Free Sarah by Marek Halter

wanted to throw myself from a wall and break my legs. I wasn’t brave enough. I ran away. Now my father probably thinks his daughter is dead . . .”
    The boy listened, looking now at her mouth, now at her braids. When she had stopped speaking, he said nothing at first. The darkness of the night seemed to rush toward them, transforming them into mere silhouettes under the countless stars.
    â€œMy name is Abram, son of Terah,” he said at last. “I am a
mar.Tu
. Our tents are five or six
ùs
farther north. You mustn’t stay here, you’ll catch cold.”
    As he took a step toward her, she heard the noise of the water and jumped. He held out his hand. Palm to palm, he squeezed her hand with his own warm, slightly rough hand.
    Firmly, but with a strange gentleness, he drew her after him. His gentleness made Sarai’s whole body feel iridescent, from her thighs to deep in her chest.
    â€œWe have to find you a dry place, and make a fire,” he said, and his words brought tears of gratitude to her eyes. “The nights are cold at this time of the year. I don’t suppose you know where to go. It isn’t every day that the daughters of the lords of Ur get lost in the bulrushes by the river. I could take you to my father’s tent. But he’d think I was bringing him a bride, and my brothers would be jealous. I’m not the eldest. Never mind, we’ll find somewhere else.”

    THE “somewhere” was just a sandy hillock. But the sand was warm and the hillock offered protection from the wind.
    Abram seemed to be able to see in the dark. It did not take him long to collect some dry reeds and dead junipers, and he lit a fire by rubbing lichens and juniper twigs skillfully between his palms. The sight of the flames warmed Sarai just as much as their heat.
    Abram continued to bustle about, constantly disappearing and coming back with more armfuls of reeds and dry shrubs. When there were enough of them, he crouched down without a word.
    Now they could see each other much better. But as soon as their eyes met, they looked away again, embarrassed. For a long time they said nothing, warming themselves at the flames and watching the swirling sparks fly upward.
    Sarai estimated that the young
mar.Tu
was about the same age as Kiddin. Probably not so strong, she thought, used more to running than fighting, her brother’s favorite exercise. His hair made him look quite different, less noble, less proud, but she liked that.
    Suddenly, Abram stood up, jolting the exhausted Sarai out of her torpor. “I’m going to the tents,” he said.
    Sarai leaped to her feet. Abram laughed at the sight of her terrified face. He picked up his wicker basket and shook the frogs.
    â€œDon’t worry. I’m just going to find something to eat. I’m hungry, and you must be, too. What I’ve caught here isn’t enough to feed us.”
    As Sarai was sitting down again, annoyed at having shown fear, he smiled, mockingly. “Are you able to put wood on the fire?”
    She merely shrugged.
    â€œPerfect,” he said.
    He examined the sky for a moment. The moon was already up. Sarai noted that he often looked up at the sky, as if he were looking for traces of the sun in the stars. Then he took a few steps, and vanished into the night. All Sarai could hear now was the wind in the bulrushes, the lapping of the river, and, far in the distance, from the lower city, the barking of dogs.
    She was once more stricken with fear. The boy could easily leave her here. The fire would attract the demons. She peered into the darkness, thinking she might see a sniggering crowd. But then her pride regained the upper hand. She was ashamed of herself. She must stop being afraid. She only feared what she did not know. Tonight, everything was completely unknown. The night, the fire, the river, the sky above her in its infinity. Even the name of this
mar.Tu
boy, Abram.
    What a strange name!