My knees went out, and Tanis caught me. I tried to stand quickly; Hannibal was rolling his eyes at me. I was causing too much trouble. I had come here a frightened, grateful girl, but the birth had changed me. He did not like who I had become.
I pushed her back and stood straight. “I should eat something. I have work to do.” I looked up and stared hard, right into Hannibal’s eyes. He nodded his approval.
A servant brought me food. I ate without tasting it. I forced it down my throat. I would not let Hannibal know the deep wound ripped open in my belly again, the incurable sadness of the condemned. My daughter would be loved, but not by me.
She was better off without me. Everyone was.
MOTHER
I returned from Lehi by night—not a safe thing to do for anyone, especially a woman. My heart beat wildly, and I often had to stop and press my hand against it, willing it to slow down. I heard footsteps behind me many times, and the coarse breathing of a beast.
Samson was following me. I had done this to him, brought this curse upon him, his destiny to hunt and kill. He was angry with me. He stalked me like I was the animal. I fled, faster and faster, frightened of his wrath.
I slid into my home with an anguished cry of relief and found Manoah sleeping on his pallet downstairs. This was good. It was normal for us, and how I needed normal again! I was never so grateful to remove my tunic and lie down beside him, covering myself with his blanket. He was warm and I was so tired from my journey, from my life and my son.
In the darkness, I noticed that his breathing was labored. I should have left him with bitter herbs or made an offering for healing before I left.
I rested my head on his chest. “I should not have gone. I should have stayed with you.”
He reached for me and rested a warm, strong hand on my side. “The Lord is good.”
I had not known he was awake. “How is that an answer?” I chided him gently. He needed to sleep.
“How is it not?”
With that, he went back to his sleeping. I laid awake for the remainder of the hours, daring myself to believe this again. Daring myself to believe in a God that watched His chosen one slaughter so many—slaughter until his beard ran red—a God that offered no comfort to a weary, confused mother, or to a wife terrified that her husband was dying.
DELILAH
When I proved I would eat everything set before me and would not harm myself again, I was brought back to the main sleeping room. I was given the couch closest to Tanis’s and encouraged to fix my hair after the evening meal.
The temple women would begin serving soon.
“When a man speaks to me, what must I do?”
Tanis stopped combing her hair and pressed her lips together in thought. “You are not ready. Just serve the women tonight and watch.”
“I know why you brought me here. It was not to carry platters and cups.”
She made a clucking sound, a gentle reprimand. “I do not like it when you talk this way. I think you know very little of why I brought you here.”
I walked to her and picked up her comb, setting to work on her hair. She sat straight up, her back to me, as my hands worked so close to her neck. I wondered what she thought of me now, now that she had seen me go mad, seen me look at her with my animal eyes.
I braided a section of hair along the sides, wrapping the braid to the back, securing it in place with a pin. I did another braid along the side, saying nothing to her, securing it with another pin.
Rose stopped her own preparations and admired Tanis.
I walked around Tanis to face her, checking my work from the front. Grasping a thin reed in the kohl pot, I swept a long line of black across her eyes. She looked stunning.
I sat beside her and held the reed out to her. “Now do mine.”
“No.”
I put the reed in her hand and closed my hand around hers. “I have to do this.”
“What if you didn’t? I want you to wait for a little while longer before joining us.”
“Tanis, you knew this moment would come. You knew it when you bought me from my father.”
“He was going to stone you.”
“Better off here than dead.” I forced a serene smile that meant nothing to me.
“I didn’t want you to suffer.”
I did not know if she meant at the hands of my father, or for the loss of my child. I had no desire to know.
“The kohl,” I urged her, shutting my eyes.
I felt the cold wet reed slide across my eyelids, and her hand resting on my cheek for balance. She set to work on my hair next, and Rose set in my lap a jeweled pin from her own hair. The other women in the room took notice as I was groomed. Some nodded in approval. Others stared down at their hands, running fingers over thickening veins and brown spots, choosing then to spend more time on their own hair. As if we would compete for the same man. As if all men were not the same.
No touch would ever make me flinch again or feel pain or fear. I had stopped feeling everything in that birthing room weeks ago. But one desire had not left me. One burned hotter as the others faded to gray ash and floated away. One desire kept me alive.
I would find a way to punish Parisa for what she had shown me. If I had never seen that, perhaps I could have believed in the power of offerings made to stone gods. I could have lived with hope. Hope was all I had ever had, and Parisa had taken it from me. She had betrayed me once. I wanted her to regret that as much as I did. I wanted her to feel what I did now, and weep. My pain had focused on one small goal, and that felt so good.
At last, I had grown strong enough to hurt her, just as I had been hurt.
Perhaps that, too, was hope.
Parisa leaned on Lord Marcos’s arm, turning her body into his, leaning forward as she spoke in soft tones. He held a bowl in his opposite hand and laughed loudly at her story. I smiled at him from across the room and saw the catch in his breath when our eyes met. I bowed my head so our eyes would not meet again.
Like a cat, I slid one foot in front of the other, moving across the floor in complete silence, rolling my hips with each step, gliding past him, pausing only when I was safely behind Parisa to look back again.
