Till Shiloh Comes (20 page)

“The man had three sons, and a woman named Tamar married the oldest son, a bad fellow indeed! He died very soon after their marriage. Then, as the tradition of that tribe dictates, his brother Onan took the woman as his wife to produce his brother's heir, but no children were conceived and he died too.”

“That is indeed sad. Do you know what happened to Judah and his other son?”

Modach shifted and shook his head. “I only heard rumors.”

“What sort of rumors?”

“It was said that the woman wanted to marry the youngest son, but Judah refused.”

“What became of them?” Joseph asked.

“The woman became pregnant, and at first she was to die for her harlotry, but the sad truth came out.”

“What sad truth?” Joseph demanded. “Tell me, man!”

“Rumor has it that the father was Judah himself.”

Joseph's heart grew cold. “Then what happened?”

“The woman was spared, and she bore twins. I know no more, sir.”

Joseph continued to question him, and since Modach was an intelligent man, Joseph promised him, “I will find a good place for you here. I am sorry for your trouble.”

Modach bobbed his head and murmured his thanks, then asked, “Do you know the tribe of Jacob, sir?”

Joseph stood very still and dropped his head, then whispered, “Yes, I know the tribe of Jacob very well.”

****

“Well, I hear we have some famous people in our little establishment.”

Joseph looked up to see that Rashidi was smiling at him. The two of them had been going over the later verses of Rashidi's poem, and the governor was in a good mood. Joseph loved poetry, but he thought Rashidi had exalted ideas about his own work. The poem made little sense to Joseph, but he was careful about his critical comments, making sure to commend those parts that appeared to him to have some value. It was his opinion that the poem would never be finished, but that did not trouble Rashidi. It was the work itself rather than the end that seemed to please him.

“Famous guests? I haven't heard of them, sir,” Joseph replied.

“They came while you were out yesterday.”

“Who are they?”

“The servants of Pharaoh. One of them is Belsunu, Pharaoh's butler. The other's name is Kamose, the baker, I believe. So we have the butler and the baker of the great pharaoh himself here in Khari. A most interesting development.”

“Why are they here? What are their crimes?”

“They offended Pharaoh somehow. It doesn't take a great deal to offend the great ones. As far as I can make out, the baker cooked a meal that made the pharaoh ill.”

“What about the butler?”

“Some minor infraction,” Rashidi said carelessly. “I think he made a mistake about one of Pharaoh's appointments. I don't remember.”

“How long is their sentence?”

“Indefinite.”

Joseph smiled. “That's unusual.”

“The Pharaoh
is
unusual. He may send for them today, or he may leave them here for fifty years. You know how the gods are.” Rashidi grinned at Joseph, taunting the younger man's belief in God. “They are irrational.”

Joseph smiled. “I think you believe more in God than you let on, Rashidi.”

Rashidi attempted to look surprised. “Nonsense! I've told you ever since you came that I believe in no gods.”

“So you say, but your poem leads me to believe that you aren't telling the truth.”

“Ah, my poem! Well, that's art. That's different. A man may do things in art that he cannot do in real life.”

“I'm not sure that's true,” Joseph said. “I think art ought to imitate life as much as possible.”

Rashidi was interested. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you've seen the pictures that our royal artists paint of Pharaoh and of others?”

“Certainly I have.”

“What position are they in?”

“Why, they're always turned sideways and have one foot extended.”

“Exactly. Tell me, Rashidi, is that the way people always are? Don't we ever see anyone's full face?”

“But it's the royal art. It's the tradition.”

“Someday,” Joseph said quietly, his eyes growing dreamy, “an artist will come along who will paint men and women as they
really
are. That will be true art.”

“Oh, and a poet will come along who will tell things as they really are, I suppose,” the governor said with a sardonic grin.

“That is what I would expect a great artist such as yourself to do, sir.” Joseph smiled.

