Delilah

Chapter 11

"You still have the power to arouse me, Delilah. You do not have the power to cause me to indulge my own lust. Your thin silk garments, your soft skin, your sweet perfume, and your honeyed words tempt me. But I am no longer weak, Delilah. I have learned a hard lesson. Yahweh loves me. Just as my father chastised me when I was a child and did wrong, Yahweh has chastised my human weakness. I love you Delilah and because I love you, I urge you to abandon the false gods to whom you cling. I have heard the whispers that you will be inducted as a priestess to Asherah so that Philistine men can taste of the sweetness that subjugated the Israelite strongman. Be warned, Delilah. I have prayed to Yahweh. He will restore my strength to prove that no foreign god is His equal. If you allow yourself to become a part of the temple ritual, you will be destroyed! Delilah, I beg you. Abandon this foolishness. Go to Hebron. It is located in the hills before you reach the Great Salt Sea. This is a city of refuge where an accidental murderer cannot be punished. This rule applies to Israelites and outsiders, those born into the worship of Yahweh and proselytes who convert from the worship of other gods. There you can learn of Yahweh without an avenger from my family trying to seek you out and exact revenge."

Standing and putting a hand on each of Samson's shoulders, I leaned down and hissed into his ear, making certain my bosom brushed his cheek.

"You speak as though you are dead and I have been accused of perpetuating the deed. I do not need to hide in some foreign city for protection, Samson. I am honored here. I will be High Priestess to Asherah. This body that still has the power to arouse you will bring honor and glory to the goddess. I came here because I mistakenly thought I loved you and wanted to give you one last taste of my love before it is denied you forever."

Lowering my lips I kissed Samson, putting all of my pent up feelings into the caress. Lifting my cloak, I deliberately left the thin gauze veil to taunt the prisoner. Calling for the guard, I said, "Goodbye Samson, my love."

As the door clanged shut behind me, I heard Samson call, "Remember what I said, Delilah. When the time comes, remember."   

Remember, remember. The word swirled in my mind like the natural whirlpool in the pond near my house. Anything that drifted into the lagoon was inexorably sucked into the swirling water. I wanted my rememberer destroyed so that I would be free from the past, but my mind was like that whirlpool. It continued to pull in memories and play back my past, haunting my present. 

Samson had gone in quest of the delicate Delilah, the child with the broken spirit. Little did he know that when he found her, she would be so damaged that she would demand his brokenness as proof of love. I could not risk her surfacing tomorrow. I had to banish her again. 

I was nervous, but not because of the upcoming ceremony. I had learned long ago to close my mind to my surroundings. I knew that when I danced in front of the crowds in the temple ceremony, I could retreat to that place where the young Delilah hid. I would be able to tune out the crowds and dance in the meadow with my mother.

What I feared was dancing a parody of intercourse with Samson. Even the grotesque, blinded giant had the power to unnerve me. He was the only one who knew me well enough to know about my secret place where I escaped from the world. Even blind he could see my vulnerability. He had proven that today in his cell. I did not know what he meant by his statement that I would be destroyed if I joined in the temple ritual. Would the flame of hope still held in the fragile hands of the delicate Delilah be extinguished forever, or would I die some terrible death brought about by Samson's jealous god? I was not sure, but I heard the certainty in his voice. Samson's warning had the ring of truth. Just as I had known when he told me his whole heart so I could betray his secret and bankroll my future, I knew he was telling me once more what was in his heart. He loved me enough to warn me, but of what?

Returning to my room, I dismissed Jabin and then checked to make certain my private stash was undisturbed. I had spent none of the silver provided by the city rulers for my betrayal of Samson. The money, some jewels that had been given me by besotted suitors, and a beautiful golden, jewel-encrusted phylactery were hidden in my room. They were my security. If I tired of the life of a temple priestess, I could take these things and flee. In a distant city I could live the life of a wealthy widow or courtesan, whichever I preferred.

Taking the phylactery in my hand, I stared at the jewel-encrusted box, remembering the day Samson had given it to me. Lost in the past, I ran my fingers over the amber sun and followed the ray that penetrated the green heart representing Delilah, the flirtatious prostitute, the Delilah that had seduced Samson and pried out of him the secret of his strength, the Delilah that had betrayed her lover. This Delilah would dance for the crowds tomorrow and humiliate the blind giant. This Delilah would serve in the temple of Asherah.

As I stared at the green emerald that represented the hardened Delilah, my finger slowly made its way to the small diamond center. Covering the purity of the diamond, I pressed down hard on the stone, determined to blot out the weak, delicate Delilah. I considered her a hindrance, someone who had the potential to betray my ambition. I wanted to rid my heart of her whimpering voice and her spark of love for Samson.
I pressed so hard, I pricked my finger on the stone. With a startled cry I pulled my finger back, but a small drop of blood fell onto the soft, creamy leather band designed to encircle the head. As I watched, the drop of red spread into the lines of the leather, staining the band near the beautiful jeweled box.

Cursing, I growled aloud, "Look what you have made me do now, you little sniveling imbecile. My blood has stained the beautiful leather of the band, decreasing the value of the piece."

Even as I lashed out at myself, I thought. "What is one drop of your blood. Because of you, Samson has sacrificed his beautiful eyes. Because of you Samson is imprisoned in a stinking cell. Because of you Samson is ridiculed every day as he takes the place of an ox to grind grain for the priests of Dagon. Because of you the opportunity to experience true love is lost."

As I sat and chastised myself, tears began to fall. My shoulders began to shake, and I covered my face with my hands. Sitting there alone in my bedchamber, I hugged myself and rocked back and forth while the tears fell like rain.

Tonight I would mourn for Samson. Tonight I would indulge the delicate Delilah, because tomorrow I would destroy the last vestige of her innocence. Tomorrow the young Delilah would have to be banished forever so that the flirtatious Delilah could dance the dance of love with Samson. There would be no secret place for the young Delilah to hide inside the hardened heart of the high priestess of Asherah. 

As I cried and rocked, I understood something of what Samson had tried to tell me. If I participated in the temple ritual, the Delilah that hid in the secret place would die. She would cease to whisper words of hope to me. I would have chosen to betray that Delilah, just as I had chosen to betray the Samson she loved.

While I cried, I slowly opened the phylactery and removed the tiny scroll inside. Through my tears I read the words, "Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength."

"Is it possible to love anyone or anything with all of your being?" I wondered. "What would it feel like to be loved so completely?"

Then I thought of Samson sitting in his cell telling me that only now that he was blind could he really see. I thought of Samson's belief that Yahweh is a God of second and third chances. The child inside of me pleaded, "Give me another chance, Yahweh, God of Samson. Let me love Samson the way he wanted to be loved. Just give me another chance."

Even as I voiced this childish plea, the cynical prostitute laughed in derision. "There is no god to listen to such a plea. Even if there were, he is no greater than Dagon. Dagon has imprisoned Samson. He will not let Samson escape. If this foreign god listens, he will be impotent in the face of Dagon's triumph. He cannot give Samson back his sight and he cannot give you another chance to love Samson. He is weak anyway. Samson betrayed his god for you. Neither he nor you deserve another chance."

Arguing thus with myself, I fell asleep.