As I strode across the roof and down the stairs, I could feel Naomi's and Alian's eyes on my back. I imagined their mouths hung open in surprise, but I dared not turn to see. I could not let Naomi look into my eyes and see the pain there. I feared her eyes would penetrate my soul and discern the secrets hiding there. I needed time to perfect my mask before returning to help with Sallu's care.

I got out the bathing tub and set it up on the roof. No spit bath would do. I felt dirty all the way through. I did not bother to heat water but poured the liquid directly from the jar. I gasped at the cold as I stepped into the tub, but somehow welcomed the discomfort. I scrubbed until my skin turned pink and then scrubbed some more. When I saw dried blood under my fingernails, I took a luffa gourd and attacked the ends of my fingers. Tears ran down my face as I crooned, "What have I done? What have I done?"

How long I stayed in the bathing tub, I do not know. I was lost in a trance; locked in my mind with my pain. It was not Sallu's blood I scrubbed from my body, but Samson's. And no matter how hard I scrubbed, I kept seeing more. When I finally stepped from the tub, I realized that some of the blood in the murky water was fresh. Looking at my hands, I saw I had scrubbed the fingers on my right hand until I drew blood. Dully, I wondered what I would tell Naomi. Then methodically, I pulled off parts of the fingernails on my three middle fingers, so that the nail was torn so far down that it bled. I would tell Naomi that I caught the fingernails while preparing my bath.

Finally I climbed onto my sleeping couch and enveloped my cold, aching body in blankets. I tossed and turned, haunted by memories of Sallu's impassioned statement by the well about Samson's love for me, but overlaid with his weak voice saying listlessly, "I cannot find victory in his death."

I eventually found slumber as the first rays of dawn painted the sky. Alian's voice greeted a new day with the now familiar strains, "He found him in a desert land. . ." As I drifted off I wondered why this Yahweh would find Delilah and Sallu separately in the desert and lead them both to the home of Naomi the healer.

Hours later I awakened from a deep sleep; yet, I did not feel rested. I was swathed in an apathetic malaise. It was an effort just to turn back the covers and rise from the sleeping couch. I methodically combed my hair and donned my outer garments. Even walking took concentration. Rather than placing one foot in front of another by rote, I had to consciously will each step. By sheer determination, I made my way to the roof where the sick man lay. I found Naomi there sewing beside Sallu, whose eyes were closed, while his breathing was labored, and his body twitched as though some tortuous puppet master pulled strings at random.

I simply stood and stared at him for seconds before finally asking, "Is he unconscious? Will your Yahweh grant his death wish?"

Naomi looked up. The sun at my back made her squint, intensifying her wrinkles and accenting her advanced age. For the first time, she looked frail and exhausted.

Patting the pallet where she sat under the awning that had been erected to protect from the midday sun, she said softly. "Sit."

As I positioned myself as bid, she continued, "I fear he is unconscious. His sleep is not natural. As for Yahweh's intentions, I wish I knew. I can only use the gifts He gave me. The rest is in His hands. Just like everyone else, I have to wait and pray."

"What are you praying?" I queried. "Do you pray as Sallu would wish, for death, or do you pray that God will validate your healing and grant life?"

Naomi was so still and quiet, I thought she did not intend to answer my question. As I peaked a glance at her from under lowered lashes, I saw her start and look sharply in my direction before answering. It was not until much later that I realized her reaction was to my use of the sick man's name, a name that had not been revealed to us before I took my leave to bathe and rest.

"Ah, Salome, you still do not understand. I pray for neither death nor life. I pray for Yahweh's will."

"Just as Sallu's cousin prayed for Yahweh's will? For him, it was death." Without realizing it, I almost spat out the last words. My pent up feelings filled the phrase with venom stemming from the bitter poison of resentment and guilt that tortured my soul.

"Perhaps Yahweh knew that Samson would be unable to live with the guilt that came from his actions. His death may have been an act of mercy."

"But Samson's mercy is Sallu's anguish."

"True. But Yahweh knew that. Perhaps Sallu is better able to overcome his anguish than Samson would have been able to overcome his guilt."

"And if Sallu dies?"

"Perhaps Yahweh has sent Sallu here to minister to someone else's distress before he perishes."

"Isn't that a bit calloused?"

"To the human mind, yes, I suppose it is. But think of it this way. Samson disobeyed Yahweh time and again. Yahweh acted in mercy, giving him second, third and fourth chances. When Samson asked for Yahweh to give him the strength to topple the temple, he knew that an affirmative answer meant his own death. He did in his death what he felt guilt for not doing in his life. He vindicated Yahweh and showed his glory and power."

