Joseph and His Brothers, page 138
Joseph's appearance proved a true blessing for the fortress's office and archives; for however unjust the slander that the captain had no concern for anything, office organization—so important in the eyes of his superiors in Thebes—had in fact, as he well knew, suffered because of his calm private passion for medicine and literature, imperiling his official reputation and resulting on occasion in polite, if distressingly oblique, letters of rebuke from the capital. And in precisely this area Joseph proved himself to be Mai-Sakhme's long-awaited bringer of change, the man of the "I am he." It was he who brought order to the records, who taught Mai-Sakhme's clerks— great devotees of bowling and the game of mora—that their commandant's loftier distraction was no reason for them to allow their work to be buried under dust, but on the contrary, an incentive for them to be all the more diligent; and he saw to it that the ledgers and reports sent off to the capital would gladly be read by higher-ups there. In his hand an overseer's staff was like a cobra stiffened into a magic wand; for merely by tapping it against a storeroom's conical bin, he could make the impromptu announcement "This will hold forty sacks of emmer"; and when the issue was how many bricks were needed for building a ramp, he only had to touch his brow with the staff in order to declare "Fifty thousand bricks will be needed." In the former instance, he was right, in the latter not exactly. But
since the prediction on that first occasion had proved so startlingly true, it cast its glow over the imprecision of the second, so that it seemed to people as if it were right as well.
In short, in saying "I am he," Joseph had not lied to the captain—nor did it prove prejudicial either to the fortress's business or bookkeeping, despite the fact that, to cap it all off, Mai-Sakhme often requested Joseph's presence in the tower for literary and apothecarial pursuits. For he wanted to have him around and not only enjoyed discussing with Joseph such questions as the number of blood vessels or whether worms were the cause or consequence of illness, but also put him to work making a deluxe copy on fine papyrus in black and red ink of "The Tale of the Two Brothers," just as Joseph had once done for his former master, a task for which the warden found him particularly suitable not only because of his neat hand, but also because of his personality and fate. For Mai-Sakhme was particularly interested in this newcomer as a student of love, a field for which—inasmuch as it is the primary playground for all gratifying literature—the commandant felt a warm and deep, if also unruffled, sympathy. And the amount of time Jacob's son had to spare from administrative chores, though never to their detriment, in order to satisfy Mai-Sakhme's private interests is evident in his long hours of conference with the warden on how best to approach the story of his three-in-one love affair, how to put to paper in some gratifying and if possible exciting, if not to say shocking, manner a tale that was partly one of expectation—whereby the chief difficulty, and a topic of much discussion, lay in the fact that in order to anticipate and incorporate that expectation it would have to be told in the spirit of an old man of at least sixty years, which in turn threatened to diminish the desired element of excitement, already endangered by his own natural calm.
In addition, Joseph's own adventure, which had landed him in prison, his tale of the chamberlain's wife, was an object of Mai-Sakhme's literary sympathies, and Joseph told it to him with every tender consideration for the smitten woman, while showing no consideration whatever for the mistakes he had made in the course of it, presenting them as analogous to the offenses he had previously committed against his brothers, and thus against his father, the king of flocks—all of which led him then step by step back to the story of his youth and origins and permitted the captain's clever round eyes a
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peculiar and tellingly blurred view of what lay behind the phenomenon of his assistant, Osarsiph the convict, whose curious name, obviously built upon allusion, he was willing to accept and pronounced with all the tenderness of a good man, though he never believed it was the newcomer's real name, but only a pseudonym, an ahas, simply a paraphrase for "I am he."
He would have liked to put the story of Potiphar's wife to paper in the style of gratifying literature and often discussed with Joseph the best methods and strategies for doing so. But whenever he tried to write it, he ended up following the model of "The Tale of Two Brothers" and producing another version of it, which put an end to his attempts.
