J: The Woman Who Wrote the Bible

by Mary Burns

  “My people in Mahanaim,” he said, and caught my questioning look. “Yes, we have spies even in Mahanaim. They tell me there has been discord of late, more than usual, between Abner and Ishbosheth, something about a concubine of Saul’s; anything would do, I think, to serve as a bone for those two to snarl over. And Abner has been meeting often with the elders.” He tapped the scroll that I was still holding. “I never thought Abner wanted to be king himself, and since that . . . trouble . . . last spring (so he referred to the death of Asahel), I think Abner has lost heart.”

  “What shall you say to him in return?”

  David walked around the room, stopped in front of a window, and walked back to the table. He was always quick to decide, and in his eyes there was a green-gold gleam, a light of anticipation I had not seen for many a year.

  “Daughter, can you write this message for me?” He sat down next to me, put his hand on mine, and drew near so all I could see were his marvelous eyes. “I would trust it to no one else.”

  And yet you asked for Nathan first, I couldn’t help thinking to myself. I pushed the thought aside.

  “Yes, Father, I can write it.”

  He tenderly kissed my forehead, then my cheek; then his lips sought my own, sending my blood pounding through my pulses. He drew back, smiling. “Let that be the seal on your silence then.”

  He leaned back in his chair, and lifted his hand.

  “Ithream! Bring writing instruments and a scroll, now!”

  When I had made my preparations to write, my father dictated this message to me:

  To Abner, Captain of Israel. I am sending a message to King Ishbosheth demanding the return to me of my betrothed wife, Michal, daughter of Saul the King of blessed memory, for whom I fought and killed 200 Philistines and delivered their foreskins to her father. Saul took her from me on our wedding night when I fled for my life. I want you to give her escort. You have safe passage on my word and the ring I send. Come to Hebron in peace for Israel and our people. But do not come without Michal. Without her, do not approach my house. Signed, David, King of Judah

  I could hardly keep my astonishment from showing as I wrote these words. (I had a little trouble with some I wasn’t familiar with, like foreskins and betrothed, but I think I did well enough to be intelligible.) But this Michal! I had not heard of her before or known that my father had so longed for her all these years. Then my more cynical self laughed inside—not romance but justice, perhaps; my father was just a man wanting what was his, after all this time, but mixing politics, love, and possessiveness all together. And Michal was a princess, the daughter of King Saul— she would further legitimize David’s advance to the throne of Israel. But I glanced at his face when I read the message aloud back to him, and his eyes softened at Michal’s name; I could have sworn I saw the gleam of a tear at his recollecting that interrupted wedding night. Well, maybe he did love her. Time would tell. My heart sank as I thought of my mother, and how she would feel when she heard this news.

  “I will make a clean copy,” I said, sounding cool and easy about this great secret, this unspeakably wonderful service I had just accomplished for my father, the King. “And I will write the message to King Ishbosheth as well, and bring it back to you as soon as it is finished.” I stood up and prepared to go. David caught my hand in his, kissed the back of it.

  “Thank you, my daughter, the loveliest and most talented of the King’s scribes.” It was said lightly, but I recalled my vow to myself so many years ago, that I would be the King’s greatest scribe. Thanks be to the Lord, perhaps it was beginning. I knelt and kissed my father’s hand, then rose and left the room.

  Chapter 16

  David took other concubines and wives, and sons and

  daughters were born to him.” 2 Samuel 5:13

  It was nearly harvest time before we got word that Abner, bringing Michal with him, would be in Hebron a week before the Days of Awe. David arranged for Joab and Abishai to be gone during that time, which was easily done as there was trouble in Ziklag that required military attention. What he would do about Zeruiah, I couldn’t imagine, but after it was all over, I learned he had simply put a guard around her house and had food delivered to her during the time Abner was in the city, allowing her no contact with anyone. He was, after all, the king.

