Sarah (5 page)

“This tablet is your contract as a wife. There are still seven days, seven days before another one exactly the same comes back to me, carrying the imprint of your bridegroom and his father. Seven days of banquets, chanting, and prayers that are going to cost me two thousand minas of barley! Seven days during which my favorite daughter has but one right and one duty: to be beautiful and to smile.”

His voice had risen, the last words spoken with such anger that they must have been heard from the courtyard. He threw the tablet on the table and carefully readjusted his tunic, which had slipped from his shoulder.

“The soothsayer is waiting for us. Let's hope he doesn't discover some disaster in the entrails.”

THE soothsayer was an old man, so thin that there seemed to be almost nothing of his body beneath his toga. His hair and beard, perfectly combed and oiled, covered his shoulders and chest. All that could be seen of his face was his black pupils, as luminous as polished stones.

Sarai was standing between her father and Kiddin. She could feel their warmth against her shoulders and hear their breathing. From time to time, Kiddin glanced at her, but she averted her eyes. He made no secret of the fact that he had heard their father's outburst. When he had joined them on their way to the temple, his smile had spoken volumes. In any case, there was no need for him to speak his thoughts out loud. Sarai could guess them as well as if he had whispered them in her ear: “This time, sister, our father has held out. He isn't giving in to your whims! It was about time! Do you still think you're his favorite?”

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.”