To Preserve Life: Joseph Speaks

AUTHOR'S NOTE AND INDEX OF PLACE NAMES IS DELETED FROM THIS ITEM


PROLOGUE



JOSEPH SPEAKS



         “Grandfather Joseph, tell us about the hippos!”
         “No, tell us about Potiphar’s wife!”
         “The prince! Tell us about Prince Beka, please!”
         Five generations of children and adults were gathered around me, firelight flickering off our faces. Even the adults were leaning forward in anticipation of a familiar, much-loved story.
         “Tell us about Grandmother Rachel,” said a small voice at my elbow.
         I looked down into the shining black eyes of my brother Benjamin’s youngest granddaughter. She snuggled closer against me, nestling her small head on my lap, my white beard brushing her forehead. I stroked her curly black hair and started to speak.




Chapter 1 - SORROWS AND DREAMS



         I was not with my mother when she died. As dawn streaked the eastern sky her screams finally ceased. A newborn’s thin, lusty wail rose from her tent.
         I lifted my head from Papa’s lap. He gripped me so tightly I could hardly breathe. “It’s alive,” I whispered, looking up tearfully. “I’m a big brother.”
         Papa’s grip on me trembled. “Rachel?” he whispered. “Rachel!”
         In the tent below, Aunty Leah’s voice echoed his. “Rachel? Rachel!”
         Bilhah screeched, her cry rising to a high-pitched wail. She was joined by another woman and then another until the entire camp keened in mourning. Even the new Shechemite slaves mourned my mother, wailing, tearing their clothes, heaping ashes on their heads.
         I clung to Papa, not wanting to believe. How could Mama leave me alone, victim of ten older brothers who despised me?
         Leah emerged from Mama’s tent, a small white bundle in her arms. Though her hair streamed loose in mourning, ashes turning the gray-streaked brown even grayer, she wore a clean gown. Slowly she climbed the hill toward us. Behind her followed the midwife and a young slave.
          “Benoni,” Leah sniffed, presenting the bundle to Papa. “She called him ‘Benoni, son of my sorrows,’ with her last breath.” Leah burst into tears. Papa parted the swaddling cloth and peered at the tiny red face. I was no longer his youngest child.
          “Benjamin,” he said. “Son of good fortune. That is his name.”
          “Good fortune, Papa?” I quavered, choking on my tears.
          His free arm went about my waist. “A son is always good fortune. Your—mother,” the word seemed to tear his throat, “was fortunate to have him alive. He needs a name like this.” He choked on the last word and burst into a fit of weeping.
          Leah buried her face in her hands and turned away, tearing at her clothes. The midwife hovered nervously, wiping her eyes, motioning the slave closer. I recognized the girl as one of the widows from my half-brothers’ vengeful massacre at Shechem. Her infant had recently died. She would be Benjamin’s nurse.
          My new brother’s bright black eyes seemed to see into my soul. His little bud of a mouth opened and he wriggled in the tight swaddling cloth, molding himself into my arms as I took him from Papa. I rubbed my wet cheek against his tiny body, smelling the salt rubbed into his skin to toughen it.
          We buried Mama at sunset. Benjamin’s cry joined ours as if he knew why we were weeping but I could not shake the idea that it was not my mother we were laying to rest. How could love be dead? Was gentleness gone from the world? Was beauty extinguished? It seemed as if Mama was beside me, not down there below us.
The great stone Papa had selected was levered into place as a monument. He and I stood together, weeping silently as everyone else drifted away.
          That night I slept in Papa’s tent. I crept from my bed and curled against him, burying my face in his flowing gray beard, missing Mama even as I felt her undying love enveloping us both.
          “She’s not gone,” I whispered.
          “What?”
          “She’s not gone, Papa. She’s right here with us, the same as she ever was.”
          “Ah, Joseph,” Papa sighed. He patted my back and said nothing more. Later that night I awakened to find him gone. Even after we moved on, Papa would awaken and wander away. I would peer outside to see him staring north toward Ephrath.
          A year after Mama’s death, Papa was still mourning her.
          “Papa,” I finally said as we walked through the flocks, “doesn’t this day remind you of Mama?”
          “Everything reminds me of her.”
          “Then why are you so sad? Is beauty dead? Is love dead? How can we miss her when everything we loved about her is all around us? Don’t you feel it? It’s as if El has put her into everything good so that we can never be without her.”
          Papa stopped walking and stared at me, a smile growing on his face. Tears filled his eyes and he pulled me close. “Thank you, El,” he said, “for this precious son. How could I have been so blind when so much blessing was always with me?”
          After that Papa was more like his old self. He laughed and joked again and played with little Benjamin. Sometimes, though, I would catch him looking longingly north.