And so after these days, many more passed, and almost a year had come round since Rachel's firstborn came to Zawi-Re, when an event occurred in the prison that was only a partial manifestation of important events in the larger world and that, although not immediately, but a little later, would bring about extraordinary changes for both Joseph and Mai-Sakhme, his friend and taskmaster.
The Gentlemen
One day, then, at the usual early hour, Joseph appeared in the warden's tower residence bringing papers that awaited Mai-Sakhme's approval, although affairs were conducted here very much as they had been between Petepre and his old steward Mont-kaw and normally ended in a "Fine, fine, my good man"; but this time the warden did not even look at the accounts, but waved them off with one hand, and from the way he raised his brows exceptionally high and held his rounded lips farther apart than usual, it was immediately apparent that he was preoccupied with some extraordinary incident that, given the limits of his customary calm, had agitated him.
"Some other time, Osarsiph," he said in reference to the paperwork. "This is not the moment. You should know that not everything in my prison is as it was yesterday and the day before. Something has happened, something took place before daybreak, very quietly and under special and confidential orders. Know, then, that we have had a delivery—a delicate delivery. Two people arrived under the cover of night, to be held under safeguard in provisional
custody—people who are out of the ordinary, that is, highly placed personages, by which I mean to say, formerly highly placed until just now, personages who have toppled from their perches and landed in hot water. You yourself have taken a fall, but theirs has been much nastier, for they stood far higher. Pay heed to what I have told you, and you'd do better not to ask for details."
"But who are they?" Joseph asked all the same.
"Their names are Mesedsu-Re and Bin-em-Wese," the warden answered diffidently.
"Come, come!" Joseph cried. "What kind of names are those? People aren't called by such names."
He had good reason to be astounded, because Mesedsu-Re meant "Hated by the Sun God," and Bin-em-Wese "Wicked in Thebes." It would have taken peculiar parents to have given their sons such names.
The captain busied himself with some decoction or other, rather than look at Joseph.
"I thought you knew," he responded, "that a man's name is not necessarily the one by which he calls himself or may be temporarily called. Circumstances alter names. Re himself changes his according to his state. The gentlemen bear the names I used in their papers and in the orders given me concerning them. They are the names used in documents being kept in the legal action that has been initiated, and they use those names themselves as circumstance demands. You don't want to know any different."
Joseph quickly considered this. He thought of the spinning sphere, of how what is on top returns and rises again with each rotation; thought of how one thing is exchanged for its opposite, thought of reversals. "Hated by the God," that was the same as Mersu-Re, "The God Loves Him," and "Wicked in Thebes" had been Nefer-em-Wese, "Good in Thebes." From his friendship with Potiphar he knew enough about Pharaoh's court and those in favor with the palace at Merima't to recall that Mersu-Re and Nefer-em-Wese—hidden beneath their honorary titles, of course—were the names of Pharaoh's chief baker, the man in charge of his pastries, whose title was Prince of Menfe, and of his chief butler, the supervisor of the scribes of the sideboard, who was called Count of Abodu.
"The true names," he said, "of those given into your hands are
surely more like 'What does my lord eat?* and 'What does my lord drink?'"
"Well now, well now," the captain responded, "give you the tip of a sleeve and you'll soon have the whole coat—or think you have it. Well then, know what you know, and don't ask for details."
"What can have happened?" Joseph asked all the same.
"Enough!" Mai-Sakhme retorted. "Word is," he said, looking away, "pieces of chalk were found in Pharaoh's bread and flies in the good god's wine. As you can see yourself, something like that sticks to those in positions of highest responsibility and they've had to be placed in detention pending trial under names appropriate to the situation."
"Chalk? Flies?" Joseph repeated.
