GILGAMESH FACED US BOTH, ARMS FOLDED ACROSS HIS massive pectorals, and for a moment, he was the man in charge once more—the king. “Nergal is being devoured by the very plagues he spreads. He is literally rotting away. He’s dying.”
“Okay, but so what?” I asked. “He’ll end up back in the netherworld to try all over again?”
“No,” said Gilgamesh firmly. “Nergal broke many sacred laws when he escaped Kurnugi—laws that govern even the gods. If he fails here, he fails forever and will be utterly annihilated. That’s why he wants the flower. He needs to cure himself so he can go back to being the god he once was. He risked everything coming to New York, Sikander, and he’ll risk everything to ensure he succeeds.”
“So can’t we just wait this out? How long has he got left?”
“Too long.” Gilgamesh shook his head. “Look at how much damage he’s done in less than a week. How much of Manhattan will remain if he survives another month?”
Not much was the answer. Once again, it was up to just us.
Belet put Kasusu back in the pillowcase. “I’m ready.”
It was all falling into place at last. Mo had always been on the lookout for new plants. I could picture his excitement at finding a flower he couldn’t categorize, growing in some lonely, desolate part of Iraq. I didn’t remember which cutting it was; he’d sent so many, some to be pressed when he got home, others to be potted, and some to be transplanted into his garden. Now that I thought of it, it could have been his final shipment. Little had I known then that it would attract the god of rot.
Gilgamesh wrapped up some cookies for us to take along. “Get the flower and bring it here. I should be able to use it to make a healing potion for the pox Nergal is spreading.”
“A lot of people are already infected, including my parents,” I replied. “How are we going to cure them all?”
“First things first, Sikander. Get the flower.” He tucked the cookies into a net string shopping bag.
“These magical?”
Gilgamesh smiled. “The food? No.”
“Do you need this back?” Belet asked, showing the ring to him again.
“Leave it here. I’d rather it not fall into less deserving hands.”
Belet frowned, and I knew she wasn’t happy about parting with any object her mom had once treasured. Still, she handed it to the demigod. “We won’t need it to return?”
“Once you’ve been a guest in my house, you can always find me again.”
I wasn’t paying close attention to their conversation. I was still trying to get my head around the fact Mo had found the flower of immortality. I inspected my hands. No bruises or cuts at all. I didn’t feel so much as a twinge of pain, despite having been flattened by a train three days ago. “So I’m gonna live forever?”
Gilgamesh paused. “How about you get through the next few days before worrying about the next hundred years.”
“But…is it lonely?”
“That depends on you. The ones who manage it best are those who continually find fresh purpose.”
“Like gardening?”
“Like nourishing others.” He pulled two oranges off a branch and added them to the bag, then pulled it shut with a stone toggle. “My advice is to start off as you mean to go on.”
“You mean spend the next thousand years running a deli?”
Gilgamesh stopped. “A deli?”
“Mo’s. It’s on the corner of Fifteenth and—”
“Siegel. I know it well. That Baghdad sauce of yours is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Even an eternal lifetime.” He fanned his mouth. “Anyone who can eat a whole kebab covered in that will never have to prove their courage any other way.”
Wow. Our first ever celebrity customer. I know the fate of Manhattan was at stake and all that, but the one and only Gilgamesh had eaten at our deli! I scratched the back of my neck, feeling a little awkward about making my next request. “Could you put that on Yelp?”
Belet looked around the small clearing, scowling as usual. “Cookies and fruit. Is that it? No magical weapons?”
“I’m a gardener, Belet,” said Gilgamesh.
“You must have something useful,” she persisted.
He held out the net bag. “Take this.”
I took it and slung it over my shoulder. “Shukran,” I said, throwing a glare at Belet. How was it that she had absolutely none of Ishtar’s graciousness? Gilgamesh took us to the ziggurat entrance and then turned to me. “Be careful, Sikander. You’ve cheated death, and that has consequences. There will be an…urge within you, and around you, to redress the imbalance of being alive when you shouldn’t be. It happened to me, and the next thing I knew, I was trapped in Kurnugi. I had to serve my time until opportunity presented itself to leave.”
