Sarai (Jill Eileen Smith) by Jill Smith Page B

children before Kammani’s birth.
    “That one is the demon Pazuzu and is perfect for counteracting the evil of Lamashtu against you or your unborn child.” The female merchant looked at Melah, taking in her appearance as if trying to judge what to think of her.
    Melah picked up the amulet and held it to her chest. “I will take it.”
    The merchant gave Melah a semi-toothless smile, waiting while Melah fished the coins from her pouch. She accepted them and placed them in the pocket of her heavy leather girdle, then turned her attention to Sarai. “Can I interest you in such an amulet? I have all kinds—those for women with child, women who are sick with child, and even women who are barren and cannot bear a child.” At her last words, she pointed to a leather strand with twenty-one small stones draped down the sides. “I’ve heard testimonies that this one really works.” She gave Sarai a pointed stare. Could the woman read her thoughts?
    Sarai stepped closer, looking down at the gleaming black stones, wondering what possible power such a thing could have to procure a child.
    “It’s not a bad idea, Sarai,” Melah said at her side, their shoulders touching. “What can it hurt?”
    The necklace was appealing. Would Abram recognize it as an amulet? It almost looked like the jewels she often wore, especially during festive occasions. But Melah’s attitude stopped her.
    “We better go.” She looked at the merchant. “Thank you.” Before Melah or the woman could respond, Sarai hurried from the tent, breathing deeper when she saw Lila and her guards standing close by.
    “Why did you rush out like that?” Melah touched her arm, and Sarai took a step back, suddenly wanting to go home. But she had not purchased the spices yet or found the honeyed treats she hoped to secure.
    “I have more important things to shop for than stone trinkets that will do nothing except be a weight around my neck.” She glanced at Lila to follow her and hurried on to find the stall of spices.
    “You’re wasting a lot of good opportunities,” Melah called after her. “You don’t have to worship it. Just give it a try.”
    Sarai ducked into the tent, knowing Melah would follow and probably try to push the point, but Sarai had no intention of letting her. She did not need to tempt the fragile trust she had in Abram’s God to keep His promise to them. If she listened too long to her niece, she would plunge headlong into despair and darkness.
    She dare not risk it.

6
    Palm trees lined the brick streets in the main section of Harran, leading a parade of people toward the city’s temples. Carts carrying the image of Nannar-Sin, pulled by fattened oxen, were decorated with elaborate designs, while priests in grotesque face masks and wild costumes walked behind. Painted women in colorful garments danced, skirts swirling around the costumed priests, while guards flanked them before and behind, all leading the crowd toward the imposing ziggurat temple of Sin.
    Melah stood on tiptoe, straining to see above the heads of other men and women, her heart beating with the pace of the drum. Terah, Lot’s grandfather, stood at her side, clutching her arm in a grip far stronger than he’d exhibited in previous weeks.
    “We should have found a roof to stand on to look down upon the parade.” Terah’s voice rasped like dried parchment. He cleared his throat. “We won’t be able to see the king with the priestess from here.”
    “Abram would be glad we can see so little.” Melah glanced at Terah, but his look told her he did not care whether his son was troubled by his choice to be here. Even Lot had acquiesced, allowing her to come once Terah insisted he would accompany her.
    “Abram is too concerned with pleasing only his unseen God, my daughter.” He patted her arm, motioning for her to follow him behind the crowds to the street beyond. “He does not realize the significance of the New Year’s Feast. How will the gods shine upon the