The Book of God: The Bible as a Novel

by Wangerin Jr. , Walter

  “Sir,” Etam whispered, “no one can climb that chasm wall.”

  “Yes, yes, the Philistines will mock us with their words—but those very words will be a sign that the Lord has given them into our hands.”

  Jonathan grabbed a length of braided rope, then led Etam through dawn to the thicket that hid the southern rim of the canyon.

  He tied one end of the rope to a stout oak, bound a bag of heavy equipment to the other end, and lowered it into the gorge. It bumped stone and disappeared into morning mists. When the whole rope had been paid out, Jonathan took it in his two hands and without a word descended to a dry riverbed below, then tugged the rope three times and felt the weight of Etam’s coming.

  When they were together between the crags, Etam helped Jonathan don the rest of his battle gear. Then, when the mists had blown away, they moved to a clear space and Jonathan began to bellow like a madman: “Dogs! Dogs! Philistine dogs, look out! The armies of Israel are upon you!”

  Faces came and peered over the edge of the high rock, first with frowns and then with wide gaps at the mouth. The Philistines burst into laughter. “You?” they howled. “You are the armies of Israel? Then let these two great armies fly up to us, and we will show you a thing or two!”

  The guard retired, laughing heartily.

  Jonathan whispered, “Did you hear what they said?” He embraced his armor-bearer and stood back, flashing a white grin in perfect delight. “God has given them into our hands. The name of this wall is Bozez: the Shining. Etam, I am going to climb the Shining, and you, like an eagle, will fly behind me!”

  DURING THE HOTTEST PORTION of the day, King Saul was sleeping in the shade of a pomegranate tree.

  Suddenly the ground beneath him trembled. He jumped to his feet, blinking, trying to gather his wits, when he heard his watchmen cry, “Look! The camps of the Philistines! Look!”

  As if in a dream, Saul saw the entire army of the enemy surging back and forth—panicked! It seemed to him that they were hopelessly panicked.

  “Who is gone?” Saul cried. “Which of my captains is missing?”

  While the tumult among the Philistines increased, Israelites ran to their tents and discovered that Jonathan had left with his armor-bearer, his sword, and all his equipment.

  King Saul of Israel uttered a bark of laughter, rose to his glorious height, and cried, “The battle has begun! Let’s finish it!” He sent half of his forces around to attack from the west while he led the rest eastward to cross the gorge at an easy pass and then to strike the eastern flanks of the Philistines. As he galloped through the countryside he saw farmers and shepherds emerging from their hiding places. They had heard fright in the enemy and strength in Israel. Saul’s militia was swelling again. He galloped with a sweeter fury, roaring laughter, a king to his people!

  As he closed in upon the camps of the Philistines, he recognized a marvelous confusion: they were fighting each other! No hesitation, then! King Saul spurred his mount into the midst of the enemy, laying about with his iron sword, causing carnage. He thrust stomachs. He cut jaws to their joints and split skulls and opened bright fountains in human necks, thundering taunts and imprecations, terrifying Philistines and cutting a path for Israelites. Rivers of blood flowed into the battlefields of Michmash. When his horse therefore slipped and fell beneath him, Saul leaped to his own feet and fought hand to hand with dagger and sword. He stepped backward, backward—until he bumped another body. He whirled to dispatch it, but discovered his son, and roared in delight, “Jonathan, Jonathan! What a beautiful day this is!”

  They turned back to back and fought four-legged, invincible.

  “Jonathan!” Saul cried. “What did you do to the Philistines?”

  And Jonathan, killing those who would kill the king, cried, “I climbed Bozez! I caught the guard by surprise. I slew twenty in two minutes. The rest ran to the camps, bleating that Israel had soared over the gorge. Then the earth quaked—and that was the Lord our God, and that was more than they could take.”

  Back to back, father and son terrified the entire army of the Philistines so that they fled from Michmash. They retreated westward, and the farther they ran, the more of Saul’s old militia poured down from the hills where they had been hiding. Israel chased the Philistines all the way to Aijalon.

