Clay inscription from the 2nd day of the month of Cheshvan, the first quarter in the season of rain:
To be paid to the Midianite by the name of Asak son of Asha, the wool trader, for the reliable transportation of one passenger. The journey is towards Qantara in the Southern Route [as go as far as Edfu if necessary]. Forward payment of forty silver shekels has been paid on the 21st of Cheshvan with an additional sixty shekels to be paid when the transition is complete.
All additional costs will be reimbursed at the time of return.
A-A-A
Parchment confirmation delivered on the 27th day of Shebat, the last quarter in the season of rain:
Passenger has been delivered safely to the house of the Chief Steward of the Pharoah, may he live long and reign well. Witness the stamp of his excellency's signet ring upon this parchment verifying the task has been completed. Full payment has been received and the amount totaled is one hundred shekels [no reimbursement necessary].
Good fate and fortune to the Canaanite who has put bountiful bread into my basket.
Signed,
Asak son of Asha
A-A-A
Take heed, for what you are about to hear is a tale whispered in the wind. It is but one life's strand woven into the eternal tapestry of the Maker's handiwork.
I know the tale of the dreamer who owned a pretty coat. He was the man who had eleven warriors for brothers and a protective father who wrestled with angels. He was the slave who became a prince. The stranger who became friend. The outcast who became a hero. Who am I to know such things? One who saw his journey through another's eyes.
I have kept my story safe and secure within my heart all these years. I did not wish to flaunt it like wares in the market or parade it in the streets for all to see. No, better that my will be stronger than my pride and the secret be concealed as a precious gem is concealed from all prowling eyes.
For I have witnessed what pride can do to men and women alike. It can turn a vibrant heart into stone. It can make liars and thieves out of the most pious people. It can tear the soul out of a kindly person, leaving nothing but a withered shell behind.
I did not want pride to poison my soul and make me bitter until death claimed me. Nor do I wish these words to be turned against my beloved family. That is why I have shielded it for all of my days…until know.
It is enough that my lover's story shines for both of us on earth. I am content to rest by his side beneath the grace of the Almighty God, blessed be His name for eternity.
But if you did wish to know what happened, I welcome you to proceed forward. For I was there even before I knew why I was there. I had yet to learn what was meant to me.
A king would write these words after my lifetime, "To everything there is a season, and time for every purpose beneath the Heavens."
This is the tale of how Joseph and I found each other, time and time again, under the Heavens.
A-A-A
"Blessed are You, Hashem our God, King of the world, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this time." -Shehechiyanu prayer, Artscroll siddur
A-A-A
I was raised as the ward of his excellency Potiphar, chief steward of the Pharoah who reigned in the blessed region of the Upper Kingdom of Egypt. My guardian waited until I had turned six and was old enough to grasp the truth of my existence.
"My excellent wife was barren for many years," Potiphar had told me. "Though we had prayed relentlessly to the gods for intervention. Just when we thought our bloodline would end, a Midianite caravan halted at the estate to sell wares. Many times before they had crossed our path with useful goods but this time we found new cargo.
"The merchant's niece held a swaddled baby girl in her arms. Her uncle informed us that he had been tasked to deliver this child into a suitable house who served well in the Pharaoh's court. He added that the child's patron, a man of noble but discreet lineage, had paid him well for her transportation. She was sure to bless the household that would take her in.
My caravan blanket was immediately burned; its memory dissolved into history's ashes. But twined around my right ankle was a metal amulet. The design was uncommon to Egyptian craftsmen and Potiphar's scribes could not identify the square-shaped letters engraved upon the inner plate.
Potiphar was bewildered by the peculiar ornament, but his wife Zulekia suggested it was an omen.
"Neith is the goddess of fate, rivers, and childbirth", she told him. "We cannot grasp all of her meanings, only read them in her signs and symbols. We serve her best accepting her blessings with gratitude. Is it not enough she has sent us a child to grace our home which rests comfortably against the majestic Nile?"
Thus, with the sacred blessings of revered Neith, I was named Asenath. I recognized her face upon the estate walls, a dignified woman who bound her black hair with a crimson thread and wore the red crown of the Lower Kingdom on her splendid head. In some of these paintings she wore a matching red dress while in others she held a bow and arrow in her hands. All of them left me not a little trembling in awe at my patroness.
The amulet was placed in a box and set upon a high shelf where my curious tiny hands could not break it. A wet-nurse was summoned and Zulekia laughed at the silly puckered expressions I made whenever I was ready to suckle for milk.
