HeQaib clapped his hands and then covered his face, laughing. He stood. “Thank you, Joseph. I will be sure to remember you to Pharaoh at the first opportunity!” He grasped Joseph’s arms and kissed him on each cheek as though they were meeting for the first time. “Thank you, thank you!” He moved in a little dance about the small room while Baufra sat watching.
“Because you have given HeQaib such a favorable answer, I too will tell you my dream,” Baufra said to Joseph. His expression held such hope that Joseph silently prayed he would have good news for him as well. “On my head were three baskets of bread. In the top basket were all kinds of baked goods for Pharaoh, but the birds were eating them out of the basket on my head.” Baufra leaned closer, grasping Joseph’s hand. “Please, what does it mean?”
Joseph felt his stomach dip. How he hated giving bad news. But he could not lie about the message he sensed from Adonai.
“This is what it means,” he said. “The three baskets are three days. Within three days Pharaoh will lift off your head and impale your body on a pole. And the birds will eat away your flesh.”
HeQaib stopped his happy dancing and faced Baufra. Baufra’s face paled, and his body shook. In three days the man would die. Did that mean he had been found guilty, part of the plot to kill Pharaoh? He’d seemed so innocent whenever Joseph spoke to him. And HeQaib seemed to trust him too.
Baufra buried his head in his hands, his weeping growing louder by the moment. Joseph stood quietly and motioned for HeQaib to follow him. When they were outside the room, Joseph shut and locked the door. He led HeQaib to a different cell. “I do not want him to harm you in his grief,” he said. “You will stay here until Pharaoh calls for you.”
As he locked HeQaib in his new quarters, Joseph’s own hopes rose. Perhaps the man would keep his word and speak to Pharaoh on his behalf. If Pharaoh knew the story of all that had happened to him, surely he would let him go free. Wouldn’t he?
Three days later, Joseph walked the length of the prison and back again, waiting, wondering. Had he heard God correctly? But the day was young. Perhaps they would not know until evening.
As dusk deepened, Potiphar entered the prison and met Joba near the door. “Send to me the chief cupbearer and the chief baker. Pharaoh is celebrating his birthday with a feast, and he wants both men there.”
Joseph stepped out of the shadows. “I will get them.” Earlier that day he had provided water and soap so the men would be cleaned and shaven just in case Pharaoh called for them, as his dream had predicted. He brought them to Potiphar, and along the way he whispered in HeQaib’s ear, “Please don’t forget me.”
The men left the prison with Potiphar, and Joseph sank onto his mat, feeling suddenly bereft. The next day, news reached him that his interpretation of both men’s dreams had come true. The baker had been executed and the cupbearer restored.
But as the weeks continued to pass and then months turned to a year, Joseph knew the cupbearer had not kept his promise to remember him.
26
1827 BC
Bright light like that of many lamps shone in Joseph’s face, forcing him awake. He held a hand over his eyes as he sat up, blinking. “I’m awake! Please, remove the lamps.” He squinted as Joba and a servant set the lamps in niches about the room.
“Good. You must get up quickly,” Joba said, motioning for Joseph to follow him. He held a fresh tunic over one arm, and Joseph noticed the servant carried a basket of ointments and a razor.
“What is this about?” Joseph asked as he followed Joba into his personal rooms. “It is the middle of the night!”
“It is past dawn, and Pharaoh has summoned you.” Joba looked him up and down. “I can’t send you to Pharaoh Amenemhat III looking like a prisoner, now can I?”
The servant pulled the tunic from Joseph’s head, and he blindly allowed several slaves to wash and shave the beard that had grown during his years in prison. “But why does the pharaoh ask for me?” It had been two full years since the cupbearer had been restored to work for the king, and Joseph had never been released or called during that time.
Joba pulled a fine linen tunic over Joseph’s head and tied a belt at his waist, then looked him up and down. “There. You are at least presentable.” He moved from his rooms and motioned Joseph to follow. “I do not know why you were called. I only know that when Potiphar tells me that Pharaoh wants you, you must go.”
Potiphar stood outside the gate, where Joba halted and gently pushed Joseph forward. “Now go! Do whatever is asked of you and all will be well.”
Joseph blinked, feeling as though he was in the midst of a dream, like the dreams of old when he thought the sun, moon, and stars would bow down to him. How foolish he had been as a child. How arrogant to tell those dreams to his father and brothers. What had he thought could possibly come of them?
Potiphar studied him a moment. “Jewels would have helped, a chain or something about your neck or arms, but there is no time. Come.”
Joseph fell into step behind Potiphar, but Potiphar called him forward. “The king had a dream last night—two, in fact—and none of his magicians or wise men can tell him the meaning. The dreams frightened the king, and the last thing we need is a pharaoh who is afraid. Then the cupbearer told him that you had interpreted dreams for him and the baker, so that is why you are being summoned. See that you don’t disappoint the king.” Potiphar gave Joseph a sidelong glance. “You can interpret dreams, can’t you?”
Joseph swallowed hard. “God alone knows the meaning of dreams, my lord. If He gives me their meaning, then I can tell the king what he needs to know. But I will not know that until I hear what he has to say.”
“Pray your god gives you that wisdom then, or you may not live to see another day.” Potiphar grew silent, and Joseph prayed as they climbed into Potiphar’s chariot and he drove them to the palace.
Joseph walked through grand doors and along gleaming tiles that outshone anything in Potiphar’s estate. They traveled several halls until they came to one of the king’s many chambers. This one seemed small, no bigger than Potiphar’s, and must be one of the king’s private rooms.
Many men dressed in rich, flowing robes stood along the walls, while the king sat on a dais surrounded by attendants. His expression was troubled.
Potiphar led Joseph close to the king and bowed low. Joseph did the same.
“Rise,” the pharaoh said.
“This is the man the cupbearer spoke of, my lord,” Potiphar said. “He is Joseph, a Hebrew, but has lived in Egypt many years. Perhaps he can help you.” Potiphar stepped back while Joseph remained, hands clasped in front of him, looking beyond the king.
“Look me in the eye, Hebrew.” The pharaoh did not sound pleased.
Joseph complied.
“I had a dream, and no one can interpret it,” the pharaoh began, “but I have heard it said of you that when you hear a dream you can interpret it.”
Joseph again sent a silent prayer heavenward. He waited a moment, and when peace settled over him, he knew God had heard his prayer. “I cannot do it,” he said, “but God will give Pharaoh the answer he desires.”
Pharaoh studied Joseph as if wondering whether he should believe him, but apparently knowing he had no one else to ask, he spoke again. “In my dream I was standing on the bank of the Nile, when out of the river there came up seven cows, fat and sleek, and they grazed among the reeds. After them, seven other cows came up—scrawny and very ugly and lean. I had never seen such ugly cows in all the land of Egypt. The lean, ugly cows ate up the seven fat cows that came up first. But even after they ate them, no one could tell that they had done so. They looked just as ugly as before. Then I woke up.”