Re-mose shuddered to learn his father’s name from Joseph’s lips, but in the next moment he learned that my brothers, his own uncles, had slaughtered Shalem in his own bed. Re-mose bit his tongue to keep from crying out.
Joseph declared his repugnance for the crime and proclaimed his own innocence. “Two of my brothers bloodied their hands,” he said, but admitted that perhaps four of them had had some part in the murder. “All of us were punished.
“She cursed us all. Some of my brothers fell ill, others saw their sons die. My father lost all hope, and I was sold into slavery.”
Joseph said, “I used to blame my sister for my misfortunes, but no longer. If I knew where she was buried, I would go and pour libations and build a stele in her memory. At least I survived my brothers’ villainy, and with the birth of this son, the god of my fathers shows me that I will not die forgotten. But my sister’s name was blotted out, as though she had never drawn breath.
“She was my milk-sister,” said Joseph, shaking his head. “It is strange to speak of her now that I am a father. Perhaps I will name the next one in her honor,” and he fell silent. “And what is Joseph?” Re-mose asked.
“Joseph is the name my mother gave me,” said Zafenat Paneh-ah quietly.
Re-mose turned to leave, but the vizier called him back. “Wait! We have a bargain. Tell me how you came to know my name and the name of my sister.”
Re-mose stopped and without facing him said, “She is not dead.”
The words hung in the air. “She is here, in your palace. Indeed, you bade her brought here. Den-ner the midwife, the one who delivered your son, is your sister, Dinah. My mother.”
Joseph’s eyes grew wide in wonder, and he smiled like a happy child. But Re-mose spit at his feet.
“Would you have me call you uncle?” he hissed. “I hated you from the first. You robbed me of a position that is rightly mine, and you advance in the king’s eyes because of my skill. Now I see that you blasted my life from birth! You slaughtered my father in the prime of his youth. You and your barbarian brothers murdered my grandfather too, who, though a Canaanite, acted honorably.
“You ripped the heart out of my grandmother. You betrayed your sister, w
idowed my mother, and made me an orphan and an outcast.
“When I was a boy, my grandmother’s servant told me that when I finally found my father’s murderers, their names would rip my soul into pieces. His words were true.
“You are my uncle. Oh gods, what a nightmare,” Re-mose cried. “A murderer and a liar. How dare you claim innocence in this abomination? Perhaps you raised no sword yourself, but you did nothing to stop them. You must have known something of the plot, you and your father and the rest of his seed. I see the blood of my father on your hands. Your guilt is still in your eyes.”
Joseph looked away.
“There is nothing left but for me to kill you, or die a coward. If I do not avenge my father, I will be unworthy of this life, much less the next.”
Re-mose’s voice, raised in hatred, alerted the guards, who subdued him and led him away while Menashe wailed in his father’s arms.
When I finally woke, Shery sat beside me, her face stricken. “What is it?” I asked. “Oh lady,” she said, in a great rush to tell me what she knew, “I have bad news. Your son and the vizier have quarreled, and Re-mose is under guard in his chambers. The master is said to be furious, and they say that the young scribe is in mortal danger. I do not know the cause of their quarrel, not yet at least. But when I learn it, I will tell you immediately.”
I got to my feet, wobbling but determined. “Shery,” I commanded. “Listen to me now, for I will not argue or repeat myself. I must speak to the master of the house. Go and announce me.”
The serving woman bowed from the waist, but in a small voice said, “You cannot go to Zafenat Paneh-ah looking as you do. Let me give you a bath and dress your hair. Put on a clean gown so you can make your case like a lady and not a beggar.”
I nodded my assent, suddenly frightened by the scene ahead. What words could I use to a brother I had not seen for a lifetime? I crouched in the bath as Shery poured cool water over me and leaned back as she brushed and arranged my hair. I felt like a slave about to be paraded before a gallery of buyers.
When I was ready, Shery led me to the door of Zafenat Paneh-ah’s hall, where he sat with his head in his hands.
“Den-ner, the midwife, requests an audience,” she said. The vizier stood up and waved me in.
“Leave us,” he barked. Shery and all of his retainers disappeared. We were alone. Neither of us moved. We kept our places on opposite ends of the room and stared.
Though the years had cost him his smooth cheeks and a few of his teeth, Joseph was still fair of face and strong, still the son of Rachel.
“Dinah,” he said. “Ahatti—little sister,” he said, in the language of our youth. “The grave has set you free.”
“Yes, Joseph,” I said. “I am alive, and amazed to be in your presence. But the only reason I come to you is to ask what has become of my son.”
“Your son knows the story of his father’s death and he threatens my life,” said Joseph stiffly. “He holds me responsible for the sins of my brothers. His threat alone could cause his execution, but because he is your son, I will only send him away.
“He will not come to harm, I promise,” said Joseph kindly. “I have recommended that the king give him charge of a prefecture in the north, where he will be second to none. In time, he will fall in love with the sea—they all do—and he will build a life seasoned with salt air and salt water and not wish for any other.