          Papa kept me close, teaching me things he had not taught my brothers. When I entered manhood Papa surprised me with an incredibly extravagant long coat, with sleeves. Along all its seams and across the front and back was intricate embroidery in bright colors. Some of the colors were so costly, particularly the purple, that only kings could afford them, but Father was wealthier than some kings.
          As I slipped my arms into the sleeves, Judah said, “Father, how could you spend so much on the boy? He’ll ruin it! How many poor people could have eaten their fill for what that coat cost?”
          “How’s he supposed to do any work in that?” Dan added. “He’s dressed better than you are, Father!”
          “He takes better care of things than any of you,” Papa snapped. He glared from Dan to Naphtali and then to Gad and Asher. I had been out with the four of them, sons of Papa’s concubines, and come home complaining about how they had neglected the animals, leaving me to do all the work.
         I proudly wore my coat every chance I got. I knew that the coat, gorgeous as it was, would not have looked as good on anyone else. It was a fitting complement to my handsome beauty.
          Some time after that I had my first dream. Though all dreams are supposed to have meaning, this one was especially important. In the dream we were harvesting the fields as we did every autumn when the grass was tall and golden, the seed-heads fat with ripe grain. Even in my dream I could smell the sweetness of the fresh-dried grass, the dustiness of the air, our sweat as we labored shoulder to shoulder with our servants and hired labor. We had bundled our last shocks, the brothers and I relaxing among our last sheaves, proud of a good harvest.
          As we sat admiring the ripe golden bounty, the last of my sheaves rose from the ground and stood upright on its cut ends. The sheaves beside my brothers also stood up and gathered around mine. Then those ten sheaves fell to the ground as if bowing while my sheaf stood upright.
          I awoke feeling elated. When I told the dream to my family, though, my excitement faded.
          “Joseph,” warned Reuben, “you’ll never be our king.”
          I looked from his grim face to the others. “I’ve never expected you to bow to me.”
          “I should hope not,” snarled Simeon. “It’s bad enough, you flaunting that coat like royalty.”
          “We’re all royalty,” I said, “El’s chosen.”
          “Not that anyone else would notice,” interrupted Levi, brushing dust from his coarse sleeveless tunic.
          “This is just a token.” I stroked the coat’s bright sleeve. “A sign for all of us.”
          “Joseph is right,” Papa said. “The coat is a symbol for all of us, of the favor we hold in El’s eyes.”
          I cherished that dream as a confirmation of El’s favor. Someday the brothers would have to admit it.
          Later a second dream came, even stronger than the first one.
          I was good at interpreting dreams. The ability was another gift from El, but not even dull Issachar could mistake this dream’s meaning.
          “I dreamed last night,” I said as I accepted my food at breakfast. “This was another special dream. Like Father’s at Bethel,” I purred.
          Everyone looked up. Father’s dream at Bethel had promised El’s protection and permanent possession of the land in which we wandered.
          “This time the sun and moon and 11 stars bowed to me.” I grinned triumphantly.
          Judah slowly rose and stomped away without a word. Reuben shook his head, frowning, and followed Judah.
          “That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard!” snorted Simeon. “A beardless youth accepting obeisance from his adult brethren. Keep at it, Joseph. Maybe you’ll come up with a dream where you’re greater than El, for all the good it’ll do you!”
          “It’s a stupid dream,” snarled Levi. “Nothing at all like Father’s at Bethel but nothing more than I’d expect from—” he glanced at Papa, who seemed to be ignoring us, “—from a child like you.”
          “I thought he’d have outgrown that stupidity by now,” grumbled Gad. “I should have known better.” He and Asher never spoke directly to me if they could avoid it.
          “I don’t think there was any dream at all,” hissed Dan. “I think you made it all up, both times. You think you’re so special!”
          The others grumbled agreement, finished their meal and went out to work. Only Benjamin stayed, his eyes round with wonder. Father stood and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Be careful how you dream, my son,” he said. “The greater the dream, the greater the burden.”



Chapter 2 - THE FIRST PIT



          In Benjamin’s eighth year Papa sent the ten eldest sons to our lands in Shechem with most of the herd. Benjamin and I were thrilled to be rid of them for awhile. Benjamin was off with his followers, though, the morning my life changed.
          “Joseph,” Papa said, “your brothers have been gone a long time. We’ve heard nothing from them or about them. Go find them and bring me word again.”
          “Here am I Papa,” I replied in proper dutiful form. I hid my trembling hands inside my sleeves. Although a lone journey to bring back a report was no great commission, it was a grand adventure for me at 17.
          The late rains had ceased and streams and cisterns were full. The green hills stretched away into gentle haze but I did not mind the journey. I thought of the promise that would pass to me when Papa died. “As the stars cannot be numbered, there are so many, so shall be your descendents,” El had promised great-grandfather Abraham, and then grandfather Isaac and then Papa. Next, the promise would fall to me.
