Till Shiloh Comes

by Gilbert, Morris

  “It is what the letter says, Governor,” Joseph replied.

  “Rather a raw sentence, don’t you think? Life for something you never did.”

  The captain prodded Joseph in the ribs with his thumb. “You should have had the wench. At least you would have gotten something out of it.”

  “I doubt he’d still be alive if he had accomplished his evil purpose. That’s enough, Captain. I’ll call you after I’ve interrogated the prisoner.”

  Joseph watched as the captain left, then gave his full attention to Rashidi. There was something unmilitary about the man, but then he was not a soldier but an official of some type. The keepers of most prisons grew ugly along with their ugly trade, but there was a geniality about Rashidi that encouraged Joseph. The mildness of his expression, the gentleness in his eyes, belied the man’s reputation.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Rashidi said and, without waiting, turned back and sat down in a padded chair. He poured himself a cup of wine and stared at Joseph. He listened as Joseph gave him a brief account of his life, and when he was through, he said, “So you have been educated. Tell me this,” he said, “how many beasts of burden would it take to carry food to five hundred workers along with all of their officers and overseers?”

  “I would think about fifteen oxen and thirty asses might be about right.”

  Interest flickered in Rashidi’s eyes. “And how many men would you order to drag a block of stone three feet square for five miles to the river?”

  “At least a hundred,” Joseph said, “depending upon the territory they would have to cross.”

  “Would you use men or beasts for such a task?”

  “You would want to use men because men are cheaper than oxen.”

  For some time Rashidi questioned Joseph, and finally he said, “You have a fine education, but we’re not here for your benefit. You will work in the fields and at hard labor. Some think that the prisoners brought here are kept in cells. None of that loafing will do! The pharaoh has many projects that require much labor. Someday, perhaps, your education may come in handy.” He hesitated, then said, “You read also?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you enjoy poetry?”

  “Very much.”

  Rashidi stared at him. “I am a poet,” he announced. “If you do well, I may allow you to read some of my work.”

  Joseph smiled for the first time. “That would be a blessing indeed, master.”

  Rashidi studied Joseph, wondering about the smile. “We will see if you survive the fields. If you live, we may find better use for you.” Getting up from his chair, he walked over to the door and called out, “Captain, put this man to work.”

  “I’ll put him under Yafeu,” the soldier said with a curt nod.

  “A rough one indeed, but he will tell us whether there’s anything of use in this wife stealer. Go along, wife stealer. Let me hear no evil reports about you.”

  Joseph bowed to the governor, turned, and walked away with the captain. When they were out in the open air, the captain said, “You will get a little break. No work today. Just a meal. Tomorrow you can start with Yafeu. Let me give you a bit of advice. Don’t aggravate him. He’s got a temper like a cobra.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Joseph said. “I will do my best to please him.”

  “You won’t do that. Just don’t get his temper stirred,” the captain warned. “More than one man who did wound up as food for the crocodiles. Now, come along.”

  ****

  Joseph’s overseer, Yafeu, was indeed a hard man. He demanded that every prisoner under his care arrive at his sleeping mat at night absolutely drained of energy. Anyone who did not haul with his full strength on the rope or did not dig fast enough to exhaust himself found the taste of Yafeu’s whip on his back.

  Joseph was stronger than many of the criminals who came to the prison. When he was delivered into his hands, Yafeu walked around him, carefully observing him. He prodded Joseph’s muscles, squeezed his arms, and nodded. “You’re the kind I like, wife stealer. You belong to Pharaoh now, and you owe him all of your sweat. If I don’t get it out of you one way, I will another. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “What fine manners,” Yafeu said with a sneer. “They won’t do you much good here.”

  Joseph went to work that day, and by the time he got back to the prison he was trembling in every nerve. Though barely able to stay awake long enough to eat the bowl of thin gruel and the chunk of rock-hard bread that was provided for the evening meal, he was pleased to know he had satisfied Yafeu. He slept until he was roused before daylight, ate an equally unappetizing meal, and went to the quarry for another full day of work.

