Gilgamesh was king in Uruk-of-the-walls,
Two-thirds divine, one-third mortal man,
Stronger than lions, taller than the gates,
But restless—always restless—in his mind.
He climbed the ziggurat and seized the priests:
"You say the sun god travels underground
Each night from west to east. Then answer this:
Why does the moon not follow the same path?
Why do the stars wheel different from them both?"
The priests gave ancient answers, learned by rote.
Gilgamesh roared: "These are just words you've memorized!
Have any of you WATCHED? Have any MEASURED?
I'll build a tower taller than this temple
And watch the sky myself until I know!"
The people whispered: "Our king neglects the rites."
But Gilgamesh spent nights upon the wall,
Marking the stars' positions on clay tablets,
Noting which ones moved and which stayed fixed.
"There are patterns here," he muttered, "laws that govern
Even the gods themselves, if gods they are."
When Enkidu came raging to the city,
Gilgamesh met him in the marriage-house door.
They fought like bulls until the doorposts shook,
They wrestled till the walls began to crack.
At last they paused, breathing hard, and Gilgamesh
Looked at this wild man with sudden joy:
"You're strong as I am! How? The temple says
That I alone was made with divine strength.
Were you too blessed by gods? Or is there perhaps
Some other way that human strength is made?"
Enkidu spoke of running with gazelles,
Of eating grass and drinking from the springs.
Gilgamesh listened with blazing eyes:
"The animals made you strong! Not blessing—training!
A life of constant motion builds the body!
Come, we'll test this! You'll teach me your ways,
I'll teach you mine, and we'll document the changes!"
They became as brothers from that hour.
Before Humbaba's roar, Enkidu trembled:
"The demon guardian! His breath is fire!
His voice is flood! We should have made offerings!"
But Gilgamesh studied the monster's lair:
"Look closer, friend. See the charred trees in lines?
Not random—patterns. The 'fire breath' comes
From that vent there, where underground gases escape.
His 'flood voice' echoes from the canyon shape.
He's learned to trigger these mountain-happenings!
A clever giant, not a god-touched one."
"But the gods appointed him—"
"No!" Gilgamesh gripped Enkidu's shoulders hard.
"Someone SAID the gods appointed him!
But look—he eats! He sleeps! He has a dwelling!
Gods need none of these. He's flesh, like us,
Just larger, and he's learned to use the mountain's
Natural weapons. We can do the same!"
They fought Humbaba with the forest's tools—
Started a rock-slide, diverted the gas vents,
Used the canyon's echo to confuse him.
When he fell, Gilgamesh examined the body:
"See? Blood like ours. Bones, organs, muscle.
Larger, yes, but the same basic build.
No god-blood. No mystic heart.
Just meat that learned to frighten supplicants."
When fever took Enkidu, Gilgamesh
Became a storm of desperate action.
He hauled in every healer, every herbs-woman,
Made them explain each treatment as they worked.
"You—why willow bark?"
"Lord, it's always helped with fever—"
"But WHY? What IS fever? Why does skin grow hot?"
"You there—this chanting—has it ever actually
Saved someone this far gone?"
"The gods sometimes—"
"WHEN? Give me NAMES! Which sick ones recovered?
I'll send runners to ask what else they did!"
He pressed cold cloths to Enkidu's burning head,
Forced water through his cracked and bleeding lips,
Tried every mix of herbs,
Wrote down each change with frenzied care:
"Hour three—the mint and sage together
Seemed to ease breathing but increased the sweating.
Hour four—the honey-wine kept down better
Than plain water. Pulse still racing. Why?"
When Enkidu's breath began to rattle,
Gilgamesh grabbed him, shook him, wouldn't let go:
"Don't you dare! We haven't tried everything!
There's still that herb from the northern mountains—
The venom from the scorpion might shock
Your body back to fighting—DON'T YOU DARE!"
But Enkidu died in his arms at dawn.
Gilgamesh didn't wail. He stood completely still,
Then spoke in a voice like grinding stone:
"This is not acceptable. Death is not acceptable.
If death can be, then it can be understood.
If understood, then fought. If fought, then beaten.
I'll find someone who's beaten it before."
Through the dark tunnel under the mountains,
Where no light reached, Gilgamesh walked.
Not because a god commanded it,
But because it was the shortest path.
"Fear is just the body's warning system,"
He told himself in that crushing darkness.
"It says 'unknown danger'—but unknown
Doesn't mean unknowable. Count paces.
Feel the walls. The air still moves, so
There's another opening. Keep walking."
