Read Online Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) by Ginger Garrett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ginger Garrett
Tags: Fiction, History, Temple, lion, Delilah, more to come from marketing, honey, Samson, Philistines
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collected baskets of these to feed our goats and went out every morning to check their bedding. Some families let their goats sleep with them inside, on the lower floor, and the family kept their beds on a floor just above. We didn’t do that. Maybe it’s because we kept pigs sometimes too. Mother wanted a separate pen near the house, and we bartered space in it for extra food. Sirena kept two goats of her own in it, but Father made her keep her bucks with another family. He said he didn’t trust males. Our three goats were pregnant anyway; we knew by their swollen backsides and bulging bellies.
Like our goats, we were at the mercy of time now. We did not control our lives. The fields did. They determined when we worked and when we rested. And right now, we were working.
Already exhausted from harvesting in the warm weather, there was still more work ahead of us as it turned cold. We went out into the fields once more, readying them for the rainy season. We turned the dirt over and over, deepening and airing out the rows, working the fertilizer into the earth. Like most Philistines, we used a combination of manure and menstrual blood. Only at this moment did the blood of a woman’s moon cycle have good magic, as the ground cried out to be fertilized. Mother saved the soiled linens, and we worked them deep into the soil, knowing that what cries out for life to us would cry out for life for our crops. This same blood, if brought into the fields after they had been fertilized, brought death, a miscarriage. We had to sow this powerful magic while it favored us. If Mother noticed that she did not have so many rags to suggest Astra had gotten her cycle, she said nothing.
With our field prepared, we hired ourselves out to neighbors in our own village and the rest of the valley. How I loved this last, sweet labor! Seeding did not require me to bend over or lift a tool. All I needed was a basket around my neck for seed. I took off my sandals and stepped into the soft give of the soil, dipping my hand into the silky little seeds, scattering the seed along the rows. I walked slowly and breathed deeply, knowing the end of all our labors was at last here. The blessed rest of winter was coming, when Astra and I could lie under our blankets and tell stories, when Father would nod off to sleep after breakfast and Mother would pat him softly on the shoulder, letting him rest. The fire outside would feel delicious in its warmth, and we would only sweat if we wanted to, by getting close to the flames.
If there was a dark spot on the glorious white mists of winter, it was this: Word had spread through our village that Father and Mother had offered hospitality to Hebrews. Astra and I could endure the insults from other children, but Father had lost business. He had taken a large share of money from his sudden wealth and invested it in another load of rugs from a merchant, yet he had sold not even one.
He was silent at dinner most nights, and not just from exhaustion. Finally, last night after dinner, he had said what we were all thinking.
“That money was a curse. We were happier before we had it. Now we’ve lost both it and our contentment.”
“What can we do?” I asked.
“What should we do? Pretend it didn’t happen?” He sounded exasperated with me.
“You didn’t have to tell anyone that the Hebrew bought the rugs!” Astra came to my defense. Perhaps she felt guilty.
“You think I brought this trouble to our door? Are you so naive?” Father said.
I stood. Rain or not, I would spend my night on the roof.
He grabbed me by the wrist.
“Adon, no,” Mother scolded him.
He became a different man as I watched. The hard lines from all the lean years surfaced in his face as his eyes emptied of all compassion. “I work until I am half dead. I scrape and scavenge like a dog, rent out my wife and daughters to work the fields like they are oxen, and for all this, look at us. Look! Who had enough to eat tonight? Who wears a
Like our goats, we were at the mercy of time now. We did not control our lives. The fields did. They determined when we worked and when we rested. And right now, we were working.
Already exhausted from harvesting in the warm weather, there was still more work ahead of us as it turned cold. We went out into the fields once more, readying them for the rainy season. We turned the dirt over and over, deepening and airing out the rows, working the fertilizer into the earth. Like most Philistines, we used a combination of manure and menstrual blood. Only at this moment did the blood of a woman’s moon cycle have good magic, as the ground cried out to be fertilized. Mother saved the soiled linens, and we worked them deep into the soil, knowing that what cries out for life to us would cry out for life for our crops. This same blood, if brought into the fields after they had been fertilized, brought death, a miscarriage. We had to sow this powerful magic while it favored us. If Mother noticed that she did not have so many rags to suggest Astra had gotten her cycle, she said nothing.
With our field prepared, we hired ourselves out to neighbors in our own village and the rest of the valley. How I loved this last, sweet labor! Seeding did not require me to bend over or lift a tool. All I needed was a basket around my neck for seed. I took off my sandals and stepped into the soft give of the soil, dipping my hand into the silky little seeds, scattering the seed along the rows. I walked slowly and breathed deeply, knowing the end of all our labors was at last here. The blessed rest of winter was coming, when Astra and I could lie under our blankets and tell stories, when Father would nod off to sleep after breakfast and Mother would pat him softly on the shoulder, letting him rest. The fire outside would feel delicious in its warmth, and we would only sweat if we wanted to, by getting close to the flames.
If there was a dark spot on the glorious white mists of winter, it was this: Word had spread through our village that Father and Mother had offered hospitality to Hebrews. Astra and I could endure the insults from other children, but Father had lost business. He had taken a large share of money from his sudden wealth and invested it in another load of rugs from a merchant, yet he had sold not even one.
He was silent at dinner most nights, and not just from exhaustion. Finally, last night after dinner, he had said what we were all thinking.
“That money was a curse. We were happier before we had it. Now we’ve lost both it and our contentment.”
“What can we do?” I asked.
“What should we do? Pretend it didn’t happen?” He sounded exasperated with me.
“You didn’t have to tell anyone that the Hebrew bought the rugs!” Astra came to my defense. Perhaps she felt guilty.
“You think I brought this trouble to our door? Are you so naive?” Father said.
I stood. Rain or not, I would spend my night on the roof.
He grabbed me by the wrist.
“Adon, no,” Mother scolded him.
He became a different man as I watched. The hard lines from all the lean years surfaced in his face as his eyes emptied of all compassion. “I work until I am half dead. I scrape and scavenge like a dog, rent out my wife and daughters to work the fields like they are oxen, and for all this, look at us. Look! Who had enough to eat tonight? Who wears a
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