The Descent

[6]

“I am now immortal,” said Gilgâmesh, “but this immortality is not an achievement of mine. It did not come about as a result of my own actions. It was, rather, given to me when I was brought to this place, and so it can be taken away. It’s more longevity than immortality, really. But all of this doesn’t matter, what matters to me is that I was once free and partly divine, and now I am neither. Now I am a prisoner in this netherworld, this being my punishment, it seems, for once daring to fuck the gods. Or God if you like, it really makes no difference, monotheism makes no difference in the whole bloody equation of life and death. That’s why you’ll find many of us pagans here.

I was a tyrant once, in the normal world, here I am nobody, I’ve chosen to be a  nobody, I knew better than to allow myself to become a leader again, a tyrant again. I’ve ridden myself of all pride cleaning donkey-shit off the streets with my tong. Still I do remember those days of my tyranny. And I do remember Enkidu...Enkiiduu.”

“Enkidu grew up, an abandoned orphan, in the fields of Uruk, and in the nearby hills. There he could easily have lived and died without anyone ever paying any attention to him, a total nonentity. But this was not meant to be, destiny beckons in peculiar ways.

One day, as Enkidu walked by the local stream, he saw a girl, a young woman washing up in a shallow depth, she was totally nude naturally, and, although, that was not the first time he’d been exposed to feminine nakedness, that was the first time he’d seen a girl bathing alone, and at that hour of the day. Intrigued, Enkidu observed the girl, observed her as she bathed, and looked upon her reflection in the clear waters of the stream, observed her as she left the stream to lie in the shadow of a nearby tree, and as she started to touch and caress herself in peculiar ways.

She did it slowly and deliberately with wet and eager fingers, massaging her breasts and nipples, rubbing her vulva. And when jolts of pleasure began to shake the delicate frame of the girl, she wasn’t the only one that moaned. Enkidu, in his nearby hiding place moaned as he himself began to ejaculate. But the girl, being too preoccupied with the pleasure she derived from her own, did not hear his moans.

And from that day onwards, hanging around the local stream became Enkidu’s favorite past-time, fear had prevented Enkidu from adopting this habit before, for one day, you see, he’d almost been spotted while peeping from behind a rock, he’d gotten too close, but he’d escaped long, before the screams of girls and women had brought in droves of concerned, and horny, men.

This time, however, Enkidu chased the fear out of his heart and mind, this time, he was a man on a mission, and nothing, absolutely nothing would deter him from... stealing pleasure. The pleasure of watching naked women, and girls, especially girls, rubbing against each other, and occasionally, kissing and caressing each other. But he was especially interested in that rebel of a lass who would always come on her own, and after all others had gone, and who seemed to know more secrets about pleasure than all the others combined, secrets that she shared with no one, but him. Well, true, she didn’t know that she was sharing anything with him, but that didn’t matter to Enkidu, not in the least, and in time, he came to think of the girl as being his own girl, his own mate.”

“The peep-show lasted for almost a year, Enkidu would forever think of this year as the happiest in his life, his short and tragic life. Throughout this year, Enkidu’s girl remained faithful to her habits; she showed up three, and occasionally four times a week, and always after all others had gone, to bathe in the stream and to rub herself under the tree for an hour or so at a time. In the last month of this blissful year, however, there occurred some interesting changes in the girl’s schedule.

She began to show up earlier in the day, and in  the company of the other lasses, and she took part in their games. But these games, with her guidance it seems, got far more...intimate than usual: there was much more hugging, kissing and caressing, and much more giggling mixed with a greater sense of excitement, and that suited Enkidu just fine. But what delighted him even more, was the fact that his girl did continue with her solo performances, after all other girls had gone for the day.

Eventually, however, the fateful day came, as indeed it must. On that day, Enkidu’s girl did not show up with the others, but as soon as they had left, she emerged from the bushes dragging behind her another lass. The lass seemed to respond to Enkidu’s girl rather hesitantly and shyly, but she  did respond. She responded as Enkidu’s girl dragged her out of the bushes, out of her clothes, and into the bosom of the stream, and into her own bosom. The touching, the caressing, the kissing, and the licking that took place afterwards was much more...intense and deliberate than anything that Enkidu had witnessed before, and much more fascinating. And there  was more to come.

