Free To the Land of the Living by Robert Silverberg Page B

friend to bear the burden with me, once –”
    “Enkidu.”
    Gilgamesh seized the doctor’s sturdy wrist with sudden fierce intensity. “You know of Enkidu?”
    “From the poem, yes. The poem is very famous.”
    “Ah. Ah. The poem. But the actual man –”
    “I know nothing of him,
nein.
”
    “He is of my stature, very large. His beard is thick, his hair is shaggy, his shoulders are wider even than mine. We journeyed everywhere together. But then we quarreled, and he went from me in anger, saying, Never cross my path again. Saying, I have no love for you, Gilgamesh. Saying, If we meet again I will have your life. And I have heard nothing of him since.”
    Schweitzer turned and stared closely at Gilgamesh. “How is this possible? All the world knows the love of Enkidu for Gilgamesh!”
    Gilgamesh called for yet another flagon. This conversation was awakening an ache within his breast, an ache that made the pain that his wound had caused seem like nothing more than an itch. Nor would the drink soothe it; but he would drink all the same.
    He took a deep draught and said somberly, “We quarreled. There were hot words between us. He said he had no love for me any longer.”
    “This cannot be true.”
    Gilgamesh shrugged and made no reply.
    “You wish to find him again?” Schweitzer asked.
    “I desire nothing else.”
    “Do you know where he is?”
    “The Afterworld is larger even than the world, and the world is so large that it makes my head hurt to think of it. He could be anywhere.”
    “You will find him.”
    “If you knew how I have searched for him –”
    “You will find him. That I know.”
    Gilgamesh shook his head. “If the Afterworld is a place of torment, then this is mine: that I will never find him again. Or if I do, that he will spurn me. Or raise his hand against me.”
    “This is not so,” said Schweitzer. “I think he longs for you even as you do for him.”
    “Then why does he keep himself from me?”
    “This is the Afterworld,” said Schweitzer gently. “I think we are meant to be tested here. And so you are being tested, my friend; but no test lasts forever. Not even in the Afterworld. Not even in the Afterworld. Even though you are in the Afterworld, have faith in the Lord: You will have your Enkidu soon enough,
um Himmels willen
.” Smiling, Schweitzer said, “The emperor is calling you. Go to him. I think he has something to tell you that you will want to hear.”
    Prester John said, “You are a warrior, are you not?”
    “I was,” replied Gilgamesh indifferently.
    “A general? A leader of men?”
    “All that is far behind me,” Gilgamesh said. “This is the life after life. Now I go my own way and I take on no tasks for others. The Afterworld has plenty of generals.”
    “I am told that you were a leader among leaders. I am told that you fought like the god of war. When you took the field, whole nations laid down their arms and knelt before you.”
    Gilgamesh waited, saying nothing.
    “You miss the glory of the battlefield, don’t you, Gilgamesh?”
    “Do I?”
    “What if I were to offer you the command of my army?”
    “Why would you do that? What am I to you? What is your nation to me?”
    “In the Afterworld we take whatever citizenship we wish. My nation could become your nation. What would you say, if I offered you the command?”
    “I would tell you that you are making a great mistake.”
    “It isn’t a trivial army. Ten thousand men. Adequate air support. Tactical nukes. The strongest firepower in the Outback.”
    “You misunderstand,” said Gilgamesh. “Warfare doesn’t interest me. I know nothing of modern weapons and don’t care to learn. Nor do I want to be part of anybody’s nation. You have the wrong man, Prester John. If you need a general, send for Wellington. Send for Marlborough. Rommel. Tiglath-Pileser.”
    “Or for Enkidu?”
    The unexpected name hit Gilgamesh like a battering ram.At the sound of it his face grew hot and his entire