The Book of God: The Bible as a Novel

by Wangerin Jr. , Walter

  When two officers of Pharaoh’s court were cast into these chambers—each for some offense which their lord must soon have forgotten—Joseph was charged to serve them. One was Pharaoh’s butler. The other had been his baker. But Joseph was a Hebrew; therefore, they took his ministrations for granted and ignored him.

  Time passed and neither courtier heard word from on high regarding his release. Each man sank into despair. They experienced horrible bouts of anxiety. And because slaves are nonentities, they confided their feelings to the Hebrew.

  “What can we do to survive in here?” they asked. “Tell us,” they begged, “how you endure this misery.”

  But the slave only said, “The Lord is with me.”

  ONE MORNING, as Joseph approached the cell of his masters with water and cloths to wash them, he heard an odd, choked moaning. When he entered, he found both Egyptians crouched in corners, shivering, holding their elbows as if cold to the bone. They were staring at the floor with gaunt eyes.

  Joseph said, “What is the matter with you?”

  The butler leaped to his feet and pressed his hands to his temples. “Hebrew, Hebrew, what do you know about us?” he cried. He turned to the wall. “We dreamed last night. Both of us. But there’s no one in this pit to interpret the dreams. You have no idea, the agony. But it’s not your fault. You’ve never lived as we have. Wash me and go away.”

  The delicate man sat down, tilted his head upward and closed his eyes.

  Joseph wet his cloth and began to wash the butler’s ears. “I have dreamed,” he said softly. “And my dreams had meanings. Very good meanings, so I thought at the time. But no one had to interpret my dreams to me.”

  “What do you mean?” The butler opened one eye.

  “I knew the meanings the moment I awoke.”

  The butler opened both eyes. “How? Are you a magician?”

  “Don’t all interpretations belong to God?” said Joseph. “And where is God not? God is everywhere.”

  The baker, much smaller than the butler, more private by profession, crept up to Joseph and touched his shoulder.

  “Here?” the baker whispered. “God is…here?”

  “Everywhere,” said Joseph.

  “Do you think,” the baker whispered with dreadful hesitation, “that God would perhaps be willing to interpret our dreams?”

  Suddenly the butler seized both of Joseph’s wrists. “Listen! Listen to this,” he hissed and then launched into a breathless monologue: “I saw a grapevine with three branches, budding. Its blossoms burst open, and immediately there were clusters of ripe grapes, and I was pressing the grapes into Pharaoh’s cup which was in my hand, and then I was taking the wine to him. What does your God think it means?”

  Joseph plucked the butler’s fingers from around his wrists, moistened the cloths and turned to the baker.

  “The three branches are three days,” Joseph said, beginning to wash the baker’s face. “In three days Pharaoh will raise your head from here to himself above. He will restore you to your former office as his butler.” Joseph turned to look at the butler. “This is the true meaning. When it takes place, remember me. When you are in Pharaoh’s presence once again, please tell him of my situation. I beg you to ask for clemency.”

  Now, even the soft-spoken baker could not sit still. He wriggled beneath Joseph’s hand, so Joseph touched the man’s brow with the cloth and said, “What was your dream?”

  The baker closed his eyes. “I dreamed that there were three baskets on my head. The topmost basket carried cakes for Pharaoh, but the birds were pecking them. That is all.”

  The man fell silent. Joseph likewise said nothing for a long time. He washed the baker all down his arms, and when he came to the hands, he lingered.

  “The three baskets are three days,” he said. “In three days Pharaoh will raise your head from—” Joseph folded the man’s hands within his own. “—will raise your head from your shoulders,” he said. “He will hang you on a tree. The birds will eat the flesh from you.”

  IN THREE DAYS the Pharaoh chose to celebrate his birthday by means of a feast for all his servants. On that occasion he remembered the butler and the baker, officers he had consigned to prison. The butler he brought back into his palace and his good graces. The baker he hanged.

  But the butler forgot how he came to know the fortune that befell him.

  So Joseph was in prison. In the dark pit of prison Joseph lay down on rotten bullrushes, while the days passed into months and the months into years.