Potiphar left my rearing to both women and left the room, though not without giving me a small pat on the head. He was a strict guardian who seldom gave affection save for anyone but his wife. I confess I was often intimidated by him. He had a harsh square face with blunt cheekbones and fierce black eyes that read any man, be he noble or slave, with uttermost scrutiny. Whenever he spoke to me, I grew meek beneath his gaze.
But Potiphar was not a cruel man and I was grateful to him. Thanks to him I had a strong roof over my head to shield it from the sun, bread and sweet ripe fruit upon my plate, and proper bed to sleep in every night. I was reminded of his generosity every day and praised him before I slept at night.
Here I dwelled at the estate from a toothless baby to a girl on the cusp of womanhood.
Here is where my life thread first crossed with his thread.
A-A-A
I was eleven years old when I first saw him.
It was going to be a fine clear day. The sun had risen as a fine red gem and dyed the sky with gold and crimson against a deep blue sky. A strong fresh breeze blew in from the curtains and stirred energy into my young limbs.
"Hold still," my nurse Weret chastised me. She had just plaited my hair to keep it from blowing in my face and was inspecting me to make sure the contents of my mouth were all accounted for. My milk teeth had all just fallen out but my chest had not yet begun to bloom.
She sighed in disappointment. "I was hoping you'd become a woman sooner."
"Why sooner?" I asked.
"Why? Why?" Weret threw up her arms in disbelief. "Child, you ask too many questions! Now go into the courtyard and wait for your lady."
"Yes, Weret." I threw my arms around her and gave her a kiss before skipping down the stairs and out to the courtyard.
The estate lay on the outskirts of Denderah, two days north of the Pharaoh's capital at Thebes. The location was appropriate for Potiphar who could board a sailboat whenever summoned at Pharoah's command and return before the week was out. Or if he had business to conduct along the way, a steed and escorts were summoned to take him by land. He seldom stayed away more than seven days at a time as much instruction was required to keep the estate running.
The Nile River had already flooded and receded, leaving the gift of rich black soil upon our fields. It would take many slaves to till the earth, plant the seeds, and reap the harvest. For wheat and barley were the staples of our lives and we could not live without bread and beer.
Already I could smell bread baking from across the courtyard and hoped Weret would save a cake or two from the new loaves for me. Already the slaves were toiling in the fields. I had seen them last week, the old and the new, bringing tools to till the land. And I recall when the new ones had been brought outside the courtyard for cleaning.
The day a new hand arrived at the estate was the day we owned their blood and flesh. Even the lice clinging to their bodies was ours to be stamped out. No slave could pass more than two steps across our threshold for the first time without being scrubbed within an inch of his life. It was more for our sakes than theirs; Potiphar would not tolerate any outsider's disease spreading to the rest of the household. It was an abomination to him.
They would be scoured with water and sand, their old clothes burned, and their heads sheared. Then the mute sentient beings would go about their business to till the soil, pour water, scrub our steps, and prepare our food.
Zulekia had not yet come out so I sat around the remains of the old well to wait for her. It had lay in decay for decades and high reeds grew around the ramble stones that once formed the well's base. I used to hide and play in the reeds until I found a never-ending swarming nest of flies spiraling from within. Potiphar kept mentioning he wanted to clear the old well and pave the grounds for an improved garden, but we seldom seemed to have the proper hands or architect that he wanted.
A woman's voice chastised me. "Asenath, come away from that well at once."
Zulekia had just stepped outside, escorted by a slave holding a fan and two of her handmaidens. They were in white linen dresses with green sashes; her own dress was of a coral material and belted with an embroidered sash. The curls of her wig were clasped on both sides with gold tassels. The style suited her well-cut features and as did the pale-green powder painted on the lids of her almond-shaped eyes.
In my eyes she was formed in the image of Hathor, the goddess of beauty. As she approached, I straightened from my place and bowed to her. "Yes, my lady. I only through to take shade in the weeds."
"Better to take shade elsewhere. Those gnats could tear you to pieces," she cautioned me. Zulekia merely lifted a finger in the air and I fell in line beside her but before the handmaidens.
They started to giggle. I detested giggling. It meant others hid their amusements with me.
I trailed alongside Zulekia as we followed the narrow path down the side of the estate and into the awnings that oversaw the fields. She and her husband shared the duties of running estate and her shrewd eye was attentive to the property. Though she enjoyed the comforts and security of her life as a noblewoman, Zulekia was well-aware that the profits of the estate provided her with fine robes, warm baths, and many hands to carry out mundane chores.
"There." She lifted up a wooden rod and pointed eastward. "Do you see where the field corners withered last year? We had to expand the barley ten more lines on the other side to compensate for its losses."
I put my hand to my eyes and squinted to where she had pointed. The barley sheaves had stood upright as tan sentinels before us but with the breeze blowing around our skirts, the sheaves began to sway and swoon though they were prostrating to us.