          When I reached the outskirts of Shechem I stopped on hilltops to search for our herds. Though there were signs of heavy grazing on the lands Papa owned, the flocks were gone. Discouraged, I decided to spend that night in an empty sheepcote. Early the next morning I chanced upon a southbound stranger setting out early on the road.
          “Hail, good sir,” I called. “I seek my brethren, ten men with great flocks of fine sheep and goats.” He looked puzzled.
          “They’re sons of Jacob, called Israel, son of Isaac, son of Abraham,” I added. “Our father owns this land.”
          His expression cleared. “Ah yes,” he answered. “Those men are in Dothan. I saw them yesterday evening.”
          I had another day’s journey before I found them. Their camp was on a high hill where the brethren could easily survey their charges. I counted ten men walking or sitting on the hilltop. They had not yet started their breakfast.
          No one rose as I climbed the hill, though they must have seen me long since from their vantagepoint. They looked angry, probably fighting again. To my surprise, Simeon and Levi stood up as I reached the group. These two rarely bothered even to acknowledge my presence, let alone stand when I approached. Then Zebulun sprang to his feet, followed by Reuben. They all looked tense. I fought the urge to step back.
          Forcing a smile, I raised my hand. “Hail, brothe—”
          With a roar both Reuben and Simeon sprang upon me, fighting each other to reach me first. Reuben snatched at my coat as Simeon’s fist smashed into my face. My travel pack flew into Reuben and he released me. I cried out and staggered back, but then Levi was also upon me, followed by the others.
          I flung up my arms to protect my head. Through the blows I heard them cursing me. “You thief!” “Liar!” “Stinking tale-bearer!” “Fancy know-it-all!”
          They tore off my precious coat and then my loin-wrap and even my sandals.
          “That’s enough!” Reuben cried. “Stop! You’ll kill him!”
          “Death is too good for him,” growled Levi.
          “We agreed not to shed blood. Look at yourselves!” Reuben bellowed. He grabbed Simeon and Levi, dragging them off me. The others left off their attack.
          I curled in the dirt, arms over my head, whimpering, trembling uncontrollably and waiting for the world to stop spinning.
          Gad produced a length of strong cord. Savagely he yanked my arm up and tied the rope to my wrist.
          “No!” I cried, trying to wrest away. With my other hand I clawed at Gad but Asher kicked my exposed mid-section and I doubled up again. Twisting both arms behind me, Dan tied my wrists while I retched painfully, tears blurring my vision.
          As Naphtali reached for a foot, I kicked back desperately. With Simeon and Levi’s help he managed, despite my flailing resistance, to bind my feet.
         Simeon and Levi stood over me, knives in hand, blood-thirst lighting their faces.
          “No!” Reuben snarled, shoving them away and standing over me. “We cannot commit this sin against El! Look at his blood on your hands. He’s our own flesh! We agreed not to harm him! For once let your minds govern your passions.”
          Simeon and Levi reluctantly sheathed their knives.
          “We still have to get rid of him,” Dan insisted. The others nodded and muttered agreement.
          “If we can’t kill him,” challenged Levi, “what do you suggest we do, cut out his tongue?”
          I cried out, struggling against my bonds.
          “No more bloodshed. Throw him in that dry cistern,” Reuben said, his voice betraying relief at the idea. “If he must die, let it not be by our hands. His blood would be on our heads for the rest of our lives. If some wild beast doesn’t find him first he’ll be dead in three days.”
         Simeon laughed, stepped around Reuben, hauled me halfway up by the hair and threw me down the side of the hill. The others followed, taking turns throwing or kicking me to the foot of the hill.
          I was sobbing again, unable to think of anything that might get them to stop, not even sure which way was up. Simeon picked up my feet. Dragging me, the others following, he walked away, dropping me by the lip of an old cistern while Issachar removed its lid. Only that dawn I had drunk from a similar cistern, brimming with the spring rains. This one, leaky and unstable, had been long abandoned, its plastered walls pitted and crumbling.
          I shrank from the yawning hole. “No,” I begged. “Please don’t.”
          Simeon laughed and kicked me into the pit. I do not remember hitting the bottom. I rolled painfully over to see only darkness around me. Bracing myself against the rocky wall I managed to sit up. New tears sprang as I tried to force my aching body to obey me. My fingers felt thick and clumsy, my feet cold and numb.
My narrow prison was not only dry but cold. Its mouth was narrow but the bottom was too wide even to brace my feet against one wall and my shoulders against the opposite side.
          I shouted until my throat went dry. My stomach knotted painfully. My lips dried and I could not muster the spit to moisten them. A new thought terrified me. What if Simeon and Levi, despite their agreement with the others, returned to murder me? Thus they had murdered the helpless, newly circumcised men of Shechem after pretending to make an alliance.




