Signs and Wonders (30 page)

“Did my father send you?”

“The Lord sent me here, unless I mistake His purpose. David, son of Jesse, remove your garments and wash them in the stream. Bathe yourself; purify yourself. Then return.”

The night was cold, but David did not think of refusing. For Samuel’s words came with easy power, with the authority of natural things, river flow and wind and rock fall. A great force seemed to flow through him, having its source elsewhere. David stared at him, at the emaciated body, the hair and beard, the burning eyes.

“Samuel?” he whispered. “Are you he, even that one, that Samuel, prophet to the king?”

“I am the Lord’s prophet,” said the old man. “I serve the king only when he serves the King of kings. But of kingdoms and such we will speak another time. Go now. Purify yourself and return.”

David went to the river. He stripped himself and washed his clothes and laid them on a rock. He leaped into the icy water. But the blood heat of the beast hunt was still upon him, and he was strangely stirred by the old man. His blood ran hot and he did not feel the cold. When he came out of the stream, he found that his clothes were miraculously dry, and fragrant of wild grass. And his joy grew. But he was a little frightened, also. The man stood tall in the firelight. He held a horn in his hand. “Kneel,” he said.

David knelt. The man poured a little oil from the horn. It fell on David’s head and ran down his face. It was oil but not sticky. It smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon; it felt like balm.

Samuel spoke as he poured: “O Lord, you sent me into this wilderness without a guide and instructed only by hints. But I have found a young shepherd who guards his flocks well. I offer him to you, and anoint him with holy oil. If I have read your intention, accept him, I pray. If I have erred, forgive me, and instruct me afresh.”

“Why do you anoint me with holy oil?” said David. “What have you done to me? What does it mean?”

“If I have done right, the meaning will come clear,” said Samuel. “At this time I can tell you no more. Besides, my lad, things take on the meaning you give them. You must gather your flocks now and drive them all night to reach Bethlehem by dawn, and put them in your brother’s care. Then you must leave your father’s house and go to the king.”

“To Saul?”

“He is your king.”

“O venerable sir, what shall I do at court among the mighty? I am a poor shepherd.”

“That is a form of words. Modesty becomes the young, but this hour demands truth. Do you really deem yourself poor?”

David looked into the sunken fire of the old man’s eyes. The flame licked at his own marrow, burning away trivia and inconsequence. Only truth could be spoken.

“I don’t know what I am,” he said. “The oil you have poured upon me this night has entered my blood, and I am changed, changed. It is pain and it is joy. What have you done to me?”

“Go to the king,” said Samuel. “Go to the palace of King Saul. He will welcome you, for he esteems the music of the harp and sweet song. Play to him. Sing to him. Look into the heart of that bitter, stormy man and seek to learn his strength and his weakness. Watch his ways with captain and charioteer and man-at-arms. Observe the court and the ways of the court. Study kingship, its perils and possibilities.”

“To what end?” whispered David.

Samuel looked at him sternly. “David, son of Jesse,” he said, “you have been chosen, and, being chosen, must justify the choice. You are unripe yet for your destiny. Go to the court and do as I have said.”

David knelt and kissed the old man’s hand. He looked up at him and saw that his beard was a thicket of silver fire in the starlight.

“Samuel … teacher … anointer with strange oils, I will do your bidding in all things.”

“Go, then, and begin.”

“Shall we meet again?”

“Doubtless. Farewell.”

The old man embraced David and kissed him. Then he stepped into the shadows and was gone. And David, standing alone in the profound darkness, in the great hush, under the immense sky, thought it was all a dream. But his garments were newly washed and the fragrant oil was in his hair. He whistled to his dog, rounded up his sheep, and headed for Bethlehem.

Pain sat upon Saul’s brow. His crown was a hoop of fire. He swept it off his head, but the circlet of fire burned into the king’s skull, scorching his wits, filling him with a murderous unfocused rage. Light stabbed his eyes. He ordered the windows veiled. The great throne room filled with dusk.

