Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) (20 page)

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 if 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.

“This is not education. You are making a fool of me.”

The tutor advanced, shuffling along, pulling a reed from his robes, lashing me on the legs. I jumped back, the surprise greater than the pain.

“Walk!” he screeched.

I walked. One more lap, two more, then on the third, again, I found my voice.

“No.”

“What?” the tutor shrieked.

“Explain to me the benefit. Show me why this must be done, and I will do it.”

He grinned and faced Hannibal. “Six laps! Not so bad. Tanis stopped at four, but then, Tanis was always my favorite.”

He sat back on the bench and patted the seat beside him. Tanis and Hannibal bowed and departed, Tanis grinning at me as she left.

I sat, my heart returning to a slower rhythm.

“My child, education must never be one man telling another what to do. Education is a great struggle between two minds. Both teacher and student must make demands on each other. Do you understand?”

“But I stopped the first time and you whipped me.”

“You were whining. When you asked a proper question, I did not whip you, did I?”

“No.”

“Then this is your second lesson: Beware of teachers who whip their students for asking the right questions. Beware of teachers who are afraid of the struggle.”

“Yes.”

“Now, fetch me some lunch, and we will talk more. The temple always has such good food.”

And this is how it began. Akbar struggled with me many hours through the lessons of the Greek minds, and the Egyptians. I learned of the Philistines around me, of the five cities that comprised the heart of the Philistine empire. I learned that there were five Philistine lords but no king. And I heard tales of the enemy of the Philistines, a Hebrew religious zealot who was prone to savagery.

I was not allowed to serve men at night alone in the upper chambers anymore, but Tanis did allow me to serve wine and circulate among the couples, as long as I said nothing and kept my eyes on the ground.

I almost obeyed her. When Lord Marcos was sitting with Parisa, I looked at him. Sometimes I would lean against the stone pillars and watch him, and he knew that I watched. He was not displeased. I was careful not to draw attention to myself, though, and careful never to look at him when Parisa could see me.

Tanis waited for me one night, after I refilled the bowl of Marcos while Parisa had excused herself to attend to her needs. Parisa had drunk a lot of wine, and it showed in her heavy, awkward steps and slurred speech. I had not stopped pouring, and I had offered her my arm to lead her back into the sleeping chambers where she could relieve herself.

She fell asleep on the stone toilet in the corner.

I returned and was making my way to Marcos. He sat up straighter, his mouth pursed in a smile. He was much older than I was. He smelled as men do, of salt and sweat and heavy spices. He rose, taking a step toward me, extending his hand. His palm was smooth, his fingers straight. He had never worked in a field or worked for his bread. Not with his hands. How did he eat, then? Did he steal?

Right then, I saw another man in the moonlight instead—the one who had changed the course of my life. I saw that awful night again, but Tanis appeared suddenly, saving me for the second time from him, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading me away. I glanced back, returning to my senses.

Lord Marcos was still standing, waiting for me, but a strange new look was in his eyes, one that made my stomach roll.

He looked upon me with compassion. I saw it in his eyes, the way his eyes narrowed without anger, and in the way his face softened when he looked at me. He wanted me, the way men do, but I did not know why he also offered me compassion. I had to run.

“What are you doing?” Tanis whispered to me, pulling against me. She led me to the edge of the portico, closer to the main doors of the temple, where we had the privacy afforded by many people coming in and out.

“Serving wine.”

“Liar. Whatever you’re doing with Lord Marcos, stop. Nothing good can come from provoking Parisa.”

“What is it to you? She is not your friend.”

“But you are. Nothing good will come from this.”

“I don’t understand why you are loyal to someone who hates you.”

“I am trying to protect you, not her. Do you know what you have become?”

I hesitated. What did she see in me? I had hidden everything as best I could. I turned my face away. I didn’t want her to see what I had become. I was an open, screaming wound.

“You have become beautiful, Delilah. The most beautiful among us, and younger, too. Someday you will have any patron you desire. But now is not the time to test your beauty on other men, especially Lord Marcos. What will Parisa do if she catches you?”

“She will know that stealing someone’s innocence always has a price.”

Lord Marcos approached us. I held my breath, having no plan for this moment. He was a big man, standing this close to me. He stood at three hands’ length over me. He had tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and they softened his sharp gaze. I did not know how to manipulate him, not with this softness he had.

Tanis slid her hand out, and he took it in his, embracing it with both hands.

“Must you leave?” Tanis asked. Her voice was smooth and passionless.

“Parisa is not feeling well. I do not know if she will return, and I have business to attend to very early tomorrow.”

“I am sorry. May we make an offering to Dagon on your behalf?”

He shook his head no. “Good night, Delilah.”

I raised my eyes and looked at him. I did not see the phantom from my memory. I saw a kind face, which made me feel a hundred times more afraid, because I did not know it. I knew evil. I knew harshness and anger and violence. But I did not know this kindness, and it seemed an unpredictable force, one that broke open deep wounds with its careless attention.

I did not say anything to Lord Marcos. He reached out and touched my cheek, one finger resting lightly on it, then turned and left.

“Delilah?”

I shook myself back to attention. Tanis was stroking my arm.

“Why are you crying?”

I fled to the sleeping chambers. I could not serve any more wine tonight or overhear flattering words or watch couples go up those stone stairs. Tanis came for Parisa and together with eunuchs got her in bed, where she snored loudly and moaned in her dreams. I drew my knees up to my chest and pulled the little blade I kept hidden under the bedding. I was careful, always, to wait for everyone to be asleep, but tonight it was just Parisa snoring loudly, and myself, alone in this room. I slid the blade’s edge along the bottom of one foot, feeling the skin break, gasping from the pain. Sweat beaded along my upper lip. All the pain became real, and in one spot that I could feel and touch and see. I closed my eyes, knowing I would not sleep. But at least I knew the pain was all in one spot, one spot that did not spread.

I had wanted to provoke Parisa, to hurt her even, but trying to lure Marcos away, if only for one night, was too much for me. I hurt deep inside, where I was not beautiful or alluring, but hungry and unloved, sneaking through the darkness alone.

The knife let that girl out, just for a little while.