Chapter 3 - TWENTY PIECES OF SILVER



         I lost track of time. I began to feel as if I was floating above the pit floor, yet at the same time felt heavy enough to sink through it. Then I imagined a strange voice, speaking in the Ishmaelite dialect. “Here, boy, wake up. You’re not dead yet, are you?” A hand lifted my chin.
          I jerked away and mumbled, “Go away! Haven’t I been tortured enough?” Then, realizing the apparition had spoken in Ishmaelite, I repeated myself in that dialect.
          “He’s still alive,” the man called to someone above. I opened my eyes, forcing them to focus. A bearded face floated before me. Heavy gold earrings. An Ishmaelite. The man put a water bag to my lips and let me drink. I could not get enough. He pulled it away, leaving me gasping for more.
          “Sir,” I croaked, my voice an unintelligible whisper, “untie me.” He bent to cut the cords binding my ankles.
          His strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me to my feet. Why didn’t he release my hands? My legs were like strings beneath me. I could not feel my feet. Impatiently the Ishmaelite slung me across his shoulders as he might have hefted a calf. With the aid of a rope held by two other men he pulled himself out of the pit and dumped me on the ground.
          Dizzily I sat up. Long shadows stretched over the ground. In the distance near a grove of trees a sizeable donkey caravan was setting up camp for the night. The strangers standing over me were dressed like merchant traders, Ishmaelites from Midian.
          “Release me please,” I repeated, beginning to learn humility at last. Hands reached for my wrists, loosening the cord.
          “I wouldn’t release him if I were you,” called a too-familiar voice. Dan! Heavy feet pounded up to us. “He’ll run away the first chance he gets. Here you,” Dan advanced, the other brothers close behind him. His hand twined in my hair and pulled my face toward his. “Have you learned your lesson yet?”
          I pulled away from him in terror. “D-don’t,” I panted, “don’t, don’t—please.”
          The Ishmaelite who had pulled me from the pit shouldered Dan away, standing between my brothers and me.
          “We came to the cistern looking for water and found this boy, instead. What is he to you?”
          “A liar and a runaway,” answered Judah, stepping confidently forward, “but since we left him here and you found him, we’ll let you have him for 30 pieces of silver.”
          I stared at Judah, not believing what I had heard. I wanted to blurt, “You can’t sell your own brother!” but Simeon and Levi were standing on either side of Judah, eyes gleaming, hands on their knives. Dan, too, had his knife at the ready. The others smiled and nodded. Nine of them. Where was Reuben? The Ishmaelite merchants seemed scant protection but they were better than nothing.
          Smiling, Judah produced a length of cord and knelt before me. “Come boy,” he said, his eyes boring menacingly into mine as he tied the cord about my neck. “Stand up and let us wash you down, show these good men what a fine specimen you are. And hold your tongue.” He twisted the cord in his fingers, choking me. “No one wants to hear from you, understand?”
          I nodded, imagining Simeon’s knife sliding into my belly. Where, oh where, was Reuben?
          Judah yanked on the cord, pulling me to my feet. Issachar poured a skinful of water over me. I shivered as the cool water stung fevered wounds and raw skin. With rough hands and bits of twisted grass Asher and Naphtali tried to rub away the worst of the dirt and blood as Judah talked to the merchants.
          “The boy is 17 years old and has been nothing but trouble all his life. We’d finally had enough of him and were going to leave him to die here, but since you good gentlemen seem interested, we’re willing to let him live, so long as you take him far from here and he never returns.” His eyes connected significantly with mine again. I bit my lip, fighting back tears.
          Judah continued, “We’ve only kept him this long because he reads and writes and speaks five languages.”
          The turbaned, ear-ringed traders scowled, shaking their heads. They examined me carefully, looking none too pleased. I wanted to cry for mercy to these strangers, telling them that I was not a slave and beg for their protection, but Simeon and Levi stood too near, nonchalantly playing with their knives.
          “He’s circumcised,” declared the head trader in disgust. “No one around here has any use for circumcised slaves. We’ll have to sell him in Mizraim. His skin is too fair. He’s skinny and weak and we have no more riding donkeys so he’ll have to walk. If he’s as much trouble as you say, he’s not worth even five pieces of silver.”
          Judah howled in indignation. “We could sell him in Babylon for at least 50 gold rings!” The Ishmaelites smiled. Renowned traders, they enjoyed bargaining as much as they enjoyed a good meal.
          Judah and the Ishmaelite spokesman haggled for long minutes. Hating the thought of slavery, I yet hoped that Judah would not botch this sale. With the Ishmaelites I would be safe from my brothers.
