Samson

by Eric Wilson

  Anything to reach her. To lay eyes on my heart’s desire.

  I’ve been to this region before but never entered Gaza itself. I pass through the gates, towering iron-banded slabs of wood on heavy hinges and posts. A city, especially a capital city, is only as strong as its main entry point, and the recent fortification of the walls shows King Balek’s interest in security. Whom does he fear? The Midianites or Egyptians? Warriors from across the sea? I wonder if he’s aware of the hundreds gathered at Mahaneh-dan.

  The watchman wags a metal spear at me. “A word of warning, Hebrew. The gates close by nightfall, and you don’t want to be caught inside. Not a good idea for your sort.”

  “My sort. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Do all Hebrews wear their hair long as a woman’s?”

  “Feel it, if you like. Satisfy your curiosity.” That silences his tongue. “Listen, do you know where Prince Rallah keeps his servants quartered?”

  His expression makes it clear that I’m a fool. “The palace, of course.”

  “Even the female servants?”

  “Especially them. Now move along. I’m at my post.”

  My chest clenches, thinking of the humiliations my love endures at the hands of her rulers. Her eyes glowed with innocence yesterday, and there are those who prey upon such innocence the way an eagle falls from the sky upon a hare.

  Standing at the gates, a woman catches my gaze. She says in a husky voice, “Is it local gossip you seek? Join me, and I will oblige you.” She swishes past in a rush of purple cloth and lavender.

  I follow along. I need information.

  “Our glorious king has a soft spot for the ladies,” she tells me. “That’s no secret.”

  “And the prince?”

  “He’s more intrigued by metal and men.”

  “Men?”

  “Soldiers,” the woman clarifies, pushing by a trader and his ill-tempered camel. “The prince has never married, though rumor has it that his former lover’s back in the area. She’s from the North.”

  “I’m not one for rumors. I’m here to find someone.”

  “Are you hungry, thirsty? You look travel weary.”

  “I’m on a mission,” I tell her. “I don’t have time.”

  She smooths her tunic, trails a hand along her neck. Her eyelids are painted. “If it’s the closing of the gates you’re worried about, my place is close. These streets are dangerous after dark.”

  “I’m looking for a young woman who’s in the service of the prince.”

  “Does this woman have a name?”

  “I . . . Well, I don’t know it yet. She also served in the temple, so that could be a place for me to check. How would I get there from here?”

  “You’re a handsome thing, Hebrew. I hope you find her.”

  My eyes wander up the roadway. “Any suggestions where to start?”

  “They gathered the tribute over the last few days, and the last of the carts rolled into the city this morning. There’ll be servants at the royal storehouses, sorting and filling. It’s worth a look.”

  I start up the road.

  “Wrong way,” she says. “Go back along there, turn right, then follow it past the royal stables. And my offer stands, if you’re still in town later. My place is here. Up those stairs.”

  The woman, I suspect, has interests of a sensual and monetary nature, but I have no interest in a harlot. She’s been helpful, though, and I express my gratitude before hurrying away.

  The city is larger than I realize, its sounds of activity more strident than those I experienced only this morning in Eshtaol. A coppersmith works at his smelting furnace amid clanging metal and hissing steam. Three youths yell, chasing a crying child into a stone house. With noses nearly touching, two shop owners argue in local jargon that sounds garbled to my ears.

  What am I doing here? Do I really think this will work?

  The bray of horses and smell of barley lets me know I’m at the royal stables, and I turn to watch stewards groom majestic beasts, patting them down. Beyond the stables servants move to and fro with stalks of wheat, buzzing about the storehouses that hug the palace walls.

  And there she is.

  Emotion catches in my throat as I try to get a breath.

  She passes me, head down, with a satchel in hand. She climbs a wooden ladder to an opening in the storehouse wall, where she fills her bag to overflowing. There’s no energy to her movements, only duty and obedience. Her shoulders are slumped.

  From the foot of the ladder I call up to her. “Is everything all right?”

