The field of cyber-archeology is both exciting and promising. As more and more ancient servers are being discovered and the contents translated, the more we are discovering about ancient customs and laws. In addition, we are discovering that many ancient tales had another side to the story. Here is an excerpt from the personal blog of Amnon, son of David.
. . . The thing I hated more than anything is how the palace virgins walked around, acting so virginal. Tamar was the worst of the lot. She was the original ice queen—remote, aloof . . . extraordinarily beautiful, I’ll give her that. But that was just the thing. You could tell, just by looking at her, that she knew what she was doing, knew the effect she was having, and that she liked it. She had to have liked it. If Jonadab told me once, he told me fifty times. “Oh, she knows, all right.”
You know how some women flirt with you by ignoring you completely? You know how some women think they have the right to ignore you completely? Oh, she pretended to be pious and dutiful. She pretended to be a thoughtful and obedient daughter of the king, but anybody who has been out in real society knows that it had to have been a sham, a pretense.
Jonadab said that he was doing her a favor as much as he was me. He is a cunning man, and he knows how the world works. “Look,” he said, “if she hadn’t wanted to be with you, why on earth would she have gone back into your bedroom? She wasn’t born yesterday,” he said.
The thing that really chafes me is that the story is circulating around the palace now is that I loved her, and then hated her. As though I were the fickle one. If my luck holds out, that will be the story that will go into the palace annals until some historian gets a hold of it. Typical man-bashing feminism.
Everything was fine until she started carrying on. She said that she had said no, which was technically true, I suppose. But I had been fully prepared to continue our relationship—until she started acting like the palace roof had collapsed. I know a trap when I see one. Before it happened, she even had the nerve to start talking about marriage. Marriage. I hardly even know her.
Look, life goes on. It has to go on. Tamar needs to grow up. She is not at all like her brother Absalom—he keeps his wits about him. I saw him a week afterward in the corridor outside the throne room. Do you know what he did? He came up and shook my hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.