After many minutes of pleasure had elapsed, Enkidu’s girl again took control of the situation, as she dragged a, by now, more expectant than hesitant partner, out of the stream and into the shadow of the tree, where she bid the lass to lie backwards on the grass. Then Enkidu’ girl lay beside the lass, and began to run her fingers, and tong, slowly and patiently, on the lass’s lips, nipples, and vulva. The lass, stiff at first, began to relax as the exercise progressed, and she began to smile, lick her lips, take deep breaths, and moan, and moan, as Enkidu began to ejaculate.

After what seemed to be an eternity of moaning, the roles were reversed, now it was Enkidu’s girl who lay with her back against the wet grass,  and it was she now that let the other into her bosom,  into her. But she did not moan, she seemed to internalize pleasure, and the pleasure made her glow, glow like a goddess, like Ishtar herself. In fact, she became Ishtar. She actually became Ishtar. And still there was more to come.

Ishtar glowed, shone with pleasure, still there was a sense of anticipation in her eyes, she wanted more, much more. She lifted up her arms, threw away the bits of grass that she had torn from the soil, and put her hands on the active head that bumped against her thighs, then pulled it by the hair to her, kissed the yearning wet smile drawn upon it, and wrestled it to the ground as she came on top of the lass. Ishtar had the hunger of wolves in her eyes, and so did the lass, but for a moment, it seems, they didn’t know what to do to satisfy it, until something within them took over, and the abdomen began to rub against the abdomen, hesitantly at first, then, deliberately and methodically.

A smile of triumph painted itself on Ishtar’s angelic face; a smile of appreciation and love, true love, on the face of the lass, and a smile of ecstasy on Enkidu’s face. For as his girl made love to the lass, he ascended to Heaven, to the realm of the very gods that made all this possible. Still there was more to come.”

“At the end of...the deed, Ishtar and the lass lay back on the grass, their bodies glimmering under the weak rays of a sun nearing its temporary death. After few moments the lass stood up, put on her robe, and urged Ishtar to do the same, but Ishtar stood up, kissed the lass softly on the lips and whispered words in her ear that made her smile, and ushered her into the bushes, and the lass left the clearing as hesitantly as she’d allowed herself to be dragged into it, leaving Ishtar alone. For there was more to come.”

“Ishtar returned to the waters, and began to rub her body with it for the umpteenth time that day, this time, however, she did it quickly and she did it for purely hygienic purposes. When she finished, and as she was about to retrieve her robe from under the tree, a figure emerged from the bushes, it was a young man, a lad, but, it was not Enkidu.

Ishtar was momentarily startled, and so was Enkidu himself for that matter, but Ishtar soon regained her calm and made no move to indicate alarm, or to cover herself. She simply stood there in front of the lad, naked, wet, silent, gazing defiantly at the lad’s face. The lad had trouble returning her gaze for a while, still he did return it eventually, and even managed to smile, for much like Enkidu, he was a man with a mission, well, a different mission.

After a long minute of silent staring, the lad finally spoke, he told Ishtar that he had been watching her and the lass as they made love, he told her that she was wasting her time trying to derive pleasure from the company of another female, he told her that if she truly desired to know what pleasure is like, she should let him, a man, show her.

Enkidu, at this stage, was extremely angry, and jealous, he yearned to announce his presence and to proceed to tear this meddling and impudent lad apart, but he was reigned in by his curiosity, for Ishtar, despite the glow of amusement in her eyes, did not reject the lad’s offer outright. She merely  pointed out the fact that the lad hardly qualifies as a man, and that she was liable to have a greater pleasure touching herself than by having him touch her.

The lad was obviously incensed at her remarks, still he retained his composure, smiled, and told her that she’d never know that unless she actually let him touch her. Ishtar seemed to like this answer, as well as the lad who gave it, and she had a look in her eyes, a wanton look, a fatalistic look, as she approached the lad and helped him out of his clothes.

