13 Lessons From My Rooftop: Part-2

(Warning: This article is deliberately long to keep out lazy readers!)

This late afternoon, the happy memories of Goliath could hardly placate my feelings. My entire body and emotions were craving for adventure. So I jumped out of bed. It was a fateful move.

“Oh man-of-war,” I muttered in self-rebuke, “do not indulge in the wasteful luxury of a siesta.”

As I clumsily wrapped my bed-robe around my body, a voice said to me, “Go over to the palace penthouse.”

I was accustomed to hearing from God but, as it turned out, this wasn't Him. In my flight of idleness I was beginning to commune with the devil. No wonder the sages say an idle mind is the devil's workshop. Now I know better.

There was an unfamiliar urgency in my steps as I climbed the stairs to the penthouse. Once there, I had a good view of the city and the beautiful sight of the sun as it began to set in the distance. A gentle breeze fluttered my robe as if to draw my attention to something.

Jerusalem never ceases to charm me from this vantage position. I walked about on this lonely rooftop as I absorbed the beauty of this eternal city of God, wondering what it was that had drawn me here at this hour.

Then suddenly I saw her—the solitary figure of a woman sponging and wriggling her body in a not-too-distant bathroom.

She cut the figure of a groomed movie star. Tall, fair, and beautiful, her soaked hair dropped helplessly on her shoulders like a waterfall. She had the perfect curves of a mannequin, a quintessential well made woman. I felt my heart miss a beat, then suddenly begin to race. I momentarily lost my sanity. When I regained it, I heard two voices speaking into my ears, my eyes rigidly glued to this human spectacle.

"Son," said the first voice barely audibly, "a trained soldier never allows his eyes to be distracted."

I had often heard this voice when I was in a battlefield, but this wasn't a battlefield. Therefore the voice confused me a bit. Anyway, the second voice spoke immediately after, quite loudly and compellingly.

"Son, remember how I've always taught you to be steadfast and finish what you start. And I'm with you."

This one sounded more real, it jived with the beatings of my heart. I was to find out later it was the devil's camouflage of God's voice, and it was the voice I chose to listen to. That brings me to another important lesson for you:

Lesson number 5: The soundness of a counsel is not in the volume of its delivery. Many times God speaks to us through our consciences, but we never listen because we are unaccustomed to the stillness of his voice.

I hurried down the stairs to my private armoury. It didn't take me long to locate my battlefield binoculars. Incidentally, I kept them next to Goliath's war artefacts. I rushed back to the rooftop, clutching the binoculars like a gun, and taking the steps two at a time.

Back at the rooftop, I trained the binoculars at the distant bathroom and quickly adjusted for focus. The goddess in that bathroom suddenly travelled towards me and was literally within touch. I instinctively reached out a stray hand to touch her hair but it was all in futility. Then I heard a voice whisper behind me, “Not so fast, son.” I turned but saw no one, and that brings me to yet another lesson for you:

Lesson number 6: watch your imaginations; when they mature they can speak to you audibly. You must exercise greater discernment in moments of severe emotional surges.

Yes, the view captured by my binoculars may have had picturesque Jerusalem in the background, but let me confess to you that all I could see in those moments was this woman. The temporary seizure of my senses reminded me of a picture I'd seen in a magazine in one of my concubines’ quarters. It was the picture of a beautiful, semi-nude, and busty model with the gorilla King Kong in the background. The highly distractive picture had an accusatory message which read: "Hundred per cent of men will not see King Kong in this picture."

I'd smiled at the picture and its mischievous message. Well, that message was replaying itself because, with what my eyes were seeing, beautiful Jerusalem and King Kong might as well go to blazes!

At this time my heart was beating like a talking drum. My imagination was on fire. When I eventually withdrew from the palace penthouse--only because the alluring figure disappeared from the bathroom--I needed to prime myself to regain my kingly dignity and composure. For a trained warrior like me, that wasn't too difficult to do. I walked absent-mindedly to my palace chamber, sat on a chair near the throne, and summoned my chief palace guard. He came rushing down as if something was pursuing him.

"My lord, you sent for me," he said breathlessly.