  She wipes a sleeve across her face, then peers down at me. A flicker of a smile tugs at the corners of her lips before her gaze turns hard. “What do you want?”

  “Forgive me. I just—”

  “Just what? Enjoy spying on people?”

  “Not at all,” I say. “No. I just . . . I had to know who you were.”

  “And how is that any of your business? I’m a servant to the prince.”

  “Because I saw you in Timnah, at the market. You saw me too. I know you did. And then at the quarry you were there in the crowd.”

  “Collecting wagers for the priest. It was my job.”

  “What can I say?” I run a hand through my hair. “One look at you, and my head started spinning.”

  “Spinning, huh? Maybe it was Bolcom’s fist that did that.”

  “He only landed that punch because I was distracted by you.”

  “I know of you, Samson.” She hides her face and returns to her labors. “Go home. They say that those who tangle with you leave wishing they had not.”

  “I came a long way just to find you. I won’t—”

  “Taren.” Prince Rallah appears at the far end of the street. “Come along.”

  He is already focused on a cartload, giving orders to another of his servants, and doesn’t seem to notice me. I tuck my chin. Has he heard of my exploits? Does he know my name? If so, my connection to Taren could prove dangerous for her.

  She sighs and descends the ladder. “I must go.”

  “Wait.” My mind races. She’s here within reach, even lovelier than I imagined, and at least I have her name now. “Do you know the cliffs, where the path to Gaza meets the sea?”

  “I do.” Her eyes catch mine. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Meet me there tomorrow at first light. Is that possible? Please.”

  “Taren!”

  She flinches. “I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

  As she turns away, her lustrous hair hides her expression from me, and I’m left without a response to my invitation. Did she nod? Was that a yes? I really don’t know, and morning is a lifetime away.

  “Does your offer still stand?” I’m at the top of the stone stairway, met at the door by the woman in purple. “I could reach the gates by dark, but I still have business here in Gaza tomorrow.”

  She grins. “I didn’t think you’d come, handsome.”

  “I only need a floor mat. I’ll pay for one night.”

  “Of course.” She ushers me in, waving a silk sleeve. “Shelter is my business, in whatever fashion that takes.”

  “A safe resting place. That’s really all I want.”

  “You’ve heard of Rahab from Jericho? She once hid your people’s spies.”

  “Joshua and Caleb. That’s where my brother got his name.”

  “I love that story. It shows how anyone can play a part in the schemes of your Hebrew God. Our Philistine gods are a bit more exacting. Anyway, I’m not one to fuss about how my money is made.” She accepts a silver coin from my bag. “Take the couch there. And did you want wine and a meal to go with that?”

  “Just water, please. Food, if it’s nothing too heavy. I must be up early.” I settle onto a low couch draped in furs that are softer than anything I’ve slept on before.

  “No luck finding the girl, I take it.”

  “I did find her, but we had only moments to talk.”

  “Well, don’t you worry, He
brew. I’m sure she’s smitten. And I’ll make sure it’s known that you only stopped here for food and rest. Ah, young love.” She gives a throaty chuckle. “I’m sure it’ll lead to years of unending bliss.”

  CHAPTER 13

  FIREWOOD AND FLEAS

  Village of Zorah

  WITH ONE HAND clutched to her chest and the other lifted to the heavens, Zealphonis prayed for Samson. She would hold on to the angel’s promise. She had to believe God’s words were true.

  But as Manoah liked to point out, God was known to change His mind. The Almighty had vowed vengeance on evildoers, then stayed His hand. He’d vowed blessings on the Israelites, then brought down destruction. His promises often came with conditions. Like any good father, He expected obedience, and those fathers who rewarded bad behavior ended up with self-centered children who became ill-prepared adults.

  Was this the situation now upon them?

  “Father in heaven, forgive us if I’ve gone astray in the raising of my sons. You entrusted them to us, and I beg Your grace. I beg Your wisdom.”

