He had learned humility quickly, which was perhaps the lesson his brothers had wanted him to learn (If not death, he'd think, if not death.). A slave with his eyes lowered, though his master wanted more from him, he sometimes thought. Gifts of food were not uncommon, or clothing, unbefitting of a slave. Trust was the greater gift.

A slave, Joseph ran his master's house and fields, and they thrived. Crops grew strong and well, the household ran smoothly, everything in control. His master would watch Joseph at work sometimes, giving orders to other slaves. When Joseph would try to defer, his master would slowly shake his head. "I leave it in your hands," he'd say, and Joseph would lower his head and agree, as all he could do.

But his master would watch him.

His master seemed to give no thought to anything else; he did not need to, for Joseph ran everything, and what did he need but the bread Joseph handed him? Nothing. His wife would watch her husband, who needed nothing, and raise her eyes to Joseph as well.

Joseph's master never noticed, too busy watching Joseph himself to see anything else.

"You're beautiful," he said one day, watching Joseph work, and the word was a women's word. Joseph hesitated, and turned to his master, for his master had given him everything, and who was he, a slave, to deny him?

The wife was gone from her own place of watching before Joseph dared take the few steps to Potiphar.

His master held back nothing from him except his wife, and held back nothing Joseph had wanted.

Joseph held nothing back.