“You do have a choice,” I say at last. “And I hope you’ll make it.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” says Bathsheba. “With that ape, I mean, that bodyguard of yours knocking so loudly, so rudely, and for such a long time at my door, I had my doubts about it.”
“You can go, if you wish,” I stress, with a reluctant tone. “But I wish you wouldn’t. Stay with me, tonight.”
Bathsheba picks the stem of the red cherry, and takes little bites out of it. In her pleasure she hums, and smacks her lips. Then she raises the goblet to my lips, letting me take in the aroma. I do, and then I take a long gulp.
With a slight sway of her hips Bathsheba walks past me, knowing I cannot take my eyes off of her. She wanders about my chamber as if she were the one owning it.
“You’ve been brought here by my order,” I whisper to her, across the space. “But I am the one held captive.”
David in Rise to Power
Excerpt: The Edge of Revolt
At last, “Decisive action may be easy for a king,” I tell her. “But as a father I must weigh every word I speak, because in the future it may leave a scar upon the hearts of my children.”
Somewhat reluctantly she says, “I understand.”
“I hope you do,” say I. “They are, all of them, my flesh and blood.”
“Then, act as a king,” she says. “Not as a father. Name the one who will succeed you, the one who—in your judgement—may become a better ruler than the others.”
I have to admit, “I have yet to make up my mind,” which fills her eyes with worry. She knows all too well that Solomon, being the younger son, has less of a change to win my favor.
“Decide,” she says. “And make your wishes known. That in itself may bring about a change, a peaceful transition of power. Otherwise, I’m afraid there will be mayhem. It will start at sunrise.”
I let go of her hand, because to say my next sentence I must not lean on anyone.
But before I can muster my pride, and take air in my lungs, and clear my throat to state, in my most regal tones, “I am still the king, am I not,” I find myself staggering. In the next instant, there I am, a heap of arms and legs spilled on the floor, twisting in agony from the sudden chill overtaking me.
I reach up, trying to breathe her name. And I wonder what this suffering may look like, to her and to a heavenly city watching over me, floating silent and forlorn on the hill.
Overhead, a cloud breaks off from the others and moves in a new direction. Its wooly, dim grays are drifting across. I squint, rub my eyes. Now, in a separate layer, another image starts floating past: the way she looked, right here on this roof, when we came out of these doors the very first time.
I remember: scattered petals flew off, swirling in the glow around her long, silky hair that started cascading under her, onto the tile floor. In the background, a vine of roses twisted over the wooden lattice and into it. Between its diagonal slats I saw a diamond here, a diamond there of the heavens. I wondered then about the black void that was gaping upon us, dotted by a magical glint of starlight.
Separated from her by the thought of a kiss I sensed her heat, and the gust of air, which was sweetly scented by roses and by her flesh—but I could not tell if the breath between us was hers or mine. Which is when I knew, for the first time in my life, that she would always be part of my essence. I would be part of hers.
Accidentally the goblet, which she had set down next to her, tipped over and some of the wine spilled over her hip. The crisp sound of breaking glass rang in my ear. It marked the moment, from which I could not turn back. Never would I be able to put it out of my mind.
Yes, this was my fault: taking a woman that belonged to another. Soon after came the blunder: bringing her husband, Uriah, back from the front, that he may sleep with her, which would have explained her pregnancy ever so conveniently.
And when that did not go as planned, then came another mistake, the worst of all: sending him back to the battlefield, with my sealed letter in hand, arranging for his death.
All the while, my boys were learning their own lessons—not from my psalms but from my deeds. One error begets another, each one bringing a new calamity over me, over my family, and over this entire land. Sin followed by execution, followed by revolt, escape, execution, revolt...
Had I known back then the results of the results of my mistake, the curse looming over my life ever since that time, would I still choose to do it?
Bathsheba tries to raise me to my feet. Her fragrance brings back to me the sunny, warm hues of spring. The fears, the doubts flee away when we are that close. I adore the way she calls my name, the way she sighs. With every sweet word I fall deeper into her eyes.
How can love be a mistake? In my passion for her—then as now—what choice do I have?
I want to tell her, “Let me close my eyes. Let me remember.”
David in The Edge of Revolt
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Dancing with Air©2016 Uvi Poznansky
All rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This novel can be read as a standalone novel, as well as a part of Still Life with Memories, a series describing events in the life of a unique family from multiple points of view.
Published by Uviart
P.O. Box 3233 Santa Monica CA 90408
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Email: [email protected]
First Edition 2016
Printed in the United States of America
Book design, cover image and cover design
Uvi Poznansky
Dancing with Air (Still Life with Memories Book 4) Page 17
