"Excuse me, but how did Sumerian agriculture work? Did they use a lot of irrigation?"
"They were entirely dependent upon it."
"So Enki was responsible, according to this myth, for irrigating the fields with his "water of the heart.""
"Enki was the water-G.o.d, yes."
"Okay, go on."
"But Ninhursag-Asherah violates his decree and takes Enki"s s.e.m.e.n and impregnates herself. After nine days of pregnancy she gives birth, painlessly, to a daughter, Ninmu. Ninmu walks on the riverbank. Enki sees her, becomes inflamed, goes across the river, and has s.e.x with her."
"With his own daughter."
"Yes. She has another daughter nine days later, named Ninkurra, and the pattern is repeated."
"Enki has s.e.x with Ninkurra, too?"
"Yes, and she has a daughter named Uttu. Now, by this time, Ninhursag has apparently recognized a pattern in Enki"s behavior, and so she advises Uttu to stay in her house, predicting that Enki will then approach her bearing gifts, and try to seduce her."
"Does he?"
"Enki once again fills the ditches with the "water of the heart," which makes things grow. The gardener rejoices and embraces Enki."
"Who"s the gardener?"
"Just some character in the story," the Librarian says. "He provides Enki with grapes and other gifts. Enki disguises himself as the gardener and goes to Uttu and seduces her. But this time, Ninhursag manages to obtain a sample of Enki"s s.e.m.e.n from Uttu"s thighs."
"My G.o.d. Talk about your mother-in-law from h.e.l.l."
"Ninhursag spreads the s.e.m.e.n on the ground, and it causes eight plants to sprout up."
"Does Enki have s.e.x with the plants, then?"
"No, he eats them-in some sense, he learns their secrets by doing so."
"So here we have our Adam and Eve motif."
"Ninhursag curses Enki, saying "Until thou art dead, I shall not look upon thee with the "eye of life."" Then she disappears, and Enki becomes very ill. Eight of his organs become sick, one for each of the plants. Finally, Ninhursag is persuaded to come back. She gives birth to eight deities, one for each part of Enki"s body that is sick, and Enki is healed. These deities are the pantheon of Dilmun; i.e., this act breaks the cycle of incest and creates a new race of male and female G.o.ds that can reproduce normally."
"I"m beginning to see what Lagos meant about the febrile two-year-old."
"Aister interprets the myth as "an exposition of a logical problem: Supposing that originally there was nothing but one creator, how could ordinary binary s.e.xual relations come into being?""
"Ah, there"s that word "binary" again."
"You may remember an unexplored fork earlier in our conversation that would have brought us to this same place by another route. This myth can be compared to the Sumerian creation myth, in which heaven and earth are united to begin with, but the world is not really created until the two are separated. Most Creation myths begin with a "paradoxical unity of everything, evaluated either as chaos or as Paradise," and the world as we know it does not really come into being until this is changed. I should point out here that Enki"s original name was En-Kur, Lord of Kur. Kur was a primeval ocean-Chaos-that Enki conquered."
"Every hacker can identify with that."
"But Ashera has similar connotations. Her name in Ugaritic, "atiratu yammi" means "she who treads on (the) sea (dragon)"."
"Okay, so both Enki and Asherah were figures who had in some sense defeated chaos. And your point is that this defeat of chaos, the separation of the static, unified world into a binary system, is identified with creation."
"Correct."
"What else can you tell me about Enki?"
"He was the en of the city of Eridu."
"What"s an en? Is that like a king?"
"A priest-king of sorts. The en was the custodian of the local temple, where the me-the rules of the society-were stored on clay tablets."
"Okay. Where"s Eridu?"
"Southern Iraq. It has only been excavated within the past few years."
"By Rife"s people?"
"Yes. As Kramer has it, Enki is the G.o.d of wisdom-but this is a bad translation. His wisdom is not the wisdom of an old man, but rather a knowledge of how to do things, especially occult things. "He astonishes even the other G.o.ds with shocking solutions to apparently impossible problems. He is a sympathetic G.o.d for the most part, who a.s.sists humankind."
"Really?"
"Yes. The most important Sumerian myths center on him. As I mentioned, he is a.s.sociated with water. He fills the rivers, and the extensive Sumerian ca.n.a.l system, with his life-giving s.e.m.e.n. He is said to have created the Tigris in a single epochal act of masturbation. He describes himself as follows: "I am lord. I am the one whose word endures. I am eternal." Others describe him: "a word from you-and heaps and piles stack high with grain." "You bring down the stars of heaven, you have computed their number." He p.r.o.nounces the name of everything created..."
""p.r.o.nounces the name of everything created?""
"In many Creation myths, to name a thing is to create it. He is referred to, in various myths, as "expert who inst.i.tuted incantations," "word-rich," "Enki, master of all the right commands," as Kramer and Maier have it, "His word can bring order where there had been only chaos and introduce disorder where there had been harmony." He devotes a great deal of effort to imparting his knowledge to his son, the G.o.d Marduk, chief deity of the Babylonians."
"So the Sumerians worshipped Enki, and the Babylonians, who came after the Sumerians, worshipped Marduk, his son."
