by Shlomo Kalo
Nashdernach entertained the twelve members of the delegation to superior wine from the royal cellars and wafers dipped in honey from the royal hives, and sent them on their way gratified and in good spirits.
The delegation left the office, and Nashdernach rubbed his hands together with emphatic satisfaction and a broad smile, approached him and said:
“I think we’ll carry on believing in Him!”
He looked up at his superior, who was leaning towards him, awaiting his response. He said to him earnestly:
“There is another place where reliance on God and trust in Him would bear fruit worthy of the name!”
“What are you talking about?” Nashdernach pulled up a chair and sat facing him.
“The tanneries on the river Euphrates.”
“Ah!” the minister retorted: “That business was brought to my attention not long ago, when we debated it in the general council. The feeling is that there’s nothing to be gained by maintaining that plant and its idle work-force… oh yes, they are idle!” he insisted, noticing the spark of protest that flashed in his eyes: “The poor level of production doesn’t justify the expense. Someone suggested those barefooted workers should be sent deep under ground, to the copper-mines, and given the opportunity to show how industrious they can be. We didn’t discuss it at length, as there were more pressing and complicated issues to address, but the decision was taken to import hides from overseas. It seems that importation is preferable from every point of view, as the imported hides are much cheaper and of better quality. The decision hasn’t yet been taken to the King for his assent, but we can assume it’s going to be ratified soon. It’s what the situation demands, the reality we have to face up to!” he declared, and was about to rise from his seat.
“If the esteemed minister will permit me!” he exclaimed, holding out a restraining hand and the other replied:
“Oh, why the formal manners, as alien to you as they are to me – call me Nashdernach! I’m perfectly capable of preserving my dignity even when I’m addressed by name!”
“You’re right,” he smiled and added: “I have a suggestion regarding this question of the tanners on the Euphrates.”
“You’re suggesting we trust in Him?” he asked, a faint smile extending his fleshy lips and flickering in his oily eyes.
“That’s the first step,” he declared in all seriousness and continued: “It seems to me it should be possible to increase levels of production and attain acceptable quotas in terms of time, price and quality, and then importation from abroad would be superfluous, no longer an option.”
“How will you do that?” – Nashdernach expressed interest, settling back in his chair.
“Conditions need to be changed, meaning – conditions of accommodation and conditions of work!” he replied, adding: “After two months, I estimate, the tanners on the Euphrates will be producing hides in the quantity required and of the quality required – and more.
Nashdernach studied him with a probing look, and came to a decision:
“You have two months!” He rose from his seat, approached one of his clerks and dictated a brief memorandum which he signed with the stylus that the clerk offered him, then returned to him, took from his finger a big ring bearing the King’s seal, laid it on the table and said:
“This will be of use to you during these two months! The one who wears this ring is acting on behalf of the King, and every citizen of Babylon, soldier or civilian, must defer to him as if to the King himself and do everything to assist him in the performance of his task.”
“I shall need a few armed men for an escort.”
“Take a troop of twenty, commanded by…” Nashdernach pondered, and he suggested: “Or-Nego?”
“Or-Nego has more important things to do, but if he is free and agrees to go with you – you have my consent and approval. Don’t forget – two months starting from today!”
Or-Nego agreed readily and personally chose the twenty soldiers who would accompany them. Two days later the deputation set out for the journey to the Euphrates, with Or-Nego in the lead.
A morning of searing heat descended on the land, while a boisterous breeze from the East dried the air and made breathing difficult. The horses whinnied, the soldiers were grim-faced and taciturn. At the Gate of Marduk they were stopped by sentries, but showing the ring bearing the King’s seal was enough to have the gates opened, and men of the guard detachment stood to attention on either side of the door, their spears raised in salute. The same procedure was followed at the Shamash Gate, the fortified aperture in the outer wall. And here the Euphrates was revealed to them in all its glory: turbid, angry waves trying in vain to defy the ruthless onslaught of the east wind – waters heavier and more menacing than those of any other river in the world.
And perhaps – he mused inwardly, confronting the strange spectacle of the river – it isn’t always like this, the ancient river, the Euphrates. Perhaps it’s a mood that is turning it ugly, the east wind is provoking it and it’s powerless to retaliate – as if it were human…
They advanced in a narrow file on a narrow path, paved with stones dredged from the river. At a steady canter they covered a distance of four or five Chaldean parasangs, until they reached the foot of an arid hill, topped by a long, low ridge. Stepping lightly the horses climbed the slope of the hill and stopped on the skyline. Stretched out before them was the tanners’ camp of the Euphrates.
At the moment they arrived on the ridge, a half-naked, fleshy overseer, with a long thick whip made from a buffalo’s tail, was lashing a strange creature which at best could be described as a walking skeleton, and a lean skeleton at that – hunched and naked, with bones protruding through the transparent embroidery of the skin that was filthy and covered with sores; skull, ribcage and pelvis all clearly visible. The blow from the whip set the skeleton reeling, and it fell to the ground and lay still. The overseer raised the whip, poised to strike again at the body recumbent in the sand.
“Stop!” he shouted in a voice that cut the air, sharper and perhaps more painful than the brandished whip.
