Journey

by Angela Hunt

  Amenhotep nodded. “You and your brother may live in Goshen, and I wish you well. But your father, my own Zaphenath-paneah, shall not leave Thebes. I will want him by my side for as long as I live.”

  This announcement brought an immediate hush to the gathering. Tiy’s face appeared through the shrubbery, her brows pulled into an affronted frown. The countenances of the two new viziers fell.

  “Zaphenath-paneah.” Pharaoh stepped down from his dais and walked toward Yosef. “Will you remain in Thebes to serve as my chief counselor? I covet your wisdom above that of all my servants, above my two viziers, above my priests, above my counselors. I value your judgment—” he thrust out his chin “—even above that of the Great Wife, Queen Tiy, who shall from this day be banished to chambers in my harem while a new queen is installed in her place. Remain with me, Zaphenath-paneah, for you and your god have prevailed again.”

  Efrayim stared after the king, astounded, as his father bowed before Amenhotep. “As always, Pharaoh, I am your servant.” Yosef looked up at Pharaoh with true affection in his eyes. “God Shaddai has called me to serve you. You may count on my loyalty until I draw my last breath.”

  Pharaoh extended his hand—a truly intimate gesture. Efrayim smiled at the sight, yet had to blink back unexpected tears as his father pressed his lips to the royal palm.

  On his barge, where Pharaoh’s standard again fluttered from the center mast, Yosef traveled the distance from Malkata to Thebes in full, satisfying silence. He disembarked at the royal dock and proceeded straightway to the palace, driven by an unaccountable need to see Tuya. “Old wood is the best to burn,” he whispered as he climbed the slope to the palace gates. “And old friends are the best to trust.”

  The palace at Thebes seemed strangely deserted with both the queen and Pharaoh at Malkata, but the handful of guards on duty at the gates bowed before Yosef and opened the double doors to the central hall without question.

  News travels on the wind, he thought as he moved past them. How could they have already heard that Zaphenath-paneah is again in Pharaoh’s favor? A servant, perhaps, or one of the seamen from the barge.

  He had not traversed the narrow passageways that led to the House of the Women in years; he was not even certain he would be able to find his way to Tuya’s chambers. Turning a corner, he surprised a pair of slave girls in the hall. One of them squeaked, the other immediately fell down and pressed her palms and forehead to the floor.

  He folded his hands. “Pray tell me which apartment belongs to the Queen Mother.”

  The squeaking slave, still too startled to bow, pointed down another torchlit hall. Nodding his thanks, Yosef moved away.

  Only one door lay at the end of the hallway where a single torch hung from an iron bracket and sputtered in the gloom. Timidly lifting his hand, Yosef knocked.

  “Enter.”

  Tuya herself had uttered the command, and as he proceeded she smiled at him from the security of a delicately carved chaise longue. Long-stemmed and lovely, she looked up. Her exotic eyes tilted catlike toward him and seemed to probe his soul.

  She had been waiting.

  She had known he would come.

  She had always understood him…better than he understood himself.

  “Tuya,” he began, lifting his eyes to the shadows that played flickering games around the high ceiling.

  “There is no need to explain, Yosef.” She held out her arms and in one forward motion he had entered her embrace, his head pillowed by her softness, his arms clinging to her as if she were a steady raft and he a drowning man.

  “What have I done?” he murmured as she stroked his head, the touch of her hand almost unbearable in its tenderness. “I nearly lost my sons. God Shaddai preserved their lives, but for years I should have seen that I was losing their hearts.”

  “Fret not, my friend.” The sound of her voice warmed his ear. “God is always at work, how could you forget? Your brothers sold you into slavery, and yet God raised you up. For better or worse, you placed my son above your own, and yet God will bless Efrayim and Menashe. God works even through human frailty—that is why He is Almighty, and we are as dust.”

  Her words were a soothing balm to his heart, and for a long interval he said nothing, then his eyes melted into hers. “In my youth I remembered my god…how could I think He would forget me in my age?”

  “I don’t know, Yosef.” Her hand stroked his hair. “He will not, if you seek Him. You offered a sacrifice for your sons, now it is time to again offer yourself.”

