Gilgamesh said to Utnapishtim, “I imagined that you would look like a god. But you look like me, you are not any different. I intended to fight you, yet now that I stand before you, now that I see who you are, I can’t fight, something is holding me back. Tell me, how is it that you, a mortal, overcame death and joined the assembly of the gods and were granted eternal life?”

Utnapishtim said, “I will tell you a mystery, a secret of the gods. You know Shuruppak, that ancient city on the Euphrates. I lived there once. I was its king once, a long time ago, when the great gods decided to send the Flood. Five gods decided, and they took an oath to keep the plan secret: Anu their father, the counselor Enlil, Ninurta the gods’ chamberlain, and Ennugi the sheriff. Ea also, the cleverest of the gods, had taken the oath, but I heard him whisper the secret to the reed fence around my house. ‘Reed fence, reed fence, listen to my words. King of Shuruppak, quickly, quickly tear down your house and build a great ship, leave your possessions, save your life. The ship must be square, so that its length equals its width. Build a roof over it, just as the Great Deep is covered by the earth. Then gather and take aboard the ship examples of every living creature.’

“I understood Ea’s words, and I said, ‘My lord, I will obey your command, exactly as you have spoken it. But what shall I say when the people ask me why I am building such a large ship?’

“Ea said, ‘Tell them that Enlil hates you, that you can no longer live in their city or walk on the earth, which belongs to Enlil, that it is your fate to go down into the Great Deep and live with Ea your lord, and that Ea will rain abundance upon them. They will all have all that they want, and more.’

“I laid out the structure, I drafted plans. At the first glow of dawn, everyone gathered—carpenters brought their saws and axes, reed workers brought their flattening-stones, rope makers brought their ropes, and children carried the tar. The poor helped also, however they could-some carried timber, some hammered nails, some cut wood. By the end of the fifth day the hull had been built: the decks were an acre large, the sides two hundred feet high. I built six decks, so that the ship’s height was divided in seven. I divided each deck into nine compartments, drove water plugs into all the holes, brought aboard spars and other equipment, had three thousand gallons of tar poured into the furnace, and three thousand gallons of pitch poured out. The bucket carriers brought three thousand gallons of oil—a thousand were used for the caulking, two thousand were left, which the boatman stored. Each day I slaughtered bulls for my workmen, I slaughtered sheep, I gave them barrels of beer and ale and wine, and they drank it like river water. When all our work on the ship was finished, we feasted as though it were New Year’s Day. At sunrise I handed out oil for the ritual, by sunset the ship was ready. The launching was difficult. We rolled her on logs down to the river and eased her in until two-thirds was under the water. I loaded onto her everything precious that I owned: all my silver and gold, all my family, all my kinfolk, all kinds of animals, wild and tame, craftsmen and artisans of every kind.

“Then Shamash announced that the time had come. ‘Enter the ship now. Seal the hatch.’ I gazed at the sky—it was terrifying. I entered the ship. To Puzur-amurri the shipwright, the man who sealed the hatch, I gave my palace, with all its contents.

“At the first glow of dawn, an immense black cloud rose on the horizon and crossed the sky. Inside it the storm god Adad was thundering, while Shullat and Hanish, twin gods of destruction, went first, tearing through mountains and valleys. Nergal, the god of pestilence, ripped out the dams of the Great Deep, Ninurta opened the floodgates of heaven, the infernal gods blazed and set the whole land on fire. A deadly silence spread through the sky and what had been bright now turned to darkness. The land was shattered like a clay pot. All day, ceaselessly, the storm winds blew, the rain fell, then the Flood burst forth, overwhelming the people like war. No one could see through the rain, it fell harder and harder, so thick that you couldn’t see your own hand before your eyes. Even the gods were afraid. The water rose higher and higher until the gods fled to Anu’s palace in the highest heaven. But Anu had shut the gates. The gods cowered by the palace wall, like dogs.

