The King Who Refused to Die

by Zecharia Sitchin

  A large canopied bed, taking up a good deal of the room, suggested to Astra that this was Eli’s bedroom. If so, it was a most unusual one, for in every available space there stood, or hung on the walls, ancient artifacts: statues of all sizes, statuettes, wall reliefs, and objects of clay, bronze, and even gold. Her particular attention was drawn to an ancient lyre; it looked familiar because Astra had seen its picture and its counterpart in the British Museum many times. Its two stems rose in a slight angle from a sound box and were connected at the top by a crossbar. The front of the sound box curved into the sculpted head of a horned bull made of gold. Strings ran from the upper crossbar to the bottom of the sound box, and when Astra plucked the strings ever so lightly, she was startled by the deep sound of music that the instrument produced.

  “It’s a replica, of course,” said Eli. “A replica of the original, almost five thousand years old, found by Sir Leonard Woolley in the royal tombs of Ur. . . . It belonged to the Sumerian queen Pu-Abi.”

  Astra plucked the strings again. “What an exquisite sound,” she murmured.

  “Archaeologists found not only lyres and harps, which they reconstructed and restrung, but also ancient Sumerian musical notations,” Eli told her. “After deciphering the musical notes, a team of California professors actually played the ancient music. . . . Here, it has been recorded.” He touched an unseen button, and the room was filled with an enigmatic, haunting tune—a tune from another time and another place, yet one that Astra found neither strange nor unappealing.

  She looked around at the roomful of artifacts, wondering whether they too were just replicas or genuine archaeological finds. Eli caught her roving gaze.

  “I work in the museum,” he said, “restoring, replicating. . . .” He waved his hand at the collection of artifacts. “I had to re-create the surroundings, the mood of ancient Sumer, to go back amidst the familiar objects of our beloved Erech.”

  “The tune . . .” Astra said. “It evokes memories . . .”

  “Lyre music was a favorite of Anu and Ishtar,” Eli said. “On his last visit to Earth, the Anunnaki built Anu a restplace that was the forerunner of Erech. They installed there a most magnificent lyre for his pleasure. When he left, he bequeathed the place to Ishtar, his beloved Irnina. She loved to play the lyre, even composed much of the music.”

  Astra’s head began to swirl and she stopped gazing around. The tune was haunting her, each pluck of the lyre’s strings echoing in a pluck-beat of her heart. She drew herself to Eli and stood silently with her body against his.

  He kissed her gently on the forehead. “The nectar, the music . . . they are taking you back . . . floating, floating back in time . . .”

  “I feel dizzy,” Astra suddenly blurted out, and abruptly sat down on the floor, her back leaning against the canopied bed. Eli let her be. She began to hum the lyre’s tune, then she began to sing, almost whispering at first, then louder, then ever so softly:

  “Sleep, oh sleep, some to my son,

  Put to sleep his restless eyes.

  Shine, shine oh new moon,

  Chase away the evil pain.

  Oh Enlil, be his guardian on Earth,

  Oh Anu, be his guardian in Heaven.

  Oh, Goddess of Life, be his ally;

  May he lord for many happy days . . .”

  “It is beautiful,” Eli said and sat himself on the floor beside her.

  She looked at him as though she had not seen him before. “Is it you, Shamash?” she asked. “Mother was always singing this lullaby to you. She was always concerned about your aching bones. She could not understand why we were growing up so fast. . . . Do you remember, Shamash?”

  He put his hand around her shoulder. “I am Gilgamesh, not Shamash,” he corrected her gently.

  “She used to tease us that we had spent only a hundred Earth years in diapers,” Astra went on dreamily. “They all refused to recognize that we were ripe. . . . We had to play when others were away. You always pretended at first to be someone else. . . . Why?”

  “It was more fun that way,” Eli said.

  “Play with me again, Shamash,” Astra said. “I need you so!”

  “Yes,” he said and kissed her on the forehead. “Let us play!”

  He got up and pulled her up too. Holding her tightly against his body he began to sway the two of them to and fro, very gently, in tune with the rhythm of the ancient music—to and fro, to and fro, standing in place, without moving the feet.

