Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) (5 page)

He lifted up his leg, which looked like the massive trunk of an oak tree, and crossed the threshold into my home and into my life. For that moment, as he moved through the doorway, he eclipsed all remaining light from the outside world, the torches, the stars, the oil lamps in windows. Everything went dark in his shadow. I shuddered.

He stood before my mother and nodded. “
Ahaziku.
Strength to you.”

“And success to you,” my mother replied in kind to the traditional greeting. She cut her eyes to my father, who was busy exchanging small pleasantries with the elderly man.

“I am Jocasta. Welcome to my home.” Mother gestured to my father. “You have met my husband, Adon.”

The man-beast nodded. “I am Samson. And this is my mother.”

I gasped, just a little, as did Astra. I knew exactly what she was thinking. This woman was ancient. She could not have birthed this man—not unless she had given birth in her seventies. She was close to ninety. I would have bet my life on it. I shuddered again. The Hebrew was a strange man from strange people.

The elderly woman stood behind him in the soft light, nodding curtly. She had a soft, square face and must have been attractive in her day. Her lips were still shapely, and she had colored them red with a steady hand. Her eyes, though surrounded by deep folds of wrinkles, were clear and sparkling. But this is what puzzled me: Both she and her husband had neat, well-groomed hair. Her husband had a short, white beard and thinning white hair combed back away from his face. Her own hair was white as clouds and pulled into a single tidy braid, which was wound around the top of her head and secured with a jeweled pin. Their robes were clean, and the mother wore a single gold ring on her hand. These were not people who would raise a feral child.

My mother gestured to the low, long eating table. “Please be seated while my daughters prepare our dinner.” They all moved to the table while Mother pulled Astra and me aside, presumably to give us instructions.

“Your father did not tell me they were Hebrews,” she whispered. Astra and I stood mute, terrified to be implicated in this.

“They must be the ones who bought all his rugs!” Astra whispered. “That’s why he invited them to eat with us. He thinks they will bring him more business.”

Mother glanced back at the table. Father was helping the elderly couple lower their half-dead bodies to their seats on the floor. Samson was already seated. He looked like a giant of Gath with a child’s play table in front of him.

“I hope you are right. I cannot imagine another reason why your father would invite them in,” Mother said.

Astra reached out and took hold of our arms, pulling us closer in, a tribe of three conspirators.

“We can do anything for one night. We will be as pleasant as possible, just for one night.” Astra declined to mention that we needed to be kind because she had smacked this giant in the head with a stick, and that he had cause—and means—to devour us all on the spot.

Mother rewarded her with a wide smile. “And they will return again with heavy purses? You think like your father.”

“I am uneasy,” I confessed. “The big one makes me nervous.”

Astra’s grip on my arm grew tight. “That is why we must be so pleasant, sister. We will disarm him with kindness. And then send him on his way.”

I pursed my lips and let out a long silent stream of prayer. Dagon was miles away in his temple. I didn’t know if he could hear me. Mother broke away from us and moved to be seated. Astra and I remained standing, awaiting orders.

Mother nodded to us. Dinner had begun. “Astra, pour the wine.”

Samson’s mother shook a finger at Astra. “None for my son.”

We were all silent. Finally Mother spoke. “Your son does not take anything with his meals?”

“My son does not drink wine or strong drink. If you have milk, he will take that.”

I could not help but giggle. This enormous man-beast Samson drank milk with his meals like a babe. He looked unhappy with his mother but said nothing.

Mother shrugged in deference. “Astra, when you are finished with the wine, pour our guest a nice bowl of milk.”

Astra drew up a ladle filled with scarlet perfection from our wine crock and filled the bowls one at a time, setting them on the table. Neither of us missed the scowl Samson’s mother made when Astra set a bowl of wine in front of Mother. As if she was tainted because she drank wine and they did not. Astra poured an extra full bowl for Father.

