As Craw once told me, some truths are so big, so far beyond our understanding, that the only way we can grasp them is through a myth. Sex is like that. It takes a poem to express the deeper truth of the experience, the part that goes beyond what we can see. Anatomical drawings and Latin terms couldn’t begin describe what I found between Sarah’s legs.
Before that night, some parts of the Song of Solomon didn’t make sense to me. Like this one:
My beloved put his hand by the hole of the door,
and my heart was moved for him.
I rose to open to my beloved,
and my hand dripped with myrrh,
and my fingers dripped with sweet smelling myrrh
upon the handles of the lock.
Now I knew what ol’ Solomon meant by “myrrh.” Sweet, indeed.
And so, on the banks of Leach Lake, I realized my life’s ambition to make love to a beautiful girl before the Rapture. What else was left for me?
To make love again. And again.
And again.
Tarry longer, O Lord.
THE END
IN MEMORY OF
MY GRANDPARENTS
For love is stronger than death.
Song of Solomon 8:6
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This novel is a retelling of the ancient Jewish tale of Tobias and Sarah (as found in the Book of Tobit), set in the world of my grandparents, who met and married in Texas during the Great Depression.
I love to hear from readers, so drop me a note at sam.torode@gmail.com.
—Sam Torode
Cover
Back Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
In Memory Of
Author’s Note