"Yes, sir. And whenever Marduk got stuck, he would ask his father Enki for help. There is a representation of Marduk here on this stele-the Code of Hammurabi. According to Hammurabi, the Code was given to him personally by Marduk."
Hiro wanders over to the Code of Hammurabi and has a gander. The cuneiform means nothing to him, but the ill.u.s.tration on top is easy enough to understand. Especially the part in the middle: "Why, exactly, is Marduk handing Hammurabi a one and a zero in this picture?" Hiro asks.
"They were emblems of royal power," the Librarian says. "Their origin is obscure."
"Enki must have been responsible for that one," Hiro says.
"Enki"s most important role is as the creator and guardian of the me and the gis-hur, the "key words" and "patterns" that rule the universe."
"Tell me more about the me."
"To quote Kramer and Maier again, "[They believed in] the existence from time primordial of a fundamental, unalterable, comprehensive a.s.sortment of powers and duties, norms and standards, rules and regulations, known as me, relating to the cosmos and its components, to G.o.ds and humans, to cities and countries, and to the varied aspects of civilized life.""
"Kind of like the Torah."
"Yes, but they have a kind of mystical or magical force. And they often deal with ba.n.a.l subjects-not just religion."
"Examples?"
"In one myth, the G.o.ddess Inanna goes to Eridu and tricks Enki into giving her ninety-four me and brings them back to her home town of Uruk, where they are greeted with much commotion and rejoicing."
"Inanna is the person that Juanita"s obsessed with."
"Yes, sir. She is hailed as a savior because "she brought the perfect execution of the me.""
"Execution? Like executing a computer program?"
"Yes. Apparently, they are like algorithms for carrying out certain activities essential to the society. Some of them have to do with the workings of priesthood and kingship. Some explain how to carry out religious ceremonies. Some relate to the arts of war and diplomacy. Many of them are about the arts and crafts: music, carpentry, smithing, tanning, building, farming, even such simple tasks as lighting fires."
"The operating system of society."
"I"m sorry?"
"When you first turn on a computer, it is an inert collection of circuits that can"t really do anything. To start up the machine, you have to infuse those circuits with a collection of rules that tell it how to function. How to be a computer. It sounds as though these me served as the operating system of the society, organizing an inert collection of people into a functioning system."
"As you wish. In any case, Enki was the guardian of the me."
"So he was a good guy, really."
"He was the most beloved of the G.o.ds."
"He sounds like kind of a hacker. Which makes his nam-shub very difficult to understand. If he was such a nice guy, why did he do the Babel thing?"
"This is considered to be one of the mysteries of Enki. As you have noticed, his behavior was not always consistent with modern norms."
"I don"t buy that. I don"t think he actually f.u.c.ked his sister, daughter, and so on. That story has to be a metaphor for something else. I think it is a metaphor for some kind of recursive informational process. This whole myth stinks of it. To these people, water equals s.e.m.e.n. Makes sense, because they probably had no concept of pure water-it was all brown and muddy and full of viruses anyway. But from a modern standpoint, s.e.m.e.n is just a carrier of information-both benevolent sperm and malevolent viruses. Enki"s water-his s.e.m.e.n, his data, his me-flow throughout the country of Sumer and cause it to flourish."
"As you may be aware, Sumer existed on the floodplain between two major rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates. This is where all the clay came from-they took it directly from the riverbeds."
"So Enki even provided them with their medium for conveying information-clay. They wrote on wet clay and then they dried it out-got rid of the water. If water got to it later, the information was destroyed. But if they baked it and drove out all the water, sterilized Enki"s s.e.m.e.n with heat, then the tablet lasted forever, immutable, like the words of the Torah. Do I sound like a maniac?"
"I don"t know," the Librarian says, "but you do sound a little like Lagos."
"I"m thrilled. Next thing you know, I"ll turn myself into a gargoyle."
Any ped can get into Griffith Park without being noticed. And Y.T. figures that despite the barriers across the road, the Falabala camp isn"t too well protected, if you"ve got off-road capability. For a skate ninja on a brand-new plank in a brand-new pair of Knight Visions (hey, you have to spend money to make money) there will be no problem. Just find a high embankment that ramps down into the canyon, skirt the edge until you see those campfires down below. And then lean down that hill. Trust gravity.
She realizes halfway down that her blue-and-orange coverall, fly as it may be, is going to be a real attention getter in the middle of the night in the Falabala zone, so she reaches up to her collar, feels a hard disk sewn into the fabric, presses it between thumb and finger until it clicks. Her coverall darkens, the colors shimmer through the electropigment like an oil slick, and then it"s black.
On her first visit she didn"t check this place out all that carefully because she hoped she"d never come back. So the embankment turns out to be taller and steeper than Y.T. remembered. Maybe a little more of a cliff, drop-off, or abyss than she thought. Only thing that makes her think so is that she seems to be doing a lot of free-fall work here. Major plummeting. Big time ballistic styling. That"s cool, it"s all part of the job, she tells herself. The smartwheels are good for it. The tree trunks are bluish black, standing out not so well against a blackish blue background. The only other thing she can see is the red laser light of the digital speedometer down on the front of her plank, which is not showing any real information. The numbers have vibrated themselves into a cloud of gritty red light as the radar speed sensor tries to lock onto something.
