The Garden of Lonely Fools

A century from now, it will be burned to the ground by a horde of zealots. They will believe in modern fashion and old-fashioned ideals. I’m glad I’ll never get to meet them. My children might--if they live an abnormally long life. Their father told me when we finalized our divorce that at the very last moment of his life, he would forgive me all my sins. Yes, he had a god complex, but he was also a god, so the complex comes with the territory. His name was Shamash, and he was the Babylonian God of the Sun, who was killed by Sin, the Goddess of the Moon. I would love to say she was jealous of our love, but she killed him when he dared to eclipse her.

A small glass of almond tonic, and he began to choke. As he was taking his last bright breath, I told him that, were he to survive, I’d like to see other people.

By then, we had nineteen daughters. Sun gods are fruitful, and though I am a mere mortal, my people are the people of wine and vines. Soil and sauce. When wild dogs overran our farm, my mother caught each one by their ears and domesticated them. In our village, they called her Sarratum Bau, or Queen of the Dogs. When the Bau (the true Goddess of the Dogs) found out, she took all the dogs into the Underworld with her, and my mother had to travel into the Caves of Mortal Cessation to retrieve them. It took her most of her life, but when she died, all the dogs were with her, and they returned with her to the cave.

At night, I can still hear them howl as she laughs the laughter of smoke and spice.

My mother made the best sauce, but if you asked her for the recipe, she would pick a room in our house and let the dogs defecate in it. That was your warning to shut up and eat. Eat and enjoy. Enjoy in silence. When my tenth daughter was born, my mother asked me when I would bring her to the Garden of Lonely Fools. The Gardens of Babylon were known throughout the globe for their splendor. Some believe we have one or two Gardens, but we have several hundred. That allows for each of us to have a Garden we prefer that not many others do. My mother’s favorite is the Garden of Grand Design. My grandmother enjoyed the Garden of Careful Thought.

At the age of sixteen, I met my husband and he brought me to the Garden of Lonely Fools. It was there that he proposed. He did not tell me he was a god, let alone a sun god. He told me that I could visit the Garden of Lonely Fools whenever I liked, because the loneliness would appear illustrious to me, because I would not be lonely. I would never be lonely. He picked me up, and carried me under the bridge of date palms and quince. He laid me down on a bed of pears. The moon was looking down on us, and she was already dreaming of poison.

I was dreaming of the rest of my life.

After my husband was murdered, I would go to the Garden and the loneliness would only look lonely to me. I would drop each of my daughters off at one of the happier Gardens--

Tender Felicity

Tranquil Olives

Terrace Lettuce

Some of the Gardens are nonsensical, and within the illogic, there lives a peace. I would set my daughters down on mounds of figs and watch them tickle themselves into a cackling sleep. Then, I would retire to my place among the Lonely Fools. Were others there with me? I didn’t know. I could only see shadows and smell salt. I would be dishonest if I told you I never contemplated making myself an almond tonic. It was only too impossible to think of leaving my girls without anyone to look after them. My mother had her dogs to rescue, and I had my daughters, but I swore I’d never bring them to the Garden where their father introduced me to tamarisk and mastic.

I never wanted them to see the loneliness there. I only wanted felicity for them. Felicity and olives and uncommon pear. Ten is a fateful numeral to our people. My tenth daughter was born with the mark of Andromeda on her arm. She was ten when her father passed, and my mother believed that the tenth daughter in her tenth year needed to visit the Garden where her mother became a woman. She felt that it was crucial for her to stand in the origin of her parents’ love. With their father gone, my life became one of replenishment. Not for myself, but for my girls. I discovered on a Tuesday what they needed on a Tuesday, and I brought them to the Garden that could give it to them. If one of them needed temperance on a Friday, I brought them to the Garden of Strict Temperance. If two or three needed understanding on a Sunday, I brought them to the Garden of Fresh Understanding.

When would any of them ever need loneliness?

Still, the Babylonians have their beliefs, and so I invited my tenth daughter to stroll with me down Aibur-Shabu to the gates where the Lonely Fools wait for their turn to go in and weep. My daughter did not ask me why we were there. She waited her turn alongside me until we could pass under the Arch of Isolation into the Courtyard of Solemnity. From there, I had to allow my daughter to find her way into the darker patches of the Garden. I warned her not to approach strange noises or those who make them. I told her that the gods no longer frequent this place, and so it reeked of nothing but humanity. My daughter is half-goddess, and because of that, certain aspects of humanity will wear down her patience. If she witnesses grief, she will raise her voice. If she detects weakness, she will flex her arms until Andromeda stretches all the way down to her wrist. I have never shown her the scope of my anguish. I feared that were I to display it, her constellation would eclipse every inch of skin on her body.

While she explored, I tried to find the bed of pears where I had once lain, but all was thicket. All was thorn. I did my best to clear away what I could, and in a spot just large enough, I lowered my body down onto the ground and cast my eyes up. It was then that I once again saw the future. Not of my life, no, or even the lives of my daughters.

I saw the lives of the Gardens.

I saw their flowers wilt.

I saw their walls crack.

I saw the invasions and the degradation and the unearned legacies and the myths that only glided across the surface of their majesty.

I saw the Garden of Lonely Fools transformed into ash.

Off to my right, I heard someone calling for their mother. Was it my daughter? Was it her voice reaching out to me? Begging me to come save her from the goddess of the moon or the goddess of dogs or just another lonely fool who wanted to soak her birthmark with their tears?

I didn’t call out to her.

I couldn’t.

The future was commanding.

And it would not allow me to move.