Till Shiloh Comes

by Gilbert, Morris

  Leah was standing behind Jacob and saw the old man begin to sway. She leaped to his side and cried out in a high-pitched voice, “Jacob, husband!”

  Jacob appeared not to hear her. He pressed his face against the tattered remnant of the coat that he had presented to the son he loved most of all. “My lamb is dead,” he cried, his voice muffled as he pressed it into the tattered garment. “It is the hand of God upon me.” He thought of his dream and how he had refused to sacrifice his son, and now God had struck, and the son was gone. He suddenly stiffened, and his legs refused to hold him. Leah cried and threw her arms around him as he slumped to the ground. The two men stared, turned, and walked quickly away.

  Benjamin and Bilhah came into the tent when they saw the strangers leave and stood staring speechless at the scene before them. Jacob was slumped sobbing over the bloodied coat, and Leah held him, moaning and crying, “My poor husband…. He loved him more than anything.”

  Jacob lifted his head and tore his own garments, baring his thin chest and skinny arms. He began to claw at his chest with his fingernails, uttering a wild, almost inhuman, cry of grief. “My son is lost. My child!”

  Benjamin was sobbing too as he watched the scene in grief and fear. “My brother,” he whispered. “Oh, my brother Joseph, gone! Killed by the wild beasts!”

  The old man and the young man continued to weep, each consumed by their own sorrow, and as Leah watched, she said under her breath, “It will kill him. He cannot live without Joseph.”

  Part Two

  The Accusation

  Chapter 8

  A sudden blow to the small of Joseph’s back brought fresh waves of pain surging through his body. He cried out and remained in a fetal position, throwing his hands up to protect his head. Bracing himself for another blow, he clamped his teeth together and shut his eyes tightly—but the next cry of pain came not from him but from one of his captors. Opening his eyes, he rolled over and saw the burly, sunburned Midianite wallowing on the ground, with Ahmed the slave trader standing over him.

  “You spawn of the Evil One!” Ahmed raged. “Did I not tell you this one must not be harmed!” He aimed a vicious kick to the fallen man’s thigh, which brought another cry of pain. “Get up—and if you lay another hand on this slave, I’ll tear your tongue out by the roots! I’m tired of listening to you anyway.”

  Ahmed turned to look at Joseph. The slave trader made a rather terrifying sight, with one eye white as milk, and the other black as obsidian. A scar wound down the left side of his face, drawing his mouth into a permanent sneer, and he was tall and thin as a tree.

  “Get up, boy,” he said, but his voice was not rough. “Come now. You’re not that badly hurt.”

  Joseph scrambled to his feet and stood there trembling in the fresh morning breeze. His coat of many colors and tunic had been stripped from him, and he wore only a loincloth. He had shivered all through the night, and someone had thrown a thin blanket over him at some point. “Thank you, master,” he said. His tongue was thick, and his lips were dry, for the previous day they had been short of water.

  Ahmed stared at the boy. “You look like a plucked bird,” he said. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen, master.”

  “You don’t look like much now, but I expect if you were cleaned up and didn’t have all those bruises, you’d look like a prince.”

  Joseph swallowed and nodded. “I am a prince, sir, of sorts. My father is chief of a band.”

  “Oh, well, is that so? And those ruffians I bought you from are desert bandits, I suppose.”

  Joseph swallowed hard and looked down at the ground. His feet were bare and torn by briars. “No, sir,” he mumbled. “They’re my brothers.”

  Ahmed’s one good eye opened wide in surprise. “Well, a fine lot they are! They didn’t tell me that. Why did they sell you?” Ahmed watched the young man but got no answer. He studied Joseph, taking in the fine bridge of his nose, the thin nostrils, the wide center of his mouth, and the smooth skin, where it wasn’t skinned or battered by vicious attacks. He was a man of great discernment where slaves were concerned, and he had driven a hard bargain. “I believe I could have got you for nothing,” Ahmed said. “They were anxious to get rid of you.” He waited for Joseph to speak, but again Joseph remained silent. “Come, boy, talk!”

