Shortly after the cup clattered on the roof, Alian appeared at the top of the stairs, his hair disheveled, his feet bare and his robe askew.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, looking around. "I thought I heard something break."

"Break, no. Clatter, yes," I responded. "Our friend came to and, at his request, I gave him the cup of medicine rather than trying to feed it to him. After he drank, he dropped it on the roof before passing out."

"That must have been quite a drop, to wake me from a sound sleep."

"I think Sallu's plan was to throw it. The pain inflected by the sudden arm motion was what caused the cup to fall and him to lose consciousness."

"What makes you think he was going to throw the cup?"

After I explained the gist of our conversation to Alian, I asked whether he thought I should wake Naomi, since she had told me to let her know if there was any change. Since the period of consciousness was short lived and Naomi was exhausted, we decide against disturbing her. Although I urged Alian to go back to bed, he said he was well enough rested. Instead of sleeping he told me he was going to go the city gate to see if there was any scuttlebutt about our mystery guest.

"At least we have a name now," he concluded. "You said he called himself Sallu, did you not?"

After Alian left, I bathed Sallu's brow and then inspected the bandage. Seeing signs of fresh blood, I decided perhaps I should awaken Naomi after all. This proved a wise decision. When Naomi removed the bandage, she found that Sallu's action had caused the carefully packed wound to gape open where it had previously begun to scab over. She again poured the liquid designed to congeal blood over the wound. Then she told me that she was going to risk sewing the wound shut.

"You're going to stick a needle in him?" I asked incredulously. "I have heard rumors of such barbarity, but I thought it was a jest."

"My grandmother had an Egyptian servant," Naomi explained. "She had worked in a doctor's household. My grandfather was gored by an animal. My grandmother's healing skills were failing him. The wound kept gaping open. The girl told Grandma about helping the Egyptian physician while he sewed up men who were wounded in the abdomen. She said that although sewing skin is painful, it holds the wound closed in a way that bandages cannot. Grandma was desperate. Grandpa was dying. She fasted, prayed and agonized. She told her family she had a peace about trying to sew up her husband. She did, and he lived. It is something that is used only in extreme cases and after other things have failed. I believe that the time has come to sew Sallu's wound shut. Every time he moves, the wound begins to bleed again. We cannot tie the bandages tight enough for him to heal. If I do not sew the wound shut, he might eventually die from loss of blood."

"And what if that is his desire?"

"He is under my care. God has given me the gift of healing and the knowledge that I have. I must do all that I can to bring healing. If he dies anyway, then I can rest at night knowing I have done everything humanly possible. If he lives, then he will have to come to terms with the emotional pain that he carries. Once the physical pain is under control and he is conscious, perhaps I can help him to deal with the emotional and spiritual pain. When you told him to think about the people who would grieve if he died, you gave him a choice. He drank the medicine. That tells me he chose life, even if he did so reluctantly."

And so I helped with my first surgical closure. Naomi passed her sewing needle through the flames before beginning to sew. When I asked why, she said she did not really know. It was something she learned from her mother. She assumed that since fire is used to cauterize certain wounds, passing a needle through flame must help keep it from causing more bleeding during the procedure.

Sallu remained unconscious the whole time. Before she sewed the wound shut, Naomi put a medicinal salve on the inside. When she finished, she put more salve on the outside and then placed a clean bandage over the wound.

We were sitting against the wall drinking water and eating figs when Alian returned. Seeing the sewing implements, he said, "I take it the wound came open again. Did he awaken during the sewing?"

I just shook my head in wonder. These two took in stride marvels that ordinary folk would never even imagine.

Alain had gone to the city gate where the fate of those accused of murder is discussed. He introduced Sallu's situation and said he was there on Sallu's behalf, since he was too sick to come. He sat with the city fathers and listened as they discussed Sallu's case. He discovered that the man in the tavern had known of Sallu's relationship to Samson. He had made derogatory comments about Samson's lack of sense when it came to women. When he made a joke about Samson being ruled by lust rather than God, Sallu had leaped across the table demanding that he take it back. In the ensuing fight, the other man pulled a knife. The consensus at the gate was that Sallu acted in self-defense. He did not intend to kill when the fight started. As such, he was guilty only of manslaughter and was to be afforded asylum in Hebron. If an avenger came to seek revenge, Sallu would be safe as long as he stayed inside the city walls. Eventually he would be free to return home, after the reigning high priest died. If no family came to avenge the dead man, Sallu would probably be safe in leaving Hebron, even while the high priest lived.

