“I killed the king of Moab; punctured his balloon stomach with my knife; the rolls of skin-covered lard ate the blade, the hilt and my stiff hand with it. It was warm inside his flesh. Warm and wet; I felt dense objects slip against my knuckles. A moment passed before I realized what was happening, that my hand was inside of the king’s abdomen. I ripped it out as fast as I could, leaving the knife behind and spritzing the floor with hot blood. The tip of the hilt disappeared, swallowed by his open nave. I stared at him for what seemed a long time. He looked at me too, his eyes black, lost; his mouth open as if to contend with me. Then he fell like a tree-sized sack of leavened dough. His body hit the top of the steps and began to roll. I jumped to the side, watching as it made its way to the base of the altar where his throne positioned at the top. Every few steps, messes of blood and guts spilled, and cascaded downward; excrements which escaped him on the way down. I stood, I watched until the red lake around him was as large as palace door from which I needed to escape. Then I remembered. And I ran.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I killed him and I got away with it. Liberated our people that day. It was a glorious day.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun rose over the City of Palms, painting the stone homes in mixed orange and yellow hues. Air between his eyes and the horizon quivered from the heat. In the distance he could see the Moab palace boasting like a decorated priest; the two statues of Eglon on either side appeared taller and larger than the building itself. They almost looked like they were melting, their features deforming yet never quite completing the downward cascade. It’s only a matter of time. He could feel his brows burrowing in toward his nose, and he let them stay there as he closed his eyes. Months of preparation were behind him. The whole nation was behind him too. He was chosen, somehow to carry out this task. He prayed silently before looking up one more time in the direction of the palace. He could hardly see its outline from his lowered eyelids blocking half the view. The image of Eglon’s distorted face propelled him as he turned and climbed down the ladder to the entrance of the house.
“Arad, is it ready?”
“Yes, packed and sealed. We set it by your work in the welding room. It will require the hands of four men to carry it such a distance.”
“Good. Masa, Sisera and six others will be here shortly.” He started toward the welding room.
“Ehud,” Arad called.
“Yes?”
“I made a cover for the blade during the night. It is near the fire. You may also need this.” Arad tossed a bundled tunic of linen with a leather tie. Ehud caught and examined it. “And this,” he said picking up folded mantle on the wooden bench behind him. It was white with green and gold embroidered patterns along the edges. “It was sent from the temple. You have a lot of support, you know.” Arad nodded his own affirmation, the corners of his mouth tight but uplifted.
Ehud took the garments, matching the sincerity of Arad’s stare. “Thank you, brother.” Turning, he continued toward his work room and breathed deep as the scent of yesterday’s fire burned in his approach. Reaching for the sword on the workbench, his gaze caught the pile of discarded blades in the far corner across the room, each one only slightly different from another—each unfinished, imperfect. He ran his hand down the blade and grip of the one before him, his attention briefly slipping to the burn of the blisters on his hand. He closed his eyes. Oh God, let this pass as you have commanded. As we have prepared. Taking up the sword, he adjusted the hold until the hilt fit every facet of his grasp, his fingers coiling around it like hungry boas. He slid the blade into the cover Arad had made and strapped it to his right side. He moved swiftly. Pulling the tunic over his head, he folded the leather ties around his waist, discovering a hidden slit in the side of the linen where his sword was strapped.As he lifted the collar of the imperial mantle, glistening pearl, green and gold material unfolded before him, their colors bouncing on the beams of sunlight, sneaking in through cracks in the boarded windows. It was the most beautiful article he had ever held. He carefully pulled it over both shoulders and pinned the middle.
“You look like a king.” Arad’s voice came from the doorway behind him. Ehud turned, giving him a gentle smile. “I am a Benjamite, no more.” He continued straightening the garments over him until they were perfectly aligned. “Well, it is my observation that the greatest men arise from small beginnings.” Arad paused. “Here, we must paint your eyes.” Arad carried a slate palate and brush with his approach. As Ehud closed his eyes, images from last night’s dreams came and danced before him again. The charcoal liquid was cool, refreshing his red and weary skin as Arad’s brush moved in small shakeless arches across it. It was this dream that caused every sleepless night; it came to him only several times over the past four months, but to Ehud it seemed to be every night as the images would linger, beckon, and almost speak with him in every silent moment. “There you are.” Placing the palate and brush on the stone by the fire, Arad moved his hand to Ehud’s shoulder. “You are ready. And the men are too; they are waiting outside.” The firm grasp steadied Ehud. “We will see you before the sun sets on the far horizon. Be sure to have the army ready for my return.” Arad nodded. “God be with you, brother.”
The two men pulled the package from the welding room and set it in the center of the entrance hall. Ehud called to Masa and Sisera from the doorway to come with the others. “This is the gift for his majesty, King Eglon. Fine oils, perfumes, and spices from each of the twelve tribes.” The men examined the decorated chest before them. It was constructed with cedar, rimmed and overlaid in fine gold with pictures of past deliverances intricately carved on every side by the best carpenter in Israel. “The poles are behind the door.” Ehud gestured in their direction as Masa moved to retrieve them. He pulled the door away from the wall and hoisted the two golden support beams onto his forearms, curling them close to his chest as he shuffled back toward the group. Together, the men fitted the beams through the straps on the underside of the trunk, securing them with extra strips of leather to finish the task.