          Finally Judah turned back to the others. There was a great show of arguing before he sighed and turned back to the traders. “There are ten of us altogether. One is busy elsewhere at the moment. We can’t possibly sell for less than 20. That would give us each two pieces of silver. As you see,” he waved his arm at the other eight, “my brothers are very insistent. Twenty is our final price.”
          The trader smiled. “Twenty it is. I’ll send my servant back with the rings and he can bring the boy with him.”
          “Be sure to keep him bound,” Levi said. “He’ll try to run away first chance he gets.”
          “And remember,” said Dan, the worst liar of the ten, “he’s a notorious liar. Don’t believe a word he says.”
          The trader nodded and walked away, his friend and their servants following.
          I turned with disbelief to my brothers. “You can’t—”
          “Shut up slave!” Simeon slapped me across the mouth with the back of his hand, sending me sprawling as my shaky legs collapsed. He smiled evilly. “We’ve already torn up that ridiculous coat of yours and stained it with kid’s blood. We’ll tell Father we found it and he’ll believe you’re dead. If you ever try to come back, or if he ever hears from you, Levi and I will personally find you and kill you. It would be a great pleasure. Do you understand?”
          Astounded, I could only lie staring at this stranger I had known all my life.
         The Ishmaelite servant came running back, ivory earrings bouncing. I watched in disbelief as he counted the silver pieces into Judah’s hand.
          The servant took my neck-cord and walked away. Desperately I hung at the end of the rope, walking backward, pleading mutely. They stood smiling, watching me go. Tears blurred my last sight of them.
          My new master’s servant led me into the grove where his party had camped. He attached the rope to an almond tree and left me. Miserably I sank to the ground, tears streaking my body, hurting too much even to lean against the little tree. Almond blossoms drifted like tears to the ground around me. One of the Ishmaelites had loosened the cord on my wrists, but I had not even the heart to try to wriggle free.
         I spent the night in misery, surprised to see the dawn. Once camp had been struck and the donkeys loaded, a servant came for me. He held a bowl of water to my lips. I gulped it greedily before he loosed my tether and led me to a donkey. Tears welled as I was forced to follow this Ishmaelite, now little more than a piece of trade goods.
          The Ishmaelite servant, a handsome, thick-lipped man wearing ivory earrings, looked me over appraisingly as we stopped beside a donkey. He smiled speculatively, fastened my tether to the donkey’s pack and led it into line. “My name is Nibshim,” he said as he walked away. “I’m your master’s head servant. You do what I tell you.”
          Sunken in misery, I followed the donkey blindly. I had not eaten since early the previous day and the morsel of water had not satisfied my needs. I tried to walk in the shadow of the donkey and its pack but could not escape the sun entirely.
          Sometime that morning a young slave appeared beside me, holding a water bag to my lips. I nodded my thanks as he lowered the bag, my lips too cracked to smile. He grinned and scampered off.
         The boy appeared several times more that day, each time with water, once with a handful of dates that he stuffed into my mouth before leaving. We camped early in order to be securely settled before dark. I sank to the ground the moment we stopped. I was ready to sleep where I dropped, dully surprised that it was evening and I was still alive. My master appeared, his earrings reflecting the setting sun. Without a word he raised the stick he was carrying and brought it down on my back.
          Slave beating was proper and necessary. I knelt and bowed my head, crying out as blows landed on raw, sunburned skin. The beating finished, my master freed my hands and ordered me to assist in unloading and feeding the donkeys. My hands, however, were numb and swollen, arms stiff from being twisted so long behind me. Every time I moved my fingers, needles of pain shot through them and up my arms. Only by watching them could I make them do what I wanted.
          I received generous blows, curses and kicks for my clumsiness, for not knowing how or where to place the unloaded goods, for getting in the way, dropping something or tripping over the dangling leash that had not been removed from my neck.
          I had been used to ordering slaves and servants all my life. It was humiliating to be the one who followed orders, moving with alacrity, kneeling and bowing, averting my eyes, acting humble. I was dizzy with hunger and fatigue by the time the evening meal was ready.
          The caravan contained over 100 people and 600 black donkeys. Except for me the entire caravan was made up of Ishmaelites from Midian. Besides Nibshim, there were two servants and one other slave serving my master. Only I was leashed, doubtless because of what Judah had said about my being a runaway.
         The servants dined out of sight of their masters. As I knelt to serve him, Nibshim reached out and caressed my shoulder. His touch was so gentle it hardly hurt the raw skin. I froze, not daring to raise my eyes. Carefully I placed the food before him and backed away. Beyond my flaming sunburn and cuts and bruises, the spot he had touched so tenderly burned fiercely. My face, too, burned hot.
          Nibshim beckoned another man to him. The man knelt before him, groveling like the lowliest beggar before a king. Sensuously he curled his body toward Nibshim. Like a dog he turned his face up and licked Nibshim’s hand. Smiling benevolently, Nibshim stroked the servant’s short black hair. Gently, languidly, he dropped a morsel into the servant’s mouth.
