od said, "Uh-oh!" He was reading the report I had passed on to him from the Watchers. That was the extent of their assignment these days, just to watch, and send in reports from time to time. It had been a century or more Earth time since either of us had personally been down for a visit.
"Uh-oh, what?" I said, wondering what I had missed.
"Gabe, I want you to make a trip to Earth and check out this fellow Nimrod."
"Nimrod?"
"It says here he's a mighty man. I want to know what that means. And while you're at it, take a good look at the whole kit and kaboodle and tell me how it's going."
I done as I was told.
"About Nimrod," I said, "he's head and shoulders above everybody else, a mighty hunter, a natural leader, a good organizer, a great persuader, looks like a god and some people are even convinced he is one."
"You don't say! What about the rest of Noah's clan?"
'Well, it didn't take them long to overpopulate and overcultivate that first settlement. They migrated west and found them a spot on the plains of Shinar. Plenty of water, fertile soil, easy living. Everybody happy."
"Then along come Nimrod."
"Showed them how to make bricks, how to use tar as mortar, and talked them into building a city. Called it Babel."
"Means 'The Gate of God.' Curious," God said.
"'What we need now is a tower,' Nimrod told them. 'One that reaches to the heavens, can be seen for miles. Future generations will see it and know how great we was.'"
"I'm surprised people bought that argument. That's an awful lot of work and expense to go to just to impress somebody who hasn't even been born yet."
"Not everybody did. On them he used the pitch that at the top there would be a spot where you could stand and speak to God on his own level, get closer to him that way, look him right in the eye."
"Tying it in to religion got him more support," God said. "Pretty smart."
"Right. And to the ones still not convinced, he said, 'Just take a good look around. This place is flat as a fritter. What would you do if there ever was another flood? Where would you go?'"
"So they built the tower."
"Well, it's not exactly a tower. It's kind of a staged pyramid.
A ziggurat, I believe it's called," God said. "With that kind of construction and a big enough base you can go about as high as you want."
"They started with a good-sized base," I said, "but they're only up to sixty or seventy feet so far."
"Gabe, I expect we ought to go down and take us a closer look at this Nimrod and his ziggurat."
Nimrod had located the ziggurat at the south end of the city. The square base measured a hundred and eighty feet on each side with walls thirty feet high. The second stage had been completed, and work had started on the third. On one side of the structure a wide staircase had been built into each stage leading to the next level. A steady stream of laborers toiled up one side of the staircase each with a load of bricks. On the other side the returning stream passed the time by poking fun at their struggling counterparts, who took it all in good humor because their turn would soon come. At the top a crew of masons was slathering on tar and laying bricks with a foreman walking up and down behind them inspecting their work. On the ground another foreman was supervising the line carrying the bricks.
"We'll just walk in like we're from out of town, which we are," God said. Then he added, "And I'll do the talking."
We touched down outside the city and walked up to where half a dozen men was resting around a water jar in the shade of a tamarisk tree.
"Looks like you boys have been hard at it," God said. "What in the world is it, anyway?"
"Government project," they said.
"Well, what's it going to be when it's finished?"
"Blamed if we know. We just carry bricks."
"You mean to tell me you're giving your time to something you don't even know what is?"
"Give, hell! We do this for a living!"
"They pay you?"
"Damn right! Nobody in their right mind would do this kind of thing for nothing!
"I expect you're right. Where's the boss?"
"Our boss is right yonder. He's the one doing the yelling. The big boss, and we do mean big, is Mighty Nimrod. Don't know where he is and don't want to. Do our best to keep out of his way!"
We thanked them and sauntered over to the brick boss. "All right, boys," he was hollering, "look alive! Lift and tote! Lift and tote! I catch you loafing and that's all she wrote!" He turned to us with a grin. "Morning, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"
"Looking for a fellow named Nimrod," God said.
"Not here. Hardly ever is. No, wait a minute! You're in luck. That's him over yonder. Looks like he's checking the alignment of the new stage. Word of advice, friend. I'd call him Mighty Nimrod if I was you."
Nimrod was using an instrument in the shape of a triangle, sighting along one leg at the third stage, and mumbling to himself. He didn't take any notice of our approach.
"Having a problem?" God asked.
"I'm trying to tell if they've got that new stage square. I swear, you can't depend on anybody to do anything right. They're either too dumb or too trifling. They don't seem to understand a thing you tell them. People as a whole are a sorry bunch." Nimrod said, "And this thing here is sorrier!" He throwed down the triangle.
"There's an easy way to tell if something is square," God said.
"And just who the hell might you be?"
"Oh, we're strangers here, just passing through."
"Well, I'm Mighty Nimrod," he said, straightening up to his full height so that he towered over us, "and I run this place and you'd better know what you're talking about if you're going to mess with me."