“Sweet-voiced Aruru, mother of men, screamed out, like a woman in childbirth: ‘If only that day had never been, when I spoke up for evil in the council of the gods! How could I have agreed to destroy my children by sending the Great Flood upon them? I have given birth to the human race, only to see them fill the ocean like fish.’ The other gods were lamenting with her. They sat and listened to her and wept. Their lips were parched, crusted with scabs.

“For six days and seven nights, the storm demolished the earth. On the seventh day, the downpour stopped. The ocean grew calm. No land could be seen, just water on all sides, as flat as a roof. There was no life at all. The human race had turned into clay. I opened a hatch and the blessed sunlight streamed upon me, I fell to my knees and wept. When I got up and looked around, a coastline appeared, a half mile away. On Mount Nimush the ship ran aground, the mountain held it and would not release it. For six days and seven nights, the mountain would not release it. On the seventh day, I brought out a dove and set it free. The dove flew off, then flew back to the ship, because there was no place to land. I waited, then I brought out a swallow and set it free. The swallow flew off, then flew back to the ship, because there was no place to land. I waited, then I brought out a raven and set it free. The raven flew off, and because the water had receded, it found a branch, it sat there, it ate, it flew off and didn’t return.

“When the waters had dried up and land appeared, I set free the animals I had taken, I slaughtered a sheep on the mountaintop and offered it to the gods, I arranged two rows of seven ritual vases, I burned reeds, cedar, and myrtle branches. The gods smelled the fragrance, they smelled the sweet fragrance and clustered around the offering like flies.

“When Aruru came, she held up in the air her necklace of lapis lazuli, Anu’s gift when their love was new. ‘I swear by this precious ornament that never will I forget these days. Let all the gods come to the sacrifice, except for Enlil, because he recklessly sent the Great Flood and destroyed my children.’

“Then Enlil arrived. When he saw the ship, he was angry, he raged at the other gods. ‘Who helped these humans escape? Wasn’t the Flood supposed to destroy them all?’

“Ninurta answered, ‘Who else but Ea, the cleverest of us, could devise such a thing?’

“Ea said to the counselor Enlil, ‘You, the wisest and bravest of the gods, how did it happen that you so recklessly sent the Great Flood to destroy mankind? It is right to punish the sinner for his sins, to punish the criminal for his crime, but be merciful, do not allow all men to die because of the sins of some. Instead of a flood, you should have sent lions to decimate the human race, or wolves, or a famine, or a deadly plague. As for my taking the solemn oath, I didn’t reveal the secret of the gods, I only whispered it to a fence and Utnapishtim happened to hear. Now you must decide what his fate will be.’

“Then Enlil boarded, he took my hand, he led me out, then he led out my wife. He had us kneel down in front of him, he touched our foreheads and, standing between us, he blessed us. ‘Hear me, you gods: Until now, Utnapishtim was a mortal man. But from now on, he and his wife shall be gods like us, they shall live forever, at the source of the rivers, far away.’ Then they brought us to this distant place at the source of the rivers. Here we live.

“Now then, Gilgamesh, who will assemble the gods for your sake? Who will convince them to grant you the eternal life that you seek? How would they know that you deserve it? First pass this test: Just stay awake for seven days. Prevail against sleep, and perhaps you will prevail against death.”

So Gilgamesh sat down against a wall to begin the test. The moment he sat down, sleep swirled over him, like a fog.

Utnapishtim said to his wife, “Look at this fellow! He wanted to live forever, but the very moment he sat down, sleep swirled over him, like a fog.”

His wife said, “Touch him on the shoulder, wake him, let him depart and go back safely to his own land, by the gate he came through.”

Utnapishtim said, “All men are liars. When he wakes up, watch how he tries to deceive us. So bake a loaf for each day he sleeps, put them in a row beside him, and make a mark on the wall for every loaf.”