"Will it take long to harvest?" I asked her.
"Yes. But with the new hands in the fields, it should be completed before the season's end."
As we drew closer, I could see six men with sickles slashing through the barley. Another six men rushed forward to bind it up and eight more were already hoisting the bundles over their shoulders and tossing them into a cart. A narrow ditch separated them the men from the cart, so they had to step over it or toss the bundles into the cart using two men at a time.
Zulekia told us it was time to move on. We hadn't gone more than five paces when I heard the rhythm of labor interrupted by the odd sound of something clattering against wood and then earth. The overseer Manu was roaring but that was nothing new; he yelled as often as he drank.
"Idiot!" I heard him say. "On your feet, foolish brat!"
I turned around just to see the slave scrambling out of the ditch and back onto the path. He was dusting himself off and mumbling to Manu but the overseer would have none of it. He butted the slave's chest with the handle of his whip and the youth staggered back several paces. It had moved him into our line of focus so that we could see him if we wanted to. But Zulekia barely took notice of him. Her handmaidens snickered again.
Had I known at that moment what he would transform into for years to come, I would have chortled in disbelief. I would never have believed that this slim youth was anything more than what he appeared to be. He looked pathetic.
His hair had been poorly shingled by the servants. Now it was stuck in odd clumps all over his head that poked up different directions and reminded me of poorly stacked wheat with its burnished copper color. The sun had left angry red patches all over his shoulders and neck where its merciless rays had beaten down upon his skin. His limbs were gangly and his shoulders pointed; he was but a youth.
"Now do it all over again! You'll drag in five bundles for every one you drop. I don't care if it takes you all week," growled Manu. The slave hastily gathered another bundle of barley and followed the others.
One of the slaves sniggered and lobbed a ball of silt at the back of the youth's head. It hit his left shoulder, rather than the intended target, but it did cause him to stumble again and nearly drop his load again. More tittering amusement broke out but his attention was all upon his work as he carried the heavy grain, uninterested in the black splotch upon his skin.
That night I was summoned to dine with Potiphar and Zulekia. It was a privilege to do so and I was cautious to mind myself when at their table. The cook had produced a delicious roast goose but he spiced our vegetables with too much coriander for my sensitive tongue. I managed to slip a few pieces of cucumber under a piece of flatbread without being noticed and then sipped from my cup to wash out the hot taste of spice. I also listened to Potiphar discuss Pharoah's latest military campaign in Ismailia while Zulekia nodded affermatively and put in a good word or two.
"I understand the barley is coming in well," he said at last.
"Let us hope so. Last we nearly lost a quarter of it in the rot."
He nodded. "Such is the way of things at times. This estate has a life of its own and wishes to grow. We must channel its living energy as well as the gods guide us." He took a sip from his cup just as Manu entered the room. He bowed stiffly before informing my guardians that the laborers were done and would continue on schedule tomorrow.
"No troubles today?" asked Potiphar.
"Just one pesky youth," Manu informed him. "He feigns ignorance to avoid homage. That accursed Semite will be cleaning the courtyard tonight as punishment."
I watched Potiphar's fingers drum on the table. "Laziness will not be tolerated. I hope you told him that."
"Aye, master. And I'll tell him again before I retire tonight."
"Good. Now what's this about 'avoiding homage'?"
Manu let out a huff. "I do not wish to vex you, master. But he refused to bow to Amun-Ra!"
Amun-Ra was the god of life-force itself. His statue was the first one saw when entering the estate, as he was the supreme leader of life and the embodiment of strength in the universe. To refuse to bow to him was a desecration of the highest order and the lowest insult to Egyptians.
Zulekia placed her own cup upon the table with a small clack. "And why not?" she inquired.
The overseer shrugged his shoulders. "Stubborn Semite. He insists that he must serve his god!" declared Manu. "It took four of us to bring him to his knees before Amun-Ra but he would not part his lips to say the prayers."
I let out a gasp, causing all three adults to stare at me. I felt the tip of my nose grow hot and bowed my head in shame. Manu gestured to me. "See? Such disobedience even distresses your ward."
I only gasped because I was astonished. But I did not contradict Manu.
"Was he flogged?"
"Yes. And I withheld his ration," Manu said. "I thought it best to wait until his belly is empty. Hunger will drive him back to Amun-Ra."
"I don't want to lose such a recent purchase," Potiphar cautioned Manu. "Give him a half ration before the day is out."
"Yes, my lord." Manu bid us all good evening and departed.
After he had left the room, Zulekia glanced at Potiphar. "Husband, is it wise to show mercy to one so wicked?"