  NOW, THIS IS THE FAMILY of Saul the son of Kish. When he was anointed king of Israel he had three sons: Jonathan, Ishbaal, and Malchishua. The names of his two daughters were Merab and Michal. Michal was the youngest, just an infant at the coronation of her father. She never knew a time when she was not the daughter of a king.

  Saul’s wife, the mother of these five, was Ahinoam, whose name means My Brother Is Joy. After her husband became king, Ahinoam had one more son, Abinadab.

  Later Saul took for his concubine Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah. She bore him two sons, Armoni and Meribbaal. Her name means Glowing Coal. She was a woman of infinite love and desperate loyalty for her children. Rizpah was a stone that kept its red heat even after two of her children had perished.

  Despite his victory at Michmash, there was hard fighting against the Philistines all the days of Saul. Whenever he saw a strong man or a valiant man, he invited him to join the standing army which he kept at his fortress in Gibeah. Saul’s army, therefore, grew into a smooth, obedient, and ready force, a military power beholden to the king alone. And as its commander he appointed his cousin Abner.

  IV

  SAMUEL, THE WHITE-HAIRED PRIEST of God, now traveled down from Ramah to Saul in Gibeah. They met in the gate of the city. Samuel sat down to rest before he spoke. As long as the old man kept silence, so did the king. He stood, his dark hair brushed glossy for the sake of the priest, his tall frame like a column, waiting.

  Finally, Samuel raised his eyes and said, “You remember that it was the Lord who sent me to anoint you king over Israel.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Then listen to the words of the Lord who made you king: Amalek is harassing the tribe of Judah. He has never changed his ways, nor have I forgotten how he opposed Israel when they came up out of Egypt. Now I will punish him. Saul son of Kish, go and smite Amalek. Utterly destroy all that he has. Spare no person and no thing, but kill both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep and camel and ass.”

  Hearing this, the king seemed to sag and grow tired. “The herem”,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Samuel, “the ban. Amalek is devoted to the Lord for destruction. Neither you nor your people shall touch anything that is of Amalek, lest you bring trouble upon Israel.”

  Saul said, “This thing has not been asked of Israel since Joshua entered Canaan and destroyed Jericho.”

  Samuel squinted up at the king. “Why do you say so, Saul? Is there something here you do not understand?”

  “No,” said the king, “no.”

  But the lines in his face were deeper than before. In the years of his reign until now there had been no peace for Saul. He had fought the Philistines admirably, but he had not been able to subdue them. At the same time, Israel’s older enemies took advantage of that constant preoccupation, so that King Saul had to blow the horn of war against Moab, against Ammon, against Edom. By the sheer force of his personality, he had to raise the militia over and over again.

  And now Samuel said, “Go. Utterly destroy Amalek.”

  So once again Saul ignited the black flame in his eyes and blew the ram’s horn of war, this time summoning Israel to Talaim in Judah. And once again the charismatic king succeeded. Farmers turned into fighters. They took their weapons and prepared to enter the wilderness, to attack the tribes that once had attacked their ancestors.

  In Talaim King Saul issued orders. “This shall be the herem! Nothing shall be left of Amalek when we are done. It is devoted to the Lord for destruction.”

  Then he mounted his horse and rode out before them all. His personal bodyguard went next, then Abner and his captains, and finally the body of Israel left on foot. Saul and Abner and
Jonathan wore bronze helmets. The rest wore helmets of leather, rounded at the top with long flaps to cover their ears and cheeks.

  In the valley near Amalek, Israel halted.

  Saul sent Jonathan out by night to scout the camps of the nomads. With his son’s information—still under cover of darkness—he dispatched Abner with seven regular soldiers to hamstring the camels and the asses while he himself led the armies of Israel in a great circle around the camp: a noose.

  Exactly at sunrise, Saul cried a command. The captains picked it up. Like wildfire their voices encircled Amalek, and then Israel was the fire, rushing in from all sides and slaughtering the Amalekites in a holy conflagration. Many were destroyed. Most were destroyed—even those who did escape: they were pursued as far as Shur near Egypt and destroyed.