  IV

  PHARAOH SLEPT ON a couch. During the day it was a divan for sitting; at night it became his bed. In the company of several wakeful servants, Pharaoh slept on a couch which was crafted of cedar and gold and silver. It was covered with thicknesses of linen; it was set on a raised pavement, itself a splendid mosaic of porphyry, marble, mother-of-pearl, and other precious stones.

  And the king of Egypt slept in light.

  Oil lamps burned while Pharaoh was sleeping. Water flowed near his private chamber, murmuring softly, ready to slake or wash or cool the body of the king.

  Curtains of a dark and curious weave stilled any wind that wandered the palace; rugs softened any step; and music could, if necessary, immediately comfort any nightmare; a harp and a lute waited to be brushed by the fingers of young girls. Likewise, a priest was never far away. Pharaoh was blood-kin to the gods. He slept attended. He slept in the company of many ministers. And yet this sacred personage slept on his beautiful couch in a loneliness deeper than any.

  This was not so much his will as it was his station.

  It could not be changed.

  ONE NIGHT PHARAOH lunged awake with a cry, staring about himself as if blind. His bedclothes fell aside.

  Straightway two servants rushed in with moist towels. Young girls touched their instruments, causing shy chords to catch the air. A woman moved through the room brightening every lamp. Another brought new linen covers for the king’s body.

  Soon Pharaoh lay back and fell again into a fitful sleep.

  But he mumbled and sweated and threw his arms about so that the servants who crept too close to fan him got cuffed.

  Again the king lunged awake, panting and staring into the air.

  “Where is the priest?” he cried. “Bring me the priest!”

  The priest was already beside him, with a flask of wine and a silver cup.

  Pharaoh gripped his arm. The cup splashed wine down the skirts of the priest.

  Pharaoh said, “I dreamed. I dreamed a dreadful dream. I dreamed two dreams, very similar, very significant, very—”

  Without releasing the priest’s arm, Pharaoh told his dreams in sacred awe and in precise detail.

  “What do they mean?” he said.

  The poor priest had turned white during the recitation. Yes, the dreams were clearly heavy with meaning. So much the worse for the priest, who hadn’t the first idea what they meant.

  “Then bring me the magi!” the king commanded. “I want those who have made a profession of the sciences! Let them study this and interpret it!”

  Pharaoh then recounted his dreams to a series of grave, thoughtful men, students of the universe. Courtly men pretended interpretations—and enraged the king. “You take me for a fool?” he cried. Men of honor bowed their heads and admitted failure. Men frightened even to approach the foot of Pharaoh stood gaping and mute.

  “Is that it? Have I met every wise head in the kingdom? Is there no one to interpret my dreams to me?”

  Then it was that the chief butler received his memory again. “O Pharaoh,” he said, “There was a Hebrew slave in prison who interpreted my dream for me. He told me that my dream spoke of you, sir—that you would elevate me to your service again. And he was right.”

  “What is this Hebrew’s name?”

  “I never knew. Sir, I never knew his name.”

  IT WAS THE CAPTAIN of the king’s own guard, Potiphar, who ushered into Pharaoh’s presence a Hebrew man thirty years
old, newly shaven, pale from the prisons, but confident in his carriage and level in his looking.

  Pharaoh regarded the slave, who nodded and smiled.

  “Hebrew, do you interpret dreams?”

  “No,” said the slave without embarrassment. “It isn’t in me to interpret dreams. But God does. God can give an answer to Pharaoh concerning his dreams.”

  “Hebrew,” Pharaoh said, slowly measuring the man from his foot to his face, “what is your name?”

  “Joseph. I am the son of Jacob, who is called Israel.”

  “Joseph, then,” Pharaoh said, “these are my dreams.”

  “I was standing by the Nile when seven cows, sleek and fat, climbed out of the water and began to graze on the reed grass. Immediately seven other cows came out. These were sickly cattle, very thin. They swallowed down the fat cows, and yet they stayed as thin as before. I woke from that dream, then slept and dreamed again.

