Twilight in Babylon (14 page)

Gem came in, without knocking. “You’re working in daylight?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I could help you get to sleep.”

She didn’t even look at him. Gem offered himself to everyone, anyone. His talent was accounting. By his reasoning, if he always offered, then for some percentage of the time, his offer would be accepted. Gem, she noted, rarely slept alone. He also usually sported some kind of mark on his face from those who did refuse.

“Asa said the new star is a new
ensi
?” she asked.

“No.”

She turned to him now. “You told me that, just weeks ago.”

“I said Asa said the new star means we should have a new
ensi.
”

Rudi turned back to her charts. “Does Asa know anything about the new
ensi
? What sign the human was born under, what gender? We must give the council some options, at least.” And Puabi would have to spend some time training the person before she stepped down. “It seems a bad decision to let go of the
ensi,
just as the crops are coming in.”

Gem slit open the seal on a jar of beer. “Do you want any?”

“Whose?”

He squinted at the writing. “It’s a sour mash, from the tavern by the northeastern gate.”

She nodded. “I have some salted fish and cucumbers in that basket over there to go with it.”

Gem bounded toward it. “If only you could cook, Rudi, you would be the perfect female human and I would take you to my house.”

“That would be kidnapping and slavery, Gem. I don’t cook, and I don’t like you.”

“Oh. Well,” he said, opening the basket.

There was nothing new in their conversations, she could carry on her part half-asleep. “Did you see the falling star the night of the equinox?”

“I wasn’t on duty.”

“I wasn’t either,” she said. “Which is why it’s so unfair I got punished—”

“Don’t start, Rudi. I’m not going to hear Asa criticized again.”

She sighed and drank some of the beer. It complemented the fish well. The fish… Rudi pulled out her chart of the houses of the sky and compared it to the new star. “The Goatfish,” she said. “I think that is the sign of the new
ensi.
Look at this.”

Gem leaned over her shoulder. “Could be,” he said. “What are the traits of the Goatfish?”

“A traveler. Wise. Hates bureaucracy. Adaptable.”

“Then I pity her, to become the
ensi.
Nothing but meetings and sex.”

Rudi gave her partner a scolding look. “It is not sex; it is communication and supplication of Inana.”

Gem shrugged. Paying for the favors of a priestess was something he bragged he’d never had to do.

“Or,” Rudi said, turning her head a little, “by the snake of the tree, it’s not a human of the Goatfish. It’s… exactly what Puabi is.”

“Extraordinary to look at, but a demon to bed?”

Rudi didn’t like her sister, but she wasn’t going to listen to her being belittled. “No, a human born in the moon of the Scales. Loves luxury, peace, calm, and doesn’t see evil.”

“Perfect for the job,” Gem said.

Rudi knew she was going to have to check her hypothesis against the actual night sky, but, “It looks like a human born on the exact same day as Puabi! The third of the moon of the Scales!” She looked at Gem. “What is the likelihood of finding another human born on the third of Scales to be
ensi
?”

Gem bent over a scrap of clay.

That matter of accounting, Rudi thought, should keep him quiet for a while.

*      *     *

Ezzi’s cloak was too big now. He’d given all of his food away since New Year’s, hoping to placate the gods, the goddesses, the demigods, the demons, and his personal god. Ulu scoffed at him for offering incense at all hours, standing outside the temple to be sprayed with the blood of the twice-daily sacrifices.

She didn’t understand. Rudi had cast a curse on him.

Ezzi just didn’t know what kind of curse.

Was it on his body? He ate almost nothing for fear of consuming evil, and drank beer only when pressed, or when his belly cramped from hunger. Every spot on his skin was cause for double hours of investigation to see if it had grown or changed in the hours since he’d looked at it last.

Was it his manhood? Ezzi checked daily for spots or withering, but it seemed as ordinary as ever. He didn’t understand other men’s obsession with this stick of flesh, but it seemed to be unchanged.

Had she cursed his mind? Every day he woke up and reviewed the conversations he’d had the day before. As he walked down the street, he recited the lists from the Tablet House, prayers from the temple, and formulas for the fields. Before he washed, he would recall the flocks of the sky, the names of the gods, the days of each month. When he went back to bed, he would repeat every word he’d heard that day.

