Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) (16 page)

Hannibal did not move any closer to me but gestured to the door that Tanis had slipped behind.

“Go and rest. We do not rise until after the noon hour. You will feel better after you sleep. Then I will tell you more of your new life here, yes?”

I started to nod but stopped myself, forcing myself to look up and into his eyes. “Yes. Thank you, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s expression changed, first a frown, then a wide grin. He gestured toward the lion doors, and I went. I needed both arms to open one, but it was silent as it swept over the cool tile floor. No one stirred within. Soft breaths hummed in the air, like invisible wings beating all around us. Several couches along the sides of the room were empty. I spied Tanis sleeping on hers, and walked to her. Lying down on my side, I curled my knees up and tucked my hands under my head, preferring to sleep on the floor beside her than sleep in comfort apart from her.

As I drifted to sleep, I felt her hand reach down and stroke my hair.

When I opened my eyes, I was alone. I sat up and stretched, blinking my eyes. The shadows in the room were thicker now; it was close to the time of the evening meal. But these women did not count time the way my family did. I did not know if they had evening meals here.

I stood and saw that one other woman still slept. She had long blonde hair, a rarity for our people. I wondered where she had come from to have such light hair. She might have come from some land far away, a land without sun, so that her color drained away. Sometimes fish that live deep within the water are pale like this. I’ve seen them at the market, stacked one on top of the other, glistening like a bed of pearls.

I crept out of the sleeping chambers without making a sound.

Tanis and Hannibal were arguing. I pressed my back against the door, thinking they might not see me. I knew they had not heard me.

“You defend her?” Hannibal said.

“She pleases her noble. He gives us ever better sacrifices. That is not a defense. It’s truth.”

“She disrupts our lives. She has no respect for our gods. She has no respect for any of us. It’s a poison.”

“She never had a family, Hannibal. She does not understand how to please us.”

“She doesn’t want to please us!”

“Because she sees no value in it. The more we love her, the more she will understand. You will be glad she is one of us.”

“Tanis. She will never be one of us. That is truth too.”

Tanis cocked her head, as if catching a scent. She turned and spied me against the door. Widening her arms, she waved me to her.

“Come here, little pet.”

I ran to her, and she wrapped me in an embrace, letting me rest my head on her chest. Stroking my hair, she whispered to me.

“Did you sleep well?”

I nodded.

“Good. Are you hungry?”

I nodded faster.

Hannibal laughed. “This one eats like a gladiator.”

Heat rose in my face, and Tanis shushed him. “She’s too thin. She needs to fatten up.”

“So we can sacrifice her.” Hannibal wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I gave him a little smile. Tanis laughed and pushed me toward the table that still sat below the marble steps, off to the side.

Hannibal clapped his hands and conjured a servant. (That is how it appeared to me. The servant must have been waiting in a nearby room, waiting for this command.) My mouth watered at the sound of Hannibal clapping. A plate was soon at my mercy, and I ransacked it like the gladiator I was, leaving no survivors. I burped loudly and out of habit threw my hand over my mouth, glancing up to see if I had awoken anyone. Hannibal was sitting on his high black chair, guarded by those blind stone lions, and he laughed at my reaction.

“Seeing ghosts, are you?”

I smiled, having no understanding what he could mean. But I thought on it as I lifted the bowl and let the juices run into my mouth before holding it up to the light just to see that it was empty. Nothing was left. I glanced back up at Hannibal, and then I understood. My family was gone forever. I knew they lived, but they lived elsewhere, in a different world. When I crossed the threshold into the temple of Dagon, I had entered a new world, like one who died and entered the afterlife.

Hannibal clapped, and the servant returned. I hoped he would bring more food, but he wanted my empty bowl, and I gave it to him with much sorrow. Hannibal rose, scorn lighting his face, and I turned to see what made him so angry.

The blonde one had come out from the sleeping chambers. I got a good look at her now. She was tall and lean, with a square-shaped face that called attention to her high sharp cheekbones and full mouth. She had blood-red eyes that were probably blue if she slept well. She was a strange beauty.

Pressing her palms into the hollows of her eyes, she groaned and sought a place to sit. Noticing the chair next to me at the table, she stumbled over and slumped down as she sat, resting her head on the table. I thought she smelled like fresh-cut cypress wood. I was very sensitive to smells these days. I wondered if that man who put the baby in me hurt me some other way, making smells sharper to my nose.