  “We are together again,” he said softly.

  “We are together again,” Astra repeated his words.

  “Tonight is the night,” he said.

  “Tonight . . . is this the night?” she queried.

  “Yes, my queen,” he said. “It is the night of lovemaking, in Erech.

  “Hurry, take me there!” Astra said, command in her voice.

  “Together. We must go back together,” Eli insisted.

  “Together . . . let us go together,” Astra said.

  Letting go of her but with their bodies close enough to feel each other’s warmth, Eli began to undress her. Astra realized what he was doing but did not try to stop him, for she was both mesmerized and willing. When she was completely naked, he led her to a closet and from inside it took out a gauzy, see-through robe; he helped Astra put it on.

  There was a full-length mirror on the inside of the closet’s door, and Eli positioned it so that when Astra looked at herself, she could also see the statue standing inside the elevator behind her. Astra was aghast by the similarity, and for a moment—in her confused state between fantasy and reality—she wondered who was who, which was she—alive—and which was the statue—only lifelike. . . . Was she Astra, the reality—or was the reality, the everlasting reality, that eternally frozen goddess behind her? She passed her hands over her body, first from her firm breasts down to her round hips, then back up again to her shoulders and neck and face, ending with her thick dark hair.

  “I am Ishtar!” she cried out. “I am the one!”

  She was still viewing herself and the statue in the mirror when Eli appeared behind her. He was naked and his build was sturdier and more athletic than his clothed body had suggested. Before she had a chance to turn toward him, he grabbed her by her breasts, hard, almost violently.

  “Oh my beloved,” he said, breathing heavily. “The similarity struck me the very first time I saw you. . . . I knew then that fate found you for me. I’ve planned this evening ever since, each moment of it . . .”

  She smiled with anticipated pleasure as she felt his body pressing against hers.

  “Make love to me, Shamash,” she said, “but keep out the seed!”

  Eli did not bother to correct her again, but turned her around to face him and then kissed her in a frenzy.

  “Let’s not tarry,” Astra whispered. “Teach me love, Shamash . . . Hurry!”

  “Yes, yes, beloved Ishtar,” Eli replied. “But you must lie on the Bed That Floats, until the king is ushered unto you.”

  He led her to the canopied bed and gently helped her lie down on her back so that half her body remained protruding off the edge of the bed, her feet bent to reach the floor. There was a hammock spread on the bed, which Eli proceeded to raise with the aid of pulleys attached to the ceiling, lifting Astra to midair.

  “You are making me float,” Astra said dreamily.

  “You are in the Bed That Floats,” Eli said, “devised by the chief of artisans so that you may have your pleasure as you prefer it, without a man coming into your bed . . . But soon the prescribed hour shall strike, and I, the king, shall come unto you for the Sacred Marriage!”

  “Hurry, hurry, play the lovemaking game!” she said impatiently.

  He reached for a switch and a rotating light on the ceiling began to flash alternating red and blue lights. He pulled her see-through robe apart and kissed her on her breasts. She smiled but remained motionless, staring at the rotating ceiling lights. He spread her legs apart, resting each leg on one
side of the hammock. Then he began to rock the hammock to and fro, toward him and away from him, entering her again and again with each inward swing.

  “We are together once more!” he said. “I am caressing you from within, so that we shall journey together until the moment that I will enter your bed and, pleasuring you as the sacred rites prescribe, become the king again!”

  “Oh Shamash,” she said. “I love it so . . .”

  He kept rocking the hammock, continuing to penetrate her on each upward swing of the hammock.

  “Bliss, bliss . . .” Astra said, groaning with pleasure. “Mother said I am too young to marry. . . . I don’t know what I would have done without you!”

  “My, how grown you are!” Eli said lightly, indulging her in the idea that he was Shamash, Ishtar’s twin.

  “You have just begun to grow a beard, and all you think of are spacecraft,” Astra said, anger in her voice. Then she chuckled. “The pilot that has been teaching you flying has also been teaching me a thing or two . . .”

  “Everyone admires your beauty.”