  Our distinguished visitors arrived with little fanfare, though there was no keeping Abner’s identity a secret once he entered the city—too many people knew him from the days of Saul, and he was a distinctive enough person in himself. He was a large man, not fat but heavily built, tall and light-skinned, with fair hair now gone completely gray. He held himself upright, as a soldier should, and his arms were scarred and tough as leather from the heat of many suns and wounds that had healed poorly. His nose was like an eagle’s beak, with an eagle’s fierce and predatory eyes above it, but he was not without humor and a rough good nature.

  My father greeted him like a long-lost brother, there in the courtyard before the grand entrance to the king’s house. I marveled to see them both weeping and laughing as they clasped each other in their arms. Abner had traveled with a select group of men, about twenty armed warriors, who stood by silently. But my attention was soon brought round to the veiled woman who was closeted inside a mule-drawn wagon, with a canopy of cloth shading her from the elements; she was seated upon pillows made of rich-looking stuff with tassels on the edges. She looked slim and youthful, which is all I could tell beyond the veil. She must have been very young, I thought, when David first wed her, to look like this now, after twenty years and more?

  Leaving Abner for a moment, David stepped over to the canopied wagon and drew aside the curtain. He stood silent for a moment, then leaned in and said something to Michal; I couldn’t hear what. A silvery laugh trickled from behind the veil, and David smiled. Stepping back, he motioned to his house captain to take care of the men and the animals, and turned to me.

  “Janaia, I would like you to take Michal to the rooms that have been prepared for her.”

  This I did not expect, but my curiosity was such that I readily acceded to the king’s request. What else could I do? I watched him and Abner, their arms around each other’s shoulders, climb the steps to the house, and then I turned back to fulfill my duty. I could feel the eyes of all the women, my poor mother included, boring into my back from the terrace above as I walked over to the lady’s wagon. David had insisted that they all await her in their own quarters. He didn’t want a lot of fussing and chatter going on around him when he first greeted Abner, which I think was a wise decision.

  I approached the wagon and bent my head before the translucent veil. I was glad I had decided to wear one of my better gowns, and that my hair was newly washed and arranged.

  “Madam,” I said. “I am Janaia, the eldest daughter of King David, and I am happy to greet you and welcome you to Hebron.”

  “Daughter of the king!” Her voice was stiff with contempt. “Dressed like that? I should have thought you were the housekeeper’s daughter. You are more backward here than I imagined!”

  “We do not claim to equal the fashion of dress in Mahanaim,” I returned. “No doubt you will shine as a lily among thorns here; you must be content with that.”

  There was a pregnant pause. “Janaia, eh?” came the petulant voice. “I’ve heard of you, prophetess or seer or something, no doubt getting up a drama to draw attention to yourself. Well, I warn you, I see through frauds quite easily; you won’t impose on me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, madam,” I said. She was really quite amusing and quite horrible. I had no idea what my father saw in her. Ishbosheth probably jumped at the chance to send his sister away! “Will you not come out of your . . . conveyance and take some refreshment in your room? The ladies of the house are all gathered to greet you.”

  A faint snort of disapproval was all the reply I received, and then the curtains were abruptly thrown aside by a small hand heavy with rings and bracelets. An attendant appeared, nearly knock
ing me over in his haste to set a decorated wooden box on the ground for his lady to step upon.

  A sudden wind blew her veil up and over her head, and I saw that she had kohl around her eyes with some blue color on her eyelids and rouge on her cheeks. Her black hair was tightly crimped in little waves at her temples, while the rest of it lay in curls down her back, like a young girl’s. But the hair in front and back didn’t quite match in color, which puzzled me. She had a not unpleasant mouth, but it was hard to tell because she seemed to purse it in a perpetual pout. She quickly grabbed at the veil and pulled it over her face again, then put out her hand to me as if I should kiss it, which I did not do, so she withdrew it with a sniff. When she stepped off the box, she barely came up to my shoulder.