  In silent agreement, he closed his eyes and lowered his head to her lap, lifting his thoughts to God Shaddai and finding comfort in Tuya’s presence.

  Chapter Thirty

  The next morning, Menashe rose from his old bed in his father’s villa for what he assumed would be the last time. The astonishing events of the previous day had cleaved his future from his past; from this day forward he and Efrayim would belong to the Hebrews. But more important, from today on he would belong to Jendayi.

  He swung his feet out of bed, splashed his face with water from the washbasin and patted his face and beard with a linen square. A new robe, a long striped garment designed in the fashion of the Hebrews, draped a stand in his chamber, and Menashe slipped it over his head, relishing the feel of the fine linen against his skin. The robe had to be a gift from Halima, Tarik’s wife. This would be his wedding garment, and he suspected Halima knew as much.

  He paused in the garden to pluck a lotus blossom from the reflecting pool, then hurried toward the courtyard. The open space flurried with activity as he entered it. A half-dozen camels had been loaded with provisions for their new start in Goshen, and Efrayim seemed almost happy about making the journey. His bright smile shone on everyone from Ani, who wept openly, to the lowest slave, and he was directing the preparations for their trip with an unusually efficient air.

  Watching his younger brother, Menashe felt his heart contract in pity. Though Efrayim would not admit it, yesterday in Pharaoh’s garden he had abandoned a lifetime of dreams. Neither the glory of Egypt nor its spoiled princess would ever be his. But he still had Yaakov’s blessing, and now Menashe actually felt grateful that Yaakov had stretched his right hand toward his brother’s head. Efrayim had surrendered more than Menashe; it was only right that God Shaddai honor him with blessings.

  Jendayi stood with Kesi by the side of a groaning camel, a traveling cloak billowing about her slim figure. She had chosen to leave her Egyptian wig behind, and her own hair, dark and cropped close to her head, ruffled out in waves as the wind blew through it. She was laughing at some secret the girls shared, but as Menashe approached, Kesi dipped in a bow and retreated.

  He expected Jendayi to stiffen in alarm, and was pleasantly surprised when she looked up, her gray eyes shining toward him like brilliant stars. “Master Menashe?” she asked, contentment in her voice.

  The sound of her happiness struck a chord within him. “Yes,” he answered, forcing the word over his tongue. He stepped closer and passed the flower under her nose. “For you.”

  Smiling her thanks, she reached out to take the lotus blossom, then wrapped the long stem about her bare arm. With a quiet confidence that caught him by surprise, she caught his hand, then fell to one knee. “Master, I am so pleased to belong to you. And I am ready for the journey. Kesi has packed my things and, with your permission, I have asked the servants to place my harp in a basket on my camel—excuse me, your camel.”

  “Of course, do whatever you like, but rise,” Menashe answered, grateful that the noise of the courtyard drowned out the pounding of his heart. He lifted her. “Your harp shall go wherever you go. I look forward to hearing you play it every night.”

  “Yes, my lord. As your slave, you may command me at any time.”

  “You will not play as my slave.” Menashe dropped her hand and drew her into his arms. “You will play as my wife, but only if it is your desire.”

  “Can it be true?” she murmured, lifting her fa
ce. “I don’t deserve such freedom. A week ago I was a slave, troubled by nightmares and facing a dim future. Now I sleep as peacefully as a baby, and my heart brims with joy. Never in a thousand days could I have imagined I would be free from bondage, and never in ten thousand years would I have dreamed that I could be your wife.” A blush of pleasure colored her lovely face. “You are too good to me, Menashe.”

  “Jendayi.” She smiled as he said her name, and a quiver surged through his veins at the sight of her happiness. “I told you I have always loved you. For years I have been waiting—first for you to grow up, then for the opportunity to tell you how much I cared.”

  A blush ran over her exquisite face and tears trembled on her lashes. “I don’t know why you were so patient. I knew I needed to love and be loved, it was all I wanted in the world! But I had been misled by my own ignorance. I didn’t know what love was, and I never dreamed I could be someone’s wife—”

  “God planted my love for you long ago,” Menashe answered, pulling her head into the hollow between his shoulder and neck. “And as God is eternal, so shall my love be. I would give my life for you, Jendayi. I want to serve you as I serve God.”