"Yes," I replied as calmly as I could. "I need you to inquire about one of my subjects and bring me word."

"Yes, my lord. But what is my lord doing with his binoculars? I've not seen my lord hold one outside the battlefield. Is there some uprising, my lord?"

"No," I replied coyly. "I just finished spying on a friendly position. Now go to the first avenue in the south-eastern suburb, just past the precincts of the king's palace. As you go past the suburb prayer house, there is a three-storey building with a red roof on the avenue. It is the only building with a red roof. Enquire about the female subject who lives in the topmost apartment and bring me word."

The impetuous fellow smiled knowingly and gave me a conspiratorial salute. “Consider it done, my lord,” he said brashly. “That house has a cross of two swords engraved at the entrance to its basement. It sounds like your servant Uriah’s house, but I must make certain.”

“Alright, go your way.” With that I dismissed him.

I looked at the binoculars, still firmly in my grip, and shuddered. Could a famed weapon of war be turning into a weapon of lust in the hands of Israel’s greatest warrior? I was beginning to be a bit ashamed of myself. Deep down I knew I should consult God on those two voices I heard at the rooftop, but I dared not. My mind was made up. I'd been arrested by my emotions.

My chief guard, ever so efficient, was to show up before nightfall with the news.

“My lord, she's indeed Uriah’s wife.”

My heart sank. “Uriah’s wife?” I asked, with distinct disappointment in my voice. “Describe her. I want to be sure you’ve got the right person.” Somehow I was hoping he was wrong.

“My lord, she's a tall fairy with long hair. Her complexion is very fair. She's the most beautiful woman I've set my eyes on,” he said and licked his lips.

Restraining myself from blushing, I waited patiently for him to exhaust his show of foolish infatuation as he went on a poetic description of the female target. When I was sure he was done, I dismissed him.

“Go your way. Find me more about Uriah tomorrow.”

I slept very little that night. Thoughts of Uriah’s wife pestered me. I became sick over her. I knew I had to have her. The king could have whatever and whoever he desired. That was the tradition of my people.

The next day, just past noon, I'd dispersed a routine palace meeting when my chief guard sought my audience. I asked that he be ushered into my chamber.

“We have all my lord wants to know about your servant, Uriah,” he began. “He's a Hittite volunteer in one of the regiments commanded by your servant Joab. Records show him to be a brave and loyal warrior. Information about him suggests he deserves decoration for heroic deeds, my lord.”

What a perplexing report, I thought. How could one plot against a man loyal to the throne and the kingdom? As I contemplated the deep thoughts that assailed my demented mind, I realised that misfortune often befalls the most saintly of men. There'll be no going back on that woman. The picture of her in that bathroom was driving me insane.

“Alright then,” I charged. “Get the palace attendants to prepare one of the premium chalets in the palace guesthouse to receive an important guest. Send word to Uriah’s wife to appear before the king this evening for full briefings on her husband's decoration.”

“Consider it done, my lord,” the guard hollered and disappeared, but not before casting a suspicious glance at me. He had on his face that dirty smile of his. Was he clairvoyant? Was he reading my mind? I wondered.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in mixed emotions as I watched the shadow go down on the Dial of Ahaz. As evening approached, a mixture of guilt and romantic excitement had the better of me. I lost appetite for dinner, totally consumed by the thought of meeting this strange woman whose innocent and private performance in an innocuous bathroom had taken a full grip of me. I thought of a fitting strategy for the encounter but couldn't come up with any. Confused imaginations had numbed my mind. Hours later, I was still lost in my private revelry when the chief palace guard broke into my presence with the announcement: “My lord, your servant, Uriah’s wife, is ready for your briefing at the palace guest house.”

I took in a deep breath to calm my nerves and waved him away. Then I stood up and arrayed myself in front of a life-size mirror, taking time to make adjustments to my kingly appearance. The king should always look regal before his subjects, even if he was love-struck and feeling somewhat confused. All kings are human, after all.

I took measured steps to the premium chalet where I'd asked her to be ushered, dismissed the guard watching her door, and drew in another deep breath before drawing the door curtain and stepping into her presence.

