Robert Silverberg - Gilgamesh the King

"Put clown the mask," I said. "Put it down." And I called her by her name: not her priestess-name but her other, older, name, her birth-name, which no one had spoken since she had become Inanna. By that name I conjured her. At the sound of it she gasped and held up her hands in a secret goddess-sign, shielding herself. I could not see her eyes behind the mask, but I imagined that they were fixed on me, unblinking, piercing, cold.

"You are mad to call me by that name!" she whispered.

"Am I? Then I am mad. I would see your face once more, one last time."

Now there was a quiver in her voice. "Let me be, Gilgamesh. I meant you no harm. What I did, I did for the sake of the city-the city must have a king, and you were gone-the goddess commanded me-"

"Yes. The goddess commanded you to remove Dumuzi, and you did. The goddess commanded you to remove Gilgamesh, and you would have done it. Ah, Inanna, Inanna-it was for the sake of the city, yes. And for the sake of the city I grant you my pardon. I forgive you all your schemes. I forgive you what you have done in the goddess' name to harm me and to undermine my power. I forgive you your hatred, your anger, your fury. I even forgive you your vengeance, for it was you that called the gods down upon Enkidu whom I loved, and I think but for you he might be alive this day. But I forgive you. I forgive you everything, Inanna. If we had not been king and priestess, I think I would have loved you even more than I loved him, more than I loved life itself. But I was king; you were priestess. Ah, Inanna, Inanna-"

I did not use the sword. I took the dagger from my hip and put it into her side between the breastplate and the beads of lapis around her waist, and twisted it upward until I reached her heart. She made a single small sound and fell. I think she must have died at once. I let my breath forth slowly. At last I was free of her; but it had been like cutting away a part of my soul.

Kneeling beside her, I unfastened the mask and lifted it from her face.

I wish that I had not done that one thing. What had become of her since last I had looked upon her was difficult for my mind to credit. Her eyes had lost none of her beauty, nor her lips; but all else was a ruin. Some spreading blemish had seized her face and ravaged it. She was pocked and cratered, red and raw here, gray-skinned and sagging there: a nightmare hag, a demon-faced thing. She looked a thousand years old. It would have been better that I left her covered. But I had laid her bare, and I must carry the burden of that. I bent forward; I put my lips to hers and kissed her for the last time; then I fastened the mask back into its place, and rose, and went outside to the temple porch to summon the people and tell them of the new order of things that I meant to proclaim as I resumed my kingship in Uruk.

THESE HAVE been busy years, and fulfilling ones. The gods have been kind to Uruk and to Gilgamesh its king. The city thrives; the wall stands high; we have painted the White Platform with a fresh coat of gypsum, and it gleams in the sun. All is well. We have many tasks yet to carry out, but all is well. I sit now in my chamber in the palace, inscribing the last of my tablets, for I think the tale is told. I will not cease strivingmI will never do thatmbut a certain peace has come over me that I never knew before, and that is new; I had no peace in the times of which I have been writing, but now I do. I tell you: all is well.

It was easy enough to bring the soaring ambitions of Meskiagnunna of Ur back down to earth: that was my first enterprise after my restoration. I sent him a message confirming him in his kingship of Ur, and granting him the administration of Kish as an additional fief. He knew what I was saying, when I condescended to let him hold the cities he already held. "But Nippur and Eridu," I told him, "I reserve to myself, as the gods have decreed: for they are the holy cities, subject to the rule of the high king of the Land."

By that message I sent forth my claim to the supremacy. And at the same time I dispatched iny army, under command of the faithful Zabardiřbunugga, to enter Nippur and persuade the soldiers of Ur to depart. I did not leave Uruk myself, since I had so much to do there-the choosing of a new high priestess, for instance, and the proper training of her so that she would understand the role she must play in my government.

While I occupied myself with those matters, Zabardi-bunugga managed the liberation of Nippur effectively enough, thou! without some small damage. The men of Ur took refuge Tummal, which is the house of Enlil there, and it was necess break down the walls of that temple in order to remove them.

These are full times for me. Indeed, there is never a momc rest. I would not have it any other way. What else is there, to plan, to work, to build, to do? It is the salvation of our souls, to the music in the courtyard: the harper plays, and by making melodies he pays his birth-price. Look at the goldsmith, bent over his table. The carpenter, the fisherman, the scribe, the king-in the performing of our tasks we all fulfill the commandments of the gods, which is the only purpose in this life which we were made. We find ourselves thrown by the whim the gods into a chancy world, where uncertainty reigns; within the whirlwind we must make a secure place for ourselves. That we by work; and my work it is to be king.

So I toil and my people toil. The temples, the canals, the walls, the pavements in the streets-how can we ever cease rebuild ing and repairing and restoring them? It is the way. The rites and sacrifices by which we hold back the surging powers of chaos-how can we ever cease performing them? It is the way. We know our tasks, and we do them, and all is well. Listen to that music, in the courtyard! Listen! Listen!

Soon-let it not be very soon, but I will be ready whenever the hour arrives-I must begin the last of my journeys. I will go down into the dark world t~rom which there is no return. My musician will be beside me, and my concubines and stewards and valets, my charioteer, my jugglers, my minstrels; and together we will make our offerings to the gods of the world below, to Ereshkigal and Namtar, to Enki, to Enlil, to all those who govern our destinies. So be it. It does not trouble me now to think of that prospect. I have never considered returning to Dilmun to beg a second pearl of GrowYoung-Again: that is not the way. That old priest who calls himself the Ziusudra tried to tell me that, but I had to learn it in my own fashion. Well, I have learned it now.

The light is going. There is the rite to perform tonight on the temple roof, and I must hasten to it; I am the king, it is my task. We honor Ninsun my mother, whom I proclaimed a goddess this time last year when her days on earth were done. Already I hear the chanting in the distance, and the scent of burning meat is in the air. So, now, an end to all my stories. I have spoken much of death, my great enemy with whom I have grappled so fiercely, but I will speak of him no more. I have feared him greatly. I have walked with terrible fear of his shadow. But I have made my peace with death now. I have come to understand the truth, which is that the escape from death lies not in potions and magic, but in the performance of one's task. That way lies calmness and acceptance.

I have done my work, and I will do more. I have made a name for myself that will last down the ages. Gilgamesh will not be forgotten. He will not be left to trail his wings mournfully in the dust. They will remember me in joy and pride. What will they say of me? They will say that I lived, and I lived well; that I strived, and I strived well; that I died, and I died well. I feared death as no man ever did, and went to the ends of the world to escape him, in which I failed; but when I returned I feared him no longer. That is the truth. I know now that we need not fear death, if we have done our tasks. And when we cease to fear death, there is no death. That is the truest truth I know: There is no death.