          Nibshim smiled at me. “Would you like something to eat, too, you repulsive little cur?” he crooned.
          I backed away and reached hastily for the next platter of food. Nibshim laughed and reached for my leash. “What’s the matter, boy?” he asked, pulling me down to him. He reached for my member. To my horrified mortification it stiffened at his touch. He placed my hand in his lap, which was also hard under the cloth. Pulling me closer he caressed my soft young beard and kissed my forehead. Choking, I snatched my hand away and wrenched from his grasp. Grabbing the rope I backed away, gasping. The others laughed and went back to eating.



Chapter 4 - HUMILITY



         I crawled, trembling, into the darkness, despising myself. My own body had betrayed me, responding against my will.
          Another slave came out to me, carrying a small water bag and a bowl of food. I pressed myself against the baggage, ready to scramble away if he approached too closely.
          “Relax, boy,” he said. “If you don’t like our loving we won’t hold it against you, but you might as well get used to it. The Mizraimites do it all the time. If you want to see the next sunrise, though, you’ll never tell anyone.” He squatted in front of me, offering the food and water.
          I whispered, “Thank you,” drained the water bag and devoured the food before hurrying back, realizing that the masters must be finished with their meal. When the last platter and cup were clean and put away, my new master thrust a foot-bowl at me and sat down on his folding stool. I stood a moment holding the foot-bowl gingerly, wanting to drop it. Only the lowest slave had such an ignominious task. Tears sprang again as I stumbled away to get water and a towel.
          I knelt, removed my master’s sandals and slid the bowl under his lifted feet. I had to clench my teeth and look away for a moment before I could force myself to reach into the water and touch his dusty toes. How many times had I enjoyed this little luxury in my father’s camp? With a sigh I tossed away the dirty water, dried his feet, and slipped on his sandals.
          “You imbecile!” he snapped, cuffing me aside the head. “Knock the dust off my sandals next time before you give them back to me.” He kicked me with each foot, dusting the sandals on my prostrate body.
         He waved his hand at a short length of cord lying beside his stool, motioning me to pick it up. Taking the cord from me, his eyes focused on the camp’s activities, he signaled me to turn around, pulled my hands behind my back and tied my wrists. Still not looking at me he picked up my leash, tied it to a tent stake, and walked away.
         Of course my master did not know that I would not try to escape. Simeon’s hate-filled voice echoed in my memory. Tears welling again, I knew I was safer in Mizraim than in the home I loved.
          Bare legs stood over me. A piece of fabric fell over me. I looked up. A slave stood above me, a blanket and sleeping mat draped over his own bare shoulder. “Get some rest, boy. At the rate you’re going, you don’t look like you’ll survive this trip.” He turned away.
         Glumly I settled under the rough packing cloth I had been given. It smelled of donkey and of the rich spices it had covered. As the camp settled for the night I tried to smooth a place to lie, glad even for a rough scrap of cloth. I rolled myself in it as best I could and lay still, wishing for death. Despite my exhaustion, however, sleep would not come. With my hands bound it was impossible to find a comfortable position. Though my bonds were more like hobbles than painful constrictions, they rubbed already raw skin and it hurt to lie with my arms twisted behind me. My body throbbed, every part hurting. The ground was hard and rocky. My scrap of blanket was inadequate against the night chill and heavy dew. Worse, I still felt Nibshim’s every touch. My hand burned where it had touched his manhood.
         “Oh, El,” I whispered, looking tearfully to the milky multitude of stars. “Do I deserve this? Surely You don’t mean for me to—to be—.” Tears streamed. He knew what I meant—if He even cared.
          Had El given Reuben the courage to oppose the others when they wanted to kill me? Surely I had El to thank for preserving my life. Perhaps He would even protect me from Nibshim. Would El journey with me to Mizraim or wherever else I might be taken?
         My great-grandfather had journeyed to Mizraim. El had loved Abraham, as He loved my father and grandfather. As, I had thought, He loved me. In my vanity, I had thrown away that love. Even if El had followed Abraham into Mizraim, He surely had no reason to follow me.
          I thought of Papa. My eyes flew open as I realized the similarity between his past and my own situation. He too had left his family in fear of his life, threatened by a murderous brother, having done worse than anything I had done, yet El had not deserted him. Papa had spent more than 20 years in exile but El had been with him, sending him love and prosperity.
          Perhaps, if I learned humility and worked hard for forgiveness, El would bless me, too. Greatly comforted, I fell into restful sleep, forgetting to hope for death.
Blows from my master’s rod awoke me. It was still dark but the camp was beginning to stir. My master released my bonds and with more blows sent me to the stream with a yoke of waterskins. I had never carried water in bags on a yoke and had difficulty managing them, earning more bruises as a result. Nevertheless I was grateful to be alive, determined to survive the journey that lay ahead and become worthy of El’s favor.
