Gilgamesh reaches Shiduri, an innkeeper on the shores of the great sea.
She’s rightly wary of him, nut job that he appears to be; and he spares no time in exposing himself to her as what he truly is: not just a griever, but as nearly infantile—a braggart, a coward.
One of the things we learn from the outset in this part of the Gilgamesh epic is that he’s emotionally unstable (as if that weren’t already apparent.) Where is his alleged courage? His strength? They were already much at doubt when he and Enkidu set out to kill Humbaba; now they seem conclusively missing.
Gilgamesh has no psychological stability, no feeling center of gravity.
It begins to seem as though even if he were to attain immortality, it wouldn’t in the least address the basic issues of his egoism and violence. The hero, in other words, is in no way worthy of the epic quest he has embarked on.
Not even close.
This may be the story of most of us as individuals; but perhaps it is also the story of humanity itself, as it plays out all about us in this every moment—in the events of today.
Shiduri was an innkeeper Who lived by the sea On the dangerous shores Of memory With elephants around her She brewed golden ale Her hair was feather- fine And her face was veiled When Gilgamesh arrived Wearing the fur of beasts He carried on his back The stink of bloody feasts And his mind was filled With the grief of distant lands Anyone with eyes could see the bloodstains on his hands Shiduri kept her distance Oh, she kept her distance She locked the door She hid upon the roof, Gilgamesh pursued her from the ground Why did you lock the door? Why did you hide upon the roof? I will shatter your defenses to the ground Enkidu and I climbed mountains killed the bull inside the sky We slaughtered Humbaba And butchered all his lions. Shiduri said, If you climbed mountains, killed the sky-bull, butchered Humbaba And slaughtered lions. Why is your face so pale? Why are you filled with grief and loathing? Why is your body broken? Your face a battered wreck? Why do you wander scorched by sun In the wild, dressed like a lion? And Gilgamesh Raised his battered face to Shiduri, How can I hold my head high? How could I be filled with anything but grief? My friend Enkidu, the leopard of the wild A hounded mule, A highland donkey Whom I loved so much, is dead A maggot in his nose Now I fear my own death I wander the wild On far off roads As a God-forsaken child How could I stay silent? My friend’s bones have turned to clay I must find the way to Uta-Napishti Across the Ocean Tell me what landmarks I should follow. If it can be done I will cross the ocean Otherwise I will keep on roaming the wild
Share this post