The Days of Peleg

by Jon Saboe

This was the first time that Peleg had heard the promise of the coming Seed within the context of the surrounding narrative. Part of him wished that Shem had shared this earlier, but he had to admit that, prior to this night, he would have probably refused to listen.

  Shem’s account chronicled the exile from their perfect garden, followed by the growth and expansion of the human family—highlighting important “firsts”. The first farmer, the first rancher, the first musician, the first metallurgist, and (in more graphic detail) the first murderer. Shem also mentioned the name, Aenoch, claiming that this man had somehow escaped death. Peleg had heard this name in a variety of legends, which chronicled Aenoch’s travels to the stars. Aenoch had returned to find that many decades had passed, and that his family and friends were much older—although his tour of the cosmos had taken him but a few weeks.

  Shem’s recitation now turned to precise chronologies, where names and ages were presented clearly, and Peleg was intrigued to hear that many of the lifespans were consistent with those that Inanna ascribed to the super-beings of pre-Calamity time. But Shem was speaking of ordinary men—whose immortality had been cut down to mere centuries by their sentence of death.

  Shem continued the genealogies, and Peleg did some quick mental calculations as the names and ages were recited. So far (in the narrative) more than fifteen hundred years had passed since the first man was formed.

  Peleg was suddenly startled to hear Shem say his own name, “Shem”, as he was listing the three sons of Noah. He peered closely, but Shem’s face did not change or indicate that he was referring to himself.

  With his eyes still closed, Shem then described the Nephilim as they sought to destroy the lineage of the promised Zeh-ra—and how the great crimes and disobedience of humanity provoked the Creator to declare that He would destroy the world with a great flood; and in so doing, preserve that lineage. But, as always, there was a way of escape as He instructed Noah to build an ark—a large box-shaped barge—to salvage a male and female representative of all life on the earth.

  He was familiar with a similar myth; one in which the main character was named Utnapishtim, instead of Noah. In that story, an unspecified number of family members and craftsmen had somehow survived the flood in a ridiculous cube-shaped vessel seven stories tall! Noah’s vessel was much more seaworthy, and Peleg was surprised and impressed that it had the same stability and relative dimensions (thirty by five by three) as the Urbat.

  The description of the Great Calamity was now complete, yet it, too, was succinct and free from exaggeration. It told of the total annihilation of anything that breathed, and the complete destruction of the world by water—from above and also from beneath the earth’s surface.

  Mankind had begun anew—but in a much different world. For the first time in the recitation, Peleg thought he heard a real, personal sorrow, but Shem continued. He told how his family thanked the Creator for His salvation, and he also relayed the new covenant that the Creator gave to Noah. Peleg was reminded of Thaxad’s reaction to the rainbow that had greeted them at the mouth of the Great Western Sea when Shem declared that the rainbow was the Creator’s token of a new promise. A promise that the world would never again be destroyed—at least by a flood.

  Shem’s recitation suddenly shifted to a personal anecdote about an embarrassing mishap his father had encountered when drunk with wine from his newly planted vineyard. And then he stopped suddenly, his eyes snapping open.

  Shem took a deep breath and said, “The Amar is concluded.” He nodded.

  Peleg was taken by surprise at the sudden ending.

  “Why did you stop there?” he asked.

  “That is all that the Creator wishes to include at this time,” was his answer.

  “I was waiting for you to comment on the Great Awakening,” said Peleg, “or more of pre-calamity life; or even more about your own family.”

  “There is a great deal more I could speak about,” said Shem, “Many additional details of personal history and exciting stories. However, I cannot add or take away from this revelation. It must remain exactly as the Creator has given it.”

  Peleg sat in silence for a moment, listening to the fire as it slowly died. Something about this recitation had affected him deeply—much more than a previously unknown origins myth ought to. As he analyzed it, he had to admit one thing: Shem had certainly not made it up. It was nothing like the way Shem spoke. Shem used large confusing metaphors and lengthy sentences. This “Amar” seemed to value simplicity and accuracy above all else. He felt a pounding in his chest as if a weighty decision were pending; and that equally weighty consequences rode on the outcome of his decision.

  He sensed something monumental occurring; a deep change within his very being, as if his mind were somehow being reorganized with new ways of thinking. It occurred to him that the Creator in Shem’s Amar brought forth His creation simply by speaking. If the words of the Creator were contained in this Amar, was it possible that they were instigating similar creative acts within him? Could simply listening to such words alter who he was as a person?

  He took a deep breath and shook his head to clear it. The air was now quite cool as the late night settled in—and the smoke from the fire was all but gone. His brief moment of impressionability had passed.

  He allowed himself a quick, introspective look. No. He was quite sure that nothing had changed.

  “What else could you reveal about pre-Calamity life?” he asked quietly, trying to mask his insecurity from within. He began to realize that any information from before the flood—even something based in myth—might have some value should he meet with Inanna. Shem’s narrative might become a desperately needed bargaining tool.

  Shem laughed warmly, fully returned from his recitative state.