"This is such a strange custom," I said. "Does this protection extend only to Israelites?"

"No," Alian replied. "When God gave Moses the law, the protection was extended to Israelites and the aliens living among us. Anyone accused of accidental murder can flee to a city of refuge and be given asylum until his case is discussed in the assembly. If he is found guilty only of manslaughter, an avenger cannot seek blood atonement while he remains in the city of refuge."

"What happens if he leaves the city after the trial, and the avenger kills him, claiming blood atonement?" I asked.

"Well, then I suppose the avenger would be found guilty of murder and his life forfeited. But death is not something most accused are willing to risk. They prefer to stay in the city of refuge until the blood lust has time to cool."

"So the city is a prison of sorts?"

"I guess you could say that, but it is a prison without restraints. A person can choose to leave and take his chances that the blood avenger will not catch up to him."

"So it is a prison of choice rather than a prison of consequence," I mused. "Sallu said that before the fight he was alone by choice and that now he would be alone by consequence. He seemed to believe that manslaughter dooms a man to solitude, that no woman will want to wed a killer no matter how accidental the killing. I guess he also believed his family would disown him because a man with family to love him is never really alone."

"Perhaps he merely meant he will be alone because he cannot safely return to the bosom of his family and must live apart in Hebron."

"Perhaps," I replied. "But what he said about Samson seeing him as more than the sixth son and a nobody makes me think that he did not feel loved even when in the bosom of his family. You both know how alone one can feel even when surrounded by family or friends. I think Samson's death and the resultant grief caused Sallu to sever any remaining ties with his family. But if he truly was unloved, and thus alone, he would have been able to throw away the medicine when I gave him the choice. He knows that someone out there would grieve his death. He can identify with that grief, and he drank the medicine even while cursing me for bringing that to his attention. I wonder who would grieve? And should we try to find out and let them know of his whereabouts?"

"Let's tackle one problem at a time, shall we?" Naomi interjected. "Let's get the lad well and then we can decide whether he really needs to remain alone. Now that the assembly of Hebron elders has considered Sallu's situation and declared his action accidental, it is safe for us to keep him and treat him as long as necessary."

"What would you have done had the assembly declared him a murderer?" I gasped, suddenly recognizing the import of Alian's trip to the city gates.

"I don't know what we would have done," Naomi stated. "I am just glad we did not have to make that decision. I don't think I could ever willingly take a life, and I certainly would have a problem trying to save one so that it could be taken by the courts."

Although my wise mentor had spoken, I was not comfortable with her decision to put off searching for whomever Sallu was reluctant to grieve. I felt in my bones that whomever it was needed to come to Hebron to see Sallu. I feared that he would die and the person, who must love him, would have no opportunity to say goodbye. I also wondered if perhaps the nameless person could give him the will to live.

As Sallu continued to teeter on the brink of death, I sought every opportunity to nurse him. I bathed his fevered brow. I changed the putrid dressing that covered the jagged wound, tenderly wiping away the pus that oozed from the angry red slash and reapplied the medicinal salve. I sang to him. I coaxed him to drink Naomi's sometimes nauseous potions. I listened to his delirious rantings, searching for clues that would help me discover more about our patient.

I despaired of solving the riddle. Not once in five days did my young charge appear lucid and in his right mind. Rather, he shouted at nonexistent tormentors or cajoled phantoms in honeyed tones. Sometimes his speech was clear as a bell, but senseless. Other times he spoke in slurred timbres that reminded me of a sot in his cups.

On the evening of the fifth day, Naomi and Alian came to the rooftop where I had made a pallet close enough to rest while I kept vigil with our patient.

"We have missed you in our evening worship," Naomi said. "We thought perhaps we would come here and let you join in our praise of Yahweh and our evening discussion."

"Why would I want to join you in praise?" I asked sharply. "The gods have done nothing deserving of praise. Sallu is dying. All of our ministrations have been for naught. He will die here alone and unloved with none to mourn his passing. If there were a god of mercy, he would not let a young man die like this – in his prime, without hope, friendless," I finished with a sob.

Reaching out and enveloping me in her arms, Naomi pulled my stiff body to her ample bosom. My arms stiff by my side, my fists clinched, I resisted her attempt to comfort. As she raised her eyes heavenward, she began to sing softly, "He found her in a desert land. . ."

Dropping my head to her shoulder, I began to sob uncontrollably.

