“But then someone would recognize her and the rumor would get around: ‘Ishtar is among us, she could appear anytime.’ She rode astride a lion, who had once been her lover. She looked around her, seeking to sound out men’s hearts. Not to bring justice, which was hardly her job. She just wanted to tell true from false. And maybe find another lover or two. She had had the hoopoe, the horse, the wolf—so why not a man? But with men there was always a chance something could go wrong; it had happened in the past already, and with Dumuzi, too, the shepherd, the only one of her lovers whom everyone remembered and periodically mourned. But Dumuzi was a god.

“One day Ishtar saw a row of poplars by the river, shady, stirring in the wind. Trees, to Ishtar, were replicas of herself. The goddess spread her cloak in this enchanting place and fell asleep.

“Someone was watching. Shukaletuda, the gardener. After many failed attempts, he had managed to plant those trees in the only place they would grow, while all around everything was arid. Young and thoughtful, Shukaletuda was a loner. He observed the sky and studied it. Became an expert in demons and wandering spirits. He even strove to decipher the destinies laid down by the Anunnaki.

“He often stopped by his poplars; it was the place he loved best. One day he saw a woman’s body stretched out on a cloak. She radiated brightness. A slim belt, adorned with the talismans of her seven powers, was fastened around her waist. With the utmost skill and circumspection, Shukaletuda removed the powers one by one and penetrated the sleeping woman. Then he went back to his observation point and hid.

“Waking up, Ishtar saw that her belt with its talismans had been undone. In the wells all around water turned to blood. Ishtar searched for the person who had defiled her. Shukaletuda had taken refuge with his father, Ea, who advised him to blend in with the crowd, where it was most dense. ‘She won’t find you, you’ll see,’ Ea had said. Even as he spoke, the city was hit by a whirlwind of scorching sand that Ishtar had stirred up.

“But Shukaletuda was not to be found. So Ishtar turned to Ea, who was her father too, and who had always helped her. Livid, she demanded he give up Shukaletuda. She would take him by the hand and shut herself up together with him in her temple, in Eridu. After all, she said, they were brother and sister. So it was. Ishtar and Shukaletuda entered the sanctuary together, in silence. No one knows what happened inside. All that was heard were these few words of Ishtar’s: ‘Whatever the fate that awaits you, your name will not be forgotten, the poets will sing of you.’ Shukaletuda was never seen again. And today I am repeating his name.”

V

“For a long time the only ones who visited me were the seven Apkallu, the Holy Carp. They slid out of the water together like a dance troupe, their scales gleaming gray and purple, with the heads of wise men. Speaking with them was like watching the earth from Ursa Major. Then all at once they would slide back into the water.