The Strength Of His Hand Part 3

HOURS LATER HEZEKIAH AWOKE to agony. He tried to sit up, then moaned as pain overwhelmed him. One of the physicians appeared beside him in the darkness.

"Lie still, Your Majesty. Don't try to move."

His mouth and tongue felt dry. He could scarcely speak. "I'm so thirsty... ."

"Here. Take a drink of water."

Hezekiah's hands were useless-swollen and blistered beneath the bandages. The physician gently raised Hezekiah's head and held the cup to his lips. Some of the water rolled down his throat; the rest dribbled down his chin into his beard. Hezekiah cursed his helplessness. "Do you want something for the pain, Your Majesty?"

"No." He could scarcely endure it, but he refused to admit his weakness. "How long will I be like this?"

"In the morning we'll examine your burns again and-"

"No. Tell me now."

"Surely you realize that you've received numerous burns and-"

"How serious are they?"

"Your hands and part of your chest are badly blistered."

"And my leg?"

"Your skin was completely burned away. The wound is very deep. And it's been contaminated with sand and bits of cloth. We did our best to cleanse it, but-"

"How long until I'm healed?" How long would he suffer this unspeakable agony, this maddening helplessness?

"We can't be certain, but you must rest for at least a week."

A week. Lying helplessly with water dribbling down my chin.

"No! Never!"

"But rest is the best cure, my lord." He offered Hezekiah another drink, then wiped the water off his face as if he were a child.

"Leave me now," he commanded.

"But you might need-"

"I'll call you."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Hezekiah heard the door close. He was alone. He shut his eyes again, but the pain prevented him from sleeping.

He had found Hephzibah worshiping a pagan idol.

Hezekiah had never forgotten the vivid images of his brothers burning to death in Molech's flames. How would he ever erase the image of his wife bowing before Asherah, pledging to sacrifice his child? He had fought the fires of idolatry all his life; tonight they had defeated him.

Alone in the darkness, Hezekiah didn't try to stop the tears that rolled down his face and disappeared into his beard. Hephzibah, the only woman he had ever loved, had deceived him. How long had she worshiped idols? One year? Ten years? What did it matter if it was a day or a lifetime? He could never forgive her for what she had done.

"Man and woman ... G.o.d's presence will dwell in their midst." Years ago, his grandfather had explained G.o.d's plan for marriage, and Hezekiah had thought he'd shared that kind of love with Hephzibah. In his happiness he had thought G.o.d's presence had blessed them. But he had believed a lie. He covered his face with bandaged hands and wept.

By the time the sun rose in the morning, Hezekiah had vowed never to shed another tear over Hephzibah. He buried his love for her deep in his soul, along with his sorrow over losing her, locking them away in a place he vowed never to search. Two emotions commanded all his attention now: the agonizing pain of his burns and his unrestrained anger. He had allowed the anger to build during the night until it overshadowed everything, even his pain. As the sky began to grow light, he shouted for his valet. The three court physicians followed the servant into the room.

"Help me up," Hezekiah ordered. "It's nearly time for the morning sacrifice."

None of the men moved.

"Don't gape at me like that-I said help me up!" He struggled to sit, and his valet finally hurried over to help him. "That's it. Now swing my leg over the side."

The servant obeyed, and Hezekiah moaned involuntarily as the blood raced down his injured leg. One of the physicians stepped forward, his eyes wide with fear.

"Your Majesty, I don't think-"

'I didn't hire you to think," he said through clenched teeth. "I hired you to make me well. Find Shebna and tell him to bring the divorce papers. The rest of you help me get dressed."

Hezekiah struggled into his clothes, each movement intensifying the pain. When the servants slipped his tunic over his head and the linen fabric brushed against his chest, he nearly pa.s.sed out. The edges of his wounds, where blistered flesh met uninjured skin, were excruciatingly painful.

"Shall we order a sedan chair, Your Majesty?"

"What for?"

"Well, to carry you up to-"

"I don't need to be carried." He would not let Hephzibah's idolatry turn him into a cripple.

Hezekiah stood and took a step forward. The room whirled, and his vision narrowed to a tunnel. The physicians rushed forward to catch him.

"No! Leave me alone. I can walk by myself."

Hezekiah put one foot in front of the other, ignoring his agony and the bizarrely tilting floor, until he reached the couch in his sitting room.

"Thank you for your services," he told his physicians. "You may go home."

"But you can't-" '

'Yes, I can. And I will. Good day."

As he waited for Shebna, Hezekiah tried to calculate how far he would need to walk to get to the Temple, how many stairs he would have to climb.

"Pour me some of that," he told his servant, indicating the flask of strong wine Eliakim had made him drink the night before. The warm wine burned all the way to his stomach, but he drained the cup, hoping the drink would numb the pain enough to get him to the Temple and back again.

"Now bring me something to eat."

A few minutes later, Shebna arrived carrying a parchment scroll. He stared at Hezekiah in shock.

