The wedding was seven full days of feasting. If the Hebrews did anything well, it was celebrating. Samson had arrived alone but for his parents, who looked shamefaced throughout the feast. He walked as though he owned the very earth and sky. And he was attractive—Delilah could not deny that. It was a raw, primal thing, the sort of appreciation she found for a beautiful stallion. Even freshly washed as he was, he still smelled of sweat and animal, as though he had scrubbed away civilization, leaving only his base self.
At Samson’s arrival, Kala’s father went out to greet him. Samson offered him no embrace and only demanded, “Where is my bride?” It was then Samson noticed the lords of Ekron—thirty in all. Though he noticed their swords, he only laughed and insisted the festivities begin. Wine was poured, and the feasting began. Delilah had never experienced a celebration more tense.
Near the end of the first night, a drunken Samson staggered to his feet and approached the men of Ekron. Several grabbed their swords, but Samson only laughed, harsh and cruel. “Put away your swords,” he jeered. “I wish to make a wager. You Philistines think you’re so wise, so solve my riddle for me. I’ll give you till the end of the feast. Solve it, and I’ll give you each two garments—one of linen and one so fine you’ll wear it to the next wedding you sully with your vulgar presence. You fail, and you give me thirty of each garment. What say you, wise men of Ekron?”
Silence reigned for several moments before one of the eldest rose to the challenge. “The gods never thought to create a day for a Hebrew to confound Philistines. Give us your riddle, Samson. We’ll give you enough time to enjoy your new wife before we solve it and leave you poor as a beggar.”
Samson smiled. Drunk, he looked more fox than man. “Very well. Here is your riddle. Out of the eater came something to eat. Out of the strong came something sweet. What am I?”
Again, a confused silence. Delilah watched as the men began to whisper among themselves, growing more agitated and frustrated as they spoke. Samson turned his back as he offered a final taunt. “And let it be known I’ll not have the cloaks you’re wearing. I want something that hasn’t had your stink all over it.”
None but Delilah noticed Samson’s bride cowering in the corner.
On the fourth day, Delilah was serving wine when Kala grabbed her arm. She looked exhausted, but Delilah also saw terror in her darting eyes. Kala pulled Delilah out of the tent and began weeping into her arms. The lords of Ekron had come to her and demanded she learn the answer to Samson’s riddle. They had threatened to burn her and her father alive if she refused.
“But I can’t get them what they want. Samson doesn’t speak to me. He drinks. He curses our people. And he—” She broke down again, but Delilah knew men and their lusts. She pulled her friend up and said, “Men are stupid, shallow creatures ruled by their desires.” Soon enough, Kala saw how she might gain the answer to her husband’s riddle.
On the morning of the final day of the feast, Samson taunted the lords of Ekron again, reminding them they had only until sundown to answer his riddle. One of them stood and announced, “What is sweeter than honey? And what is stronger than a lion?”
Delilah watched Samson’s face redden with rage, the muscles on his shoulders and arms tense and bulging. “No wonder my wife has had no appetite for me. This is not wisdom, but treachery! If you had not plowed with my heifer, you would not have solved my riddle.”
The lord protested, mockery in his voice: “Come now, Samson. No one has shared your wife’s bed; though as eager as she was to betray you, you may want to keep a close watch on her. No need to be so sour.”
“Indeed. I am nothing if not honorable.” Samson’s calm voice did not match the hue of his face or the set of his body. “Please, remain. Enjoy my father-in-law’s hospitality. I’ll be back shortly with your garments.”
With that, Samson left, the laughter of the lords of Ekron chasing him from the tent. They debated whether they should leave, but none could resist returning home with a trophy from the mighty Samson himself.
The sun had nearly set when Samson burst again into the main tent, carrying two large bundles of cloth. He threw them into the middle of the table of the lords of Ekron, splashing food and drink everywhere. “Here is the reward for your treachery!”