She must have cursed his career. Ezzi was still unemployed. He went to the stargazers’ house every twilight and offered his knowledge and wisdom, but no one had paid him yet. He cast charts and drew the quadrants, but no one wanted his future foretold.

Yes, Ezzi thought, Rudi stargazer had cursed his career. He needed to make money another way, so he could be a stargazer at leisure. His words would be more trusted if they were free. His mother, the wealthy she-dog, wasn’t going to share. How could he get more currency?

That was his prayer as he burned his evening meal before the statue of his personal god.
Send me funds! Give me a chance, an opportunity, and I will take it. I will do anything!

So Ezzi pleaded.

*      *     *

Shama fanned the congressing
ensi;
his mind was lost in the game of draughts he was playing against the gatekeeper. He couldn’t believe he’d lost his last match.

Puabi shouted Kidu’s name; they must be approaching the apex. Any moment now she would want her bath drawn and her sweet beer. Kidu would request opium and meat. If the young man weren’t careful, he would kill himself with carelessness.

Shama switched his angle of fanning, so the air would cool between their sweated bodies. Puabi continued to cry out to her mountain man, who continued to ram into her as though she were a sheep.

Shama had gotten his fill of mating while sailing through the Deluge. Men and women mating from fear, which was better than men and animals mating—part of the reason the god of gods had destroyed the creatures when he wiped the earth clean. Destruction had been decreed when the human females of earth had mated with the males from the heavens. Their progeny had destroyed the plain, by cutting down trees, setting afire the black lakes, using their superior intelligence to bait and maim and ruin life for everything else.

Then they’d started in on the animals, tainted them.

Shama shook his head. There had been such noise inside and outside the great boat, for sixty-one days, that he’d been almost deafened. All of those animals, their never-ending racket. Now, he was glad. He glanced over; Puabi was done, but the mountain man was not.

Perhaps Kidu was a remnant of the antediluvian world. So dumb and innocent that he’d never erred, so he hadn’t needed to be destroyed.

“Beer!” his mistress called.

“Opium,” Kidu requested. He climbed from her bed and excused himself to the chamber pot. She’d educated him in that, at least.

Shama broke the seal of Puabi’s beer jar and inserted a drinking tube, then set the jar beside her bed. He selected some pods and started the apparatus to enable Kidu to enjoy his drug. Then Shama bowed.

She waved him away. “Go have a bath, or something,” she said. “We’ll want food in a while.”

Shama excused himself down the secret steps and into the main hall. He confirmed his earlier order to the kitchens, then set off to the gatekeeper’s. It was time for a rematch in draughts; Shama planned his strategy.

*      *     *

Guli didn’t have a chance to pay his debts, they came looking for him—Lord Viza and the sailors he’d hired as strongmen for the day. Though business had been good, Guli hadn’t made enough. Pleading, begging, promising—the only thing he could do was offer to pay 25 percent next time. Compounding interest. Viza signed a new contract, crushed the last one into dust.

By the time Guli had cleaned up the mess of his house, he had a customer.

For a moment he stood in the doorway, looking out at the palm trees that swayed in the ever-increasing heat. It seemed they would be his destiny unless he got the gods on his side.

*      *     *

The first day of school was blistering hot. The slave girl woke Chloe in the dark. She ate barley mash and took the parcel that contained her lunch, then set off through the streets. Chloe watched the ground, avoiding offal, averting her eyes when she saw the remains of wild dogs’ meals.

The Tablet House was four streets over. She paused as she watched the students go inside. All ages learned in the same room. She would be the only girl.

A gawky boy stood in the doorway. “Are you here for someone?” he asked coolly.

“I’m a student,” she said. But the words came out, “I am a Little Brother of the Tablet House.”

“Get in then,” he said. “You are late already.”

She took a seat in the back. The room was filled with benches for the boys, space for their lunches beneath them, and clay and stylus in their hands. The Tablet Father didn’t acknowledge her. The boy she sat next to looked at her in horror. He nudged his friend. “A female,” he pointed out.

This boy looked around and sat back. “An old one.”

