David. Allan Boone's Wargon
Sh-h-h she said, and taking hold of his aroused member guided it into her.
There seemed no limit to her moist interior. David felt very small. Not only physically; he was terrified of doing the wrong thing. But not much movement soon crested in a mutual paroxysm and discharge. He lay on her, triumphant and ashamed. She sighed and held him. They were covered with a fine sweet perspiration, like dew. He raised his head and searched her ruddy face for discontent. It was fine she said.
I’m sorry I’m little.
You’re not! she laughed. The Lord has endowed you there too!
*
David was exultant. He felt strong, manly, potent. At the same time humble, and filled with gratitude for the tender gift that had been given him. In his mind he saw the surge of her breasts, her soft belly and firm thighs, and the welcoming opening. More than once he wanted to fall down and pay homage for her existence.
Rachel came to him several times. In between he longed for her with an almost physical craving, visualizing her image and being virtually overcome with need. When they were together he stroked her skin, whispered loving words, and nudged her in places that were ticklish and made her giggle, so that they laughed together. David was continually smiling. Delight bubbled up in him. He spouted all sorts of nonsensical, naughty and witty puns and ditties that amused her and made her impulsively kiss him. He brought her gifts of blossoms and fashioned her necklaces and bracelets of flowers. She was careful to leave them behind when she went home.
But once, on an overcast day, just before dark, when he met her furtively near Gallim, she held back. This time she was wearing a grey, everyday robe. My absences have been noticed she said. People are talking. I don’t want to be stoned.
David protested that they could be more careful.
There’s another thing she said. An Aramean, come for trade, says my husband was captured as a slave, and died in service a short time later. If he is believed, then I can get a man of my own.
David was silent. He knew he would not be that man.
*
He became zealous in looking after the herds. Every morning he saw that the goats to be milked were driven into their paddocks, and he roamed the edges of the flocks, carrying the stout stick of smoothed olive wood that was usually enough to warn off a swooping falcon or a night-stalking hyena. The herders, unused to such close attention, wished he would go back to his negligent ways.
He missed his woman, any woman. Now, self-gratification felt unsatisfying and distinctly shameful. His seeming manhood, so swiftly acquired, languished for lack of an outlet. He was too proud, and shy, and afraid of repercussions, to entice any neighbourhood girls, except in imagination. Rachel had come to him, and he hoped another would. But no one did, and he expressed his frustration in verses that were both exultant and yearning. Most of those he abandoned as he again took up his solitary ways.
Among the hills where the sheep were pastured there were swampy pockets that seldom dried out. Some of these contained crocodiles, and all of them provided water and cover for the wild animals that roamed the land, and the birds that constantly flew and sounded over it. Sometimes David would go close to such a place, attracted by the warblers, ravens, swifts, herons and, if he was lucky, the gorgeously plumed hoopoe.
*
One hot early evening, when dusk had already diminished sight, he noticed movement behind a clump of thorn bushes. He went closer. The stirring appeared at both ends of the thicket. Whatever was there was huge. The sheep were already bunching away from it, treading on one another to escape the smell. David circled, and was confronted with a full-grown male lion. The beast hesitated, glancing between David and the flock. A boy with a stick didn’t seem particularly formidable, while rich food was just a few bounds away. The first stone caught the animal on the side of its head, but glanced off the skull. Dismayed, the lion uttered a low growl. The second stone struck him in the mouth. Enraged, he pawed to spit it out, roared and began his charge. The third stone hit between the eyes. The lion stopped, dazed, and wavered a little. More stones followed. The creature sank to its knees. Highly excited, hardly stopping to catch his breath, David threw rock after rock at it. Peppered by this incessant, wounding pelting, the lion slowly toppled to its side. The animal’s breast rose and fell.
Attracted by the disturbance, the herders came running. They helped David smash down heavy jagged boulders. In his death throes the large cat clawed at the hard ground. At last the huge beast lay still. One of the herders had a knife. Taking it from him, David plunged it repeatedly into the body where he thought the heart should be. A fetid smell came from the mouth. Blood was running around the limp tongue and out between the sharp teeth. The scratched earth became soaked.
*
Attacks by wild beasts were not uncommon. Yet Jesse was bewildered by what his son had done. Although very pleased. And the brothers had to agree that David was an animal killer. But they were inclined to regard it as a clever prank, as if the young man had lured the lion to its death. They found it hard to yield any superiority.
David no longer cared about their disdain. He was steeped in loneliness and dissatisfaction. Nothing was happening that truly mattered. He was now fourteen, lithe and muscular, and had earlier been singled out by — he assumed — God, but apparently for no special purpose. Day after day passed in stultifying sameness. He contemplated the Eternal, the God of his clan, his tribe, his people, and suspected that the Almighty had let him down, was treating him unfairly. For no knowable reason. He felt nonplussed, and tried to win favour:
I will praise the Lord for His righteousness,
and sing a hymn to the name of the Lord Most High.
Indeed, David was soon to leave the sheep. A messenger had come to Jesse with the request, the order, that his son the lutist was to accompany him to the king.
5
Saul still lived in his old house in Gibeah. The town had gained renown as the home of the king. But generations ago, in the time of the earlier Judges, it had witnessed a vicious gang rape, causing the woman to die. Evil as the perpetrators had been, tribal loyalty was such that the Benjamites had refused to hand them over when other Israelites demanded justice. That had led to an unfortunate civil war. Many men had died. The Benjamites had been thoroughly beaten, but there were families on both sides who retained a lingering resentment for the loss of their forebears.
The king’s home was now regarded as a palace. Two more mud-brick storehouses had been added. The front yard was planted as a garden where people could be received. And the main room was later panelled. But essentially the house remained unchanged. His four sons now had their own homes nearby. That left only him and his wife, their two daughters, his concubine, the children he’d had by her, and the servants. It had been a large full house when the grown sons were at home, and without them there was room enough. Saul didn’t care for, and even disliked, ostentation.
Until Samuel had chosen him for king, Saul, like his father before him, had been a farmer. He still took much interest in his fields and herds. There were now three fields as well as his own, for only the oldest son, Jonathan, had assumed his father’s new profession of soldiering. The others joined them whenever there was a major battle.
Saul was normally good hearted and jovial, kind and generous. He would sometimes let his two sons by the concubine play on his lap, hug his arms and tug at his beard. Or allow his teenaged daughters to make comments that were gently teasing. Usually, when called upon for action, whether physical or judgemental, he was clear headed and decisive. But in between he suffered from a decline of disposition.
The break with Samuel bothered him deeply. He had not wanted a quarrel with the old man. Saul had done almost everything Samuel had asked. But some of the prophet’s demands and behaviour had gone far beyond what was reasonable. The king had been respectful and had tried to be obedient, but he was not a mindless puppet. He hadn’t asked to be king. Yet he had earnestly taken on the role and had