Chapter Eight
T
he laughter of girls? It came to him on the wisp of a breeze. It was faint but if he listened carefully, Yes! There it is again! As certain as someone calling him, beckoning him, he followed the sound. Light spirited, pleasant laughter has its own appeal. It lifts the heart. It raises anticipation. Especially feminine laughter. Especially to a virile young man of thirty who had spent most of his life in the wilderness alone. As he stepped along the grass, around the rocks, through the trees, the laughter grew louder, happy girlish voices. He could hear the splash of water. The ground littered with the familiar black spots of fallen olives. It was then that he realized he was standing in an olive grove. The earth beneath him fell away into a downward slope. He knew it led to the river.
The river. He spent so much of his time near the river. It was his source of nourishment. He often fished it's waters. More often, he bathed there. Now as he stood among the olives, he saw four lovely maidens doing the same. They were naked as the day they were born.
When first he saw them, he averted his eyes and turned to retreat. Leave them their privacy, their innocence, but he could not. It was as if an unseen force turned his head and caused his eyes to gaze upon their stunning nudity. How is it, thought he, had God so fashioned the feminine form to be the most elegant and exquisite expression of natural beauty? In creating her, he must have exhausted his creative resources. Why might he have done that? If sexual feelings are so wicked, so evil, how is it that the Creator himself formed their compulsion? How is it that the masterpiece of God’s creative genius is the very epicenter of sexual provocation? He knew that there is no satisfactory answer to this question. Apart from his devotion to God itself, never had he felt such compulsion. His feet refused to move. He felt as though he were invading something intimate and precious. Guilt and a sense of twisted shame disturbed him, but he could not move. He could no longer avert his eyes and as he watched, he felt blood surge in his loins. When this happened, the shame was palpable, unbearable. But he stood transfixed to the scene before him, unable to arrest shameful feelings, unable to stop his shameful behavior.