  She heard footsteps at the doorway and the lifting of the latch. Pale morning light filled the hut as her husband entered in a huff with Caleb on his heels.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Let’s not discuss it,” Manoah said. This was how he handled frustration, stacking it in the corner like firewood to be dried and later burned.

  “Did the council come together?”

  “We did.” He drank fresh goat’s milk from an earthen cup, wiped the droplets from his beard, and then adjusted his belt. “There’s work to be done. I must harness the plow.”

  Once he was gone, Zealphonis turned to her youngest.

  “I gave them my bag of silver,” Caleb said.

  “Well done. I’m proud of you.”

  “They’re upset. There was lots of arguing about what happened at the quarry. The elders, they’re worried it’ll bring about harsher restrictions, but Wadesh insisted that God has revealed our deliverer. Most of us younger men want to fight. How long do we have to face this oppression?”

  “Samson,” Zealphonis whispered. “Set apart to be God’s hand of vengeance.”

  “No, Mother, that’s the problem. Just as I told them, Samson doesn’t want to be judge.”

  “And what was the response to that?”

  “There were cheers and jeers. Treus, the one who leads at the tribal camp, he made snide remarks about Samson chasing after women and having eyes for the Philistine girls. ‘At least we’re safe from Samson making any advances at our own Israelite sisters’—that’s what he told them.”

  Zealphonis winced.

  “Treus doesn’t scare me,” said Caleb. “I jumped up, got right in his face, and told him his sister wouldn’t even have her virtue if not for the protection given by my brother. Did he want Samson to remove that protection? To leave his sister vulnerable? I couldn’t help it. I was furious.”

  “And Father? Did he have anything to add?”

  “That pretty much ended our meeting. He didn’t utter a word on the way home.”

  She had to ask. “Do you know where your brother is? Put my mind at ease, please.”

  “Don’t worry, Mother.” He fidgeted. “He’ll be back.”

  “What’s he up to? Is he squandering his coins at the chicken fights?”

  “They were his winnings, not mine.”

  She touched Caleb’s arm, ran her hands over his light hair. “Your father and I, we realize it’s not always easy for you. Samson casts a large shadow, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s my big brother.”

  She smiled. If there was any evidence she had mothered well, he stood before her now.

  A knock on the door turned both their heads. The neighbor widow poked her head in, her eyes aglow with mischief. Mercy, this woman had a way of stirring up rumors like sand fleas. Her appearance could only mean one thing.

  “Oh, Zealphonis, have you heard the news? I feel awful for you, truly.”

  “Good morning. Would you like to come in?”

  “So you don’t know? Oh my. He was seen at the door of a harlot, just last night.”

  “Who?”

  “Why, your Samson, of course. Down in Gaza. The youth these days, it’s awful.”

  Zealphonis shot Caleb a questioning look. He shook his head, indicating he knew nothing of this. She prayed silently once more for wisdom. Her chest felt hollow and cold.

  CHAPTER 14

  RENDEZVOUS

  Shores of the Great Sea

  GOD ALMIGHTY, HEAR my prayer. Bring Taren to me safely.” In the light of dawn, breakers roll in from the west in white-crested rows. They crash into sandstone cliffs farther up the beach, but along this stretch they nip at my toes before receding in froth and foam. I love the sea. It reminds me of my true size and place. Here the weight of expectations falls from my shoulders, and I’m just a nineteen-year-old man.

  A man in love.

  Where is she? Will she be here for our rendezvous?

  Movement from the left turns my head, and I see her strolling toward me in a dark robe that brushes the sand. A beaded covering adorns her hair, and a veil of sheer violet trails down her back. I rise to meet her. As I do, her dark almond eyes lock onto mine.

  “Taren, you’re . . . ”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “You’re magnificent,” I gasp.

  She blushes and turns her head. Her profile burns upon my memory the way the face of royalty is branded on a coin.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d show,” I tell her.

  “Do you think it’s easy, slipping away from the palace before daybreak?”