One of the men stood, a scarlet-spotted linen garment in his hand. He shouted, “This bears the sigil of Ashkelon!” The lords of Ekron dug through their new robes, finding them to be soaked in death.
They turned toward Samson, who shouted over them all, “I asked your brothers in Ashkelon for help showing my appreciation for stealing away my bride at my wedding feast. They were reluctant, but after we had words, they saw reason.”
Another Philistine exclaimed, “You slew the lords of Ashkelon?”
Samson grinned, cruel as a jackal. “As I said, we had words. They were reluctant, but they saw reason. You boast of Philistine wisdom? Now thirty of your lords know the secrets of the grave. I have fulfilled my word. I ask you now, lords of Ekron, do you wish to have more words with me? Shall we find more lords who need new wedding clothes? Perhaps in Gaza or Ashdod? What say you?”
In the face of his raw fury—and holding the evidence of his violence in their own hands—the lords of Ekron looked away and said nothing. He turned to his father-in-law and spat, “I will not share my bed with these dogs. Keep your daughter. She is not mine.”
With that, the beast stormed out, leaving stunned silence in his wake. The only sound in the tent was Kala’s weeping.
LION
Delilah grasped the fourth lock of Samson’s hair and reflected on how much it resembled a strong rope. She thought this appropriate, since she was leading him like a sheep dog. Or a goat, Delilah thought with a grin.
Samson’s eyes fluttered, and he mumbled. Delilah began stroking his face, his arm, his chest, whispering as a mother to a child. “Shhh, sleep now, Samson. Nothing troubles you. Shhh. Shhh.”
How did the pounding in her chest not wake him? She was less than halfway through; if he stirred, he would surely kill her. He is less a goat on a rope than a wild lion who makes his den among humans, Delilah thought. But the lion settled once more in her lap, and she readied the shears again.
Am I not a daughter of Dionysus? She thought back to the times when she and Kala had been practically sisters, when her father was still learning to make wine. They would run through the rows of grapes, laughing, pretending to be Maenads drunk on their lord Dionysus’s wine. At night, Kala’s father would tell them stories of Dionysus, lord of the vineyards.
His favorite had always horrified both Kala and Delilah. A king had tried to ban the worship of Dionysus, so one of the king’s trusted advisers—who was faithful to Dionysus—led the king to the woods. A group of Maenads, including the king’s own mother, came upon him. They were deep in a divine frenzy, and thinking him a lion, tore him apart.
Looking down at Samson, asleep in her lap, Delilah finally understood the story. I am a Maenad, and here lies a pretender, neither lion nor king. The Lord of Wine himself has given this burner of vineyards, this breaker of oaths over to me.
Delilah set the blades to Samson’s fourth lock. She remembered how attracting his attention had been no difficult task. He liked wine and Philistine women, and she was a Philistine woman who sold wine.
Captivating him had also been nothing. She knew men always want what they can’t have, so she had merely ignored his advances. As he became more persistent, she demurred coyly. Because her father had passed, and she had no brothers, Samson could go to no one but her. He could not purchase her as he had Kala. And so every day Delilah denied him, Samson grew more determined.
He did not seem to recognize her, which she used in her favor. She pretended to be amazed by his great strength. Laughed at his attempts to be clever. Feigned interest when he explained how the world works, as though she’d never left her vineyard. Soon he had tied her rope around his own neck, and still he thought himself the master.
O
nce she had him ensnared, she began working toward finding the secret of his strength. In the midst of much oohing and ahhing, she exclaimed in a voice thick as syrup, “You must be stronger than Heracles himself. Which of the gods is your father? Are you the son of your god, Yahweh?”
He laughed at her. “You sound like a Hebrew. I hear them whisper that I am as one of the Nephilim of Noah’s day. Would it please you, Lilah, if I were a demigod from your tales?”
She did not enjoy this pet name for her: Lilah, the Hebrew word for “night.” Because his mother named him for Shamash, the sun, he thought his name for her quite clever. Men who believe they’re cleverer than the women they want are on a short rope indeed. And in Delilah’s experience, men always believed they were cleverer. So she smiled sweetly, laughed admiringly at his pet name, and demurred, “The truth would please me. Are you a demigod?”