  “I saw seven ears of grain, plump and good, all growing on a single stalk. But then there sprouted seven more ears, thin and blighted by the east wind. Exactly as in my first dream, the thin ears ate the full ears.

  “Joseph, son of Jacob, what does it mean?”

  The Hebrew’s expression had grown solemn. His voice now came soft with humility and perfect certitude. “God has shown Pharaoh what he is about to do through many lands,” he said. “The seven good cows and the seven good ears are seven years. Your dreams are one. There will be seven years of great plenty in Egypt. But then the lean cows and the blighted ears stand for seven years of famine to follow the abundant years. Famine shall consume the kingdom so grievously that the time of plenty will be forgotten altogether. And the doubling of Pharaoh’s dream means that the thing is fixed by God. It will surely be.”

  For a moment the halls of the Pharaoh were still. No one spoke, neither priest nor butler, wise man, or eunuch or slave. The king and the Hebrew looked at one another.

  It was Joseph who broke silence.

  “If Pharaoh wishes,” he said, “I have a suggestion.”

  “Speak.”

  “Let Pharaoh appoint someone discreet, impartial, and wise to administer a gathering of grain during the seven years of plenty. Let granaries be built in which to store food against the seven years of famine that are to follow.”

  Two sentences. The Hebrew had uttered in two sentences such a clear common sense that Pharaoh stood up, stepped down from his dais, and confronted the man on an equal level, eye to eye.

  “What would you say, Joseph? Shouldn’t my administrator also exhibit the spirit of God? Shouldn’t he be both bold and honorable?”

  The Hebrew said, “Yes.”

  “Yes,” said Pharaoh. “Yes, and since God is with you, interpreting dreams and offering prompt, impeccable counsel, I choose you.”

  The king of Egypt turned to a messenger and framed a decree to go forth through the entire kingdom:

  “Watch, Phlopater,” he said. “Do you see how I put my signet ring on this man’s hand?”

  The messenger nodded.

  “Yes, you have seen it,” said the king. “Joseph, the son of Jacob, now has power to issue orders in the king’s name and the ring to seal the same. He is no slave. He is no prisoner. He is under the authority of none but me, and all are under his authority. Mark it: he is my governor.

  “Watch, Philopater. Do you see how I array the man in royal robes the like of my own? Do you see how I hang a golden chain around his neck? Yes, and when he rides through the kingdom, it shall be in a chariot whose glory rivals mine. And you, Philopater, shall command runners to go before him, crying, “Abrek! Abrek! Kneel before the governor’s passing!’”

  And so it was.

  Pharaoh gave his new governor a new name: Zaphenath-paneah. By this name his fame went forth throughout Egypt and yet farther to the kingdoms north and east. Zaphenath-paneah, the Man who Lives when the Deity Speaks.

  SO GOD WAS with Joseph.

  He married Asenath, the daughter of the priest of On, and was comforted with human companionship.

  Moreover, by the wisdom which God had invested in him, he accomplished the tasks he himself had recommended to the king. Joseph oversaw the building of spacious granaries. Then, during the plenteous years, he gathered so much food that finally it could no longer be measured.

  During those years, too, his wife bore him two sons.

  Joseph called the first Manasseh. It meant Making To Forget. For he said, “God has caused me to forget my hardship.”

  The second child he called Ephraim, To Be Fruitful. For in the evenings Joseph would ascend to a high window in his house and gaze down at the river valley, the fields, the crops of his adopted country: his life. And what was all this land, by the hand of God, if not fruitful?

  But soon, exactly as the Lord God had communicated unto Pharaoh, the earth withered and hardened and cracked. Its plenty came to an end. Even the mighty Nile shrank and could not serve the soil. Famine began.

  Months of drought became years of drought, so that the people despaired of rain and harvests. They ground dust between their teeth. It was a famine indeed.

  As governor, Joseph opened the granaries slowly, sparingly. He knew he had to dole out their stores through seven years. The Egyptians, therefore, did not eat much. But they ate. And they did not die.