  “Did you put yourself in danger?”

  “Only if I’d been caught.” She shrugs. “The guard who watches our servant quarters, he was slumped in his chair with a jug of wine at his feet. His snores actually woke me.”

  “Wine makes men foolish. Another reason I don’t drink.”

  “Is that true?”

  “It’s part of a vow from my childhood.”

  “When I was a child, I played on this beach. I’d walk along the sand with my father.” Taren scoops some and watches it run through her fingers. “Those memories are the only reason I came.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “It is.” She returns my gaze. “Or do you consider me a liar?”

  “No, not that you’d lie. I’m just wondering if that’s the only reason. There is no other?”

  “Memories of my father aren’t enough? You don’t know him, Samson. He’s a fine man, who taught me and my younger sister well and treated us fairly.”

  My visions of love are fading. Perhaps her feelings don’t match my own. How arrogant of me to assume such a thing, as though my physique guarantees me whatever my heart desires. Sure, the village girls in Zorah and Eshtaol flock to me, almost too adoring, but Taren is unmatched in grace and beauty. Why would I expect her to swoon at a glance?

  “I’m sure your father’s proud,” I say.

  She draws a line in the sand with her sandal. “If you must know the truth, he might not be the only reason I came.” She steps over the line, hesitates, then walks past me along the shore.

  I stare after her.

  “Are you coming or not?” she asks without looking back.

  She’s toying with me. I grin. Very well, then; I’ll play this game. It only makes her more desirable, and I rush after her with wet sand sucking at my feet. As I reach her, she picks up her pace, and we run side by side at the edge of the surf.

  The day passes quickly. We climb the steep sandstone to the flatland above, and she shows no fear, waving off my assistance. We pick berries for lunch, and I catch a hare with my bare hands, which I skewer and cook over a small driftwood fire. As dusk settles, fishing boats far to the south ride the waves back to Gaza’s harbor. I wonder if guards are looking for Taren, and she tells me not to worry. She’ll convince them she hurried off to visit sick relatives. She’ll
suffer the consequences.

  “Tell me about them, your family. You’ve said nothing of your mother.”

  She adjusts her beaded covering. “My mother was killed over ten years ago, when I was barely seven. She was executed by the same prince I now serve.”

  “Taren.” The thought of it infuriates me. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Since her death, my father and sister have been prisoners of the crown, serving in the temple and king’s palace as I now do. We’re not held in chains, nothing so horrible, but we’re at the prince’s beck and call. When we are granted visits back to Timnah, to visit my grandfather and uncles, the memories are painful for us. That’s where . . . ”

  My hand rests on hers. “I understand.”

  “You see, Samson, the Hebrews are not the only victims.” She twines her fingers through mine. “Your people are not the only ones who suffer.”

  The light grows hazy, and we scramble back down to the beach. We retrace our steps slowly, headed again to the capital. I don’t want this to end. I want every day for the rest of my life to be here, with her, without injustice or enslavement. Just a man and a woman, loving and breathing.

  “Forgive me, Taren.”

  “For what?” She stops and looks up.

  “For being so quick to judge you and your people. I’ve seen you as my enemy.”

  “Our champion did try to kill you,” she admits. “But you defeated him and showed mercy when it wasn’t necessary. Not to mention, I saw that you are generous and kind. At least to your own brother.”

  “You know, the coins I won are almost all gone.”

  “So now I know another thing. You are wasteful and impulsive.”

  “I’m not the only one quick to judge.” I release my hold on her hand. “Listen, this is what I’m trying to tell you, that my people think I’m meant to be their judge, to lead them to victory. All my life my family has reminded me that I’m to rise up and strike down our enemies.”

  She halts. “Meaning us.”

  “The Philistines, yes. My countrymen are beaten and starved, their livestock stolen. It’s gone on for years, Taren, with no end in sight.”

  “We’re held captive by the same people. I wish we were all free.” She looks out over the sea, then turns and faces me. “Samson, who do you want to be?”