"And Sallu?"

"Sallu has given Samson the worship that should be reserved only for Yahweh. If Yahweh can use Sallu's life circumstances to help him see his folly, then Sallu will be of greater benefit to spreading Yahweh's teaching here on earth, and his life will take on new meaning. If Sallu cannot bear to live, then Yahweh may use his death to redeem another."

"So, we can expect another patient soon?" I asked with downcast eyes, knowing that to look into Naomi's eyes would reveal a soul in need of redemption.

Reaching out her hand, Naomi took my damaged right hand in hers. She turned it over and exposed the mutilated fingernails. "You tell me," she said softly. Then rising, she concluded wearily. "He is feverish. Keep him bathed in cool water. Keep trying to get him to swallow the medicinal drink. If anything changes come and get me. I am going to lie down. Alian is asleep below if you need him."

I watched Naomi's retreat. Not once had we made eye contact, yet I felt like she had exposed all of my deep dark secrets.

As I bathed Sallu's brow with a damp cloth, the lingering smell of alcohol wafted off his skin. The smell transported me to my home in the Valley of Sorek. I sat beside the bed of my inebriated parent He had been in some sort of fight, again. This was an oft-repeated ritual in our home. I had lost count of the times that I had nursed my broken father back to health, all the while praying for his demise. The last time I withheld medicine and let him die of his wounds untended. Was that act charitable or had I denied him the chance of redemption? Had I usurped the gods or helped them, I wondered. Lost in the past, I startled when someone grabbed my arm and demanded harshly, "What do you think you're doing?"

As I jerked in surprise, I found myself looking not into my father's malevolent stare, but into the eyes of Sallu.

"I, I, I, I'm just trying to help you fight off the fever," I stammered.

"Who are you? And why are you nursing me? Unless I am delusional, I was under the care of a wrinkled one and a man."

"True. I held your head in my lap during your first conversation with them and then I rested. It is now my turn to care for you while they rest."

At that his eyes brightened with memory. "So you are the reason for the sudden pain that ended the conversation. I think I passed out again shortly after you quit acting as pillow. I must have told you my name at some point, unless I dreamed the hazy conversation of two people talking about Samson and me. Something about Samson's death being merciful and my anguish being bearable."

"Perhaps two angels appeared to you in a dream, Sallu," I said brightly.

"Perhaps," he said slowly, drawing out the word. "But you do know my name. And I remember talking about Samson. So, why didn't you just let me die? Had I died nameless and alone, it would have been preferable to living named and alone."

"But you do not have to be alone," I couldn't help but respond.

"No?" he questioned. "Maybe I didn't have to be alone before last night; but I was, by choice. Now I have to be alone by consequence. I killed a man last night. It may have been in self-defense, but I still started the fight. If I leave Hebron, his family will come after me."

"There are those in Hebron who are willing to offer forgiveness and redemption," I countered.

"Like you and the wrinkled one and the man?" he asked.

"Yes, like us."

"So, I can have at least three friends if I choose to live," he said with a hollow laugh.

"Three is a multitude," I said. "I was left to die in the desert. Alian brought me to his Aunt Naomi who nursed me back to health. I have no other family. Before Alian found me, I had no one."

"So Alian found a beautiful woman and convinced his aunt to nurse her and now you are betrothed and have a new family. That won't be happening to me."

"It did not happen to me either. Alian is not my betrothed. He and Naomi are just my friends."

"Here, drink this," I said, proffering the medicinal drink in an attempt to change the subject.

Taking the cup with one hand, Sallu caught my hand with the other, "What happened to your fingers?" he asked.

Jerking my hand back, I hid it in the folds of my skirt. "I caught my fingernails in a crack while trying to lift the water jug in the dark," I offered the lie I had concocted to tell Naomi. "Now drink up," I demanded.

"I don't want this medicine," he said. "Maybe I'll just toss it out and you can let me die like I asked."

"Go ahead," I said. "But ask yourself first, who will grieve for you the way you grieve for Samson? Whose life will you fill with torture like someone caught in the continual fires of a trash heap? Will it be your mother? How about your father? Or your brothers and sisters? Or a favorite niece or nephew?"

"Curse you," Sallu spat out; but he jerked the cup towards his mouth and drank. Then he raised his hand to throw the mug. Letting out a loud moan, he dropped the cup, clasped his hand to his abdominal wound and passed out.