  V

  OLD JACOB STOOD on a hill near Hebron, squinting across a stony gorge to the ridge road that traveled north and south in that region.

  “See that?” he said. He raised his hand and pointed toward a file of travelers toiling along the ridge. They were silhouettes in a slow dance northward. Jacob’s eyes watered in the dying sunlight.

  “You see that lot?” he said. “They are tired, but their sacks are full. They are poorer, but they will eat for three months.”

  Jacob leaned heavily on a staff. He was speaking to his fourth son, Judah, who stood stout and strong beside him. This one was as quiet as his mother Leah. Once Jacob had mistrusted the child of his who did not talk. Now he believed that Judah’s silences came of conviction and not of deceit.

  “I think it is time we did the same,” he said. “How many goats still give milk? There is neither milk nor cheese left. The rams live and the ewes die and even the lambs that are born die when their dams do. Judah?”

  “Here I am, father.”

  “When did the last merchant caravan pass this way?”

  “More than three years ago.”

  “Who travels through these dead lands?”

  “Thieves. Gangs. The famished.”

  “Yes, and city-delegations to Egypt to buy grain. Those travelers there are proof that the rumors are true. Egypt has food, and it is time we went as well.” The old man turned to face his son directly. “Take your brothers for protection. Leave your wives and children with me. Go down to Egypt and barter the best you can. Buy grain and come home again with full sacks.”

  Judah continued to gaze toward the sunset. His face took a bronze tinge. He had a broad forehead and a large nose. Jacob admired the nose on his son, but he wished the expression were more mobile. Judah’s features chiefly showed restraint and rectitude.

  “Father.”

  “Yes?”

  “All my brothers?”

  “No!” Jacob shouted. His stomach contracted. He gripped the staff for stability. Then, with more control, he said, “No, not Benjamin. All but Benjamin. Benjamin stays with me.”

  Soon Judah and his brothers, their donkeys, provisions, weapons and wealth, crossed to the ridge road themselves, where they turned south and slowly rode away, while Jacob and his youngest child stood watching the departure.

  The old man put his arm around the boy. Benjamin was fourteen years old. He had a tangle of beautiful hair. He was a mere baby.

  THE RAINY SEASON passed without rain. Only a few light showers fell to taunt the starving tribes.

  Jacob went out every day to watch for the return of his sons. Every day was clear and hot. His old eyes could s
ee very far across the land.

  And then one afternoon he recognized their dark forms in the distance, so he hurried back to the tents to prepare a meal for their arrival.

  They ate a solemn feast. The eating preceded any talking. Jacob kept jumping up and looking south. Ten of his sons had gone into Egypt. Only nine returned. Simeon had not come back. Judah grimly avoided his father’s glances—and Jacob could scarcely stand the silence.

  Finally he broke the ceremony of their feasting and cried, “Where’s Simeon? What happened to Simeon? Why hasn’t my second son come back?”

  All the brothers ceased eating and sat in grave silence.

  Judah said, “The grand vizier of Egypt, the most powerful officer, second only to Pharaoh, the governor in charge of foodstores—Zaphenath-paneah himself—required that Simeon stay behind in prison.”

  Jacob held onto his staff with both hands, or else he would surely have collapsed. He was the only one standing. His sons sat with their heads hung down, grizzled hair and sorrow covering their faces.

  “Why? Judah, why? Why would the governor want Simeon? What crime did he commit?”

  “The grand vizier,” said Judah, “charged us all with a crime. All of us. He said we were spies.”

  “ What? Spies? What did you do?”

  “We don’t know.” Stout Judah now raised his face and looked helplessly at his father. “We were surprised that the man wanted to see us at all.

  “Father,” Judah said, “there are many people in Egypt to buy food, and there are officers to handle the traffic. But the governor himself came out to look at us. He asked where we came from. We said Canaan. He asked who our father was. We said, Jacob, called Israel. Then he said, Yes, well, you are spies. He accused us of spying. We said, No, we are brothers, plain shepherds. We told him there was no one else in Canaan except our father and one other brother.

  “What is your brother’s name? he asked.

  “Benjamin, we said.