“Olive oil, bread, and chickpeas, please,” Mother commanded. Astra and I moved to serve the feast, carrying the dishes from Mother’s work table to the dining table, laying out a straight row of delicacies right down the middle of the table. A normal meal for us was just one thing—stew, perhaps, or bread and olives. Tonight we got to sample a little bit of everything, plus Mother had clearly splurged on tonight’s wine. The bite of fermented grapes stung my nose and made it twitch. We Philistines were known to our enemies for our use of iron and weapons, but to those as well cultured as ourselves, wine making was our best achievement. We had yet to find another culture that could make a wine to rival ours. Not even the Egyptians, with their chemists and magicians, had been able to summon enough magic or technology to overtake us in this most important of achievements. Without good wine, my father often said, life’s labors were too much for any man.

Samson’s mother took a sip of her wine and raised a fist to her mouth to hide a cough.

Mother leaned forward, concerned. “Are you all right? Is the wine too strong for you?”

“Too strong? No, that is not it. I am used to the Hebrew wines, that is all. Our grapes are better. We have the best elevation.”

Only Astra and I would have recognized the flexing of Mother’s jaw muscles and known how that comment riled her. The Hebrews occupied the higher ground to the north and the hills to the east so that they looked down at us. Not a day went by that we did not feel their eyes trained on our homes and our land. Everything had been fine, Mother told me, until the Hebrews came. They wanted our land but could not drive us from it, unless they had decided to make us so miserable that we would leave.

“Yes, the wine of the Philistines is quite different.”

I beamed with pleasure. Mother offered such a gracious reply. She could handle this woman.

“Don’t feel badly about that.” Samson’s mother brushed off the comment with one of her own. My shock at her poorly veiled hostility made me almost drop my plate of bread. I glanced at Astra and noticed little beads of sweat rolling down her temples.

Father was still too busy, sitting at the end of the table with Samson’s father, to realize anything was amiss. Samson himself sat at the far right end, the three men making a horseshoe around the end of the table. I noticed that the seat to Samson’s left was empty. Astra or I would have to sit there when we were done serving.

Mother turned to me. “You may bring the roast.”

I was not going to let him near Astra. I nodded to her, marking the other seat with my eyes, the seat next to Mother. She understood, and I went to fetch the roast.

Mother had purchased a roast already finished, marinated in vinegar and scallions, with a crisp brown crust sealing in the juices all the way around. The warm scent had filled the room and carved out a hollow in my stomach, making me keenly aware that I had not eaten all day. I lifted the plate and carried it to the table, letting the aroma settle my nerves. If nothing else, I would get a good meal tonight. I set the roast down and then took the spot next to Samson, before Mother or Father could indicate where I should sit.

Astra finished refilling the wine bowls and sat next to Mother, across from me. I was in between the man-beast and his impossibly old mother. I looked across the table at Astra and almost had to sit on my hands to keep from reaching across and strangling her. I did not know why this Hebrew had come back, but it was her fault.

I sat rigid, careful not to turn my neck and catch sight of the Hebrew. I dug into the food right away, scooping a handful of chickpeas into my mouth before I realized the trouble had begun. None of the Hebrews were eating. They were staring at their food, and then at us. Even Father stopped talking long enough to realize there was a grave problem.

Mother cleared her throat. “Forgive us. We have neglected your needs somehow. What may we do for you?”

Samson’s mother sat straight, her shoulders squared. “We wash before we eat. And give thanks.”

“Wash?”

I could tell Mother was aghast. We had not prepared baths for them. That would take all night. I blanched at the thought of the Hebrew naked on my roof. I would never even touch the washbasin again if he used it for his naked body.

Samson’s mother deigned a smile, as if we were ignorant. “We wash our hands before meals. Of course, it is also customary among my people to wash the feet of guests when they enter, but I did not mind that you neglected us. That ritual is really one done more for good manners than purity. But we will insist on washing our hands before eating. Even though you are a Philistine, you can understand, yes?”

Though the sun was low outside and the oil lamps were the only source of light, I could tell that all the blood had drained from Mother’s face. Her knuckles clutched the edge of the table, turning white as a forced smile found its way to her face.