She baked the loaves and put them beside him, she made a mark for each day he slept. The first loaf was rock-hard, the second loaf was dried out like leather, the third had shrunk, the fourth had a whitish covering, the fifth was spotted with mold, the sixth was stale, the seventh loaf was still on the coals when he reached out and touched him. Gilgamesh woke with a start and said, “I was almost falling asleep when I felt your touch.”

Utnapishtim said, “Look down, friend, count these loaves that my wife baked and put here while you sat sleeping. This first one, rock-hard, was baked seven days ago, this leathery one was baked six days ago, and so on for all the rest of the days you sat here sleeping. Look. They are marked on the wall behind you.”

Gilgamesh cried out, “What shall I do, where shall I go now? Death has caught me, it lurks in my bedroom, and everywhere I look, everywhere I turn, there is only death.”

Utnapishtim said to the boatman, “This is the last time, Urshanabi, that you are allowed to cross the vast ocean and reach these shores. As for this man, he is filthy and tired, his hair is matted, animal skins have obscured his beauty. Bring him to the tub and wash out his hair, take off his animal skin and let the waves of the ocean carry it away, moisten his body with sweet-smelling oil, bind his hair in a bright new headband, dress him in fine robes fit for a king. Until he comes to the end of his journey let his robes be spotless, as though they were new.”

He brought him to the tub, he washed out his hair, he took off his animal skin and let the waves of the ocean carry it away, he moistened his body with sweet-smelling oil, he bound his hair in a bright new headband, he dressed him in fine robes fit for a king. Then Gilgamesh and Urshanabi boarded, pushed off, and the little boat began to move away from the shore.

But the wife of Utnapishtim said, “Wait, this man came a very long way, he endured many hardships to get here. Won’t you give him something for his journey home?”

When he heard this, Gilgamesh turned the boat around, and he brought it back to the shore. Utnapishtim said, “Gilgamesh, you came a very long way, you endured many hardships to get here. Now I will give you something for your journey home, a mystery, a secret of the gods. There is a small spiny bush that grows in the waters of the Great Deep, it has sharp spikes that will prick your fingers like a rose’s thorns. If you find this plant and bring it to the surface, you will have found the secret of youth.”

Gilgamesh dug a pit on the shore that led down into the Great Deep. He tied two heavy stones to his feet, they pulled him downward into the water’s depths. He found the plant, he grasped it, it tore his fingers, they bled, he cut off the stones, his body shot up to the surface, and the waves cast him back, gasping, onto the shore.

Gilgamesh said to Urshanabi, “Come here, look at this marvelous plant, the antidote to the fear of death. With it we return to the youth we once had. I will take it to Uruk, I will test its power by seeing what happens when an old man eats it. If that succeeds, I will eat some myself and become a carefree young man again.”

At four hundred miles they stopped to eat, at a thousand miles they pitched their camp. Gilgamesh saw a pond of cool water. He left the plant on the ground and bathed. A snake smelled its fragrance, stealthily it crawled up and carried the plant away. As it disappeared, it cast off its skin.

When Gilgamesh saw what the snake had done, he sat down and wept. He said to the boatman, “What shall I do now? All my hardships have been for nothing. O Urshanabi, was it for this that my hands have labored, was it for this that I gave my heart’s blood? I have gained no benefit for myself but have lost the marvelous plant to a reptile. I plucked it from the depths, and how could I ever manage to find that place again? And our little boat—we left it on the shore.”

At four hundred miles they stopped to eat, at a thousand miles they pitched their camp.

When at last they arrived, Gilgamesh said to Urshanabi, “This is the wall of Uruk, which no city on earth can equal. See how its ramparts gleam like copper in the sun. Climb the stone staircase, more ancient than the mind can imagine, approach the Eanna Temple, sacred to Ishtar, a temple that no king has equaled in size or beauty, walk on the wall of Uruk, follow its course around the city, inspect its mighty foundations, examine its brickwork, how masterfully it is built, observe the land it encloses: the palm trees, the gardens, the orchards, the glorious palaces and temples, the shops and marketplaces, the houses, the public squares.”