  “This way, Michal,” I said, half-expecting her to object to my using her name, but she said nothing. I nodded to the waiting servants to start unpacking the wagons, and I led this newest addition to the distaff side of the house up the stairs to the women’s quarters.

  * * *

  By this time in our little history, my father had six wives: my mother Abigail, of course, then Ahinoam of Jezreel, whom I had come to love, with her kindly, reserved air and calm face; she was a good friend to my mother, and together they managed the household well. Sweet, tender Maacah, still more girl than woman, in spirit, at least, was the daughter of the king of Geshur; she had borne Absalom, my favorite little brother after Amnon. Then there were Haggith, Abital, and Eglah, three women about my own age who clung to each other like sisters and were completely absorbed in the children. I often found it hard to distinguish one from the other, and I think at times I envied their closeness, the way they laughed together, helped each other, and found a warmth and comfort in their lives that I did not know.

  All of these women had given David at least one son and some more than one, as well as several daughters, though I saw the children rarely. Today, only the women were assembled to greet Michal; the royal offspring were all shushed away in the nursery with the maids and would be sent for later. Michal, who had been married off to some old courtier named Paltiel, a Jebusite, after losing David, had not had any children. Perhaps that accounted for her bitterness and arrogance.

  I entered the room before Michal, holding the door open for her and announcing her name as she swept in, her head high. My father’s wives bowed their heads slightly in greeting, and my mother, as the eldest woman and the first wife, stepped forward to take her by the hand.

  “You are most welcome to Hebron,” she said, and led Michal over to a chair by the table covered with a cloth and laden with food and drink. It was an old story for her by this time, this greeting of new wives, and she held herself well, with pride and dignity. There was, of course, an added spice of curiosity and anxiety about Michal, given her prior claim, so to speak, on David. But apparently the marriage had never been consummated; Saul saw to it that David was forced out of the marriage chamber before the bride was even prepared for the bed. So my mother felt secure in her seniority, at least. How all these things were known was beyond me, but I have ever marveled at the ability of women to find out the facts that interest them the most, however tightly men think they keep things secret.

  “Thank you,” Michal said, not very graciously, and she sat down. She still had her veil across her face. I wondered if she was reluctant to remove it. None of us women in Hebron made up our faces in any way; I saw her shooting glances at the wives, assessing their clothes and the arrangement of their hair. Too countrified by half, I imagined.

  There was an awkward pause, broken by a hiccup and a nervous giggle from the trio of younger wives. My mother pretended not to hear.

  “I hope your journey was smooth and not too tiring,” she said. A servant moved in to pour the already-steeping tisane, and the ladies all gathered around the table to partake of the delicacies of fruit and sweet bread arrayed on the cloth.

  Michal waved a hand as if to dismiss the whole tedious subject. She accepted a cup from the servant, and apparently decided this was an appropriate moment to remove her veil.

  As I expected, the younger wives actually gasped when they saw her face, though a severe look from Ahinoam silenced them. Michal looked defiant, her nose in the air; then without warning, she burst into tears.

  That was all that was needed. The trio rose up and surrounded her, patting her back and smoothing her hair, making soft noises of exclamation and comfort.

  “So pretty—don’t you think she’s pretty?”

  “Such beautiful clothes, too, and the jewelry!”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it, have you?”

  “There, there, it’s all new and strange, isn’t it? But you’ll see, you’ll like it here.”

  My mother and Ahinoam looked on indulgently. It seemed to do them all good, Michal most of all. She was now the undeniable center of attention, petted and soothed enough even for her.

  I caught my mother’s eye and we exchanged knowing glances.

  No one but she noticed when I left the room a moment later, shaking my head, and glad to escape, back to my world of words and visions.

