“Beloved brother,” Enkidu said, “last night I had a terrifying dream. I dreamed that we had offended the gods, they met in council and Anu said, ‘They have slaughtered the Bull of Heaven and killed Humbaba, watchman of the Cedar Forest. Therefore one of the two must die.’ Then Enlil said to him, ‘Enkidu, not Gilgamesh, is the one who must die.’”

Enkidu fell sick. He lay on his bed, sick at heart, and his tears flowed like streams. He said to Gilgamesh, “Dear friend, dear brother, they are taking me from you. I will not return. I will sit with the dead in the underworld, and never will I see my dear brother again.”

When Gilgamesh heard his friend’s words, he wept, swiftly the tears flowed down his cheeks. He said to Enkidu, “Dearest brother, you have been a reasonable man, but now you are talking nonsense. How do you know that your dream is not a favorable one? Fear has set your lips buzzing like flies.”

Enkidu said, “Beloved brother, last night I had a second bad dream. The heavens thundered, the earth replied, and I was standing on a shadowy plain. A creature appeared with a lion’s head, his face was ghastly, he had a lion’s paws, an eagle’s talons and wings. He flew at me, he seized me by the hair, I tried to struggle, but with one blow he capsized me like a raft, he leaped upon me, like a bull he trampled my bones. ‘Gilgamesh, save me, save me!’ I cried. But you didn’t save me. You were afraid and you didn’t come. The creature touched me and suddenly feathers covered my arms, he bound them behind me and forced me down to the underworld, the house of darkness, the home of the dead, where all who enter never return to the sweet earth again. Those who dwell there squat in the darkness, dirt is their food, their drink is clay, they are dressed in feathered garments like birds, they never see light, and on door and bolt the dust lies thick. When I entered that house, I looked, and around me were piles of crowns, I saw proud kings who had ruled the land, who had set out roast meat before the gods and offered cool water and cakes for the dead. I saw high priests and acolytes squatting, exorcists and prophets, the ecstatic and the dull, I saw Etana, the primeval king, Sumuqan, the wild animals’ god, and Ereshkigal, the somber queen of the underworld. Belet-seri, her scribe, was kneeling before her, reading from the tablet on which each mortal’s death is inscribed. When the queen saw me, she glared and said, ‘Who has brought this new resident here?’”

Gilgamesh said, “Though it sounds bad, this dream may be a good omen. The gods send dreams just to the healthy, never to the weak, so it is a healthy man who has dreamed this. Now I will pray to the great gods for help, I will pray to Shamash and to your god, to Anu, father of the gods, to Enlil the counselor, and to Ea the wise, I will beg them to show you mercy, then I will have a gold statue made in your image. Don’t worry, dear friend, you will soon get better, this votive image will restore you to health.”

Enkidu said, “There is no gold statue that can cure this illness, beloved friend. What Enlil has decided cannot be changed. My fate is settled. There is nothing you can do.”

At the first glow of dawn, Enkidu cried out to Shamash, he raised his head, and the tears poured down his cheeks. “I turn to you, Lord, since suddenly fate has turned against me. As for that wretched trapper who found me when I was free in the wilderness-because he destroyed my life, destroy his livelihood, may he go home empty, may no animals ever enter his traps, or if they do, may they vanish like mist, and may he starve for bringing me here.”

After he had cursed him to his heart’s content, he then cursed Shamhat, the priestess of Ishtar. “Shamhat, I assign you an eternal fate, I curse you with the ultimate curse, may it seize you instantly, as it leaves my mouth. Never may you have a home and family, never caress a child of your own, may your man prefer younger, prettier girls, may he beat you as a housewife beats a rug, may you never acquire bright alabaster or shining silver, the delight of men, may your roof keep leaking and no carpenter fix it, may wild dogs camp in your bedroom, may owls nest in your attic, may drunkards vomit all over you, may a tavern wall be your place of business, may you be dressed in torn robes and filthy underwear, may angry wives sue you, may thorns and briars make your feet bloody, may young men jeer and the rabble mock you as you walk the streets. Shamhat, may all this be your reward for seducing me in the wilderness when I was strong and innocent and free.”

Bright Shamash, the protector, heard his prayer. Then from heaven the voice of the god called out: “Enkidu, why are you cursing the priestess Shamhat? Wasn’t it she who gave you fine bread fit for a god and fine beer fit for a king, who clothed you in a glorious robe and gave you splendid Gilgamesh as your intimate friend? He will lay you down on a bed of honor, he will put you on a royal bier, on his left he will place your statue in the seat of repose, the princes of the earth will kiss its feet, the people of Uruk will mourn you, and when you are gone, he will roam the wilderness with matted hair, in a lion skin.”

When Enkidu heard this, his raging heart grew calm. He thought of Shamhat and said, “Shamhat, I assign you a different fate, my mouth that cursed you will bless you now. May you be adored by nobles and princes, two miles away from you may your lover tremble with excitement, one mile away may he bite his lip in anticipation, may the warrior long to be naked beside you, may Ishtar give you generous lovers whose treasure chests brim with jewels and gold, may the mother of seven be abandoned for your sake.”

Then Enkidu said to Gilgamesh, “You who have walked beside me, steadfast through so many dangers, remember me, never forget what I have endured.”

The day that Enkidu had his dreams, his strength began failing. For twelve long days he was deathly sick, he lay in his bed in agony, unable to rest, and every day he grew worse. At last he sat up and called out to Gilgamesh: “Have you abandoned me now, dear friend? You told me that you would come to help me when I was afraid. But I cannot see you, you have not come to fight off this danger. Yet weren’t we to remain forever inseparable, you and I?”

When he heard the death rattle, Gilgamesh moaned like a dove. His face grew dark. “Beloved, wait, don’t leave me. Dearest of men, don’t die, don’t let them take you from me.”