As the donkey caravan got closer to Nineveh, Jonah seemed to cheer up.

'You know,' he confided to Ori as they rode along, 'I'm glad you insisted I complete this journey. I think it's what I was born to do. After all, it's a prophet's destiny to make a journey like this once in his life.'

Thinking inwardly that this might be something to regret asking, Ori asked anyway, 'How did you get started being a prophet, Jonah?'

Jonah sighed in a satisfied sort of way and glanced up at the sky as if for confirmation (or checking to see that there were no terror birds around). 'It happened to me when I was a teenager,' he said. 'I wasn't always such a spiritual person, you see.'

'Oh, really?' said Ori, carefully keeping a straight face.

Don't look him in the eye, warned Prajapati. You'll lose it, trust me. Ori suppressed a laugh and watched the road while Jonah unfolded his tale.

'When I was young,' Jonah began, 'I was a hellraiser.'

Ori raised one eyebrow, but said nothing.

'I was!' protested Jonah. 'I talked to girls! Even ones I wasn't related to!'

'I am shocked,' said Ori. One of the donkeymen sniggered, but the others shushed him. They wanted to hear this (the road was very boring).

'This got me into fights with their brothers and uncles,' Jonah went on. 'I also drank wine, even when it wasn't Shabbat. And I smoked hemp, out behind the bathhouse, with some other dissolute types. I really did it all before I saw the light, brother.'

In Ori's head, Prajapati sighed. Sorry, but this tale is as old as time. Pardon me while I take a break and go play with my cats. Talk to you later.

'You have cats?' Ori said out loud without thinking.

Jonah looked at the angel sharply. 'No, I never sank so low as to keep pets. But I did everything else that was wrong. I even ate a beef-and-goat-cheese-filled pita wrap once. I was incorrigible. And I thought I was pretty tough.'

Ori patted the donkey and carefully avoided looking at everyone else.

'My parents were really unhappy with me, but I didn't listen to them,' Jonah went on. 'My mother, rest her soul, prayed for me morning, noon, and night. As King David wrote, Evening, morning, and at noon will I pray. . .'

One of the donkeymen started whistling something that sounded like the Nudimmud song. Another threw a dried-up pomegranate at the whistler, and he shut up.

Jonah was oblivious, anyway. 'So one night, I was out behind the bathhouse, drunk, stoned, and sexually frustrated. I shouted to the heavens, 'If you're up there, give me a sign!' And lo and behold. . .'

Here it comes, thought Ori with dread.

'. . .I saw a bright light in the heavens! It glowed as it made an arc in the sky. It streaked over the bathhouse and disappeared with a thunk! just the other side of a scrubby hill. I followed. It took me a while,' Jonah explained, 'because like I said, I was drunk and stoned and not walking too steadily.'

Ori managed to nod without saying anything.

'I climbed over the hill and saw where the falling star had come to rest. There was no mistaking it: when it landed, it made a big hole in the ground. I went to the edge of the hole and looked down. There was a small, glowing piece of rock in the centre of the hole. I picked it up – and it burned me! See!'

He held up his right palm – there was a round burn scar.

'Well, if you will pick up glowing rocks. . .' said one of the donkeymen.

Jonah reached into his tunic and held out the stone, which he wore tied to a leather thong around his neck. The stone did look a bit unusual, mainly because it had a hole bored through it. Apparently there was no rule against wearing meteorites – as long as they didn't look like anything animal, human, or celestial.

'I knew right then that I had proof that The LORD was looking out for me,' said Jonah. 'Moreover, I was chosen to do great things. I immediately turned my life around – stopped drinking, smoking, and chasing girls. . .'

'The girls were probably relieved,' Ori heard one of the donkeymen mutter.

'. . .and started studying the Law and the Writings. And going to the Temple as much as possible to drink in its atmosphere of holiness and listen to the teachers. Which is why,' he continued, 'I was so upset when The LORD started telling me in no uncertain terms that I was supposed to go to Nineveh. I mean, what could I find there that I couldn't find better in my own country?' He shrugged.

I think you might find out when we get there,' said Ori and rode on ahead to talk to the lead driver. One thing was clear to Ori: his big 'conversion' notwithstanding, Jonah was as bossy and self-referential after his alleged supernatural encounter as before. Ori doubted that Prajapati had much of anything to do with Jonah's prophetic career other than telling him to go to Nineveh – but was pretty sure the Creator had plans for the self-styled seer in the near future.

Ori thought of asking Prajapati about it, once he got back from playing with cats.

There it was: the biggest city in the world. Nineveh, that great city. You could hear it before you saw it: from a couple of miles away, on the other side of the hills, the chattering of 120,000 people, the braying, lowing, baaing, and quacking of their livestock, mixed in with the sounds of brass, woodwind, and percussion, all in competition with each other, almost made Ori want to turn away. Or at least find some ear protection.

