The Tower

A Young Scholar was standing anxiously at the base of the Tower. His hand held a sturdy, knotted rope that split into seven thinner laces, each was tied to the snout of a camel. On each side of the camels were pockets full of books and scrolls. The Young Scholar was sure that the scriptures themselves weighed as heavy as three camels. Two at least. And now, he should return them to the library.

He stood in angst, but also in amazement. For it was the Tower of Babel. Centuries ago, when they only found thin air but no heaven at its peak, they decided to make a library out of it.  Today it was a storage of all knowledge. From Aegean Archipelago to Indus Valley to the distant kingdom of the east. There was not a single scripture from any part of the world, written in any languages and pictographs that could not be requested from the Tower.

He stood in amazement, but also in frustration. He was in vex with himself because he did not have to enter the Tower. He could just stay cozily in his house while the Tower’s officers came by and took the scriptures for him. But the officers thought he was not in his house when they came for the third time. He was actually inside, sleeping, waiting for the officers to come. Yes, he was out of town when the officers came for the first and second time. But by the third time, the officers didn't mind knocking his door twice.

So the officers wrote a notification of penalty and slipped it under the door. The penalty was rather simple. He should return the book to the Tower by himself.

As much as people adored the Tower and its cosmical wisdom, nobody had a desire to explore it, let alone to actually do it, unless you were an officer. For the Tower itself was a continent; countries and cities piled into one another. The time needed to walk around its base is comparable to the time needed for the dry season to drain both Euphrates and Tigris. But some said the interior of the Tower was much bigger than what could be seen outside.

Its height was simply incomprehensible. If one looked up, one would see the Tower's peak gradually became light blue or purple or blood red depending on the color of the sky that day. There was a story of people witnessing the moon as it scraped the tip of the Tower and gave off some glowing dust. They said the dust was actually debris as big as temples, falling down and burning down as it reached the Earth. But this claim was never proven as no one ever found the rubbles or the people that began the story. Maybe they had been burned down so bad that nothing was left to settle. Maybe it was just passing comets. Nobody would ever know.

The Young Scholar had been to Babylon once. It was when he requested the scriptures. They were then sent to his address. The distance between the two was a little over a year. With a library this huge, it was common to wait that long until one’s request was given. That was why people always asked in a unit of camel or horse or mule. It was a waste of time to only ask for one or two scriptures.

With understandably uncertain steps, the Young Scholar entered the gate with his seven camels. It felt weird entering a structure this majestic without any authorities around. There was no security check. There was no guard dog. He heard that even the gates didn’t have any locks because they were never closed.  He went in.

Inside, he could really perceive that everything about this Tower was indeed, humongous. He looked up and the ceiling hovered taller than the pyramids of the Egyptians. Sunlight illuminated the whole room through giant ventilations which hang near the ceiling. The opening of the ventilations was so wide, a thousand birds could pass together through one of it easily without colliding with each other. Right after he lowered his sight to the horizon, he understood well why the Tower needed ventilations that big. A whole civilization unfolded in front of him. There were farmlands of myriad crops, packs of cattle, children playing games, old men, young ladies, people from various ages. Humans, humans everywhere. Animals, too. He just realized that birds really flew above. Afar, he could see a town. A normal town. The whole view made him feel like he was still outside. But it was a different kind of outside. An outside bounded by wall, with sky made out of dirt.

The Young Scholar reached out to the nearest person and asked her the way to go up.

“They say there's a ramp on the north. I haven’t gone there. It’s a big building.”

Then he asked her how long it would take to reach the ramp.

“I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t know. I haven’t even travelled to another town. Sometimes I go outside to buy some food, but never to another town. You can ask people who live near the ramp. They must have been to the upper floor.”

The Young Scholar thanked the woman and began his walk northward. Farmlands began to turn into mud-brick buildings. Houses, markets, inns, and taverns scrambled here and there. There were also lots of watchtowers rising tall so that their dome nearly nudged the ceiling. It was indeed a town. A quite big one. Of civilized people, but also of bookshelves. He began to see bookshelves everywhere. Streets were cleaved by bookshelves. Bookshelves lined the side of residences. Bookshelves in the alleys. Bookshelves in every dead end. The Young Scholar looked up and the watchtowers were actually towers of bookshelves. Officers with brown leather vests were scrutinizing each one of them, searching for the requested books. But the townsmen didn't seem to mind the all-knowledge in their surroundings. Not a single local was seen holding a book.