She sat curled on a golden sofa. Her beauty at close quarters made me unstable like an empty plastic bottle, and nearly threw me off balance. I hurriedly sat in another chair to avoid anything untoward. For a moment I was lost and speechless. Where did God find the time to spend so much creative talent on one person? I sensed my unabashed gaze was embarrassing her. Therefore, presently, I put on a brave act and brought myself to sanity.

When I sat down, she stood up in reverence and bowed nicely, her petrified demeanour making her look ever so beautiful. She had good manners too, I thought. “What is this that God has made?” I asked silently. Then she began to tremble a bit, as she stood before the king of Israel.

She was to later confide to me how afraid she'd been when the palace messengers conveyed the summons to the palace. What did the high and mighty want with a commoner like her? Had some misfortune befallen her husband, or had he gotten himself into the king’s bad books? But then the summons had hinted of some recognition and decoration. For her the summons had spun many questions.

“Sit and be calm, my dear,” I offered. She sat, looking anything but calm. “You're very beautiful,” I complimented with as much kingly comportment as I could. If this woman could open me up, I thought, all she would find was a very hungry beast.

“Thank you, your majesty,” she replied shyly, curiosity taking over her fright. She looked intently at my face then lowered her gaze to the floor. She had been taught that kings were gods. You did'nt look them in the face.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Bathsheba, your majesty” came a whisper from a very troubled but pleasant voice, all ten fingers tightly knit together on her laps, eyes still gazing at the floor.

“Bath-she-ba! What does this beautiful name mean?”

“Daughter of an oath,” she replied.

“What a meaning for a beautiful name.”

She smiled for the first time, revealing two soft dimples on both her cheeks. God denied her nothing. Her smile was hypnotic. She'd donned herself very exquisitely for this palace appearance, and did look like a queen. For the first time in my life I had no strategy for an encounter, therefore I rode in roughly.

“You look fit to be a queen in my palace,” I said.

She looked up suddenly, startled. “What was that your majesty?” she queried.

“I want you to be one of my queens.”

She could only gaze at me incredulously. The audacity and boldness of my delivery left her speechless. But this time she was at least looking me in the face. She was clearly unprepared for this, but I didn’t care. I was in no state for any suave approach now.

“What do you have to say to that?”

She shifted uncomfortably in the sofa. “I'm married, your majesty,” she managed to say tamely.

“I know,” I said. “Your husband, Uriah, is a very loyal servant of mine. But I've thought about this for a long time and, unfortunately, can't do otherwise. Each time I've thought it over, I've come to the same conclusion. But I put you under oath, Bathsheba, to mention this to no one. You've consumed my thoughts these past few days. I see you in my dreams; my heart is taken by you.”

Her mouth hung open; her eyes twinkled. “My king...my lord!” She clasped her two hands over her mouth. Soon, her eyes turned into two frightened round balls. Every gesture of hers made her look only more beautiful. So far I'd seen no ugly dimension of her personality to dissuade me. Perhaps infatuation hides a woman’s weaknesses.

“It’s alright,” I said, trying to calm her. I got up and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. I felt fire run through my hand. “The king is in love with you, Bathsheba. Can’t you see? Love can never err. Please accept my love.”

“I'm married, your majesty!” she cried, flailing her hands helplessly.

“I know Bathsheba, I know, but I can't help it. Help the king. Help your nation. Help Israel. Your husband is a valiant warrior for Israel. You can do even more valiantly by becoming one of my queens, and I'll see to it that your family never suffers.” I didn't care how foolish I sounded anymore.

Hysteria took over, and tears began to flow freely down her cheeks. For many minutes I sat on the arm of the sofa and cuddled her to myself as she sobbed. What had I done now?

The silence that followed seemed to last an eternity, but it was really only for a minute or so.

“Let me give you time to think about this,” I offered, and rose gently from the arm of the sofa.

“Yes, your majesty,” came her subdued reply.

“The palace attendants will lead you home, but you're to tell no one about this encounter. Remember, you're a daughter of oath. You'll be fetched up in two days to give the king your reply.”

With that I patted her affectionately on the back and wished her a good night. “By the way, no visitor comes to the palace and leaves without a gift. My orderlies will deliver to you a gift from the palace.”

