Delilah. What sort of a name was that for a Welsh lass whose parents were both Chapel and proud of it. Why not a good Welsh Bronwen or Ceinwen? But Ieuan would have it no other way.
‘The Lord will choose.’
Ieuan held the Book upright, its spine resting on the crimson hospital blanket. He held it as reverently as if he stood at the lectern ready to read the word of God on the Sabbath in Betwys y Coed. He let the Bible fall open and placed his rough carpenter’s finger on the page. Dilys craned forward to read the top of the page upside down. The Old Testament, Judges. Oh, let it be Deborah, my little Debbie, a nice name, Deborah. The last thought was spoken aloud.
‘No Dilys, it is not Deborah. It is later in the Book of Judges, chapter sixteen verse four, ‘And it came to pass afterward, that he loved a woman in the valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah.’
‘Oh Ieuan, love, do it again, we can’t call our little one by that name!’
‘The Lord has chosen, Dilys, who are we to question? It is his will, perhaps, that the name Delilah shall be cleansed in the life of our little precious one. With his help, we will raise a Delilah whose name may be spoken proudly.
Words proudly spoken on the birthday of little Delilah Jones from the valleys. And proudly and prayerfully did that couple strive to raise a little Welsh saint. If they failed it was not for want of effort or prayer. Names have power it is said.
A raven haired little Delilah, who could charm the finches from the rowan, the flash of whose dark eyes conquered the Evan, the Dai and the Gavin in school, fled from the valleys as a beautiful woman who craved far more than they could ever offer. Bright lights and a bright future beckoned.
‘I saw the light on the night that I passed by her window.’
The night she said she needed to get to bed early so that she would be on top form for that job interview. The night I should not come around, the night I ought to go out with the boys for a change. I couldn’t go out with the boys; they all had important business, probably with girls. So, I walked the streets trying to settle my mind. Trying to work out what was different about our relationship, what was wrong with Delilah and me?
It was love at first sight. What a trite phrase that is, or so I always thought until I saw Delilah. I heard her before I saw her, heard that high bubbling laugh, that soft lilting accent, so musical compared to my flat Hull vowels. What a beauty. I knew she would be beautiful and when she turned and I saw her face I knew she was for me. But lately she had become distracted somehow. To be with me was suddenly not enough. We must always be with friends, her friends, be out and about. I could scarcely get her alone for a moment. Now I knew why.
‘I saw the Flickering shadow of love on her blind?
I could see clearly why she did not want to be alone with me. There was someone else who she was happy to spend time alone with. The shadows on the blind were two joined as one, frantic in their movements, clinging, gripping, tearing at each other then, falling out of sight.
‘She was my woman’,
that was agreed. She was mine forever, but forever, it seemed, was not a long time to her.
‘As she deceived me l watched and went out of my mind?’
My woman, my love, my life, Delilah. How could she do this to me? Why? I had given up a well-paid job down South to stay near her. Why? I didn’t see my own friends from one month to the next because they were too coarse for her. Why? I seldom went to see Mum. Mum said she was no good but I stood up for her. She didn’t know her like I did. Thought I did, Delilah.
‘Now I could see that girl was no good for me but I was lost like a slave that no man could free?
Lost in a maelstrom of doubts and fears, I ran from that place, ran to try to block from my mind that sight in the window, the vision of her imprinted on my brain. I was dead; the world had come to a screaming end in heat and panic. I wandered the dark streets but the streets were not as dark as the thoughts in my head.
‘At break of day when that man drove away I was waiting.’
She waved him off with the same smile she had once shared only with me. I crossed the street to her house and she opened the door. She looked surprised. For a moment the smile was gone, gone away with that stranger. Why was I there? Didn’t she have an early appointment? Didn’t she have a lot to do before then? I told her I knew, had seen and had watched. Then she laughed. I must be mistaken had I been drunk?
‘She stood there laughing, I felt the knife in my hand and she laughed no more.’
My knife, my Delilah, my love slipping away with her blood red on my hands. I heard voices in the street behind me, footsteps running. I closed the door and turned the key. She was light in my arms as I carried her up to her bedroom and laid her on the bed that had fulfilled and then shattered my dreams. Why? I arranged her slim form as if in sleep, that sleep that I would never know again. Why? I folded her arms, which once had circled my neck, across her breasts. Why, Delilah?
Names have power it is said. What power was there in the name of that biblical temptress, that deceiver, which caused a beautiful Welsh girl to become the mirror of her namesake? Her parents gave her everything they could, spared no efforts make her the angel they always wanted and she hated them for it. She longed to be free of their smothering love. And now she was free. Now she was an angel?
‘So, before they come to break down the down forgive me, Delilah, I just couldn’t take anymore.’
I cannot live with you nor can I without you. Wait for me, Delilah, I will come soon.
‘Forgive me, Delilah, I just couldn’t take any more.’