Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) (25 page)

“He talks a lot.”

“About what?” Galenos tensed, nodding for me to continue. I had something of value to offer him. I saw it in his eyes.

I was slipping, just a little. When a woman has known powerful men, she is forever changed. She knows that power is always there; just a little push and it can be hers, too. She thinks she can fix what is so deeply wrong in her life. Until she discovers that power will only make her wounds worse. Power without goodness is an infection.

I wanted none of it. I was not good. When I had power, I used it to hurt others.

“Nothing at all. He just talks. If he said anything at all of importance, I would tell you.”

Galenos pointed to the sun overhead. “I have to go to Ekron today. The lords are meeting to discuss this problem.”

“All five lords?”

“Have you not heard what he did in Gaza? He tore the city gates off their hinges, carried them all the way to Mount Hebron.”

“I still do not believe it.” I was not a man, but I was educated.

He grasped my arm, frowning in earnest. “It happened. I saw the gates myself.”

“It’s impossible!” My stomach was cold and tight. Fear brought my body to life. I pressed a hand to my stomach to soothe it. “It would take twenty men or more just to set them on their hinges.”

“Took forty to bring them down from the mountain, and on carts at that. Samson is a dangerous man. Do not entertain him again. Have nothing to do with him. For my sake.”

I did not understand. He patted my arm with a sigh. “Marcos was my friend.”

I bit my lip to stop any sign of grief. I had not heard his name spoken in months. Had it been months? I did not know time anymore. I knew only emptiness. Inside there was absence, a lack, a dreary day where there is no movement in the clouds, no sun and no storm, just a low and heavy gray sky.

Lord Galenos kissed my hand and departed. I stared at the baker’s oven, the orange flames rising around the blackened base of the stones, the white ashes floating up and away. The wind was carrying all of it off, the ash and the chaff, all the evidence that we were alive on this day. I looked down at my own hands, trembling in the warming sun. They were cold, so cold. One hand moved toward the flame, stretching out toward the warmth, as if I did not control it. I wanted to burn my hand. I pushed it closer. I wanted to feel something again, something real, a pain I could see with my own eyes. I needed to see my pain, so I pushed my hand toward the flames, my tunic singeing at the edges where it touched the stones.

Samson was upon me, grabbing me, one arm sweeping under my ribs along my waist, pulling me along the lane.

“Why would you do that?” He forced me to walk fast, anger in his voice.

“How much did you hear?” I thought he was talking about Galenos.

“If you want to hurt me, then do. But I never want to see you do that again.” He stopped, grabbing me by the arm, forcing me around to look at him. “Whatever it is, I can help you.”

He picked up my hand, inspecting it. It was not truly burned, but it was red from the heat.

“You are said to be a dangerous man,” I said.

“Not to you. Never to you, Delilah.”

“Then leave me alone. Just talking to you brings trouble to me.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Why? Have we made slaves of the Hebrews now?”

“Because I’m going to marry you.”

I laughed until I bent over, until he turned red in the face and crossed his arms. He sounded angry, not petulant, as he spoke. “I’ve watched you in the streets. You have no one.”

“That does not mean I need you.”

“No. But, in time, you will desire me, just as I desire you. And you will want my God to be your God, and my people to be your people.”

Did he not understand the way of the world? Expectations were always met, and never with goodness. Anger rose in my heart, stiffening my arms as I looked into his face. His face with the soft brown eyes, and a mouth that was soft and red under that hair. He was an appealing man, if one looked closely. I took a step back.

I had no pity for the poor wounded Hebrew. He needed none. What he needed was a man strong as himself, one who would throttle him until he stopped whining and started seeing the world as it was, a world indifferent to him and his god and his destiny.

But there was no such man. There was only me, and I knew that sometimes in this life, only a woman would dare to do what a man should.

“I have conditions.” Tension rushed from my shoulders, loosening my arms as I took a deep, satisfying breath.

Samson offered his arm, and together we walked toward my home. If he wanted to marry me, first he had to save me. No man could do that.