The Young Scholar was sincerely in love. Books and knowledge were the soul of his heart. He took one and opened it. It was a list of every citizen of Ur and their unpaid taxes. He opened another one and it was a record of trades of some merchants. Another one and it was a book of poetry. He didn't like poetry. He closed the books and went on to the north.

He thought it would only be a some-hour trip, but it was already four months and the ramp was yet to be seen. He had rented rooms at various inns or stayed at houses of locals. The people were kind. He never had to pay the night. It was lucky because he didn't have any money. He didn't plan to bring any to the library. The food was also fine. The walk at the town was always a good walk.

But between the towns was an extent of wilderness and the journey became harder in this part of the room. One day in his fifth month, he had to make a camp in the desert. The next town was still out of sight. He was alone. Among him were only wasteland and bookshelves, still all over the places. In the wild, bookshelves behaved wildly too. They popped sporadically. Most were tilted. Some were rugged. Bookshelves emerged like outcrops. The Young Scholar had picked some books but they were written in writing system he couldn't read. He wasn't even sure if it was a writing system. It was more like a doodle of a toddler. He put most of them back before he reached the second page. He did actually find a book that he could read. It was a record of property tax. He put that book back after he read the title.

Then he heard echoes of high-pitched howls. Of jackals. Of course. There were predators inside the Tower. He blew the torches around his tent off and slept his night. He dreamt about the ramp. Unknown to him, jackals had already watched his camels.

He came out from his tent in the morning to see the body of a dead camel. Bleeding and bitten. Not yet rotten. His other camels bellowed restlessly. He did hear his camels' cry at night, but he was too tired to check outside. He moved the scriptures of the dead camel to the other six. Never again the Young Scholar spent the night out of town.

He had traversed many towns after eight months. Twenty? Ninety seven? Maybe hundreds. He had lost his count. Every town looked similar. They had their civilians, watchtowers, officers, bookshelves. Everybody spoke the same language. Everybody also had the same hospitality but the books were still boring. And nobody knew where the ramp exactly was. The officers didn't help much. Most didn't even mind to give any response. Busy and unfriendly. A typical of officials.

After a year, there was a sea. Gulls flew low. Fish were plenty. The water was salty. Above him, the sky was still dirty. He was surprised. Perplexed, for sure. But not shocked, not after all of the walk. He looked to a distance and there was no land at the horizon. Then he bumped into a boy who sold ship's tickets.

“Should I sail if I want to go to the north?”

"Yes. And a ship will sail soon.” His finger pointed to a wooden ship. “You can buy a ticket from me.”

“I don’t have any money.” This is the first time he had a form of transaction in the Tower.

“Five camels should pay me well.”

Five? Let alone five. He was shocked that a ticket could be as expensive as a camel. The boy saw the utter disagreement in the Young Scholar’s expression. “Four camels.”

“Is there any way to walk round the sea?”

The boy was ridiculed. “The sea spans forever, Sir.”

“All the way to the wall?”

“What wall?”

There was a long, awkward silence.

“Here is all I know, Sir. Nobody ever sails eastward or westward. They only go north. It’s the only route the ships take. Three camels. Three camels is the lowest price I can get for you.”

He looked to his six camels, all still healthy. Then he looked to the swinging wave and to the landless water. Then he looked to the books and the scrolls. Then he looked to the boy’s eyes and their unpromising bargain. Then he looked at his year-long trail.

“But I can only give you the smaller ones.”

The boy agreed. He cut the laces off of the three smallest camels while the Young Scholar moved the scriptures to the other, bigger three. They looked overwhelmed by the doubled weight they now should carry. But they would have a quite long rest in the ship. The Young Scholar was a bit relieved. The boy's smile was fishy.

The sea was vast and boring, it was not worth the story. It's a three-month trip and his body already felt stiff. He was ready to walk his legs again. 

The next town still had the same atmosphere, with their watchtowers and bookshelves and officers. Everybody still spoke the same language. The Young Scholar didn't check the book anymore.

Just after he got to the town’s outskirts, one of his camels tumbled down to its knee. The other two also looked exhausted. Then an old man came to him.

“Why do you give such weight to your camels? They won’t hold another day if you forced them to walk like that.”

“I used to have seven, but one was killed by jackals and I sold another three for the ship's ticket.”

