“You’ve lost weight. You needed to flush out.”
My blank stare infuriated her. Her nostrils flared. “Flushed. Made fat. Like our breeding goats.”
I stopped breathing completely from the indignation, my breath frozen right in my chest. This woman wanted me fattened up, just like we fattened our goats before breeding. We checked the goats for the amount of fat between their ribs and along their backs. I was not a woman at all to Samson’s mother, not even a girl! I was a goat. I was livestock for breeding her little Hebrew half-beasts.
The men’s laughter died down as they watched us. Aware of all those glittering eyes on me, the darkness of the night, and the snapping of the fire, we all grew silent.
I moved back into the shadows and settled into Astra’s arms. I didn’t want to do those things that are done in the night, not with her son, and I didn’t want to breed his strange children. Breath flowed again into my lungs, cold night air, and I burst into sobs. Astra held me tightly.
Heat burst through my tunic from a huge hand resting on my shoulder.
“Why are you crying?”
I did not move. Astra turned me to face him. Samson stood before us. I felt like a child standing in his shadow, with my tear-stained face and running nose. One of his thighs was bigger than both of mine put together. And he had a strange gift, a magic that stole over me, making me feel safe and terrified all at once. He made my stomach forget its food and wince from sharp new pains, pains of a hunger that was strange to me.
“Do you want to tell me?”
I realized I had not spoken. I opened my mouth but could not make any sounds. I shook my head and looked away from him, at the ground. He reached for my hand and brought it to his lips. His lips grazed my hand, the gesture of a kind man, and my legs almost went out from under me from the shooting pains that attacked my thighs when he touched me. His lips were soft, softer than anything I had ever felt, and warm, and his whiskers scratched the skin where they touched me. Goose bumps rose all over my arms.
He did not release my hand. Instead, he led me to the feasting table and made room for me. He poured a bowl of wine and handed it to me.
Under the flickering light of a torch, I saw Samson’s mother smiling at me as I accepted the wine. She nodded in approval, and I understood. This was what she expected of me as his wife, although I did not understand the significance. Maybe wine brought fertility. I would ask my own mother tomorrow.
Little fool that I was, I smiled back at her, grateful to have perhaps earned her approval. I drank the wine and grew warm, letting the weight of so many emotions overtake me. I was unable to think, unable to act. I leaned against Samson and drank another bowl and waited for him to take me.
Samson did not lie with me on that first night of the feast. I was drunk for the first time in my life, so that much of what I remembered about the rest of the feast was told to me by Astra. I do remember the men dancing with women from the village, women who had crept near the bonfire, hoping for a bite of free food. I remember the moon, huge and white, lighting the whole night sky, like a bridal gift from Dagon.
I remember Samson’s warm skin, his arms like iron that slipped under my knees and around my back, lifting me when I began to doze off at the table. I rested my head against his chest like a child and heard his heart. It sounded like my own. That was a revelation to me, under that bright round moon. His tunic flapped open at the neck, revealing his tanned, taut skin and a few dark hairs from his chest.
I abandoned myself to him, rubbing my cheek against his flesh, letting myself be carried to our bridal bed. My mind told me to give in to him, to know why the women giggle at the bread oven when they speak of their men. Let it happen. You are too drunk to fight him off anyway.
Samson carried me into the house and to my pallet, ignoring the lewd comments from the men. He sat down next to me, leaning over me as he smoothed back my hair. He asked if I needed a blanket to keep warm or anything to settle my stomach. He had not seen me eat all night. Surely I needed something? Astra said I rolled to the side and curled up like a disappointed child, saying nothing. He laughed and found the blanket at the foot of the pallet, laying it over me. He sat there with me, she said, for a long while, just watching me sleep. He smiled as he did. He did not leer, she promised, or laugh, but smiled, like a man bewitched.
“I think he will be a gentle husband,” she added, as she dipped the linen in the crock of water and washed my forehead. I was still on the pallet, feverish and ill after too much wine last night.
“Where are Mother and Father?” I tried to sit up, but the weight of the room pushed me back down. The walls were moving in on me. My pallet was rolling side to side, too, I could feel it.
“Cleaning up. The men will return this afternoon at dusk. The second night.”
“Five more to go,” I whispered.
Astra slipped the linen cloth into the crock and lay down beside me, resting one arm around me. I closed my eyes, praying for relief.
“Five more to go,” she whispered back.
MOTHER
“Your wedding clothes,” I said, pointing to the pile on the floor.
He pulled off his tunic, tossing it onto his bed. He rummaged in the pile, finding the tunic, dyed blue and soft as a morning cloud. It suited him well. Next he pulled out the fringed wrap, and I turned my back to give him privacy. It was meant to wrap around his waist, under the tunic, and hang down to his knees.
“Done.”
The last piece of his wedding clothes was a woven shawl with a serpent across the shoulder, the symbol of our tribe. I draped the center of the shawl over his left shoulder so that the image of the serpent hung down onto his chest, then pulled the ends across his body, knotting them together over his right hip.
“Be gentle with her. She is young. And undress in the dark, or you’ll never get her into bed the first time.”
Samson groaned.
