Memoirs written in prose of Sergeant Robertson, Damon M. USMC while in Iraq | ...with frequent appearances of King Hammurabi.
If you are new to this journal, make sure to start reading in chronological order by scrolling down to the bottom of the oldest post in October 2004. Damon's letters from August 20th, 2004 - October 23rd, 2004 were all added to this blog on Oct. 23rd, 2004. All subsequent letters are posted in real time.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Dear Folks: Yesterday I took my first aerial tour of Western Iraq. Yes. There it is, ladies and gentlemen. Iraq. The "fertile crescent." Yeah right. Of all the shades of color I saw, green certainly was not one of them. I can't for the life of me figure out how this place is the fabled "cradle of civilization." There's *nothing* out here. I mean, besides a few downed high-voltage power lines (courtesy of jealous, warring cities who thwart one another from having power so they themselves don't have to share the juice/rolling blackouts) there is nothing. The most remarkable thing I noticed on my way to Al Qaim (airbase near Syria) is that it looks like someone's been playing with a dozer in the desert here. The whole flight path we took was chewed up with random piles of dirt. I don't get it. I kinda understand how those first people, huddling between the banks of two fickle rivers, must have thought to themselves "plead to the angry and wanton god of the river, that she may spare us her wrath..." and then with all the hardness of a life forged in this inhospitable place, you get together with your neighbor and make things work. somehow. Then a few years later some dude builds the Hanging Gardens in Babylon and, well, I guess that's enough street cred to get you "civilized" status...? (i'm an obvious buff of history with nothing short of a complete understanding of this region's origins... heh) So there he was, Hammurabi himself, sitting on his throne holding his two scepters, looking for all intents and purposes like a very powerful and angry man (especially with his braided beard; BIG, braided beard). And all his peons gather round him, afraid even to breathe too loudly, for he's announced he's about to issue a set of ... rules? [I mean, what did they call his famous "code" before historians gave it that name... it maybe was the ...] "Way I say it's gonna be," he utters through a faux sneer. They gasp obediently. One man, not even closest to the king, holds a wet clay tablet and a sharp stick. He will make marks in the clay which only he and a few other humans in the world could understand. He thinks smugly to himself "we're *way* ahead of the Persian tribes..." "Hokay," says the king. They gasp again. He gives them "the look," as in the "you'd better not be kissing my butt too roughly this morning" look and they all fall really silent. "Hokay. So you guys remember Rexor? The guy who lost his eye in a bar fight, right? Well, it's not like someone can give him money and he can go buy another eye, nor could they somehow compensate him for the intense emotional trauma he's suffered. Yes, he started the fight, and he will be fined, but what to do? How can we make the eye-plucker understand the true severity of what he's inflicted on another man?" The audience chamber is a tapestry of lost and stupid faces. Somewhere, in the run-down gardens outside, an insolent cricket chirps, and is instantly silenced by unseen guards. In the silence, Hammurabi looks furious, but he's not really angry. In fact he's trying to figure out how he can scratch his, er, *self* while he's holding these two doggone scepters. Hire an official court King Scratcher? But how much to pay him? Would the title be hereditary? And who, in the name of all things pagan, does a king trust to adjust his junk? Whose idea was it to hold *two* scepters at once, anyway? "So, right," he continues. They all breathe for the first time since he fell silent. It is hard, many of them think, to be truly rapturous of this man. I hope he notices how hard we try. "I was thinking, just in a sort of 'give and take' sort of way, that the just penalty for plucking someone's eye out should be that you get *your* corresponding eye plucked out." They gasp. They bow? Have they ever actually done that before? he asks himself. Oh whatever. I should get them to do that more often. But does this make sense? I mean, yeah, there's a poetic justice to this that's just too sweet. I mean, the irony! You blind your neighbor, he blinds you, no one can say he's hurt worse than the other, no pesky monetary settlements, etc... but what good does it do to have two guys who can't see well when we only had one half blind guy to begin with? Am I really helping the situation right now? But there they are, still bowing, and that's a good sign they agree. And the scribe-- he's still making marks on that clay tablet like I said something profound. He'd better not be embellishing. I'm trying to keep this simple. "But I really want to change the subject," Hammurabi says, squirming in his throne. My butt is so numb, he thinks, all the while trying to wriggle his legs just so... "No sire, we beseach thee!" Oh heavens. Not this "beseach" crap again. "I swear to [instert any pagan polytheistic god here], Ron," interrupts Hammurabi, sweating through his beard. "There's something else I really need to address right now." They are silent again. Ahh. "Hokay, new subject. If I gotta hold these two scepters, then who's gonna ... well, you know, I need to, uh... someone's gonna have to do it if not me, I mean?" "You want us to go pluck a man's eye out, sire," says Ron. Ron is a big and stupid man, not the sort who would make a good royal scratcher, thinks Hammurabi. Oh [insert god here] this is going to be a long day. .... okay, please forgive me if this wasn't funny at all. I just went off. Trying to keep my "avenues of stress relief" on the kosher side of my options out here. I mean, I don't get to shoot at *anybody*, so what am I supposed to do? eek. I'll spare you all in the future. Maybe. :D
# posted by chevas @ 7:34 PM 