  During the days that followed he knew only work, gobbling down the meager fare, and sleep. He saw other men lashed, but he himself was spared, for he never failed to give his best. Yafeu, who knew the strength of men and their weaknesses, was not one to waste his lash on a man who was already giving all he had.

  From time to time the governor would ask about the wife stealer Joseph, and Yafeu would shrug. “I wish they were all as strong as he is and worked as hard.”

  “He works hard, does he?”

  “I am surprised at how hard,” Yafeu said. “He was some kind of aristocrat, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was the head steward in the house of Potiphar.”

  “You’d never know it. Most of the times when scribes and weaklings like that come here they collapse the first day. But he’s a strong man. The pharaoh will get his money’s worth out of him.”

  And so the sun rose and set each day and the weeks rolled by until three long months had passed. Joseph was so exhausted he had no time to dream or think of his family back in Hebron. His struggle to survive the rigors of Khari took every bit of strength he had.

  ****

  “Come along, Joseph.”

  Joseph had just eaten his morning meal, a thin, tasteless fish soup. He had discovered a large fish eye in his bowl, which was a great delicacy to him, and he was careful not to let anyone else see that he had it. Now he looked up to see Yafeu standing beside the captain who had first escorted Joseph to the governor. Joseph stood up quickly and waited.

  The captain said, “Come along, Joseph. The governor wants to see you.”

  “Bring him back when you’re through with him. I need him on this job,” Yafeu called out as the two left.

  “That’s up to the governor,” the captain called back. As the two walked toward the governor’s tower, the captain studied Joseph. “You’ve lost a little weight.”

  “I was probably too fat anyway,” Joseph said.

  Amused, the captain grinned. “Well, there’s an idea. We can bring all the people who can’t lose weight to work for Yafeu.”

  “That will do it,” Joseph murmured.

  When they reached the governor’s tower, the captain said, “Aren’t you going to ask why you’re being sent for?”

  “I assume that if you knew, you would tell me, Captain.”

  “You’re right. The governor hasn’t said. But as far as I know, you’re in no trouble.”

  When they entered Rashidi’s large office, he was seated in the same chair and seemed to have the same cup before him he’d had three months earlier. “All right, Captain, you may go.”

  “What about the prisoner, sire?”

  “Don’t worry about him. If he tries to escape, I’ll kill him myself.”

  The captain laughed and left the room. Rashidi poured himself another glass of wine, and then to Joseph’s surprise, he reached over, got another cup, and poured it full. “Have a glass of wine, Joseph.”

  Joseph did not let any surprise show on his face as he accepted the wine. “Thank you, sir,” he murmured and sipped it.

  Rashidi drained his own cup and then used it to point to a chair. “Sit down, Joseph. We have things to talk about.”

  Joseph sat down and studied Rashidi. He had no idea why he was here, but he knew someho
w that God was behind it. Whenever he had strength to think, he remembered that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob did not change. Somehow he was to be used in this place.

  Rashidi asked, “Do you believe our pharaoh is a god, as he claims?”

  Joseph could not help smiling. “Is every new pharaoh a new god? Aren’t there enough gods already?”

  Rashidi laughed and sipped more wine. “I would think so. I’m writing a poem about them, which no one will ever see because it would get me thrown to the crocodiles if anyone read it. It’s very atheistic. But you are not an atheist, are you?”

  “No, master, I am not.”

  “Yes, I understand that you believe in a god that has no form, no body that we can see.”

  “Yes, that is true, sire.”

  “I like that. Most of the gods I see are artistically rude. You would think if a man would make a god, he would make him beautiful. And the pharaoh himself is much too ugly to be a god in my opinion.”

  “If a man creates a god, or says he himself is a god,” Joseph said, “then the so-called god is no more powerful than the man who made him, is he not?”