“What? I cannot tell my own son how to behave on his first night with his wife?” I said.
Manoah came in just then. He glared at Samson. “Did you tell her?”
“What did you do now?” I asked.
Manoah stepped between us. “He bet the wedding guests that they could not solve his riddle. He bet them thirty sets of clothes.”
Samson rolled his eyes. “It’s an easy riddle. The Philistines have the answers painted on their pottery. They’re even drinking out of bowls with the answers painted on them.”
Samson had bet a fortune, our fortune, on a riddle, to amuse himself. My head was throbbing, and dark specks floated in my vision. Manoah rested his hands on my shoulders, whispering that I should remember to breathe.
But this one riddle would change everything.
AMARA
“Do you know what this would cost me?” Talos was yelling at my father. I heard their voices through the walls of our home. Astra was sleeping peacefully next to me, so I slid myself off the pallet trying not to disturb her. Her arm, which had been around me, shifted back and forth around the pallet. Even in her sleep, she knew when I was gone.
I tucked the blanket into the crook of her arm. She pulled it close and sighed.
My sandals were near the door, but I did not pause to put them on. Cracking the door open, I leaned my head out to listen. The sun was setting. My stomach lurched as I thought of last night and what must surely happen tonight.
“My family will kill me if I lose that much money!”
“Then shut your mouth and solve the riddle. Did I force you to accept the bet?”
“Is this your idea of a dowry? Sending Amara away with wealth from all our families?”
My father shoved Talos down to the ground. I ran out to stop him from kicking him, too.
“Stop! What are you arguing about?”
Talos stood up and spit at my feet. He walked off without looking at me.
“What happened?”
Father glanced at me and sighed. “Last night, your Danite made a bet with our men. If
he wins, they have to provide him with thirty sets of clothes. Your friends accepted before hearing the riddle.”
“My friends? You blame me?”
“They think we set them up to get money out of them.”
“I didn’t invite them.” I looked from my father to Talos, accusing. Neither cared, nor met my eyes. Talos was done with me.
“A set of clothes can mean a month without food. And they are our guests! Wish us luck ever getting work again in harvest time or selling any more rugs. What did you say to him?”
“Nothing! This is not my work!”
Mother returned, carrying fresh water in a crock. I hoped she had warmed it, if it was meant for me.
“What is all this noise?”
Father made a fist and slammed it into the frame of our door, near my head. I screamed and ducked out of the way. I stumbled as I did. My legs were not solid yet.
He gestured at me.
“The riddle Samson posed last night? The bet? Every family in the village is furious with us.”
“That’s Samson’s doing, not ours. Not hers.” Mother took a step toward me, out of instinct, I was sure. She knew what it was like to be given away.
“If you don’t want to see your family ruined, then get your groom to cancel the bet. He can tell all the riddles he wants, but he can’t extract money from our villagers. He knew you had no dowry before he accepted you,” Father said.
“No dowry at all?” I did not hear right. My ears were not working after my first drunken night. No girl ever married without a dowry. Even the poorest man saved something to send away with her. What man would take a bride who had nothing to offer?
I sat, naked, my back to the door, as Mother washed me. The water was freezing, and I shivered, an involuntary protest, but she insisted it was a good remedy for my ills after last night.
“The only remedy we can afford, you mean,” I corrected her. I sounded cross.
Astra brought in a small basket of herbs to weave into my hair. She sat it down next to us as Mother laid her hand on my shoulder.
“Never mind your father. He is ashamed. This bet makes it worse for him.”
I was glad I did not have to look at her.
“What kind of man takes a bride with no dowry? Why did Samson choose me?”
She dipped the sponge back into the crock. I winced as I heard her wring it out, bracing myself for another cold shock against my skin.
“My greatest regret, daughter, is that I will lose you to a Hebrew. I do not know why Samson insisted upon you, or why your father allowed it.”
“I love her.”
Samson’s voice boomed through our tiny home, making us all gasp. Mother jumped up as Astra hid behind her. I was naked, with nothing to grab for cover. I held my hands over my nakedness and did not turn around.
“I chose her because I love her.”
“But you just saw me once, on the roof.” I was emboldened by my mother and sister, and by my modesty in avoiding his eyes. Would that I could cover my back and buttocks. I hoped he wasn’t looking at them. I knew he must be, though; they burned with embarrassment.
“I saw you once, on the roof, yes. Any man that needs a second look at you to decide his intentions is no man at all. I look forward to our second night together.”
I heard the door sweep across the floor and close. Mother and Astra stood frozen, but when they met my eyes, my blush of embarrassment was so quick that they laughed at me. They laughed despite the new little tears that sneaked out of my eyes, the small, mean tears of surprise and embarrassment.
I was not going to drink tonight. I had to be alert, to speak to Samson if I could, and ask him to cancel the bet. I would persuade him to wait one more night to touch me.
Besides, I wanted to hear the riddle.
Samson’s cheek brushed against mine as he bent down to speak in my ear. Goose bumps rose along my arms as his hair fell forward, touching my arms and bodice.
“Are you ready?”
