The Bible of Clay (30 page)

sight. There are three or four men always in her vicinity, in addition to her personal team
of
bodyguards. It is difficult to get near her without being a stones throw from at least one
of
them.

She, however, likes to escape from her guards, and two or three times there has been quite a commotion because she has disappeared, always at dawn, to go down to the Euphrates to swim; the first time she went with Professor Marta Gomez, the person who has assumed command
of
our operation. Another day, she organized a secret
u
escape
n
for herself and several
of
the other women on the archaeological team. No one realized what was happening, not even Picot. And once she decided to spend the night beside the ruins, at the site
of
the excavation. She took a blanket with her and slept on the ground.

It will be impossible for her to elude her minders again, however, because now two
of
them sleep on the ground at the door
of
the house she is staying in.

Picot has had a run-in with her, and he threatened to call her grandfather—in fact, he did try to reach him, and now she never stops glaring at him.

Picot has asked for more workers, and Ayed Sahadi has hired another hundred men. The pace
of
the work will be, I think, impossible to sustain; the team members hardly sleep, perhaps only a few hours every night, and there is tension among them. One or two
of
the professors who came with Picot have had some angry confrontations with him over excavation methods. Some students are complaining that they are being exploited, and the workers are exhausted at the end
of
their shifts, their hands covered in scratches and blisters.

But neither Picot nor Clara Tannenberg seems to care about the exhaustion
of
the workers or the complaints
of
their own team.

Fabian Tudela, Picot s right-hand man, is an archaeologist who goes around putting out fires, as they say. He seems to be the only person able to bring peace when everything is about to explode. But things will explode, sooner or later; we are working more than fourteen hours a day.

What they claim to have uncovered is a temple, revealed at first some months ago by an American bomb that blasted into one
of
the upper stories
of
the building. They say there was a library in the building, which explains the large number
of
tablets they have discovered. They have now excavated three rooms and recovered more than two thousand tablets, which were lined up in niches carved into the walls.

The students, under the supervision
of
four professors, are classifying the tablets after they have been cleaned. The tablets apparently contain the temple s accounts, although in the room they are now excavating they have found the remains
of
tablets detailing the ancient peoples knowledge
of
certain minerals and animals.

So far, all the rooms measure 53 meters by 3.6 meters, although they are saying that there are larger rooms in other parts
of
the temple.

My job is to enter all the finds into the computer after they have been photographed from various angles and, in the case
of
tablets, their contents noted.

Three students have been assigned to help me.

All the archaeologists come to the computer house, as it is called, to see how the digitalization
of
their finds is going. Every day I receive ever more detailed instructions from this Professor Gomez, a zealous, meticulous woman whom I personally find unbearable.

Tablets have been found with the names
of
scribes on the top. This seems to have been the custom among the ancient people here. Apparently some
of
the tablets bear the name
of
this "Shamas, "with a catalogue
of
the regions flora. But they've found no trace
of
tablets with epic poems or historical events, and this makes Tannenberg more and more nervous, Picot more and more grouchy. Picot, in fact, complains that he is wasting his time.

A few days ago, the entire team met to evaluate the findings thus far. Picot was very negative, but Fabian Tudela, Marta Gomez, and the other archaeologists said they were in the presence
of
one
of
the unique archaeological sites
of
the century, as there was no reference anywhere to this palace or

temple. They all believe it is especially important because
of
its proximity to ancient Ur. Apparently the palace itself is not very large, although the library they believe they are uncovering is a good size.

Professor Gomez favors extending the excavation beyond what they believe is the perimeter
of
the temple, in order to locate the walls
of
the city or palace and the houses. In this meeting they argued for more than three hours, but in the end, the headstrong professor won the day, because Fabian Tudela and Clara Tannenberg herself supported her. That is why they have hired more workers and are looking for many more.

It is not easy to find workers, since the entire country is in a state
of
alert, but there is so much poverty, and the Tannenbergs have so much money and influence, that apparently within a few days a contingent
of
men will be coming in from all parts
of
Iraq to join the expedition.

The village leaders son-in-law, the contact you gave me to send the reports through, is one
of
the drivers who travels through the neighboring villages looking for basic foodstuffs, and he seems to be trusted by Ayed Sahadi, insofar as Sahadi trusts anyone—in fact, if it is not foolhardly to trust anyone here.