“Why did you send someone to wake me? You know I’m ugly at this hour.”

“You missed prayers, Parisa.” Hannibal was still standing, his face pinched and dark. “And the noon meal.”

She took a sack from her sash and tossed it on the steps below him. “Horace!” she called, wincing at using her full voice.

The blessed servant who had been feeding me nodded. Why hadn’t I thought to ask his name?

“Yes?”

“Take this money back to Lord Marcos. Tell him I won’t be seeing him anymore. I am needed here for prayers at dawn.”

Hannibal crossed his arms, staring at her as Horace swallowed once with great effort and glanced between the pair.

Hannibal caved first. “You have no grace. You walk like an ox.”

Parisa turned her back and stared at me, seeing me for the first time. “Who is this? And why does she get to eat at this hour?”

Hannibal came down the steps toward us, picking up the bag Parisa had thrown down and tucking it into the sack at his waist. “Tanis brought her in.”

“She’s a little big to be a foundling.”

Some women left their babies in fields at harvest time, when they were sure to be found. I gave her a small smile.

She sneered at me and leaned over the table. “Stand up. I want to look at you.”

I stood, and she leaned back in her seat, laughing at my protruding belly. She did not sound happy. “Tanis amazes me.”

I looked to Hannibal, unsure what to do. I wanted to leave the room, but he gestured for me to sit. I did not want to sit down again at this table with this woman.

She grinned at me. “Do you know what she has gotten you into?”

“I know everything I need to know.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows.

Parisa narrowed her eyes. “Really? Everything?”

“I know that Tanis is good and kind! I know that she saved my life and I trust her and I know that you are a mean, hard woman!”

I jumped up and rushed from the table, running out the doors at the far end of the hall. My head was swimming with angry words. My heart was frantic, pounding fast and sharp, pushing away the awful things I had just said, the fear of what that woman might do next.

My feet hit warm stones, and I turned my face up from the ground to see a purple sky with no clouds or stars. People were milling about all around me, some leaning against an almond tree that had just put out its early blossoms. Some strolled arm in arm with women I recognized from the sleeping room, disappearing around corners, laughing or deep in discussion. The women often stroked the arms of these men—and the others were almost all men, I saw—encouraging more words, more time. Tanis should be here, with the others.

A few couples stopped when they noticed me, very different looks on each face. The men were curious. Curious and surprised. The women were surprised and unhappy, so I pushed my way through them quickly to find Tanis. I was a stench in the nostrils of some women here, and I did not know why.

I turned round a giant limestone pillar to my left and saw Tanis sitting with a finely dressed man in linen robes. She held his hands in her lap, leaning in to listen to him. As she accepted a kiss on her cheek from him, she saw me. I do not know how to describe what I saw in her face at that instant. Anger, perhaps, or fear. Those two are too similar to tell apart from a distance. She stood and yelled something in a language I did not know, as a guard moved toward me.

I ran out, straight past them all, into the busy main street of the city. I looked for a place to sit and unleash all these tears blurring my eyes, but where could I go? I ran toward the back of the temple. My belly began to ache, the baby inside pressing down, making it hard to stand. Using my left hand to brace myself against the wall, I edged along and around the side of the temple, where at least I was alone, if not comfortable.

Something else twisted inside me, something dark and painful. I hated myself. I bit at my nails, wishing I could bite all the way through my skin, destroy this whole miserable creation that I was. I wished I were a roaring lion, stalking the stupid little Delilah through a dark forest, knocking her down with one strong paw, then ripping her up and eating her until not a drop remained. I wished I were that lion. I wished I were anything but me, the girl so clumsy she was caught stealing grain, so stupid she did not even know what to do when that shadow man reached for her, so cursed that a baby sprang up in that same space …

I might have made a longer list, but Tanis found me.

I couldn’t look at her. I only knew it was her by the voice.

“Delilah? Are you all right?”

I wouldn’t reply, so she came and sat by me, lowering herself to the ground, her back against the wall like mine. We sat side by side until my breathing slowed and my body became flesh again instead of cold stone.

“I am sorry, little pet. I thought Hannibal was with you.”

“He was. I ran away.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t belong here.”

“Are you a seer?”

“No.” My tone sounded like an angry child.

“Then you don’t know that, do you? I would say you know very little at all, Delilah. That is one reason I had to save you.”

