Sarah: A Novel

by Marek Halter

  All that remained was to hope that the gods would be good to her, and that her father hadn’t chosen for her a husband as arrogant and boastful as Kiddin! She wouldn’t be able to stand someone like that for a single day!

  Sarai banished these thoughts. She mustn’t think bad things while the barù was beginning the ceremony. On the contrary, she must open her heart to the soothsayer and the Lords of Heaven. Let them see how much good she had inside her. Let them make sure that her husband was a man capable of cultivating all that was best in her.

  She straightened her back, relaxed her fingers, and slowly lifted her face, as if to be seen better. She fought against the acrid smell coming from the cedarwood shavings that the soothsayer was throwing on the embers of a little hearth. It was hard to see anything because all the openings in the temple had been sealed. Only two torches of beeswax illuminated the bench seat that supported the statues and the altars of the family’s ancestors. The soothsayer had placed three sheep livers at the feet of Ichbi Sum-Usur’s ancestors. Turning his back, he mumbled words that nobody understood. But the congregation was doing its best not to disturb his concentration.

  A few paces behind the front row occupied by Sarai, her father, and her brother were half a dozen close relatives and two or three guests. When Sarai had entered the temple, she had avoided their smiles and encouragements, still furious at failing to make her father yield. Now, like her, they were trying hard to breathe and not to cough, despite the smoke that stung their eyes and irritated their throats.

  Suddenly, the barù put the three livers together on a thick wicker tray. He turned and walked straight toward Sarai and her father. Sarai could not help but stare at the entrails, still dripping with hot blood.

  “Ichbi Sum-Usur, faithful servant,” the soothsayer said, his voice echoing loud and clear through the temple, “you whose name means ‘Son who saves his honor,’ Ichbi Sum-Usur, I have placed a liver before your father, I have placed a liver before your father’s father. I have placed a liver before your great-grandfather. I have asked all three to be present for the oracle. What they know, you will know, Ichbi Sum-Usur.”

  The soothsayer’s emaciated face was so close to Sarai that she could smell his milky, slightly sour breath, which made her recoil. Kiddin’s pitiless hand forced her to resume her place. In deep silence, the barù examined every part of her face, his lips curling with concentration, like a wild beast’s. Sarai stared in fascination at his gums, which were too white, his teeth, which were too yellow, and the many gaps between them. She did her best not to show her disgust and apprehension. Around her, was dead silence. No shuffling of feet, no clicking of tongues. Only the crackling of the shavings on the embers.

  Without warning, the barù pushed the tray containing the entrails against Sarai’s chest. She seized the edges. It was much heavier than she had imagined. She avoided looking down at the dark flesh.

  The barù moved away from her, and took several steps back. Without taking his eyes off her, he stopped next to the brick hearth. Beside it, he had placed the statuette of his own god on a stone table. His beard began to shake, although his mouth was not moving. Slowly, slowly, he lifted his eyes to the dark ceiling. Then he turned toward his god. He opened his arms, and leaned forward.

  “O Asalluli, son of Ea, almighty Lord of Divination,” he thundered, making them all shudder, “I have purified myself in the odor of the cypress. O Asalluli, for Ichbi Sum-Usur your servant, for Sarai your handmaid, accept this ikribu. Reveal your presence, O Asalluli, listen to Ichbi Sum-Usur’s anxiety as he gives his daughter as a wife. Listen to his question and deliver a favorable oracle. From this month kislimù, in the third year of the reign of Amar-Sin, until the hour of her death, will Sarai be a good, fertile, and faithful wife?’

  Silence again fell over the temple like thick smoke.

  Nothing happened. Nobody moved. Sarai felt the muscles of her shoulders grow hard, then fill with tiny needles. The back of her neck was becoming as painful as if the point of an arrow had been planted there. The discomfort spread to the small of her back, her thighs, her arms! Her whole body was stiff from the weight of the tray with the livers, and so inflamed that she thought she would cry out in pain.