My stomach twinged with these strange sharp pains that were not from wine or bad food, but strange hot pinching pains that shot down my thighs whenever he touched me or his gaze lingered too long. Would all of married life be such agony? I did not think I could take another hour of shivering at his touch, and certainly not a lifetime.
It was wrong, I knew, to feel these things about a Hebrew, but there was no Philistine man or boy that was anything like him. Samson was a new race of man.
“Did you hear me?” he asked. “Why do you seem far away?”
I shook myself, biting my cheek. If he knew my thoughts, I would die of shame.
He continued. “Out of the eater, you’ll find something to eat. Out of the strong one, you’ll get something sweet.”
I shoved him away. It sounded lewd. I didn’t want to reveal my utter ignorance, but neither would I be made a fool.
He leaned back and roared with laughter. Everyone watched us. That was not a new feeling. Everyone had watched us all night, looking, no doubt, for hints of my complicity with Samson’s bet, as if I was plotting with my groom to rob them all.
“Samson. That riddle cannot be solved. It’s not fair. You should call off the bet.”
“The answer is nearer than you know. Besides, the men accepted my terms before they heard the riddle. Was that wise?”
I floundered, keeping my eyes on my plate lest I start a fight among them all.
“No,” I admitted at last.
“Let them suffer.”
“But they are angry with me.”
“You are my wife. Not theirs.”
Our whispers did not carry, though the men strained to listen. I was grateful for the musicians who had come tonight. The music made everyone’s heart lighter. A lyre player and harpist sat together, while the lute player circulated among the guests, enticing us with his melodies, begging among us for a dancer.
Samson stood, the wide, white moon behind him, lighting him around the edges like a god. He extended a hand to me, and I stood too, his huge frame casting a shadow over me. I spared only one glance at anyone else, and it was at his mother, to read her face. Her eyes narrowed as she lifted her bowl of beer and gulped it down. Odd that she drank beer and not wine, but I would learn much more about her people in days to come, I knew.
Samson led me away from the tables, closer to the fire. The lute player followed, and men who could find partners joined us. Talos sulked away alone, but I could not think of him. I could only think of this man Samson holding my right hand, standing so close I could feel his breath on my neck. He spun me in a slow arc, then pulled me back in, closer this time, so that the fabric of our tunics touched. I sucked in my stomach, a feeling like fear shooting through it, unwilling for him to touch my body, even through my tunic, afraid to touch his. The buzzing in my head was relentless, drowning out all thought and reason. There was only his breath on the soft, bare skin of my neck and the warm, soft flesh of his palm pressed into mine.
I couldn’t breathe. He lowered his face to mine, and without thinking, without meaning to offer myself, I lifted my mouth to his. I closed my eyes and shivered. His lips grazed my forehead—my forehead!—and not my mouth, and he held me a moment more.
The lute player had changed songs. Samson was leading me to my home. Panic stabbed through my stomach as I bit my lips to keep from crying. I heard bowls being raised in a lewd toast.
Where was Astra? Or Mother? I tried to steal glances back over my shoulder, but I was too embarrassed for any of the men to catch my eye. I saw Samson’s father instead, who was watching us with a kind expression. Old as the dirt we stood on, with sparse white hair and hanging white brows, he nodded at me and raised his bowl.
I wanted to die. I was going to die, before Samson even had a chance to undress me. I could not breathe when he touched me, not even when I was in my tunic.
He released my hand at my door. “Good night, wife.”
“Uh.” That’s all I could say. I had thought he would take me tonight
. I had been drunk, I understood, he had been kind, but he was surely going to take me tonight. Why was he not going to take me tonight?
That same cursed smile played on his lips. “You were expecting something else?”
He leaned his right arm over me, leaning against the doorframe of the house, imprisoning me under his huge, overfed frame.
“My wife is disappointed with me? So soon?” Samson asked.
“Don’t.” It was a warning.
He loved it. He laughed like I was the wittiest girl he had ever known, a rare gem.
“I was joking. I only brought you home so you could change.”
“Change?”
“I want to take you somewhere. Change. We will take my donkeys. Unless you prefer me to carry you.”
I flung the door to the house open to escape the horror of such a thing. He probably would do that, too. However, I had nothing to change into, and we had never owned donkeys, so I didn’t know why I had to change my tunic to ride.
The length. Probably the length of my tunic was too long. I rummaged through Mother’s basket and found her best sash. Wrestling my own off, I wrapped hers around my waist twice, tying it in back. A splash of cold water on my face and a finger scrubbed across my teeth were the only other grooming tricks I knew.
I opened the door, and he was waiting.
The donkey plodded up the road into the hills with steady good humor, despite the huffs from nearby lions and the screams of the badgers.
“Your donkey is a good one,” I said, ending the quiet truce we had kept since leaving the feast last hour.
“He is not my donkey.”
I turned, finally having the nerve to look at him.
He had been studying me during the whole ride and smiled to see me finally look back. “He’s yours. For the return journey.”
“He’s sweet.” I didn’t know how to judge a good donkey, but I had to say something. I couldn’t believe I was alone with Samson in the valley under a full moon, and all I could talk about was donkeys. If he had any wisdom about choosing wives, he’d swat the donkey and send us both fleeing into the hills, away from him.
Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) Page 8