Again, we were drunk in the moonlight. Samson had bought me a beeswax candle in the market, a luxury I would not buy for myself. I went without light. It suited me. Samson, however, preferred light. I suspected that what he preferred was fire, the flame, but this I would not say. Not yet. I would wait to provoke him but was glad the thought had come to me.

“Will you let me kiss you?”

He leaned too close to my face. I pulled away, fanning at him with one hand, deciding to refill my bowl with the wine.

“What? Do I stink? Or is it because I am a Hebrew?”

“I don’t want to kiss you. That is a reason in itself.”

“How can I please you when you won’t talk to me?”

“Don’t bother trying to please me.” I felt no pleasure.

He grunted as he stood, and he walked to the edge of my roof.

“I should leave.” He sounded hurt, drawing a deep sigh, releasing it with great effort.

I said nothing.

“I stopped that man from hurting you because it was the right thing to do, the right way to use my strength. And when I looked at you, after he was lying on the ground, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I had not known I could feel that again.”

He said those last words with great emphasis. I knew I was supposed to ask him to tell me his tale.

I drank more wine, letting it sit on my tongue, breathing through my mouth, trying in vain to taste it, truly. It burned and gave me no satisfaction.

“I won’t come anymore. If you really want me to leave, I will.” He turned to face me as he said it, crossing his arms. He was testing me. He wanted to know what was in my heart.

I decided to show him.

I stood and walked to the edge of the roof, sweeping my arm out across the view. “In the distance, you can see the temple from here. And if you look across the valley, you will see tiny dots of light, little houses near the fields.” At this hour, the homes with light and the temple with its yellow orbs were like stars resting on the black earth. “They will be harvesting the grapes this month, and the figs, and the olives. There will be much rejoicing if the fields are fertile.”

“We will hope for a good harvest, then.” Samson looked hopeful. He was not thinking of a harvest. He was thinking I would soften if the news was good.

“But if there are worries, if the fields are bare and trees wither, they will return to the temple and teach Dagon what he must do. There will be lovemaking. And sacrifices. And next spring, babies thrown in gutters.”

Samson said nothing, made no response, no expression. I shoved him toward the roof’s edge. He caught himself, cursing.

I knew I was smiling. I didn’t care. “You’re afraid.”

“Afraid to die, yes!”

“There are worse things.”

I walked to the edge, resting my toes at the tip of the roof. The temple lay straight ahead. Its yellow light teased me. It was beautiful, from a distance. Everything was, until you knew the truth. Glancing at Samson, I took one last step off the roof, into the night air.

He caught me, strength coming upon him, pulling me to his chest. He pressed me close, my face just under his, warm against his neck.

Only one man had ever held me like this. And he had not saved me. He had only betrayed me, giving me my freedom before he made sure I wanted to live.

Samson’s heart beat fast, pounding through his tunic. Tears came to my eyes, running in cool rivers down my cheeks. Samson was afraid—and not just for himself. He was afraid for me. He was afraid I would die, as if that would mean something to him. I closed my eyes, letting him hold me like this. I fought with the sweet softness of memory before I composed myself and shoved him off of me, furious.

He grabbed my arm. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I am already alone!”

“Not anymore. Not if you will just talk to me.”

I paused, waiting for the tears to dry up, willing my heart to turn cold again.

“Do you want to stay the night?” I asked.

“With you?”

I laughed. He was so suspicious now.

“Yes, with me.”

“Then I do, yes.”

“Be quiet, and you can stay.” I don’t know why I did it, only that the memories were so near, so sweet, that I could not bear to be alone with them tonight.

He pressed one finger to his lips, in mockery of my command. I pulled two blankets from a basket near the wine table and laid them out on the roof. It was too hot to sleep below, and I planned to do nothing but sleep.

He was not pleased, I think, with the arrangement, but he said nothing. He should not have agreed to my conditions without knowing what they all were.

He breathed heavily at night, not like Marcos, who slept peacefully. Samson thrashed and snorted, like an ox with a blanket thrown over his face.

Poor Samson. Not even in sleep did he find peace. If he spoke the truth to me, then he was born to save others, and others did not want to be saved. If they had allowed him to fulfill his destiny, perhaps he would not have been keeping me awake, pestering me even while asleep. But I understood. His people didn’t want their freedom.