Ishtar and the lad spent many a minute touching and caressing each other, simply exploring each other’s bodies, with Ishtar showing her usual patience as she wetted the lad’s body with her tong, and as she guided him, later on, to do the same to her keeping his head for longest possible time between her legs, until she felt it again, felt that very...thing that had exacerbated her patience earlier, and led her to push the lass on her back and lay on top of her. She did this to the lad, who responded as the lass had done before, ceding all control to Ishtar as she began to rub her abdomen against his erection, then as she guided his erect penis into her... but not all the way.

For the first time that day, Ishtar hesitated, she looked side-ways at the setting sun with a dreamy look in her eyes, as the lad under her held his breath, and tried to rub his chest against her dandling nipples. Ishtar held herself up on her extended arms, her hands spread on the grass, on each side of the lad, his penis only partly wedged in her vulva as she knelt on top of him, and  continued to gaze dreamily at the sun for what seemed like an eternity to Enkidu, not to mention the lad.

Then suddenly, the wanton look returned to the eyes of Ishtar, and she took a deep breath and pushed her abdomen down letting her vulva swallow the entirety of the lad’s penis, as both of them let out a cry. And for the second time on that evening of that fateful day, Enkidu’s girl had a triumphant smile drawn on her face, as she let herself be penetrated for the first time in her life, and as she bounced, with her eyes open, along the length of the lad’s erect penis, occasionally leaning over allowing her breasts to be fondled by the lad’s eager fingers. And Ishtar continued to steal side-way glances of the setting sun, her smile growing wider, her bouncing wilder, and her glow, her wondrous glow, brighter.”

“It was night, and the lad had left as he had been ordered to by Ishtar who still lay naked on the grass, despite the coldness of the night’s breeze. But what was more unusual than her nakedness in the night, was the very fact that she had stayed by herself in the night, and in such an isolated place, refusing the lad’s offer to escort her home. At this stage, and Enkidu would forever swear to it, Ishtar beckoned Enkidu to her. True, she did not speak, she did not whisper, she did not even move, still, somehow, she beckoned him to her, and he obeyed.

And so, for the first time in his life, Enkidu willingly announce his presence to a woman lying naked by the stream. He did so by coming out from his hiding place, tiptoeing to where Ishtar was lying under the tree, and jumping on top of her while laughing wildly.

Now you have to imagine what Enkidu looked like in those days, he had fingernails longer than his fingers, and hair covered his body and face like a...like a goat, and it was long, matted, and dirty, and it stank like shit, as did his breath. And now imagine that you are in the place of Ishtar, lying peacefully on the grass, pondering the intense and pleasurable experiences you just had. How would you feel, what would you do when you find yourself, all of a sudden, under this bear of a man?

Well, I don’t know about you, Ishtar screamed, and screamed as  loud as she could, losing her calm for the first time ever since Enkidu had known her, and this took him by surprise.

Suddenly Enkidu was afraid, he didn’t know what to do, he tried to talk to Ishtar, but she wouldn’t listen, and she continued to try to push him off her, to no avail; Enkidu tried to put his hand on her mouth, but she bit him.  The bite wasn’t painful, but it angered him, and he slapped her, and for a while, a very short while, there was silence as Ishtar examined Enkidu’s features in the light of the gibbous moon that shone through the branches. Then, Ishtar began to scream again, and Enkidu slapped her again, and again, and again, until blood began to splatter his face, and he swallowed some of it as he felt the hunger swelling within him, consuming him.

But the girl was quiet now, her face was covered with the blood being ejaculated through her mouth, her nose and her eyes, her breathing was rapid, but she was making an effort to slow it down, to regain her composure, to control her fear and her disgust. Enkidu was pleased, he smiled, and the sight of his yellowing and corroded teeth made Ishtar shiver, but she did not scream this time. She did not scream anymore.

Enkidu now lay on top of Ishtar, and he knew exactly what he had to do. He had to kiss Ishtar, and lick her face, until it was completely wet, and so he did, enjoying the taste of blood, still warm, still being replenished from the countless wounds that covered Ishtar’s face, he did so thinking the warm blood an added bonus. Then, he had to kiss Ishtar’s nipples,  and bite them, and so he did, he bit the nipples right off Ishtar, and though her body twisted under him with pain, she did not scream. And there was more blood for him to lick, another bonus.