  “Mother is worried, Shamash. . . . Grandfather Enlil has spoken to our father about me. Have you heard the rumors? They are arranging a marriage, a union of the two sides . . . to cement the peace, they say . . .”

  “Marriage,” Eli said. “A Sacred Marriage.”

  Astra remained silent. Eli stopped rocking the hammock. Moments later Astra began to shudder and stir restlessly. Eli caressed her, saying nothing.

  “Your touch is divine, my beloved Dumuzi,” Astra said softly. “The music is enchanting. . . . Let the musicians play on as you come to me . . .”

  “The musicians are playing,” said Eli, caressing her, again seemingly unperturbed that she had called him by yet another name.

  “Oh don’t be shy, my beloved Dumuzi,” she said. “Though only betrothed, it is no reason to spare me thy love . . . come on, come on, keep rocking me!”

  Eli began to swing the hammock backward and forward, and moments later began to penetrate her once more. “We are joined again. . . . We are one,” he said.

  Astra began to hum. “Tell the musicians to play louder,” she implored. “I wish to sing the praises of my betrothal. . . .” And without waiting, she burst into a melodic song:

  “The bridegroom is by my side; what joy!

  The wild ox Dumuzi, is by my side; joy!

  The songstresses chant a song;

  A song for him Ishtar will compose:

  “I am like a field of fallow land,

  The wild ox beside me with its horn, ready to plow.

  We are in a heavenly boat of fastened ropes,

  Our passion is rising, like the moon’s new crescent.

  “My breasts are as hillocks,

  My thighs are like a rolling field.

  My body is like wet soil;

  Where is the ox that will come plow my fields?

  “My Lord Dumuzi; he will plow my fields.

  My sweetheart, he will come to me.

  Oh my Lord Dumuzi,

  Sing with me our song of love!”

  Eli kept rocking the hammock while she sang, penetrating her in a rhythmic motion. They were both silent for a few moments. Then Astra began to twist in the hammock, and Eli had to stop.

  “What is it, my beloved?” he asked.

  Astra began to wail. “Oh woe unto me!” she cried out, sobbing. “The shepherd who has slept by my side has been taken away! The evil one made them carry him off. . . . My wild ox, my beloved Dumuzi, lives no more!”

  “Anu has given you Erech that you may have kingship,” Eli said, caressing her. “He has given you his divine lyre, that you may find peace in its music.”

  Astra’s wailing now turned to a sobbing. Her writhing stopped. He went on caressing her.

  “The musicians are playing,” Astra spoke up. “Why are the singers quiet?”

  “I have composed a song exalting your greatness,” Eli said. First softly, then with a gradually rising voice, he began to sing:

  “I sing to Ishtar, great mistress.

  Oh voluptuous lady, oh queenly one.

  The day has passed, the sun has gone to sleep.

  The great lady is in the bed of rejoicing.

  She is clothed with pleasure and love,

  She is covered with charm and vitality.

  Her eyes are asparkle, her figure is alluring.

  Sweetness is in her lips, Life is in her mouth.

  Ishtar is in the bed of kingship.”

  A smile spread on Astra’s face. “Who is he who exalts me thus?”

  “The king, your servant,” Eli said. “The king has come unto thy holy bed, to lie in thy holy lap, that he may have life.”

  “The song is sweet,” Astra replied dreamily.

  Eli bent over and kissed Astra on her lips. “We are together again,” he said, “joined together for a journey to eternity!”

  He began to lower the hammock until Astra was lying on the bed proper.

  “My queen,” he whispered, “thy holy bed has been set up and purified.”

  “No one can come into my bed and live,” Astra said, raising her right hand.

  “Tonight is the night,” Eli said, taking her hand in his. “It is the night of the Sacred Marriage, the night of our sweet betrothal.”

  “The king alone can betroth me!” she said. “Beware, beware, mortal man!”

  “I am the king,” Eli said. He bowed by the bed, kissing Astra’s feet. “The king is prostrate before thee. . . . I am Gilgamesh, king of Erech, son of Ninsun, seed of Shamash . . .”

