“Is everything all right, my lord?” Hamid asked softly. “What would you have me say to these men?”
“They are Hebrew,” Joseph said, unwilling to admit his relationship to them. “Ask them where they come from.” He scrutinized each man, seeing in their eyes a sudden fear of him. As he once feared them.
“Where do you come from?” Hamid asked them in Hebrew.
“From the land of Canaan,” Reuben replied, “to buy food.”
Joseph listened as each brother repeated the same. Hadn’t he wondered, even expected that this moment could come? The famine had stretched far beyond the borders of Egypt, and obviously his family had not been given the foresight to save enough grain to see them through. No doubt they had no idea that the famine would linger for six more years.
Hamid approached Joseph and spoke Egyptian to relay the information. “What do you want me to do, my lord? Shall I sell them the grain as they ask?”
Joseph could not keep his gaze from his brothers, and unexpectedly his mind flashed to the day he’d told them his dreams, that they would bow down to him. Was this what God had been trying to tell him would come of those dreams?
The realization hit Joseph hard, but he kept his expression neutral, even suspicious. They would not get away so easily—not after what they had done to him.
He turned to Hamid. “Tell them, ‘You are spies! You have come to see where our land is unprotected.’”
Hamid returned to the men and repeated Joseph’s words.
Judah stepped forward and bowed low, and when he rose, he kept one knee bent. “No, my lord. Your servants have come to buy food. We are all the sons of one man. Your servants are honest men, not spies.”
Hamid interpreted the words for Joseph, who responded again, “No! You have come to see where our land is unprotected.”
After Hamid relayed the message, the brothers turned to each other, distraught. They lifted their hands in supplication, falling to their knees.
Judah spoke for them again. “Your servants were twelve brothers, the sons of one man who lives in the land of Canaan. The youngest is now with our father, and one is no more.”
So Benjamin lived, as did his father. The thought jolted Joseph, and he fought to keep back the emotion of a million memories.
Hamid stepped to him and spoke again in Egyptian. “I know you understand them, Joseph, but you obviously do not want them to know that. What more would you have me say to them?”
“I do not trust them,” Joseph said, though he could not bring himself to tell this faithful servant and friend why. “Tell them, ‘It is just as I told you: You are spies! And this is how you will be tested: As surely as Pharaoh lives, you will not leave this place unless your youngest brother comes here. Send one of your number to get your brother. The rest of you will be kept in prison so that your words may be tested to see if you are telling the truth. If you are not, then as surely as Pharaoh lives, you are spies!”
Joseph waited for Hamid to repeat his words to his brothers, then ordered his guards to take the men to the king’s prison, the very prison he had spent years in while falsely accused.
“How long will you keep them there?” Hamid asked later as he walked with Joseph to his chariot and climbed in beside him.
“Three days,” Joseph said. “They need time to think of what they have done. Then I will send one of them back to their father to retrieve the youngest.”
Hamid looked at him, his brow raised. But to Joseph’s relief, he did not speak again or ask why Joseph was acting as he was. He couldn’t tell anyone yet. Not even Asenath. Three days would also give him time to think about how he could force them to bring Benjamin to see him. And how he could eventually bring his father to Egypt as well. But until he knew that his brothers’ hearts had changed, he was not sure he could trust them to ever return once they left him.
41
Joseph walked the vast palace halls in the governmental section reserved for him and Pharaoh’s advisors. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and he had risen early after little sleep.
The third day since his brothers set foot in Egypt had arrived. He had told himself he would imprison them for three days, but even now he was not sure it was enough. A part of him wanted them to remain captive, to force them to wonder if they would ever be released, to treat them as they had treated him. He did not like this dark side of his thoughts.
The gardens he loved were down a hall to his left, and he followed the inlaid stone path to the steps that led him to their shade. Tall palm trees rose high above his head, and a large pool stretched before him in the middle of the plants, both potted and flowering from the earth. The beauty here always calmed him and gave him a sense of God’s goodness, in spite of the images of Egypt’s gods that lined every column and statue he passed.
He gazed at the rising blues and muted colors of dawn and sighed. What would You have me do with them, Adonai? God knew his thoughts. He did not seek his brothers’ harm. Not when he was thinking clearly. It was only in the dark of night or when a memory of past pain emerged that he wished they had a taste of what he had lived through all these long years.
He couldn’t keep them here though. He would have to explain to Pharaoh why he would do such a thing with a foreign group of men who had done no obvious harm to the kingdom. Three days was the limit he could keep them hidden without causing a stir or a barrage of questions.
But he could keep one of them. The thought lingered as he walked along the edge of the pool, the scents of the lotus, jasmine, myrtle, and roses adding to the tingle of the cool morning air. One brother could be kept without intense questioning by Pharaoh or even Potiphar. They would assume Joseph had good reason, and Pharaoh might not become aware of the brother at all.
Which one? Joseph pondered that as he turned the corner and made his way back through the long halls to his chambers to dress for his meetings with the lower governors and courtiers. But first he would meet with Hamid and have his brothers brought to the audience chamber intended for his use.
He paused at the door to his rooms. How had he come to this place, this hour? Hadn’t God allowed all that had happened to him to save many people? Perhaps even to save his ungrateful kin.
As his manservant dressed him in full royal garb and the headdress again rested on his head, covering most of his dark hair, Joseph was still unable to decide which brother to keep behind. Perhaps God would give him insight when he met with them.
“Hamid,” he said moments later as he exited his chambers and met the man in one of the anterooms, “gather the Hebrews from the prison and bring them to the audience chamber. I will deal with them, with you interpreting for me there.”
Hamid bowed and left without a word. Joseph strode to the chamber and entered through a side room that led directly to the throne where he would sit like a king. You are not a king, he reminded himself. But he was a ruler, and his brothers bowed to him. His dreams of old at last made sense. And life had changed him.
It was time to see whether life had changed them as well.
Joseph waited on the throne Pharaoh rarely used, his servants milling around him, lighting fires in the braziers along tall columns. Walls higher than the span of several men held paintings and carvings of Egyptian symbols and words and images of the gods they worshiped. The hall stretched out longer than the distance from the door to the Nile, every statue and artifact meant to intimidate all who passed through the great double doors.