  “They … don’t care for me.”

  “From the looks of those bruises I’d agree. The one I talked to, the shifty-looking one … What’s his name—Dan? Yes, that’s it. He said you were a scholar.”

  “Among my own people I passed for one, sire.”

  “You are able to calculate figures?”

  “Yes, I can do that, sir.”

  “You can measure distances accurately?”

  “Yes, I can do that too.”

  “What about languages?”

  “I speak some Babylonian and Egyptian.”

  “Egyptian! How did you learn that?” Ahmed asked sharply.

  “We found a lost man some years ago who knew the Egyptian language, and we took him in. My father said he was probably a criminal. Perhaps he was, but he was very intelligent.”

  Ahmed suddenly laughed. “Not all criminals are stupid. So you learned the Egyptian tongue from him.”

  “Yes—and about the stars. He was very learned, it turned out, and he taught me many things. Including how to write by several different methods.”

  Ahmed stroked his beard carefully and studied the boy. “You understand that in my business there’s no room for mercy.”

  Joseph looked up and met the single eye of Ahmed. “I don’t expect any, sir. If I couldn’t get it from my own brothers, why should I expect it from anyone else?”

  Ahmed laughed shortly. “A wise answer. However, your education will not be wasted. I have a potential buyer for you who will treat you well.” He waited for Joseph to ask questions, but when the young man remained silent, he said, “Don’t you care?”

  “No, sire. I don’t care.”

  There was such hopelessness in Joseph’s voice that, despite his business and innate hardness, the slave trader felt a tiny surge of pity. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Joseph.”

  “Well, Joseph, we’ll have to dress you out a little better than what you’ve got there, and I have some ointments that may take some of the bruises out. The cuts will take a while to heal. Come along. You are a valuable property. I’ll take care of you very well, you may be sure!”

  ****

  Though he was a hard man, Ahmed viewed Joseph as extremely valuable property and would not allow any of his men to abuse him. He was also gifted in the art of healing, and by the time his caravan reached the borders of Egypt, Joseph was at least free from his aching bones, and the large purplish bruises had mostly disappeared. The cuts and gashes were also healing, but he would be left with some nasty-looking scars.

  The scars on his body, however, were nothing compared to the deep inner pain he suffered. As he trudged southward day after day, his past haunted him, causing such pain and sorrow he could not endure it. He had many times in his life purposed in his heart to be a better son and brother, but such promises, even to himself, had always been short-lived. He wished he could turn back time and fulfill those promises now, but it was too late. He could not escape God’s judgment and now had to endure a fiery trial in which his very soul, it seemed, would be consumed.

  At times Joseph tried to excuse his behavior as the natural result of his father’s having spoiled him from before he could walk. As a child he accepted all the gifts he received as his right, and he took it for granted that he would be allowed his own way and deserved the special privileges afforded him that his brothers never received.

  Often at night, lying awake when his captors and the other slaves were asleep, he now wondered why he had never seen himself as he really was, but he never arrived at an answer. Examining his life was now a painful thing to Joseph, and he had no hope whatsoever for the future, no hope for an escape from
a lifetime of slavery. His heart was heavier than the sands of the desert as he trudged deeper into a foreign land, each step taking him farther and farther from all he had known and loved.

  Despite the pitiful state into which he had sunk, a change began in his spirit he could not account for. All of his life Joseph had believed that God had a special purpose for him, but he had never pursued a deeper relationship with the only One who could direct him toward that purpose. It had been too easy listening to his own voice and pursuing his own heedless ways. Now, however, since all this was lost to him, he could put his active imagination and keen analytical mind to work.

  God can do all things, he thought as he trudged along beside a tall, motley-colored camel. He knows where every person in this world is and what they’re doing. He knew when I was born, what I would be, and what I would do. I can look back and see what I’ve been, but only the Lord knows what’s in the future. It must be that something awaits me besides being a slave.

