The Book of God: The Bible as a Novel

by Wangerin Jr. , Walter

  “Yes, of course.”

  Boaz turned to the ten men and announced, “Then Ruth shall be my wife.”

  The elders said, “We are witnesses. May you prosper in Bethlehem.”

  So Boaz married the beautiful Ruth, and soon she bore a son.

  The people of Bethlehem said to Naomi, “Blessed be the Lord! For your daughter-in-law, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne a nourisher for your old age.”

  Naomi took the child and smiled. “Call me by my rightful name again,” she said. “Naomi. Call me ‘Pleasant.’”

  They named the baby Obed.

  “David,” Nahash said, “I remember Ruth. When I married Jesse she came and blessed us—as old to me then as I am to you now. She is your father’s grandmother. Obed you know: your own grandfather. David?”

  David found that he had slipped completely into the consolation of his mother’s tale.

  “David?” she said, and it was as if he woke up.

  “What, Mother?”

  “Send us to Moab. We will live out the rest of our days in Moab.”

  “And I am but a renegade,” he whispered.

  He went to his mother and lightly hugged her brittle bones. “To Moab, then,” he said. He kissed her. With crooked fingers she brushed the hair back from his forehead.

  It was the last time he ever laid eyes on his parents, Jesse and Nahash.

  II

  ARIDER CAME RIDING at breakneck speed. He made no effort at stealth. He could be shot from the back of his mount, and for that very reason David allowed him to approach unharmed.

  Asahel, the youngest brother of Joab and Abiathar, had seen dust in the distance and had called David to the tower by the gate. David had climbed an interior stair and looked north. The donkey was lathered by long travel, running numbly now. The man, too, was exhausted, leaning heavily left and right. His clothes were torn to ribbons. He was an Amalekite.

  Asahel said, “I’ll spear him at the gate!”

  The young man’s threat was understandable. Amalekites, camel-riding nomads of the south, had burned this same city when David and his army were absent: Ziklag, his base of operations for the last two years.

  The Philistine King Achish had given Ziklag to David who had been conducting raids against the enemies of Judah and sharing his spoils with the elders of the tribe. In this way David bound their hearts to his own. He was consolidating personal power in the hill country of Judah and the Shephelah to the west and the Negev to the south. Achish knew nothing of the adventurer’s successes. Lately, in fact, all five lords of the Philistines and all their armies had marched north to fight Saul near Jezreel.

  “He’s an Amalekite,” Asahel hissed. “I’ll run out and pin him to the ground!”

  David said, “Wait. He’s coming from the north, not the south.”

  The rider had already spied David at the tower window. He was waving both arms and crying, “My lord! My lord, a message!”

  David touched the back of Asahel’s hand. “We’ll meet him together,” he said, “without your spear.”

  So Asahel left his spear but kept his sword. They went down and stood within the gate, and immediately the Amalekite came clattering in, his poor mount stumbling sidewards. He jumped down and ran to David, bowing again and again. There was dirt in this messenger’s hair. No—dust. The dust of mourning.

  David said, “Where do you come from?”

  The Amalekite said, “Only yesterday I escaped from the camp of Israel.”

  Israel! David grabbed the man’s hair, forcing him to look up. “How has the fighting gone?” he said. “Tell me!”

  The Amalekite managed a fawning smile. “May the Lord your God do to all your enemies what he did last evening on Mount Gilboa.”

  “My enemies? Who are my enemies? And what did the Lord do on Mount Gilboa?”

  The messenger grinned. He had a hawk’s head, a raptor beak, and thick brows. He said, “The people of Israel fled from battle. Many have fallen and are dead. King Saul is dead. And his son Jonathan—” the nomad paused, revealing tiny yellow teeth “—he, too, is dead.”

  David turned aside. His right knee began to tremble. He focused tremendous energy in that place to control the trembling.

  He whispered, “How do you know that Saul and Jonathan are dead?”