         There was no breakfast for me, though I noticed others chewing something as they worked. Again Nibshim came for me, his eyes raking my body before he tied my leash to a donkey-pack. This was a different donkey, one with a colt. My tether secured, Nibshim turned to me, his smile bright in the faint early light, his eyes gleaming lustfully.
          He reached out to my cheek. “The swelling has almost disappeared,” he said, his voice syrupy. “Maybe you’re not so repulsive after all.”
          I backed as far away as I could, the cord biting the back of my neck. El, help me! I prayed. “Don’t touch me,” I said aloud, my teeth gritted.
          Nibshim raised his eyebrows. Then he grinned again, differently this time, and turned away. I reached to massage my neck. Thank you, El. Thank You, thank You, thank You. Please keep that beast away from me. The donkey’s colt nuzzled me. I rested my hand on his neck, grateful for some impartial contact. As the long caravan got underway the boy who had helped me the day before scrambled onto the colt’s back.
          “Hi,” he smiled. “You look a lot better today.”
          I did not know what to say to him. Had El sent him, or was he one of Nibshim’s cohorts? I stared at my feet and did not answer. The boy was not much more that six or seven years old, like me a slave bound for sale in Mizraim.
          We had not been traveling long before he handed me a water sack. Gratefully I drank from it, but when I offered it back, he refused.
          “Keep it, I have my own,” he said, “but tell me your name. Mine’s Tomas.”
          “Joseph. I’m Joseph, son of—never mind, it doesn’t matter any more.” I shouldered the water-sack, fighting back tears and glad of the use of my hands.
          “You speak our language well. Why are you leashed? Would you run away if you could?”
          “No, I’m better off here.” The thought, spoken aloud, brought more tears. Tomas let me weep. We did not speak much more that day. Tomas seemed content to ride beside me. From some hidden spot in the mother donkey’s pack he produced dried fruit that he shared with me.
          “Save some of your supper tonight,” he advised, “and give it to me. I’ll hide it for tomorrow. After all, slaves don’t get fed well. We have to plan ahead for ourselves.”
          We traveled all day, stopping briefly to visit and exchange news with another caravan. When we stopped to camp my primary job was fetching water. With a few other boys I carried many loads with my yoke carefully balanced across my shoulders. The only meal I got was a meager one before again being bound and picketed for the night after washing my master’s feet and cleaning his sandals. I was weak with fatigue and hunger, but determined to survive and learn El’s lessons. Once the camp was settled Tomas crept to my side.
          “Did you save anything from supper?” he whispered, settling beside me and pulling his blanket over mine. He curled his thin back against my chest, keeping his hands to himself.
          “All I got was a few morsels. Everyone gobbles everything so fast.”
          “Of course they do. You have to grab all you can get or starve. Were you raised in a palace that you don’t know that?”
          “Not quite, but—” I swallowed hard, my throat hurting again, “you’re not far wrong.”
          Tomas sat up, staring at me. “They say you pretend to be the son of a rich man, but most of us don’t believe it. Maybe you are though. You’re stupid enough.” He laid down again and re-arranged our blankets. It felt wonderful to have his warmth beside me and his blanket an extra cover against the heavy dew. I was immensely relieved that he seemed content merely to sleep beside me.
          The next day I managed to grab more food for myself and that night got Tomas to find two sticks with which we fashioned an awning with one of our blankets to protect against the dew. We shared the other blanket in greater comfort.
          That journey would have been unendurable were it not for El’s comfort. I had had little acquaintance with Him before but now I almost physically felt His presence beside me. The first several days required all my faith in His strength and protection but I slowly became accustomed to my new life and began to feel His presence more easily.
         I got used to walking all day without rest and working hard when others stopped. My stomach stopped complaining about only one meal a day. Tomas taught me to snatch morsels of the donkeys’ grain, letting it soften in my mouth before trying to chew it. I bathed myself in furtive snatches as I fetched water for the camp.
Each day began and ended with a beating from my master, though he never spoke to me except to give an order. I learned to be grateful for the smallest things. I was glad, for instance, that I had only one man’s feet to wash, rather than those of all the merchants. I used the foot-basin’s water to rinse my own body.
          I never got used to seeing men behaving like harlots at Nibshim’s slightest whim. They did, however, hide their antics from their masters.
          We followed The Way of the Sea, the great main trade route. Though much of its northern portion wended far inland away from the coastal swamps, the southern part blessed its travelers with ocean breezes and easier roads than the mountainous inland routes. There were few cities here, for good harbors were scarce and much of the land unsuited for farming. It was awesome, as the trail climbed heights, to gaze on the apparently endless sea.
