J: The Woman Who Wrote the Bible

by Mary Burns

  I told the servant, though opening the door just a crack, that I would be ready in a moment, and I turned back to carefully replace all my writing instruments and papers in a flat wooden box that fitted neatly into the bottom of a large chest, over which I laid folded blankets and shawls.

  Since coming to Jerusalem, I had been advised by Nathan to be exceedingly discreet about my knowledge of reading and writing, even more than I had been in Hebron. The general populace here, Jebusites whose chieftain David had deposed when he arrived, were somewhat backward and illiberal in their ideas and would not approve such things in a young woman. In fact, I had heard that within the last year, they had publicly stoned a woman in the marketplace who was accused of witchery, and they had burned her body along with her talismans, herbs, and some scrawled symbols found in her house. As the King’s daughter, I was somewhat protected, but it would do his kingship no service if people thought his daughter was a witch.

  And now, with the prophecy from the oracle, there was more pressure to be cautious. And to think, I was simply working on writing down my father’s songs, heartfelt and full of longing and the love of God! How could anyone object to that?

  Still in my heart there hummed the Story of the People and the vision of the Beginning I had seen with Nathan that day in the fire. Somehow, that, too, was waiting for me, but not yet.

  I met my mother and the other wives in the great hall of the house. Michal, I saw at once, was in her element, back home again in the city where she had lived with the old husband that Saul had given her to in recompense for losing David. Even more she had been much favored, as she apparently had let the other women know, with frequent visits from my father since our arrival. I shook my head, bemused by the power of illusion, the dream of romance that sees with blinded eyes—for to such I attributed my father’s fascination with this little cat of a woman, with her slanting kohl eyes and teasing ways.

  Today, she was looking particularly smug, I thought, and I wondered vaguely if she were, perhaps, with child. Though it didn’t seem likely, married as she had been for so long before and not bearing children as yet, it was not impossible. I shrugged it off. What was one more baby among so many? And her child would be far down in the line of David’s heirs, true enough, but if she were a particular favorite? With so many sons to choose from, David would be able to take his pick among them for a worthy successor.

  I remembered what the spirit in Nathan’s dream had said about the Lord anointing one of David’s sons to be king after him. As if anyone could succeed David! It was unthinkable that there could be another such man, so favored of God, so powerful, so blessed. But still, David was mortal and would go the way of all flesh some day. I had never given it much thought before, but I felt a chill in the very heart of me, imagining a world without my father.

  I was lifted from my gloomy musings by the voice of my mother, calling all the women to attention.

  “My dears,” she said, “This will be our first formal appearance before the people of this great city, and I know you will all act with the utmost respect and modesty in public.” She smiled at the trio of younger wives. “As of course you always do,” she said in a teasing voice, which made them giggle and whisper to each other.

  Michal tossed her head, impatient and insulted. As if she needed to be told how to behave in public! I observed that she was beautifully dressed in silk of a very pale yellow, which complemented her skin and hair to perfection. On her wrists were bracelets of silver and gold, embedded with precious stones, and from the way she kept flashing her arms about to show them off, I assumed they were presents from my father. Her eye caught mine just then, and she must have seen the remains of my amused smile, for she stared at me coldly, then looked me up and down in the same appraising way as on the first day I had met her. Apparently I was no more fashionable now than I was then, for she sniffed in disdain and turned her head away.

  We could hear the rising trumpet calls in the courtyard as the tall wooden doors, decorated with squares of beaten gold and silver, swung outward for our little procession. A contingent of guards stood ready to escort us; I was surprised, and somewhat unsettled, to see Uzzah step forth to offer his arm to my mother as her particular escort. Other guards walked behind and alongside us, and I couldn’t help feeling it was on my account. Somehow, it made me more frightened than secure.