"You look terrible, Your Majesty! Do you really think you should be out of bed?"

"Obviously I do! I'm sitting here, aren't I? Where are my divorce papers?"

"I have them." He held up the scroll, then let his hand drop to his side again.

"Did Eliakim explain why I asked for them?"

"Yes. I have heard the story, Your Majesty. I am very sorry."

"The entire nation has probably heard the story by now. That's why I'm going up to the Temple. Nothing-no one-is going to stop me from setting an example for my nation."

"Do you think it is wise to let the people see you like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have you looked in a mirror, Your Majesty?"

Hezekiah looked down at his bandaged hands and sighed. "I shouldn't have fought the fire. I should have let everything burn."

"I saw the damage this morning," Shebna said. "The room was completely destroyed."

"Good. Have it rebuilt some other way. For my new wife."

Hezekiah's stomach twisted as he said the words. The divorce would be final. He would never see Hephzibah again. He wondered how he would learn to love another woman-or to trust her. But maybe love and trust didn't matter. Maybe having a son would be enough.

"Show me those papers, Shebna."

"Are you certain? A more suitable punishment would be to-"

"I've never been more certain!"

Shebna sighed and pa.s.sed him the scroll. Hezekiah tried to take it between his bandaged hands, but he lost his grip and the scroll tumbled to the floor.

"I curse her for what she has done to me!" he shouted. "And Yahweh has cursed her, too. Now pick it up and let me sign it."

"But how can you possibly sign?"

"I'll find a way. Take these miserable bandages off me."

"I am not a physician-" '

'Take them off!"

Shebna opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and carefully lifted Hezekiah's right hand. He found the end of the bandage, untied it, then gently unwound the dressing. Hezekiah tried to hold his hand steady as Shebna worked, but his entire body seemed to shake with his rage and his pain. Beneath the gauze, huge pulpy blisters covered his swollen palms.

"Good heavens!" Shebna breathed.

"It looks worse than it is," Hezekiah said, but he realized that he would not be able to grip a writing instrument or sign his name. He held out his left hand. "Take the other one off, too." When Shebna finished, his dark face looked pale. "Now slide my signet ring off," Hezekiah ordered.

"But it will never come off. Your finger is too badly swollen."

"Coat it with oil first. There's some over there, in the lamp."

Hezekiah wondered how long it would take him to grow accustomed to the constant, relentless pain and if there would ever come a time when he finally would be free from it. He had made up his mind to persevere in spite of it, but when Shebna rubbed the oil on his finger and tried to pull off the ring, Hezekiah cried out, unable to stop himself.

Shebna shrank back. "I am sorry, my lord!"

"I'm all right. Try it again."

"No. I will not do this."

"Shebna, I'm ordering you to slide this ring off my finger!"

"I would sooner resign than inflict any more pain on you." His eyes met Hezekiah's and held them defiantly. In a battle of wills, Hezekiah knew that Shebna's stubbornness matched his own. The valet broke the tension as he entered with a tray.

"I've brought your breakfast, Your Majesty."

Hezekiah stared at Shebna a moment longer, then said, "You're excused." He refused to allow Shebna or anyone else to watch as the valet spoon-fed him his breakfast.

"You will tell no one that I had to be fed, do you hear me? Or you will pay for it with your life."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Hezekiah had only managed to choke down a few humiliating bites when the shofar sounded from the Temple.

"Fetch my prayer shawl," he said. "It's time to go."

The Temple seemed a hundred miles away, but he would make it somehow. He would offer his sacrifice. He would confess the sin of allowing an idol into his palace, the sin of loving an idol worshiper.He would ask G.o.d for forgiveness.

Hezekiah stood, but he took only a few agonizing steps toward the door before pain made his legs crumple beneath him. Then the world went black.

As Eliakim walked up the hill to the Temple with his father, he couldn't stop thinking about King Hezekiah, remembering his terrible injuries and the nauseating sight of his burned flesh.

"You got in awfully late last night, son," Hilkiah said. "And you've been unusually quiet this morning, too. Is something wrong?"

"I didn't want to talk to you about it in front of the servants."

Hilkiah stopped walking. "Something happened, then? Something terrible?"

"I'm afraid so."

Crowds of worshipers streamed past them, buffeting them where they stood in the middle of the walkway. Eliakim drew his father aside. Should he tell him about Hephzibah's idolatry? He knew he could trust Hilkiah with any secret, but Eliakim ached inside from carrying the terrible knowledge of what she had done, and he hesitated to unload such a burden on anyone else. Hephzibah's actions were unforgivable, an outrage that mocked everything King Hezekiah believed in and worked for. The fact that he loved her so deeply made her deception unspeakable.

"Abba, there was a fire in the harem last night," he finally said.

"Was anyone hurt?"

"The king's wife inhaled a lot of smoke, and she was badly shaken, but she's all right."

"Thank G.o.d!"