Such is the ebb and flow of life.
Climbing up I imagined the view I would have up there, at the top of the world. And now, having achieved victory, I am beginning to come down, seeking reflection.
From outside the cave comes the hoot of an owl. Outlined against a dreamy moonlight, it strikes an upright stance, and turns its large, broad head to face me. Its gaze meets mine. At the moment I feel a strange affinity to this bird of prey. Like me, it must cherish its solitude.
And as it spreads its feathers I think I see out there, behind the flutter, a curvaceous outline of a nude. I ache to touch her flesh. It is glowing with warm, reddish hues of terra-cotta. Her breasts are tipped with gold.
As if springing to life out of some Babylonian plaque, there she stands, surrounded by owls.
There she is, my Queen of the Night.
“Bathsheba,” I whisper. My voice gets lost in the vacuous space.
A moment later, the owl takes off. It rises away in its silent flight, and the illusive light of the moon starts dimming out.
Told in Poznansky's distinctive style, the story is a lyrical delight, granting David a frank honesty the Old Testament never would have dared and interweaving brief passages of the original text with the author's eloquent, entrancing style. This is a David you won't find in the Bible and a kingdom that sometimes feels almost modern.
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