"I do not consider half a day's ration and a night of labor to be merciful," was the response.
Potiphar then turned to me and fixed his full gaze upon my eyes. "Let this be a lesson for you, Asenath. When you say you are going to do a thing, let all hands of the house know that you will do it and your word will be respected."
"Yes, sir."
I quietly finished eating and remained there until Weret came to bring me to my bedroom.
That night, just before I went to bed, I stuck my head out of the window and peered into the courtyard. A shadowy figure was moving back and forth as a crane flying low over the Nile. The Semite did not see me watching him nor did I speak out to him. My own head was raised above his own; neither of us could lift our eyes to each other.
I put my head back into the room and then gave my silent thanks to my guardians. I remembered my evening prayers to Amun-Ra for his divine protection and for Neith to guide my fate. Then I got into bed and feel asleep. I had no dreams of the Semite or my guardians. My thoughts were silent as the desert and dark as night itself whenever I slept.
Let others have the blessing and curses of dreams. I do better without them.
A-A-A
"Hail to thee, Amun-Ra! Lord of the thrones of the two lands
Thou who dwellest in the sanctuary of Karnak.
Bull of his mother, he who dwelleth in his fields
Wide-ranging in the Land of the South"
-Hymn to Amun-Ra
A-A-A
I seldom approached Potiphar without permission but this time I asked him, if I had found favor in his eyes, to come inspect the courtyard. His eyes widened slightly in surprise when he saw the results but he said nothing. Zulekia, on the other hand, gasped as I did the evening before.
The courtyard had been swept immaculately with a neatness that rivaled our inner hall. The earth was smooth as a polished floor. You could have walked upon it without a pebble touching the sole of your foot. Every single weed inside the old well had been pulled out and now it was clean as the bottom of a new pot. It would have taken a grown man at least three nights to do this.
Potiphar summoned Manu and lavished high compliments upon him for getting extra hands to finish the task so early in the morning. Mau's puffed-up chest deflated when he heard the praise. "I would take credit for such a thing if it was by my hand, my lord. But it was the Semite who did all of this work last night."
"Bring him here," Potiphar commanded.
"But wash him first," Zulekia added.
We sat in the great hall, both of them in ornate chairs while I sat on a side bench shoved against the wall. I had to clench my hands to contain my curiosity. I needed not wait long for soon Manu returned with the Semite trailing. They had put a fresh kilt around his waist and scrubbed his feet and arms. But I saw his hair was unruly as ever.
Coming closer, he bowed deeply and kept his eyes on the ground.
"Rise," my guardian commanded. The slave stood upright but kept his neck inclined downward.
"Lift your eyes so that your master may see you."
He did as told. The three of us observed his features.
The slave was lean and hard, of average height, with face of eerie resolution. In this was face a high clear forehead above a straight long nose. The rest of his face held the steadfast lines and curves I had only seen carved into the liking of statues in the temple. But there was a softness in his cheeks and mouth that still hinted to the childhood that clung to him. I had thought him at least nineteen, barely twenty at the time.
It was a wonder he was still standing on his feet after toiling all night.
On closer inspection one could see the peculiar color of his Semite eyes. They reminded me of the sky at that brief moment just when the sun goes down, but the moon has not yet claimed the heavens. It was that remarkable shade of blue that one could not help but be in wonder when encountering him for the first time.
"Come closer," the master said.
He winced as though the words had come from a whip. But he came forward and lowered his head. Yet in that moment, one noticed how the action did not come automatically to him. It was as though the mere motion brought him discomfort and he was doing all he could to suppress it.
"Did you sweep the courtyard and clear out the old well all by yourself?"
There was a pause before he spoke. And when he did, there was a trill in his voice shadowed with the dust of sorrow. "Yes, my lord."
"All in one night?"
There was further silence. "Yes, my lord."
"Without sleep," Potiphar pressed on.
The youth fidgeted. "I had no need for rest last night."
"How many years have you seen?"
"Seventeen, my lord."
"Seventeen," he repeated. "It's a wonder you haven't snapped in two yet. This is much work for a child."
"But adequate for a young man," Zulekia countered.
Potiphar's fingertips pressed against the sides of his chair as he leaned back slightly. "What do they call you? And who are your people?" he demanded.
The youth drew in a breath and released it before speaking again, as though the questions chaffed his skin.
"My name is Joseph, my lord. My people dwell in the land of Canaan."
The accented pronunciation of his birth name was thick and burred in my ears. I watched Potiphar rub a palm over his jawline before continuing with his questions. "How came you here?"
"From your benevolent hands that purchased me in Badari."
"I meant how you came from Canaan to Egypt," the master repeated.
"By the Ishmaelite trade route through the desert of Sinai."
