by Shlomo Kalo
“And his words alarmed me and weighed heavily on my mind, and the King saw this and he noticed my tears as well, and like you he pretended he saw nothing. And that is really why I am here, taking the liberty of rousing you at this early hour, as you are a loyal friend, before whom I can open my heart, and ease the heavy burden of grief that I bear over the death of our King. I feel comforted already! And it is our duty, as I said before, to present ourselves to Queen Temior and stand beside her in her time of grief, and if necessary, support her when she accompanies her husband on his last journey. The grave, according to his command, will be dug in that corner of the garden where yesterday he celebrated his last festival, in honour of Temior’s birthday – the woman he loved above all others! There will be a procession, and the coffin will be transported on the funereal carriage of the Kings of Babylon, harnessed to ten black horses, passing through the streets of Babylon, and giving the citizens an opportunity to pay their tearful farewells to the King, and in the temples of Bel and Marduk, the priests will pray for the repose of the King’s soul. And he will be brought back to the palace tomorrow and buried in the afore-mentioned plot, near the fountain, the place where the King knew his last happiness on this earth.”
“Have all the necessary arrangements been made, and all the instructions issued?” he asked, in an effort to subdue the shock and the distress he felt as a result of all that he had heard.
His question seemed to bolster Nashdernach’s flagging spirits.
“Instructions have been issued! The twenty-one days of mourning have already begun, and everything is in readiness for the funeral procession! Once the Queen has told us precisely what she has in mind, regarding the design and construction of the coffin, all will proceed smoothly. We know what the dimensions of the coffin will be, so at least we can start putting the frame together, and thus avoid any delay.”
He gave him a long, keen look and said solemnly:
“Don’t make any hasty assumptions over the dimensions of the coffin!”
“What do you mean?” demanded Nashdernach, genuinely baffled. “Are you telling me those dimensions are going to be changed?”
“It’s a distinct possibility!” he declared, and did not elaborate.
As evening fell, Nashdernach came looking for him again, and found him sorting out some unfinished business in his office, assisted by one of his clerks.
He had never known Nashdernach so agitated
“You knew!” he exclaimed, in a high-pitched yell that was not typical of him.
Eliciting no response, he proceeded to explain:
“She has done this! Queen Temior has done this! No one can determine the cause of her death. Yes, she was found lifeless on her couch, in all her royal finery, a diadem on her head and a scroll in her clenched fist, bearing the text: Bury me beside my husband, his arm around my shoulder. That is all. Learned doctors and eminent physicians, of Babylon or of other lands – not one of them is capable of establishing the cause of her death. They say, ‘she has done this’, as I said myself, but they understand nothing.
“She did not take her life – did not thrust a dagger into her heart or harm herself with any implement, did not swallow poison or a potion – all this is clear. And her face, so serene, so happy indeed, tells us she did not expire from excess of grief. No, far from it! The only reasonable explanation is – she simply wanted to go with her husband, the one great love of her life – and her wish was granted. Do you think such a thing is possible?” he asked, and he answered him:
“If desire is strong and true, nothing can resist it, and God the merciful and the loving will not impede it, or put obstacles in its way!” he declared, his voice vibrant with the intensity of his awe and admiration of the Queen.
“And you guessed!” Nashdernach exclaimed.
“Not at all. The Queen herself, Her Majesty, confided in my wife yesterday, that if her husband were taken from her, she would go with him and not stay for one more day without him.”
“That is well said!” Nashdernach declared, impressed. “And what precious treasures they are, women like these! In all the world you won’t find more than half a dozen who are their equals!”
“These are not women, but queens!” he declared, adding: “They were born queens, they live as queens and they die as queens. Even after their death – queens they will always remain!”
The funeral procession caused mayhem and tumult in the streets of Babylon. The report that the Queen had gone to join her husband and champion, her heart’s true love, rather than live without him a single day, and the King, who loved her all his life, would still walk beside her even in the world of shadows, and the delight that they had known in each other was not to be curtailed but would continue into the next world, stronger than ever and lasting for ever – all of this impressed the common folk and moved them beyond measure. The procession was an exhibition of solidarity, rapture, triumph, joy and pain. People shouted and jostled, some were knocked down and trampled to death by the frenzied crowd, while others were so overwhelmed by the surges of raw emotion that their hearts could not cope with the pressure – and failed them.
All the ministers and officers of the state took part in the funeral procession, from the most senior to the most junior, and there was no need for any special decrees or proclamations, as all came willingly – whether out of firm attachment to the King and the royal household, or as an expression of human warmth and affection.
On a black horse, with black saddle and harness, Belshazzar, heir apparent to an illustrious father, Nebuchadnezzar the Second, rode at the head of the procession.
The frivolous youth tried to force upon his face a look of grief and pain, but he soon tired of this, and as he abandoned the effort to pretend to emotions that he did not feel, his face took on an expression of intense boredom. Detached from his surroundings and recoiling from the heaving mob and the contorted, anguished faces, he finally turned all his attention to his horse’s neck and the bobbing, twitching ears. Something about them struck him as comical, and he had difficulty suppressing a fit of giggles.
