Twilight in Babylon Read Online Free PDF Page A

understand. But I know them.
    She felt dizzy again.
    “Here we are,” the bearded man said.
    “I will return shortly,” the clean-faced Kalam said, and ran down another street.
    “Step inside,” the bearded man said to her.
    The door opened, and she stepped into a small garden. Empty. Where were the thirty thousand humans?
    “Wash your hands,” the man said, pouring water from a clay jar into a basin. He rinsed his hands and face, then dumped the dirty water into a plant and poured some more water into the basin. “For you.”
    She washed her face and hands and dumped the water. It was brown with dirt.
    “You can set your things down,” he said. “They’ll be safe.”
    She set down the
guf
skin and laid the knife on top of it. The tablet with her sheep she kept in her hand.
    “Let’s see your sore,” he said. “Come into the light.”
    The house, taller than a palm tree, was like a box with the center cut out, right over the garden. The bearded man sat on a stool and beckoned her to sit on the ground between his knees. She winced as he moved her hair around, and clumps of dried mud fell on her shoulders and breasts. “Does it hurt?”
    “Not much.”
    “How did you get this?”
    “I… I don’t know.”
    “What do you remember?”
    She chewed her lip as images flashed in her mind: white hands, long fingers that were the color of fleece, mixing flour and water and leavening. A fire, the feelings about it were safe, secure. A haven. Then pain in the head. Resignation. “A fire,” she said slowly. “Blue light. A black tunnel.” She shrugged. “I woke up in the water.”
    “There were other people?” he said, still touching her head. “A fire? You don’t look like you were in a fire. Though something did give you a crack on the head. It’s not healing very well.”
    The fire was such a hazy memory, but it came with her head hurting. A falling star, trailing blue light. “I don’t remember. I—I can’t make sense of it.”
    Ningal patted her on the shoulder. “I think you have the forgetting sickness. Happens often enough with head sores. You’ll recall soon enough. Turn around.”
    She did, and looked up into his face.
“Hello, Sean Connery,”
she said.
    He frowned, his pointed eyebrows rising higher. “Speak again?”
    She shook her head.
    “Were those curses? Are you possessed, female?”
    She shook her head. “No, no, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
    He stared at her. “No matter,” he said at last. “It’s just that I’ve never heard those words before. We keep lists of all the words we know, because we are compiling a list of all the lists.” He smiled. “This concept is over your muddy head, isn’t it?”
    She nodded slowly.
    “What is your name?”
    She stared at him.
    “How are you called?”
    She continued to stare.
    “Did you lose your family? Your husband? Parents?”
    “Everyone,” she said. “I lost them all. I’m alone, all alone.”
    “Don’t weep,” he said. “It’s not my intent to upset you, I just need to find out how to classify you, what kind of refugee. Luckily you have sheep. You are wealthy, so you’ll be allowed to stay. You can pay for food and water.”
    “Call me Chloe.” Part of her seemed to cry out in protest, but the name she’d never heard before, fit. Chloe. Alive and fresh and green—all good things. A blessing to have such a name. The protests faded away.
    “Clo-ee?” he said.
    She nodded.
    “I wonder what mud god that name is supposed to honor,” he mused. “Do you know?”
    She shook her head.
    “What did you do in your village, Chloe? Besides herding, I mean.”
    “I took care of the sheep, the goats. I had vegetables. Barley fields. I can make beer.”
    “Beer making and tavern keeping are always useful skills. Can you spin? Felt? Weave?”
    She nodded, but it was a slow, hesitant movement. “I think so.”
    The door opened and Kalam came in. A half dozen people with parcels followed him. “Go with Kalam,” the