FullReads

JOSEPH.
( not ceasing to copy the manuscript )

I wore it only figuratively
–I am wearing it now. And it always makes you angry.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
You mean the cloak of your insolence?

JOSEPH.
I mean the cloak of my pride.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
I can sympathize with your brothers. . . . Are you in love with her, Joseph?

JOSEPH.
I am not.

He has finished–he rolls up the papyrus.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
No–so I told her.

JOSEPH.
But she didn’t believe you.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
You seem to know our conversation pretty well.

JOSEPH.
I can imagine it.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
Well, go ahead and imagine it. What did we say?

JOSEPH.
You both lied to each other.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
About what?

JOSEPH.
About me.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
( sitting up )

Your conceit is insufferable!

JOSEPH.
( rising politely )

I hope so.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
Is that a dismissal?

JOSEPH.
If you will be so kind.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
You interest me more and more.

JOSEPH.
I feared as much.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
I detest you!

JOSEPH.
It is one of the symptoms.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
Young man, do you really know nothing about love?

JOSEPH.
If I don’t, it is not the fault of the women of Egypt.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
You are a strange youth. It cannot be that you love this work you are doing….

JOSEPH.
No, madam–I hate it.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
Then where do you find your happiness?
Tell me, Joseph–what is the happiest hour of the day for you?

JOSEPH.
( with complete sincerity )

It is that hour when I have finished the day’s work, and can lie down upon my couch. It is the hour before sleep comes, when the room is filled with moonlight, and there is no sound except the crickets singing in the orchard, and the music of the toads in the pool. The wind of the night comes in, cool with dew. Then I am happy–for I can lie and make plans for my future.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
( softly )

And in that hour of moonlight and dew and the music of the crickets, and the ancient love-song of the toads in the pool, when all the earth abandons itself to love,–what would you say to a woman who stole in to you like a moonbeam, like a breath of the night-wind, like a strain of music?

JOSEPH.
I would tell her–to go, as her presence would interfere with my plans.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
I call the gods to witness. A truly virtuous young man!

JOSEPH.
( jumping down from the table, angrily )

Virtue! Virtue! Oh, you stupid Egyptians!
As though I cared about Virtue!

MADAM POTIPHAR.
Well, what in the name of all the gods is it that you care about?

JOSEPH.
( vehemently )

In the name of all the gods, madam, I care about time.

MADAM POTIPHAR.
Time! But what can you do with time?