  Suddenly the Amalekite was garrulous. “By chance I was on the mountain,” he said. “I saw the king leaning on his spear, and the chariots and the horsemen of the Philistines were closing in upon him. He looked back and he saw me and yelled, ‘Who are you?’ I told him, and he said, ‘Stand beside me and slay me.’ He said, ‘Anguish is upon me!’ Then he rolled up his eyes and he fell like stone to the ground. I saw the Philistines coming. I was sure he would not live when they got there, so I stabbed him and took the crown from his head and the bracelet from his arm, and, look: I’ve brought them here, to you, my lord, to you, my lord.”

  The Amalekite began to bow again, up and down. But David stood immobile. His knee was not shaking now. Asahel, beside him, likewise remained perfectly still. Silence and stillness finally caused the Amalekite to cease his mindless obeisance. He murmured, “My lord?” and smiled.

  Pronouncing his words with a terrible quietude, David said: “How is it…that you were not afraid to put forth your hand…to destroy the Lord’s anointed?”

  The Amalekite lowered his head, an excellent show of humility. He did not see David nod to Asahel and walk away. He did not see the sword flash from the sheath at Asahel’s side. He did not see death descending to the back of his naked neck.

  BY NIGHTFALL DAVID had wandered into the wilderness south of Ziklag, scarcely aware of his own motion. The air was cold. He stepped on white stones, radiant in moonlight, and then he paused at the edge of a gorge, a black slash in the earth.

  There was no planting in this place, no seedtime here, no harvest.

  David spoke aloud.

  “Jonathan, where are you lying now?” he said. “Where is the hand that gave me its bow, black lacquered, as tough as the cords of your heart? At what stars do the dark eyes stare that looked into mine and loved me?”

  Suddenly David cried out: “Israel!” He threw back his head and howled, “Israel, your glory is dead on the mountains!”

  Where David’s voice went, the wild goats bounded awake. Badgers and creatures of the night made an intense and nearly inaudible rustling, escaping.

  David cried, “A shield lies on the rock, forgotten! On the grey face of Mount Gilboa a round shield lies cracked and dry, which once protected the breast of King Saul!

  “Saul and Jonathan,” David keened. He crouched and wound his fingers in his tangled hair. His voice rose several octaves and grew soft, and he sang:

  Saul and Jonathan!

  Lovely and beloved!

  In life and in dying not divided:

  swifter than eagles!

  Stronger than lions—

  but tonight, O daughters of Israel, weep for Saul

  who dressed you in scarlet.

  As for Jonathan…

  David sank to the ground, his cheek against stone. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, making himself smaller and smaller. Very quietly he began to sob. “Jonathan, I am sick with sorrow. Here: I lie down here in the night that holds your right hand somewhere. And here I whisper how I loved you, brother. I loved you past the love of women.”

  Oh, how the mighty are fallen,

  and these sweet weapons

  of the Lord’s old warring, dead.

  AFTER A MONTH had passed, David summoned his closest advisors to a hill outside Ziklag: Joab, the commander of his slick small army; Benaiah, as loyal as an ox, David’s personal bodyguard; thin Abishai, the young, swift Asahel, both of them Joab’s brothers; and Abiathar, whose countenance was ever suffused with sunlight.

  Abiathar brought with him the ephod oracle so that David could inquire of God what they ought to do.

  The men sat down in a circle.
/>   “Joab,” David said, “what do you have to say?”

  The commander glanced once at David and then delivered a terse report. “Briefly: Abner still commands Saul’s standing army. He has established Ishbaal as king of Israel in Mahanaim, east of Jordan. Ishbaal is the last living son of Saul. Abner knows of our activities in Judah. He wants to talk. He has asked to meet me at the pool near Gibeon.”

  David said, “Abishai, what about Judah? What are their elders saying?”

  Abishai uncoiled his length and said, “They like you. Especially now that Saul is dead, they are looking to you for leadership.”

  David tilted his head. “What sort of leadership?”

  Abishai shrugged. “You’ve given them goods and security. They respond with praise and loyalty. They say these things publicly, in the gates, in the fields.”

  David turned to Abiathar. In tones suddenly hushed he said, “Inquire something of the Lord for me.”