I walked out of the guest chalet into what felt like a warm victorious night. The encounter had gone far more successfully than I'd expected, and I knew from the romantic side of my intuition that I'd won her.

Two evenings later, Bathsheba was back in the premium chalet. The palace maids had gone over to her house to prepare her for her second meeting with the king. What a job the maids did on her. She was simply delectable and looked good enough to eat. This woman’s beauty emerges in shades of indescribable glory.

My first encounter with her had bolstered my confidence. Therefore as I sat in front of her on this promising evening, it was the king of Israel in full bloom before a subdued subject. I went straight to work.

“How're you today, Bathsheba? Permit me to compliment your exquisite and total beauty.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” she responded and offered an encouraging smile. I'd known from my several romantic encounters that if you want to disarm a lady, one of the things you must do is acknowledge her beauty and appear to mean it. In this instance I meant every word. “Have you thought about my proposal, Bathsheba?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Fear was etched across her face.

“So do you want to be one of Israel’s valiant warriors?” I held my breath as she twisted and turned in the golden sofa.

“Yes, your majesty,” she said thinly, much to my relief.

“Well, then, you're conscripted,” I said triumphantly as I stood up and opened my arms for my famous king’s embrace. She got up and walked into my arms. I wrapped them around her and held tightly to her like a coveted prize.

The feeling of her body pressing against mine was completely indescribable. The perfume she wore smelled like a thousand aromatic gems from Eden. We remained in that posture for a considerable length of time. Soon I felt wetness on my left shoulder. Gently, I lifted her head off my shoulders and looked. Her face was drenched in tears and sadness.

“Please dry your tears, my love,” I whispered. “The king means no harm. I love you dearly.”

“Yes, your majesty,” she said almost inaudibly. I ushered her gently back to her seat. “Your majesty,” she began presently, “can I tell you something?”

“Yes please, tell me anything,” I encouraged, my heart beating very hard.

“To satisfy your majesty’s passion, you may lie with me, but your majesty must leave me for my husband. He's a good man, and has done nothing that deserves my leaving him. He's just as loyal to his family as he is to the nation.”

She wiped a tear from her left eye. She was not only beautiful physically, she was also beautiful intellectually. I knew I shouldn’t force the matter. It is inconsiderate to flog a willing horse.

The saint in me offered a cautious counsel for my next move, but the animal in me protested wildly, and I buckled. So I said rather shamelessly, “I'll do as you say, my love. Beyond that, I'll make sure your husband is decorated with the highest military honour reserved for volunteers, and I'll make your lineage tax-exempt and comfortable forever.”

She went on her knees in total surrender. I was nearly moved to tears.

That night I slept with Bathsheba. I had taken my prize, but my troubles began in earnest.

It was a long night. Bathsheba explained to me how her mind had worked, right from my first meeting with her, up to my sleeping with her. Despite being constantly harangued and pestered by men, she'd been a faithful wife, she confessed, but she'd had to succumb tearfully to the king’s proposal. Beauty, for her, had become treacherous. The king was held in awe, and could have whatever and whoever he wanted in the kingdom. At least that was what she'd grown to believe.

She had recalled how, when he was only an ordinary citizen, the king had taken Abigail, Nabal’s wife, to himself. Now that he was king, who could stop him from taking any woman? He had the powers of life and death in his mouth. She recalled how Nabal had died from just a threat from the king at the time. She didn't want that fate for her husband. In fact, the then uncrowned king could do no wrong, for it used to be said that Nabal was not killed but died from natural causes.

These revelations grieved my heart. My love of beautiful women was now coming to haunt me. This brings me to another lesson for you:

Lesson number 7: many women will lead you into many troubles. Stick to your God-given wife and, as the good book says, let her breasts satisfy you.

Sleeping with Bathsheba offered me only fleeting pleasure. In the end, the experience was not as beautiful as her looks. This seventh lesson is one I must teach my sons, particularly Solomon...if I remember.

(To be cont'd. Culled from my book, Laughing Over Serious Matters. For other articles visit: https://www.chrisekpekurede.com/blog)