  Yet, not everyone was destroyed. Saul spared Agag, the king of the Amalekites. And some of Saul’s soldiers kept back the best of the sheep and the oxen, the fatlings and the lambs.

  THEN THE WORD of the Lord came to Samuel at Ramah.

  The Lord said, I repent that I made Saul king; for he has turned away from following me. He has not performed my commandments.

  Samuel was furious.

  In the morning he rose up and went forth to find the king.

  They told him that Saul had been victorious. They said that he had been making a triumphal procession northward, pausing at Carmel long enough to set up a monument to his accomplishment and then passing on to Gilgal, there to make sacrifices to the Lord. They told Samuel, too, that Saul had brought back proof and a personal trophy: the king of the Amalekites, Agag, alive.

  So Samuel went to Saul at Gilgal, a day’s journey for the old man.

  Saul saw him coming and went to meet him.

  “Blessed be you to the Lord,” he called even as he strode to Samuel, grinning. “Sir, I have performed the commandment! Amalek is punished.”

  Samuel waited until the king came near, then said, “What then is this bleating in my ears?”

  Saul paused, still grinning.

  Samuel said, louder: “What is the lowing that I hear?”

  “Oh, well,” Saul said. “The people have brought some sheep and oxen back to sacrifice to the Lord your God—”

  “Stop,” said Samuel.

  “—the rest,” Saul continued, “the rest we have utterly destroyed—”

  “Stop!” Samuel cried. “Do you want to hear what the Lord said to me this night?”

  Saul began to blink rapidly, all his triumph suddenly gone. He drew a deep breath and said, “Say on.”

  Samuel said, “You are the head of the tribes of Israel. The Lord anointed you king. That same God sent you to destroy the Amalekites, to fight against them until they were consumed. Why didn’t you obey the voice of the Lord?”

  Saul said, “But I did. I did what the Lord sent me to do. I only brought back Agag, and the people brought the best cattle for a sacrifice here in Gilgal.”

  “Does the Lord delight in sacrifice as much as in obedience?” Samuel cried, his old eyes flashing. “Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken is sweeter than the fat of rams. But rebellion is as bad as sorcery, and stubbornness no less than idolatry. Because you rejected the word of the Lord, the Lord has rejected you from being king.”

  Now all the lines in Saul’s face deepened. His shoulders sagged, and he said, “I have sinned. I transgressed the commandment of the Lord. Samuel, priest of God, I beg you, pardon my sin. Return with me, that I may worship the Lord.”

  But Samuel’s anger was unyielding. “I will not return with you,” he said. “The Lord has rejected you.”

  The old man turned to go.

  “Wait!” cried Saul. He moved in front of Samuel, blocking his way. “Why can’t I be forgiven like any other man?”

  “Because you are changing, Saul. Because you are impatient and arrogant. Because you have usurped authority which does not belong to you. Because you offered burnt offerings unto the Lord without waiting for me, his priest!”

  “Yes!” cried Saul in anguish. “Yes, I remember that offering. But I had to do it. Samuel, the armies of Israel needed the blessing of God, but you were delaying. I waited for you, but you didn’t come!”

  “Get out of my way!” the old man snapped. “Since you no longer wait upon the Lord, neither does he wait on you. He has rejected you from being king of Israel.”

  Samuel pushed Saul backward. The tall man stumbled as if struck by a club. Samuel began to walk away, but Saul reached out and grabbed his robe so forcefully that the fabric tore. He let go of the robe. He went down on his knees and folded his hands in supplication. But Samuel held the rip with two hands in front of Saul’s face. “This is a sign,” he said, all his old limbs trembling. “As you have torn my clothing, so the Lord has torn the kingdom of Israel from you this day and has given it to a neighbor worthier than you!”

  “I have sinned, I have sinned,” Saul wailed. His great shoulders shook with this weeping. “O priest, yet honor me before the elders of my people. Return with me that I may worship the Lord your God!”

