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neptunesdolphins The sun climbs higher in the white-gold sky as Remutu plies the network of canals that crisscross the city. Through the acrid, smoky haze, massive rows upon rows of red bricks come into view, long before he arrives as the gate at the Wall of Eanna. “We’re here. Now what?” Remutu splashes the scummy canal water on the drowsy Nabu-Sama-Iskien. The other boatmen, docking their boats nearby, chuckle. One of them yells, “Nice goin’ Remutu!”
The drenched scribe shakes his head, sputtering fetid water. Nabu-Sama-Iskien shudders at the thought of his own stench. Carefully disembarking from the boat, he wipes as much slime as he can off his shoulders
Deliberately standing on the toes of Remutu, Nabu-Sama-Iskien stares up at him. Then, he pokes the muscular boatman in the chest with his fat finger. “IT IS NOT YOUR FAMILY WHO DIES. AND I HAVE THREE NAMES, USE THEM. NABU-SAMA-ISKIEN.” Stepping backwards, the scribe gestures at the Wall. “I will first go to the Temple of Mother Ninlil. She asked for and received justice from the Great Gods. The Goddess will help us.” After that, the scribe marches smartly through the gate in search of the temple. He mutters to himself, “I need to bathe to wash this foul smell off of me.”
The other boatmen busy themselves as Remutu stands with his mouth open. Mopping his brow, the tired boatman sighs, “At least it will be cool. And no flies.” After looking over his shoulder for ghosts, he settles himself next to the Wall.
Shadows deepen across the Wall of Eanna. The sun blinks, lightly teasing the city with hopes of the coming coolness of twilight. The city haze thickens around the rows of bricks. Remutu leans against the Wall, snoring softly. Before coughing to wake the boatman, Nabu-Sama-Iskien straightens his kilt and finger combs his curly beard. “The Fly of Nergal says to go to the Temple of Father Anu.”
Shifting to one side, Remutu remarks, “That’s all the way over…”
“Don’t you think that I know that,” snaps the scribe.
The Temple of Anu blocks the late afternoon sun. Beside the huge ziggurat is the Quay of Anu, where the God’s Barge is moored. Swarming around the fetid waters are the ever-present flies. Hot and thirsty, the two men slump down on the dock, senseless to the sights and smells.
The Fly of Nergal bites Nabu-Sama-Iskien on the ear. “Ouch!” Slowly, he slowly raises himself up onto his banged-up knees. “We have to Tataya’s house in the Southeast District. My old love.” The disheveled scribe elbows the prone Remutu. Rolling over, the dirty boatman stares up at him. “Maybe, she didn’t like your three names.”
Climbing back into Remutu’s reed boat, the two pole down the canal towards a row of palm trees. “Wrap your hands.” Remutu points to the blisters on the scribe’s hands. As the two men make their way, merchants, in their personal boats, pass them with their rowers taking them home. Everything comes to a stop, when the curtained barge of the City Administrator glides down the middle of the canal.
This is the golden hour when the sun glows just before turning red. The trees cast shadows on a broad avenue of estates, each protected by its own low brick wall. A gentle breeze dries the sweat from the two men as they disembark at the dock. The shadows offer a respite of coolness as Remutu and Nabu-Sama-Iskien trudge down the street.
From her entryway shaded by towering palms, Tataya eyes the two men, sticky with tar and sweat. The sun glints off her lapis and gold headdress. Each golden leaf gleams as the deep blue rosettes seem to come alive. Placing her soft hand on her doorway, the regal woman shakes her head. Her crescent-shaped earrings of gold tinkle a soft melody. Tataya adjusts her seven necklaces of carnelian and rock crystal beads. Now ready, she strolls out to the gate. In her cultured voice, Tataya addresses the smelly pair. “Why are you filthy men standing at my gate?”
“Ta..Ta…” stammers the little scribe.
“Yo. The witches you sicced on him,” demands Remutu.
“What? O, that,” Tataya laughs, as she shakes her head. The sweet notes of her tinkling earrings fill the air. “I will never tell.”
“What? Why?” Nabu-Sama-Iskien hops back on forth on each foot.
“You left me for her.”
Waving his bloody, bandaged hands back and forth, the scribe says, “But my parents…”
Tataya glares down at him. “Do not lie to me, you disgusting fat toad. All you ever cared about was being clean, neat, and civilized. Speaking to your parents about me would have ruined all that.”
Rising to her full height, Tataya turns her back on her former lover. Back straight, head high, she imperiously walks back to her doorway. In front of her is the grey ghost of her late husband, once a city official.