He made a humming sound in the back of his throat. Zulekia and I both had our eyes upon Potipher, who was examining Joseph with great scrutiny.
Potiphar finally said, "I will instruct Manu to alter your work. From now on you will continue cleaning the courtyards, Joseph. Have them swept daily and continue pulling out the weeds wherever you see them. Then you will water all of the plants around the house and set out jugs and pitchers wherever they are needed."
"Yes, master. Will there be anything else you require?"
"No, that is all." Potiphar gave a sharp flick of his hand, indicating Joseph was to leave the room.
"No need to be vexed," he said before Zulekia could protest. "It is more labor for him, only better suited to our needs. Besides, this 'Joseph' has surprisingly good manners for a Semite. It is likely he has been trained to speak courteously."
"I hope his hands serve as well as his speech," she grumbled.
A-A-A
Zulekia begrudgingly allowed the Semite to work closer to our house. Within weeks the cherished estate was looking better than ever.
The rooms glistened like fine alabaster from Joseph's hand and not a speck of dirt escaped the courtyards. His hands polished the floors for hours until they glowed with soft pearly light. Once I saw him holding a pair of shears in his hands while he spoke to Manu. Within days Joseph was setting bowls of flowers in the doorways of every room and their perfume greeted us wherever we went. He would water them without delay and knew to replace them with fresh flowers whenever the old ones began to droop.
"I'm impressed," said Potiphar to the Manu. "Has he any other talents to be discovered?"
"One of the handmaids noticed him admiring the wall writings. He says he understands some letters and numerals," declared Manu. "But perhaps he boasts."
"Put a pen in his hand and we will test this theory."
Here was a new lesson for us: Joseph did not boast.
A-A-A
Three months later:
"Osiris."
I willed myself to conjure up the picture in my head. "The lord of death who bears two staffs between his green hands," I said at last.
"Correct. What was Seth to him?"
This took further thinking. I plumbed the depths of my child's mind to recall the thread linking he of the beast's head to Osiris. "His brother and murderer," answered I. "The god of chaos who bears a jackal's head."
"Well done. Who fought Seth and lost?
"Horus, blessed be he of the sky and victory. He lost his eye to…to…" Here I stumbled in my studies.
Zulekia gave me a sharp look. "Ibis," she hinted for me.
"Oh, yes. Thoth!" I finished triumphantly. "Thoth of inscriptions and writings, blessed be the god who healed the eye of Horus."
"Satisfactory," was Zulekia's pronunciation. "But you must continue practicing."
"Yes, my lady."
I enjoyed these lessons because I liked to hear the stories of the gods and imagine them in their brilliant shining colors performing their great deeds. But my reverence for them was limited. In my mind they were characters in a story first, gods second. I dared not speak these thoughts aloud lest Potiphar brand me a blasphemer. And I knew Zulekia was already displeased to have one heretic in her household.
But learn them I did, which pleased Zulekia and earned me a polite nod from my patron whenever she had me recite my lessons for Potiphar.
While she examined the estate's accountings, I was permitted to stay in the room and sort shards of pottery into different baskets. The larger ones could be used for tallies and at the smaller ones used for counting sums. I would have preferred to be sorting flowers or shiny pebbles but this was a task found useful around the house and kept my meddling fingers preoccupied.
"Hmmph." She dropped her reed pen and rose from the table. "It must be witchcraft. How else could that Semite have gotten so much barely counted for in the season?"
I looked up from my task. It had been but three months and already Joseph was making rapid progress with his master. Aside from his household chores, he could count forty bushels of grain and mark them all down without errors. Any surplus grain could be sold off for a good profit and invested back into the estate, which also was penned down upon our records for future use.
So helpful was Joseph's hand in all of this that he had been given a tiny room at the top of the house where he could work on the tallies in the evening. He even had a woven mat so he could sleep there instead of crammed into a dusty back room with the other slaves.
"Perhaps it is Thoth who blesses him," I suggested.
"But he does not praise Thoth," she remarked. "He obstinately clings to his ancient traditions."
No sooner did she speak Joseph had appeared at the door, staggering under the weight of two baskets and a tray. Here he entered and silently set out cups of beer and fig cakes for us and a potted plant to adorn the threshold. Zulekia turned her attention back to her writing and barely paid notice until he was about to put the plant upon the nearby pedestal.
"Not here, slave." Zulekia pointed with a finger. "Over there."
He nodded and without a word, arranged the pot upon the second pedestal. I thought this odd because the plant would get less sunlight further away from the window. If Joseph saw any error in this, he did not speak of it. He had also brought a jug of water and I watched him empty it into the pot without spilling a single drop.
