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He’d been wandering for years. Well, it might have been years. Perhaps it had been decades, or perhaps it was merely months. In his journey he’d crossed mountains, forests, and seas, but at last, at last…
“Are you… Utnapishtim?” Gilgamesh’s voice was sore and worn from dehydration. He had to practically gulp air with each intake of breath. “You are the one who survived the great flood? Who was granted immortality by the gods?” His legs were still shaking and unsteady on land. Urshanabi’s ferry had rocked back and forth so gently; the waters of death were rather calm, all things considered.
The man standing before him was tall, with a cloak so low over his face all that could be made of his features was a long beard. His hands were wrinkled, yet their leathering appeared to come from strength and hard work as opposed to age.
“Utnapishtim, Ziusudra… it matters not what you call me,” the man said. His voice was incredibly deep, but it was tired, in a different way.
They were on a small island surrounded by the river, a single house and farm the only mark of humanity on the otherwise plain landscape. An older woman was watching them from afar near the house as she skinned a freshly slain lamb.
“You,” continued Utnapishtim, “Why are your cheeks so hollow, your face so sunken? Why do you wallow in sorrow? Why is your hair tangled and matted? Why do you wander the wild in nothing but rags? Why is your mood so wretched, and your visage so wasted?”
“Why should I not be?” Gilgamesh snapped. He swayed slightly before stepping forward to catch himself. The edges of his vision were getting dark. The last time he’d eaten or slept… He couldn’t quite remember. “My friend, who slew Humbaba and Gugalanna, was taken by the doom of mortals. Their body was crushed by the disease of the gods, and crumbled into clay. I shall not suffer the same fate. Since then I have wandered, searching for you. Now I demand you tell me, what is your secret of immortality?”
Utnapishtim turned away from him. “Why would you wish for further suffering?” he asked. “You are a king, son of your beloved father and mother. All you had to do was sit on a throne and rule as the gods commanded. Have you ever considered, Gilgamesh, that perhaps you are a fool?”
Burning anger rose within him. Of course word of his journey would have reached all the way out here. Of course. Those damn gods and their gossip, who could not help sticking their noses into the business of the mortal world.
But Utnapishtim wasn’t done. “A fool is one who would discard his royal clothing for the bare skin of an animal, who would discard his advisors for solitude, and thus makes a foolish decision. You reject the gods’ rule, and indeed, the gods did take your friend to their doom. But what have you achieved? Your city now sits without a ruler. You’ve traveled and exhausted yourself to near death. For what? Death comes to all.”
“Though not to you,” Gilgamesh said, seething. Siduri had called him a fool. Now Utnapishtim himself was calling him a fool. And if they could see him now, would they also… “You are merely a man, not a god. No difference in appearance from myself. Prior to this I had simply planned on facing you, cutting you down over and over until you divulged all you knew. But now in your presence, I shall elect to stay my hand. But I demand again you tell me, how did you find eternal life?”
With a sharp turn, Utnapishtim faced him once again. He spoke, with a rage of his own, burning low with a pressure underneath like it had been simmering for a thousand years. “Oh, I shall tell you my secret, Gilgamesh. I shall tell you how the gods selected me to bear this life. This is a matter I will reveal to your ears alone.”
And Utnapishtim regaled him with the story of how Ea told him to build a boat and take with him the animals of the world, for the gods were planning on flooding all of civilization. He told Gilagmesh how the world was destroyed by the great deluge, and how they were at sea for seven days until it was over. Only after this did the gods grant Utnapishtim and his wife immortality as their reward for saving humankind.
“But very well, Gilgamesh,” said Utnapishtim, a bit of slyness peaking through. “To prove yourself, you shall go for six days and seven nights without slumber.”
Was that all?
“Fuahahaha! Mere child’s play!” Gilgamesh boasted, even as the world was spinning before him. He walked to a nearby tree and sat down beneath its roots. His limbs were still shaking, his every muscle sore from overuse. Yes, here is where he would sit and wait… (His hearing was muffled.) for the next week… (His eyes were closing.) to finally… find what he… had been… searching… for…
He opened his eyes, and a deep shuddering, sickening feeling sank from his stomach to the center of the earth. No… he couldn’t have...
Gilgamesh looked up to see Utnapishtim standing over him, touching his shoulder gently.
“I sat down merely a moment ago…” Gilgamesh said, more to himself. He saw various loaves of old stale and moldy bread sitting by his side.
“My wife left a loaf of bread on top of you every day to keep track of time and so that you’d have something to eat when you woke up,” said Utnapishtim, who seemed strangely satisfied with himself for some reason. “It was quite amusing. The one for today is still being baked.”
Every… day?
How was that possible? Gilgamesh looked around him, counting.
One, two, three, four, five...
Six. Six loaves of bread. And then added to that the one for today...
He’d failed, and by what margins.
Utnapishtim stood up and walked over to the river, where Urshanabi and his boat were waiting. “You and your ferry are no longer welcome here,” Gilgamesh heard him say. “Take back this man you brought here and bring him home. But first, bring him to a bath. He is quite disgusting.” With that he walked back towards the house.
Gilgamesh stood, his body and mind equally numb. All this… and he failed by mere weakness of his own. His mind was blank as Urshanabi grabbed him and led him back to the boat. He had no thoughts at all as they took off from shore. However, he did see from the corner of his eye Utnapishtim’s wife approaching her husband and whispering something to him.
The immortal man appeared to sigh, and then he approached the river once more. “Wait,” he called to them. “You came here, Gilgamesh, by toil and travail, and what I have I given you? I shall tell you the forbidden secret of the gods.”
The numbness was slowly thawing. Gilgamesh’s shattered hopes pieced themselves back together. His goal was not lost yet.
Utnapishtim removed the cloak from his head and looked him in the eyes, and he said, “There is a plant that looks like a box-thorn…”