  “A great deal,” he began. “I could tell you of my childhood, and how I spent most of my life learning the engineering and architecture needed to help my father with the ark. You must realize, my father had been working on the ark for over twenty years before I was born. My earliest memories are of studying engineering and architecture. I then had to adapt my training to wood structures, since my instruction dealt with marble and limestone edifices.”

  He shook his head in amusement, and then offered more options.

  “Or I could tell you about the wars between the families, or the oppression at the hands of the Nephilim. I could tell you of technologies which would be far beyond your imagination, or describe a place that was so different from the one we inhabit now, that you would not even recognize it as the same world.”

  Peleg listened with interest to Shem, but as exciting as all of these possibilities sounded to Peleg, the strange ending of the Amar had made him curious about something else. It suddenly struck Peleg that Shem was incredibly alone.

  “What about your family?” he asked. “Your parents, your brothers, and their wives? Were any of them with you in Haganah?”

  Immediately, Peleg regretted asking the question. A cloud of pain came over Shem’s face, lasting for several moments until Shem forcibly replaced it with a look of calm resignation. When he finally spoke, he stared into the distance, avoiding Peleg’s gaze. But tears began to fill his eyes; and the glow from the dying embers turned them into blood-red pools which threatened to overflow at any moment.

  “My father,” he began hoarsely, “and his wife, Gaw-Boluen, live entirely by themselves far beyond the mountains to the northeast—far away from any other human settlements. They were unable to adjust to the new world and eventually severed all ties with it. I received news from them every few years by courier when I was in Haganah, but I know nothing of their current condition.”

  He looked briefly at Peleg, blinked, and then continued.

  “What brought the most pain to my family, however, was my brother Ham, who became angry and chose to defy the Creator. He refused to explore the new world, fearful of a second flood (refusing to believe the promise of the Creator) and eventually his grandson, Nimrod, establish
ed the city where you were born. His city was founded on defiance, and, although it was destroyed during the Time of Confusion, Nimrod survived, and now goes by the name of Sargon.”

  Shem turned back to look directly at Peleg.

  “His family and followers have done everything they can to undermine the will of the Creator and destroy the message of the coming Zeh-ra. We were attacked, enslaved, and ultimately forced to contribute to his city until the Time of Confusion allowed us to escape. My brother, Japheth and his family scattered even farther than mine, creating settlements far to the north.”

  Shem looked away again.

  “But there is a special hatred for me and my family, since we were chosen to be the line of the Zeh-ra. Even now, Sargon delights in making war on us, and dreams of a day when our lineage will be no more.”

  Shem paused, as his gaze turned inward.

  “My son, Arphaxad, was the first child born into the world after the Great Flood,” Shem said, eventually. “He lives with his family in another underground community to the north of Haganah.” He stopped, his voice softening.

  “They tortured him in unspeakable ways before our escape during the Time of Confusion.”

  Shem’s voice trailed off, and they both listened to the silence. The fire was almost gone, but a small sliver moon was just starting to rise, etching lines of silver light into Shem’s eyes. Peleg tried to fathom the grief which must reside deep within Shem.

  A new rustling in the brush caught their ears, but it was Bernifal. Again. They had not noticed his departure, but he now stood before them in the moonlight, holding three small rabbits. They were still struggling in the nooses that Bernifal had created from vines. He often draped such traps along the small animal paths, and when a rabbit or squirrel passed that way, their necks were caught; and when they attempted to run, a long stick attached to the other end would catch in the brush—holding them until Bernifal was able to find and collect them.

  He raised his catch up in the air with a smile.

  “Breakfast,” was all he said.

  He placed them in a small bag which (much to Peleg’s dismay) Bernifal had fashioned from a portion of his fine, new undergarments. When they entered Ur, Bernifal would be wearing nothing under his expensive amber robes.

  Bernifal arranged his mattress of fig leaves, and was soon sleeping. Peleg turned back to Shem, whose face was now shining in the moonlight.

  Peleg poked at the dying embers with a stick, creating sparks.

  “You realize,” said Shem suddenly, “that now that they have found you, you will be subject to the same hatred.”

  Peleg dropped his stick and glared at Shem.

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “And who is ‘they’?”

  “The serpent and his agents,” was the calm reply.

  Peleg shook his head furiously.

  “You forget that I was not obligated to believe your recitation,” he said defiantly. “It was very well done—and compelling—but I will certainly reserve any judgment until after I have presented myself to Inanna and made my case to her.” But even as he spoke, shudders of doubt went through him.

  Shem shook his head.

  “We must find your great-grandson Nahor,” he insisted. “Your son, Reu, was incapable of receiving our message. Although he spoke accurately and was correct in his economic assessments, his great truths blind him to greater truth. We must hope that Nahor will understand—and assist us.”

  Peleg stood and shook his head, dismissing Shem’s words. The aura of mystery was gone. He walked to his sleeping area and began preparing himself for the night.

  “Right now we should sleep,” he said. “We can fight about what we will do in Ur when we get there.”

  Shem nodded in acquiescence, and then rose from his seat.

  “Sleep well,” he said.

  Peleg allowed himself one more grunt, and then curled up on his leaves.