“You think the same thing will happen to me?”
“Just be prepared.”
“Can I take a moment to fanboy? That was Gilgamesh,” I said. We were back out on Fifth Avenue. “The actual in-the-flesh Gilgamesh!”
“A bit of a disappointment, if you ask me,” said Belet. The subway was shut down, so we stalked the street, searching for an available cab. “I really don’t know what Mother saw in him.”
“Come on, Belet. The guy is literally a legend.”
“And Ishtar was literally a goddess, so forgive me if I’m not impressed.”
“He’s trying to help us.”
“With homeopathy!” she snapped. “He turned Abubu into a shovel!”
“I’m sure he knew what he was doing. A sword named Sky Cutter doesn’t sound like such a big deal.”
Kasusu screeched from inside the pillowcase. Belet just stared at me in horror. “That statement is so outrageous, I’m amazed you haven’t been struck by lightning.”
I ground my teeth, trying hard to keep my temper. “Why are you so angry about everything?”
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because being angry won’t bring Mo back,” I said.
Belet sighed. “Where’s the garden, Sik?”
“Downtown, not too far from the deli. Mo would head there once a week, right after Jummah prayers.”
“And you?”
“I worked, of course. Fridays are our busiest time—all the clubbers need their carbs before pulling all-nighters. Mo asked me to look after the garden while he was away, but he was away too much. And then he…Anyway, gardening’s not really my thing.”
“So…the plants tended to die?”
“Not all of them. The weeds were doing great last time I checked.” Drizzle started to fall, increasing the already cutthroat competition for a cab. Belet paced up and down the street, trying to hail one.
The package had arrived a week after Mo died. It had been freaky, seeing the box with our address in his handwriting. The cutting was in a small airtight box with some soil, still a little damp. He’d stuck a Post-it on the front with a simple message—Plant this!—and the initial M hastily scrawled in the corner. I’d almost thrown the cutting away, thinking that the garden didn’t matter anymore. Mo would never see it again. But that had felt wrong, so I went ahead and fulfilled his last wish.
Had he known it was the flower of immortality? If only its sap had seeped into his system instead of mine!
“Why couldn’t you have been more careful?” I asked him. “You never paid attention to what was happening right in front of you. Always had your head in the clouds.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
I stuffed the shopping bag under my jacket. It was just made of loose netting, so hardly waterproof. “Nothing. It’s just…”
Just what?
“Why did I have to stay behind?” I snapped.
But you love the deli!
“Like I have a choice! But did it ever occur to you that I might have wanted to go with you? Even for a week? Even for just a few days?”
Why didn’t you say something, Yakhi?
Belet stepped into the street, nearly getting hit by a cab, but it didn’t stop for her. I hoped the cookies hadn’t gotten wet. Gilgamesh made great cookies.
Sik?
“Fine, I guess we have to discuss this right now. Did you ever offer to stay and take care of the deli? Just once? Mama’s and Baba’s eyes were always filled with dreams of Iraq, and you fanned those dreams. They couldn’t say no to you. All those evenings the three of you talked about home. Baghdad, Basra, Nineveh, and all the sites you’d visit here, there, everywhere.”
A cab finally rolled up.
You could have joined in.
“How?” I hurried over. “Iraq wasn’t my home.”
Belet and I squeezed into the back, and I gave the cabbie the address. He turned for the long, slow drive down the West Side Highway.
“I hope your mom left you enough money for this ride,” I said to Belet. “It could end up costing hundreds by the time we get there.”
“See this?” Belet held up a black credit card. “The stars will grow cold before it runs out of funds.” She turned her attention to the news feed on the TV in the partition.
I stared at the raindrops as they slid down the window. It was weird to see so few lights on in the stores and restaurants.
Had it really been like that? Me an outsider in my own family, always lesser than my big brother, the apple of my parents’ eyes? Mo must have had his own struggles, but it had seemed to me that everything had always come easily to him. I hadn’t been around to witness the defeats, only his victories, while I ran behind on my little legs, trying to catch up, asking him to wait up as he sprinted off on his adventures.