  “Gilgamesh, the king?” Astra said. “Your coming is timely!” She extended her hand. “Come, make my bed as sweet as honey, give me pleasure!”

  “I have come to be joined with you, great Ishtar,” Eli said as he stood up. “To be granted everlasting youth, a living forever.”

  “My sweet Gilgamesh,” Astra said, extending both her hands. “Waste not the hour. . . . Come to me now!”

  “Great lady who gives life,” Eli said. “I will perform the rites to perfection!”

  Slowly he began to position his naked body over hers, caressing and kissing hers as he moved forward. “Heavenly lady, divine Ishtar,” he said softly, “the king has come unto thy holy bed, to lie in thy holy lap . . . to be joined together, to journey back together.”

  “Hush!” she said, annoyed. “Embrace me, give me joy, Gilgamesh!”

  She grabbed hold of him, locking her hands behind his back. With all the strength still left in him, Eli penetrated her.

  “We are joined!” he shouted. “We are journeying back together!”

  “Oh my precious sweet,” Astra said, groaning. “Sate me, sate me . . . In unison make it the prescribed fifty times!”

  Freed of the hammock’s restraining ropes, she twisted and turned like a wild lioness released from its cage. She kissed him, she bit him, she clawed him with her nails, all the while clinging tightly to him as though they were held together by the most powerful magnets. As her ecstasy increased, she cried out unintelligible words and sentences, at times calling Eli Gilgamesh, at times Shamash or Dumuzi.

  “Oh my queen,” Eli murmured as the pace of his penetrations quickened. “We are journeying back together, to Erech. It is the time of the New Year, the night of the Sacred Marriage. . . . We are in thy heavenly bed so that you may give me life . . .”

  He poured his seed inside of her. Then he shuddered, and turning over to lie beside her, was motionless.

  Astra groaned. “You have done it,” she whispered, then she fell silent too.

  4

  In spite of his utter exhaustion, he awoke, restless and distraught, soon after he had fallen asleep. Afraid to awaken the goddess, he lay still for a while, engrossed in a surge of thoughts. In the past, this divine night of ecstasy had becalmed him and granted him temporary inner peace. It was not so this time—but, he thought, not because of any fault on his part. Indeed, in spite of the passage of yet another year, he ha
d performed to perfection, the required fifty times!

  Unable to contain his restlessness, he finally slipped out of the canopied bed, after making sure that the goddess was sound asleep. The night’s chill reminded him that he was naked. He found his robe and put it on, ungirdled, but he did not put on his sandals and held them in his hand lest the noise of his steps awaken her.

  He paused at the chamber’s entrance, listening for unwanted sounds, but all was quiet. The musicians and singers were long gone; the attending priests and priestesses had retired to their quarters and the lone priest attending to the eternal fire, by whose light the water clock’s time could be told, was fast asleep at his post. Stepping quickly but silently, he crossed the Hall of Merrymaking, passing extra quietly by the doorless openings leading to the food chambers, where some of the food and beverage servers might have stayed to sleep.

  This night he was appreciative of the fact that the Gipar, Ishtar’s pavilion for nighttime pleasures, had been built according to her instructions at the edge of the Garden Court, near a small side gate in the Sacred Precinct’s wall. This was a convenience devised by her to facilitate the comings and goings of her chosen lovers, who had to conduct intercourse standing up and rocking the goddess in her hammock if they wished to remain alive past the night. The particularly secluded location of the gate now enabled him to reach it virtually unseen by the priests stationed on the platforms and ramparts of the main temples.

  He put on his sandals and girdled the robe tightly against the chill. The Moon, almost full, bathed the Sacred Precinct in a silvery light, darkened from time to time by passing clouds. He waited in the shadows for a darkened interval, then quickly made his way to the small side gate. He was hoping that the priests guarding it would be asleep too. In the alternating light and darkness he could see two of them seated, leaning against the wall. But as he neared them, they heard his footsteps and jumped up, spears in their hands.

  “Who goes there?” one of the priest-guards shouted.

  “It is I, Gilgamesh, the king,” he replied.