Eleanor Jong - Delilah

‘Lemon. I want lemon.’

Ekron gave her a little bow. ‘Don’t forget that father – I mean Achish – well, he wants—’ He winced. ‘What are you going to call him now?’

‘Father, I suppose, even though he is not my proper father—’

‘And don’t you ever forget it, Delilah,’ said a voice behind her.

Hemin was standing with her arms folded, tapping one foot on the ground. She was only a year older than Delilah but her dress was a grown-up’s, identical to her mother Ariadnh’s. ‘I’d never want to be confused with being your sister, Hemin.’

‘And I’d sooner pull every vine from this land than be confused with being your sister. Except that’s your job as the vine-keeper’s daughter. Where have you been? Father’s been asking for you, but you look like you’ve been rolling in the dirt. You’ve got vine suckers in your hair.’

In truth, there was little chance that anyone who saw the two girls together might mistake them for sisters. Hemin had been the same height as Delilah until two years before, but she had recently shot up and was taller than Delilah by half a head. With the spurt, though, she’d lost none of her ungainly youth. While Delilah’s hair was black as a raven’s wings, such that in some lights it flashed with purple, Hemin’s was the brown of the earth. Her eyes were too far apart and prone to squinting, as though frequently suspicious of the world around her. In fact, all her features were a shade too small for her face. Her nose was dainty certainly, but like a child’s, and her lips seemed permanently pressed together. Delilah’s skin was darker by several shades, her lips fuller, and her eyes tilted up at the corners. Hemin teased that she had some Assyrian blood sullying her ancestry, but Delilah didn’t care.

She noticed that Ekron had disappeared from her side. Typical! He’d never stand up to his sister. Hemin smoothed her hands over her still perfectly neat hair, and flicked at her earrings. They were new today, a present from Achish. Her stepsister had missed no opportunity to swing them under Delilah’s nose before the ceremony, taunting her that her ears weren’t yet pierced.

‘A pretty house does not improve a dull landscape,’ said Delilah under her breath. She’d no idea what it meant, but she’d overheard Ariadnh say it about her mother during the ceremony.

‘What did you say, you little—’

‘Hemin?’ Delilah heard Ariadnh’s cautious voice above her head, and she glanced up with deliberate sweetness. You may be the first wife, but anyone can see you will never be the favourite, not now.

In the courtyard, her mother, so pretty and happy, was sitting next to Achish, laughing along with him. Her heart warmed to see her mother looking like that. Even with her father’s cold body in the ground some way down the hill behind her, she felt that nothing could really spoil today.

‘Fetch Ariadnh a drink of the rose water, Delilah, and one for me too,’ said Hemin, moving into her line of sight.

‘Get them yourself.’

‘Fetch us the drinks, Delilah. We’ll be sitting over there.’

Delilah stuck her tongue out at Hemin’s back, then turned smartly in the opposite direction, almost colliding with Ekron, who was holding two drinking bowls.

‘I brought your lemon drink.’

‘Hemin wants water to wash her hands. Can you get it for her?’

‘Of course. Take these.’ He handed her the two bowls, then hurried off towards the table of refreshments that stood beneath one of the colonnades in the courtyard. Delilah drank slowly from her bowl as she watched him, savouring the tartness of the drink. She suddenly felt hot and tired; tired of Hemin and her meanness, tired even of Ekron with his endless enthusiasm for running around after her.

But there was her mother, smiling across the courtyard at her, and Achish laughing and holding out a plate to draw her attention. Delilah skipped through the guests and cuddled up between them, taking a cake from the plate as her mother’s hand slipped around her waist. It was very good cake, and Achish had just begun to explain to her how he’d endured the attentions of the bees while collecting the honey when the smash of crockery against the flagstones interrupted him.

The hubbub of the conversation stopped abruptly. Across the courtyard, Hemin stood over her brother, her arms spread wide. Ekron was shaking as he stared at the wet shards of pottery at his feet.

‘What did you do that for, sister?’

‘Pah!’ shouted Hemin. ‘You’re no brother of mine if you take your orders from that little Israelite cat.’

Delilah felt her mother’s fingers squeeze her waist, and twisting around, she saw Achish’s jaw stiffen. This was her father’s special day. How could Hemin be so cruel? To cover her embarrassment, she tugged Achish’s embroidered sleeve.

‘These are lovely cakes,’ she said. ‘Tell me more about the bees.’

Achish’s eyes fell to her and he smiled a little sadly. ‘They have a nasty sting, Delilah, but they’re just defending their territory.’

Six years later

‘It’s just as well, Delilah, that it was I who had the purse today, and not Achish,’ said Beulah, smiling indulgently. ‘I’ve no doubt he’d have let you come away with four dresses, not just two.’ Delilah watched the housegirl squeeze through the narrow door into the cool recesses of the house, her arms piled high with cloth-wrapped packages.

‘But I really couldn’t decide, Mother. The colours were all so pretty.’

‘Thank goodness I managed to talk you out of those Egyptian reds, for there would be nothing left to spend on Hemin’s dowry if you had bought that particular dress.’

‘And the groom must be paid to take her off our hands!’

‘Tsk!’ Beulah scolded.

Delilah couldn’t quite tell if her mother’s outrage was genuine or merely a warning, so she gave a neat little curtsey of contrition and tucked her hand into the crook of her mother’s arm. The seemingly bottomless well of Hemin’s meanness was directed at both of them, but Beulah bore it with an inexhaustible reserve of patience. Delilah snapped back as a rule, through stubbornness now, rather than real irritation.

‘Well,’ murmured Delilah, ‘the groom will have to have the courage of the god Ba’al, the wisdom of the goddess Asherah, and allow himself to be blinded by the earthy passions of the goddess Qadeshtu—’

‘You’re much too young to know of Qadeshtu,’ said Beulah primly, her eyes crinkled with amusement.

‘I’m nearly fifteen! I’d surely be married already if it weren’t for the difficulty of finding a man fool enough to take Hemin.’

‘Samson’s no fool. He is a catch, Delilah, make no mistake.’

‘But only an Israelite catch—’

Beulah pressed her lips together in a look of mild pain. ‘Your lack of interest in your culture is nothing to be proud of. Samson’s already well regarded. Some say he’ll even be leader one day.’

‘Leader of what?’ Delilah asked. ‘A patch of sand which the Philistines can take away at any time.’

Beulah waved a hand. ‘Land means nothing. If Samson is made a Judge of the People, he will control their hearts.’

Delilah realised arguing would only drive a wedge between them. A part of her felt guilty too. It was true that since her father’s death, she’d enjoyed the life of a Philistine and conveniently forgotten the plight of her father’s people, living and working under Philistine rule. It was easy to, within the shady confines of the house. She offered her mother a smile. ‘All I’m saying is that it serves Hemin right after all her years of belittling us for being Israelites to have to marry one.’