By now, Jonah had psyched himself up for this, his 'destiny'. He actually urged his donkey forward. The donkey turned his head and gave Jonah's calf a small but sharp bite, which curbed the prophet's enthusiasm. The donkeymen went on in their workmanlike way, although it was clear they were glad to be near the end of their run. For them, Nineveh meant getting paid and taking a week off the road – baths, good meals, and catching up with acquaintances. Ori was glad for them: they had been good and generous travel companions.

At the gate, the donkeymen were passed through with a nod. They and Ori waved goodbye to each other. By the time Ori had turned around, Jonah had marched up to the guard with a self-important air and announced, 'Behold, I, the prophet Jonah, have arrived. . .'

The guard cut him off with an imperious wave of a beefy hand. As the beefy hand was attached to a beefy arm, Jonah actually backed up. 'Get back in line, pipsqueak,' growled the guard. 'We don't want no prophets here.'

Ori went into Sumerian courtier mode.

Approaching the guard with just the right mixture of assumed privilege and condescending affability, Ori gave the guard the slightest bow. 'Good day, my good sir. I am Orion, a scribe of Warka, here on a mission to your leaders. My credentials.' And Ori produced from a robe pocket a handy little tablet that Bidi had conferred upon his apprentice scribe what seemed like several worlds ago. It did announce that Ori was a member of the scribal college. It also entitled him to subsidised dinners at the Two Lions Facing restaurant on Fountain Street. Ori was willing to bet the guard couldn't read, at least, not well, and wouldn't be willing to admit it.

Ori was right. The tablet did the trick, along with the fact that Ori always managed to look well-dressed and well-groomed in any locale and weather (even when fighting terror birds). Ori passed the disheveled and somewhat ornery Jonah off as an assistant of some sort, and the two of them soon found themselves inside the gates and looking around.

That is, Ori looked around. Jonah mostly gaped.

Gaped at the imposing buildings.

Gaped at the crowds.

Gaped with disapproval at the ziggurat and its five-legged lamassu.

Gaped at the beautiful, well-dressed women walking the streets. Jonah gaped too long at one of them: the lady's escort picked the gaping foreigner up by the neck of his tunic and threw him against a mud-brick wall.

He was still gaping when Ori picked him up and dusted him off. 'Be politer,' advised Ori. 'We need to go and find a hotel. You need a bath and a haircut before we can meet with anyone in authority.'

Ori looked around the marketplace. A boy of about twelve was sitting on the edge of a well, petting a cat. Ori thought: it was late afternoon and the boy's face was unbloodied and relatively clean. He was playing nicely with the cat and not threatening to throw it into the well.

Ori asked the boy for directions to a hotel. The boy gave directions and Ori gave a coin, then watched the boy skip off, holding his cat and the coin, to tell his mother about his good fortune. Ori, pleased, fetched the still-gaping Jonah and took him to the Inn of the Two Friendly Donkeys.

'Welcome!' said the landlady, a cheerful widow named Nisaba. She lifted an eyebrow at Jonah, but liked the looks of Ori well enough (most people did), and soon had the scruffy prophet in a tub of steaming water.

'Here!' Ori handed him a light-green cube with a pleasant smell. Jonah sniffed it suspiciously, of course.

'What is it? And what do I do with it?'

'Dunk it in the water and rub it on yourself. It's called soap. It will help get rid of the dirt.'

'It's foreign.'

'This is Mesopotamia. You're foreign. Use the soap, or I won't introduce you to anybody.'

While Jonah was disinfecting himself, Ori got to know Nisaba and her two friendly donkeys, which she treated like children. Also her staff, whom she treated like children, as well. Nisaba didn't have any kids of her own, so she was busy passing along her considerable cooking expertise to deserving young people, who managed to make her proud and Ori and a scrubbed-up Jonah very full and happy.

The sensation of being this clean and this full made Jonah so sleepy that it was all Ori could do to keep his head out of the soup. Settling the gently snoring prophet into a corner chair, Ori briefly explained Jonah's mission to Nisaba and her family – even the donkeys, because they stuck their heads in through the windows and listened in to the conversation. People fed them chestnuts and gave them pats on the heads, which probably more than made up for the lack of donkey-related discussion going on.

'He's got a message for everybody from the Creator,' said Ori. 'I think it might be of interest to the city, but I want to make sure he stays out of trouble, if possible. Who should he talk to?'

Nisaba cocked her head. 'Well, there are two possibilities. One, he could try talking to the City Council – they're elected by the merchant patricians, we don't have a king. If they'll give him a hearing, it will be official. If they're not interested, he can always go to the open platform night at the Fish-in-House over on Riverside Street. People practise their standup and singing there in front of audiences. Just one thing, though,' she grinned. 'If the audience doesn't like you, they throw vegetables.'

'At least he'll have something to eat!' replied Ori. They laughed so hard they made the donkeys laugh, too, and that woke Jonah up, and then they had to put him to bed.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

19.06.23 Front Page

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