"They were brought here under heavy escort at daybreak," the captain went on, "on a ship bearing the symbol of suspicion on its bow and sail, and were handed over to me to be held in strict custody, commensurate with their status, until their guilt or innocence is established—a delicate matter, an awful responsibility. I have had them placed in the Vulture Cabin—you know, you take a right from here, then back along the rear wall, has that vulture with outspread wings on the roof—it's been standing empty, definitely empty given the furnishings they're accustomed to. There they've been since early this morning, each sitting on a standard camp stool over a little bitter beer—those are all the comforts the Vulture Cabin has to offer. It's a touchy situation with them, and no one can say how things will turn out, whether they'll soon take on the pallor of corpses or if His Majesty the good god may not perhaps raise their heads again. We have to handle it in the light of such uncertainty, but to some extent we also need to keep in mind their former rank, and, by the by, our own resources as well. I'm appointing you their guard, you see, whose job it is to check once or twice a day to see if things are in order and inquire as to their wishes, if only as a formality. Such gentlemen require formalities. They'll feel better simply for being asked about their wishes, and then it's less important whether their wishes are granted. You have the good manners," he said, "and the savoir-vivre" —though this was a phrase borrowed from the Akkadian—"for speaking with them and treating them in terms of both their elegant rank and suspect status. My lieutenants here
would be either too rough or too subservient. When the important thing is to keep a happy medium. Respect tinged with gloom would be about right, in my opinion."
"I'm not much of a master of gloom," Joseph said. "Perhaps one could lend the respect a tinge of irony."
"That might be good, too," the captain repUed, "for when you inquire about their wishes, they'll notice at once that it's asked more in jest and that of course they can't have things here the way they're accustomed to—or only very roughly. All the same, they can't go on sitting on those camp stools in that bare cabin. They'll have to be furnished with two beds with headrests and, if not two, then at least one armchair with cushions for the feet, so that they can at least take turns sitting in it. Moreover, you'll have to play vizier What-Does-My-Lord-Eat and vizier What-Does-My-Lord-Drink for them, and meet their demands halfway. If they demand roast goose, give them an occasional roast stork. If they demand cake, give them sweetened bread. And if they ask for wine, then at least let them have a little grape juice. In all such things you are to make moderate concessions, giving them some indication that they are being tended to. Go visit them at once and pay them your respects, tinged with whatever you like. From tomorrow on, then, you may do so once each morning and evening."
"I hear and obey," Joseph said and, leaving the tower, he followed the wall to the Vulture Cabin.
The guards at its door saluted him with daggers and broad grins on their peasant faces, for they were partial to him. Then they pushed back the heavy wooden bolt, and Joseph stepped into the bare cubicle to find the gentlemen sitting on their stools, bent low at their stomachs, their hands clasped over their heads. He extended them an elegant greeting, not as elaborate as the one he had once seen Hor-waz, scribe of the Great Gate, offer, but fashionable, with one arm raised toward them and a smile to accompany formulaic good wishes that they might enjoy a life as long as Re's.
They had leapt to their feet the moment they caught sight of him and now showered him with questions and complaints.
"Who are you, young man?" they cried. "Have you come for good or ill? At least you have come. At least someone has come! Your manners show good breeding, so that one may conclude that
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you have some sensitivity for the impossible, intolerable, untenable situation in which we find ourselves. Do you know who we are? Has anyone informed you? We are Prince of Menfe, Count of Abodu, Pharaoh's Chief Inspector of Pastries and he who is First Scribe of His Sideboard, General Master of His Wine Cellar, who proffers him his cup on the finest occasions—his baker of bakers, his butler of butlers and Master of the Grape Adorned with the Vine. Is that clear to you? Have you come with that in mind? Do you have any idea how we have lived—in pavilions where everything was covered in lapis and malachite, and where we slept on down while select servants scratched the soles of our feet? What shall become of us in this pit? They have put us into a bare room, where we have been sitting since before daybreak behind bolted doors, and no one pays us any attention. The heart's curse upon Zawi-Re! There is nothing, nothing, nothing here. We have no mirror, we have no razor, we have no rouge box, we have no bath, we have no privy where we can tend to our necessities, so that we must hold them inside us, despite their being made more urgent by our agitation, until we are in pain—we, the Chief Baker, the Master of the Vine! Do you have a soul that can respond to our state, for it cries out to high heaven? Have you come to rescue us and raise up our heads? Or have you come merely to see whether our misery has reached its extremity?"