If
the tablets they are looking for are found, it will not be easy to gain control
of
them, much less smuggle them out. Men can be bought,
of
course, but I fear that here, there is always someone willing to better one s best
offer
—and
so
it would not surprise me to be betrayed.

27

abram was waiting for shamas in the usual place, out-

side Haran. They had hardly spoken about Terah's death. The boy approached shyly, hoping to find the words to express his sadness, to console Abram's grief. But he did not have to say anything, because Abram squeezed his shoulder in a sign of recognition and motioned him to sit down.

"I am sorry I will not see you anymore," Abram told him. "Will you never go back to Ur, or even to Haran?" Shamas asked, his eyebrows knitting in concern.

"No. There will be no going back after the day I set out on this journey. We will never see each other again, Shamas, but I will feel you in my heart, and I hope you will not forget me. Keep the tablets upon which you have recorded our history, and explain to our people what I have explained to you."

Shamas could only nod, overwhelmed as he was by what Abram was asking of him. It was a humbling sign of great confidence, but it was much to ask of a boy like himself. Shyly, he asked Abram if God had spoken to him again.

"Yes, the day the women were preparing Terah for his burial in the very ground out of which God molded the first man. I must do what He asks of me. And you should know, Shamas, that my race shall

spread over the entire earth, and I will be called the father of multitudes."

"Then we shall call you Abraham," said the boy, an incredulous smile coming to his face, for he knew that Sarai, Abram's wife, had given him no children.

"Just as you say—I shall be called Abraham by my children's children, and their children, and their children after them, and so on, down through the ages."

The boy was impressed by the firmness with which Abram declared that he would become the father of many tribes. But he believed him, as he had always believed him.

"I will tell everyone to call you Abraham from now on," Shamas said.

"Yes, do that. Now take out your things, for it is time to write. There is much you need to know before we part."

Once again Shamas and Abraham were surprised by the appearance of the moon at sunset, and they prepared for their walk back to Haran. Abraham helped Shamas carry the tablets. At the door of the house they met Jadin, who invited his cousin into the house to break bread with them.

The two men spoke of the journeys they were about to undertake, each in his own direction, both knowing that they would never meet again.

Jadin wanted to put behind him the life of a shepherd and settle forever in Ur, where Shamas would become a scribe in the service of the palace. Ili would be able to finish teaching him the use of the bullae and the calculi, for which Shamas had shown great promise during his years in Haran.

In the last few years, Shamas had become a young man conscious of the fact that learning required dedication. In addition, the scribes in Haran did not have the patience that his teacher in Ur had had, nor did they encourage his curiosity. And there was still much to learn if he was to become a dub-sar and, after many years as a scribe, come to the end of his life as an um-mi-a.

Shamas listened in silence to the conversation between his father and Abraham, the suggestions they made to one another. The winter had passed and spring was upon them, bringing forth green leaves and tiny flowers and making the sky bright blue. It was the time of year when men set out on journeys.

Abraham and Jadin agreed to take their leave of each other by sacrificing a lamb, in the hope that it would please the Lord.

"Father, when are we leaving?" asked the boy the minute Abraham left the house.

"You heard, my son—within the space of a moon we will be on our way. We will not be going alone, though; other members of the tribe will return to Ur with us." He studied his son's face. "Are you sorry not to be accompanying Abraham?"

"No, Father, I want to go back home."

"This is your home."

"To me, home is where I grew up, in Ur. I will always remember Abraham, but he tells me that all men must follow their own path. He must do what God has commanded him to do, and I feel that I must return to the land of our ancestors. There I will explain to our people everything I have learned, and I will preserve the tablets that contain Abraham's story"

"You have chosen your destination and your destiny."

"No, Father, I feel that God has chosen it for me."

"I feel that I must return too, my son. As does your mother. Her heart is heavy with homesickness, and she will smile again only on the day we set eyes upon Ur. She wishes to die where her people died. This is our house, but we feel ourselves strangers here. Yes, we must go."

Shamas nodded happily. Anticipation of the journey gave him butterflies. For him, life was pointless if it became monotonous. They would journey during the day, pitch their camp at nightfall, and the women would bake bread and cook their meals. He could already feel the cool waters of the Euphrates, hear the conversations around the fire.

He thought of Abraham with a pang of sadness. He would miss him. He knew that his kinsman was a special man, chosen by God to become the father of nations. He did not know how that would happen, since Sarai had given him no children, but if God had promised it, so it would be, Shamas told himself.