         Despite El’s comfort, I worried about Papa and Benjamin, but there was nothing I could do for them. Setting one foot before the other on that long journey, I realized that if El were saving me from my brothers, He would surely protect Papa and Benjamin, too.




Chapter 5 - FRIENDSHIP



          Tomas reminded me of Benjamin. He was full of joy and anticipation, though he had none of Benjamin’s self-reliant fierceness. As the youngest of six children, his widowed mother had sold him so that the family might eat.
          “With what my mother got from me,” he told me cheerfully, “my oldest brother was able to purchase an excellent apprenticeship and soon he’ll be able to provide for the whole family. My sisters will even have small dowries. In Mizraim, slaves can own land, and marry, and their children are freemen. Imagine that, owning land and still being a slave! In some ways I think I’m luckier than my brothers.”
          Had his Midianite master told his mother these things to ease her mind about selling her son? How true were they?
         As we journeyed west and then south, the land grew more barren until we traveled through desert. The trail was less rocky but the sands were hotter. Once we left Canaan behind, to my great joy I was no longer bound and tethered at night. I was even assigned to a night watch. As the signs of lions, hyenas and jackals increased, I used that time to pray. I began to feel El’s enfolding protection even more at night than during the long hot days.
          Wells and streams became more and more scarce. Each food sack we emptied was replaced by a water bag, sustaining us when we camped without any other water source.
          We stopped early on the 17th day and made camp outside the gates of the first Mizraimite outpost while the merchants secured passage through Lower Mizraim. It was the first day without travel since leaving Dothan a lifetime ago. The only water available was a small spring outside the outpost’s strong brush fence. The spring opened only a short distance in the sand before sinking into it again.
          That next morning Tomas wakened me early. The sky had barely begun to lighten and we could hardly see our way to the little overgrown spring.
          “Joseph,” he asked, “why do we camp so far from the spring? Why can’t we just set up right next to it?
          “See that dung pile?” I said. It was too dark to see anything more than a blotch against the sand. “That’s from a hyena, or maybe a wolf. We don’t see them only because we camp far enough away to let them come and go in peace and they come at night when we’re here. Don’t forget the snakes and other creatures that live in the brush. When we come we make enough noise to scare them away but if we camped among them . . .” I let city-bred Tomas draw his own conclusions.
          We stopped talking as we picked our way through the heavy brush. Tomas found a different path from mine and knelt a little upstream to fill his bags. I took longer to fill my waterskins in order to indulge in a more thorough bathing than I usually got.
          I heard Tomas grunt and slip on the muddy bank as he settled the loaded yoke across his shoulders. As I settled under my own yoke I heard him re-enter the thick overgrowth. The next instant I heard him scream. Then I heard snorting noises and Tomas screamed again, calling my name.
          I dropped my water bags, keeping the yoke, and scrambled toward him, slipping on the muddy bank, stumbling up and yelling to scare away whatever was there. I tore into the bushes, using my yoke like a club. In the gathering light I was horrified to see a pair of wild boars milling in a disturbed thicket, rooting at something on the ground.
          For a sickening instant I saw little Tomas under their feet, something dark shining dully on him and staining the ground. Yelling, terrified at thought of what they were doing, I laid into them with my makeshift club. The boars turned to me and I realized how foolish I had been to charge them with only my inadequate club.
         Hearing more noises in the brush, I swung on the first boar with all my strength. My club thumped on its head and turned him aside but the second one had already reached me. I jumped away, feeling his hot breath on my leg. Nibshim appeared with a heavy rod and smashed it onto the hindquarters of the second boar, which had now turned for another attempt at me. The animal collapsed, squealing loudly. Nibshim sprang upon the other boar and clubbed it to death. Another servant finished off the first beast.
          Tomas had been badly gored. His eyes were glassy. His breath gurgled in his chest. He did not speak, but his eyes met mine. He looked sad. I struggled with tears but could not conceal them. I could only bow my head and hold his hand as he died.
          Someone appeared with a mat. Gently Nibshim helped me roll Tomas’ body in the mat and carry it back for burial.
          As we resumed our journey I sent heartfelt thanks to El for His protection while wondering bitterly why this innocent boy had to die. If I had not lingered at my stolen bath it could have been me rather than Tomas who surprised the boars. Surely I was much less worthy to escape that death than was happy, generous Tomas.
          How much more must I endure? I wondered. Why must everything be taken from me? Everything! El, I’ve struggled so hard to find even a shred of good in this hardship. What more must I suffer? What must I learn?
          In my mind I heard a question, as if El were speaking to me, though I heard nothing. ‘Am not I enough?’
          What kind of question was that? I thought about El, and as I pondered, felt a wash of peace come over me. El’s loving care and unquenchable comfort filled me with contentment. I sighed, feeling wrapped in calm. I still missed Tomas but no longer felt deprived of the good he had brought me.