Then, he had to look between Ishtar’s legs, as she had earlier looked between the legs of the lass, and so he did. And he had to examine what he saw with fascination, and awe, and so he did. And he had to use his fingers to caress what he saw, and  to dig through it, and so, again, he did, his fingernails wreaking havoc upon Ishtar’s vulva as new wounds spurted out further supplies of blood to satisfy Enkidu’s hunger. And Ishtar breathed, and moaned, still refusing to scream.

And Enkidu proceeded to lick the blood off her vulva, waiting for the moment when Ishtar would pull his head from between her legs, kiss him, and thrust herself on top of him. But many minutes passed, and this did not happen, neither did the blood stop gushing. So Enkidu took it upon himself to take the next step. He somehow knew that, although he was the one on top of the girl, she could still be penetrated, if he was willing to do all the moving and the bouncing himself, and to please Ishtar, not to mention himself, he was.

So Enkidu took his erect penis by the hand and thrusted it into Ishtar’s vulva, and began to bounce, and push, and pull, and rip Ishtar apart, one mangled piece of flesh at a time. And long before Enkidu was done, Ishtar had become nothing more than a mixture of tears, sweat, saliva, semen, blood, and broken bones and ripped flesh being, all being sifted through by the penis, the paws, and the teeth of an enraged and mindless bear.

Even long after his ejaculation, Enkidu did not withdraw from Ishtar, he did not withdraw from Ishtar until the sun shone again, and voices and sounds began to creep in from the bushes.”

"Few months after this incident, news reached me in Uruk that a wild man, a monster, a beast, was attacking, raping and killing girls, women and lads in the villages nearby, and the peasants cried for help, my help. For though I was a tyrant, a tyrant who was equally guilty of the crime of rape, a tyrant who took it upon himself to make a woman of every lass when the moment had come, I was still the king, and I was still expected to defend the rights of my subjects.

Still, when the peasant delegation came to me, I was in a drunken stupor, so instead of sending with them few soldiers to track down and kill the creature, I sent with them a local whore who, I knew, was used to the rough manners of soldiers and brutes, including, at one point, my own. My aim was that to provide the creature with a suitable companion, for it was this need for companionship, in my estimation, that drove the creature to behave as he did.

The peasants took the whore with them and left, not daring even to think what they yearned to think, namely that I was an idiot who did not know what he was saying and doing. And the truth of the matter was that when I gave my ruling I was thinking of myself, and of my own needs.  Luckily for the peasants, and for the whore, my needs and Enkidu’s coincided.”

“And so Enkidu was tamed by a whore, a whore who taught him the true art of plowing the vulva, and who taught him how to wash himself, how to shave, and how to cut his hair and fingernails A whore who taught him muruwwa, if you will, civility. And now that he knew civility, and since he had always been an actual gentle soul inside, it was only a matter of time before the enormity of his crimes dawned upon him. And when that happened, Enkidu well-nigh killed himself, then, he almost killed the whore who taught him, and then he decided to kill me, the man who had sent the whore, and the man who, as the whore had told him, was guilty of the same crimes.

Thus, when Enkidu entered the city of Uruk for the first time in his life, he entered it for the sole purpose of killing me. And when the people learned of his intention, they cheered him on and guided him to me, even many of my soldiers, even my mother.”

“Enkidu arrived in Uruk during the festivities that followed the harvest. I’d already finished with the ugly and public task of plowing the vulva of the high priestess, an old crone of a  woman in whose bosom I’d surrendered my virginity at the age of eleven, and in whose bosom I’d someday die, when he stormed into the palace. He was angry, and he was big, but he was not as horrendous and unsightly as he used to be in his wild days. In fact, as he stood in the courtyard, naked but for furry loincloth around his hips, and surrounded by soldiers, celebrants, peasants and servants, not few of the women present eyed him with a certain...interest.