The heir’s mother, Domilin, rode in a small, covered carriage harnessed to a brown horse. Dressed all in black she followed her son, her face pale and set.
He sat with Nashdernach on the broad seat of the funereal carriage, as both of them gazed at the calm faces of the King and his Queen, lying in a simple coffin of oak, not yet sealed. And in accordance with the explicit request of the Queen, the King’s arm was draped around her shoulder, and it was as if she knew it, and was enraptured. Nebuchadnezzar seemed to be smiling too. The sight of the royal pair, not separated even in death, infused in him a lively sense of uplifted spirit, wonderment and quiet joy.
The representatives of the citizenry and the elders of the people delivered eulogies of their King and Queen, and not one of them could resist the onset of tears. One wept in the middle of his eulogy, another at the beginning of it, another at the end, and yet another from beginning to end, without a pause. The people filing past the coffin also sobbed and wailed, and paced slowly with heads bowed.
The coffin was placed in the centre of the shrine of Bel, and although all the six broad gates of the shrine were open wide, they were too narrow to accommodate the constant, dense stream of mourners.
The ministers had their say too, but they did not weep. The voice of Nashdernach, like his words, expressed nothing but a strange happiness, a blend of spiritual exaltation, awe and respect.
He did not eulogise the King, or go into the shrine. The image of the royal couple in the open coffin remained clearly before his eyes. The bitterness of death had not parted the lovers. In his heart he was kneeling at their feet, bowing with reverence and admiration.
The next day the coffin was moved, and again he sat with Nashdernach in the funeral carriage. Wrapped up in his thoughts he was not aware of the tormented gaze of a pair of dark eyes, fixed on him unflinchingly, and when he was roused from his reverie and turned his head, he
caught sight of the shadow of a priestess of Bel lurking in the crowd, and he knew this was Adelain.
The cortege returned the way it had come, with the priests of Bel and Marduk in their black robes leading the way, and acolytes in white habits following in the rear, swinging incense-burners and chanting hymns from the liturgy of Bel, the excited crowd joining in the responses. And all of Babylon hummed to the sound. It was as if the dead had risen and were shouting their hollow reproaches in the ears of the living, who responded to them with raucous howls.
The gravediggers had done their work well, and the pit was dug in the precise spot where, two days before, the King and his wife had sat, happy and loving, with their household around them.
The coffin was lowered on ropes, closed, and buried beneath the light, sandy soil of Babylon. A big marble slab was set down on the heap of earth, and with this, the tomb was sealed. And the ministers filed past the freshly-dug grave one by one, bowing to the silent tumulus and each of them reciting in turn a verse from the “victory song” of Marduk.
He too walked past the grave, bowed and recited a verse from the Psalms: “Blessed is the man whose strength is in you!”
The following day, Belshazzar was declared King of Babylon, and crowned in a coronation ceremony utterly devoid of pomp or pageantry – and this at the specific request of the young man, who disliked crowds and wanted to keep his public appearances to a minimum. Nashdernach warned him that he risked offending the plebeians and the patricians of the city alike, and he should at least invite the civic elders to attend his coronation, but his advice was flatly rejected. Belshazzar was stubborn, and refused to concede anything, and the ceremony proceeded in the presence of only his senior ministers.
Nashdernach had no choice but to spread the rumour that the young man was distraught, still in mourning for his father and not yet ready to face his subjects.
Belshazzar
A week after his coronation King Belshazzar convened a meeting of the supreme royal council, now called the Great Council of the Crown. Belteshazzar and his three companions were not among those invited.
The four friends met in his office.
“This does not bode well!” Azariah remarked, in a voice full of dread.
They exchanged glances, going on to scrutinise one another’s features.
The faces of Mishael and Azariah were both scored with wrinkles. Hananiah’s forehead seemed to be higher and broader than before.
On his own, rather elongated face, there was no sign of wrinkles. The fair skin of his forehead had become fairer still and its purity was perfected, lit by the bright glow of wisdom. The depth of his eyes was unfathomable, with vision capable of seeing the invisible. His matching eyebrows, straight nose, cheek-bones high as the sturdy, silent peaks of mountains, pale lips sheltering in their lee – completed the picture. His hair and beard were neatly combed, now flecked with grey. His stance was upright, and anyone seeing him could not fail to take courage, his heart filled with reverent joy.
He smiled and said:
“God is our Lord, and in Him we shall trust, accepting everything that befalls us with blessing and with thanks, with gladness and love!”
“Let us bless Him indeed!” exclaimed Azariah, his confidence restored, and Hananiah added his voice to the chorus:
“May your name be magnified and praised, lauded and glorified, for ever and ever, amen!”
“Amen and amen!” they all responded, before going their separate ways and about their separate business.
Towards evening, Denur-Shag came to visit him. He was in a highly charged emotional state, making every effort to conceal his perturbation behind the mask of a faint and ironical smile. Still smiling, he responded with a bow to Nejeen’s greeting as she passed him, and took his customary seat in the parlour, then produced a leather flask from the folds of his tattered cloak, placed it on the table, and proceeded to explain:
“Ordinary wine! From the late harvest of the vineyards in my wife’s village, fresh from the vats! I received a batch last week. Nothing ‘vintage’ about it, and all the healthier and more efficacious for that! None of that confusion of tastes that vintage wines arouse between tongue and palate, and yet the result is the same – dulling the senses and blurring consciousness – what more could anyone ask for? Clay cups, if you please, this has to be done properly!”
