| Ride the River Down A Story of Ancient Sumeria by James W. Bell © 2003 |
| In Sumer, the need for bitumen … to make pitch for waterproofing … was tremendous. Money was to be made. The best was 400 miles upriver at Is, but bringing it down by boat was cheaper than hauling 50 miles overland by donkey. Sumer might seem a desert but its trade was riverine, dependent on rivers and canals navigated by men, many lusting to make their fortunes. This is the story of one such man. |
| “Eng!” I flinched and looked up. Damn! The captain with his crew. They’d found me, in a corner of Lila’s tavern, enjoying a pot of beer. I was not happy. “What do you want?” Captain Akallum spoke for the group. “You. We need you for a big job.” He paused to give me time to absorb his message. “It’s a chance to make a lot of money.” I still had more than a few shekels left. “Not interested,” I said and turned away. Akallum leaned down. “A fortune,” he insisted. “Have you no desires?” He pulled out his kidskin moneybag and jingled it at me. “Has this ceased to interest you?” I reached for the pouch but he laughed and pulled it back. “Ah, I knew. At heart, you’re like us. You are interested, aren’t you?” I licked my lips. “Maybe,” I said. “Where? When?” “Upriver at Is. We’ve reports a huge chunk of bitumen just broke off, pure pitch waiting for whoever gets there first. We’re going for it.” “The river’s in spate,” I informed the captain as if he wouldn’t know. He grinned and clinked the moneybag again, this time in my face. “That’s why we’re going. With good men who can float it down on the floodwaters. I figure the trip’s worth at least a thousand shekels of silver—each! You afraid of a little high water?” I thought about it. Running a barge down the Euphrates when the water’s high is no fun. It’s hard to tell where the banks are and it’s easy to stray into the overflow. Smash into a palm, the boat breaks up and everything gets swept downriver with the other debris. But a thousand shekels! In silver. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine. Why not? “I’m willing,” I said. “But I’ve had a little much to drink. Tomorrow morning.” “No,” the captain said, “we have to be first. The time is now,” and, before I knew it, two of the crew had me by my arms and were walking me out the tavern door. Kur, they were taking me to a thousand shekels. Who was I to protest? * * * The journey upriver was hell. We went by foot, sloshing from dawn to dark. The towpaths were underwater, so we traveled overland, across a desert newly greened by spring rains that concealed nettles and desert-thorn. Since there was no track, our supply donkeys constantly got out of line and rubbed against each other, trying to scrape off their panniers. Half our nights were spent rebraiding the wicker in their hampers. We followed the water’s edge. Usually, on the desert, nothing’s as dear as fresh water. But after slogging through squishy vegetation day after day, I would have given an eye tooth for a good night’s rest on dry land. Finally, late one afternoon, the captain stopped us. “Gather around, men,” he called out and we went to him. He put his hand to his ear and said, “Be quiet. Listen.” We did. A faint … ka-thump … ka-thump … ka-thump … came from somewhere ahead. “Is!” we exclaimed. “Ah, yes,” Akallum said, “the waterwheel of the gods, pumping hot bitumen up from the fiery Underworld.” He looked around at us and smiled. “We’re almost there.” * * * Smell and another portent appeared when we arrived the next morning, oily black smoke rising from pitch furnaces in the city across the water. A ferry sat at water’s edge. The boatman charged a royal ransom to take us across with our donkeys, then handed us each a pole. By the gods, he forced us to pole like kur to make the opposite shore before we were carried downstream by the raging current. We landed at a desolate spot where the ground felt blistering hot and shook with each KA-THUMP. “Where in kur are we?” the captain asked. “Near Steaming Lake,” the boatman said and pointed to where the … KA-THUMP … KA-THUMP …was coming from. “It’s where you see that huge blob of bitumen floating.” We went with the captain to inspect the blob floating in the lake. It was a mass of pitch fifteen feet across, in a pool of boiling water not more than thirty feet in diameter. The river was so high it was connected to the pool. “Men,” Akallum said, “with poles, we could prize that clod of bitumen right out into the river, anchor it to a barge and float it down to Uruk. Let’s get into town. We need to find the ensi and make an offer.” As always, I found the little city of Is depressing. Its houses were as heavily tarred as the lanes that ran between them. The odor of hot pitch and unrelenting ka-thumps gave me a headache. When the governor emerged from the temple to greet us, the captain said, “We came by ferry and saw that great lump of bitumen floating in Steaming Lake.” The ensi sighed. “It’s been like that for two weeks. We haven’t had time to cut it up and process it. Our men have been busy repairing levees.” “Maybe we could help. We came to offer to buy that lump, as it is. That is, if we can trade you our four donkeys for a boat to take it away. Any old barge with poles would do.” “Captain, there’s no barge built