by David Sisler

I was enjoying the solitude of my room, when something broke my concentration. I walked to the window, opened it, and leaned out. The source of my disturbance was a young man, 17 years old, and woman, at least ten years older than that.

It was twilight, and the darkness was growing. Soon it would be black outside, as black as the wickedness that threatened to swallow him. Even in the gathering night, I knew him, that tousled head of hair, broad, strong shoulders, confident walk. I knew he was naive. He was a smart boy, he just lacked good common sense, this young man, my grandson.

I watched as he glanced across the street and saw "her" standing there. Bold as brass, he marched across to where she was standing. It was her corner. When her husband was out of town, she met men there, and took them to her bed.

She was dressed the part, there was no mistaking the purpose that brought her out. And her heart was clothed with subtlety, hardened against righteousness, hardened to everything but her own pleasure. Looking out of my window, I saw this.

This woman was a painted ambush. Like a hunter, she laid her traps. Like a general, she plotted her campaign. And her target was my grandson.

When he got within striking distance, the beautiful adder uncoiled and struck. Her appeal was strong, he had little chance of resisting her, this foolish, foolish boy. She pressed up against him, her movements urgent, her voice persistent. Her every movement was calculated to draw him deeper into her trap. I saw all of this.

She ran her painted finger nails over his soft cheek. A boy's cheek that had not yet felt the sting of a razor, now felt the barb of her claws. She slipped her hand behind his head and pulled her close to him, her lips inviting, her body slinking closer to him. And then she struck. Her lips played on his cheeks, her tongue darted, tasting, teasing, seducing. Her face was hard now, its beauty hidden by her lust. Even a blind man could have seen what she was doing.

"You don't know how many men have walked by here, pestering me," she said. "They all wanted me, but I wanted you. I have been looking up and down the street, hoping you would soon pass by here. I recognized your walk, so confident and strong. Even in the fading light, your eyes sparkled with life, your face radiated such poise!"

I heard her flattery. I knew it was a trap. But her victim thought she meant those words.

"I have put a luxurious cover on the bed," she said. "When you it draw back and expose the cool sheets beneath, you will smell the sweetest perfume. I had it imported just for you."

I knew by his posture that the boy was completely fooled by her. From my window, I could see this.

"My husband left this morning on a business trip, with enough money to be gone for a long time" she said. "We can make love all night and wake up in each other's arms in the morning. Nothing can stop us. Nothing can quench the fire that is burning in my heart for you."

It was as if she had slipped a golden ring through his nose and led him away, bound with silk. He was a lamb, bound for the slaughter. He was a bird, about to be imprisoned, not understanding that there could be no escape. I saw all of that.

He did not have the faintest hint of what was happening to him. He did not understand that her passion would smother the life from him. Oh, his heart would continue to beat, but inside, where my grandson really lived, would be dead. This seductress would snatch his life away.

From my window, I looked.

From my window, I saw.

From my window, I watched.

From my window, I kept silent as she led him to destruction.

You have just read my version of Proverbs 7:6-23, written by reading between the lines. The original story was penned by Solomon, King of Israel, a man renowned for his wisdom. But like so many of us, when seeing disaster prowling, a victim about to be overcome, he only watched. He knew the young man would be destroyed by the course of action he was about to undertake. He even used him as a proverbial bad example to teach others. But when he had the opportunity to shout a warning, he kept silent, and a young man was destroyed. Solomon has many relatives. Too many.


Published in the Augusta Chronicle 5/23/98

Copyright 1998 by David Sisler. All Rights Reserved.

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