Now Nineveh was an exceeding great city of three days' journey.

'What does that mean?' asked Habik.

'What do you mean, what does it mean?' retorted Jonah. 'It means what it means, kid.'

Agad sighed. They hadn't gotten Jonah to shut up since sunrise, and here it was the middle of the day and he was still talking. Agad had about decided that 'prophet' was another word for 'endless talker.' Just please don't get him started again about that poem he composed inside the whale, he thought. That one took all morning.

'Folks, here's an oasis!' called Ori. 'Let's stop to water the animals and rest until the sun is lower.' Everyone agreed happily, including the mules and their drivers. Ori had hired them that morning: it turned out they were headed east anyway and didn't mind taking a Nineveh detour. Their remark that 'something told' the lead muleteer to 'swing by the beach on his way' hadn't surprised Ori but had filled Jonah with inexpressible smugness as proving that the one true god was looking out for him, Jonah, in particular.

'Inexpressible smugness' is, of course, merely a turn of phrase. Jonah spent a good hour that morning expressing his smugness before the group threatened to bury him in the sand if he didn't change the subject. After that, they got a couple of hours of 'my prayer from inside the whale, a particularly fine set of verses,' which he proceeded to recite until the company wished he'd talk about something else again but nobody dared suggest it because they knew it would just be about him again, and were afraid of getting blamed when the new topic turned out to be worse than the one before it. It had been a long morning, filled with high-minded (and boring) poetry like this:

For thou hadst cast me into the deep,

In the midst of the seas;

And the floods compassed me about:

All thy billows and thy waves passed over me.

'Do you always do that?' Agad wanted to know.

'Do what?' asked Jonah, irritated at being kibitzed by kids and ignored by grownups.

'Say something, and then repeat it in different words.'

'That is our national poetic form! Of course you wouldn't understand it. It's called 'parallelism.' And it's very classy.'

'It's kind of boring,' said Habik.

Jonah pretended not to hear this and proceeded to recite more examples of parallelism.

The waters compassed me about,

Even to the soul:

The depth closed me round about,

The weeds were wrapped about my head.

'I'd like to wrap some weeds around your head,' muttered Agad. Ori caught the boy's attention and gave him a warning look – and a reassuring wink.

What the boys noticed about this poem was its conspicuous lack of remorse: at no time did the prophet/poet/professional religious loudmouth express any acknowledgement of the fact that his predicament (being inside a whale) was entirely due to his own stubbornness (refusing to go on an important mission). Instead, Jonah praised himself for being so 'faithful' in loving his hometown and its famous temple.

Agad and Habik exchanged winks and made faces behind Jonah's back. They thought he was kind of an idiot.

Ori lightened the mood by producing a different version of the Jonah story.

The LORD said to Jonah, here's a job for you,

Go up to Nineveh is what you'll do.

I've got a message for the people there,

Without your help they haven't a prayer.


CHORUS:

Here I sit in the belly of a whale,

Oh, my friends, it's a sorry tale.

I cried to The LORD, please set me free:

I know now it's not all about me.


Nineveh didn't sound like fun,

So Jonah turned and ran with the sun,

He got into a boat, yelled, don't spare the sail!

But wouldn't you know? 'God prepared' a whale.

CHORUS


Jonah hated that whale. He wished he was dead.

He cursed and he swore. He bargained and pled.

He finally cried, LORD, I get it, okay?

Just let me out and we'll do it your way!

CHORUS

The tune Ori chose was catchy, and the kids soon caught on. They sang it the rest of the way to the oasis. Even the mules seemed to like it.

The only one who didn't like it was Jonah. The prophet grumbled to himself, but didn't dare start an outright argument with an angel. He looked really relieved to be getting off the road for a bit. Like everyone, he was looking forward to a rest and some food.

Of course, that didn't stop him from talking.

'Well, which is it?' demanded Habik. 'Is Nineveh, that great city, three days' journey from here, or three day's journey across?'

'I don't know!' snapped Jonah. 'That's just what the man I talked to told me. 'A city of three days' journey,' he said.'

Ori pulled a small scroll out of a pocket – robes with pockets were a perk of the Costume Room and, judging by their popularity, were about to set a trend in Sumeria – and consulted its text.

'Well, according to the muleteers, Nineveh is a three days' journey by mule train from the coast, so three days for us. As for the city being that big? I kind of doubt it, although it's the biggest any of us has ever seen, I think. It has a population of 120,000.'

'Wow!' said the kids.

Ori nodded. 'Yes, wow, indeed. However, I think the 'three days' journey' might refer to how big around the wall is. Apparently, it's over two farsangs in circumference – which could take you three days to stroll around, I guess, if you weren't trying to win any races.'

'Wow!' repeated Agad. 'That's…er…' (quick calculation) '20,000 cubits. That's a big wall!'

'I'll bet I could run it in a day!' said Habik. Then he thought, 'But why would I want to?' He shrugged, and went off to find his mother and see what was for lunch.

Jonah wanted to see Ori's map-scroll, so Ori showed it to him. For once, Jonah appeared to exhibit some curiosity about an object that did not directly concern himself. But then he got started on the inferiority of the script, which he could not read, to the script of his own language, which he insisted was 'more elegant' than cuneiform.

Zena arrived with food. Ori shoved the end of a pita wrap in Jonah's mouth, stopping him in midsentence.

'Less talking, more eating,' advised the angel.

Food and a nap later, the travellers continued northeastward in the general direction of Halab. Ori did a quick flyover and determined that the city looked reasonably safe to approach.

At least it isn't under siege, Ori thought. And I'm not getting any seismic or meteoric vibes.