  Such thinking led to genuine repentance, and a tiny flame of faith began to grow in Joseph as they made their way deeper into Egypt. When they reached Thebes, the sight of the magnificent buildings and the busy commerce of the large thoroughfares captured his full attention. He was able to think of the here and now, and somehow the future did not seem as dark and miserable as it had when he had begun this journey.

  ****

  “There’s Potiphar’s house. That’s where you will be living if I can make a sale,” Ahmed said, pointing with his whip toward a fine home that rose several stories. Its polished white-stone facade glowed in the afternoon sunlight, and it was delightfully surrounded by flowers and trees, giving the house a cool, inviting appearance.

  “Your master’s name will be Potiphar. He’s a very important man. A shrewd dealer too. It will be quite a struggle between us to settle this deal. He will want you for nothing, but I will not accept less than what you’re worth. We will try to get each other so drunk that one of us can cheat the other!” Ahmed said with a hearty laugh. Then with a crafty wink at Joseph, he went on, “Ah, but I can hold my liquor better than Master Potiphar. Come along, now.”

  The caravan had been left behind at the entrance to the city, and Ahmed led Joseph up to the gated entrance of the house. They were met by an extremely fat man with eyes that almost disappeared into the folds of his face. His mouth was enormous and had a fishlike appearance. He was a pasty color but wore an expensive garment and gold rings in his ears.

  “It’s you, Ahmed. What have you got for us this time?”

  “The bargain of a lifetime, Ufa.”

  “They always are. We don’t need any more slaves.”

  Ahmed grinned wickedly, his twisted face looking even more sinister. “Oh, I didn’t know you had taken over Potiphar’s business dealings. I assume you make all the decisions now?”

  Ufa cursed and turned away. “I’ll see if he’ll even want to admit you.”

  “Surly fellow. Mean-spirited. Mistreats the slaves. Probably will mistreat you, but don’t ever react, Joseph, no matter what they do to you. Don’t ever strike back. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sire, I understand.”

  “They’ll whip you if you do, and if that doesn’t do the trick, they’ll throw you to the crocodiles!”

  Joseph patiently listened as Ahmed spoke of Potiphar and his wealth. In ten minutes the fat man came back and said grudgingly, “The master will see you now.”

  “Why, thank you, Ufa. Your manners are exquisite.”

  The two men followed Ufa into the house and into a high-ceilinged room with a sunken marble pool. A man rested in the water who was as large, tall, and fat as his servant Ufa. His head was shaved, and under the rolls of fat on his face, he showed signs of having once been handsome. “What sort of awful merchandise have you brought me this time, Ahmed?”

  “Oh, sir, you must always have your joke,” Ahmed bantered, but he bowed low and touched Joseph, who knelt at once and touched his forehead to the ground. “I am in somewhat of a hurry, master. Couldn’t we just eliminate all the bargaining? Each of us knows the ways of the other, and your time is so much more valuable than mine.”

  Without even glancing at Joseph, Potiphar studied Ahmed carefully. A black servant girl, dressed only in a tiny bead costume, was fanning him, her large eyes fixed on Joseph.

  “That thing?” Potiphar laughed, and his eyes almost disappeared. “Why would I want a scrawny fledgling like that? He wouldn’t last a week in the fields.”

  “You are exactly right, master. That is why he would not go to the fields.”

  “Oh? What would he do, then?”

  “He can do your accounts. He can write in four different scripts. He knows languages like no one I’ve ever seen. As far as the ability to figure, you have no one like him. In short, he is the perfect scribe and a fine-looking young slave too, when he gets some meat on his bones.”

  Interest flickered in Potiphar’s eyes, and he said bluntly, “How much?” He listened as Ahmed named a price and shrugged. “You may leave, Ahmed. Obviously you have no intention of selling the slave. No one would pay such a price. I’ll pay half.”

  Joseph remained perfectly still as he watched the two men argue. Eventually Potiphar crawled out of the pool and was toweled down by a male servant, who was fully as tall as Potiphar but thin as a rail. He was also lighter skinned than an Egyptian and had an intelligent face. He wrapped a robe around the master as Potiphar continued to dicker with Ahmed. Finally the servant leaned over and whispered something into his master’s ear. Joseph saw Potiphar look in his direction with greater interest, and Joseph knew that whoever the tall slave was, he had great influence.