When he emerged and found the jeweled garden,
He barely glanced at the carnelian trees:
"Pretty rocks. But I need information."
The ale-wife Siduri barred her door in fear.
Gilgamesh pounded it with both fists:
"Woman, I seek Utnapishtim! Tell me how!"
"You cannot! The Waters of Death—"
"ARE STILL JUST WATER!" Gilgamesh bellowed.
"Water with something in it that kills, yes?
So we don't touch it! We use poles! Wear gloves!
Hold our breath when spray comes! IT'S STILL WATER!
Every problem has constraints and solutions—
Stop telling me what can't be done and help me!"
When Gilgamesh finally reached the Far-Away,
He found Utnapishtim tending a garden,
Ancient but solid, weathered but not frail.
"Tell me," Gilgamesh demanded without greeting,
"How do you not die? Skip the mythology.
I've walked through 'impossible' darkness,
Crossed 'uncrossable' waters. I need facts."
Utnapishtim studied this wild king,
Covered in dirt, eyes burning with purpose.
"You won't like the answer."
"TRY ME."
"I eat certain plants. Only these plants.
I fast for days between each meal.
I drink from one spring, full of stone-taste.
My body changed—slowly—over tens of years.
It's not pleasant. Food tastes like ash now.
Everything hurts, always, just bearably.
Is this the undying life you seek?"
Gilgamesh seized the old man's arm, felt the pulse:
"Slow. Very slow. Your skin—it's different.
Thicker? No—scarred? Scarred again and again?
You're healing over and over but wrongly!
Show me these plants. Show me everything.
I'll improve your method. There must be ways—"
"I've had centuries—"
"But you stopped looking! Settled for 'good enough'!
I'll find ways to keep the benefits
Without the pain. I'll test other ways!"
Gilgamesh found the plant through careful search,
Diving again and again in different spots,
Making maps of the lake floor, marking water warmth.
"Here—where the fresh spring meets salt water!
Only here can it grow!"
He surfaced with the plant clutched in his fist,
Already planning: "I'll test it first on beasts,
Different amounts, see what's the smallest dose that works.
Then trials on condemned men who choose it—
Better than death. If it works safely,
Then the old and sick of Uruk, those who wish—"
The snake moved faster than a god's curse.
One moment the plant was there, the next—gone.
The serpent's skin already starting to shed.
Gilgamesh stood very still. Then dove again.
And again. And again, until his lungs burned.
He searched every inch of the lake floor.
When finally he stopped, gasping on the shore,
His first words were: "I should have kept it covered.
Simple care. I know better.
The excitement made me careless."
Then: "But I know where it grows now.
I know what it looks like, what it needs.
The snake proves it works quickly—that's useful data.
I'll be back with proper jars,
Tools for diving, a full team."
He looked at his shaking hands and added quietly:
"After I rest. Even kings need rest."
Gilgamesh returned to great Uruk-of-the-walls,
Thinner, marked by travel, but with eyes undimmed.
He called the gathering at once:
"I found no final answer to death.
But I found clues. Patterns. Part-answers.
Death is not one problem but many—
Sickness, aging, wounds, the body failing.
Each needs its own answer. Here's what I learned..."
He built the House of Watching,
Where scribes recorded every birth and death,
The how, the signs, what was tried.
"We'll find patterns in large numbers
That we'd miss in single cases."
He built pools mimicking that distant lake,
Sent expeditions to gather samples,
Offered rewards for any who brought back
Plants that shimmered or made animals
Behave strangely after eating.
"Grandfather," said the young prince years later,
"The priests say you're defying divine will."
Gilgamesh, grey now but still standing tall,
Gripped his grandson's shoulder: "Listen well—
Divine will is what we call our ignorance
When we're too tired to keep searching.
But we're HUMANS. We build walls against floods,
Make fire in the darkness, grow food from seeds.
Defying natural limits is what we DO.
"I won't solve death in my lifetime—I know that now.
But you might. Or your grandson might.
Someone will, if we keep good records,
Keep testing, keep refusing to accept
That what is must always be."
He showed the boy the observation tablets:
"See? The average lifespan has increased
Three years since we started tracking.
Just from sharing which treatments work.
Small victories, but victories nonetheless."
The epic ends with Gilgamesh at dawn,
Standing on the walls he built, watching
His people wake and work and live and die,
Still taking notes, still asking "Why?"
Still mortal, still fighting, still himself.
Found in the ruins of the Library of Before,
This tablet bears the seal of Gilgamesh himself:
"Approved for accuracy, if not for poetry.
Keep copying. Keep adding. Keep thinking."