  The marketplace was a short walk away, and only Michal seemed concerned that we were to walk and not ride on donkeys or in wagons. I much preferred walking myself, but she was outraged, and she took her anger out upon her hapless handmaid, who was dealt a sharp slap when she stumbled on a loose stone and trod upon the hem of her mistress’ dress. I felt sorry for the girl, a slight, pale creature, and stepped forward to intervene when I saw Michal’s arm raised again in preparation for another blow.

  “Michal, may I walk beside you?” I spoke loudly, in a firm voice. She was startled, pausing a moment to wonder, then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. But surrounded as she was by all the other women, she smoothed over her face with a reasonable facsimile of a smile and held out her arm to me graciously. So we walked arm in arm down the broad street that led from the king’s house to the marketplace.

  I caught my mother’s glance at me, and the ghost of a smile on her lips. I also saw something that at first I thought was only my imagination: the exchange of knowing glances between Uzzah and Michal. I pondered this in silence.

  Michal, however, seemed inclined to conversation, and I bent my head slightly to catch her words amidst the clamor of our going.

  “ . . . hope you find your lovely quarters comfortable?” she was saying.

  Surprised, I told her I liked them very well; then it struck me why she had asked, just as she spoke again.

  “When it was my room, I had many yards of silk draperies all around the bed,” she said, glancing up at me. “I don’t suppose they are still there?” She looked almost hopeful.

  I shook my head and hid my smile. “No, actually, it’s rather plain, as to draperies and such, but the bed itself is very comfortable,” I said. “And the little courtyard is—”

  “Delightful!” she interrupted me. “The fruit tree, still there, yes?”

  I nodded again. Our procession was abruptly halted by a long line of donkeys laden with baskets of grain crossing our path. As we waited, Michal put a hand on my arm to indicate she wanted me to bend my head to hear her.

  “One thing about that room,” her little voice spoke into my ear, though not unpleasantly, “behind the large rug that hangs next to the fireplace, there is a secret stairway from below.” There was a conspiratorial, amused tone in her voice. “It’s perfect for, well, midnight visitors, eh?” I pulled away from her in surprise, and looked at her wide eyes behind the thin veil. She nodded her head knowingly and patted my arm. “Just thought you should know, my dear.”

  The donkeys moved off, and we began walking again. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed at Michal’s implication that I would be interested in secret nighttime lovers. She spoke no more but kept a tight grip on my arm as we approached the marketplace, already packed with people.

  I had expected, of course, to stand in the square along with the crowds of people from the town. A shelf of rock jutted out from the hill at one end, and this I could see had been prepared for my father to ascend and speak to the people. On ordinary days, when I used to wrap myself up in a concealing, drab veil and an old tunic so I could wander about the marketplace at my leisure, the shelf was populated by self-proclaimed preachers and prophets, foretelling doom and pointing their fingers to the heavens.

  Today, it was empty, and in front of it and a little to the side a kind of tent had been erected, mostly an awning with two sides, which provided an excellent shelter from the sun. We were escorted into this temporary structure and seated on benches brought down from the house, to sit out of the burning noonday heat and be comfortably disposed on cushions, with even some light refreshments on a table behind. The
trio of wives couldn’t help exclaiming as they entered and looked around.

  “Oh my, look at this! How comfortable we will be!”

  “Isn’t this the cushion you made last month? How well it looks in the sunlight!”

  “Who would have thought our king would be so thoughtful, to place us here in such luxury?”

  “I am glad you like it,” Michal said, standing before the little group—it was the only way she could seem taller, to remain standing when everyone else was seated. “I specifically ordered that such accommodations must be made for us, especially here, what with all these”—she paused—“common people. I could not bear the crowd.” As she said this, her right hand hovered for a moment in front of her, then she placed it dramatically against her belly, closing her eyes slightly as if she were going to faint.

  I pursed my lips at her theatrics, and shot a glance at my mother, but she was looking elsewhere. Before any one of us could react to Michal’s little drama, a trumpet sounded, then another, and we heard cries of “The King! Make way for the King! Here is King David!”

