Free Sarah by Marek Halter Page B

Kneeling before her in the luminous warmth of the fire, he cleaned her eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead. Gently. As if it was something he had always known how to do.
    When he had finished, Sarai opened her eyes again. He smiled, and the wings of his beautiful lips seemed to fly away.
    â€œDo you think I’m pretty now?” she dared to ask.
    â€œOur girls don’t have such beautiful hair,” he said simply. “Or such straight noses.”
    Sarai did not know if that was a compliment.
    Then, to dispel their embarrassment and assuage their hunger, they threw themselves on the food Abram had brought: still-warm kid, whitefish, cheese, fruit, fermented milk in a skin gourd. Strong-tasting dishes, without the sweet flavors preferred by the lords of Ur. Sarai ate as heartily as Abram, showing nothing of her surprise.

    AT first they ate in silence. Then Abram asked what Sarai planned to do when morning came. She said she didn’t know, but perhaps she could find refuge in the great temples of Eridu, where girls without families were allowed to become priestesses. But her voice lacked conviction. The fact was, she had no idea. Tomorrow seemed so far away.
    Abram then asked if she wasn’t afraid her gods would punish her for refusing the husband her father had chosen for her and running away from home. She said no, this time with such confidence that he stopped eating and looked at her in surprise.
    â€œNo, because if they’d wanted to punish me, they’d have sent demons instead of making me fall over you.”
    The idea greatly amused Abram. “The lords of Ur are the only people who believe the night is populated with demons. All I’ve ever seen at night were bulls, elephants, lions, or tigers. They’re fierce, but a man can kill them. Or run after the gazelles!”
    Sarai did not take offense. The fire crackled, the embers were getting hotter and hotter, the sheepskins were soft to the touch. Abram was right. The night no longer frightened her.
    All at once, she was aware of happiness suffusing her body, from the ends of her hair to the tips of her toes, and calming her mind. She felt warm, and there was laughter in her chest that did not need to cross her lips. The flames danced for her, time stood still, and this boy she had not even known when the sun was up, Abram, who was so close to her she could have brushed his shoulder, was going to protect her from everything. She knew it.
    So they kept talking, kept asking each other questions. Abram told her about his two brothers, Haran, the eldest, and Nahor, and about his father who made clay statues of ancestors for people like Ichbi Sum-Usur, statues with heads so lifelike you’d think they could speak.
    Sarai wanted to know if he liked living in a tent. He explained that the clan of which his father, Terah, was the head, reared great flocks for one of the lords of Ur. Every two years, when it was time for the royal taxes, they took their animals to Larsa to be counted by Shu-Sin’s officials.
    â€œThen we either come back here with just a few animals or start a completely new flock. One day, my father will earn enough from his statues, and we won’t need to bother with rearing sheep anymore.”
    He questioned her, too. Sarai told him about her life in the palace. She spoke about Sililli, Kiddin, her sisters, and, for the first time in a long while, the vague but painful memories she had of her mother, who had died giving birth to Lillu. So carried away was she by the excitement of confiding all this, she even mentioned the chamber of blood and the
barù
’s strange prophecy: Queen or slave . . .
    Abram was a good listener, patient and attentive.
    They talked for so long that the wood on the fire burned down completely and the moon crossed more than half the night sky. Sarai said her people feared that one night the Lady Moon would vanish forever and that the gods, in their anger, would take the sun away. It