  “I’m too busy to argue. Shave your price and we’ll agree.”

  “You always win, sire. Very well.” And he named what he insisted was his final price.

  “It’s twice what he’s worth. Ufa, pay this thief the money. Now get out of here, Ahmed. I am used to dealing with crooked thieves in the government, but you put them all to shame.”

  Ahmed bowed and touched his forehead with his hand. “Thank you, sire. I think you’ll find you got the best of the bargain.” He turned to Joseph and said, “Joseph, I have done you a favor.”

  “And I thank you, sir.”

  “You see,” Ahmed glanced back. “The boy already has manners.”

  “We’ll see about manners. Now get out.”

  Ahmed went away with Ufa, and Joseph was still on his knees. “Get up, get up!” Potiphar said irritably. He slumped down on a chair and glanced up at the thin servant. “This is Masud. He thinks you look like a bargain, but we shall see. Masud, put him to work in the fields.”

  “But, master—” Masud objected.

  “You heard me!” Potiphar bellowed. “I won’t have a slave that can’t work.”

  “Yes, my master.” Masud mumbled something, and Potiphar looked at him quickly.

  “What did you say?” he demanded.

  “Nothing, sire.”

  “Turn him over to Ufa.”

  “Yes, sire. Come along, Joseph.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Masud and Joseph left, and when they were far away from Potiphar, Masud said, “It’s foolish putting you to work in the fields, but Potiphar has to show his authority. Work hard. Be obedient. I think you will not be there long.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Be careful of Ufa. He likes to show authority too—with a whip!”

  ****

  Joseph quickly discovered that Ufa was a cruel taskmaster. He put Joseph to work in the fields with the other slaves from sunup until sundown. There were days when Joseph nearly fainted, for he had led an easy life physically. He gritted his teeth and stuck with it, however, doing his work so well that Ufa had to find fault with him about other things.

  Some days he put him to the task of emptying the slops and dealing with the garbage that came out of the large kitchen, sometimes having him help the kitchen maids wash the dishes. He was out t
o break Joseph’s spirit, and he tried every trick in his book.

  If it had not been for Masud’s ongoing advice and encouragement, Joseph would probably not have made it. The tall scribe was not only intelligent, he was shrewd and did all he could to ease Joseph’s burden.

  Two weeks after Joseph arrived, Masud appeared and said, “Come with me.” Joseph had been working hard in the fields and was dirty and covered with dried sweat. His limbs trembled, for the work was terribly hard. He followed Masud outside to a large marble pool used to wash clothes. It was full now with clear water, and Masud said, “Jump in there and wash yourself off, Joseph.”

  Gratefully Joseph peeled off his clothes and submerged himself in the water. It was comfortably tepid, and as he scrubbed himself with the sponge Masud provided, he began to grow very tired. Finally he laid his head back against the side of the pool and allowed his body to float. He was nearly asleep when Masud poked him. “Things will be better from now on.”

  Joseph jumped and opened his eyes, alert again to his superior. “What do you mean, Masud?”

  “I finally convinced Potiphar that it was a waste of talent for you to be working in the fields. He knew it himself, but he’s stubborn.”

  “What’s he like, Masud? He’s married, isn’t he … ? So I’ve heard the slaves speak.”

  “Yes. But his wife is not around much. She stays at a town called On much of the time. She has a good friend there, the daughter of the priest of On. The two are inseparable.”

  Joseph ducked his head under the water, then rose up and let it drain off his hair. “What does the master do for Pharaoh?”

  “Whatever Pharaoh says. He’s not in the very upper rungs of government, you understand. I would say maybe in the fourth rung, but Pharaoh knows his name and has shown favor to him.”

  “Do he and his wife have children?”

  “No. Never will have.”

  Joseph looked quickly at Masud, whose face was blank. “You mean she’s barren?”