"Here, I'll show you," God said. "Draw a square in the dirt there." Nimrod did and made a pretty good job of it. "Now, we need something to measure with." Nimrod undone the cord that cinched his tunic. "Fine. Now, measure from one corner to the opposite corner. Good. Hold your place, now, and try it on the other two corners. If both measurements is the same, the thing is square. "
"Well, they're not the same."
"Then it's not square."
"So you say. What am I supposed to do, just take your word for it?"
"Here," God said, picking up the triangle and handing it to him. "Use this to draw with and be as exact as you can."
Nimrod taking great pains drawed another square.
"Is that square?" God asked.
"Yes, it is."
"Then its two measurements will be the same. Go on. Try it."
Nimrod did. "Well, I'll be damned. Where did you learn that?"
"Traveling around you pick up things."
"Looks like you won't be traveling any more. You're coming to work for me."
"Well, I don't know," God said, doubtfully.
"Listen, let's get something straight here. I'm not asking, I'm telling! And that goes for you, too, piss ant" he said looking at me.
God put out his hand to stop me from doing whatever I might have had in mind to do. "Just what is this thing you're building, anyway?"
"A monument. To a god."
"Which god?'
"You're looking at him! Now, go get yourselves settled and report back here to me, and if I'm not around, you wait on me, you hear me?" And he turned and strode off into the city, taking giant steps."
I watched, expecting every step to be his last, but God let him go.
"I'm surprised at you, Gabe," God said, "you didn't even ask him how much piss ants get paid."
"You just going to let him get away with it, ain't you?" I said. "You don't even care."
"Well, I must admit, I'm disappointed. I was hoping he might be somebody we could use, but obviously he's not."
"Use for what?" I asked, but he ignored the question.
"He's a descendant of Ham's, right?"
"That's right. Grandson. One of Cush's boys."
"Thought so. You remember that tall, dark, good looking wife of Ham's?"
"You mean he's a throw back from the Children of the Watchers?"
"Looks mighty like it."
"Then you've got to take him out. Why, you just got through destroying the whole world to get rid of that bunch. That'll go for nothing if you spare him."
"Too late, now. The time to have done it would have been with Ham's wife."
But he hadn't. He had known about her, and all he'd said was that it would be interesting to see how things turned out. He was up to his old tricks. "You're experimenting again," I said.
"No, just observing."
"Does that mean you're going to let Mighty Mouth Nimrod go ahead with what he's doing?"
"Well, it might be fun to slow him down a little." He thought for a minute and then began to grin. "You remember Nimrod complaining about people not understanding a thing he told them? What if we made that literally true? Had him and his crew all speak different languages."
"You know, you've got an awful mean streak in you," I said admiringly.
"Of course, as I say, it won't stop the project, just slow it down for awhile."
"Why, I'd think it would kill it completely."
"No, this work is so simple, most orders can be give by waving your arms and pointing. Besides this business of different languages won't last long. When these boys go home speaking in a foreign tongue, they're going to run into trouble with their wives and families, whose speech won't have been affected. The wives are going to say, 'What's the matter with you? Are you drunk? You'd better straighten up quick if you don't want to get cracked upside the head with a cooking pot!' And that's going to give the men a strong incentive to relearn their old language without delay. And then, too, I expect Nimrod is fully capable of learning enough of their different tongues to get his points across. No, it'll only be a temporary snag, but it ought to be fun while it lasts."
I started to ask when he was going to do it, but I heard the brick foreman yell, "Ecce, ecce! Labor omnia vincit!"
"Fatti maschii, parole femine," one of the carriers replied.
"Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott!" hollered the foreman from the top.
"De l'audace, encore de l'audace, et toujours de l'audace!" This last from Nimrod who was standing at the base of the ziggurat, pulling his hair.
"Come on, Gabe, I believe he's got the point," God said, chuckling. "Let's go home."
Later I asked, "What did you mean to use him for?"
"Who?"
"Nimrod. You said you thought he might be somebody you could use. What for?"
"Well, I guess you could call it Plan C, Gabe. Plan A was Adam and Eve and the Garden. Plan B was Noah and the Flood. Neither one worked out. Plan C is I quit wasting time on all mankind and concentrate only a select few to do my will. I'll call them the Chosen people, and I'll protect them and cause them to prosper and bless them, and they will be my people, and I'll be their God, and they will be an example to all the world. I'm looking for a very special man to become the progenitor, the Exalted Father, of such a family.
"Somebody like Nimrod, except without Watcher blood?"
"You mean with intelligence and charisma? I thought so once, but now I'm not so sure. No, I think compassion, sympathy, consideration, qualities like that might be better."
"So where are you going to find such a person?"
"No big hurry. I'll have the Watchers looking. He'll come along one of the days."
