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She came as soon as she heard he returned. The palace guards knew her. They knew better than to try to stop her from going anywhere she wished to be. Besides, to lay hands on her without her consent was a sacrilege. So, the temple prostitute walked directly into the chambers of the king.
He looked different than she had ever seen him. It was not merely that he was bent over at work chipping away at a stone. He was thin and pale. His broad shoulders were slumped in something that looked like surrender. She was grateful that his back was to her, because she was so unnerved by seeing him so reduced that it must have shown in her expression. Shamhat closed the distance between them.
She placed her soft, perfumed hands firmly atop his. His hands were dry, rough, and still strong. They held on to the tools stubbornly. She could smell the stone that he had chipped away with the chisel. She had heard that the great king did not trust the story to anyone else. He would etch it into the stone to survive the centuries, just like the great stone walls of the city of Uruk. Perhaps he hoped his story could outlast the walls. The scent of the stone flakes made her think of rain. Neither of them acknowledged that his hands were shaking. The pad of her thumb stroked over the back of his hand. Gilgamesh put the tools down.
She brushed aside the stone flecks and sat on the heavy table. The edge of the large stone tablet he had been carving pressed against the curve of her rump. It was uncomfortable, but she didn't care. He was looking at her, finally. His eyes moved slowly over the lines and curves of her body, as if trying to remember her. His gaze moved finally to her unpainted face. This was not uncomfortable. Even after all the years that had passed since she first brought the wild man from the badlands, Shamhat was confident in her beauty.
His beauty had faded somewhat. She had not seen him since just after Enkidu had taken his last breath. The great king had been shattered then. Shamhat had taken Gilgamesh into her arms and tried to put the broken pieces back together. But, with Enkidu gone, half of the pieces seemed to be missing. The remaining broken fragments could not be put back together -- at least not the way they were before. Shamhat looked at Gilgamesh now, and wondered if he had taken the broken pieces and made something new with them.
“You look like you have been on a long journey,” Shamhat commented.
Gilgamesh laughed. He dragged a weary hand across his face. It had been the wrong thing to say, perhaps something he had heard before. The king never did like ordinary things. Shamhat sensed that in a moment, the king would send her away. She could not allow that, because Gilgamesh the man still needed comforting.
Shamhat slid off the table and into his lap. She had the pleasure of seeing him startled.
“I am not--”
“I know,” Shamhat said, not letting him finish. “But you look like you need someone to hold you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingers stroked against his plaited hair. “So I am.”
“I have wives and courtesans and concubines to hold me,” Gilgamesh argued.
“You look like you needed a friend,” Shamhat answered.
The lost look in his eyes as they met hers made the old king look so very young. Gilgamesh wrapped his arms around her waist.
“How was your journey? Did you find what you were looking for?” Shamhat asked.
“No,” Gilgamesh answered tiredly. “It is not to be found.”
Shamhat hummed thoughtfully. “And what did you find?”
“I told you, there was nothing to find,” Gilgamesh answered.
“No, you said that you didn't find what you were looking for. You weren't looking for a soulmate in a wild man from the badlands, but you found one. You were not looking for a friend in a sacred whore, but you found that too.”
“Shamhat…” Gilgamesh’s voice was thick with emotion.
“So, what did you find?”
“Nothing,” Gilgamesh insisted. “I have seen leagues and leagues of darkness, and the sunlit garden of the gods. I went to the furthest edge of the world. For a moment, I thought I found an answer, or part of one, but I even lost that. I have traveled to every realm and found nothing more than what can be found here.”
“Some men might be comforted to find that there is nothing in the world better than what they have at home,” Shamhat replied.
Gilgamesh grunted in protest, but Shamhat was pleased to see that there was also amusement in his eyes.
“But you have never been like ordinary men,” she added.
“I have not,” Gilgamesh agreed.
“Before sickness took Enkidu, you never met an enemy you could not defeat. Life for you was as rich as uncut wine without any bitterness. I do not blame you for not wanting that to end.”
“But it will end,” Gilgamesh said. He sounded like he was admitting it to himself as much as to her.
“It will,” she acknowledged. “But until it does, come into the sun with me. Walk with me throughout your city. Let your people look upon your face.”
She could feel him weighing her words. His eyes were drawn back to the slab of stone on the table. Shamhat placed her hand on his cheek and turned his head toward her. She smiled. When he smiled in answer, she thought she had won.
“I will. Of course. When I am finished here,” Gilgamesh said.
Shamhat rose slowly. After a moment, Gilgamesh allowed her to pull out of his arms. She brushed herself off. “Yes, my king.”
Shamhat kissed him lightly on the forehead. She turned and sauntered toward the door.
Gilgamesh called out to her. “Keep me company?”
Shamhat stopped walking.
“I could tell you the whole story,” he offered.
Shamhat turned back to her friend. “Yes.”