  I had not seen my father for more than a week, and as always after a little time away from him, I watched him stride down the street with renewed admiration and awe. Truly, though the years of fighting and grief and the heavy hand of power had taken their toll, turning his hair gray and his frame severe and lean, he was a magnificent man, a lord of the earth, a king indeed.

  People fell back a few steps as he passed and then rushed forward, like overlapping waves on the shore, to touch his shoulder or his arm, to clutch his hand and kiss it. His progress to the rock shelf was slowed by the crowds, and he allowed their attention with modesty and grace. He was dressed very simply in a plain dove-gray tunic, his only adornment a small gold chain around his neck, which held an amulet he’d made from the wood of Jonathan’s broken bow.

  He leapt lightly to the shelf of rock and raised his hands above his head, acknowledging the cheering of the crowd, then motioned for the people to be silent. From where we sat, I had a clear view of his profile, strong and clean, much like a rock jutting out from a hillside, weathered by countless winter storms. He began to speak.

  “People of Jerusalem! People of our Lord, HaShem, He who gives life, and gathers His chosen ones in His arms like a loving mother! I am come before you to bring you great news.”

  A murmur of interest rippled through the crowd, and the throng pressed closer.

  “Long has it been since Jerusalem has been at peace! Long has it been, since her walls have been free of siege and battle, of Philistine armies piercing her skin with their wicked arrows— but all that has come to an end for now, thanks be to our most gracious Lord.”

  David paused, sweeping the crowd with his brilliant eyes. I marvelled silently at the ability of people to forget--the last siege that Jerusalem had known was David’s, and many had died defending their city. But the eager faces turned up to David seemed full of nothing but adoration.

  “Great city though this is, great the peace that has been bestowed upon her, she still lacks the central jewel of her crown, that which gives her blessing and fortune and life itself.” He paused again, and a slight frown creased his forehead. “Do you not know what I mean?” He cried out in a loud voice. “Do you not feel its absence every moment of your lives?”

  From somewhere in the crowd a voice called out. “The Ark of God! The Ark of the Crossing Over!” David’s face lighted up in gratitude and relief, and others took up the cry.

  “The Ark! The Ark of the Crossing Over!” The chant became a thunderous roar, until David again raised his hands, and the people fell silent.

  “Yes,” he said. “In the time of the new moon, all of Israel will go to Kirjath-Jearim and bring the Ark to Jerusalem in a great procession, and then I will offer sacrifice to the Lord God, to HaShem, and everyone will dance and feast and rejoice!”

  At this, the assembled people began to cheer, and I thought the walls would crumble with the sound, like Jericho at Joshua’s trumpet blast, the day the Lord stopped the sun and moon in their courses and lengthened the day so His people could win the battle. The time of the new moon, I knew, was about three weeks away. I realized my father had said nothing about a new temple, and assumed rightly that he had abandoned that idea after Nathan’s revelation.

  The cheering continued for a while, and that seemed to be the end of the announcement. Short and to the point, my father’s way. Hardly worth dragging us all down here, was the uncharitable complaint in my mind, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Some of the women around me were beginning to rise in preparation for returning, and all at once Uzzah was at my side, offering his services to attend me back to the house. His handsome features mirrored all that was graceful and bland.

  I glanced over at Michal, who was being escorted back by Abiathar, the high priest. They appeared to be on perfectly cordial terms with each other, and I remembered that Abiathar had been a priest in Jerusalem for many years before he went to Hebron. Uzzah was still beside me, holding out his arm, and though my first thought was to refuse, I felt I had no good reason to be insulting. It was only my instinctive dislike that made me want to pull back from his touch; I knew no specific evil of him, and my father obviously thought well of him. So I nodded, though I did not smile, and stood up with my hand on his arm.

