EPIC OF GILGAMESH

(conclusion)

 

Old Man:

 

And so Gilgamesh, great King Gilgamesh was bested by a little thing: an unheroic snake,

and he broke down altogether,

and he wept the tears of a furious child,

for he knew himself to be a failure

and he held himself cheap

and there wasn't a thing which he cared to do

and there wasn't a thing for which he cared

and he knew the frustration

of one who cannot have

what he thinks he wants,

and he knew the shame of one who knows that at least in part

he was himself the author of his own undoing

and he knew the rage, the hideous rage,

the helpless, hopeless rage

of somebody who's been stolen from

who knows he will always be stolen from,

because he's here

because he's human

and because he must be off his guard

from time to time.

 

But as bad as these things were -

and they were very bad -

they did not trouble him so much

as did the cold and awful certainty

that he had not truly wished for

this bauble he had been denied.

 

That it would not and could not have made him happy.

 

That the only joy it promised wasn't joy at all

But tremulous relief at being spared the pain of its loss.

 

And it was this ironic knowledge of

his own, his inconsolable vanity,

Which made him hate his life and everything he had.

 

And it was this self-same knowledge

Which later gave him the strength, the presence of mind,

And the imagination to act out the rest of his life

As decent and productive man.

 

So it was with Gilgamesh.

So it has always been.