  He might have remained locked in her arms for the rest of the day, but from the corner of his eye Menashe saw his father approaching from the portico. He released Jendayi, then gestured to Kesi and told her to place her mistress safely within a camel basket. After promising to speak to Jendayi again before they left the villa, he stepped out to exchange farewells with his father.

  Yosef waited in the center of the courtyard, his beautiful, long-fingered hands folded, his coal-black eyes wistful. He nodded. “So you are ready to go, then.”

  Menashe felt an odd twinge of disappointment. This was not the parting he had imagined.

  “We are ready.” He lifted his chin. “And I think you should know that I intend to marry Jendayi as soon as we reach Goshen. I want to take her as my bride among our own people.”

  Yosef nodded, the light of understanding flickering in his eyes. “I am glad you will not be alone,” he said. “Loneliness was the first thing God pronounced not good at creation. I am certain you will make each other very happy.”

  Menashe glanced around, then nudged a small mound of sand with his sandal. How tragic that he could think of nothing to say! His father had just denounced loneliness, and yet today both his sons would leave him. Perhaps he would not even notice their absence, for Pharaoh had thrust himself back into Yosef’s life. But though Menashe had been far closer to Ani and Tarik than he had ever been to his father, still…

  He floundered in a maelstrom of emotion, torn between eagerness to go and the feeling he ought to stay.

  The corner of Yosef’s mouth quirked. “Menashe, I know what you are thinking, and you should not deny your own happiness on my account. I will not be lonely. As soon as Pharaoh gives his permission, Tuya will be coming to live with me. I will take her as my wife.”

  “The Queen Mother?” Menashe burst out. “But you scarcely know her.”

  “I know you may not believe me, but I lived a varied and interesting life before you were born,” his father answered, one dark eyebrow lifting as he smiled. “Tuya is a part of my past. We have decided it would be wise to combine our strengths in order to face the future.”

  Menashe grinned. “I suppose congratulations are in order. Let me wish you every happiness!”

  “Thank you.” His father rocked back and forth. “Will you try again?” he asked. “Will you lead them to Canaan?”

  Menashe sighed and looked away. “I don’t know. It would be harder now than before. I don’t know if the people have the heart for it. They may not even receive me into the camp.”

  “They’ll receive you.” Yosef nodded with conviction. “You are family. You are my son.”

  Menashe was about to respond, but Yosef held up a quieting hand. He seemed preoccupied, as if a memory had surfaced and overshadowed his awareness of their conversation, and when he spoke again his voice was grim. “You asked me once why I did not tell you the stories of Yisrael,” he said, brushing Menashe’s arm. His gaze moved into his son’s. “Perhaps I was afraid to speak of things gone by. Before my brothers came to Egypt, I wanted to forget the past, to bury every story I had ever heard. After my family arrived, I was so busy with my responsibilities to Pharaoh and to my brothers…”

  His words trailed away, and Menashe lowered his gaze, shrinking from the self-accusation in his father’s eyes.

  “I think I wanted you to understand Egypt first, since this is where God placed you,” Yosef went on, his voice stronger. “But now, Menashe, it is right that you live as a son of Yisrael. You have come to understand both worlds, and you have chosen between them.” His eyes grew large and liquid. “You have chosen wisely.”

  Menashe fumbled for words. “I think…Thank you, Father.”

  Yosef turned his face toward the horizon. “When I was younger, I had many dreams. Some of them got me into trouble, just as your dreams brought you face-to-face with adversity. But God spoke to me through dreams, and though He has been silent for many years, He spoke to me again last night.”

  Menashe’s heart stirred with interest. “What was His message?”

  “In my dream I saw a king.” Yosef’s brow furrowed as he revisited the scene in his memory. “Not an Egyptian king, but one of our own people. He was deathly ill, and God Shaddai sent word that he should prepare to die. But the king begged for his life, and God revealed that He would grant the king another fifteen years.”