"Noble sirs," Joseph replied, "calm yourselves. I have come for good, for I am the warden's mouth and adjutant, whom he has entrusted with oversight. He has appointed me your servant, who is to hear your commands, and since my lord is a good and calm man, you may judge my own sentiments from his having chosen me. I cannot raise up your heads, only Pharaoh can do that, as soon as your innocence is established, which out of respect I must assume exists and can be established,"
Here he paused and waited a little. They both were staring directly at him—the one with plucky little eyes that loved wine but were now floating in sadness, the other with wide-gaping, glassy eyes, in which fear and lies were in hot pursuit of one another.
One might have expected the baker to be a sack of flour, the butler to be thin as a grapevine—but that was not the case. On the contrary, it was the butler who was portly—he was short and stout, with a red face set between the wings of a headscarf stretched tight across
his brow, the corkscrew ears studded with gemstones and sticking out on either side. One could tell that his chubby cheeks, though regrettably covered now with a stubble of beard, could, when shaved and oiled, glisten with mirth—just as present tribulation and distress could not entirely erase the basic merriment from his somme-lier's face. By contrast, the chief baker was a tall, though stoop-shouldered man; his face looked sallow, but again that might only have been a matter of contrast, and also because it was framed by a deep black wig, peeping out from which were broad gold earrings. But there was no mistaking the explicitly underworldly traits in the baker's face—the long nose ran slightly askew, the mouth also grew thicker and longer where it drooped awkwardly to one side. A sense of some curse sat sinister and urgent between his brows.
One ought not think, however, that Joseph would have registered the contrasting impressions left by the physiognomies of his wards with a shallow preference for the serenity of the one and an equally shallow dislike of the more disagreeable characteristics of the other. Both training and piety prompted him to observe the traits of merriment or pensiveness with respect for the destinies they revealed—indeed, had conditioned him to extend even greater politeness to the man whose appearance bore the mark of underworldly pensiveness than to the man of joviality.
The gentlemen were dressed, by the by, in beautifully pleated courtier's garb richly trimmed with colorful knotted ribbons, but now dirty and rumpled from their journey; each of them, however, still wore the insignia of high office: the butler a collar of golden grapevine, the baker a brooch of golden ears of grain, bent in the shape of a sickle.
"I am not the one," Joseph repeated, "who can raise up your heads, nor is the warden. All that we can do is to allay a bit—perhaps with some success, perhaps not—the discomfort that has fallen to your lot due to some dark providence, and you must realize that a beginning has been made in the very fact that you have lacked for everything in these first hours. For from now on you will not lack for at least some few things, and after such complete deprivation this will seem to you more pleasant than all those things that you had when you were still anointed with the oil of gladness and that this dismal place can never provide you. You see, then, my lords, Count of Abodu and Prince of Menfe, what ?ood intentions lav behind
your having been in temporarily straitened circumstances. Within the hour, two—granted, simple—beds will be set up for you here. An easy chair, which you may use by turn, will join these stools. A razor, unfortunately probably only of stone—for which I must apologize beforehand—will be made available, as will some very good eye makeup, black, but with a greenish cast, which the commandant himself prepares and some small quantity of which, upon my recommendation, he will gladly and calmly supply you. As for a mirror, it was again only with the best of intentions that you had none to begin with, for it is far better that it first reveal a tidied-up image rather than your present one. Your servant, by which I mean myself, owns a reasonably clear copper mirror, and I would be happy to lend it to you for the duration of your stay, which one way or the other can only be brief. It will please you that its frame and handle are in the shape of the symbol of life. Moreover on the right side of the cabin I shall post two guards who will assist you in bathing with water twice daily, and on the left side you can take care of your bodily needs, which at the moment is probably the most pressing matter."