A voice came out of the shadows beyond his throne. It was the voice of the new harp boy sent by Samuel. Fresh as a running stream this voice, and words seemed minted for the first time in its melody. No fatness of self-admiration in its tones; it was easy and cool as birdsong.

The king shall joy in your strength, O Lord,

I
n
your salvation how greatly shall he rejoice,

You have set a crown of pure gold on his head,

His glory is great in your salvation.

Honor and majesty have you laid upon him.…

The melody curled about the king and he sank into its coolness. The words
gold
and
crown
made him wince, but then he seemed to hear other words singing behind those and they were: “Your pain is your crown, but your crown is of kingship. In splendor is responsibility.”

He turned to see the new harp boy, but the shadows were too thick. He saw only a slender arm, a blur of face, and the gleam of the harp. A tension went out of Saul’s huge body. The melody quenched the fire in his head; his pain eased. He turned again and closed his eyes, and sank into a healing sleep.

Now each afternoon after the war council, he dismissed his captains and sent away the magnificent prince, his son Jonathan, and sat alone in the shadowed throne room and listened to the harp boy sing. The young voice seemed to burst with joy, and the songs were of praise and wonder.

The lines have fallen to you in pleasant places,
O
King;

Yea, you have a goodly heritage;

Therefore shall your heart be glad and your glory rejoice.

The king had always been told of God in the most dire terms and was tormented by the fear of divine wrath. Now in these songs a new vision of the Creator was being painted.

Sing unto the Lord: His anger endures for but a moment.

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

And Saul, cooled by strange song, eased by shadows, did not summon the lad to him or look upon his face. He wanted to keep that voice steeped in mystery. He wanted it separate from everyday knowledge; he did not want it attached to a name or face. For this voice out of the shadows was the only ease to his torment. He was like one who listens in a dream and does not wish to awaken.

Swathed in shadow, David touched the strings of his harp and studied the king. He saw that Saul, who listened half absently in council to reports of Philistine victories, was more bedeviled by private woes than public peril. But what was troubling him so, this man of power and wealth and fame, who had bedded beautiful women and begotten strong and beautiful sons? Why did he sit there brooding, when he should have been out in the field leading his armies, inspiriting his men as he alone could do? What ranged shapes of guilt and remorse were feeding upon those royal guts?

David began to feel a puzzled tenderness for the big, agonized man whose grief he could not fathom. He plucked his strings and sang his verse and felt the music of praise surging through him, stiffening his fingers into rods of power. And when the power was upon him in full flood in the shadowed afternoon, he tried to believe that the sound he made was passing through the king, cleansing him of those foul private devils.

He sang new songs:

O King, you who love songs and admire prophesy,

Know that I, David, shall incline my ear to a parable

And open my dark saying upon a harp.

The king sat erect on the throne, staring out in front of him. The tension did not leave his body; the song did not reach him. David pondered. What sin had Saul committed that God should punish him with such unhappiness? Or, perhaps, was his unhappiness itself the sin? Was unhappiness ingratitude? Was it the worst sin, the father of sins? The thought began to sing itself:

Praise the Lord!

In His presence is the fullness of joy;

At His right hand there are pleasures forevermore.

Tidings from the battlefields grew worse and worse. Bloody, dusty messengers arrived daily at the palace and told the war council their tales of terror and loss. Finally, the captains’ alarms pierced the torpor of the king. Saul sent heralds to every corner of Israel, calling upon each tribe to send forth every man who could bear a weapon. And David knew that his brothers must obey this summons and leave his father’s flocks untended. He knew that the time had come for him to leave the king and return to his sheep.

He bade the king farewell. The man looked at the boy with stony eyes. David knelt and seized the great, knotty hand and kissed it. Then he arose swiftly and left the palace. He mounted his donkey and hastened toward Bethlehem.

David and Goliath

The Philistines came in a mighty host and encamped on the slope of a mountain. Saul mustered his forces on another mountain; the valley of Elah lay between.