  Yosef’s eyes clung to Menashe’s, waiting for a reaction, but Menashe shook his head, not understanding. “So—did the king die?”

  “Fifteen summers later,” Yosef continued, looking at the ground. “But during that fifteen years, the king fathered a son who built altars to idols in the holy place dedicated to God Shaddai. He worshipped the stars and spirits. He seduced the children of Yisrael to commit more evil than the heathen nations around them, then he killed the true prophets of God until the streets ran red with their blood.” Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in Yosef’s eyes when he looked up. “The son’s name was Menashe.”

  “This is not me, Father!” Menashe protested, stepping back.

  “I know.” Yosef forced a smile. “But the will of God is a mysterious thing. We know his promises will come to pass, but we don’t always know when. Sometimes we are not to do the will of God, but we are to rest in it. We are to love God, seek Him and trust Him.”

  He paused a moment and thrust his hands behind his back, holding a powerful emotion in check. “We are called to obey, and sometimes we are called to suffer. It is through suffering that we realize the limits of our strength…and the greatness of our god.”

  Yosef placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. His eyes shone with a tenderness Menashe had never seen in them before. “You were not a failure, son. God called you to lead, and you obeyed. In doing so, you have become a wiser man.” His hand tightened on Menashe’s neck. “The children of Yisrael will return to Canaan, for God Shaddai’s will is always accomplished. And when they go, let it be known that my bones are to journey with them. God called me to live my life here among the children of the Nile, but one day I shall sleep with my fathers in the promised land.”

  “Father—” A deep, unaccustomed pain in Menashe’s breast cut off his words, so he could only nod in assent. Yosef smiled, satisfied, and drew his son into the cradle of his arms.

  After a long moment, Yosef released him. “Fetch your brother,” he said, the glow of his smile warming Menashe’s heart. “And I will bless you both for the journey.”

  With a heart too full to speak, Menashe obeyed.

  Epilogue

  Yosef, or Zaphenath-paneah, outlived Amenhotep III by thirty years. Shortly after ascending to the throne, the crown prince Neferkheprure’ Wa’enre’, who had never approved of either his father’s lifestyle or his halfhearted approach to religion, abandoned Malkata, Thebes and even his royal na
me. Calling himself “Akhenaten,” meaning “He Who is of Service to Aten,” the sun god, the new pharaoh and his wife, Queen Nefertiti, built a great city in middle Egypt and called it Akhetaten. This pharaoh, oddly enough, worshipped one invisible and almighty god, Aten.

  Akhenaten repudiated everything his father had idolized, attacking the cults of other deities in Egypt and destroying their idols. He confiscated the great estates belonging to the temples of local deities. He reigned only eighteen years, but his impetuous acts destroyed the foundation of Egypt’s stability. His major contribution to the welfare of the Hebrews in Goshen was his determination to leave them alone.

  Yosef lived long enough to hold his great-grandchildren from Efrayim, who married Jokim’s sister, Atara. He cradled his great-grandsons from Menashe, too, but remained so close to his elder son’s family that Genesis tells us the babies born to Makhir, Menashe’s son, were “born on Yosef’s knees,” that is, considered to be his own. On many of his visits to Goshen, a crowd of little ones waited at the harbor for his barge to arrive. Plump young hands tugged at his flowing robe as he made his way down the gangplank; round, rosy faces eagerly sought kisses from the Bread of Egypt, the Father to Pharaohs, the Servant of God Shaddai.

  As he counted the last of his mortal days, Yosef sent for his brothers. “I am dying,” he told them, “but God will take account of you. He will bring you up from this land to the land about which he swore to Avraham, to Yitzhak and to Yaakov.”

  And Yosef had the sons of Yisrael swear that they would carry his bones up from Egypt. So Yosef died at the age of one hundred ten years, and was embalmed and placed in a temporary coffin in Egypt.

  A rapid succession of pharaohs followed Amenhotep III: Akhenaten, Smenkhkare’, Tut’ ankhamun, Aya and Horemhab. And after Horemhab, who died without an heir, a new dynasty arose, kings whom the Bible describes as those “who knew not Yosef.”