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The Golden Bull: A Mesopotamian Adventure
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About The Golden Bull: A Mesopotamian Adventure
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1. Changes The drought had lasted for months. Jomar dug for edible roots in the dry, sandy soil, but found only three small, misshapen carrots that once he would have given to the pigs. He glanced up at the squawking blackbirds as they flew high above him. When he was younger, it had been his job to wave his arms and yell at the birds to scare them off before they ate the precious barley seeds. Now they no longer swooped down to pick at the brown and brittle grain. Jomar stopped digging when he heard the bellowing of a cow. He had promised his father to help with the birthing of her calf. As he ran across the scorched fields toward the cowshed, the rocky soil cut into his frayed leather sandals. The entire region was so barren that it was hard for Jomar to recall that all the farms in the area had once produced abundant grain, melons and grapes, plums and pears, cabbage and carrots. Gazelle and other wild animals had once been plentiful, attracted to the crops and to the water in the irrigation canals that cut through the countryside. Now the canals were empty, and the farm looked as if nothing had ever grown in the sunbaked land that stretched around him. Jomar heard his younger sister, Zefa, singing as he passed the goat hutch. As she sang she strummed on a small wooden lyre, a stringed instrument he’d made for her when she was a little girl. Veering from the path to the cowshed, Jomar darted into the hutch. Zefa sat on an overturned bucket, so intent on her song that she didn’t look up at him. Squinting into the shadows, he saw that Zefa’s eyes glistened like pieces of glassy black obsidian as she began a song to Nanna, the mighty moongod: “Moon-glowing Nanna, all-knowing Nanna, Look down from the heavens and pity us—” Jomar broke in. “Pity! What pity? Why make up a song to the moongod when he lets his people go hungry?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “And don’t let Father hear this sad song—he’s worried enough as it is.” He turned to leave the hutch. “Wait,” Zefa said. “I’m in here so he won’t hear me, but you should listen. This will be the last time you’ll hear my music.” He stared at her and realized why her eyes glistened— they were filled with tears. “What do you mean? Why are you crying?” Zefa gave her news haltingly. “I heard Father talking to Mother last night. They thought I was asleep. Tomorrow he’s sending you away . . . to the city . . . to live in Ur.” Jomar’s breath went out of him. “I don’t believe this! You’re sure?” “There’s not enough food for us all,” Zefa said. “Haven’t you noticed they’re growing weaker?” “Yes, I’ve noticed,” Jomar said, but he knew he had been pushing this knowledge away. Too full of hurt and anger to talk further, and aching to escape from his sister’s sad eyes, Jomar abruptly left the hutch. His mouth was dry; he could feel his heart pounding. Where would he live in the city? What would he do there? Farming was all he knew and all he wanted to know. Trying to calm himself, Jomar looked out across the flat fields and saw the massive mud-brick temple of Ur looming in the distance like a mountain. Nanna, the powerful moongod of Ur, lived in the temple. Jomar had grown up feeling protected by him, but now he felt abandoned by Nanna. And by his father. Again he heard the bellowing of the cow. Again he’d forgotten his promise to help with the birth of her calf. He started running, but dread as well as hunger made his stomach tighten with cramps. Because of the drought two boys his age who lived in surrounding farms had been sold into slavery in exchange for food. Would my father do that to me? It was unthinkable, but he could think of nothing else as he raced toward the cowshed. 2. Hard Times Jomar burst into the shed and found his father, Durabi, kneeling over a newborn calf struggling to free itself from its birth pouch. “The birthing was hard . . . the little one’s so weak,” his father said. “It must be released from its pouch