  Chapter 17

  “And Yahweh said, ‘Listen to my words: When a prophet

  of the LORD is among you, I reveal myself to him in

  visions, I speak to him in dreams.’” Numbers 12:6

  David’s meetings with Abner went on behind closed doors. No one else was involved in their lengthy discussions. In the end, everything was settled after three days, hastened in part by the fact that the high holy days were approaching, and Abner needed to be back in Mahanaim. I had kept myself available by staying in my study room, in case my father needed something written to confirm a contract or agreement. But I was never called for, and it made me feel, irrationally enough, useless and ignored.

  I had not voluntarily returned to the women’s quarters to watch the progress of Michal’s becoming part of the family, so to speak. I did hear, by way of some gossipy servants with whom my own maid was friendly, that David had definitely not sent for her. So far. Apparently, this provoked her into such a towering rage that her own servants were afraid to be in the room with her, and all the rest of the females in the house stayed out of her way. I’m sure my father was blissfully unaware of the discord he had introduced into his domestic arrangements with his sly political maneuvering. I even wondered if he had any, shall we say, connubial intentions at all regarding his former betrothed.

  While Michal was an inadvertent amusement to hear about, and occasionally to see, I was growing ever more anxious about Nathan. He was definitely avoiding me whenever we were not specifically engaged with music lessons or writing, and even for those, he left me frequently to practice on my own. He looked thin and tired, as if he had never completely recovered from the events of the spring, there on the hill with Joab, Abner, and Asahel. I decided it would be best to have it out with him directly, so I waited for my chance.

  I was working on improving the writing I had done of some of my father’s songs. As I became more skilled and knowledgeable about the letters, words, and symbols, I was able to combine different elements creatively to more closely capture the sounds and the meaning of the words my father used when he sang. I was learning that there was a very specific way to use a letter for every sound in a word, so that for instance, if I wanted to write down the word we pronounce as shaphaph (serpent, literally sharp mouth), I would use the letter for “sh” and then the letter for the sound “haph” written twice.

  Not only do these letters stand for the sound we make when we speak the word, the letter for “sh” means “two front teeth” and that is what it looks like. And the letter for “haph” is the shape of a mouth, and stands for the mouth, the edge of the opening into the body.

  This was endlessly fascinating to me, and I gloried in this knowledge that so very few people had access to, and in which I was gaining such skill. As I mused on these ideas, I remembered something that Didymos said to me, so long ago, on the
day he was killed in our courtyard, that certain letters or words, written down, can bring the dead back to life and cause a living man to shrivel and die on the spot.

  I stared at the writing before me; it seemed harmless enough. How could such a thing be true? I recalled that Nathan had told me, when I first started capturing my father’s songs, that the Name of God was never to be written down or spoken aloud in its entirety. We were supposed to use either different names for Him, such as Adonai, the Lord, or even just HaShem, the Name. When I asked him why, he said it was out of respect, because God’s Name was not like any other name that we ordinary mortals have, and even when we speak the name of God, we do not say the whole name. I wondered if this was one of the words that Didymos referred to. Could it have such power of life and death?

  This very interesting line of thought was interrupted abruptly by Nathan’s entrance into my study. I think he did not expect to see me there at this time of day, late afternoon, so he started when he saw me, and mumbling something, turned to leave again.

  “Nathan, do not go!” He stopped at the door, his back to me.

  “Please,” I said. “Please sit down. I want to talk to you.”

  Reluctantly, he came into the room, still avoiding my eyes, and sat down on the bench at the table across from me. It was a fine autumn day though the sun had already slipped behind the rooftops, and shadows were lengthening below the slanting golden rays. I let the silence grow in the room, and finally he looked up.

  “Tell me, Nathan.”

  A riveting tremor took his body, and he fought it to stillness with a great effort. I tried one more word to unlock his heart.

  “Asahel.”

  Nathan’s face told me everything I wanted to know. He leaned his head forward in his hands, hiding his face and forcing down the wracking sobs that shook him. I rose and went to him, gathering him gently in my arms and rocking him like a child until his weeping was spent and his spirit quiet.