Gilgamesh (15 page)

Shiduri said, “Never has there been a path across the vast ocean, nor has there ever been any human who was able to cross it. Only brave Shamash as he climbs the sky can cross the vast ocean-who else can do it? The crossing is harsh, the danger is great,
and midway lie the Waters of Death, whose touch kills instantly. Even if you manage to sail that distance, what will you do when you reach the Waters of Death? The one man who can help you is Urshanabi, Utnapishtim's boatman. He is trimming pine branches down in the forest, and he has the Stone Men with him. Go to him. Ask. If he says yes, you can cross the vast ocean. If he says no, you will have to turn back.”

At these words, Gilgamesh gripped his axe, drew his knife, and crept down toward them. When he was close, he fell upon them like an arrow. His battle-cry rang through the forest. Urshanabi saw the bright knife, saw the axe flash, and he stood there, dazed. Fear gripped the Stone Men who crewed the boat.
Gilgamesh smashed them to pieces, then threw them into the sea. They sank in the water.

Gilgamesh came back and stood before him. Urshanabi stared, then he said, “Who
are
you? Tell me. What is your name? I am Urshanabi, the servant of Utnapishtim, the Distant One.”

“Gilgamesh is my name,” he answered, “I am the king of great-walled Uruk. I have traveled here across the high mountains, I have traveled here on the hidden road through the underworld, where the sun comes forth. Show me the way to Utnapishtim.”

Urshanabi said, “Your own hands have prevented the crossing, since in your fury
you have smashed the Stone Men, who crewed my boat and could not be injured by the Waters of Death. But don't despair. There is one more way we can cross the vast ocean. Take your axe, cut down three hundred punting poles, each a hundred feet long, strip them, make grips, and bring them to me. I will wait for you here.”

Gilgamesh went deep into the forest, he cut down three hundred punting poles, each a hundred feet long, he stripped them, made grips, and brought them to Urshanabi the boatman. They boarded the boat and sailed away.

They sailed, without stopping, for three days and nights, a six weeks' journey for ordinary men, until they reached the Waters of Death. Urshanabi said, “Now be careful, take up the first pole, push us forward,
and do not touch the Waters of Death. When you come to the end of the first pole, drop it, take up a second and a third one, until you come to the end of the three-hundredth pole and the Waters of Death are well behind us.”

When all three hundred poles had been used, Gilgamesh took Urshanabi's robe. He held it as a sail, with both arms extended, and the little boat moved on toward the shore.

Alone on the shore stood Utnapishtim, wondering as he watched them approach. “Where are the Stone Men who crew the boat? Why is there a stranger on board? I have never seen him. Who can he be?”

Gilgamesh landed. When he saw the old man, he said to him, “Tell me, where can I find
Utnapishtim, who joined the assembly of the gods, and was granted eternal life?”

Utnapishtim said, “Why are your cheeks so hollow? Why is your face so ravaged, frost-chilled, and burnt by the desert sun? Why is there so much grief in your heart? Why are you worn out and ready to collapse, like someone who has been on a long, hard journey?”

Gilgamesh said, “Shouldn't my cheeks be hollow, shouldn't my face be ravaged, frost-chilled, and burnt by the desert sun? Shouldn't my heart be filled with grief? Shouldn't I be worn out and ready to collapse? My friend, my brother, whom I loved so dearly, who accompanied me through every danger—Enkidu, my brother, whom I loved so dearly, who accompanied me through every danger—the
fate of mankind has overwhelmed him. For six days I would not let him be buried, thinking, ‘If my grief is violent enough, perhaps he will come back to life again.' For six days and seven nights I mourned him, until a maggot fell out of his nose. Then I was frightened, I was terrified by death, and I set out to roam the wilderness. I cannot bear what happened to my friend—I cannot bear what happened to Enkidu—so I roam the wilderness in my grief. How can my mind have any rest? My beloved friend has turned into clay—my beloved Enkidu has turned into clay. And won't I too lie down in the dirt like him, and never arise again? That is why I must find Utnapishtim, whom men call ‘The Distant One.' I must ask him how he managed to overcome death.
I have wandered the world, climbed the most treacherous mountains, crossed deserts, sailed the vast ocean, and sweet sleep has rarely softened my face. I have worn myself out through ceaseless striving, I have filled my muscles with pain and anguish. I have killed bear, lion, hyena, leopard, tiger, deer, antelope, ibex, I have eaten their meat and have wrapped their rough skins around me. And what in the end have I achieved? When I reached Shiduri the tavern keeper, I was filthy, exhausted, heartsick. Now let the gate of sorrow be closed behind me, and let it be sealed shut with tar and pitch.”