The sun was just setting as they approached the city gates. The guards there seemed listless and uninterested. They poked desultorily among the baggage, but didn't steal anything or even ask for a bribe, much to the surprise of every single person in the caravan including Ori, who was by now an experienced Mesopotamian. The party were waved on through without a single question as to their political allegiances, what god(s) they bowed down to, or even what wrestling team they liked best. The guards didn't seem friendly or unfriendly, merely bored.

Everybody (except Jonah, who hated all cities that weren't Yerushalayim) was looking forward to a break from the road, some restaurant food, a bed in an inn, and a bit of shopping. Ori doled out pocket money to the travel party, paid the muleteers their per diem, and agreed to meet everyone later at the Sign of the Two Lions.

In the meantime, Ori and Zena decided to go shopping. Agad and Habik had their parents' permission to accompany them. A bit reluctantly, Ori decided to bring Jonah along, just to keep an eye on him. Ori didn't feel right saddling anyone else with the responsibility, and was afraid of what mischief the prophet might get up to alone – even if his command of the local language was sketchy. So the five of them set off through winding streets toward the market area.

'Oh, look!' said Zena. 'They have some really nice fabrics in that shop!' Ori looked: indeed, the textiles on display were finely-made, with bright colours. The boys thought so, too – Sumerians all had a good eye for cloth – so they turned in, dragging a protesting Jonah along. (He muttered something about 'vanity of vanities', but Ori shushed him.)

'How much is this, please?' asked Zena. But the two women in the shop barely glanced at her before they went on talking.

How rude, thought Ori, and said aloud, 'Ladies? Could we talk a little business here, please?'

The first woman sighed and rolled her eyes. 'Don't you customers realise that it's a privilege just to be in our shop? Isn't that right, Jamilla?'

Jamilla nodded. 'You're right, Jira. Why, they should pay us for letting them look at our goods.'

Jira sniffed. 'After all, we didn't get into this business to do any work! Work is for other people!'

Zena, Agad, and Habik stared at the two women open-mouthed. They'd never heard anything like this before, even from the rudest Akkadian. Jonah, who hadn't understood a word, was busy gazing with disapproval at a wall painting depicting somebody doing something obscure with a herd of goats. He only turned and frowned when he heard Ori laughing.

Oh, dear. Is this what I think it is? It can't be! thought Ori, trying to stop laughing, but not succeeding, as everybody looked at him, his friends with astonishment and the two shop women with surprise and displeasure.

Oh, yes, it is, chuckled Prajapati in Ori's head. When what I like to think of as the Babel Effect hit out here, it took out the main driving circuits of this civilisation. Which, frankly, was commerce and acquisitiveness.

The movers and shakers are gone, of course: they're in their own personal loop of misery – one where each tries to impress the others, and fails, because of course they all want to be the leader. Unfortunately for them, this is a really old city. That means there are oligarchs, flim-flam artists, crooked used-carpet salesmen, and assorted feather merchants from a couple of thousand years all vying for the top spot. It's…er, highly entertaining watching them try to con each other. But that's in a parallel universe.

Here, they're left wondering what to do with themselves. Oh, and they can't stop telling the unvarnished truth about everything. Sorry, but the truth filter was necessary. It was the only way to get rid of the con artists.

This explanation didn't help Ori's composure one little bit. An attempt to turn the laughing fit into a coughing spell didn't work, either.

'I don't know what they've said that's made you laugh so,' complained Jonah. 'I mean, those women are obviously vulgar, cheap hussies from an idolatrous, inferior people, but they are really attractive – especially the one with the extra-large breasts. Of course I'm terrified of talking to them. I just became a prophet hoping to impress women, and it has never worked.'

Jira and Jamilla may not have understood Jonah, but Zena and the boys did, and now they were staring at the prophet. That individual turned beet red and ran out of the shop. Ori checked quickly to see where he'd gone. As it turned out, he'd ducked around a nearby column and was hiding. Good.

'Don't worry,' Ori explained in Sumerian. 'There's some kind of, er, spell on this place that makes everyone tell the truth. We'll just have to roll with it. Don't take Jonah too seriously. He can't keep his thoughts to himself.'

Agad and Habik looked at each other. They went outside to talk to Jonah. Ori watched as Agad put his arm around the distraught prophet. They took him to a nearby bench and ordered him a beer from the sidewalk tavern keeper. Good boys, thought Ori.

Zena was still trying to get some service. 'Listen, ladies, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you two silver drachms for three cubits of this cloth. It's really very nice. And since I can see you are both very lazy, I'm willing to do the measuring and cutting for you. Do you agree?'

Jira nodded, afraid to say another word. Jamilla said, 'Good. I'll watch to see that you do what you said. Two silver drachms is more than we've earned all week – now that we can't lie and pretend we care about our customers, it's hard to earn a living.' Both of them looked very sorry for themselves, but they perked up when Zena expertly measured and cut the cloth, put the bolt away, folded her own purchases and gave each woman one silver drachm. They waved bye-bye at the pair as they left the shop and looked at them wonderingly.

'They must be from Warka,' said Jira. 'They're well-dressed and well-spoken.'

'Yeah,' said Jamilla. 'I've always been envious of Warkans. It must be nice to be so cosmopolitan. Anyway, now we've got money, let's close up shop and go home. I want to yell at my lazy husband for about an hour.'

'And I want to have an argument with my sister-in-law,' said Jira, 'about whose turn it is to cook. I'll bet the lazy cow didn't remember. Good thing I left the bean casserole at the baker's this morning!'

Overhearing this exchange set both Zena and Ori into a laughing fit that was still going on when they joined the others for beer.

Halab is an interesting place, thought Ori.

Wait until you get to Nineveh, replied Prajapati drily.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

08.05.23 Front Page

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