The fast and furious transformation that has overtaken RT since his mother’s death continues apace. He will start by mentioning that he has recently bought his first smartphone. That’s right, he just dictated, not typed, the previous sentence. And it was a lot easier than typing the current one.
On top of that, RT has recently moved, though not terribly far afield. His new digs are far larger and more comfortable than the old and not terribly more expensive. He has also been luxuriating in his new computer chair, which leads him to his next topic.
Tablet 11 of Gilgamesh is done. Yes, you heard that right: the tablet that RT started work on in October 2000 is finished, right down to the very last frisson of its apocalyptic vision. Chew them beans.
By way of celebrating (insofar as one can celebrate the Flood), RT offers below a snippet of the great catastrophe that inaugurated (at least in part) Western religious experience.
“Of gods most shrewd, Enki, Lord of Waters,
Schemed to save a man. He spoke to me:
‘Reed hut, reed hut, wall, wall! Hear your father:
man of Shurrupak, son of renowned strength—
abandon your house, renounce your wealth.
The life of all human flesh is forfeit!’
“Urgent, he whispered news and secret guidance:
‘Build the boat a cube: a mile each side.
Roof her straight and strong like heaven’s house.’
Appalled, I understood and pledged my part.
And still I recognized a flaw in the plan:
‘What will I tell my neighbors and the people?’
“‘With these words you will quiet their speculation:
“Enlil of thunderbolts has condemned my life:
I escape into the waters, enjoying the deep,
Enki my compassionate father’s kindness.’
Say also: ‘To you Enlil sends true wealth,
a day of bright blessings and rich feasting.
“‘The morning showers down angel’s bread;
the dusk bestows a rain of shining wheat.’
The god left me then, unseen as he had come.
I paused, reflected, planning this thing—
seven days was all I had to save our kind,
seven days to rescue our mortal wisdom.”
“When dawn, when Utu climbs above the earth,
the skilled craftsmen assembled at my gate:
The carpenter carrying his hatchet and chisel,
the shaper of reeds with his flattening stone,
the ingenious shipwright wielding his axe.
The children carried pitch; the women cooked.
“The boat’s design was unfamiliar, elaborate;
the hull was immense, enclosing a perfect cube.
I built the vast decks, seven in number,
six to store the seed of all the world’s life.
Partitions, exactly nine, each a shelter,
each to hold a different kind of beast.
“In five days I finished, pitched and plugged the boat.
I provisioned the ship with gear of every kind—
punting poles beyond count, ropes and blocks,
pots and jars—endless quantities—of pitch,
and food for all—oil fresh-pressed and fine,
every kind of forage and meal for the beasts.
“Sunset of the last day saw the boat complete.
To launch her needed straining, stretching strength;
in dark she floated. I set a table for our men:
ale, oil, wine flowed as if at New Year’s.
After plate I brought on board beast and plant,
also my family and treasure we might require.”
Copyright 2017, Eric Quinn
Image: Protective Geni, WikiCmns, Public Domain.