“God is with us, men.” Ehud brushed his left hand against the hidden sword in his tunic. “He will deliver us this day.” The men uttered agreement, lifted the beams in unison onto their shoulders and started to the road.
~~~~~~~~~~~
“What is your purpose here?” A slender guard in a white tunic, demanded, wrapping not just his fingers, but also his entire forearm around his spear, like a fat snake on a wimpy branch. He stood alone to protect the gate, accompanied only by massive statues of the king on his left and right, and a group of poorly hidden soldiers behind the distant wall. The statues seemed a better defense than the soldier; large, monstrous figures. The faces and bodies were more distorted up close than from the heat-tainted distance of the City of Palms. The marble skin rolled over and over their bellies, appearing as if each one had gobbled the sun, melting rounds of skin on its way down, and resting only when it bulged the stomachs out enough to generously cover the uncircumcised items between their rolling thighs.
Returning attention to the guard, he replied, “I am Ehud, son of Gera of Benjamin. We come representing the tribes of Israel to pay tribute to our leader, King Eglon.” The guard, taking particular note of Ehud’s green and gold-embroidered garments and painted eyes, allowed the men to pass. He raised the spear above his head, moving it in a circular motion, beckoning an escort for the visitors. A servant in a white chiton appeared from the wall and stationed himself in the center of the open gate, waiting for Ehud’s approach.
“Come. Come noble visitor!” He called. “I am Senu, I will bring you to the king.” The man called and held out his golden-ringed hands to Ehud and his attendants, turning as they drew nearer to begin the passage to the palace hall. Ehud fixed his gaze on Senu’s hair which bounced on his off steps. He had seen this before. He had never set foot in this kingdom, yet it seemed more familiar to him than his own workroom. The dream appeared again, dancing in his vision and in this moment he could not tell whether he was asleep or awake; everything happened as it had every night on his wakeful bed. It was the dream that beckoned him here; that spoke with him, foretold this very day. He followed the servant in the white garment, anticipating every move. He remembered the bouncing hair and crinkle-ringed hands; the white chiton which lacked sufficient undercovering; the monstrous din of the streets, and the screaming woman by the olive tent. “We will not stand! No, no. We cannot stand!” The guard who silenced her with a blow to the lower jaw. He looked away as it happened, wincing in his heart, and remembering the boy that scuttled under the tribute’s eight-legged pillars, his river eyes wide, searching, examining the Israeli parade. Senu would lead them to a great door in a few moments, wooden and larger than any entrance on this side of the Jordan, outlined by marble slate. The door would open to the king’s court, where Eglon in all of his glory would be seated, engulfing a throne fit for two. The attendants would climb the steps and set the package before him. He would thank them with a brush of his hand and a blubbering nod, to which his servants would respond, escorting the troop out of the palace hall and back to Senu. Back through the crowded streets. Back to the gate where the soldiers hide. Back to the statues of Eglon where Ehud would dismiss his attendants to return to the City of Palms, but he himself would return to the palace alone to deliver the message.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Did we not just see to you with your tribute? Why do you return in this manner?” King Ehud stood with effort from his seat, keeping one foot by the base of the throne and the other on a step below, making him look shockingly larger than usual.
Ehud strode toward the king, his shoulders tight and level. He breathed deeply, halting at the base of the steps. “I have a secret message for you.” His voice cool, unbroken.
Eglon’s appearance shifted as the tense muscles in his face relaxed, causing the skin around his cheeks and eyes to droop even more than before. His gaze intensified, and he held it for a moment, nodding slightly to himself, the flesh around his neck bouncing with the movement. A low moan was heard from him. “Mmmh. Mmmh. Mmmmmmmh. Yes.” He whispered.
“Leave us!” he gestured to guards and servants standing in the open doors, the lower flap of his arm waiving faster than the very hand that propelled it. The servants stepped just outside of the room from each of their posts, closing the doors on all sides. Nothing but the cool, west breeze through the open balcony moved in the hall. Alone with the king, the dream came again with power before him; and Ehud watched as he carried it out.
“Tell me, man of Israel,” the king positioned both feet on the lower step by his throne, steadying himself before he continued. “What is this secret you bring?”
Ehud climbed until he was a pace away, able to feel the smog of the king’s breath on his damp face. “I have a message from God.” He moved with the vision in his mind. Reaching with his left hand, he gripped the sword at his side and drove it into the colossal abdomen before him. The king’s body squirmed like a mound of maggots under a silk canopy. His eyes wide, distant, paralyzed. Ehud felt the flaps of skin and lard fold over his clenched fist which held the weapon. He pulled his hand away, spraying blood across the marble floor behind him, and watching as the hilt of the sword disappeared into the bloody mass of flesh, like a bird in quicksand. The king’s eyes rolled upward and Ehud lunged away from the timbering mass. As it fell to the floor, he moved across the hall, lowering the bars to the entrances and fixing them tightly in place. Catching a final glance of cascading blood and bowels down the royal steps, Ehud ran toward the balcony, climbed down the wall, and filtered himself into the crowd of bustling Moabites.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The trumpet sounded and the host poured over the hills; green and gold flashed on the frontline. Ten miles away, the servants broke down the door.
April 2019