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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.
    â€œIchbi 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.
    â€œO 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