I, too, eyed Enkidu with interest, as I, too, stood naked but for a loincloth. I stood near the pedestal where  the high priestess still lay, her robe still raised, her wet and odorous vulva still exposed, an unwelcome reminder of what had just taken place; and for a while, I swear, my interest in Enkidu might not have been different from that of the women. Then Enkidu spoke.

His were fighting words, incoherently delivered to be honest, but their meaning was quite obvious, nonetheless. Enkidu was challenging me, ‘the evildoer, the tyrant, the scum of earth,’ to a wrestling match, a wrestling match to the death. As I heard these words, I glanced in my mother’s direction, as was my wont in such circumstances, looking for a sign, a facial hint as to how I should respond to Enkidu’s challenge. But her face, at that moment, bore no hints. And that by itself revealed enough as far as I was concerned. And so the matter was decided. I would wrestle with Enkidu, to the death.”

“I took control of the match from the very beginning, let there be no doubt about that. Enkidu had no chance of winning, no chance at all. For despite his awesome power, and his large reserve of raw energy, Enkidu was not a trained warrior, and I was. I knew how to take a charge, and how to deliver one, I knew how to catch one off balance, and how to take advantage of that, and I knew how to take a hit and not let it rattle me.

But Enkidu knew none of these things, and throughout our two-hour match all he did was to lunge in my direction waving his arms wildly, as I continued to dodge him, hitting him, or pushing him to the ground, or into a wall or a pillar, when he happened to lurch by  me. After two hours of this, Enkidu was shivering with frustration, anger, fatigue, confusion, and pain. Yes, pain. I don’t think he’d ever experienced such pain before, I don’t think he’d ever been cut as deep as he was that day, I don’t think he’d ever been covered by blood, his own blood that is, his own blood, before that day.

And silence fell upon the crowd. The cheers died, and the occasional looks of glee that sparked into the eyes of men and women, especially the women, especially my mother, had no reason to return. It became clear to everyone at that moment, including Enkidu himself, who was about to win the fight.

Then Enkidu began to cry. This, however, was not a sign of surrender, his life was at stake, and even he knew better than to surrender to a man he had vowed to kill. After all, even a man of the wilderness had a sense of honor, a sense that, no matter how rudimentary it was in fact, still dictated upon him certain courses of action known to all men, and women, that made it virtually impossible for him to accept death, at the hands of a warrior, passively.

And so, although in tears, Enkidu continued to lunge at me over and over again. And I continued to dodge him and deliver my hits. I was toying with him. I was also intrigued by him, intrigued by his tears, tears that betrayed anguish rather than fright, and I was intrigued by his obstinacy, and that flare of hate and disdain that encompassed him. I was intrigued by the whole of him, as was everyone in the crowd, men and women alike.

Eventually, Enkidu fell upon the ground, too tired to move, too tired to breath. I approached him as the world watched. Death was in the air. I approached him as he watched. Death was buried in the air. I stretched my arms and held Enkidu’s face in my sweaty palms, and I was about to exhume death when I gazed at Enkidu’s eyes, and Enkidu’s lips, and realized what I had to have realized ever since I’d laid eyes upon that man, that I could never harm Enkidu. Never. Never.”

“I didn’t see Enkidu after that day for about a week, a week spent in plowing vulvae, familiar and new, drilled and virginal. A week of usually pleasurable activities that failed to give me any pleasure. Enkidu, too, was busy plowing vulvae during that week, two vulvae to be specific, his whore’s, and my mother’s. And he, too, failed to derive any pleasure, it seems, from these activities, but his reasons for this might have been different from mine, I never asked, and I never knew.

Enkidu and I had our second meeting again in the courtyard of the  palace. It was a peaceful meeting this time, and it happened at night. We were both escaping from the clutches of our women, and we were, both, confused, and tired, both struggling to catch our breaths. We sat side by side on the ground, leaning against the same pillar, engulfed by the same silence, for what seemed like an eternity. Then Enkidu spoke, ‘Why didn’t you kill me?’ He asked. And as I gave him my answer, our friendship began.”

