvian monarchs, containing names of absurdly long-lived kings with names like Ubara-Tutu, which made Prajapati giggle for some reason. Prajapati also muttered something that Ori didn't get: it sounded like 'Darmok and Jalad'. Ori got down to Mesh-He, father of the current king.

What does 'Mesh-He' mean?

'Smith.' This set off another round of Creator-giggling.

The gong sounded for lunch. Ori went to Enlil's stand to get food and chat with his friends. The three oldest children, Dagan, Zana, and Anunit, came to sit with Ori while they watched the goings-on in the marketplace square. Ori was glad to see that there were no gossipy ladies around to talk about the palace and its princesses. Instead, there was a minor procession announced in honour of the king's second cousin, the renowned big-game hunter Nimrod.

At least, he thinks he's 'renowned', Ori explained to Prajapati. Nimrod is sort of a legend in his own mind. He has a great genius…for self-promotion.

Prajapati chuckled. Must be one of those people who think that if they tell you how important they are, enough times and loudly enough, it will become true. Ori agreed.

'Oh, look!' Anunit pointed. 'Here comes the parade! Mama! A parade!'

The parade approached. First came trumpeters making a lot of noise and Ori's ears hurt. Don't quit your day jobs, said Prajapati.

That IS their day job, Ori pointed out, sighing. You have no idea what practice sounds like.

The trumpeters were followed by chariots. The charioteers were well-dressed and bore the haughty looks of all chauffeurs everywhere – the look that broadcasts the fact that they, the chauffeurs, are important by association with noteworthy people, and that besides, they get to drive the latest in technology and you don't, so there. Prajapati's laughter in Ori's head almost drowned out the out-of-tune trumpeters, for which Ori was glad.

The passengers behind the smug charioteers were quite busy flinging things at the crowd: sweets and flowers and tiny trinkets made of woven reeds with bits of coloured ribbon. The children squealed with delight and ran to scoop up treasures.

'Be careful!' called Ori. 'Don't go too near the chariots!' But the children, surefooted, dodged wheels and hooves to pick up toys and candies from the cobblestones. They entrusted their first haul to Ori's keeping and ran back for more. Zana dutifully gathered an armful of blossoms for her mother.

After that, the children had to vacate the street, being shooed away by officious officials. They came back to sit with Ori and suck on boiled sweets – and watch the next part of the parade with awe.

For here it came, the pièce de résistance. The reason for all this pomp and show-offery: a gigantic male lion, the largest anyone had ever seen. It was dead, of course, victim of 'Nimrod, the mighty hunter before the gods,' but it had been expertly taxidermied so that it ferociously menaced the crowd as it passed. Onlookers yelled in mock terror as yet more trumpeters, walking behind the cart, did their best imitations of a lion's roar. It was so realistic that Dagan and Anunit wanted to run out and fight it.

Dead lion on cart, stuffed.

That's disgusting, thought Ori and Prajapati simultaneously. What had the lion done to him ?

Last of all came the man of the hour: Nimrod himself, waving to the crowd and showing every sign of thoroughly enjoying all the attention.

'He's not nearly as tall as I thought he would be,' said Zana with a frown. Ori agreed with her: from all the hype, Ori had expected at least a seven-foot giant. Instead, Nimrod was about medium height and unprepossessing, not muscular at all – in fact, rather flabby – and pale, not sunburned as would befit an outdoorsman. He looked like he spent most of his time in his countinghouse tallying up his grain stores and writing customer complaint letters, Ori thought.

But right now, Nimrod was waving expansively to his adoring audience. To make doubly sure they kept on adoring, with every second wave he cast more sweets into the crowd.

'Hurrah!' yelled the crowd. From within the teeming mass of people another shout started:

Mesh-He has slain his thousands – and Nimrod his ten thousands!
Nimrod in his chariot waving at the crowd.

I suspect that shout was worked out by Nimrod's PR team, thought Ori. Prajapati agreed. But sure enough, some people in the crowd took up the shout. Soon everyone was cheering loudly for Nimrod, who looked insufferably pleased with himself.

The parade passed by, followed by a cleanup crew with brooms. Children dashed between the workers picking up the last of the sweets. Life went back to almost-normal.

On the way back to the scriptorium, Ori picked up bits of gossip.

'Did you hear? Nimrod has big plans!'

'Yes! I hear he's selling shares in his latest venture!'

'He's going to build his own city!'

'Where?'

'Somewhere out on the Plains of Shinar! It's going to be the biggest, the newest, the best!'

'There isn't going to be a ziggurat. Instead, he's building a giant tower! People will live and work in it! It's going to be the biggest building in the world!'

'It will make its own weather!'

'The top floors will attract rain clouds!'

'Eagles will nest in its parapets!'

'I heard…' conspiratorial whisper, 'that the tower will reach into Heaven. And challenge the gods themselves!'

'Oh, that Nimrod. He's crazy.'

Scoffing. 'Yeah, crazy – like a fox! He's smarter than everyone else.'

Ori went back to the Kings List with a shrug and a shake of the head, thinking about self-promoting humans and 28,000-year reigns.

Prajapati sang:

I was born about ten thousand years ago,

There ain't nothing in this world that I don't know,

I saw reed boats out of Hades floating down the wide Euphrates,

And I'll whup the guy who says it isn't so.

I'm glad you're having fun, thought Ori, pushing stylus into wet clay.

Post Novella Project 2022/2023 Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni


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