Joseph took no notice of me. He turned to Zulekia and bowed. "The daily tasks are completed, my lady. What else may I do?"
"Nothing." She barely looked up from her lists. "Go."
"My lady?"
Zulekia breathed out sharply. She lifted her head up but a fraction to him.
"I have noticed the back room has amassed some discarded furniture. With your permission, may I split it for kindling?" asked Joseph softly.
"No, you may not," was her curt reply. "Go to Manu. He will do it."
"He is asleep."
Zulekia slammed a hand upon the table. "Then go stand on your head or stand in the river, slave!" she shouted. "But go and be silent!"
He whipped out as fast as a falcon. The room was silent save for the soft rustle of the plant's leaves. I drew breath at last when Zulekia spoke to me in her usual formal but cordial tone.
"Asenath, sort out this pottery or else go play in the garden."
I made haste by gathering my skirts and rushing outside, all the while wondering what Joseph would do now. If he stands in the river then likely he will come out of it carrying two fish in each hand, I thought. And I laughed to myself to forget the sting of Zulekia's shout.
That night I asked Weret, "What do you think this God of Joseph looks like?"
"Such questions!" she declared, undressing me for bed. "If one such as that exists, it is no stronger than a puff of smoke. Must be a poor deity indeed. What god wants to be served by slaves?"
She had a point, though my thoughts kept piling up as I thought to give an impression of his God. I imagined a pillar of smoke rising from the ground but that was not sufficient. If Joseph had one he worshipped, the best I could imagine was that of himself. In bed I closed my eyes and envisioned Joseph's form painted upon our walls. Red ochre mixed with earthen shells would form the color of his hair. Crushed discs of green for his clothes; green being the color of vegetation and life. As for his eyes, only crushed lapis lazuli would make him stand out from the other paintings by giving him a striking blue orb.
I finished the image in my head by giving Joseph a bowl of flowers in one hand and a full bag of grain in the other. Content with the artwork in my head, I drifted off to sleep.
A-A-A
Another month slipped by before all of the wheat and barley had been cut and accounted for.
Zulekia's red lips thinned for a moment before speaking. "I do not know how he does it. But we have gained an additional one third crop compared to last year," she admitted begrudgingly.
"I have asked him how he does it many times. The answer is the same every time: his God blesses his hand," Potiphar told her.
"Heresy."
"I would agree under the normal circumstances. But the facts are written there upon this parchment," he pointed out, tapping the sums with his finger. "It seems that whatever he does improves with time."
"Then as time passes one, what is to be done next with him?"
"Let us ask him. Manu can fetch him at once."
While Joseph was being summoned, I cleared my throat and asked my guardian softly: "May I stay, my lord?"
"If you speak when spoken to." I nearly beamed as I took my place in my chair and squeezed my favorite doll against myself. I liked this one because it had jointed limbs that rattled when it moved but Zulekia warned me she would take it away if I danced it in my lap. So my doll and I sat immobilized for the present.
The man who entered our room looked improved. His hair had begun to grow out and curl around his ears. The stooping movements of before were replaced with steadier steps. Surely, he had been raised in another aristocratic house to have attained some refinement of character.
Potiphar switched his staff from one hand to another and allowed the rod to rest in the crook of arm before speaking. "Your impudence has irritated members of this household for some time now," he began. "But your efforts have paid off and that balances the scales."
To this Joseph bowed, but one could notice the action did not come naturally to him. Even then I realized his spine was not born bent to subjugation.
"Nevertheless, I will not tolerate disobedience," cautioned Potiphar. "As a member of this household you are obligated to follow my orders."
"Of course, master."
"Then why do you refuse to praise Amun-Ra?"
Joseph kept his eyes upon the floor. "Forgive me, master. I meant no disrespect," he told us. "I seek only to serve you and the members of your household. But I am under the obligation of my fathers to serve the Lord, my God, wherever I go. I have been commanded to follow my faith from the moment of my birth until the moment I perish."
His voice wavered as he added, "And I must obey even…even on pain of death."
"On pain of death," repeated Potiphar. "So if I was to tell Manu to put a sword to your throat, you would not relinquish your faith?"
The protrusion in Joseph's throat rose and fell twice as he stood mute before us. At last he spoke in a barely above a whisper. "I would not."
Zulekia and I observed Potiphar's face but it betrayed no emotion. The signet ring on his right hand tapped twice against his chair.
"Martyrs make for poor workers, Joseph. But I have not summoned you here to extract your life—only your skills."
"I have decided to put you on a trial for two months," he announced. "During that time you will devote all of your efforts to the estate accounts. If you conduct your business as well as you have done until now, I will continue to place you in adequate positions where you can be most useful. But if I find errors in your writing or theft in your behavior then you will be flogged and sent back into the fields."