“Twenty years later, Enkidu lay dying on my bed. Syphilis was eating him up from the inside out: one whore too many, it seems, after one of our numerous and successful campaigns. He was dying as Uruk stretched under him, greater, stronger and more prosperous than it had ever been. And this would never have been possible without him. I would never have embarked on the course of action that brought glory and fame to Uruk without him standing by my side, urging me to go on, to write my name along those of the gods. For although, I had the ambition, and, perhaps, the vision, I seemed to lack the will as well as the patience. Then he came and gave me his ... He gave me his.

But what will could stop death from coming when it was time? What will? Whose will? Enkidu lay dying in front of my disbelieving, grieving, and protesting eyes, and I was helpless to do anything about it. I, Gilgâmesh, was helpless. I, the killer of Khimbaba, the ruthless highwayman and the terror of Uruk, and the killer of many a holy bull that people worshipped, that the gods supposedly cherished, I, was helpless; there was nothing I could do to change Enkidu’s fate, dreams of, and yearning for immortality and omnipotence notwithstanding. I tell you this, as I told my mother before, and Enkidu himself as he lay dying on my bed, with all the sincerity in the world. But what relevance does sincerity have when it was time to die? And so...Enkidu died.”

“Success changes everything. It gives one a new outlook on life, a new vision, and it surrounds one with an aura of sanctity that makes the beginnings irrelevant, and they often lie forgotten in the darkest recesses of the mind, one’s own most of all, one’s own.

With Enkidu by my side and with the success of all  our campaigns, I had suddenly emerged as a popular leader, a righteous king. I’d stopped my most objectionable practices, namely the raping of wives and virgins, and I’d contended myself with my friendship with Enkidu, and with the company of the plethora of whores and priestesses that would forever orbit around a king, especially a popular and righteous king. I’d been happy, very happy. I’d been content. Then Enkidu died. There was no way for me to pull him out of the  jaws of death this time. Enkidu died.”

So, I said, Enkidu died of Syphilis, and Gilgâmesh died of a heart-attack as he plowed the vulva of his favorite high priestess.

And there was no long and arduous search for immortality, merely a yearning for it. Iblîs added.

But the yearning became the basis of a famous legend... Jibrîl attempted to elaborate.

And the legend was a stepping stone towards the rise of monotheistic ideas. Iblîs interjected.

And Gilgâmesh, the pagan, ended up in this... ‘stinking den of monotheists’. I concluded.

How interesting!

How curious!

How ironic!

How useless! How absolutely useless! How is supposed to help me in my own predicament? I asked.

“No Jû, I wouldn’t mind becoming immortal.” Jû was the new woman in my life. She was a black-hared woman with typical Mediterranean features: brown eyes, small nose, naturally tanned skin, et cetera. So she was not oriental, as her name might imply, nor was she one of the five women that had surrounded me earlier in the tent. She was a new face, and as such, she was absolutely enchanting.

We met in a lake in one of the many gardens in Eve’s house of wonders. I was swimming, then I heard a sound behind me, and I turned around, and there she was, few feet away, standing on the edge of the beach, naked, accessible, willing, and eager, like all women I had met so far in this world. I was mildly surprised, and somewhat embarrassed, for I, too, was naked, and the water was quite clear, quite clear. And so was my erection.

Still, ever since that moment, Jû had been my faithful companion throughout all hours of the day. The nights, naturally, belonged to Eve. And as for Thurayyâ... well, Thurayyâ was nowhere to be seen. Jû told me, when I brought the matter to her attention, that indeed Thurayyâ was in the habit of disappearing from view every now and then, and without informing anyone in advance as to her intention, or her whereabouts. “But she’ll reappear,” Jû said, “don’t worry, she’ll resurface, unharmed. She always does.” But worriment was not the reason behind my inquiry. I, simply, missed Thurayyâ, and missed her advances. Not that Jû didn’t make any, it was simply that Jû had a different approach.

For instance, our current conversation took place on a sandy  beach. I was lying on a blanket with my swimming shorts on, while she lay naked on the sand, the parts of her body that were not covered with the sand, glistening under the sun-rays that came through the glass roof. As I watched her, I found myself wishing, repeatedly, to reach out with my hands and rub her clean, and then...

and then, it’s on to baptism by lust. Baptism by mud more like it.