He swore he was not, and Delilah sensed the truth in his words. Whatever the secret of his impossible strength, it was found elsewhere. This had been good news for her. She pestered him, careful to be playful at first and growing more petulant as he refused. Finally she sulked off, letting him chase her.
“Lilah! What does it matter where my strength comes from? Do you wish to betray me?”
Treading carefully, she concealed the truth within sensuality. “Yes, of course. Tell me how someone might bind you.” She locked her eyes on his, and her wicked smile invited him to believe what he wished. “Someone wants to lay a trap for you.”
He laughed, throaty and aroused. “Bind me with seven bowstrings that have not been dried yet—the newer the better. I’ll be helpless before you.” She knew it to be a lie, though there was a small seed of truth in it.
Acquiring the bowstrings was easy enough, and when she presented them to Samson, he grinned his wolfish grin and allowed her to bind him. She teased him, dancing about him. Suddenly she feigned fright and darted to another room. When Samson called after her, she exclaimed, “Someone is here!”
Quick as a panther, he was at her side, having burst his bonds like kindling. “What do you hear?”
She burst into crocodile tears. “My countrymen have come to kill us! I know it!”
By the time Samson had searched her grounds—finding nothing, of course—she had retreated to her bedchamber, far too traumatized for anything but sleep. The next day, rather than the hero’s greeting he expected, Samson was greeted by the fury of a woman deceived. She would not speak to him, despite his countless apologies. Finally he said, “Bind me with new ropes. I’ll be as weak as a woman.”
For that last remark, she had smacked him, but playfully, her anger giving way to flirtation. She knew Samson to be lying still, but also that it was only a matter of time.
Again he broke his bonds; the new ropes were as threads around his arms. Again, false fury, apologies, and promises of restitution were the result. This time he promised, “If you weave these seven locks of my hair into a web, I’ll be helpless.” This lie tasted more like truth than anything yet. Did the secret have something to do with his hair? Still Delilah was not surprised when he pulled away from the loom, alert and ready for violence.
Delilah was certain she was getting close, so she banished him from her home to let him pine at her gates for a day or two. Let him think he had lost her. Let his loins become yet more inflamed with lust for the fruit he had yet to taste.
In the meantime, she would send word to her employers, lest they think she had failed at her job.
WOMAN
Delilah was more than half done shearing the beast. She adjusted her grip on the shears and then lifted his fifth lock.
The lords of the Philistines had come to her only after Samson destroyed Gaza; they had failed yet again to defeat him with swords. They had hunted him ever since he murdered thirty lords of Ashkelon, though they feared searching too deep into Israel. Delilah was sure they were afraid of Samson himself.
No one had expected him to return for Kala, much less his rage when he learned her father had married her off. In retaliation, Samson tied torches to the tails of foxes and sent them fleeing with terror through the Philistines’ crops. Kala’s father lost his entire vineyard, and Delilah much of hers. Much of the grain surrounding Ekron burned, and the lords of the city were so incensed they killed Kala and her father in retaliation.
The rational part of Delilah knew they had seen this as the only way to hurt Samson. The friend, daughter, and sister in her swore vengeance on the man who had caused it all, the man who thought he drove Apollo’s own chariot across the sky, the man who had decided long ago that anything he saw was his by rights.
The Philistines grew bolder or perhaps more desperate. They received word that Samson was hiding in Judah, so the armies of all five cities rode out in force to capture him. The Judahites were so terrified, they delivered a bound Samson to the Philistines. Samson slew a thousand men that day—some said with his bare hands and with a stolen sword. Some claimed it was a jawbone he ripped off a pack mule.
After that, Samson walked wherever he pleased. He turned up in Gaza, deep in Philistine territory, to visit a brothel of some renown. The men of the city arranged themselves in ambush, agreeing to strike at first light. Delilah wasn’t sure what their plan had been—perhaps to confuse him in the streets of the city.
