Joseph startled awake and sat up in his bed. He blinked in the darkness, a sliver of the moon still visible. Another season of fruitful harvest had made Potiphar so completely at ease with his work that he seemed to care only for the food that went into his mouth. His closeness to Aneksi had obviously diminished. Yet Potiphar continued to succeed.
The thought faded as another hit him. He slid to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the tile floor. A servant would come to dress him, but Joseph did not wait for him or for dawn to fully rise. Today would have included a big celebration in his father’s house now that he was twenty-five years old. Full manhood and perhaps a wife would be his, and he could have taken his rightful place in charge of all his father’s affairs.
But he’d been a slave in Egypt instead for eight years.
That reality, along with missing his father—did he still live?—and Benjamin, who would be nine by now, caused a deep ache in his gut. Did Dinah still watch over his brother? Did Benjamin go to the fields with Leah’s sons to learn the ways of a shepherd, or did his father keep him close to home? The boy was still young, but not so young that he couldn’t learn.
The food quietly left by a servant suddenly held no appeal to Joseph. He looked over the room, knowing that he should be grateful for what he had here. But how hard it was to praise God when the very things he loved the most had been ripped from his hands.
He brushed an unexpected tear from his eye and left the room. A deep breath of the warm Egyptian air did little to help other than remind him that he was alive. God must have a reason for allowing this to happen. And if God allowed it, surely He would use it for Joseph’s good.
He moved slowly about the large palace complex, almost longing for a dip in one of the many lotus pools Potiphar kept. Birdsong welcomed the dawn, and the rustle of palm leaves sounded high above him.
“My lord.” Hamid interrupted Joseph’s musings. He climbed the steps from the servants’ quarters, where he remained in charge of the other servants. “How are you this fine morn?”
Joseph smiled. “Warm, as usual this time of year. I am not sure I will ever be used to Egypt’s heat, but at least we know what to expect.”
“I wonder if you have your assignments for me.” Hamid lowered his head, and Joseph again felt that Hamid belonged in this position, not him. Why had he been chosen?
“I thought we could inspect the prison together today. Potiphar likes a monthly check on conditions there. I could use your help.” Joseph wasn’t sure he wanted the company, but he decided he could use the distraction.
“I would be glad to help, my lord. Thank you.” Hamid’s smile warmed Joseph.
They walked together through the main halls of the estate toward the back of the large lot that housed Potiphar’s many buildings. The king’s prison was a long walk from Potiphar’s estate, but the path was worn from constant use.
They moved in silence, though Joseph felt Hamid glance his way now and then as if he wanted to speak but did not know what to say. Joseph’s mind could not stop focusing on his family.
As the view of the prison came into sharper focus, Hamid spoke. “You are quiet today, my lord. Does something trouble you?”
Joseph looked at Hamid for a brief moment. “I am well. There is nothing wrong.” He heard the lie on his tongue and immediately regretted it. “That’s not entirely true.” He stopped walking to face Hamid. “Today in my hometown among my family, we would be celebrating the day of my birth. I was reminded of the date and began to wonder how they fare.” He swallowed and looked beyond Hamid. “Even after eight years, I miss them.”
Hamid’s expression held sympathy. “Of course you do. I did not know. You are right to grieve, just so the master does not know it.”
Joseph had heard the same warning since the first day he arrived here. He wondered why Potiphar cared nothing for where his servants and slaves had come from. But Potiphar seemed concerned only with his own needs. Why would he concern himself with the stories of other people?
Joseph turned and walked on. “It does little good to grieve. I will soon forget again. Now come, let us see what the prison master needs and inspect the places where the prisoners are kept.” Potiphar would want those places clean. Other prisons might be foul pits, but the king’s prisoners were not treated the same.
Hamid nodded. They entered the low door of the prison, where the chief prison master, Joba, met them, and Joseph explained why they had come. For the next hour, he and Hamid moved through the large building, Joseph putting to memory the things he saw.
The place was dark, and the prisoners, though they were given food and water and a clean mat to lie upon, could do little during the day without more light to see. More lamps were needed, and after securing one from Joba, Joseph saw that the floors were in need of sweeping. He gave the necessary commands and left with Hamid.
“I would not like to live in such conditions,” Joseph said, running a hand over his face.
“Nor I,” Hamid agreed.
They walked back toward the house, Joseph more troubled than he had been, not only by what he had seen but by the memories of home that again assaulted him. He had to stop thinking of home. He couldn’t go back, at least not now. Perhaps someday Potiphar could be persuaded to allow him to leave Egypt.
CANAAN
Judah kissed Kaella and patted the heads of his three sons, Er, Onan, and Shelah. Three boys in his eight years of marriage, and he wondered at the toll their births had taken on his wife, for she no longer seemed to want children. She pushed him away when he needed her, as if she feared another pregnancy.
“I will take Er to the fields with me tomorrow,” he told her as he walked toward the tent door. “He is seven now, and though he’s young, he can learn how to treat the sheep.”
Kaella bristled at his words. “My father died because of those animals. I won’t have my sons put in danger.”
Judah stared at her, though he should not have been surprised by her anger. She still grieved her father’s death though it had been many years ago, and she barely tolerated the mention of sheep, even though the profession of shepherd had been in their family for generations. Kaella had never been completely consolable after her father’s loss, and Judah did not know what to do with her.
“You can’t actually expect our sons to learn no trade,” he said, keeping his voice low. She could not hold their sons back or keep them from learning because of fear.
“They can learn to be potters or something else. Something safe.” Her arms crossed like a shield between them.
“I am a shepherd, Kaella. I own large flocks of sheep and goats, and I will not pass them on to a stranger when I go the way of all the earth. Or would you rather I give them to Hirah?”
Her relationship to Hirah had also confused him. They had been betrothed as children but had broken the relationship as they matured. Still, though Hirah was married with a family of his own, Kaella sometimes acted too friendly with him and other times looked upon him with disdain. Judah had wondered how to broach the subject with her, but every time he tried, she turned away and refused to answer him. He’d walked away in disgust.
But these were his children, and she was not going to pamper them and keep them from learning the ways of men.