  Abiathar took up the ephod. David said, “Ask what I should do. Should I leave Ziklag and go up into the hills and into the cities of Judah?”

  The Lord said, Go up.

  David said, “Which city? To Hebron?”

  And the Lord said, Yes. Go up into Hebron.

  So David arose and spoke again to Abishai, “Tell the elders of Judah that I am about to move my army and all my people to Hebron. Tell them it is the will of the Lord.”

  And to Joab: “Send word to Abner that you will indeed meet him—but that the meeting take place after certain ceremonies in Hebron. Tell Abner that those ceremonies shall be a sign: ‘When they are complete, come to the pool of Gibeon.’”

  David turned and walked away—not toward Ziklag, but out into the wilderness again.

  AND SO IT WAS that David moved to the high hills of Hebron where there was abundant water, springs, wells, and natural defenses. Hebron sat astride the ridge route passing north and the history of David’s ancestors: for Abraham had sojourned here; and here, by the oaks of Mamre, God had said that Sarah would bear a son, and Sarah had laughed but she bore that son and named him Isaac.

  David loved the smell of these stories, one thousand years old. He walked in the ancient places. During the day he gazed down into the Jordan valley, trying to imagine where Sodom had been. At night he lifted his eyes and whispered the old, old words:

  Look toward heaven and number the stars,

  if you are able to number them.

  So shall your descendants be.

  And Abraham believed the Lord,

  and he reckoned it to him as righteousness.

  Within a month of his arrival, the elders of Judah came to David. They brought oil in the hollow horn of an ox, prepared to accomplish the ceremonies that David had announced to Abner.

  Solemnly the elders wrapped David’s head in a turban. They encircled the turban with a simple ring of gold to signify this man’s rule over them. Then they anointed him with the oil, ordaining David as chosen by God and empowered with the authority of the Lord.

  Abiathar raised a ram’s horn and began to blow long blasts.

  Spontaneously the people shouted, “Long live King David!” Then all the people went out after David, playing on pipes and rejoicing so loudly the air was split by their joy.

  So JOAB WENT OUT with twelve officers of David’s army to the reservoir near Gibeon, representing a king. His men carried their weapons in a casual manner.

  Abner arrived with twelve officers of his own, likewise at ease in the meeting. There was laughter and greeting in the sunlight by the pool. Strong men who had not seen one another in more than four years now met and began to exchange stories. Many of them once had fought the Philistines side by side; then they had chased one another for a while—but Saul died and David prospered.

  “What shall we do?” they said.

  And in rough goodwill of their reunion they said, “A tournament! While Abner and Joab talk, we’ll test our strength with wooden swords and the butts of our spears.”

  With taunts and boasts the men of Israel and the men of Judah stripped off their tunics and lined up in two lines. Then, bellowing, they fell upon each other, wrestling, swinging the dull ends of spears with power, bruising and beating each other in this rugged warrior’s sport.

  Abner and Joab sat face-to-face. Joab held his peace, grey-eyed and taciturn. Abner was talking about the Philistines. He made countless references to Achish, the king of Gath, and he kept leaving small pauses in his speech where Joab might introduce a word or two as well regarding this king.

  Abner was saying, “—only the stronger after Gilboa, of course, though King Achish has returned, as I’m sure you know, to Gath, confident of his control over Jezreel and the land between and the Shephelah of Judah, too. Wouldn’t you say so…? Confident, I mean, insofar as he may be confident of the friendship of David…? Not to suggest that we don’t appreciate David’s choices in the old days—the difficult days when the king pursued David…?”

  Abner breathed deeply and allowed a long pause to pass.

  Joab sat staring with the fixed, shining eye of a serpent, watchful, revealing nothing.

  Abner said, “Sir, I will be plain with you. I seek a word. We know that David has not always loved the Philistines and that his raids these last years have not served Gath or its king. Therefore, I have come to discover to what extent David intends to honor that old association.”

  Joab said nothing. He did not ease the moment by so much as a blink of his eyes. Apparently, tension did not trouble him; nor did he care about protocol between the envoys of kings.

