The Monologue from Bathsheba

The Monologue from Bathsheba

written and delivered by Ann Zarate

December 24, 2017

Imagine you have a crazy man in charge of your national government.

A man who volunteers to fight giants with sling shots and ends up becoming king. A man who sends the arc of the covenant away but after seeing the blessings it brings, demands it be brought back. A man who dances unclothed in the street and requires others to dance along with him.

Our king was crazy. Can you relate?

Now imagine servants arrive at your house and say the King of Israel has summoned you. Imagine he calls you to his castle, but not to the Great Hall. Imagine instead that the servants take you to his private chambers. Imagine them closing the door and leaving you alone with the most powerful man in the nation. Imagine he grabs you. Imagine he tells you to disrobe. Imagine what happens next.

Perhaps some women find advantage in having sex with powerful men. I am not one of them.

I also was not allowed to say no. For at a time when my worth as a woman could be measured in livestock, not only was I not a prophet or adviser, I wasn’t even considered part of the constituency. I was a woman. I was an object. So said the king when he bedded me that day.

No one says no to the king.

The king made a mistake, and I was that mistake. David was supposed to be at war, instead he was at home. He was supposed to take wives and concubines from the unwed, but instead he took me from Uriah. When I discovered he impregnated me, he should have owned up to what he did. Instead, he brought my husband home from war to lie with me to make it look like the child was his.

But my Uriah was a good man and he knew the rules - a leader never sleeps in his own bed if his men are still at war. So he returned to the battlefield not even having seen me let alone slept with me. Not that I was ready for sex - even with someone I loved - after what happened to me in the king’s chambers. And yes, I loved Uriah. Of course I was purchased at a handsome price, but like most arranged marriages, after time, two companions learn to love one another. And Uriah treated me tenderly, was faithful to God, and was respected on the battlefield.

Until he died. It was a foolish battle. The whole city talked about what a shame it was. They wondered at Joab’s strategery. I heard the whispers about why my husband wasn’t with the other generals instead of the infantry. About why my husband had gotten himself killed.

But Uriah’s death gave the king an opportunity. I was a poor, grieving, childless widow. I would have to go back to my father’s house. But David heroically took me into his home to be his wife.

I will never forget that day, walking back in the King’s home, back into his chambers... rape legitimized. I could have died.

Instead, my baby died. When my pregnancy was announced publicly, everyone rejoiced at my good fortune. Not only was I queen in the king’s court, but now I was a mother. Except my baby died. And David confessed to me that he believed God killed the baby to punish the king for what he did to me and Uriah. I lost my child, and my husband blamed God. I was living a nightmare.

But I navigated it like most women do. I learned the ways of the castle and the court. I listened through curtains to prophets and sages. And after learning how the powerful played, I found my voice. It was years later, but if I was going to be the object of the story than I was going to make certain that story was a good one. I could help the next generation be kinder, wiser, more faithful. If men were all that mattered, then I was going to make sure a good one was leading us. David owed me, and indeed by then, he loved me. So I made sure he knew what I wanted: my son to be king. The boy I had raised to do justice and love mercy would be a good king. Together my son and I imagined a new world, and he could bring it about. I knew it. I wanted that opportunity for him and for our country.

And for me. I wanted to avenge what had happened to me.

Power should never be justification for violence. I taught my son that. I hoped he would teach the nation. Because it happens all the time. I should know. I am the queen. The queen of Israel. And it happened to me, too. Me too, my son. Me, too.