“Look, you’re famous.” Belet pointed at the screen.
My old school photo gazed back at me. The one with all the zits.
The mayor was giving a press conference. I turned up the volume.
“…can confirm that the disease spreading through Midtown did originate with an Iraqi family, the Azizes, who, until recently, ran a deli on Fifteenth and Siegel. The entire block has been quarantined, and the residents admitted to Manhattan General. However, there is no word on the whereabouts of Sikander Aziz, thirteen years old and a potential patient zero. The health authorities have been searching for him since his disappearance from the hospital last week. If anyone has any information regarding his present whereabouts, please call the tip line at—”
I quickly turned down the volume, but it was too late. The cabbie was already looking at me in the rearview mirror. “You’re him, aren’t you?”
Uh-oh.
The driver’s eyes went wide, and he put his hand over his nose and mouth. “I’ve seen you on TV! You’re the plague boy!” He slammed on the brakes, almost throwing us from our seats. “Get out of my cab!”
“Hey, hang on a minute. I—”
“Out! Now!”
“I am not the plague boy!” I yelled back, but he had already jumped out and was on the street, shouting and pointing at my window.
“That’s him! The plague boy! He’s the one spreading all the pox! Get the cops!”
People started crowding around the taxi, peering in, snapping photos with their phones, making me feel I was something from a freak show.
Belet pulled the door handle. “We’re leaving.”
The crowd backed off the moment the door opened.
“It’s him! He’s all over the news! The plague boy!” shouted the cabbie. “They’ll have to burn my cab! I just finished paying it off!”
“There is nothing wrong with me!” I shouted, but it was clear no one believed me or was willing to take the risk. The onlookers kept their distance but didn’t leave, both afraid and curious. The trouble was, the crowd was getting thicker and we were trapped in the middle of it.
“The plague boy!” someone shouted. “He’s got leprosy!”
“Look! You can see the black boils! He’s gone bubonic!”
“It’s Ebola for sure!”
Belet shoved someone aside, but it did no good; the crowd was five layers deep.
“All right!” I yelled. “Get out of the way before I cough all over you!”
Now that cleared a space.
We sprinted through, but everyone around me was yelling, “Plague boy!” until it felt as if it was coming from every direction and the city was placing me under a curse. The gawkers fell over themselves to get away, and some were trampled. A woman screamed as I brushed past her, and folks started fleeing from her as if she were infected with some fatal disease.
“This is insane,” I said.
“Forget it,” Belet said over her shoulder as she continued running.
Yeah, forget it. We’d get the flower, and by this time tomorrow, everything would be back to normal. Mama and Baba would be cured, and we could get back to reopening the deli.
We turned the last corner, and Belet glanced around. “Where’s the garden?”
“Just a little farther,” I said, taking the lead.
I’d come here a lot when Mo was around. Carting trays of plants, or gardening tools, or bags of topsoil for him. It was the only time I got in touch with nature. These days I avoided the place, because the memories hurt. I’d planted Mo’s cutting two years ago and hardly visited after that.
We stopped in front of a high gate.
“This wasn’t here last time.” I peered through it, down the alley leading to the garden. A truck blocked my view.
We read the large sign on the fence:
SABAH CONSTRUCTION
LUXURY CONDOS IN THE HEART OF GREENWICH VILLAGE
COMING SOON!
The truck honked, then started reversing as a workman joined us. “Step aside, kids,” he warned as he unchained the gate. “Come on, Bill! Straight back!”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Can’t you tell?” He motioned for the truck to keep going. “Tight schedule, too, and a fat bonus if we finish early.”
“What about the garden? There was a community garden here.”
“Yeah, a small one,” he said. “We paved over it last month to make room for the parking lot.”
The truck rolled past, clogging the narrow alleyway with its oily exhaust.
The guy waved the driver off, then shrugged. “It’s not like anyone cared about it, right?”