I didn’t want mine either.

“Are you awake?” Samson was sitting up, watching me. I wiped my cheeks in the darkness, angry. I had not realized he was watching me, and I had been crying.

He crossed his legs and settled back.

“I will tell you a story,” he said.

I said nothing. Stories were better than questions, I supposed, and this man was determined to talk.

“Many generations ago, a young boy had a great destiny but not much sense. His brothers hated him, and one day they betrayed him and sold him into slavery. The boy was taken to a foreign land, where he suffered again, until he found a kind master who gave him freedom and honor, but the boy, who was now a man, was sad, broken. He had everything he ever could desire, but he was dead in his heart. Then a famine came upon the land, and all suffered a great hunger. Now this man had been given a job, a job of counting grain and storing grain and rationing grain, and so during the famine he became the most powerful man in the world. All who hungered came to him for grain. One day, he saw his brothers in the line for grain. What did he do?”

“He had them killed.”

“He fed them.”

“What? They were his enemies, the beginning of all his pains!”

“But that was what he had been born for, why he had been given his power and strength, to feed those who had hurt him, to save many, even those who did not deserve it.”

I sat up, hoping he saw my eyes blazing in the dark. My teeth were on edge. “Why do you tell me this story?”

“My God uses the cruelty of others to push us into a position to save them. To save many. Whatever has been done to you, perhaps my God was at work in it, too.”

My heart was beating faster. How could he have known this story was for me? As if a god was speaking to me through him.

“I do not know your god. I know Dagon.”

“Dagon is no god. He has given you nothing. He will never be at work in your sorrow.”

“You have power, Samson. Why must you talk of gods? Surely you see that power is the only true god in this world. Yet here you are, on the roof with a Philistine woman, half drunk and a nuisance.” I wanted him gone.

“I have strength. Not power. I cannot heal. I cannot change a heart. I cannot even win your trust.”

“I feel such pity for you. Now go home.”

He was mad with god-talk. As if I would feed my brothers or father and mother, as if I would bless the man in shadows or any of the men who used their worship to serve themselves. Not that a woman, even in Philistine lands, could have such power over others. But should that moment come to me, I knew what I would choose.

“Delilah?”

“Yes?”

“Do I have to go home? I promise not to say anything else.”

I hid under the blanket, pressing my hand over my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me laughing.

MOTHER

Every winter, just before spring arrives, the almond trees bloom. They are a promise from God, each of those white blossoms, that He is watching and His words will be fulfilled in their appointed time. Sometimes, this appointed time comes before we are ready. Sometimes, it seems to come too late. We cannot understand His timing, any more than we can understand our children, when the children we love break our hearts again and again.

This was not the season of blooms.

I waited by our grinding stone for Kaleb and Liam to bring me some grain from our storage jars in the corner. I could have done it myself, but boys need to be kept busy.

Manoah spoke. “I miss our son.”

I whipped my head around to peer at him. I thought he had been sleeping. He needed so much sleep these days.

I tried to make my voice gentle. “Kaleb and Liam are our sons now too.”

“Where is my son?” His voice faltered.

“I know where he is.” We turned to stare at Kaleb, who was standing still, listening to us.

He cleared his throat, addressing Manoah instead of me. “He has fallen in love with another Philistine woman. Her name is Delilah. He spends all his nights with her. He says she is soft and doesn’t have to work for her meals like the Hebrew girls.”

“Every woman works for her meals. Trust me,” I said, with narrowed eyes and a lowered voice. “You are too young to understand.”

“So you have seen him?” Manoah tried to sit up on his pallet.

“Liam and I saw him when we were helping the servants plant the wheat. He said he knows how Mother feels about Philistine women. He does not think he can come home now.”

Manoah’s face brightened as he rubbed his hands together.

“Give him a message for me, if you see him again. Tell him to come home. I want to see him.”

“And you?” Kaleb was waiting for me to say something, a sweet message of my own to bring my wandering boy back.

I came to him, embracing him warmly but whispering in his ear, so Manoah would not see.

“Remind him of what it will cost her. She’ll be dead before spring.”