He was watching. I lowered my head in modesty and moved on, gliding to another man standing alone. That man straightened at once, sucking in his stomach, talking fast. He was telling me his name and his desire of great blessings from Dagon and was I a new priestess at this temple because he had not seen me before and he was a devout man.
I nodded and replied only, “Yes.”
He stammered on, then stopped as if hit over the head with a stone. He seemed frozen, unable to say anything else. I had to help him.
“You want to go upstairs with me, yes?” I whispered.
He nodded and wiped his glistening face.
I turned my head, curving my body around as I did, to catch sight of Lord Marcos. He glanced in my direction, then glanced again when he saw me looking at him. Parisa stopped talking and was turning to look in my direction when I turned back to my victim. I took him by the arm and led him up the stairs to our right, not minding the cold, dark stairwell or the animal noises that greeted us when I opened the door.
The more noise the better.
We walked to a room where the curtain stood half-open. I held the curtain back and motioned him to step inside. He did, and at once removed his belt. It hit the ground with a loud thump, and I knew his money bag was heavy. But after all, I had not chosen him for his looks.
I crossed my arms. “What do you want Dagon to do for you?”
He became bold, now that we were alone and the curtain was drawn for privacy. I had chosen well.
“Why don’t we show Dagon the blessing of life and celebrate his goodness to us?” He was moving closer to me, his fingers already fumbling at the pin on his shoulder, holding his robe in place.
I stepped back. “Who is stupid, you or your god?”
He stopped, jerking his chin to his neck, as i
f he had not comprehended my words.
“What kind of god must be shown how to bless his followers?”
His face, clouded with confusion, suddenly brightened. “Is this a game?” He frowned again. “Do I pay extra for it?”
I took a step toward him, glaring at him with my animal eyes. “How can you ask Dagon to bless you with a harvest if you curse the fruit? You are a stupid fool.”
He was trembling, his mouth open. I did not think he was a regular. He would have had words.
Bending down, I took hold of his bag, satisfied with its weight in my hand. With the other, I opened the curtain and nodded for him to leave.
He gasped in indignation, but seeing I had his money and his reputation, too, he left. As he stepped past me, I leaned toward him and whispered a little encouragement with the sweetest of smiles.
“Come back next week.”
He did everything I could have asked for, and well. Stomping through the portico, a shocked look on his face, he caught the attention of Lord Marcos and several of the others. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched him go. Without looking at anyone, I turned and slid away, my keep earned for the night, my suspicions confirmed. The lifeless body of Dagon stood over them all in the portico, his blind eyes seeing nothing they did.
Dagon was everything I suspected him to be, which was nothing at all. And his followers were ignorant, no better than a foolish young girl with two ewes.
How easily disaster could find the foolish.
I dropped the bag at the feet of Hannibal and walked away, ready for sleep, pretending I did not hear the murmurings of the women—the hushed, frightened whispers. I had seen their faces when I had dressed for the evening. I was no longer the young fool, the pregnant child they could be tender to. I was a woman now myself. And I had earned more money in my first night than some of them earned in a week.
“Delilah. Explain this.” Hannibal had picked up the bag and was weighing it in his hand as I turned. He frowned, displeasure evident.
“What must I say?”
Hannibal and Tanis spoke in each other’s ear. She looked unhappy as well. Tanis addressed me next.
“Who gave this to you?”
“Was I supposed to ask his name?”
The demure among the women cleared their throats. Those less refined just giggled.
“I will do that next time. And he didn’t give it to me. I earned it.”
“Everyone, go to your chambers. Delilah, you stay here.”
From his red face, the women judged that I was in much trouble, guilty of some secret crime. They filed out without another word, Rose giving me a pitiful look, her lips pressed together and eyes wide with worry. I nodded to her to go on. Parisa lingered at the edge of the group as they disappeared into the sleeping chambers, watching me with narrowed eyes.
Hannibal clapped his hands at her, hurrying her along.
When I returned to the sleeping chambers within the hour, no one was asleep. Although no one spoke when I pushed open the doors and entered the room, I felt their piercing gaze. Was I crying? Had I been punished? And for what crime?
At my couch, I began getting ready for bed, removing my outer tunic, sitting on the bed in my linen shift and bringing a foot up to my knees to massage it. My ankles were still swollen at day’s end, from the birth. I had no energy to tell them anything, to answer their questions or endure their wrath. Hannibal had been well pleased with me. He was going to reward me.
Tanis had remained in the other room with Hannibal, discussing how his plan would begin in the morning. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. The women thought I had been scolded and shamed, as if I was not supposed to work alongside them.
I imagine some even felt superior. I was a child to them, and how could I do the work of a woman?
Parisa came and sat beside me on the bed. I looked at her with such innocence.
“Are you mad at me, too?” I asked her.
“No.” Parisa couldn’t hide her complete lack of interest in anyone else.
“Did you have a good night with Lord Marcos? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He is in love.”
She did not acknowledge my words. “Why did you not betray me to Hannibal?”
