Dreamers (24 page)

around Yosef’s waist.

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But Yosef was no weakling. He would not do what Ramla

predicted. He would not even listen to such a suggestion.

The donkeys had been put away and the guards sent home

by the time a single chariot churned the dust outside the gate-

house. Tuya ran to the porch, straining to see who had arrived

in the gathering darkness.

Sagira’s laughter broke the silence of the night. “Paneah,

let Enos put our little picnic away,” she called, her voice

ringing like a bell. “You must be tired after our long day.”

The man in the slave’s kilt hesitated, then followed Sagira up

the path toward the porch. Tuya blinked in bewilderment when

Sagira slowed her step and the man—could it be Paneah?—

caught up and walked alongside his mistress, like an equal.

Tuya stood on the porch like a helpless rabbit caught in a

panther’s hypnotic glare. When the mistress and her compan-

ion entered the circle of torchlight, Sagira gaped in surprise.

“Tuya! You have finally returned! I hope you had a pleasant

journey. I should find Ramla, but we’ve had an exhausting day

among the hills.”

She swept through the porch on her way to her chamber,

but Yosef paused on a step. “Welcome home,” he said, giving

Tuya a dusty smile, but she could not return it. Red ochre

stained his lips and the side of his face.

Gulping back a sob, Tuya turned and sprinted toward the

women’s quarters.

She wept for an hour, then hiccupped until one of the maids

tossed a sandal at her from across the room. “Go outside if

you cannot be quiet.”

Tuya wrapped a thin shawl about her shoulders and slipped

into the night. How could she sleep after what she had wit-

nessed? She might never be able to sleep again. Each time she

closed her eyes she saw Yosef locked in Sagira’s embrace.

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Ramla could foretell the future, and soon a child would be

born. Yosef had rejected Tuya’s love, claiming that he owed

obedience to his god and to his father, and yet he had given

himself to Sagira as eagerly as a bridegroom…

From force of long habit, her feet carried her to the garden.

At the edge of the reflecting pool, she gazed downward and

wondered if it were possible to drown in knee-deep water. She

hiccupped again, then wiped her nose on the back of her

hand. “Oh, Yosef,” she wailed. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” He stepped from the shadows of the trees, his

eyes as troubled as hers. Seeing that he suffered, too, she

could not bring herself to repeat Ramla’s accusations. If Yosef

had become Sagira’s lover, surely he would be with the

mistress instead of pacing in the garden. He would not be

here…unless his conscience troubled him.

Tuya gave him a wobbly smile. “Did you miss me?”

“Very much,” he said, stepping closer. She thought he

would draw her into his arms, but he merely lifted her hands

and held them on his own. He kept his gaze lowered—was he

afraid to look at her?

Somehow she found her voice. “Did you spend much time

with Sagira?”

“Yes,” he answered, finally meeting her gaze. “Because

you told me to. She now thinks of me as a friend.”

“Then why—” Tuya tried to keep her voice light “—why

was your face stained with ochre when you returned tonight?

Have you taken to painting your lips?”

She couldn’t tell if he blushed in the moonlight. “She

kissed me,” he said simply. “A kiss of affection.”

“She kissed you,” Tuya repeated, lowering her hands. Sus-

picion rose again and snarled, blocking the voice of reason.

“When was the last time a mistress kissed her slave?” she

asked, wincing at the edge of desperation in her voice.

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“How am I to know?” Yosef folded his arms in a pose of

weary dignity. “She kissed me in affection—and you told me

to be her friend.”

“Her friend, not her lover,” Tuya whispered. When defiance

lit his eyes, she pressed on. “She kissed you, Yosef, so tell me

the truth. Did she not long for more?”

Her question brought a hard frown to his face. “Do you

not trust me?”

“Can you not answer my question?”

“Yes, she wanted more! But so did you, remember?” His

words cut through the night, lacerating her. Tuya backed away

and pressed her hand to her mouth.

Yosef growled and knocked a fist against his forehead. “If

I would not lie with you, why do you think I would lie with

a woman I do not love?” He turned toward the pool, placed

his hands on his hips, and breathed deeply.

“Do you, Yosef? Do you love me?”

After a long moment, he lowered his arms and looked at

her. “You know how I feel about you,” he finally whispered,

his voice husky. “Sometimes I wish God had not gifted me

with a form pleasing to women. I walk in the marketplace and

hear them call greetings, I walk in the threshing rooms and

feel their eyes on my back, I sit behind my master at dinner

and catch my mistress’s smiles…”

He walked to a tree and leaned against it, crossing his arms

as he faced her. “The same beauty that bound Rahel to Yaakov

now enslaves me. You should understand, Tuya, for God has

also gifted you with beauty.”

“I understand some things,” she said, moving toward

him. “I understand that you long to be free, Yosef, and that

you dream of greatness. You are proud, you are ambitious,

you dream of the future and aspire to succeed in every effort

you undertake. You are a fire-eater. You will do anything to

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keep faith in your dreams. I wonder if you will do anything

to be free—”

He did not answer, but slouched before her, bleary-eyed

and weary.

“There is no advantage in loving me,” she whispered,

avoiding his gaze. “Yet there is much to be gained in pleasing

a mistress. I love you, Yosef, and I know about your dreams.

And I’ll not stand in the way of their fulfillment. I can’t.”

Before her heart could change her mind, she turned on her

heel and left the garden.

The pleasant sounds of people at dinner drifted through the

house as Tuya approached the main hall the next afternoon.

Sagira, Potiphar and Ramla sat on chairs placed in a circle for

conversation and ate from bowls that had been placed on

stands near them. Between Potiphar and his wife, Yosef lin-

gered like an obedient shadow, ready to do their bidding.