It didn’t matter, because Samson finished with the prostitute and made his way to the gate, where he demanded they open it so he could leave. When they refused, he ripped the gates from their moorings and used them to demolish the watchtower and most of the wall surrounding the city. He left with the gates on his back, running as easily as a man might jog alongside his child.
Delilah heard the gates were displayed as a trophy in Hebron. Samson had run there that same night and delivered them to Judah as thanks for aiding him in his ruse against the Philistine army.
Not long after he destroyed Gaza, Delilah learned he had returned home. She had been surprised when the lords of the Philistines reached out to her. They knew she had caught Samson’s eye. The lord of each city had offered her more than a thousand pieces of silver if she would tell them the secret of his strength.
Delilah didn’t care about the money—though she would not refuse it. If they wanted to pay her to take her vengeance, all the better. She had decided to end Samson the very day Kala had died.
She considered the shears again as the fifth lock fell to the floor. Fools, indeed. Swords are for men. Beasts require a different tool.
TRUTH
Just then, Samson shifted once again in Delilah’s lap, exposing the final two locks to her shears. She bared her teeth in a wolfish grin of her own. It was almost as though he wanted to be conquered. He was not stupid; even Delilah had to admit he was crafty. But like all men, he was a fool, a slave to his desires. She could not believe that he was wholly unaware of her goals. Yet in the end, he had told her his secret, as she had known he would.
She had sent for him—not that her messenger had to venture far from the vineyard to find him sulking about. When he came to her, she offered the petulant, churlish façade of a wounded lover. Before he could even reach her, she demanded, “Why do you say you love me?” She painted a thin veil of anger over hurt—and the hurt was painted over need. “If you truly loved me, you would tell me your secret.”
Samson found the mixture irresistible, and within moments he was on a knee before her. “Lilah, forgive me. But why do you protest so much? You know I have been betrayed before. Should I not be suspicious that you gnaw at this like a—” He caught himself about to compare her to a dog and changed tactics. “Only my mother knows my secret.”
“I care not where your strength comes from. But you do not trust me. You cannot love me if you do not trust me.” Delilah thrust out her bottom lip in a pout to keep from grinning. “If you love your mother so much, perhaps you can share her bed tonight.”
Samson sagged, and Delilah knew she had won. She remained silent, and finally he whispered, “A razor has never touc
hed my head. That is my secret.”
As soon as she heard it, she knew it to be truth. Now that his secret was out, she knew she must tread more carefully than ever. “You’ve never cut your hair? That’s sillier than bowstrings or looms.” Pouting, she added, “You still lie to me.”
“I am a Nazirite.” The wineskin opened, Samson could not stop the rush of words. “Before I was born, our Lord instructed my parents to consecrate me. No razor may touch my head. I cannot drink wine. I may eat nothing unclean.”
Delilah allowed the shock to show on her face. “You are a terrible. . . . What did you call yourself? Nazirite?”
“The Lord did not consult me. Neither did my parents. The life of a Nazirite is a life of saying no.” Samson grinned despite himself. “I like to say yes.” He turned serious again. “The Lord is with me. That is the cause of my strength. My hair is the only thread of my vow that remains intact. Were it to be severed, I have no doubt the Lord would leave me. So that is my secret, Lilah. Now you know. And now you know that you have my love.”
Delilah smiled sweetly and kissed Samson deeply. As he began to paw at her, she turned as though distracted and clapped her hands, summoning a slave. “Bring us wine and prepare a feast, but see we are disturbed by no one this night.” Her smile promised Samson everything. “Tonight, we celebrate.”
The slave returned quickly with the wine and assured Delilah, “All is as you commanded. Tonight shall be a night the two of you will always remember.” As Samson laughed lewdly, Delilah thanked Dionysus. The slave remembered her coded signals, and word was sent; the lords of the Philistines would arrive in the dead of night. Now she had work to do.
Empathy for the Devil Page 4