“No Jû, I wouldn’t mind becoming immortal. In fact, I long wished to become a shape-shifter, an immortal mind-reading, adventure-seeking shape-shifter, to be specific. Life for me would be great then, and perhaps, only then. For then, I could slip through the cracks in the walls, and I would dig out all the secrets in the world; and I could afford to be patient, then, patient enough to change the world.”

“So you want to become God.” Jû said, her words laced with sarcasm. “How atheistic of you!” But I decided to ignore her sarcasm.

“You’re right, of course,” I said, “I’ve  always wanted to become God, even when I was religious. I think that’s the only way I could feel safe. Safe, but not necessarily fulfilled. I don’t know what it takes for me to feel fulfilled. I don’t think I’ll ever feel fulfilled.”

“Yes Kitty,” said the Doctor, “but the Zorkan scientists were concerned only with biotechnology, and that was both the key to their amazing triumphs, and to their final defeat. Never put your eggs in one basket, Kitty. Never.”

They even kept the original musical theme of Doctor Who. It felt absolutely wonderful to hear it again, and in such an alien world. More importantly, al-Fârâbî made a great Doctor, and Mary Magdalene, playing the beautiful and witty Kitty, a great companion. But it was rumored, for yes, even this world had its fair share of rumor-based entertainment programs, it was rumored that al-Ma’arri, the eleventh century Syrian poet, and no longer a blind man, for there were no people with disabilities in this world, would soon be replacing al-Fârâbî as the umpteenth regeneration of the Doctor. John Keats would join him as a new companion, that is in addition to Kitty who was scheduled to remain in the show for another season.

Now, al-Ma’arri was a seasoned actor in this world, and a winner of many a prestigious award, I had already seen him play the role of Sargon I, in The First Empire Builder, one of the most celebrated movies of all times in this world, at least that was what Eve had  told me, and indeed al-Ma’arri was impressive, quite impressive. So impressive, in fact, that, in the normal world, playing the Doctor would have been a step down the ladder for al-Ma’arri. But then, in the normal world, the Doctor was cancelled, while here, he was celebrated with all the reverence given to God, or used to be given to God. Playing the Doctor, then, was every actor’s dream, and every actress’.

At one point in her life, Eve told me, she played the Doctor for four seasons, in a rare female regeneration. She was a hit, or so she said, but only two actresses after her were allowed the privilege. People simply preferred a masculine Doctor. And when it came to entertainment, people, usually, got what they wanted, even in this world.

And so this world was becoming more and more tangible to me, tangible and real. And that, I guess, was unavoidable. Still, a certain mystical quality persisted, after all, Fatimah, the daughter of the Prophet, was a famous belly-dancer here, and to me, that was the pinnacle of mysticism. At least, it was becoming so. Who would have guessed?

“You’re addicted.” Said Eve.

“I am.” I confessed. “Stranger in a Strange Land, Hyperion, Childhood’s End, not to mention the adaptations of the new writings of al-Ma’arri, al-Hallaj, Ibn Tufayl, and others. I mean the best of the best science fiction is shown all day long on this channel, how can I avoid becoming addicted?”

“Willpower.” Eve said with a smile.

“Willpower, my ass.” I said while returning her smile.

Eve was becoming less intimidating to me by the minute, but no less enigmatic. I was still fascinated by her. She was my true addiction. I dreamed of her every night. But I never told her of my dreams, and never once did I give her a hint of the way I felt towards her. I couldn’t reciprocate her honesty, although I reciprocated her desire. “Eve…” I often began to say, and then… and then, there was silence.

I gazed upon my mole-ravaged face in the mirror, and I wept. For many years I had sported a beard to cover these moles, and to avoid the after-shave rash that had never failed to inflict me, adding insult to injury. But, a year ago I had decided to start shaving again. I’d grown tired of the beard. It had always been too jagged somehow, I’d never learned how to take proper care of it.