  Abner said, “Is David a friend of the Philistines?”

  Joab didn’t answer.

  Abner said, “More to the point, does David set his face against Ishbaal, the son of Saul, the king of Israel?”

  Joab stared straight into Abner’s eyes.

  “If we must fight the lords of the five cities, will David take the field at all?”

  All at once the noise of the mock battle changed. The sport had gone out of it. Warriors meant their taunts. They had turned their spears round to the blade-end with murderous intent. Someone must have taken fierce offense.

  Both Abner and Joab leaped up and ran toward the bloody melee.

  Abner seized a spear and swung it over his head like a club, cracking the backs of those who were tearing at each other. In fact, his men had suffered the worse beating. Six were dead, six alive but panicked.

  Joab’s men, filled with fury, were gathering for a unified assault.

  Abner cried a retreat and led his men away, racing for their lives.

  Joab and his brothers gave chase. Lean Abishai ran well, but Asahel, youngest, was also the swiftest. Like a gazelle he outran the others, his eye on Abner. He was flying toward his first battlefield kill.

  Abner saw the pursuit and cut left. So did Asahel, closing distance. Abner gripped the spear in his right hand and ran flat out across two fields in fast succession. Asahel kept gaining on him.

  Abner glanced back. “Is that you, Asahel?” he cried.

  The young man shouted, “It is I.”

  Abner cried, “Turn away. Go for one of my warriors and take his spoil!”

  Marvelously, Asahel increased speed and kept on coming.

  Suddenly Abner turned and faced the young man. “Go back!” he yelled. “Why should I strike the blood of Joab?”

  Asahel, drawing his sword, seemed to become airborne.

  Abner turned his spear backward, intending a lesser wound—but the young man came upon him with such velocity that the butt of the spear pierced him through the belly and broke out the small of his back.

  Abner released his spear. Asahel curled around it like a serpent stabbed. Before Joab or Abishai arrived at this spot, Abner dashed away.

  But the sight of his brother impaled on the shaft of a spear transfixed Joab. As he approached Asahel, he slowed to a walk. Then he stopped altogether, drained of motion and all speech.

  Asahel looked up and croa
ked, “I’m glad to see you, brother. Would you pull this tree-trunk out of me—” He attempted a grin. “—so that I could breathe again?”

  But then the young man’s eyes crossed, and he died.

  Joab began to walk. He did not run. Neither did Abishai run. They walked in the direction that Abner had gone. At a steady, unbreakable pace, they followed Abner all the rest of that day.

  In the evening Abner appeared on the top of a hill, surrounded by a band of Benjaminites.

  “Shall the sword devour us forever?” he shouted. “Joab, don’t you know that the end must be bitter? How long will it be before you bid your people to turn from pursuing their brethren?”

  Joab and Abishai and the men of David looked for a moment at the figures on the hill, then silently they withdrew and walked back to Asahel. They took up his body and buried him in the tomb of his father at Bethlehem.

  So war broke open between the house of Saul and the house of David. Civil war continued in Israel through the next five years. David’s strength increased more and more, but the house of Saul grew weaker.

  ISHBAAL OF ISRAEL was a youth, a pale fellow frightened even of his own officers. He did not have the nature of a king. His family consisted completely of women. Every man except Ishbaal had been murdered.

  When Abner brought him issues demanding decisions, this king withdrew into a pout and stared out the window. He was puffy from inactivity and self-pity. No decisions were ever forthcoming.

  So Abner gathered certain men who were loyal to him alone and sent them to David in Hebron with a message:

  “To whom does the land belong?” he said. “Make a covenant with me, David, and my hand shall carry all Israel over to you.”

  David answered, “Good. I will make a covenant with you. But one thing I require, that when you come you bring Michal, Saul’s daughter. Give me my wife, whom I haven’t seen since I escaped her father with my life.”

  Abner agreed.

  But years had passed since their separation, and Michal had married Paltiel the son of Laish. Nevertheless, Abner sent a band of soldiers to their house and by force brought Michal to himself.