The clay cups were provided, and Denur-Shag pulled out the crude wooden stopper from the neck of the flask and poured the wine into the receptacles with an air of unaccustomed solemnity; the forced, ironical smile was gone. He was in no hurry to taste the drink, but remained for a long moment engrossed in himself, as if working something out – repeatedly.
“You remember your offer,” he began slowly, his head still bowed, displaying his bald patch in all its glory – “to install me in one of your offices?” He looked up, giving him a long and thoughtful glance. “I rejected the offer, and I have to confess to you that I don’t regret it, not in the slightest! I have learned over a long lifetime, and it’s the fruit of my accumulated experience – never to regret a decision, even when it’s the right one!” He grinned at his own witticism, and the other responded with a faint smile.
“And then – if your memory still serves you, I told you this didn’t mean I wasn’t going to serve you. On the contrary, if the circumstances required it, I would definitely serve you, with or without your consent! And in reality, such a need has not arisen, then or now.” The grin had faded from his eyes, and once again his face took on that untypical expression of solemnity and gravity. He continued, with slow and deliberate articulation:
“And what I didn’t ask myself then was, at what time would I stop serving you? It seemed to me then this time was very far away, and might not ever arrive. And now, it has come to me as a terrible surprise, mixed with a certain sense of relief – although ‘terrible’ and ‘relief’ are not words that sit naturally together – to find that this time has arrived! As of this evening, my service of you is terminated. Not that I won’t be glad to go on being of service to you in any way, but from a professional point of view, in the corridors of the palace – I shall not longer have the opportunity to achieve this.”
“Have you been dismissed?” he asked.
“Not exactly!” Denur-Shag answered him, pushing one of the cups towards him and taking the other, recited a benediction – “Blessed is He who gives us the wine!” – and drank thirstily, with big, noisy gulps.
He replied “Amen” and sipped the wine. It certainly did not have a ‘vintage’ taste, and it might not even be ritually pure, but it had a sharp, youthful tang that was most agreeable.
Denur-Shag wiped his mouth with his hand and fingered his sparse beard, pushed the cup away from him, as if it were an unwelcome distraction, and went on to say:
“I have a brother-in-law. In fact, I have more than a dozen brothers-in-law. Decent fellows all of them, well-rooted in the soil, countrymen in every respect. One of them left the plough and the sickle behind and made his way to the big city in search of his destiny, which according to his way of thinking, the sheer determination of a countryman who has lost interest in the people and the landscapes of his village – meant a well-paid and distinguished occupation. And sure enough, through assiduous burrowing in all the nooks and crannies of the royal household, and commendable commitment to the ploys of self-advertisement, flattery and bribery, he was taken on as deputy assistant to the deputy assistant to the minister responsible for the building of roads in greater Babylon. And here he proved remarkably successful; his sterling qualities stood him in good stead and he was never dismissed or disciplined on account of excess of dedication to the task in hand. He had a true countryman’s instinct for sharp practice, and he coped admirably with all the scheming that went on in that department.
“As luck would have it, this brother-in-law of mine was invited to join the personal staff of his minister, and in this capacity he was present at a meeting of what used to be called t
he Supreme Royal Council and has now been renamed, in presumptuous style – the Great Council of the Crown. His role was to serve the minister as a gofer, bearing great bundles of scrolled maps – specifically designed to confuse anyone rash enough to enquire about programmes of repair and construction of roads.
“In the event the new sovereign, our friend King Belshazzar, showed no inclination to inspect these maps, and throughout the session of the Council my unfortunate brother-in-law was obliged to stand, bearing that heavy load of spurious scrolls in his arms and under his armpits, a posture causing him extreme discomfort and even pain. As a way of distracting himself he chose a most novel method, such as only a shrewd countryman would think of – listening to what was said, and in this specific case – to the speech of the young King!” Denur-Shag held out his hand and picked up the cup, raised it to his lips with a shaking hand and drank, his thirst undiminished.
“This new King, who has the seed of genius firmly planted in his brain, a seed that is bound to burgeon and flower, bearing remarkable fruit which we and people of like mind will have to find ways of coping with – the King came up with an expression that is novel not only from a political point of view and from the perspective of the natural sciences, but linguistically as well! He coined a linguistic idiom such as has never been heard before, and he spoke it in the hearing of his attendant ministers and in the hearing of my pagan-rustic brother-in-law. King Belshazzar spoke, may Heaven preserve us – of blood-purity! Do you realise to what an extent the speaker has outclassed all those who ever misused the word ‘purity’ in the past, who twisted it to mean all kinds of things – and he has succeeded, in the most remarkable way, in linking it to the word that is the furthest removed from it – ‘blood’! And indeed we cannot deny that here there is a truly exceptional manifestation of effrontery and imagination, an assault on hallowed precepts – linguistic and not only linguistic.
