Delilah

Chapter 13

In my haste, I lost my left shoe. When my bare heel encountered a rock, I cried out in pain. As I limped on, Samson’s voice echoed in my mind, “Wait, watch and then remember . . .” and then from his prison cell came the words, “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. . . There you can learn of Yahweh without an avenger from my family trying to seek you out and exact revenge.”

When I reached my sanctuary, everything there was quiet. Everyone had gone to the temple to help with the evacuation. I quickly took off my immodest dress. Discarding the rich purple mantle and veil, I donned a coarser, drab tunic, mantle and veil that I had used in the past when I did not want to be recognized as a courtesan. I packed a couple of nicer garments that gave the appearance of a wealthy woman, but a moral one rather than a wanton one. Since I would be traveling alone, I decided to hide my wealth by wearing it in a belt that I would bind tightly below my breasts under my garments. I tied some dried figs, dates, olives, parched grain and bread in a piece of cloth. Taking a wineskin, I emptied it out the window and refilled it with water. Thus provisioned I walked out of my room, down the empty hall and into the streets of Gaza.

I skirted the temple area, afraid that someone might recognize me or that those engaging in the rescue effort might stop me. I briefly considered looking for a caravan that I could pay for protection but because of my recent notoriety, I was afraid to do so. I knew it was dangerous to travel alone, but I could not think of anything a robber might do to me that I had not already endured. The only threat he could hold over me was death, and at that moment, perhaps I would have welcomed death.

I knew that Hebron was a day’s journey to the east, but that was if you were riding a donkey. According to my reckoning, I supposed it would probably take three days on foot. Luckily, my drunken father had also been learned and in his sober state had taught me things normally not in the training of a maiden. Perhaps it was his way of doing penance for what he did to me when he was inebriated. Thus, I knew how to follow the stars so as to steer an easterly course.

As I traversed the streets of Gaza, I kept my eyes out for a man’s mantle and turban, airing on a line. I was in luck. I stole the clothing. Hiding behind a gate apparently left open when the occupant ran to the temple, I put the mantle over my drab tunic, using the girdle to pull my tunic high enough to reveal my lower legs. I rubbed dirt into my legs to disguise their femininity. I quickly braided my hair and wrapped the braids around my head, concealing them under the turban. Grabbing a stick leaning against the gate, I began to swagger down the street, doing my best to give a masculine impression.

The streets of Gaza were silent and empty. Not once was I stopped or questioned. When I reached the gate, I walked through unchallenged and turned east. I knew I could not walk far in the heat of the day and so found a shady place to rest after I had walked far enough that the city was a distant blur. I took a small sip of my water and then leaned back against a tree to rest. I dosed into a fitful sleep where men taunted and walls crumbled. Samson’s words that were meant to encourage were taken up by the crowd that seemed to taunt as they shouted, “Wait, watch, remember,” with the same urgency and cadence that they had earlier chanted, “Samson, Samson.”

As evening approached, a breeze sprang up, waking me gently. As I stretched and prepared to depart, I heard voices. Hiding in a thicket of short brush, I heard a male voice close by say, “We can let our mules drink in the pool here. If we follow this trail east, we should be in Hebron by daylight. There are not many travelers tonight, what with the tragedy in Gaza. Perhaps we will be the first to bring the news of Yahweh’s triumph to the descendants of Caleb.”

In shock, I realized that these men must be Israelite and even though Samson was one of them and a judge, they considered the killing of so many worshippers of Dagon to be a triumph for Yahweh, despite the fact that Samson had died along with them. While I knew that those who follow Dagon would have felt the same way if the tables were turned, I felt only revulsion at the thought. I wanted to stand up and shout, “Don’t you even care that a good man is dead? He died believing his god was a good god, a god of love. Would a loving god not find a better way for Samson to prove his supremacy?”