Rashidi suddenly laughed. “You're making fun of me. Get out of here and go see if you can put those two to work. Calm their nerves if you can,” he added. “They're scared to death I'm going to cut off their heads—which I may be ordered to do.”

****

Indeed both the butler and the baker were frightened men. Joseph discovered this as soon as he went into their cell. For political reasons, Rashidi had seen to it that they were given better quarters than the average prisoner. It was entirely possible that these two might go back to the court of Pharaoh, and Rashidi wanted no unfavorable reports of his work or of his prison going back to the palace.

Joseph stepped inside and instantly the two men rose. He thought wryly that it would be difficult to find two less similar individuals. One of them was fat and short, the other skinny and tall. “I am Joseph, the overseer. What are your names?”

“I am Belsunu, the butler of Pharaoh.”

“The
former
butler,” the skinny man said. “My name is Kamose.”

“Well, I am sorry to see you here, but perhaps it will not be for long,” Joseph said.

“It may be forever,” Kamose grunted.

“You always look on the dark side of things, Kamose,” the butler said with irritation. “Why can't you speak more cheerfully?” He turned to Joseph and bowed. “I am hopeful that our sentences will be short.”

“I will hope the same for you. In the meantime, what can I get you to make your stay more comfortable?”

“You can let us out!” Kamose snapped.

“Why, I'm sorry, but that is beyond my ability. I am a prisoner like yourselves.”

Both men stared at him, and Belsunu asked sharply, “I thought you were an overseer.”

“So I am. The governor uses me in this capacity, but I can no more walk out of here than you can.”

“How long have you been here?” Kamose demanded.

“Almost three years.”

“Ah, me,” Kamose moaned. He went over and sat down and put his head in his hands. “Why did this have to come upon me? The gods are angry with me.”

“The gods aren't angry with you,” Belsunu said, winking at Joseph. “Pharaoh is, because you baked him a bad cake. That's why you're here. Why didn't you bake a good one?”

“I didn't even bake that cake. My assistant did, but I get blamed for everything.”

Joseph said to Kamose, “Perhaps you'd like to cook your own meals.”

“No. I just want out of here.”

“Well, I'll be sure that you both have good food.”

“I heard the guards talking. They said we'd be put to work in the quarry.” Belsunu shook his head. “That would kill me. I'm so fat and haven't done any real work in years.”

“Nothing like that will happen,” Joseph assured him. “We'll make your stay as pleasant as possible. Why don't you tell me something about yourselves?” He sat down and listened as the two told their stories. Belsunu, the butler, was full of cheerful words. He had had an easy life until now, and he was optimistic about getting out. Kamose was depressed and could say nothing good. He fully expected to remain in prison for the rest of his life.

Finally Joseph excused himself and went back to report to Rashidi.

“I calmed their nerves as best I could, sir. The baker is hard to encourage. He's a terrible pessimist.”

“They'll be all right,” Rashidi said with a shrug. “Now, sit down and listen to this new stanza I've written….”

****

For some reason the baker and the butler came to be much on Joseph's mind. He thought about them every day and did all he could for them, furnishing chairs and a table, as well as a good razor and a mirror so they could shave themselves. He even furnished enough water for bathing. He was following Rashidi's orders to make them comfortable, but he could not fully understand why he himself was so intent on carrying out these orders.

Not long after the arrival of the butler and baker, Joseph was sent away from the prison working on another building project in Thebes. He was responsible for overseeing the work on a new bridge in which slaves were used to haul the materials in from the quarry. On his third day on the job, he heard someone shout, “Make way—make way!” When he turned, he saw four bearers carrying between them a chair such as was used by the aristocracy.

As the chair drew nearer, the bearers had to walk carefully to avoid the broken stones. As they slowed their pace, Joseph suddenly found himself looking into Asenath's face. Her surprise was as great as his own, and she rose up slightly and twisted her neck to see him. She was wearing an emerald green gown interwoven with gold threads that flashed in the sunlight. Her hair was not bound but cascaded down her back in a wealth of blackness. Her eyes, made up to appear larger, were fixed intently on Joseph.

