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Summary
Sha’ul laughs dryly. “Well, I suppose it’s worth saying if only to see the look on your face, my boy. I’ve spoken with Samuel the prophet and he has appointed me king of Yisrael.”
The steady thump of fresh dough on hard wood that had underscored their conversation comes to a halt. Yehonatan doesn’t notice: a buzzing in his ears has risen to cover all other noise or lack thereof. Sha’ul speaks again, or at least his mouth moves, but his words are drowned out by a thousand invisible insects suddenly filling the room.
King, he thinks he says. He doesn’t know if the words make it out, but Sha’ul seems to understand, and nods. Of all Yisrael, he tries. Sha’ul nods again.
Yehonatan stares into his own eyes, duplicated in his father’s face. He’s going to be king, he thinks, and so, therefore, I’m going to be king.
***
Yehonatan ben Sha’ul is normal, but that's sure to change.