that could hold that much bitumen.” “We don’t plan to bring the bitumen aboard. We plan to tow it.” The ensi’s eyes went wide. “In this flood? You’re mad,” he said, but then regained his composure and added, “but that would be on your head, not mine.” He squinted at the captain. “How much are you offering?” “This.” The captain pulled out a small moneybag and handed it to the governor. The ensi hefted it. “Scarcely a mina,” he growled. Then he untied the leather thong, opened the bag and looked inside. “Gold!” he shouted. He was no more surprised than I. “That pound of gold in your hand and our four donkeys are yours for the bitumen and a barge with poles.” “The city fathers … ” “My lord, we haven’t time for a council hearing. We need to run it down while the river’s still in spate. We’re taking enough chance as it is.” The ensi hesitated. He took out a snippet of gold and bit it. Then he smiled. “Captain, I’ll have my men bring a barge and moor it on the river near Steaming Lake. With poles. You can leave the donkeys with me. The bitumen and boat are both yours.” * * * We walked back to Steaming Lake. The ensi’s men brought up the boat, a rectangular barge of tamarisk limbs, heavily tarred. Akallum reached in and pulled out five poles. He handed one to each of the other men and two to me. Then he passed me a knife. “Eng, you’re the navigator. Use one of your poles to fasten a towline to that clod of bitumen.” I nodded and whittled a notch at one end of my extra pole so I could tie a line around it. Then I took the captain’s knife and strapped it crosswise near the other end. Finished, I threw it at the bitumen, like a harpoon. The pole thudded, sinking the knife deep in the mass. Gently, so as not to pull it loose while the bitumen was still soft, I trolled the lump across the water to the underwater bar that separated the pond from the river. Akallum climbed into the barge and I handed him the end of the towline. “All right, men,” he said, “I need you to pole that clump over the bar and out into the river.” I slipped my pole under the mass to leverage it while the others stood on the far bank, prodding it with their poles. When it suddenly gave way, one of the men slipped and, screaming, splashed into the boiling water. I immediately thrust my pole into the water for him to take hold. He never reached for it. As I watched, a black film shrouded his body. Within seconds, he was cocooned in bitumen. I felt nauseated and turned away. “Eng!” Akallum yelled at me, “get back to work! Time’s wasting.” Holy Nergal, I thought, the captain’s cold blooded as kur. How can he go on? But when I saw the other two men on the bank had grown impatient, I took my position again. “All right,” Akallum said, “let’s get the lump over the bar. Push!” The other men pushed with their poles while I levered upwards. We pushed. Again. And again. I lost count of the times. The mass moved. Inch by inch. The air around us steamed and rivulets of sweat ran down our bodies. Then it suddenly tumbled over the bar and we quickly followed, jumping into the cold floodwaters of the river. We were grabbed by the current and had to swim like kur for the barge. The captain reached down and, one by one, pulled us to safety. Aboard, we watched the scenery move by and soon were beyond the ka-thumping of the waterwheel of the gods. “We’re making good speed, Eng,” the captain said. “If we continue at this rate, we’ll reach Uruk within three days. You know the river’s course. I’m leaving it to you to keep us out of the overflow, especially at night.” I said I would but pleaded, as it was still daylight and I was exhausted, for a chance to sleep if I had to stay awake through the night. They agreed to wake me before dark. * * * A nudge woke me as the sun was setting. I could tell the river was rounding a great curve, turning south by southeast. Sippar lay not far distant. I positioned myself on the bow where I could see ahead and make out the course of the river, as defined by the dark shadows of palms along an inner bank that was now underwater. I had the men pole to starboard so we wouldn’t smash into the outer bank. Sippar came up portside. A torch flared on the quay and some official, probably the port inspector, called out across the river, “Come about and pay toll!” We were riding the floodwaters with that huge mass of bitumen leashed to our transom. Captain Akallum was awake so I asked him what to do. “Tell the inspector we have a heavy tow and are unable to cross the river in flood.” I did as told. “By the gods,” the inspector shouted, “you owe toll! I’ll have the gods on you.” “He’s threatening us with the gods,” I told the captain. “I heard, Eng. He doesn’t know who we are. An idle threat. Pay it no attention.” * * * Below Sippar, where the Euphrates divides, the floodwater washed hard against the headland and swirled us around like a whirlpool … spinning us like we were a rock in a hunter’s sling. We had to pole like kur to escape and enter the western branch. Before dawn, we passed Babil. Like at Sippar, a port inspector appeared on the quay but I saw the crew was asleep on the floor of the barge, so I laid low and let the official figure we were nothing more than wreckage washed down by the flood. The sun was up when we reached