He had written down the creation of the earth as Abraham knew it. And Shamas had no doubt that it was all true. His relationship with God, though, was difficult. Sometimes he thought he was on the verge of understanding the mystery of life, but just as he was about to grasp it, his mind became hazy and he was unable to think.

Other times, he could not understand God's actions, His anger, the harshness with which He punished mankind. Why was disobedience so intolerable to the Lord? Shamas became upset, even reproachful toward Him at times, but never lost conviction in Abraham's words. Shamas' faith was like a rock sitting upon the ground for the rest of eternity.

His father had urged him to be prudent when they reached Ur. He could not renounce Enlil, father of the gods, or Marduk, or Tiamat, or any of the other deities.

Shamas knew how difficult it was to talk about a God who had no face, whom one could not see but only feel in one's heart. So, yes, he would be careful when he talked about Him, and he would not try to supplant the other gods. He would have to plant the seed of God in the hearts of those who listened to him and hope that it sprouted.

The day came at last for the farewell. Just before dawn, in the coolness of the morning, Abraham and his tribe were preparing to depart from Jadin and his people. The women were loading the asses, and children were running about, their eyes still filled with the dry crust of sleep, interrupting their mothers' work.

Shamas was waiting expectantly for Abraham to speak to him, and he was happy when the old man gestured to him to step aside, where they could speak.

"Come, we still have time to talk while the others finish the preparations for the journey," Abraham said.

"Now that you are leaving, I feel how much I am going to miss you," Shamas told him.

"I will miss you too and will remember you always. But I want you to do something for me—something I asked you to do several days ago: I want you to guard and protect the story of Creation, just as I told it to you. We men must never forget that we are but a speck of dust, our life breathed into us by the Lord. Sometimes we believe that we do not need Him, yet other times we reproach Him because He is not there to help us when we do."

"I have struggled with those feelings often."

"But how can we comprehend the ways of God, Shamas? We were made of clay, like those figures that Terah and I made. We walk, we talk, we feel because He blew life into us, and when He wishes, He can take life away again, just as I destroyed my father's winged bulls. They were gods created by men, and they were no longer gods when my hands destroyed them.

"No, Shamas, we cannot comprehend Him, much less judge His acts. I cannot answer your questions because I do not have the answers. I only know that there is a God who is the Beginning and the End, the Creator of all things, He who made us and condemned us to die because He allowed us to choose."

"May God be with you wherever your journey takes you, Abraham."

"And you also, Shamas, and all your people. God is everywhere."

"Whom will I talk to about God? My father demands prudence and discretion, so as not to upset others."

"Then speak of Him with your father, who carries Him in his heart. With old Joab, with Zebulon, and with all your kin as you set out on your own journey. And with many of those who remained in Ur upon your return."

"And who will guide me?"

"There is a moment in life when we must look inside ourselves for guidance. You have your father; you can trust in his love and wisdom. Do that—he will help you and guide you."

They heard Jadin calling them for the departure. Shamas felt a lump in his throat, and he made an effort not to cry. He thought that if he did, his people would mock him, since he was almost a man.

Abraham and Jadin embraced each other. They exchanged a few last words, then wished each other the best for the future.

As Abraham embraced Shamas, the boy could not keep a tear from running down his cheek, but he immediately dried it with a clenched fist.

"Don't feel ashamed by your sadness over our separation. I, too, have tears in my eyes, though they do not spill over. I will always remember you, Shamas. And I want you to know that just as I shall be the father of many nations, it is thanks to you that men will know the history of the world and be able to tell that story to their children, and their children's children, until the end of time."

Then Abraham gave the signal to set out, and his tribe began to move. At the same time, Jadin raised his hand to indicate to his people that the hour had come for their own journey. Each tribe went its own way, in opposite directions; some turned to look back, raising their hands in a final farewell. Shamas looked back toward Abraham, hoping the old man would look back too, but he was walking with a firm step, and he did not turn Shamas' way.

It was only when Abraham reached the palm grove where they had sat and talked that he paused for a few seconds, looking all around, as though remembering. He felt Shamas' eyes on him at a distance, and he turned, knowing that the boy was awaiting this last farewell. They did not see each other, but both knew that the other was looking.

The sun was at its zenith now, and another day of eternity was waning.