  He began talking almost as soon as we left the tent, expressing his gratitude to my father for this great blessing he was planning to bestow on Jerusalem. I spoke but little, harboring a cynical suspicion that he did not mean what he said, that it was all courtier’s talk. But he continued to converse intelligently about various things of interest to me: the markets, the strange and wonderful things and people he had seen from far lands, and the cost of keeping up such a household as my father’s. And so I found myself by degrees entertained and drawn in. We began gradually to be separated a little from the rest of the women’s procession, and soon were walking apart, with no one nearby. Then his conversation changed.

  “I, and others,” he said in a low voice, “have been commanded by the King to keep close watch over you.” It took me a moment to register what he was saying, and I made no response. He cocked his head at me, questioning.

  “I was wondering if it had something to do with the oracle, with Urim and Thummin,” he continued, his words measured and even. “I saw that you entered the prayer room with your father, Abiathar, and Nathan, that day after the council meeting.”

  We kept up a moderate pace, approaching the slight hill that led to the entrance to my father’s house. Although we were far enough away from the others for private conversation, we were still within view, and I saw glances being thrown our way, particularly by Michal and the trio of wives.

  “And what is it to you if I did?” I immediately regretted my remark; it sounded defensive, as if I had something to hide. A small note of satisfaction crept into his reply.

  “Ah, I would not, of course, presume that it means anything to me, cousin,” he said. He placed his left hand on top of mine, which rested on his right arm, and pressed it down as if to reassure me. “I would just advise you, as a cousin, you see, and as a friend, that such an event as that—the oracle participated in by a woman—might cause trouble in certain quarters, trouble for your father as well as yourself.”

  I tried to pull my hand away from his arm, but he clasped it more tightly. The uneasiness I had been feeling turned to anger.

  “And you would take care to make that trouble happen, is that it?” I stopped walking abruptly, which caused him to stumble slightly, and I pulled my hand free. We stood face-to-face and eye-to-eye, as I was nearly as tall as he. He was unperturbed and didn’t answer at first.

  “You wrong me, cousin,” he said finally. “I am only looking out for your well being.” He paused a moment, then added, “You know you’re gaining quite a reputation for your . . . accomplishments.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment; then I turned and walked rapidly back to join the
rest of the household as they entered the gates to the house. I did not look back.

  Chapter 22

  “You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God,

  for the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses

  his name.” Exodus 20:7

  Ireturned to my room still angry and fuming over my encounter with Uzzah. Looking out for my welfare, indeed! I didn’t know why I mistrusted him, but I felt a strong repulsion that I could not ignore. He had seemed friendly with Nathan; perhaps I should share my concerns with him—my one true friend with whom I always felt free to discuss anything, and he with me.

  I stood in the doorway to the little courtyard, and glancing back into the room, my eye caught sight of the large rug hanging on the wall next to the fireplace, and I remembered what Michal had said about the hidden staircase. Curious, I walked over to take a look.

  I pulled back the rug and dragged a chair over to brace it so it couldn’t fall back in place. There, lighted by the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, I saw the faint outline of a narrow door in the stucco of the wall, perhaps five feet high, though I could see no hinges or handle. I pushed it on the side nearest me, and it seemed to give but did not open. I pushed harder and suddenly, silently, it opened inward to a dark and musty space. The hinges must be on the inside, I thought, buying time to calm my nerves as I hesitated. Then my old love of adventure from my days in the caves surged up in me. I ran back to the table to snatch up and light an oil lamp, and then entered through the little door.

  The light from my room penetrated only a little way into the space, and I stuffed a rag along the bottom of the doorway so it would not accidentally close and lock me in darkness. God forbid, I murmured as I held the oil lamp high and took tentative steps forward. Crudely carved stone steps were revealed in the flickering light, spiraling downward along a rock wall, like a vertical tunnel. The air was cool and after a moment, moving—so there must be an outlet, a window of some kind perhaps, another door at the end of the staircase, of course, that would let in fresh air. Emboldened by the thought of not suffocating in an airless trap, I cautiously stepped down, hugging the cold stone wall and glancing back nervously now and then to make sure the little door was still open.