He turned to face her after a lengthy silence and looked her up and down. “I didn’t want this,” he said, his tone irritated. “My father gave me no choice, but be very clear, I will marry the woman I want to marry and have my own children. If you think you can come into our family and kill my brother and then acquire a child from me, you are mistaken.”
Tamar took a step back and crossed her arms, shielding her heart, which now pounded in her chest. Were both brothers so cruel? “What of the law?” she asked softly, hoping her expression showed humility and not the disdain his words evoked in her.
“You care about the law?” He laughed. “All right then. Come.” He reached for her hand, which he had to pry from her clutched arms, and dragged her toward the bed she had shared with Er.
Light spilled through the sides of the tent where she had lifted them slightly, exposing more than secluding them. He shoved her onto the mat without removing her clothes. Like Er, he did not treat her with kindness but forced his way upon her.
Tamar closed her eyes, her cheeks heating with shame, silently begging the God of Judah to look on her with kindness. Let this time be enough to give her a child so she never had to endure this man again.
But when it came time for him to implant his seed within her, he pulled away and spilled it onto the dirt beside the pallet. His breath came fast as he knelt above her, laughing at her shocked look.
“What have you done?” she asked, feeling as though she were falling into some kind of abyss.
His hand connected with her mouth like his brother’s had, and she did not see it coming. She cried out and shielded her face, fearing another blow, but Onan stood and walked out of the tent, leaving her alone.
Tamar buried her head in the pillow and wept.
Judah drew a breath and at last felt the world would be kind to his family again. Onan and Tamar seemed to be doing well, though there was still no sign that she carried a child. Onan’s attitude had lifted from sullen to pleased, if Judah understood his son’s expressions, but Tamar’s eyes held a hollow sadness, perhaps even despair. Surely Onan treated the girl better than Er had.
He pondered that thought but did not let it linger as he walked beside the sheep where they fed in fertile fields. The rains had been plentiful and the crops and fields ripe in each season, in greater quantity than Judah had ever seen. He would make a hefty profit from the sale of the wheat and barley and the wool once they held their annual shearing.
He whistled a tune he had learned from his mother as he thought of the good things that had come to him even since Er’s death, though he would never get over the loss of his son. How did a father ever forget a child? He’d felt so blessed when the boy was born, and to lose him . . . he had never imagined such a thing could happen.
He looked up as Onan walked toward him, a smile on his tanned face. Did his son have news for him? Was Tamar finally with child?
“Father,” Onan said, using his staff to aid him. “I want you to give me some of the sheep and goats to start my own flock. If I’m to be a husband, I must also be able to care for my wife.”
And children? “Everything I have is yours already, Onan,” Judah said. “When I am gone, you and Shelah will share in my wealth. You know this. You have no need of it early. You have plenty to care for a wife and many children.”
“Tamar will not be having children. My next wife may, but Tamar will not.” Onan’s grin held a hint of menace, and Judah felt his knees weaken.
“What have you done?” he managed to say through a suddenly dry throat. He held his son’s gaze with a commanding one of his own.
Onan offered Judah a bold look that told him everything. In his mind, he was doing his “duty” by Tamar on behalf of Er, but he had no intention of giving her a child.
“What you are doing is wrong, my son. God will not be pleased with this disobedience. What is so wrong with giving Er an heir? The next child she has will be yours.” Judah had to make Onan see the sense in it all. Fear that this son was also angering God rose within him.
“I don’t care what your god thinks, Abba. I want to pick my own wife and have my own children. Nothing you say can change that.” He walked away, laughing.
Judah felt a sense of dread rush through him. Was Tamar a curse on his household that two of his sons should disdain her so? She was a beautiful young woman from a good family. Why couldn’t his sons have been content with that?
He turned back toward the sheep, catching Shelah’s gaze. His youngest was two years behind Onan, and Judah would have to find a wife for him in the next few years. He briefly thought of Yassib and his many daughters but quickly dismissed him. Tamar was difficult enough.
Was she the reason his sons treated her so poorly? Was he wrong to think her so innocent? Surely his sons were better men than that.
A scream pierced the air and reverberated through the field, causing the sheep to startle. Judah and Shelah used their staffs to keep them from running off in fear. The cry was like that of no animal Judah had ever heard before. And yet it didn’t sound entirely human either.
“What was that, Abba?” Shelah asked, coming closer. “Should we investigate?”
Judah looked in every direction. “Let’s take the sheep to the pens, then we can search.” He dared not risk hearing that sound again and sending the sheep into a panic. “Let’s hurry.”
Between the two of them—for Onan had left them to do the work—they managed to coax the sheep and goats to follow them back to the pens.
“You examine them and close them in,” Judah said to Shelah. “I’m going to see if I can find the animal lest it come and attack them when we are not here.”
Shelah nodded, and Judah trudged toward home in the direction of the sound, his staff holding him up as his thoughts whirled with Onan’s revelation. What could he do or say to make his son see that he needed to do what was right?
The midafternoon sun beat down on him as he walked, and he slowed his pace as he reached the copse of trees near his camp. Something lay among the underbrush, and as the light filtered through the branches, he saw the form of a man. He crept closer, recognizing the cloak, the sandals . . . the form of his son. Blood drained from his face as he drew close and turned his son onto his back, memories of doing the same for Er flashing through his mind.
Onan. With his mouth wide open as if he were still screaming, his eyes vacant and staring at something Judah could not see. Something that had terrified him? Had something scared him to death?
Judah looked around, high into the trees and through the low-hanging branches, but saw no movement, no animals prowling, as they were more apt to do at night. He looked again at the prone form of his second son, gone. Had God killed him, as Judah perceived He had killed Er? Or was Tamar really the one to blame? Was the woman cursed?
Confusion and grief engulfed him, and he bent, weeping, over his son. At last he lifted Onan’s body into his arms and carried him home. The crowds would come, and the boy would be laid to rest in the same cave as his brother.
How could he bear it?
As he entered the camp, he glimpsed Tamar standing at the door of her tent, watching him. He could not see her expression, but his heart beat faster as he grappled with another grief linked to this woman. How could he ever give Shelah to her? He could lose all of his sons and gain nothing but a widow to care for.