I looked down at my lap, keeping my voice low, like hers. “You are the only one who told me the truth.”
Neither of us knew if I was sincere.
MOTHER
I did not see Samson again, not for weeks. Some nights I would bolt upright in bed, in the darkest hours, imagining that he had called my name. Trimming a lamp, I would go to the roof and look out into the night, craning my old neck for a sign of him. The wind would moan his name to me, and I would let down my hair and close my eyes as the sound of his name rushed past me. Only there, alone and cold, arms outstretched into darkness, could I weep for him.
Months had passed, and I no longer spoke to anyone in the village or from our tribe. Those men tied my son up, delivered him to be killed, and now he was their hero. They recounted his victories, they sang of the numbers of his dead. These selfish men cared only that the Philistines feared Samson and gave his tribe special respect. The men of my village never asked what the cost to Samson would be, or me. My name was certainly never on their lips.
And I had other sons to raise now, for Syvah’s sons came to live with us. They were almost young men now and worshipped Samson, which I discouraged. They, too, did not understand the price of deliverance.
Kaleb ran and fetched me from this poisonous stew I was swilling as I pressed raisins into cakes for storage.
“It’s Samson,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “He’s drunk, and he’s calling for you.”
I picked up my tunic in one hand so I would not trip and followed Kaleb out our door, hobbling. My knees were stiff from sitting, and I could not spring up like young people did. Kaleb led me down a dirt path between houses, toward the edge of our village. Samson was sitting, his back against a wall, his head on his knees. His hair splayed all around him in the dirt, thorns and briars caught up in gnarled mats. I saw his shoulders moving.
My son wept.
I stood before him, watching. My chest grew tighter from the pain of seeing him this way. Even if he had made mistakes, if he had misinterpreted the Lord’s will for his life, he was still my son. But I could not be tender with him, not until I knew he had seen his mistake.
“It’s the middle of the day, Samson. And you’re drunk?” I kicked at him with my toes.
“Do you know what they did to her?” He looked up at me as he said it. He had lost more weight. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, his cheeks gaunt. His lips were red and cracked, as if he often slept in the sun.
I shook my head, more from the sight of him than his question. I did not want to talk about Amara. Not again. His grief over her betrayal was endless.
“They burned her alive. With her whole family, even her little sister. The Philistines murdered my wife because of me,” Samson moaned.
I stepped back. I could not help it. Kaleb caught me by the arm, but I jerked away from him. Samson was not thinking of me, but I saw what he did not. I was his mother. They might kill me next. Or Kaleb and Liam. He had to see the error he had made, or we would all be in danger.
“She told them the answer to the riddle. She did not love you.”
Despite myself, I softened. My beautiful, broken boy, weeping in the dirt for the one death he did not cause, the great price she paid for loving him. I fell to my knees, wrapping my arms around him, and together, we wept.
DELILAH
When we rose the next day, the other women attended to their daily business—caring for their tunics, and the temple, and fulfilling all the work women everywhere must do: to keep up their looks and their worlds, which are both always in danger of decay.
Tanis led me to Hannibal, who sat on his chair in the main room, going over accounts with his servants. He smiled and rose when he saw me.
Tanis whispered in my ear
as we closed the distance to him.
“Do not try to befriend Parisa. She will hurt you, worse than before.”
“Are you saying there are more terrible sights in this temple?”
“Stop that.”
“I won’t befriend her. You have to trust me.”
Tanis and I bowed before Hannibal, who came down the steps to greet us with a kiss on our cheeks.
“Are you ready to begin?” he asked.
I smiled, my cheeks pulling apart all the way to my ears. I was not lying when I said yes. Hannibal had offered me everything I could have ever wanted. I was going to be educated. I would learn what men learned and understand the ways of this world. There would be no more secrets.
Hannibal and Tanis led me to the portico. I had not been there in the bold light of the afternoon sun. It was very warm, with the summer months being upon us, and although we had trees planted, the plantings were made more for privacy and mood than for comfort.
An old man with a clay tablet sat on a bench, his head wrapped in a turban, his face darkened by the sun. His eyebrows were bushy and white, and his eyes were yellowed and watering. He grinned and tried to stand as he saw us approach. I noticed that his front teeth were missing.
“Delilah, this is Akbar. He is the finest tutor in the city. He will be here every day at the first hour after rising. You are to be on time. You are to be ready to work, ready to listen, and ready to do whatever he asks.”
I glanced at the tutor as he nodded along eagerly with Hannibal’s instructions. “Very good, very good,” he muttered. I did not think he would ask me to do anything I was afraid of. I took a deep breath and bowed my head.
“I am ready.”
“Walk around the edge of the garden. Walk and do not stop.” He spoke in sharp, brittle bursts.
I looked at Tanis, thinking I had not heard right. She motioned for me to begin. Like a fool, I obeyed, walking around the edge of the garden, as the tutor called it. I wondered if he had ever been young enough to worship here. Surely now at this age he just sent money along with one of his sons. I walked in circles, one lap, two laps, then three before I stopped and addressed Hannibal, who stood watching.
Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) Page 18