Dilbat. This time, we were awake when the port inspector came out. He must have recognized the bitumen for what it was because he shouted, “Come about with that bitumen and pay toll on it.” For some reason, the captain became stiff necked. “Can’t,” he called back, “we’re towing it to Uruk.” The inspector responded with curses and threats we heard until we floated out of range. I couldn’t help wondering why the captain had been so brusque. That afternoon, the story was repeated at Marad and again we just sailed on. I brought up the threats and curses that had been shouted at us, that they worried me. “Pay them no attention, Eng,” the captain said. “Let them be on my head.” * * * That afternoon, when the river turned east, a zu-bird patrol appeared. Four birds circled overhead while the leader came down and lit on the bitumen lump in tow. “I’ve been sent by Enlil,” it said, “Skylord of the Land. He wishes you to land at Nippur.” Akallum answered the bird. “Tell the Glorious Skylord we shall do as he wishes.” “Good,” the bird said, “I’ll take the news to him.” It soared up to rejoin its companions and they flew away. For some reason unknown to me, I took it on myself to warn the captain. “If we moor at Nippur with the bitumen in tow, they might declare our tolls unpaid and take it as forfeit.” “I’m aware of that, Eng, I have no intention of putting in at Nippur.” “But, captain, I just heard you promise the zu-bird, and Enlil – ” “Words,” he said and looked me straight in the eye. “Leave the gods to me.” * * * We reached Nippur the next morning and floated on past, making no effort to come about. Officials on the quay shouted at us and, before we knew it, a zu-bird patrol was overhead. The birds dove, dropping out of the sky with talons extended and claws out. We swung at them with our poles. After one of the birds got its wing hit and another got one of its legs whacked, the lead bird called off the attack and circled our barge. “By defying us,” it called down to us, “you have defied the gods. I will inform the Skylord so he can have South Wind bring his son to punish you. Ninurta will destroy you.” Akallum stood up and took one last swipe at the bird with his pole. “Your words do not frighten me,” he shouted. “Nor will they stop me.” I watched as the birds turned and flew back to Nippur. * * * The rest of the day and that night passed without incident. On the morning of the third day, Captain Akallum put his arm around my shoulder and spoke to me in confidence. “You see, Eng, nothing has happened. All those threats we heard were only words, not enough to stop determined men. Your fears of the gods were groundless.” “Perhaps,” I replied, “but we’ve challenged them. I’ll feel easier when this is over.” That afternoon, just as Uruk came into view, the sky on the southern horizon darkened. The dreaded South Wind appeared low over the floodwaters of the river, a great black bird with her wings widespread. She fanned an ominous line of rain clouds towards us. Atop the leading cloudbank stood the giant figure of Ninurta, the mighty storm god, first-born of Enlil. He stamped his foot … KA-BOOM! … and the earth reverberated with thunder. As the dark mass neared, Ninurta raised a spear and hurled it at us. It streaked through the air - zzzzzt! - and struck the bitumen mass behind us. Black smoke spewed out and I saw the lump afire. I pulled on the towline to bring it close to the boat in hopes of dowsing the fire, but the heat was too great. I let go and backed off. Again, Ninurta struck. The bitumen exploded in flames. I felt the boat coming about and saw Akallum poling furiously with the men. I glanced ahead. We were headed straight for Uruk. I realized when we hit the shore with the blazing bitumen in tow, we’d set fire to the flimsy reed huts on the bank and create an inferno that would consume the city. I pulled out my knife and started hacking away at the towline. Akallum must have seen what I was doing because he came running back. “Stop, you fool!” “If we come to shore with this blazing hunk of bitumen, we’ll burn down the city.” “Damn you, Eng!” He swung his pole at me. I ducked and charged him, butting him in the stomach, knocking him out of the boat. When he tried to climb back aboard, I pushed him away with the pole he’d dropped. When he grabbed the end of it, I gave it a final thrust and let go, leaving him floundering in the floodwaters. I returned to the towline and cut it. Then I picked up my pole and used it to push the flaming lump away from us, out into the middle of the river where the current would carry it away. I told the remnant of the crew to start poling and help me bring the barge to quay. When we moored, we found a crowd waiting for us. They must have heard Ninurta and come out to watch him, but had stayed to see what happened on our barge. Not only did we receive a welcome reserved for heroes but they feted us. They asked us our heart’s desire. No reward was too good for us, they said, whatever we wanted was ours. That’s how I happen to be here in the corner of Lila’s tavern. With a pot of beer to enjoy, I’m happy again. But I can’t help wondering about the captain. Where did he get that mina of gold? And was it the gods that drove him mad? I guess only they will ever know. The End |