The overseer froze where he stood and cautiously turned his shaved head, set on a short, thick neck, towards the ridge.
The arm raised in an unequivocal gesture, the line of silent, armed soldiers – spoke for themselves. The overseer’s hand fell limply to his side, denied the pleasure of further assault on his skeletal victim, who seized the opportunity to crawl like an insect out of the range of the whip, making his escape on four legs and then on two, tottering like a drunkard.
Accompanied by Or-Nego, the soldiers following behind, he cautiously descended the hill. The overseer stood his ground, in sullen silence.
He ordered one of the soldiers to confiscate the overseer’s whip. He handed it over sheepishly, all his confidence destroyed, and stooped, as if waiting for a blow that did not come.
“Call the commander of the camp!” he bellowed in the ear of the flustered flogger, who disappeared into a maze of flimsy hovels – little more than booths made of reed-thatch, supported by poles of rough, unplaned wood.
As far as the eye could see the shore was littered with these hovels, like tilting mushrooms in the forest, and beneath them, as Gershon had described, scraps of straw matting were visible. At the riverside itself, in long lines of at least fifty to a line, were the naked tanners, scraping the hides spread out on the water, working listlessly, as if liable to fall down and die at any moment.
He had counted some thirty such lines, when a tall, corpulent man appeared before him, wearing the faded cloak of a soldier and carrying a curved sword in a shining brass scabbard. He was accompanied by a half-naked, stout individual in a grubby loincloth, with a ring of coarse gold hanging from one ear. His face was so flabby that his eye-sockets were reduced to narrow slits. The man seemed unruffled and confident in himself, but it was possible to detect behind the narrow slits an alert and inquisitive look. He held another of those lethal whips made from buffalo tails.
“By what authority?” – the man with the sword chose to open the proceedings in a tone of indignation and menace.
“By authority of the King and on his behalf!” he declared, holding out his hand and displaying the ring.
“Oh!” – suddenly the man with the sword was all reverence: “All praise to His Majesty King Nebuchadnezzar, the valiant and the wise, conqueror of the world!” he cried in a fulsome, deliberate tone, and bowed ostentatiously, his overseer accomplice following suit.
“How can I be of assistance?” the camp commander inquired.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he answered him. “Is there somewhere where we can talk?”
“Please be so good as to accompany me!” – the man with the sword repeated his obsequious bow and turned in the direction from which he had come, adding: “Distinguished guests from the Palace! An honourable visit such as this I haven’t enjoyed since I was sent to this place, eighteen long, hard years! I’m used to getting petty officials, in a hurry. Load up the hides! or – Is this all there is? Or – This isn’t enough to pay for the beans that you eat! And then it’s – If you don’t meet acceptable targets this plant will be closed and the workers will all be sent underground to dig for copper. And you will have to face the King and invent good excuses for your failure! That’s it, year in, year out. The same words, the same haste, the same sacks of beans in exchange for treated hides, the same loads of fresh hides brought in for treatment. It’s just the people who change. You know how it is – the ones who stay close to His Majesty the King, the valiant and the wise, conqueror of the world, climb the ladder of promotion, whereas with people like us,” – he raised his arm in a gesture of sorrow and resentment – “it’s a case of out-of-sight and out-of-mind!” Animal cunning, thinly veiled scorn, indignation and obsequiousness were blended in the voice of the chief officer of the tanners’ camp.
Still on horseback they arrived at a large, tent-like pavilion, made of coarse cloth designed to repel the heat. Two of the camp attendants hastened to draw back the door-flaps, bowing low as they invited the guests to enter.
With an agile leap he dismounted from Orelian and handed the reins to one of the soldiers. Or-Nego did likewise and both of them went into the tent, leaving the soldiers to wait outside. Their hosts followed them, closing the door-flaps for the sake of privacy. The space enclosed within the tent was extensive indeed, crammed with tiny tables, a few chests, and stools and chairs of every conceivable description. In a corner, partly shielded by a thick curtain which had once been white, a bed was visible. Somehow, most of the stench of the camp had been excluded from this place, leaving behind only the mildest irritation to the nostrils.
A table was placed at their disposal and high-backed chairs, the most dignified ones that their obsequious hosts could find. They sat on one side of the table and the camp representatives on the other. Silence reigned in the shady interior of the tent.
The overseer’s narrow eye-slits flashed with naïve curiosity. The mottled eyes of the tall and corpulent one with the faded military cloak twitched restlessly in their sockets, contemptuous perhaps, or arrogant, or simply trying to disguise the fear that had overwhelmed them.
“The King is far from satisfied with the standards of work and the goods produced in this place!” he began in a steady, even voice. “So, there are going to be changes in patterns of work and in methods of supervision, and in the duties of overseers and their superiors. It is all written down here, and signed personally by Nashdernach, senior counsellor to Nebuchadnezzar, the wise and the valiant King, conqueror of the world!”
He took a scroll from the inner pocket of his cloak and handed it to the camp commander. The latter squinted at it, in blank incomprehension. He realised that the man could not read, and neither could the overseer sitting beside him.