  But one thought pounded through his mind as he fell asleep. He couldn’t defend the thought, but it came to him nonetheless. When someone authored a great epoch, much of it was motivated by self-glory or a desire to impress an audience. He could not reconcile this with what he had just heard.

  No human could have composed that Amar.

  Chapter 37

  Symbiosis

  “That the creation needs a Creator is obvious, but does the Creator really need His creation?”

  A great deal can happen in twelve years.

  Shem’s words had created unrest in Peleg ever since he had heard them, but as he approached Ur, his fears blossomed into reality.

  The sun was rising from behind the city walls, and already Peleg could see the top levels of the Citadel silhouetted against the morning sky. And it did not take long for Peleg to see that at least one major change had taken place during his absence.

  Jutting up from the four corners of the Citadel were new, slender pillars which shone with a dark golden color and appeared to be made of brass. They rose above the structure, and atop each of their tapered ends was a silver crescent moon—its shining edges backlit by the sun and gleaming out across the plains.

  It had actually been almost fourteen years since Peleg had ventured out with the Great Discovery expedition; launched from this city’s seaport. But as they approached the familiar skyline, he felt as if he had been gone for only a few weeks.

  “It’s hard to believe that so many years have passed since I left,” Peleg said to Shem casually. “It seems as if each year is shorter than the previous one.”

  Shem looked across at Peleg and smiled. They had spoken very little since they awoke that morning—and enjoyed the meal of roasted rabbit thighs which Bernifal had marinated in a garlic soy sauce, seasoned with crushed tarragon and wild onions, and wrapped in fig leaves. Somehow Bernifal always managed to create an unbelievable breakfast out of the most meager resources.

  “But the years do get shorter,” said Shem earnestly.

  Peleg glanced at him with a confused look.

  “Yes,” he agreed cautiously. “They seem to get shorter. I was speaking as a matter of perception.”

  “No,” insisted Shem. “They actually become measurably shorter as time passes. Objectively, mathematically shorter.”

  He looked at Peleg, daring him to contradict him.

  Peleg could think of no response, so he eventually asked, “What do you mean?”

  Shem waited until they had walked a few more steps, and then he smiled.

  “To a child of ten, one year represents ten percent of a lifetime, or zero point one lifetimes. However, by the time he reaches your age, one year will equal only point eight five percent of a lifetime. Zero point zero zero eight five lifetimes.”

  Shem stopped and looked at Peleg.

  “For me, a year is less than one three-hundredth of a lifetime, so they pass by faster than you can imagine.”

  He resumed walking.

  “So as you can see, they do become smaller,” Shem concluded, with the smug assurance of someone who has just won a bet. “It’s all a matter of establishing a proper reference point.”

  Peleg groaned and increased his pace, pulling ahead of Shem.

  They decided to avoid the western gate, so they walked around to the south where, by mid-morning, they reached the port gate. Soon they were walking the streets of Ur, jostling with the crowds who were going about their daily activities. There was an air of frantic business, but the people were nothing like those in Uruk. Uruk had been filled with well-dressed investors and marketers who dealt in commodities and business ventures. These were unkempt street vendors who were selling just about anything imaginable: Produce, jewelry, and an unending assortment of strange statuettes and figurines.

  They were also nothing like the people that Peleg remembered. The citizens of Ur had always been calm and pleasant, with a reserved intelligence that was subtly veiled in modesty—both in manner and in dress.

  Peleg thought at first they had arrived on a day o
f celebration or some holiday. Crowds like this just didn’t happen in this city—at least the city he knew. Vendors called out, rudely hawking their wares to anyone within earshot. Since Peleg and his companions were dressed in fine clothes, they soon became targets for the noisy, uncouth merchants.

  As they pushed through the crowd, trying their best to ignore the din, Peleg searched desperately to try and find someone he would recognize. Many times his heart jumped as he thought he spotted an old friend or colleague, but each time, when the person turned towards him, he was disappointed.

  He desperately wanted to steer Shem and Bernifal towards his home, but he felt it was too dangerous. If Reu’s warnings were true, he would have to fight his impulses and head towards the Citadel instead. He was quite confident that no one would recognize him in his expensive clothes, accompanied by two strangers. Also, (he had to admit, grudgingly) his appearance had changed slightly due to aging.

  A young, light-skinned girl with thick black hair wrapped in a scarf was dispatched from a nearby kiosk and approached Peleg with a female figurine in her hand. She wore large, gaudy earrings made of twisted tin, heavy eyeliner, and a thick agate-stone necklace. She was dressed to appear much older than her actual age.

  “You must receive this icon of the Queen of Heaven,” she implored. “When she visited the underworld to rescue her lover, she also returned with great gifts of life and vitality. We have captured her essence in this icon, and anyone who owns it shares in her abundance.”

  Peleg did not know who the Queen of Heaven was, nor had he heard this story. But he did recognize superstitious myths when he heard them. He didn’t know whether he was more enraged or offended, and he instinctively glared at the girl. She was startled, never having received such an angry look from such a well-dressed traveler, and backed away slightly, but held her ground.

  “I am sorry if I have offended you,” she said with a determined smile, “But I assure you this is of the finest quality. It has been personally blessed by the Queen of Heaven herself.”