"Yes, master."
"As a pledge of this arrangement, I will provide you with a boon to start your trial. Make a request and I will have it seen fulfilled." Potiphar added with a sharp glint in his eye, "Providing that it is a reasonable request."
The pause that followed and the careful deliberation on Joseph's face was the weighing of the scales. To ask for some miniscule favor would be laughable; to ask for too much would be insolence.
After some moments he finally spoke. "If I have found favor in the eyes of my benevolent master then this is my request: I ask for one day out of every seven to abstain from my duties."
My guardian looked down at the slave from his nose. "Abstain from your duties?" He sounded frustrated. "When I have just appointed you labor for two months?"
Joseph inclined his head again. "All so that I may thank the Lord for having blessed me by bringing me to this illustrious estate. And that I may pray to Him to continue serving you," he confirmed in a warm urgent voice.
He added, "I shall labor harder the other six days to compensate for any lost revenue. My master will lose none of my services at that time and I shall strive to please you to the uttermost of my abilities during the trial."
"Harrumph!" Potiphar leaned back in his chair and thumped his staff against his palm. "A rather large request from a slave." He scratched his chin. "What say you, wife?"
Zulekia kept all her attention for her husband. "As a Semite he asks for too generous a boon," she remarked. "But it may be worth this trial just to see if he can keep up."
Satisfied with her answer, Potiphar then turned to me. "And you, Asenath, what do you have to say?"
I almost dropped my doll on the floor and lost my nerve. My guardian now was asking for my opinion! My gaze took in Zulekia's penetrating stare under her painted eyes, my guardian's big black eyes, and even a glint of something in Joseph's eyes that seemed to be pleading with me for mercy. As for me, curiosity outweighed any disdain I had been taught regarding Semites.
Just what exactly was he going to do with his "rest"?
I tried to clear my throat and speak like Zulekia but my voice still squeaked as I said, "I-I do not think one out of every seven days will cause harm."
"Thank you, Asenath. Well Joseph, the women of my household have spoken. You shall have your day of rest day. But if you cease to perform the other days then I will revoke this privilege."
I watched Joseph's eyes brighten and the corners of his lips turned up, parting to revealing the gleam of his teeth. He was beaming at us as a flower opens its beaming petals to the radiance of the sun.
He bowed one last time with his hands spread wide. "Your generosity overwhelms me, master. I shall not disappoint you!" he cried warmly. Thus with a wave of the hand, he was dismissed.
"Now we will see what the future brings," Potiphar decided aloud. "Manu will have no excuse to flog him now if he fails. Oh, come come, dear wife. There's no need to wrinkle your fine brow. The lad would be a fool to discard this opportunity."
"Fine. But if this Semite inspires the other slaves to revolt and kill us in our sleep, I'll give you no peace in the afterlife," Zulekia warned him. Potiphar gave her one of his rare rusty laughs and offering his hand to her, escorted her out of the room.
I was left alone to do as I would. But I did no go searching for Weret just yet. I sat there mulling over what I had just observed until it gave me a pleasing result. I let my doll slip out of my hands and land with a plop on the ground.
I felt a wrinkle in my nose spread to the corners of my mouth until I was grinning like a jackal.
Destiny had crossed my path at last.
A-A-A
On the eve of the sixth night, I approached the modest attic room where Joseph did the estate's accounts. I brought my alibi with me in the form of a broken bracelet of quartz beads. But when I peered into the room, he was not there.
I stepped inside to inspect closer. It was truly a tiny room, barely big enough for one adult to stand up in. All it contained were a shelf, a chair, and a low table. He must have rolled up his mat when he was not sleeping in order to make more room to work.
But upon the table were two oil lamps burning and a bundle covered with a cloth. I drew closer to the table and lifted the cloth. It covered nothing more than two small lumps of barley bread.
Disappointed, I then turned my attention to the lamps. It was strange to put them right next to each other instead of separating them for more light. The bread would get stale if it remained out, so I picked up the loaves, cloth and all, and searched the room to find something to put it in.
Footsteps came close before I could escape. I saw a shadow fall upon the floor and there was Joseph blocking the doorway. He had a cup in one hand and a bowl of stew in the other. At first, he startled and dropped everything to see someone in the room but upon seeing it was me, his shoulders relaxed.
I held my breath.
Joseph stepped into the room and set the cup and bowl upon the table. "What can I do for you, my lady?"
I flushed, for never before had I been addressed as "lady"; it was "Asenath" or "child" or "the ward" by outsiders. Then I composed myself and held out the bracelet to him.
