"I Will Sing To The Lord Because There Is A Camel On Me." (Discworld) G
Title: I Will Sing To The Lord Because There Is A Camel On Me. (On Archive Of Our Own)
Author:
lannamichaels
Fandom: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Rating: G
A/N: Happy Tishrei as per usual. I did actual canon review for this, but threw most of it out on the logic that Feet Of Clay -- the one with the yiddish names for golems, the holy days that start at sundown, and the 'not in heaven' discussion about theology -- contains a throw-away line about there being a kosher butcher in Ankh-Morpork, so I've decided, just as rock beats scissors, kosher beats Cenotines (Feet of Clay) and all that random backstory (Moist books).
Summary: There are five New Years: the first for kings, the second for cattle, the third for calendars, the fourth for trees, and the fifth for golems.
The theology of golems is as follows: it can be distinctly proven that there is a creator of their lives. The life who created them was created by another life. Life creates life. What occurred at the beginning of this cycle cannot be proven in any way.
And yet there are rules and they must be followed.
The synagogue in the Small Gods Quarter of Ankh-Morpork could be distinguished in several useful ways. The first was the large six-pointed star on its roof, through which it was said only the high priest may jump. The second was the narrow bridge between its chimneys. The third was its size. It was the largest building in the quarter, on account of all the golems.
In the attic of this synagogue worked the golem Bubbie Basra, the sculptor. She was the one the golems went to when they required repairs. In the slow times, she made toys that she gave out to children and enjoined them strictly not to gamble. But the golems often needed repairs, not through any fault of their own, but because it was a violent world and a violent time. And so to Bubbie Basra they would come. Her workshop was filled with her earliest samples, which were named after their major errors, and she would talk to them as she worked. She reserved all her anger for her first attempt, which was light on one end and heavy on the other, but if you came by the workshop, you might hear her complain, "Nose-On-Mouth, I Can't Believe This Is Taking So Long," or "Nose-On-Back, This Is Trickier Than I Thought."
But on the New Year for the golems, even the workshop of Bubbie Basra was silent.
No one knows where the golems go when they go elsewhere. Their eyes dim and they are silent and still. But a part of them goes here. It flies through the windows and nests in the alcoves.
Golems, you must understand, do not have souls. But what is a soul? A soul is meaningless. Something can be perfect and still lack soul. Many things lack a soul; golems are no different. But a soul is an idea, and the idea of a golem continues. It lives within the golem and, when needed, it visits here. And, on this New Year, so does the rest of them.
It is a holy day for the golems, so no work is done. Instead, they congregate in the largest building of the Small Gods Quarter for their religious discussions. There are never any theological conclusions or decisions; it is the argument itself that is holy. On this New Year, Dorfl, the first of the free, and Shmata the tailor are worrying over the nature of chem and the beginning of golems. Dorfl believes in no god that he does not see shape the clay, either of a breathing creature or of a golem. Humans can write holy words of their chem, but so can golems. All are gods, or none are gods. Shmata worries about the power that turns clay into life, wonders about the difference between a magical spell and a religious uttering. The wizards of the Unseen University have never responded to his many letters. The one who first wrote chem was a priest, says the lore, but why not a magician. Is there a difference?
What, truly, is the nature of life? Golems know why they live: to fulfill the words in their head. They know who wrote the words, but not who created them. They know of its power, but not its origination. There is nothing holier than life, and nothing more mysterious. Some words work, others do not.
But you can breathe life into clay by telling it the right things.
On the New Year for golems, they discuss the Words for next year. They take a careful census of each other, discuss who might be freed to join them next year, and wish each other their dearest hope, that they would come to a good end, that one day their chems would be sealed.
And next year, they say, next year we shall inscribe more in the book of freedom.
This entry was originally posted at http://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/885643.html.