Samson

David Maine

Description

Imprisoned by the Philistines, blind and chained, his hair shorn and his strength sapped, Samson's story is one of great feats of violence and even greater hubris. He believes that he has been sent by God to deliver his people from the heathens, and so strong is his conviction in his divine mission that his behaviour verges on the psychopathic. His delight in killing for God knows no bounds, and his Herculean speed and strength seems unstoppable, but then there's Dalila... In Samson's egomaniacal bloodlust Maine holds the mirror up to the actions of those running our world now, and in the suicidal bringing down of the twin pillars of the temple presages the defining event of the twenty-first century.

Sujets

• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Canongate Books
• Date de parution: 23 janvier 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782114116
• Langue: English

Extrait

Also by David Maine
The Flood
Fallen
DAVID MAINE
Samson
First published in the USA by St Martin s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
First published in Great Britain in 2007 by
Canongate Books Ltd, 14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE
This digital edition first published by Canongate Books in 2014
Copyright David Maine, 2006
The moral right of the author has been asserted
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library
ISBN 9781847670427
eISBN 9781782114116
Book design by Jonathan Bennett
www.canongate.tv
for my father
Author s Note

All character and place names are spelled as in the 1914 printing of the Douay Bible, translated by the English College at Rheims in 1582 and first published at Douay in 1609.
Contents
Also by David Maine
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author s Note
Samson
How I Entered the World
Some History
The Philistines
A Most Extraordinary Visitation
The Second Visit
The World Growing Dim
The Priest
An Incident from My Childhood
The Tribunal
The Priest Again
Women
Some Others
Huneisha
The Preparations
The Riddle
The Answer to the Riddle
Ascalon
What Huneisha Did
What I Did
What the Philistines Did
Jawbone
How I Became a Judge
Jawbone
My Time As a Judge
My Weakness for Harlots
Something to Consider
My Weakness for Harlots-II
Dalila
A Parable
Passionate Dalila or The Trap Is Set
What I Didn t Know Then
A Hopeless Lie
Curious Dalila or The Trap Is Baited
Tender Dalila or The Trap Is Avoided
Sulky Dalila or The Trap Is Reconstructed
More Provocations
Downcast Dalila or The Trap Is Eluded
Tomorrow
Gossip
You Will Be Forgiven at This Point for Thinking I m Really Very Stupid
Playful Dalila or The Trap Is Reset
Preparations
I Reveal My Secret to Dalila for Reasons That Will Probably Not Satisfy You but Which Are the Only Reasons I Have
Entertainments
Victorious Dalila or The Trap Is Sprung
I m Arrested and Beaten
I m Taken to Gaza
Dagon in the Flesh
More Entertainments
The Final Insult
The Last Surprise
A Visitation in the Night
The Manner of My Execution
How I Exit the World
Samson