“I shall read the scroll to you!” he said, and he untied the ribbon, opened the scroll, and began to read:
“From this day forward the following arrangements are to be implemented in the tanners’ camp by the river Euphrates:
“First clause – the labourers are to work from daybreak until midday. At midday, they will return to their quarters and eat a nutritious meal to include, besides lentils, rice or beans – also eggs, olives and such other vegetables as are available.
“Second – after this meal the labourers are to rest in their quarters for one hour, after which they are to work until sunset, and no later.
“Third – at the conclusion of their day’s work, the tanners will receive a second meal, to consist of bread, onion and cheese, figs and dates.
“Fourth – in their free time the tanners will build themselves substantial huts, using proper construction materials, each of these units to accommodate two to four workers, and no more.
“Fifth – each tanner is entitle to receive two shirts, one cloak and two pairs of shoes per year, plus six loincloths.
“Sixth – the overseers are not to beat or lash the workers under any circumstances and for any reason. From this day forward, all whips belonging to the overseers are to be confiscated.
“Seventh – on the first day of every month, tanners, guards and overseers alike will receive payment from the royal treasury.
“And the final clause – any deviation from the provisions set out in this document, however slight, will be construed as an insult to His Majesty the King. A serious infringement will be regarded as treason.”
He read through the document a second time and reminded his hosts that two further copies of it existed – one in the royal archive and one in the minister’s office. He demanded to hear them repeat the full text of the scroll, sentence by sentence and clause by clause, then handed the scroll to the man with the sword, rose from his seat and commanded:
“Confiscate all the whips and bring them here!”
“We hear and obey,” the two of them replied in unison, turning towards the door.
“You, wait a moment!” he called to the overseer with the slits for eyes.
“Sir?” he asked in a wheedling voice.
“Your whip!” – he pointed to the buffalo’s tail wrapped around his arm. “On the table, now!”
“As you wish, Sir!” He left the whip on the table and turned to go.
“Do you think it’s going to work?” Or-Nego asked, impressed and sceptical in equal measure.
“By His grace!” he answered him, with an upward glance.
Soon after this they left the tanners’ camp behind their backs, every man of the escort troop carrying a dozen or so whips on the pommel of his saddle. Their hosts accompanied them to the slopes of the parched hill, where they bowed to them and prostrated themselves on the ground, and went on bowing and prostrating until they disappeared behind the ridge.
Or-Nego, his soldiers and he inhaled the fresh air with relief, as the stench faded away.
“My impression is that those scoundrels will hoodwink the workers and return to their evil ways,” was Or-Nego’s comment – “without whips admittedly, or perhaps that should be, without whips made from buffalo tails; and they won’t give even a moment’s thought to any kind of reform, to say nothing of the contents of the scroll, that they’re supposed to have learned by heart!”
“Three days from now the first deliveries of food will arrive, consignments of nuts and almonds and eggs and fresh vegetables, and those consignments will remind them of our meeting and of the scroll that they have with them!”
“I think the consignments are more likely to inflame their primitive lust for profit,” Or-Nego objected – “and they’ll sell off the food and pocket the proceeds.”
“We’ll come back here in two weeks and see how the scheme has been implemented.”
“That’s the right idea,” Or-Nego declared with the restrained enthusiasm that was his habitual tone – “we come back and check!”
They urged their horses on and quickly covered the ground. The hot wind had subsided. When they reached the gates the se
ntries did not delay them, but opened the gates as soon as they saw them approaching and stood to attention with spears raised in salute.
When they reached the forecourt of the royal palace, passing Or-Nego’s spacious residence, the officer broke the silence, leaning towards him and saying:
“Adelain would be delighted if you would visit us!”
“Not this time, Or-Nego, begging her pardon and yours! I have much to do and Nashdernach is waiting for me.”
Or-Nego was not offended by his refusal, and he appreciated this.
They parted company with an exchange of bows, agreeing to meet again two weeks hence for the return visit to the tanners’ camp on the Euphrates.
If their first visit had astonished the supervisor of the camp and the overseer who was his acolyte, this time they were stunned into immobility, standing and gaping as the riders approached, like pillars of salt, or as if they had swallowed their tongues. The stench was as foul as ever, and the tanners were not noticeably more motivated than before, still standing in long silent lines in the turbid surf of the Euphrates, listlessly beating and scraping the hides. The overseers no longer brandished buffalo-tail whips, but used whatever implements came to hand – sticks, ropes or even stones with which they pelted their human targets, sometimes to encourage and sometimes as a release from boredom, a pleasurable pastime following the sumptuous meal that they had enjoyed at the expense of their workers.
There was no need for exchanges of words. The facts spoke for themselves. The man with the sword and his accomplice regained their wits and threw themselves down in the dust, even kissing the hooves of their horses, which whinnied and shied away from them. They wailed and wept, reeling off the names of wives and children and elderly parents who depended on them, and the supervisor ripped his faded cloak and beat his hairy chest and threw dust over his balding head, pulling out the whiskers of his greasy beard and howling incessantly. His assistant stripped stark naked and went on plastering himself with dust until he looked like a scarecrow.