Joseph took it from me and held it up to the light. "A pretty ornament," he complimented me. "But my hands are not trained for such craftsmanship and I do not want to break it. Surely there is someone more qualified to mend it."
I smiled and shook my head. "Quartz beads are strong."
My bracelet was indeed a cheap but resilient trinket that did not require a skilled craftsman. I hoped some day to wear a fine gold necklace set with malachite gems as Zulekia possessed. But for now, my beads were sufficient for my whims.
Joseph studied the bracelet and nodded. "I will do my best. But my day of rest approaches. With your permission, I will attend to it tomorrow night."
I declared it was acceptable and watched him put the bracelet upon a shelf. "Is there anything else you require, my lady?" he inquired politely.
I fidgeted in place, wondering how to keep myself in the room so that I wouldn't miss the appearance of his deity.
"I wish to eat with you," I announced, thrusting out my chin as Zulekia had done so many times.
His eyes widened at my request. The corners of his mouth turned down and he said, "I cannot fulfill your request."
His abrupt answer rattled me; I had not anticipated setback. I struggled to compose myself. "I am ward of this estate," I reminded him. "Thus, you are my servant as well. Who are you to refuse me?"
Joseph spread his hands open at his sides. "I dare not refuse you, my lady. And if we were in Canaan, I would be honored to have you at my table. But this is not my table—it belongs to Potiphar," he reminded me gently.
"As do these food items and oil lamps all belong to him. His house, his rules, and his laws outweigh all other orders. And we are in Egypt where the protocol of law must be followed. You are a citizen of Egypt and the ward of a nobleman. It is forbidden to dine with a slave, let alone a foreigner."
Disappointment gave way to anger as my blood began to heat within my veins. "You did not care about protocol when you refused to worship Amun-Ra," I accused him. "Are you and your God too good for us?"
Here he stumbled over his words but could not explain himself. But heat must have risen in him because he set his mouth rigid and only now did his eyes harden at me. "I must ask you to leave this room, my lady. Or else I will fetch your nurse," he cautioned me.
Indecent! To be treated like I was a mewling baby again!
I stamped my foot upon the ground. "You would not dare!" I suddenly shouted at him.
"I would," he confirmed. "This house is not yours. It belongs to your benevolent guardians. I will not disobey my master's orders."
The calmness of his cool blue eye vexed me. I thought Joseph's words of protocol and respect merely concealed his mockery towards me. The only way I could think of hurting him was to remind him of who he was.
"Fool!" I cried out. "Semite fool! Slave! Heretic!"
I rushed out of the room with an angry sob, frustrated at having my plans thwarted. Rage spurned me forward and onward, my feet leading me without guidance as I rushed down the stairs and out of the estate towards the river.
The fields were black grooves against the dying light of the sun, but I took no attention of them, only of my own sorrow that was welling up within me and ready to drown me. The land slopped dangerously as I approached the edges of the field, but speed had hastened my foot too far to stop.
My infidelity was exposed for Neith to see. I had turned away from her and towards a dust-laden slave. For that she would punish me by twisting my fate and turning my feet against each other. I stumbled at the edge of the slope but could not stop. Neith had thrust her arrow into my spine, sending me colliding forward and onto the harsh earth. My limbs disobeyed me, my spine bent without my will and I collided with a patch of earth. My left temple struck against a rock and there I lay, my life-force seeping out of me with the blood that flowed from my open wound.
I could not speak or move. I do not know how long I lay there as my doll lies helpless on the floor until I heard Weret calling out name. But my lips would not speak. Amun-Ra must have sealed them. And as I bled further, I could feel the heavy hand of darkness coming over me. Osiris would surely come next, bringing me to the underworld where my heart would be weighed and judged poorly for my wickedness.
My eyes began to close as the darkness advanced towards me. It would have engulfed me had I not heard a young man's voice overhead. Sharp and clear, it drove back the hand of death and the shadow of Osiris. The chilled air pressed against my blood and made my limbs tremble from the cold; I could move again. I shivered as I was lifted up high in steady arms and being carried away from the slope.
I could barely make out his profile in the purple twilight but knew it was him. Only he could have gathered me in as carefully as he had gathered in our crops all these months. In the minutes when night begins to reign, you cannot tell whether a man is a slave or a king. You only know he is there. You are grateful to be alive as you hear the sound of the Nile's waters ebb and flow. You are comforted to know you are not yet eternally silent in the house of the dead.
My head dropped against Joseph's chest as sleep drew over my soul.
A-A-A
Author's Notes: Research includes the Midrash (biblical commentary) on Genesis, the "Handbook to Life in Ancient Egypt" by Rosalie David, and "24 Hours in Ancient Egypt" by Donald P. Ryan.
