The Strength of Desire

My fingers trace the heavy, rippling muscles of Samson’s bare back, but he continues to snore softly. This warrior sleeps in much the same way he eats, fights, and makes love. He flings himself with abandon at everything important to him, even his God. And this God—Yahweh, according to Samson—is my only real competition for his affections. And I hate Yahweh for it. Sometimes I hate Samson too; I know the harm he’s caused my people and the fear he’s sown in this nation. The man is strength personified and it is an amazing and petrifying thing to behold.

Unable to sleep, I prop a cushion behind my back and sit close to where he lay, his luxuriously long, ebony locks—an envy to every woman—twines itself around my limbs like a living coverlet. Though I snag and disentangle my fingers as I shift into position, Samson doesn’t stir. 

The hearth-fire radiates a muted golden gleam, burnishing the tapestries, the embroidered cushions, and the chiseled Adonis beside me. I lean over and peek at the swell of his lips—still looking a bit bruised from our earlier encounter—and thick lashes which feather the apple of his cheeks. He’s almost too beautiful to look at, but look I do, drinking him in like the last cup of water before a desert journey. I think I may be falling in love.

But I mustn’t! 

I must not fall in love.

With a long exhale, I lean my head against the wall, eyes closed, absently fingering his wavy hair. Confound this man! He has wormed his way into my life, my bed, and my heart, all of which I’ve paid for dearly among my people. Samson has wreaked so much havoc in the land of the Philistines that I’ve been shunned and shamed for taking up with him.

My father has disowned me. Says I’ve disgraced his name and our nation. My brothers would’ve killed Samson already, and likely me as well, if they didn’t fear him so.

And I’m no fool. What Samson and I have cannot last. Loving him and desiring any kind of life together is as futile as attempting to capture and contain a tempestuous storm. Besides . . . that God of his forbids Samson to marry a Gentile like me, though Samson obviously ignores a lot of the other moral creeds found in his scriptures. How convenient for him.

But where does that leave me? I’ve given up everything for his sake and still he doesn’t deem me worthy.

If I cannot keep him, I have nothing.

No family standing.

No acceptance in society. 

No money to support myself.

And no man will have me now that I’ve soiled my reputation with none other than the terror of the Philistines.

There’s neither grace nor forgiveness available for who I am or what I’ve done.

I shiver and pull the blankets around my shoulders, burrowing my feet beneath Samson’s massive tresses, seeking further warmth. Maybe it’s the late hour, but the reality of my choices stings both my eyes and my pride.

A groan from Samson pulls me from my musings. He shifts onto his stomach. The waning flames highlight a web of scars which marble his left shoulder. Involuntarily, my fingers move to caress the raised, silver stripes from a lashing he received as a youth.

I smile, remembering the story of how he felled several olive trees—with his bare hands, of course—and dammed up a stream so he could enjoy a good swim. When his father found Samson splashing about, naked as his name day, he stripped a supple limb from one of the trees and used it to make an impression on his burgeoning young son.

I shake my head at the sleeper. “Always getting yourself into trouble, aren’t you?” I whisper. “But now you’re taking me with you and I cannot allow it.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I squeeze my eyes shut and consider a recent proposition from the town elders. “Find out the secret to Samson’s strength,” they said, “and we will richly reward you.”

Though I had flung their offer back in their faces, a small voice inside now nudges me to snatch it up. It’s the only scrap of hope I have. From the midst of this quiet night, my future looks as cold and dark and fetid as the privy. Should I—could I—betray this god beside me? Considering it is like considering lopping off a limb for the sake of saving my life: a painful but necessary choice.

My heart throbs inside my breast as I wrestle with, and accept, my lack of options. I swallow and look longingly at Samson, knowing what must be done. 

---

Hope you’ve enjoyed this edition of True Fiction Friday! I hope you’ll share it, follow my blog so you don’t miss the next edition, and let me know if there’s a Bible character you’d like me to tackle! Have you ever considered Delilah’s motivation for betraying Samson? I must confess, I have not thought her more than a harlot that used the man, until I worked on this. An individual’s character is more complex than the categories we like to place them in, aren’t they?!