He caught Tuya’s eye as she approached, and for the first

time in her memory his face did not light with excitement

when she entered the room. His smile seemed strained, his

eyes wary. She glanced at him with no more apparent interest

than she would have given a wall painting, then prostrated

herself on the floor before Potiphar’s feet.

“What’s this?” He looked down at her over the deep cres-

cents of flesh beneath his eyes. “I did not send for you, Tuya.”

“If it please my master,” she said, lifting her head. “I have

a request.”

“Should a slave beg for favors?” Sagira interrupted, but

Potiphar smiled and leaned forward in his chair.

“Speak, Tuya. I will listen.”

Tuya swallowed hard, knowing she had stepped onto a

path from which there could be no return. “Some time ago I

displeased my mistress and she wanted to send me away,” she

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said. “You, kind master, would not allow me to go. But if my

lady still finds me displeasing, I am willing to leave.” She

steeled herself to continue. “I have no place here.”

“What’s this?” Potiphar turned to his wife. “Have you

quarreled with this girl?”

“How could I, my lord?” Sagira lifted her shoulder in an

elegant shrug. “She has been with Ramla for two months. This

request, I assure you, is a surprise to me.”

“The captain of Pharaoh’s guard would do well to consider

her petition,” Ramla said, speaking in the low voice she

reserved for dreaded things. “An unhappy slave can incite re-

bellion and mutiny among the others. Even you, Potiphar, may

have trouble on your hands if she is forced to remain here.”

Potiphar thought a moment, then slapped his knee. “She

was a gift from Pharaoh. One does not cast off a presentation

from the divine hand.” He glanced toward Sagira, another of

his favors from Pharaoh, and lifted her fingers to his lips. “Not

that I would want to rid myself of any of our king’s gifts.”

“Still, Tuya is an old friend, and I don’t want her to be

unhappy,” Sagira said, resting her hand on Potiphar’s arm.

“Perhaps you might approach the king or one of his coun-

selors about the situation. I am sure you can find a solution,

my husband.”

Potiphar gave her an approving glance. “I shall try, little

wife,” he promised, rising. He kissed her hand again in farewell,

then turned toward Tuya and lowered his voice. “I would hate

to see you go, but if you are sure you cannot be happy here—”

“I am certain,” she said, bowing before him again. She did

not allow her gaze to drift toward Yosef’s face.

Yosef fought against the maddening tedium of the after-

dinner ritual. Potiphar left the house, Tuya slipped away, and

Yosef attended Ramla and Sagira until they finished a lengthy,

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rambling conversation and moved to the women’s quarters.

When they had gone, he clapped to summon slaves to clear

the chamber, then he hurried from the hall.

He found Tuya in the room where the lowliest of all slaves

worked to grind corn into flour. On her hands and knees, she

was bent over a slab with a heavy grindstone in her hand. The

toothless old hag who usually ground the corn sat on the

floor, watching with wide, amused eyes.

“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, pulling the

grindstone out of Tuya’s grip. “This is not your work!”

“I thought I may as well learn how to do everything,” she

said, not looking at him. “If a family can afford only one

slave, they will purchase a woman for grinding, so I thought

I should learn—”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her from the room,

oblivious to the old woman’s curious stare. In the corridor, he

stood Tuya against the wall and leaned over her, his arms

blocking her escape. “What foolish, womanish, jealous notion

entered your head today?” he asked, taking pains to keep his

voice level. “You have harmed your reputation with Potiphar.

I may be able to dissuade him from approaching Pharaoh, but

now the master and mistress both know you are not happy.

The damage is done.”

“I will leave even if I have to run away,” Tuya answered, her

eyes large and fierce with pain. “I cannot stay here,Yosef. I love

you too much. I cannot bear to watch Sagira trap you—”

“I will not be trapped,” he said, pressing against the walls

with all his strength. What would it take to make her believe

him? “Sagira may be infatuated—” he lowered his voice

“—but I am only her friend. My heart belongs to you, Tuya,

and she knows it. Soon she will grow tired of me.”

“She won’t stop until she wins. She has the power to

command you.”

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“Some things cannot be commanded.”

Tuya released a bitter laugh, then looked into his eyes.

“Then consider this—she hates me and she has the power to

take my life. If I stay and you refuse her, she will hurt me

somehow. She’s already hurt me—”

“So you would exchange this house for some place where

I cannot protect you? What if you are sold to a cruel master?

What if you find yourself commanded by a man who would

ask more of you than Sagira asks of me? You are not thinking,

Tuya! You may find yourself in a nest of vipers—”

“I don’t know where I will go,” she whimpered, sliding

down against the wall. “I only know the gods have not smiled

on us. Montu’s strong arm has not been able to save you from

Sagira, and your god is silent—”

He knelt in front of her and reached for her hands, his heart

breaking at the sight of tears on her cheeks. “You must trust

in the true god,” he said, gentling his voice. “Please, Tuya, stay

with me. Our time of waiting is nearly over, then we shall be

married and have a house of our own. I have handled Potiphar

for years, so I can handle Sagira.”

“You think too highly of your own abilities, Yosef. You

cannot hold Sagira off and cling to me. Such dreams are im-

possible. She will never allow them.”

“Faith is believing in the impossible. Why can’t you put

aside your fear and trust me? You have no faith in me, no, not

even in yourself, or you would see that you are as precious to

me as life. Please, dearest, let me tell Potiphar that you have

changed your mind about leaving.”

“No.” She pulled herself free from his grasp, then stood and

stumbled as she moved away. “I love you too much, Yosef,

and I know Sagira. Whether she wins or loses, you will suffer.