  The soothsayer again approached her and placed his hands on hers. Icy hands, the flesh barely covering the bones. Abruptly, he took the tray from her. She took a deep breath, and the pain flowed out of her limbs like receding water. Behind her, there were sighs of relief. But neither her father nor Kiddin batted an eyelid.

  The barù placed the livers on three terra-cotta cylinders surrounding the statuette of his god. From a large leather bag he took a number of written tablets and a sheep liver made out of glazed pottery. He went quickly and removed the curtain that obscured the opening nearest the table. The curling blue smoke, as thick as seaweed, danced in the daylight that flooded the room.

  The soothsayer was on his way back to the table when a strange noise made him stop in his tracks. A kind of hissing sound, almost like a whistle. Everyone stiffened, eyes wide with anxiety. The soothsayer looked intently at the livers. A bubble was forming on the left-hand one. Slowly, blood flowed over the lobe. Again the hissing sound was heard. A murmur of fear ran through the assembly. Sarai felt her father trembling against her arm.

  The soothsayer took a cautious step forward. The liver slid off the cylinder that was supporting it. Folding like a wet rag, it fell to the floor. A cry of terror filled the temple, followed by a frozen silence.

  Sarai did not dare look at her father. Her throat and the small of her back were tight with fear. Without saying a word or looking at the assembly, the soothsayer went to the table, bent his aged body, seized the liver that had fallen to the floor, and placed it in an empty basket next to the cedarwood shavings. Then, without any explanation, he bent over the remaining entrails and listened.

  A sigh of relief went through the audience and everyone prepared for a long wait.

  Sarai knew she would need both courage and patience. The process could take a long time: several hours by the water clock. A soothsayer might begin his analysis of the oracle at noon and not finish until twilight. Each part of the liver had to be examined carefully. The barù would touch them, rub them, slice them. He would count the cysts, the fissures, the pustules, then check their location and significance against the terra-cotta liver and what was written on his tablets. He might also write down his observations on fresh tablets.

  This time, however, it did not take long. An hour at the most. The soothsayer lifted his frail body, washed his bloody hands, and carefully wiped them. Ichbi Sum-Usur stiffened. Sarai heard him breathing more heavily. Her own heart was beating faster. Anxiety once again gripped the small of her back.

  Without so much as a glance at her, the barù came back and planted himself before her father.

  “The examination is over, Ichbi Sum-Usur. As you’ve seen, your great-grandfather refuses his oracle. This is what I found in the others. Two livers: an elevation on the left of the spleen. One liver: a perforation. One liver: a cross on the finger. One liver: two fissures at the base of the throne. One liver without any fissure. Tomorrow I will let you have the tablets confirming all this. The oracle is favorable to your daughter. A good and even willing wife. A faithful wife, even though it is not in her character. As for her fertility: two children. Possibly boys.”

  Sarai’s father laughed, and at the same time she heard her relatives’ exclamations behind her. But before she could be sure whether the oracle was good or bad for her, her father raised his hand.

  “Barù, why does my father’s grandfather refuse his oracle?”

  “Your great-grandfather refuses to answer your question, Ichbi Sum-Usur,” the barù said, with a glance at Sarai.

  “Why?” Ichbi Sum-Usur asked again, raising his voice. “Have I made the wrong choice?”

  The soothsayer shook his head. “The question was: Will Sarai be a good, fertile, and faithful wife? This is not about your choice, but
about your daughter, Ichbi Sum-Usur. Your ancestor says: I want nothing to do with this wedding.”

  A heavy silence ensued. Sarai’s heart was pounding. Beside her, Kiddin was clenching his fists nervously.

  “Must I refuse my daughter to the man who wants her for his wife?” her father asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “No. Two livers and two ancestors are sufficient. The oracle is still valid. However, as you are a good client, I shall tell you this for free, and I shan’t write it down on the tablet. Your great-grandfather says this. Your daughter pleases Ishtar. She can be a wife without a husband. She is the kind of woman who provokes violent acts. That can be disastrous as well as glorious. The gods will decide her fate: queen or slave. However, for the sake of your family as well as that of the man who is taking her as a wife: Let her get children without delay.”