“Of course.” Her tone was as cold as the winter winds to come. “Girls, fetch a bowl of water and a clean cloth. Do you require anything else?”

Samson’s mother shook her head, a peaceful expression on her face. I knew that look. She thought she had won.

Samson leaned forward to catch my attention, taking hold of my arm. I could not rise. Astra stood still, waiting for me, until Mother snapped at her to be quick.

“You never told me your name,” he said.

Mother’s eyebrows shot up. I spoke quickly.

“My mother neglected to introduce me; yes, you are right. I am called Amara.”

“Amara.”

Every girl loves the sound of her own name, but when he said it, it somehow sounded dirty. I wanted to catch it and give it a good scrubbing and make him promise not to say it again. I looked at my parents, but they had not heard anything amiss in his tone. I did not want to provoke him. I smiled and turned to look at him, to keep the pleasant pretense as best I could while Astra fetched a crock of water. She went out the front door, which was not a good sign—we must have been near empty. I hoped she could borrow some from a neighbor, rather than have to run down to the well. I wanted desperately to be saved from Samson.

This moment was my first real look into Samson’s face, his expression lit by the wide flat flames of the oil lamps. A shiver passed through me though the room was warm.

In the flickering light and shadows, his hair was no longer the first thing I noticed. Instead, the light focused on his face, illuminating it for me, so that I looked into his eyes for the first time, startled. He had a kind face, a handsome face. His eyes were wide and brown, reflecting the flames as he watched me. He was young, too, younger than I had first supposed, being no more than eighteen or twenty, if I guessed right. And although I was embarrassed by my own animal nature, which seemed to appear as if on command, I leaned in, just a bit, and inhaled through my nose. I wanted to know what he smelled like. Every animal has its own smell.

He smelled clean. His hair, though long, must have been well cared for. His teeth were white and whole, and his breath was warm and sweet, as if he had been chewing on cloves.

I shook myself from such dangerous contemplation. This man was a Hebrew, and a strange one at that, and he had a grudge against us. We did not even know why he was here.

He leaned closer in and inhaled through his nose, keeping his eyes on me, those playful eyes that showed me the laughter he hid inside. He was making fun of me. I couldn’t have helped being curious about him. He had such an outrageous appearance, of course he must have been used to curiosity.

Samson turned away to address my father. “You know how I like the sash you are wearing. I had one myself a while back. Where did you get it? I would love to buy another.”

I made a wide-eyed plea to my father to say nothing, but of course he did not understand. He waved an arm across the table. “I’m a merchant, my son. You have no idea the treasures I come across every week.”

“I am sure.”

Astra came through the door with a crock of water and a clean linen cloth. I wanted to jump up and kiss her for such timing, but I sat, hoping the hand washing would give the man-beast something else to focus on.

His mother took the crock first, dipping her hands in and then wiping them on the linen. She passed the crock to me as I turned to receive it, her piercing eyes accusing me of some unknown crime as my hands touched hers. I passed the crock right over to Samson. Dirty man that he was, he laid his hands over mine as I held out the crock to him, not releasing me, as together we set the crock on the table before him. When it sat there, he slid his hands off mine, slowly, his fingertips stroking the back of my hands. I clenched my teeth together, with my eyes narrowing and my nostrils flaring up.

Furious that he touched me so boldly, I jerked my hands free and tucked them under the table. My thighs went weak and hot as I stared at his face, which was already filled with stifled amusement.

He knew the effect he had on me, and he held me in no respect. I balled my left hand into a fist, and when he leaned over to dip his hands in the crock, I turned my body toward him as if to speak, landing a hard punch right in his stomach. He coughed, nearly knocking the crock over.

Astra gave me a stern look of rebuke, which I returned viciously. She had thrown a stick at this man’s head. He wanted compensation, all right—wanted me to pay with a little fleshly affection. If he thought I would receive his advances with anything other than disgust, then he knew nothing about Philistine women and our opinion of the Hebrews.

Samson’s father washed his hands next and then spoke to my mother.

“You are a kind and noble woman to accommodate us. Please, now, allow me to give thanks.”