David by
Michelangelo
“Wait a second, I don’t get it, you are telling me that he deserves it? Do you know who I am? I’m Michelangelo!” Michelangelo declared while flashing his capacities.
“Mike, I knew him, and I know he deserves this,” I replied in a defensive way.
“But,”—I interrupted— “Let me tell you his story,” I finished.
David. Just David was his name. No last name, no nothing. And just like not having a last name, he didn’t have anything else. Not everyone knew him and I bet people even questioned his existence. But let me tell you something, I met him, I knew him, he existed, and he was my friend. My
friend.
He wasn’t like everyone else, he had some sort of magical touch that enchanted everyone who crossed his way, including me. We used to live in a small Palestinian town, south of Jerusalem, called Bethlehem. I still can picture ourselves running barefoot across the streets, our feet ended up full of cuts and loose flesh, covered with a thin layer of adobe dust. That was our childhood, a pair of young boys holding hands staring up at
the sky searching for the Christmas Star.
As we grew up, our relationship started to loose apart. I ended up moving to the north part of Bethlehem, where I started working as a carpenter and married the most prepossessing and alluring woman, Emunah. As for David, he became a shepherd boy. Even though a thirty-
mile file of houses separated us, we still kept in touch.
One day, we went together for an adventure. David’s brother, Elijah, had notified him earlier that day that Prophet Samuel was looking for him. Everyone in the Jewish Community knew Samuel, he was known for creating Kings. As his friend, he told me to accompany him to Samuel’s
place, which was on top of the tallest hill in Bethlehem.
The herd was numerous, about one hundred sheep surrounded us. I was able to feel the fluff of their hairs touching my naked legs. I saw how they devour the rough pasture that grew on the fields. It took us around one day to arrive. I remember watching David entering a door frame covered in gold and emeralds, he had his shepherd’s crook in his right hand
and his stone sling attached to his leather belt. For some reason, I felt
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