There was a great clanging of metal against metal. The astounded Israelites saw a gigantic figure striding out of the Philistine camp. It was a man, but almost the size of two men. Nine feet high he was, and as broad as a span of oxen. His spear’s shaft was the trunk of a tree, its point like an ordinary man’s sword. His shield was of brass and as big as a chariot wheel. He beat spear against shield, making an awful din. He called out and his voice was a thunderous bellow.

“I am Goliath, Goliath of Gath, and I challenge you all! Saul, do you hear me? You, King Saul, who slew your thousands, I challenge you to single combat. Why let your men be slaughtered? You and I will fight. If you win, we Philistines shall bow the knee to you and serve you. If I win, then you and your Israelites shall serve us. Or, if you are afraid to fight, then choose another champion. Send out your best man against me, or two or three, and the battle will be settled between us. Ho there, Saul! My challenge awaits an answer.”

Saul stayed in his tent. He was a brave man, but the sight of this giant froze his marrow. He knew that Goliath would squash him like a beetle. Goliath stood on the mountain, bellowing and jeering. There was no answer.

The giant laughed and shouted, “No answer, Saul? I give you seven days to consider my challenge. If no one comes forth to meet me in that time, then I will fall on you, followed by the host of Philistines, and not one of you shall be spared, not your women or your children. All of you shall be put to the sword. We will scour this land of Canaan once and for all of the Israelite pest.”

He strode off. Saul remained in his tent and did not go out. The troops were bewildered, fearful. Men began to drift away. And all knew that if the Philistines attacked, there would be a dreadful rout and a massacre.

Now it was that the brothers of David, answering Saul’s desperate call for men, came to join the army. They were strong, brave young men, but they were amazed at what they found. The proud troops of Saul had become a sullen, terrified, half-mutinous mob. The brothers of David saw Goliath flaunting himself upon the mountain and heard his terrible bellowing. And they, too, were afraid.

Upon this day, David was summoned by his father. “I wish you to go on an errand,” said Jesse. “You must go to the valley of Elah. You will find your brothers there, among the tents of Saul. Take them this food—this parched grain, these ten loaves. And take these ten cheeses as a gift to their captain, so that he may treat them well. Hurry now. Do not fall a-dreaming and tarry on the way.”

David departed. He mounted his donkey and rode swiftly to Saul’s encampment. There was a circle of wagons around the tents. The men stood in ranks with their weapons, for Saul expected an attack. David left the loaves and the cheeses and the bag of grain with the wagoner, and ran to find his brothers.

“David!” cried his eldest brother, Eliab. “Why are you here?”

“Father sent me. I’ve brought you food—a sack of wheat to make bread, and ten newly baked loaves, and cheeses for your captain. Do you fight today? Will there be a battle?”

His heart danced as he looked about the ranks of men with sword and spear. He could hardly contain his excitement. But he saw his brothers looking at him grimly, and said nothing. Then he heard a great clanging and a voice that bellowed terribly over the valley. He saw a gigantic warrior stride out of the Philistine lines and post himself on the slope opposite, and call, “Do you still skulk among your tents, O men of Israel? I defy your armies, O Israel. Why don’t you find a man who will fight me?”

David couldn’t wait to see who would answer the challenge. He looked for Saul, but the king was in his tent. And no man stepped forward. David felt himself choke with shame. He said: “Who is this uncircumcised monster, that he should defy the armies of the living God? Why does no one go forth to meet him? Are you all afraid?”

Eliab grasped his shoulder and shook him. “Why did you come here?” he cried. “Why did you leave your sheep? I know your pride and the wickedness of your heart. You didn’t come to bring us food, you came to watch the battle. Do you think it’s a boy’s game, this warfare? Men’s bodies are broken; they die screaming. Now leave this place and go back to your sheep, or you shall feel the weight of my fist.”

David did not answer. He turned away from his brother and moved off, and listened to Goliath roaring. He looked about again to see if there would be anyone coming out to fight. But there was no one. The shame swelled in his chest until he could hardly breathe. He cried out, “Men of Israel, fear not this giant who serves a god of stone! Remember Samson, who slew a thousand of these same Philistines with the jawbone of an ass! He was alone and weaponless, but God armed him and gave him strength. Have you forgotten the power of God?”