She turns the speedometer off. Running totally black now. Precipitating her way toward the sweet "crete of the creek bottom like a black angel who has just had the shroud lines of her celestial parachute severed by the Almighty. And when the wheels finally meet the pavement, it just about drives her knees up through her jawbone. She finishes the whole gravitational transaction with not much alt.i.tude and a nasty head of dark velocity.
Mental note: Next time just jump off a f.u.c.king bridge. That way there"s no question of getting an invisible cholla shoved up your nose.
She whips around a corner, heeled over so far she could lick the yellow line, and her Knight Visions reveal all in a blaze of multispectral radiation. On infrared, the Falabala encampment is a turbulating aurora of pink fog punctuated by the white-hot bursts of campfires. All of it rests on dim bluish pavement, which means, in the false-color scheme of things, that it"s cold. Behind everything is the jagged horizon line of that funky improvised barrier technology that the Falabalas are so good at. A barrier that has been completely spumed, snubbed, and confounded by Y.T., who dropped out of the sky into the middle of the camp like a Stealth fighter with an inferiority complex. Once you"re into the actual encampment, people don"t really notice or care who you are. A couple people see her, watch her slide on by, don"t get all hairy about it. They probably get a lot of Kouriers coming through here. A lot of dippy, gullible, Kool-Aid drinking couriers. And these people aren"t hip enough to tell Y.T. apart from that breed. But that"s okay, she"ll pa.s.s for now, as long as they don"t check out the detailing on her new plank.
The campfires provide enough plain old regular visible light to show this sorry affair for what it is: a bunch of demented Boy Scouts, a jamboree without merit badges or hygiene. With the IR supered on top of the visible, she can also see vague, spectral red faces out in the shadows where her una.s.sisted eyes would only see darkness. These new Knight Visions cost her a big wad of her Mob drug-running money. Just the kind of thing Mom had in mind when she insisted Y.T. get a part-time job.
Some of the people who were here last time are gone now, and there"s a few new ones she doesn"t recognize. There"s a couple of people actually wearing duct-tape straitjackets. That"s a fashion statement reserved for the ones who are totally out of control, rolling and thrashing around on the ground. And there"s a few more who are spazzing out, but not as bad, and one or two who are just plain messed up, like plain old derelicts that you might see at the Snooze "n" Cruise.
"Hey, look!" someone says. "It"s our friend the Kourier! Welcome, friend!" She"s got her Liquid Knuckles uncapped, available, and shaken well before use. She"s got high-voltage, high-fashion metallic cuffs around her wrists in case someone tries to grab her by same. And a bundy stunner up her sleeve. Only the most tubular throwbacks carry guns. Guns take a long time to work (you have to wait for the victim to bleed to death), but paradoxically they end up killing people pretty often. But n.o.body ha.s.sles you after you"ve hit them with a bundy stunner. At least that"s what the ads say.
So it"s not like she exactly feels vulnerable or anything. But still, she"d like to pick her target. So she maintains escape velocity until she"s found the woman who seemed friendly-the bald chick in the torn-up Chanel knockoff-and then zeroes in on her.
"Let"s get off into the woods, man," Y.T. says, "I want to talk to you about what"s going on with what"s left of your brain."
The woman smiles, struggles to her feet with the good-natured awkwardness of a r.e.t.a.r.ded person in a good mood. "I like to talk about that," she says. "Because I believe in it."
Y.T. doesn"t stop to do a lot of talking, just grabs the woman by the hand, starts leading her uphill, into the scrubby little trees, away from the road. She doesn"t see any pink faces lurking up here in the infrared, it ought to be safe. But there are a couple behind her, just ambling along pleasantly, not looking directly at her, like they just decided it was time to go for a stroll in the woods in the middle of the night. One of them is the High Priest.
The woman"s probably in her mid-twenties, she"s a tall gangly type, nice- but not good-looking, probably was a s.p.u.n.ky but low-scoring forward on her high school basketball team. Y.T. sits her down on a rock out in the darkness.
"Do you have any idea where you are?" Y.T. says.
"In the park," the woman says, "with my friends. We"re helping to spread the Word."
"How"d you get here?"
"From the Enterprise. That"s where we go to learn things."
"You mean, like, the Raft? The Enterprise Raft? Is that where you guys all came from?"
"I don"t know where we came from," the woman says. "Sometimes it"s hard to remember stuff. But that"s not important."
"Where were you before? You didn"t grow up on the Raft, did you?"
"I was a systems programmer for 3verse Systems in Mountain View, California," the woman says, suddenly whipping off a string of perfect, normal-sounding English.
"Then how did you get to be on the Raft?"
"I don"t know. My old life stopped. My new life started. Now I"m here." Back to baby talk.
"What"s the last thing you remember before your old life stopped?"
"I was working late. My computer was having problems."
"That"s it? That"s the last normal thing that happened to you?"