  “I would agree with that,” Rashidi said, taking another sip of wine. “That would seem like common sense, but the people have no common sense and they believe Pharaoh when he says he is more powerful than all the gods! Pshaw! I would as soon worship the sun myself. That at least makes some sense.” Rashidi narrowed his eyes and gave Joseph a long, hard look. “Now, tell me about your god, Hebrew. How can a man know that your god is as powerful as you say?”

  Joseph took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He had no idea if this invitation to speak of his faith would mean a one-way trip to the crocodile pit. But it was also possible that he was witnessing a miracle in being allowed this opportunity to honor the God of his fathers. Whatever the outcome, he had no choice but to speak about El Shaddai. He related his grandfather’s meeting with God, the miracle of the birth of a son when Abraham was a hundred years old and his wife nearly so. He even told of his own father’s experience on the way back from Laban’s house when he saw a ladder reaching up to the heavens.

  “You say it reached to the heavens, eh?” Rashidi said. “Now, that’s a poetic way of saying it. I think I’ll put that in my poem. You don’t think it would be stealing, would you?”

  “Certainly not. My father would be honored, sir.”

  Rashidi leaned back and said suddenly, “From now on, Joseph, you will not be working in the quarry. You will be a foreman in charge of men.” Rashidi waited for Joseph to show some surprise. When he did not, he leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest. “You don’t seem impressed. Most men would be turning handsprings for joy.”

  “I am happy, sir, to be out of the quarry—but not surprised.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because God has more for me to do than to haul pieces of rock out of the ground for another pyramid or another temple to a god who doesn’t exist.”

  “That’s bold talk. You could be filleted alive for that.”

  “But you feel the same way, that God has put something in you that you will not achieve except by using it.”

  Rashidi’s eyes flew open. “That’s exactly right. I have no idea, but I know that I won’t be in this accursed prison forever. I’ll be a poet.”

  “I think you will be, and I will look forward to looking at your work someday, that is, if you allow me to, Governor.”

  Rashidi stared at the man before him. “You’ll have to get cleaned up. We’ll get you some more clothes. If you’re going to be an overseer, you’re going to have to look the part.”

  Joseph smiled. “That would be most kind of you, sir.”

  “Go get dressed up, then come back. We’ll have a meal together and talk about your duties. And, also, I will allow you to read my poem. If you don’t like it,” he said frowning terribly, “I may have you back in the quarry.”

  “You will hear nothing but good from me about your poetry.”

  Rashidi laughed. “Ha! I will never get an honest opinion out of you now.”

  “Yes you will,” Joseph said with a smile. “I am not afraid of going back to the quarry, and although I am not a poet myself, I will give you my true judgment.”

  “Good. Now, go and take this order. You will have your own room and your own uniform. Hurry. I am anxious for you to hear my poem. It’s by far the best thing that’s ever been written!”

  Chapter 14

  Rashidi threw his writing materials across the room and grabbed his hair in frustration. He appeared to be trying to lift himself out of his chair when Yafeu came into the room and stopped dead still. He grinned slightly, then said, “I take it the poem is not going well, Governor?”

  “No, it’s not going well!” Rashidi shouted. “It won’t come out of me. I know it’s inside somewhere, but it … it hides!”

  “Perhaps it’s hidden behind your liver,” Yafeu said, trying to stifle his laughter.

  “What do you want, Yafeu?”

  “I hate to interrupt a genius at work, sir, and I know your poem is all important, but—”

  “Never mind all that. What do you want? Out with it!”

  “It’s the bearing walls for the new temple, sire. One of them just collapsed, and I’m afraid the rest of them are going to do the same.”

  “It was designed by an idiot! What do you expect me to do about it? I’m not an engineer.”

  “I think the pharaoh expects you to do something, Governor,” Yafeu said with a shrug, “and he thinks these buildings raise themselves up. It never once enters his mind that it takes sweat and blood and intelligence to put up a new temple.”

  “Exactly! And I will certainly tell him so the next time I see him!”