And so it was time to face the physical truth about myself. I was not a handsome man. Well, not very. My body too was covered with moles,  and I was always out of shape. I never mustered enough patience, enough willpower, to follow an exercise program. But with Jû and Eve on my case, this was changing. Still, I was not a handsome man, and still, Jû and Eve were attracted to me. No, this world was not becoming tangible.   I was growing mad. That was the truth of it all. Yes, that was the truth.

I stood in the shower, soap covering my head and my face, and I was rubbing it all over my body. The water was hot, very hot, I preferred it this way. I was boiling away the sin of the night. The sin of passion without fulfillment. Then I realized that I wasn’t alone in the shower, I felt a presence behind me, but I wasn’t surprised. Jû had often joined me in the shower, and her presence had long ceased to embarrass me. I had learned to suppress my erection around her.

Practice makes perfect. Whenever she found me in such circumstances, that is with soap covering me, Jû would give me a quick hug to announce her presence, and would then release me. This time, however, the hug was long, the tits that touched my back stiff, too stiff, and the hands, smoothed and softened with soap, were slowly cupped over my penis, as it began to show some signs of agitation. Still, it remained dormant.

“OK Jû,” I finally had to say, “I thought we had an  understanding about this.”

“Well, that might be true with Jû,” this voice was not Jû’s voice, I noticed, “but not with me.” This was Thurayyâ’s voice.

I almost opened my eyes which were still covered with soap, but I managed to stop myself in time. Then I became suddenly aware of my penis as it came to full erection, being slowly and gently rubbed by Thurayyâ’s hands. And yesternight’s dream returned to full memory, it was of me and Thurayyâ making love in the shower. I’d been dreaming of Thurayyâ ever since the beginning of her absence, and now she was here, making her promised move it seemed, and I didn’t know how to react.

Should I embrace her? Should I push her away? While I was pondering these possibilities, and others, the rubbing, of hands against penis, and tits against back, became more rapid, more intense, I was already passed the point of no return, a point, in the existence of which I had never believed. Familiar electrified currents were running through me now, the rubbing continued to intensify: ejaculation began.

Am I still a virgin? I asked. I mean, it was only masturbation, even if the hands involved were not mine.

But had she invited you to go beyond that, you would have consented, wouldn’t you?

I don’t know. That was the truth.

Well then, I, too, don’t know.

Thurayyâ had left soon after my ejaculation had ended, leaving me to deal alone with my embarrassment, and confusion. My eyes were still closed, being still covered with soap. I proceeded to wash off the lather, having lowered the temperature of the water. Then I stepped out of the shower, dried myself with a towel, rapped it around my waist, and headed towards the bedroom.

Once there, I stood by my bed, thinking. Then, it suddenly dawned upon me that there would be more to come, that it was not all over, yet. And without a doubt in my mind as to what I would be seeing, and as to how I would be reacting, I turned around, and there was Thurayyâ, a luscious smile painted on her face, standing by the door, naked, scintillating, with her hands behind her back, her legs slightly apart, in the known position of a soldier standing at ease.

I didn’t move, but my consent was written all over my face. Thurayyâ began to move towards me, slowly, and with a pretend shyness. She came close enough for her tits to rub against my chest, and we began to kiss.

I rapped my hands around her, bringing her closer to me than anyone had ever come, other than my mother and grandmother, of course. Oh, hello Mr. Freud. How are we today?

Then, suddenly, she pushed me away, and stood for a short while in front of me, observing the surprised expression on my face. Then something shone in the narrow space that now separated us as it lunged towards me, held in Thurayyâ’s hand, and was plunged into my chest. Then, the air around us was filled with blood, and pain, and disappointment, as cries of Allahu Akbar, laced with madness and hate, echoed about the place.

This is all I am willing to say about my experience in the Soviet Union: it was beneficial, it taught me that nationalism is a foolish notion, especially Arab nationalism, and that an alternative to it must be sought,  and found. At the time, of course, I thought I had found it in fundamentalist Islam, or to be more specific, in fundamentalist pan-Islamism. It would take me many years, too many years, to be disillusioned this time. Hmm.   And I thought I was an intelligent man.