"He may die in his prime," Alain said softly, "but obviously he is not friendless." Then he turned and walked away.

When my tears abated and Naomi's song faded into the night, she released me with a sigh.

"Sometimes they die," she said sadly. "I wish I knew why. I have learned to accept whatever Yahweh decides, be it life or death. If you continue to assist me, you will need to learn to relinquish responsibility to God, Salome. If you do not, you will become old before your time – and bitter, very bitter," she ended.

"I don't know how to trust," I admitted.

Naomi wanted to give me a sleeping powder and send me to my chamber. I refused, telling her that I preferred to continue to stay with Sallu. When her logic failed to move me, she reluctantly left me alone with the patient.

My determination was mostly guilt induced. I had taken Samson away from his nephew. If I had not betrayed Samson, Sallu would not be dying from a wound sustained while defending his dead hero's honor. Perhaps Sallu and I would have met under different circumstances, perchance a wedding feast – my wedding feast.

As I bathed his heated brow, I entered the past. The person I nursed was no longer Sallu. It was my mother's fevered forehead I tenderly caressed. The my father's maniacal laugh and the words he chanted as my mother lay dead reverberated through my mind, "Love kills, Delilah. Love kills"

My tears fell on Sallu's face as I murmured, "You were right, Daddy. My love kills. First Mama, then Samson."

It was then that Sallu chose to have his first lucid moment.

"If you think your love killed Samson, then you must be Delilah," my patient said.

"What?!" I gasped.

"You must be Delilah," Sallu repeated.

"You must be delirious," I retorted.

But he wasn't.

Seizing the rare opportunity, I said quickly, "I am Salome, but you can call me Delilah if you want to. If I were Delilah, what would you tell me?"

"I would tell you that your love did not kill Samson. When he talked about you, he was more alive than I have ever seen him. He bragged to me about previous female conquests. He even spoke of his Timnite fiancé; but no one ever had the effect on him that you did, Delilah. You brought him joy."

"Even a love that energizes can kill when it betrays," I said quietly. "Surely you know this if you were there when the Timnite betrayed him by marrying another."

"He never really loved the Timnite. Only his pride was hurt. Not until he met Delilah, did Samson experience true love."

"And how would a young one like you know?" I countered with a smile. "What vast experience with love have you?"

At this his eyes clouded over and his smile faded.

Reaching out an imploring hand, I begged, "Do not retreat into your fevered delirium, Sallu. You can tell me about her."

"She has hair like the raven; her eyes are like the gazelle; and she has the grace of an eagle in flight," he said. "She can be as fierce as a she lion protecting her cubs and as gentle as a summer breeze. Her voice is like a peaceful brook that soothes the restless soul."

I waited patiently as he stared into nothingness, recognizing that he was lost in memory, afraid an utterance would silence him.

Slowly, his vision refocused and he said, "Her name is Myra. She was to be my bride. After Samson died, I left Zorah. I told her that my pain was too great. I freed her from the betrothal vow and told her to seek another. She told me that when my grief lifted she would be waiting to comfort me."

"Then you have something to live for," I responded. "When you are well, you can return to Myra. She waits to comfort you."

"No," Sallu said. "There is nothing left for me. I have taken a life. Even if the city fathers decide my act was unintentional, I cannot ask a woman to live in fear that an avenger will take her husband's life."

"But, Sallu, the city father's have already ruled. Alian spoke on your behalf. You are safe here in Hebron, a city of refuge."

"That matter's not. I could never ask Myra to live as the wife of an outcast, afraid to venture beyond the city gates. She is the daughter of a cloth merchant. She is accustomed to luxury. She comes from a large, close-knit family. The high priest may live for many more years. I could not ask her to bear her children away from that family. I could not ask her to voluntarily accept banishment."

Reaching out and clutching his hand, I argued, "But she is not condemned. She could take the children to visit family. She could venture beyond Hebron for visits, if she so chose."

"Never!" Sallu spat out. "What if my enemies sought to capture them or harm them to get back at me? Then I would live with the kind of crippling guilt you harbor. I would have no peace."

Stunned, I sat and stared at Sallu. My ruse had not fooled the boy. He knew who I was. He saw beyond the façade of peace into the guilt-stained soul. Changing my name had accomplished nothing.

Realizing I still gripped his hand tightly, I let it go. As I started to stammer out a reply, I understood that Sallu no longer cared. His eyes were unfocused. He had retreated into his fevered trance. Overcome by fresh grief, I sobbed quietly, alone in the night.