  Samuel was stooped and gaunt and exhausted, and now it seemed his anger died within him. Slowly he extended his hand and placed it on Saul’s head. He began to stroke the beautiful hair. For a long time, while the king continued bowed before him, Samuel stroked his hair, and neither man said a word.

  Once more the old priest relented and went a day’s journey with the king, and Saul worshiped the Lord.

  But after that Samuel returned to Ramah, and Saul traveled to his fortress in Gibeah, and that was the last time they saw one another until the day that Samuel died.

  V

  THE PHILISTINES NEVER CEASED to test the mettle of Israel’s king and of his armies. Regularly, annually, disciplined soldiers established battle lines by driving their wide rectangular shields side by side into the ground and sticking lances between them. From behind this fortification, they rained arrows upon poor Israelite villagers, who would then cry out and beg the king to come and save them.

  So Saul would rekindle his personal fires and blow the trumpet and summon the militia to fight on behalf of Israelites in trouble. But the people of Israel grew less and less inclined to heed their king.

  Sometimes, therefore, Saul drove the Philistines back by the desperate slashings of his own sword and the support of his standing army only. Sometimes the young men whom he loved the most, whom he himself had trained in the yards surrounding his fortress at Gibeah, died beside him. Then a new rage came upon the tall king and none could withstand him. He made wooden shields explode with blows from his war club. And sometimes he would fall asleep in full battle dress, bloody and unwashed—exhausted.

  But with his new rages came a new trouble. Saul began to suffer nightmares, after which he woke up in a running sweat, filled with anxiety, grabbing his temples and desperately trying not to howl out loud.

  Saul had never been a fearful man. He had no idea what to do with fear. But now it caused a tremendous noise in his brain which he thought might issue from his mouth. So he buried his face in blankets and tried to keep his condition a secret.

  There were whole months when the man felt equal to the responsibilities of his office. Then he would grin again and clap the young men on their backs and eat with them. Then the wars of Israel seemed no greater than the wars of any nation.

  But suddenly his terrors would return, and for three nights together he would dream and wake and dream again.

  One night, when he rose up in horror from his pallet, he saw Rizpah sitting in his room, watching him—an apparition of perfect calm.

  With a mighty effort he restrained himself, drawing his knees and his elbows to his stomach, breathing loudly in his nose.

  Rizpah, his concubine, was a young and gentle woman, thin, of sad countenance. He was embarrassed so to be seen by her.

  But she said, “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

  And he shook his head. The silent woman knew more t
han he had realized.

  Rizpah stood up and came to him, and he saw that she was walking on bare feet. She sat down on the floor beside his pallet, drew her feet beneath her skirts, took his head between her cool hands, and laid it gently down upon her lap. She began to sing to him in a high, untutored voice. She sang a lullaby. She sang until his spirit grew calm and his eyes closed and he slept.

  In this way, Saul learned that music could restore his soul.

  And this is how it went for several months: Rizpah, recognizing when he had entered the black mood, would come in the night and comfort him with touching and with singing.

  But it occurred to Saul that there would be no one to sing for him when war carried him away from home.

  And then Rizpah became pregnant. Soon all of her nights would be devoted to another. So who would come and sing for the king of Israel then?

  BETWEEN THE HILL COUNTRY of Judah and the flat coastal plains of the Philistines lay a rumpled land, humped and wrinkled as if it were a blanket someone had tossed down. This was a north-south strip of foothills ten miles wide, twenty-seven miles long, divided by five rich valleys. The hills were encased in nari, a crusty rock covered by the merest skin of soil, making the hills themselves useless for planting. They were bearded with scrub forests. Sycamore trees grew there, producing a sweet, small, figlike fruit. But the valleys were fertile. Little limestone villages clung to the hillsides in order to leave the valleys free for farming.

  This region was called the Shephelah, because an Israelite in the high hills of Judah would look down to see it nearly as far as the sea.