The old man looked at him with confusion. “But the ship is free.”

The Young Scholar’s face turned red. So that was why nobody ever checked on his ticket. In fact, he still had it in his pocket. Neatly folded and dry. He remembered the boy's smile and forgot everything the other townsmen had given to him. The free nights and free food were not free. They cost him his three camels. Four.

"Now what should I do? How can I go to the ramp without my camels?"

Ah, he must be another one of those mystiques, the old men thought. Everybody knew that the ramp was only a myth. Just like the golden city or the heaven above. But then he thought, maybe the person just had heatstroke. Heat made a person speak no differently than a lunatic. So he gave him a glass of water to cool him down and offered him a place to stay for the night.

“You have very fine camels. Never have I seen a single camel as sturdy as yours.” The old man looked amazedly at the three worn camels as they walked to the old man's place. “Too bad that they should do really heavy work. You can breed it and become rich from it.”

“My camels are all male.”

“Lucky for you, young man! I am a camel breeder myself. You can borrow me your camels and I promise you half of the calves they’ll have.”

“No, thank you.” The Young Scholar was still agitated by the whole trickery this place had given to him. He didn't even trust the old man half-heartedly.

“My camels are small and weak. They can barely walk to another town. If I can get your camels to breed with mine, their calves will be stronger than my current camels. They might be a bit weaker than yours but you will have ten or even twenty of them to help you! What I am asking is just your patience.”

He got him thinking right now. He had only two options. Wait for the camels to breed more camels, which meant settling for some years here, or go home. He didn't have the option to continue anymore unless he wanted to lift all those scriptures by himself. But he had given up the idea of turning back. It would be another struggle with seasick, deceit and jackals. The Tower had given to his life a twist. Now, he just wanted to see where the plot would reveal. His dream was to see the ramp. To see it by his own eyes. To prove that it did exist. He didn’t really care what he would do to the scriptures. Maybe he would put it at the base of the ramp. Maybe he would slip it among the infinite bookshelves. Maybe he would burn it. He didn't have a worst case scenario.

He had one other term.

“I will tell you my decision after I see the bookshelves.”

To his surprise, the books were great. They talked about mathematics and philosophy and anatomy. They talked about things of the Young Scholar’s interests. Of heavy discourse and hard science. The only thing they didn’t talk about was astronomy. He might never see the second floor, but he imagined being the smartest and wisest person after he got out from the Tower. The Young Scholar agreed to wait.

By now, the Young Scholar had turned into the Old Scholar. An Old Scholar and an Old Merchant. He had been married to the daughter of the Camel Breeder for thirty years. This was after his second year of settling. The three of them ran the most successful camel breeding business in the whole town.

The Old Scholar and the Camel Breeder had had some talk about the ramp and about the book. The Old Scholar told him about his journey to return the overdue scriptures to the upper floors. He told him that this land was, in fact, a Tower. The breeder, and by then his father-in-law, would laugh it out. He was sure that the story was made-up by his son-in-law. Maybe it was because of too much reading. Maybe it was the prolonged effect from the heatstroke he got when he was first found by the Camel Breeder. Maybe he was always a little bit of a daydreamer. With age, the Old Scholar slowly gave up his dream. After all, the books and the scrolls were already in the Tower and nobody was ever looking for some lost scriptures. He considered his debt paid.

That talk was years ago. The breeder had been long dead by now.

The Old Scholar had three children. A son and two daughters. The oldest one had a similar interest to books, especially in medicine. He was a virtuous scholar himself. He continued his father’s passion to read and catalog all the books of the town. Maybe he was the second non-officer person ever to do it after his father. The job wasn’t even halfway done.

The middle child was more interested in the business. Her father gradually gave her the executive authority to his company as his health slowly deteriorated. After his father's death, she would expand it far beyond the sea. Her breeds would become the strongest and the swiftest of any camels.

The youngest was the boldest. She loved to go far and get lost. She had sailed both eastward and westward with her own boat and came back years after. She didn’t find any land there. She had gone north where people talked about a ramp that went above the ceiling. She only found desert and other towns that looked like her own. Then she remembered a story her father used to tell. One that was too surreal. He told her about a wall in the south. About ventilations where a thousand birds could fly through easily without colliding with each other. About an unguarded gate. About a place where one could see the source of all light. About a different kind of outside. He told her about a Tower and the land of his father.

So she went south.