Joseph could not move. Though there was scorn on Asenath's face, he barely noticed it. Something about her drew him, and he felt a sense of frustration. The thought flashed through his mind,
Why am I staring at her? She can never be anything to me
. In that instant he knew for the first time, yet with a sharp pang, that he desired her and wanted to be a part of her life.

The thought startled and dismayed him, and when she turned her head away in a haughty gesture and called out to the bearers to move on, he stood disconsolately and watched the bearers carry the chair out of sight. The encounter troubled him. He had never been in love with a woman and did not want to believe that he was now.

She remained on his mind for days, and when he returned to the prison, he could only nibble at his food, he was so preoccupied with thoughts of her.

Rashidi noted this. “You're not eating,” he said. “What's the matter?”

“I'm not very hungry.”

Rashidi grinned. “When a man isn't hungry, he's either sick or in love. Which is it?”

“Don't be foolish!”

Rashidi popped a sugar-coated date into his mouth, sucked on it for a time, and considered his young friend. “Have you ever been in love?” he asked. “Have you ever made love to a woman?” he demanded.

Joseph found himself embarrassed but was honest. “No, I haven't.”

“At your age! Why, you're nearly thirty, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“Thirty years old and never had a woman!” Rashidi shook his head. “I don't believe in miracles very much, but I would say you
are
one! Why have you avoided them, a good-looking fellow like you?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Ah, you are irritated. That means I have found the truth. Men are always irritated when they are found out. As a poet and knowing human nature, I long ago discovered that. Now, as for me, I had my first woman when I was fifteen. I haven't kept count since.”

“I'm not interested in hearing about your amorous escapades.”

Rashidi leaned forward on the table and put his chin in the heels of his hand. Propped thus, he stared at Joseph intently as if he were a difficult problem to be solved. “Thirty years old and never had a woman—and yet you're here because you tried to attack one.”

“That was all a lie, Rashidi. I've told you the truth about that.”

“Yes, yes … I've always believed you. And I've always thought you a fool. Potiphar's wife is a good-looking wench. She was available. Why didn't you just take her?”

Joseph gave Rashidi a look of intense irritation. “You wouldn't understand.”

“I'm a poet. I understand
everything
.”

“Don't you understand that it's wrong for a man to lie with a woman who is not his wife?”

“Who said so?”

Joseph was disgusted. “If you don't understand that, then I can't explain it to you.”

Rashidi grinned sourly. “I wish you could. But I wish even more you'd tell me who the woman is that's got you all stirred up.”

“I am
not
stirred up!”

“Ha! Joseph is angry with poor Rashidi because he's told the truth. Come on, now. Tell me. Who is she?”

Joseph rose to his feet and said shortly, “I'm going to bed.”

“Maybe not. I'm the governor here. I may have you beaten until you tell me who your lover is.”

“Go ahead,” Joseph said defiantly, his eyes flashing. “I wouldn't put it past you.”

Rashidi stopped smiling. He stroked his chin and then said softly, “Well, you are angry. I'm sorry, my boy, I was only teasing.”

“It's all right, but I'm tired.”

Joseph left abruptly, and Rashidi, the governor of the prison, sat there thinking for a long time.
Joseph is in love. It can't be an old love. It has to be someone he's met since coming here, which means it must be someone he has met out on a job. I'll get it out of him. He can't keep a secret like that from me!

****

Joseph's conversation with Rashidi troubled him for the next week. He went about his duties, as usual, but found it hard to sleep at night for thoughts of Asenath. He often interrogated himself sternly as if he were a prisoner:

Have you lost your mind?

No, I haven't lost my mind. I'm in love.

In love, you fool? You can't be in love with a woman you can never have.

I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. I love her.