Twilight in Babylon Read Free Page A

place for them to stop was her treetop. Reluctantly, she slipped into the warm water with the branch between her teeth and waited for a fat pigeon. When one finally came and plopped down for a rest, she leaped on it. The bird tried to fly away, but she stabbed its neck with her branch. Piece by piece, she plucked its feathers, then stabbed at it to get the blood out. It was the only taboo that couldn’t be broken: Never eat anything with blood, and never spill blood unless to eat.
    She didn’t remember when she’d heard those words, but she knew they were true. It was the only restriction given by the god above gods after the Deluge. She wiped at the bird with palm fronds, sloshed water through it to get it as clean as she could, then tore into it with her teeth.
    It would be better cooked, but she didn’t have any dung or tinder. Besides, she was hungry. She threw the carcass onto the treetop beside her and watched the bigger birds, the desert birds, tear at it. She watched them through her fingers, to keep her eyes protected so they couldn’t blind her, then eat her, too.
    As the sky was painted by the gods, and the god Shamash went away, she saw the animal carcasses float by. Onagers and oxen, their legs raised to the heat, their bodies swollen from the day’s sun, passed by like rafts on the current of the water. Water tinted with lavender and pink, gold and orange.
    Twilight.
    This was the assurance of the gods: One day ended and another began. The girl knew if she saw twilight, then after a period of darkness, day would come back. The sun god Shamash, the gods of water and wind and soil, would rise to flog and command their slaves who worked the Plain of Shinar. The twilight was a promise, an assurance. There was comfort, even if she was the only one left. Since she saw twilight, the sun would rise tomorrow. Drawing her hair over her shoulders, she put her head down on her arms and slept.
    *      *     *
    Three days later, the waters had receded down the trunk of the palm tree. Debris had begun to show up on the face of the waters. Swollen bodies and faces she didn’t remember. Bits of huts. And, finally, the skin of a
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boat. Without the outer rim, it did her no good to find the bottom, but still she took the skin, wrung it out, and draped it over the newly emerged palms to dry.
    On the fifth day, she set off through the waters, looking for useful things. The outlines of islands and levees began to peer through the water. By twilight of the sixth day she had found cloth to tie around her at night, a bone knife to kill birds and fish with, and an oar.
    In two more days, the marsh had become a breeding ground for mosquitoes, the water had been poisoned by the rotting remains, and salt had dried on the tree trunks. The water was also shallow enough to walk through, to spy crocodiles before they saw her, and to see the ground on which she trod.
    Nothing was left of Shinar; it was wiped clean. She hadn’t seen another live animal or person. She’d seen hundreds of corpses. The crocodiles were dining well. If she were the only human left, then she would walk on until she came to the south sea. If she weren’t, then maybe there would be people on the south sea. The Harrapan traders said they stayed there, and on the island Dilmun.
    In Dilmun, they said, there were tall trees with soft and solid leaves, not like fronds of date palms. They also had orchards, where fruit other than dates grew on the trees. The ground was dry, like Shinar in summertime, but it didn’t crack. It had just enough wet and just enough dry to stay green all year. The air smelled good, and the trees were made of incense. The girl would go to Dilmun, see if it existed. Maybe the Harrapan would take her in. She was good with sheep, and she wouldn’t drink too much beer.
    So she tied the animal skin up into a knot and put it on her head, threw the cloth for a cloak on her back, and clasped her knife in her hand, then set off south.