  “QUEEN or slave!” Sarai said.

  “But also fertile and faithful, that’s the most important thing,” Sililli said approvingly, seemingly unconcerned by what she had heard. “Your father must be relieved! I’m certainly relieved. And you see, I told you the truth. He couldn’t possibly change his mind.”

  Sarai refrained from answering. They were in her new bedchamber, and Sililli was carefully washing her hair, anointing it with an oily scent, and gathering it into dozens of braids.

  “Tomorrow,” Sililli went on, “you will be a queen. That, too, I know. As well as any barù.”

  Her long ram’s horn comb in her hand, she bent down to judge the straightness of the part she had just traced in Sarai’s hair.

  “Do you think the barùs always tell the truth?” Sarai asked, after a moment’s silence.

  Sililli took her time before replying. “They sometimes make mistakes. Sometimes, too, the gods change their minds. But when a soothsayer is sure he’s right, he writes it down on a tablet. What he doesn’t write down should only be listened to with one ear. I, too, can tell your future by looking right in your eyes. Especially as I know them by heart. Queen of a good husband, with beautiful children. I see nothing but good.”

  She laughed without waiting for Sarai to laugh. Her fingers worked with astonishing agility, forming one braid after another, while Sarai looked through the little window, watching night fall and thinking: I shall be here every evening, preparing food for my husband. Sleeping in the bed so that he can become a father. In just a few days. For years and years. Until I’m older than Sililli.

  How was it possible?

  However hard she tried, she could not form any image of these moments in her mind. It wasn’t only that she had no idea what her bridegroom looked like. She couldn’t see herself—skinny and flat-chested, as her aunts had commented—lying in this bed beside a man’s big body. And not only beside him.

  “Sililli, do you think he’ll do that?” she asked. “Try straightaway to make me have children?”

  Sililli grunted and stroked her cheek.

  Sarai pushed her hand away. “It isn’t possible, is it? Look at me: I’m only a child! How could I have children?”

  Sililli broke off from her work, her cheeks as red as if she were standing in front of a fire. “Don’t worry so much. He won’t do it straightaway. He’s probably only a big awkward lump. You’ll have plenty of time.”

  Sarai knew the intonations of Sililli’s voice well enough to know that her words lacked conviction. “You’re lying,” she said, though without spite.

  “I’m not lying!” Sililli protested. “It’s just that you never know exactly how things are going to turn out. But a man would be mad to sow his seed in a girl as young as you.”

  “Unless a soothsayer advises him to hurry up and make children.”

  To that, there could be no reply. They said nothing more while Sililli finished with her hair.

  THE next day, as soon as there was sufficient light, the house filled with noise as the servants completed the preparations for the first of the seven banquets A bamboo dais had been erected in the big central courtyard, where the bride and bridegroom and their closest relatives would sit, looking down on the rest of the guests spread around the courtyard: women to the left, men to the right. Mats, carpets, cushions, and little wicker seats were put out for them, and low tables were set up, bearing arrangements of flower petals and branches of myrtle and bay, as well as goblets of water scented with orange and lemon. Cane canopies were stretched between the terraces so that the area where the banquet was to take place would remain cool even during the hottest part of the day.

  The statues of the ancestors were carried from the temple and placed in an arcade leading to the men’s courtyard. There the altars were carefully reconstructed, and made fragrant with food and scents. Ichbi Sum-Usur himself supervised the arrangement of the rare potted plants from Magan and Meluhha, and the placing, here and there in the courtyard, of kittens on leashes, doves in cages, and snakes in baskets to entertain and impress the guests.

  Finally, dishes by the dozen were brought out, plates of cakes, baskets full of loaves of barley or wheat bread. Jars of wine and beer were opened.