“Gentlemen,” the Tablet Father said, “would you like to share with the classroom?”

“Sir, Father, uh, there’s an old female sitting beside me.”

“Excellent observation, Brother Haki.” The other students turned around to look. Chloe was extremely grateful she’d worn a capelet and skirt. She was covered from curious eyes, even though she might die beneath the wool.

“We have a new student today. As there is no other way to refer to her, she is Brother Chloe,” the Tablet Father said.

They giggled.

“No doubt you have heard the rumors the
lugal
was going to allow coeducation.”

One boy raised his hand.

“Yes, Brother Miga?”

“Does this mean my sister is going to come here?”

The classroom erupted in exaggerated revulsion of “Females!” “Sisters!” and the like. Chloe hid her grin. Ages and civilizations didn’t matter. Boys would be boys.

The Tablet Father banged his gavel. “It does not. As you can see, Brother Chloe is older than most of you.”

“She’s as old as Ziusudra!” someone offered.

The Tablet Father looked down at the miscreant. Though the Father was a short, stocky man, he moved as though he owned the world. His gaze could be oppressive. “Perhaps you should write out the story of the Deluge, as practice, Brother. I will expect to see it by dusk.”

The other students shaped up quickly as the victim immersed his piece of clay in water, mashed it blank, and began to scratch the legend, syllable by syllable, into its surface.

“The rest of you, unless you wish to join your brother, will resume with your lists. Chloe, have you the skills to write lists?”

The boys looked at her, sixty black, brown, green, hazel, and blue gazes on her.

“No.”

The Tablet Father motioned to an Elder Brother. “Teach her the basics, sir.”

The room fell silent, except for the sounds of scratching on clay and the pigeons in their corner keep.

The Elder Brother, whose name was Roi, took Chloe outside beneath the awning. There he started with
lu,
man, and proceeded to give her a list of titles for humans. By lunch Chloe had copied the list four times.

The staff disappeared and left her with thirty curious boys from ages nine to nineteen for a quarter of a double hour. Somewhere in the background, she thought she heard the tune of
“Frère Jacques.”
The boys weren’t hesitant.

“Are you really a female?”

“Why aren’t you married?”

“Why do you come to the Tablet House? Yuck!”

“Do you have children?”

“You’re very pretty.”

“You must be stupid, if you can’t write lists.”

“Are you a Khamite?”

She barely had time to chew and swallow her lunch between answers. They ran and jumped and played ball, but there was always a group hanging around, asking questions. And always someone singing that tune, or close to it.

“My brother knows you,” one of them said. “You’re his girlfriend.”

“No I’m not.”

“You don’t even know who I’m talking about,” the boy said.

“It’s an easy answer,” she said. “I don’t have a boyfriend at all.”

The other boys laughed at the questioner. “You thought you knew something, Roo.” “Stupid Roo.” “Roo, you can’t even write
boyfriend.
”

“But your brother is my dear friend,” she said to him, trying to help the little guy save face. It didn’t work. Roo glared at her and walked off alone.

The Tablet Father returned, and class resumed.

It was a constant battle to stay awake after noon. The Elder Brothers roamed the room, looking for those unfortunates who had nodded off. If a boy fell asleep, they rubbed his tablet on his face—ruining his work and branding him for the rest of the day.

Chloe’s hand was cramped, because they wrote everything in a column, then lined the columns from right to left. She had to hold her arm awkwardly so as not to smear her writing. Left-handed boys would have it made.

She looked at her list: man, woman, male child, female child, family. Aunt, uncle, grandfather, grandmother, cousin. Unlike most languages she knew, this was based on additions. The basic term for human was amended to be aunt—human sibling of my father/mother, or grandfather—human male who sired my father/mother. All the syllables were attached, producing a long, unwieldy title. The symbol was so intricate it was unidentifiable as anything concrete. All conceptual.

Chloe wiped sweat off her forehead. Her back ached from sitting so straight, and being so concentrated, for so long.
I won’t fall asleep,
she told herself. When she felt the urge, she stabbed her inner wrist with the stylus. It wasn’t sharp enough to make a cut in her skin, but it left an impression.