This is the story of my life and it s not a happy one. If you wish to read about me you re welcome to but if you re looking for something to give you hope & joy comfort & inspiration then you had best leave off here straightaway and go find something else. My life has an abundance of frustration and pain plus a fair bit of sex and lots of killing and broken bones but it s got precious little hope & joy comfort & inspiration.
It s got some women in it too plus a wife. Dalila is the one you may have heard of and a rare piece of work she was. You may think you know the story but believe me there s more.
It s an interesting question why anyone would seek hope & joy comfort & inspiration in a story in the first place. Something to think about. Maybe because there s precious little of it in life so we gather up as much as we can find and put it in our stories where we know where it is and it can t get out. But this story as I say isn t like that. It starts and ends with me here in chains and in between if anything it gets worse. Betrayal adultery and murder all figure in words writ large as if in fire against the nighttime sky. With the story not even done yet it might get more hopeless still before my days in this world are over.
In fact I m sure it will.
To give an idea of the killing: I once left a wedding feast to go kill thirty men and then went back to the wedding which flowed on like wine unabated. This in response to a riddle and a wager. So you see I m not joking when I say that murder is writ large in my life in words like fire against the nighttime sky. The thirty men s coats I removed from their stiffening bodies and then distributed to the wedding guests. Though normally prohibited from handling the bodies of the dead I was under some duress and consoled myself with thinking that they were so freshly killed that they were in fact not completely done with living as yet. Thus do we strike little bargains with ourselves and chip away at our integrity in the process.
The wedding where this took place was my own. Perhaps it conveys some idea of the nature of my in-laws that they took these new garments willingly enough and wore them happily afterward notwithstanding the rips bloodstains and other marks of wear.
I said this story begins in chains and so it does for I am in chains as I speak. They are iron and heavy and each link is the size of my hand and the thickness of my wrist. Mighty they are and in my prime they would have not held me but I m no longer in my prime. As you might have guessed. The place of my enshacklement is a temple wondrously large which I ve seen little of besides this sumptuous entertainment hall and the cells underground. In part this is because of the sorry state of my eyesight which is failing by the day. But I ve seen enough to know that this hall alone is bigger than some villages I ve walked through. At one end of it is a little platform like an altar or a stage and upon this platform I stand. Towering columns ring this hall: the largest being a pair at the far end and a second mighty pair behind me at the rear of the altar. So too is the looming statue of Dagon-the Philistines so-called god which I will speak more of later. In the middle of the hall an enormous bonfire roars at all hours in a pit. I stand strung up at the edge of the altar with my arms spread in a T shape. My legs are free to wander but alas there s nowhere for them to go. I spend my day shifting from one foot to the other trying to relieve the ache and for the most part failing.
Chains stretch from the shackles on my wrists to bolts driven into the columns. Maybe forty cubits in each direction. The bolts are as thick as a man and the columns couldn t be encircled even by ten men with their arms spread wide-and even these aren t as momentous as the columns at each end of the hall. Truly the palace is built on a scale beyond the understanding of simple men such as myself. I would say it is the work of the gods but that would be a blasphemy most foul as there is only One True God and I know that well. The difference between my people and the Philistines that surround me is that our God is the LORD of Abraham and Moses and Josue while the gods of the heretics are made of wood and they burn or stone and they sink or animal parts and they molder away over time. They are dull lifeless inanimate things. Dagon is the god of this temple and an imaginary creature nothing more. Half man half fish and pure nonsense as even a child could tell you but what can you expect from people who came swarming in their multitudes to Canaan in boats from across the sea?
At times the Philistines even worship the works of the One True God as being gods themselves so they pray to the thunder or the sun or various animals and engage in many other laughable superstitious practices.
I say laughable but admit I m not laughing now.
This I will attest: that at the moment they have the upper hand but one day the LORD will give me back my hands to hold over them. As He has done so many times before. And when he does so those hands will not be empty but will contain a mighty sword or awesome club or at least a very heavy stone with which to smite them. And so I shall and they will break into small pieces and die. They will die. And I will laugh and dance as will my people. They will sing songs in praise of my deeds. And tell stories.
Those are stories which will have in them no dearth of hope & joy comfort & inspiration. Mark me well.
I fear I am rambling and not sticking to the point. I ask you to forgive me as this is a fault I m prone to-which you ll see for yourself readily enough if you choose to attend my story for any length of time. The best thing for me to do now is start at the beginning for it is a story unlike any you have heard I have no doubt.
How I Entered the World
The manner of my birth was a sight wondrous to behold if one believes the stories as they are told and I see no reason to doubt them. Involving angels come to earth and signs in the heavens and so forth it must have quite overwhelmed my poor simple parents.
I use the words poor and simple in their poetic sense. My parents were not poor in things of the material world as my father had achieved some status in his native village of Dan and my mother s standing was of a commensurate level. Nor were they either of them simple in any sense of the word. But faced with the glory and grandeur and mystery of the One True God and witnessing the signs His angels made in the sky plain enough for even the blind to see-well how can anyone be but simple and poor when faced with such?
What happened was this. My mother lay back to birth me and out I came heralded at the same moment by a choir of angelic voices and the fiery wings of a bird outstretched across the firmament. Naturally I remember none of this. But I have heard the story so often I feel as though I was a witness to it rather than a participant however unwitting. With the bird s wingspan reaching from horizon to horizon all eyes were naturally fixed upon it not me nor my poor laboring mother either. And when at length the bird hurtled heavenwards to disappear into the Almighty s eternal reaches and the angelic host had roared itself hoarse-that is when my father and my aunts who were tending to my mother remembered to drop their gaze to where she lay sweating and straining against her matting already wet with birth-water and blood and perspiration.
I should mention that my mother was no longer a young woman and I as her firstborn was an unexpected gift in later life. Doubtless she wondered whether such heavenly displays were standard childbearing fare that heretofore she had somehow f