“What’s another reason?” I knew she was going to say that she needed a slave. Or that Hannibal did. Or some noble. I didn’t want to be stupid anymore. I wanted the whole truth, right then. All these things I didn’t know were what hurt me. About men, about ewes, about lambs.

“I like you.”

I turned to face her. “Don’t lie to me, ever, ever, Tanis.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then why did you save me? What must I do?”

Her face grew still, her eyebrows coming close together. “You must eat. And sleep. And then when you are strong, you must have a baby.”

“And then?”

She sighed, settling back against the wall but putting an arm around me. “Those are big enough tasks for any woman, much less a girl your age. You cannot take on any more than that for now. Promise me.”

“Tanis, I said something awful to the blonde woman inside.”

“Parisa?” Tanis laughed. “Did her face puff up and go red?”

“I don’t know. I ran away.”

“Don’t provoke her. She’s still a slave in her heart. Small and cruel. I think the gods must have set her eyes backward in her head. She doesn’t see a big world with all its wonders. She only sees what she does not have, all the little joys she is denied.”

“Did you bring her here too?”

“No. Parisa was brought here by a slave caravan five years ago. We saw her at an auction. She had passed through so many owners. I did not want her brought in, but Hannibal insisted.”

“But you defended her to him.”

“He has grown to hate her, but he needs the money she brings in from her lord. I only want peace for my girls, so we may work without distraction.”

Tanis stood and turned to me, extending her hand. I accepted and stood up, not without some grunting, which made her grin. She rested her hand on my belly, and I saw a shadow of great sorrow pass over her face, like the shadow of a bird flying above, going to a land I did not know.

MOTHER

This is still my tale.

Although another woman would enter into my story, her time is not yet. Not in my tale. I was still unaware of her, a merciful ignorance.

On one of those ignorant days, I was working in the vineyard. I cleared my throat, not willing to spill tears in front of the other mothers. They watched me closely, looking for clues, hoping for a weak moment when I needed their comforts more than my own good name.

I would not give that. Our name is all we have in this world.

I grasped the next vine, slicing the fruitless tendrils, letting them fall at my feet. Tending the vines is not easy work, for the sun returns in glory after the dark, blinding rains, and soft, sleepy people who had rested in the coolness of walled rooms are forced out to face the sun. There is much work this year; the harvest is plentiful. All of Zorah has turned out for the first day of harvesting. All except Samson.

I tended the vines, refusing to acknowledge this, my heart almost crushed after tending to Syvah the day before. She was so pale, so thin, but she still expected to rise from her bed. I pushed her even closer to her death. I told her the truth. You should never tell people the truth. This is what I have decided: The truth kills as surely as the blade.

She had grasped my hand, clutching it between her cold, dry palms. “Why so much sorrow, sister?”

I was more than old enough to be her mother. She was being kind, calling me sister.

I removed my hand and dipped the cloth in the water I had heated. I washed her face, neck, and hands. I dipped a dry cloth in a little jar of olive oil I had brought and rubbed the oil into her skin, across her gaunt face and lips, careful to make her face shine. As if good health were that easy, as if miracles could be so simple.

“You are afraid,” she said, settling back against her cushions. Her sons were working in the fields. We were alone. “You should just face the truth.”

“And what is the truth?” I humored her.

“You were mistaken. No angel visited you. It might have been a dream. Samson is not the man of God you thought he would be.”

I chuckled, not meeting her eyes as I moved down to wash her feet now. As I kneeled on the floor, she watched me with intensity.

She was right about Samson, in a fashion.

She sat up. “Why can’t you love him as he is? Why do you drive him so? If you would only accept him, he would come back to you.”

“I am his enemy, Syvah. That is the truth. And before you go telling me how I should face the truth, maybe you should face it too.”

Syvah looked away, her chin trembling.

“You’re dying, Syvah. You won’t get up from this bed.” I looked away now too, toward her window open to the afternoon sun. “Truth is no comfort to either of us.”

When I looked back at Syvah, I was shocked at her expression. She was smiling, a strange radiance settling on her young features.

“Maybe we do not need comfort, not at this late hour of our lives. Maybe we should be asking for hope instead.”

What hope could a dying woman hold onto? What hope was there for me, or for Samson?

I smiled as if I agreed, and left her there to wait for the hour of shadows.