  “I doubt that, sire. You have too easy a life here. If you told the pharaoh that, you would probably be out working in the quarry yourself.”

  Because Rashidi knew that his overseer was right, he could only mumble, “Well, someone needs to tell him.”

  “When you’re a god, who can tell you things, sir? Only another god, I suppose.”

  Rashidi got up and began to pace the floor. He stopped long enough to pick up the sheet of papyrus he had been writing on and stared at the lines. “I can’t make this come out right. I’m writing the greatest poem ever written, and you expect me to lay it aside to worry over a stupid bearing wall?”

  “I think it might be wise, Governor.”

  “Well, I can’t do anything about it. Go find Joseph. Take your problem to him.”

  Yafeu laughed aloud. “That wife stealer is running this prison now, not you.”

  “That’s just the way I want it, and it’s why I brought him out of the quarry so I would have time to devote to my work—my real work! Not this infamous, stinking prison I have to live in. Go find Joseph. He’ll fix it.”

  “Go find Joseph” had been Rashidi’s refrain for the past year and a half. He had at first put Joseph to overseeing one gang of men, but his efficiency had become so evident he had risen quickly to become head of any project Rashidi was commanded by the pharaoh to complete. Joseph was not an engineer, but he had found two engineers in prison whose expertise was being wasted. Joseph had taken them out of their work in the field, cleaned them up, fed them well, and promised them that one day they would have their freedom if they served well. They had done more than that, and now Rashidi was free to think up new lines for his poem. Whenever a problem came up, he simply waved his hands and said, “Go find Joseph.”

  It was an excellent solution for both Joseph and Rashidi. They often had their evening meal together after their day’s work—Joseph’s work consisting of building and agricultural projects while Rashidi sat and stared into space waiting for the inspiration to write down a new section of his poem.

  ****

  “Joseph, you’ve got to do something about this new temple,” Yafeu said. He had found Joseph speaking with several of the overseers who were supervising the building of some
new canals. Joseph looked up from the diagram he was pointing at and said, “What is it, Yafeu?”

  “It’s the new temple, the pharaoh’s pet project,” Yafeu said with a shrug. “There’s something wrong with the plan. The bearing walls aren’t holding up. There was another collapse this morning. Killed three workers. Three good ones too, I might add. When these things happen, why can’t the weaker ones die? But no, it’s always the efficient ones. I don’t know why the gods bring these things on me.”

  “What makes you think the gods are doing it, Yafeu?” Joseph smiled. “Maybe it was the fault of the engineers.”

  “Well, I don’t care whose fault it was—it’s got to be fixed!” Yafeu took the diagram from Joseph. “Look, I’ll take over here. You go down to the new temple and see what’s going on down there.” Yafeu shrugged his burly shoulders. “It had better be fixed soon, whatever it is. The pharaoh thinks that the gods themselves are building this temple. He won’t accept excuses.”

  “I’ll go see what I can do, Yafeu.” He started to walk away, then turned and said, “Aren’t you going to send guards with me to see that I don’t run away?”

  “Oh, take a couple. It’s a nice break for them, but I know you aren’t going anywhere.”

  “That’s right,” Joseph said with a smile. “I won’t run away.”

  “You still have the crazy idea that your god has put you in this place, haven’t you?” Yafeu said with a sneer. He had gotten this information from the governor. “He must not be much of a god to put you in a prison like this.”

  “My God is in no hurry,” Joseph said. “He’s waiting for the proper moment to do something with me.”

  “Well, he can just wait while you go fix the pharaoh’s new temple! Get on with you now, and let me know when you’ve fixed it.”

  ****

  Joseph worked for three days with the engineers and workers who were laboring to erect the new temple Pharaoh had ordered. It was a difficult job, for the original engineer seemed to have done all he could to produce the wrong results. Joseph stayed on the site, sleeping on a cot furnished by one of the soldiers, and managed to solve the problem with the plan. Cleaning out the wall that had fallen and building a new one had been more difficult.