Short Fiction by Aleksandr Kuprin (nonfiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

“O, gaze not upon me!” implores Sulamith. “Thine eyes stir me.”

But of her own accord she bends backward and lays her head upon Solomon’s breast. Her lips glow over the gleaming teeth, her eyelids tremble with intense desire. Solomon’s lips cling greedily to her enticing mouth. He feels the flame of her lips and the slipperiness of her teeth, and the sweet moistness of her tongue; and he is all consumed of an unbearable desire, such as he has never yet known in his life.

Thus passes one minute; then two.

“What dost thou with me!” says Sulamith faintly, closing her eyes.

But Solomon passionately whispers near her very mouth:

“Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb; honey and milk are under thy tongue.⁠ ⁠… O, come away with me, speedily. Here, behind the wall, it is dark and cool. None shall see us. The green is soft here underneath the cedars.”

“Nay, nay, leave me. I desire it not, I can not.”

“Sulamith⁠ ⁠… thou dost desire it, thou dost desire it.⁠ ⁠… Come to me, my sister, my beloved!”

Someone’s steps resound below, upon the highway, below the wall of the vineyard, but Solomon detains the frightened girl by her hand.

“Tell me, quickly⁠—where dwellest thou? This night shall I come to thee,” he is hurriedly saying.

“Nay, nay, nay⁠ ⁠… I shall not tell thee this. Let me go. I shall not tell thee.”

“I shall not let thee go, Sulamith, till thou dost tell.⁠ ⁠… My desire is unto thee!”

“It is well, I shall tell thee.⁠ ⁠… But first promise not to come this night.⁠ ⁠… Also, come thou not the following night⁠ ⁠… nor the night after that⁠ ⁠… My king! I charge thee by the roes and the hinds of the field, that thou stir not up thy beloved till she please!”

“Yea, I pledge thee this.⁠ ⁠… Where is thy dwelling, Sulamith?”

“If on the way to the city thou dost pass over the Kidron, upon the bridge above Siloam, thou shalt see our dwelling nigh the spring. There are no other dwellings there.”

“And which is thy window there, Sulamith?”

“Why shouldst thou know this, beloved? O, gaze not thus upon me. Thy gaze casts a spell over me.⁠ ⁠… Do not kiss me.⁠ ⁠… Beloved! Kiss me again.⁠ ⁠…”

“But which is thy window, my only one?”

“The window on the south side. Ah, I must not tell thee this.⁠ ⁠… A small, high window with a lattice.”

“And doth the lattice open from within?”

“Nay, it is a fixed window. But around the corner is a door. It leads directly into the room where I sleep with my sister. But thou hast promised me!⁠ ⁠… My sister sleeps lightly. O, how fair art thou, my beloved! Truly, hast thou not promised?”

Solomon quietly smoothes her hair and cheeks.

“I shall come to thee this night,” he says insistently. “At midnight I shall come. Thus, thus shall it be. I desire it.”

“Beloved!”

“Nay. Thou shalt await me. But have no fear, and put thy trust in me. I shall cause thee no grief. I shall give thee such joy compared with which all things upon earth are without significance. Now farewell. I hear them coming after me.”

“Farewell, my beloved⁠ ⁠… O, nay, go not yet! Tell me thy name⁠—I know it not.”

For a moment, as though undecided, he lowers his lashes, but immediately raises them again.

“The King and I have the same name. I am called Solomon. Farewell. I love thee.”

Radiant and joyous was Solomon upon this day, as he sat upon his throne in the hall of the House at Lebanon and meted out justice to the people who came before him.

Forty columns, four in a row, supported the ceiling of the Hall of Judgment, and they were all faced with cedar and terminated in capitals in the form of lilies; the floor consisted of cypress boards, all of a piece; nor was the stone upon the walls to be seen anywhere for the cedar finish, ornamented with gold carving, showing palms, pineapples, and cherubim. In the depth of the hall, with its triple-tiered windows, six steps led up to the elevation of the throne, and upon each step stood two bronze lions, one on each side. The throne itself was of ivory with gold incrustation and with elbow-rests of gold, in the form of recumbent lions. The high back of the throne was surmounted by a golden disc. Curtains of violet and purple stuffs hung from the ceiling down to the floor at the entrance to the hall, dividing off the entry, where between the columns thronged the plaintiffs, supplicants, and witnesses, as well as the accused and the criminals under a strong guard.

The king had on a red chiton, while upon his head was a simple, narrow crown of sixty beryls, set in gold. At his right hand stood the throne for his mother, Bathsheba; but of late, owing to her declining years, she rarely showed herself in the city.

The Assyrian guests, with austere, black-bearded faces, were seated along the walls upon benches of jasper; they had on garments of a light olive colour, broidered at the edges with designs of red and white. While still at home, in their native Assyria, they had heard so much of the justice of Solomon that they tried to let no single word of his slip by, in order to tell later of the judgment of the King of the Israelites. Among them sat the commanders of Solomon’s armies, his ministers, the governors of his provinces, and his courtiers. Here was Benaiah, at one time executioner to the king; the slayer of Joab, Adonijah, and Shimei⁠—a short, corpulent old man, with a sparse, long, gray beard; his faded, bluish eyes, rimmed by red lids that seemed turned inside out, had a look of senile dullness; his mouth was open and moist, while his fleshy, red lower lip drooped down impotently, and was slightly trembling. Here also were Azariah, the son of Nathan⁠—a jaundiced, tall man, with a lean, sickly face and dark rings under his eyes; and the