Utnapishtim said, “Gilgamesh, why prolong your grief? Have you ever paused to compare your own blessed lot with a fool's? You were made from the flesh of both gods and humans,
the gods have lavished you with their gifts as though they were your fathers and mothers, from your birth they assigned you a throne and told you, ‘Rule over men!' To the fool they gave beer dregs instead of butter, stale crusts instead of bread that is fit for gods, rags instead of magnificent garments, instead of a wide fringed belt an old rope, and a frantic, senseless, dissatisfied mind. Can't you see how fortunate you are? You have worn yourself out through ceaseless striving, you have filled your muscles with pain and anguish. And what have you achieved but to bring yourself one day nearer to the end of your days? At night the moon travels across the sky, the gods of heaven stay awake and watch us, unsleeping, undying. This is the way the world is established, from ancient times.

“Yes: the gods took Enkidu's life. But man's life
is
short, at any moment it can be snapped, like a reed in a canebrake. The handsome young man, the lovely young woman—in their prime, death comes and drags them away. Though no one has seen death's face or heard death's voice, suddenly, savagely, death destroys us, all of us, old or young. And yet we build houses, make contracts, brothers divide their inheritance, conflicts occur—as though this human life lasted forever. The river rises, flows over its banks and carries us all away, like mayflies floating downstream: they stare at the sun, then all at once there is nothing.

“The sleeper and the dead, how alike they are! Yet the sleeper wakes up and opens his eyes,
while no one returns from death. And who can know when the last of his days will come? When the gods assemble, they decide your fate, they establish both life and death for you, but the time of death they do not reveal.”

G
ilgamesh said to Utnapishtim, “I imagined that you would look like a god. But you look like me, you are not any different. I intended to fight you, yet now that I stand before you, now that I see who you are, I can't fight, something is holding me back. Tell me, how is it that you, a mortal, overcame death and joined the assembly of the gods and were granted eternal life?”

Utnapishtim said, “I will tell you a mystery, a secret of the gods. You know Shuruppak, that ancient city on the Euphrates. I lived there once. I was its king once, a long time ago,
when the great gods decided to send the Flood. Five gods decided, and they took an oath to keep the plan secret: Anu their father, the counselor Enlil, Ninurta the gods' chamberlain, and Ennugi the sheriff. Ea also, the cleverest of the gods, had taken the oath, but I heard him whisper the secret to the reed fence around my house. ‘Reed fence, reed fence, listen to my words. King of Shuruppak, quickly, quickly tear down your house and build a great ship, leave your possessions, save your life. The ship must be square, so that its length equals its width. Build a roof over it, just as the Great Deep is covered by the earth. Then gather and take aboard the ship examples of every living creature.'

“I understood Ea's words, and I said, ‘My lord, I will obey your command, exactly as you have spoken it. But what shall I say when the people ask me why I am building such a large ship?'

“Ea said, ‘Tell them that Enlil hates you, that you can no longer live in their city or walk on the earth, which belongs to Enlil, that it is your fate to go down into the Great Deep and live with Ea your lord, and that Ea will rain abundance upon them. They will all have all that they want, and more.'

“I laid out the structure, I drafted plans. At the first glow of dawn, everyone gathered—carpenters brought their saws and axes, reed workers brought their flattening-stones, rope makers brought their ropes, and children
carried the tar. The poor helped also, however they could-some carried timber, some hammered nails, some cut wood. By the end of the fifth day the hull had been built: the decks were an acre large, the sides two hundred feet high. I built six decks, so that the ship's height was divided in seven. I divided each deck into nine compartments, drove water plugs into all the holes, brought aboard spars and other equipment, had three thousand gallons of tar poured into the furnace, and three thousand gallons of pitch poured out. The bucket carriers brought three thousand gallons of oil—a thousand were used for the caulking, two thousand were left, which the boatman stored. Each day I slaughtered bulls for my workmen, I slaughtered sheep, I gave them barrels of beer and ale and wine, and they drank it like river water.
When all our work on the ship was finished, we feasted as though it were New Year's Day. At sunrise I handed out oil for the ritual, by sunset the ship was ready. The launching was difficult. We rolled her on logs down to the river and eased her in until two-thirds was under the water. I loaded onto her everything precious that I owned: all my silver and gold, all my family, all my kinfolk, all kinds of animals, wild and tame, craftsmen and artisans of every kind.

“Then Shamash announced that the time had come. ‘Enter the ship now. Seal the hatch.' I gazed at the sky—it was terrifying. I entered the ship. To Puzur-amurri the shipwright, the man who sealed the hatch, I gave my palace, with all its contents.