  When the sun was at its highest, Kiddin came to fetch Sarai. Sililli cried out when she saw him. His oiled and curled hair was held in place by a finely woven ribbon. A line of kohl emphasized the whiteness of his eyes. The ceremonial toga he wore, although it lacked the silver tassels, was at least as magnificent as his father’s. He was as resplendent as a god, so much so that he could have been taken for the bridegroom.

  He seized Sarai’s hand and they crossed the women’s courtyard. She heard the excited chuckles of the handmaids, who had stopped their work to wonder at the beauty of their young master.

  Kiddin did not let go of his sister’s hand until they reached the dais. She climbed it and sat down on a little sculpted seat, surrounded by her aunts.

  Old Egime gave her a thorough inspection. But Sililli had done her work to perfection, and Egime could find no fault with it. Sarai’s hair was so perfect, it could pass for a diadem held in place by silver clasps. Every fold of her tunic was at it should be. The woolen belt woven for the occasion emphasized the tininess of her waist. For this first banquet, the Presentation, she wore no makeup except for a fine layer of kaolin, which gave her face the pallor of a full moon. The lack of adornment, the delicacy of her features, and the slightness of her figure all made her look more strange than beautiful.

  Sarai sat stiffly on her little seat, looking straight ahead of her, waiting for the sun to reach its zenith and the first guests to come through the double door of the palace.

  There were more than a hundred of them. The whole of Ichbi Sum-Usur’s large family had been invited. Some came from Eridu, from Larsa, and even Uruk. Ichbi Sum-Usur had obtained safe-conducts from King Shu-Sin so that they could travel to Ur. This favor was the finest gift the sovereign could give his faithful servant. Sarai’s father was blushing with pride.

  The guests advanced along the aisle between the tables, the seats, and the cushions, and crossed the courtyard to the dais. There, they each greeted Ichbi Sum-Usur and his eldest with many fine words and much laughter before plunging their hands into a bronze basin. The water in it was scented with a mixture of benzoin, amber, and myrtle. The guests sprinkled their faces and their bare shoulders and armpits, left or right depending on whether they were men or women. Next, a slave handed each of them a white cloth with yellow stripes with which they wiped themselves before draping it over their tunic.

  Finally, the men separated from the women and took their places at table, their distance from the dais depending on their rank. None looked at Sarai, or paid her the least attention. The women, though, all passed before her. They did not so much salute her as look her up and down, reserving their lengthy comments on her appearance for later. The ceremony lasted two long hours. When they were all seated, Ichbi Sum-Usur and Kiddin went to the altar of the ancestors to make libations and prayers. Then Sarai’s father returned to his guests and, opening his arms, welcomed everyone in a loud voice a
nd declared that the gods in the heaven of Ur wanted them to quench their thirst and take their pleasure in honor of the thirst and the pleasure that his daughter Sarai would soon know, as a true munus.

  A CHORUS of a dozen young women sang tirelessly at the foot of the dais, dancers twirled between the guests and the tables, musicians beat drums and blew into flutes. All of them seemed impervious to the heat, although the canopies that protected the guests from the burning sun also trapped the air inside the courtyard. There was not a breath of wind to displace the powerful odors of scents and food. Sarai found it impossible to eat, and she had already drunk as much as she could. The kaolin on her cheeks and forehead grew heavier as it absorbed her sweat. She felt suffocated.

  Next to her, her aunts, like the rest of the guests, were consuming large amounts of beer, honeyed wine, and food. Fanning themselves with wicker fans, they chattered and guffawed at the tops of their voices. On the men’s side, it was the same. In fact, nobody was paying the slightest attention to the endless chants, whose words seemed all too obviously intended for Sarai alone.

  Abruptly, the chants stopped. The dancers froze, and the slaves put down the jars. Ichbi Sum-Usur dismissed his court with an abrupt gesture. Only the music of the drums and flutes continued to ring out as all eyes turned to the entrance.

  Sarai saw him as soon as he entered the courtyard.

  Him, the man who wanted her as his wife.