Sarah by Marek Halter Page A

house. The chants, the flutes, and the drums were almost smothered by the din of voices.
    At noon, the statues of Ichbi Sum-Usur’s ancestors were carried onto the dais and placed beside those of the bridegroom’s family. The nuptial platter was placed before them, and the bull disappeared under a mountain of flower petals and jewels and offerings of finely woven cloth. Silence fell when the two fathers, after throwing cedarwood shavings into the terra-cotta hearths, addressed their gods and their beloved ancestors in singsong voices.
    Some twenty slaves lifted a large bronze basin onto the dais, and young girls in white togas emptied into it jars of cedar and amber ointment diluted with the water of the Euphrates.
    Then the slaves unfolded a cane-and-wicker screen from one wall to the other, hiding the basin and the ancestors from the guests in the courtyard. Sarai was led by Egime to the end of the dais reserved for the women.
    She was wearing her nuptial toga, fringed with silver tassels and held in at the waist by a woven scarlet belt. Both her shoulders were bare. The area around her eyes was covered, from the brows to the cheekbones, with a thick layer of kohl, out of which her eyes shone like those of an animal surprised in the dark. Her lips had been smeared with a paste that made them seem fuller. Despite this, her aunts noticed how pale her cheeks were, as pale as if Sililli had not removed all the kaolin from the day before.
    Opposite her, on the other side of the dais, stood the groom and his father, surrounded by her father, Kiddin, and her uncles. They were all staring at her, but not only did the smoke from the herbs and the cedarwood blur their faces, Sarai was also doing her best not to look at the man who would soon share her bed.
    From the crowd of unseen guests on the other side of the screen came the sound of flutes. Sweet, tremulous music that wrapped itself tenderly around Sarai’s heart, rose through her chest, and calmed her like a caress. All the thoughts that had made her body feel so tight since morning vanished. The muscles of her shoulders and her stomach relaxed. She felt calm, sure of herself. Ready to do what had to be done.
    And now, it all began. And to her, it all seemed to happen at the same time.
    Behind the screen, the singers joined in with the flutes.
    When for the wild bull I have bathed,
    When with amber I have anointed my mouth . . .
    Ichbi Sum-Usur crossed the dais, the smoke from the cedarwood shavings swirling around him.
    When I have painted my eyes with kohl . . .
    With a jolt, Egime pushed Sarai toward her father, who led her into the heart of the smoke, facing the ancestors, and thanked them, congratulated them, while the singers, now accompanied by the voices of all the guests, took up the nuptial chant:
    When I have adorned myself for him,
    When my loins have been molded by his hands . . .
    Ichbi Sum-Usur seized the cords of her bridal belt and untied them. Then he pulled on the toga and slid it off her body until she was naked.
    When with milk and cream he has smoothed my thighs . . .
    His hand on the small of her back, he pushed her into the basin where the ointments had been poured. A slave girl handed him a wooden bowl, which he filled with scented water from the basin. He raised his hand high above Sarai, then poured the water over her chest. She bent her knees a little as the cold water ran over her belly and down as far as her thighs.
    The chant was becoming more and more fervent. She knew without seeing him that he was there, behind her. Him, the bridegroom. She saw her father pass the wooden bowl to him, and she thought her heart would burst.
    In his turn, the groom bent to fill the bowl, and his naked shoulder brushed against Sarai’s hip. She could smell the strong odor of the myrtle oil on his hair. The fingers that were going to touch her were reflected in the scented water.
    She leaped out of the basin. Dripping with water, she picked up her