Читать книгу Delilah - Eleanor Jong De - Страница 5

‘Lilah! Where are you?’

Delilah tucked her feet more tightly beneath her and closed her eyes. She knew she couldn’t be seen – that was the magic of her tiny nest between the vines, especially now, with the leaves so broad and green and the clusters of grapes beginning to swell on their stems – but it made sense to keep still and wait for Ekron to pass. Up the slope behind her, the sounds of the wedding party were like the rush of a distant river.

‘Delilah? I know you’re—’ She heard him break off and clear his throat, growling to himself, trying to keep his voice deep, to give the impression of being the man she knew he longed to be. He sounded so close; he must be in the next row over beside the well.

‘I know you’re out here, Delilah. You can’t keep secrets from me!’

Ekron’s last word came out in one painfully high squeak above the rest of the sentence, and Delilah gulped down the giggles that rose inside her. She could hear him wailing to himself as he trudged away along the path. His face would be burning red like the evening sun by now.

The scuffs of her stepbrother’s sandals against the dusty earth became quieter as he continued his search further down the slopes. She couldn’t understand his hurry to grow up. She’d be happy if she was eight forever, but he had begun marking off the time until his twelfth birthday even though it was at least four moons away.

When he was out of earshot, Delilah untucked herself and sat cross-legged against the trunk of the vine. She ran her fingers along a pair of branches that rose over her shoulder, feeling the bark as it twisted around itself, already brown in the late summer heat. One branch was fatter than the other. Her father had once told her that it was branches like these that should be tied to the supports, for they would provide the frame of a plant year after year. The other branch, weaker and thinner, had coiled along the stronger one, strangling it. Delilah knew that if her father had been here, he would have cut the tendril away, even though it already held the promise of fat fruits.

Thinking about her father made her sad, and she pulled the leaves gently apart to peer up the valley towards the house. There was a strange little hump on this part of the slope that raised these few vines slightly above their neighbours. She’d found the hiding place by accident over a year ago, tripping among the neat rows of vines on her stepfather Achish’s estate as she ran headlong from her mother’s howls and the ritual laments of the gathered mourners. Tearing her dress had been just another horrible part of that wretched day.

Ekron had come after her then too, like he always did when she was upset, but she’d dodged him and weaved among the vines, faster than him, more desperate to escape than he was to catch her. From the secret nook she’d watched the groundsmen with their spades, repairing the ground that had been broken up to accept her father’s body. His burial had been quick, hurried along by the Israelite traditions of which he had been so proud. Later that night, as her mother stitched her dress and Delilah cleaned the dust and tears from her face, she’d all but forgotten Achish’s words of comfort by the graveside – not to worry, that he’d take care of her. Until that moment, he’d been just her father’s employer, and a man with whom she rarely came into contact. She’d been too young to realise that one day he’d be something more.

Now, fourteen months later, the earth above her father’s grave looked as brown and smooth as the earth around it, the only mark of its presence a young olive tree that cast a thin shadow across it. Achish had kept to his promise, and today marked the day that he took Delilah’s mother as a wife. They had a new family, a new home, and each night she added the great Philistine god El to her prayers, thanking him for his kindness. Her mother had learned to smile again and Achish had made that happen. Ekron seemed happy enough too, to have Delilah as a stepsister as well as a friend. But Hemin – well, Hemin couldn’t smile if you pasted one on that thin face with clay. And Delilah knew Hemin would sooner make herself sick than call Delilah her sister.

‘—of course, it will be very difficult for Achish, raising that Israelite child in his own Philistine family—’

Delilah let the leaves fall together again and tilted her head to listen. Over by the well she could see the feet of two women, old wrinkly feet in fussy sandals, their painted leather now dusted with dry earth.

‘She is a handful, I’m sorry to say.’ That was the voice of Achish’s first wife, Ariadnh. She sounded a bit more formal than usual, as though she was trying to impress the woman she was speaking to. ‘She has no sense of her place, no sense of how lucky she is.’

‘Lucky indeed. I mean to say, her mother Beulah seems a pleasant woman—’

‘Pleasant enough for an Israelite—’

‘But she has married out of her culture and well above her station. Surely Achish knows how people will see it: the effects of such an association on himself, on his children, on you—’

‘It’s not merely a question of station, of course. Clearly I couldn’t possibly say this to Achish myself—’

‘It’s not a wife’s place to speak frankly to her husband—’

‘Although Beulah does speak quite bluntly to Achish, I’ve heard it—’

Delilah bristled. How dare Ariadnh talk that way about her mother? From a young age, she recognised that there were differences between the two peoples who occupied the land, but it was only now, as the two worlds came together, that she realised the Israelites were a station beneath. One rarely saw Philistines in the fields when the sun was at its hottest, and even in the city there were areas that Philistines wouldn’t go to without a chaperone. Among the other workers on Achish’s estate, Israelite and Philistine couples didn’t mix.

She crawled out of her hiding place. The two women were still chattering on and had turned to walk slowly back up the hill again. Delilah crept along, listening carefully.

‘But that’s the Israelite way,’ the other woman was saying. ‘As the senior wife, you will need to take care that little Hemin and Ekron are raised properly, and that Beulah’s more casual manners don’t infect them. You only have to look at Delilah to know that she lacks breeding and self-control; she has none of the poise of Hemin, no sense of her new father’s status in the community—’

‘Lilah!’

Delilah looked up to find Ekron standing at the head of the row, waving to her.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been? Come back to the party. My father is asking for you specially. He has a honey cake he wants you to try.’

Though she was barely tall enough to see over the vines, Delilah lifted her chin at the now silent women who were peering over the rows at the eavesdropper. She gave a haughty grin to Ariadnh and skipped away up the slope towards Ekron, aware that her hair was springing wildly about her head. This morning, especially for the marriage ceremony, her mother had tied her curls into the neat twist favoured by older girls, and entwined flowers to match her own headdress into her daughter’s hair. They’d long since fallen out or been snared on the branches of the hideaway. Delilah didn’t care. If Ariadnh and her friend expected her to look like little more than a farm girl, she might as well stop worrying about keeping clean and tidy, and enjoy the day.

Ekron beamed at her, and they set off together, back towards the big house. The guests were starting to thin out now, and several were walking away in groups down the long path to the city road. She couldn’t see her mother or Achish among the remaining crowd, and no one paid any attention to the two children approaching the thatched awning that covered one edge of the courtyard.

‘Did you not hear me calling for you?’ Ekron asked.

‘No.’ Delilah gave him a big smile and widened her eyes, just the way she’d seen Hemin look at the stable boys when she wanted to be allowed to pet the horses. ‘I’ve been running among the vines.’

‘I didn’t see you.’

‘I run quickly. And quietly.’

‘You do.’ Ekron started to pat her on the shoulder, then his hand fell away.

‘What?’

Ekron looked at his feet. ‘Nothing.’

‘Can you get me a drink? It’s so hot today.’

‘What do you want? There’s one with rose petals and honey—’

‘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.’