“Have you ever read Shakespeare?”
His eyes widened. “Yes, miss. There’s an old copy in the library that no one touches. I read it last night, when everyone’s asleep.”
“What plays?”
“Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest.” His voice grew enthusiastic despite himself. “The Tempest is my favorite. Prospero controlling the island with magic. Ariel longing for freedom. Caliban treated like a monster, yet perhaps more human than anyone else.” He stopped abruptly. “Excuse me, miss. I’m talking too much.”
“No,” I said, smiling. I was smiling genuinely for the first time in this strange conversation. “Keep talking. Tell me about Caliban.”
And something extraordinary happened. Josiah, the enormous slave known as the Brute, began discussing Shakespeare with an intelligence that would have impressed university professors.
Caliban is called a monster, but Shakespeare shows us that he was enslaved, his island stolen, his mother’s magic ignored. Prospero calls him a savage, but Prospero has arrived on the island and claimed ownership of everything, including Caliban himself. So who is the real monster?
“Do you consider Caliban a character you can empathize with?”
“I see Caliban as a human being, treated as less than human, but still human.” His voice trailed off. “Like… like slaves.”
“I finished.”
“Yes, miss.”
We talked for two hours about Shakespeare, books, philosophy, and ideas. Josiah was self-taught; his knowledge was fragmentary, but his mind was sharp, his thirst for knowledge evident. And as we talked, my fear melted away.
This man was no brute. He was intelligent, kind, thoughtful, trapped in a body that society viewed and saw only as a monster.
“Josiah,” I said finally, “if we do this, I want you to know something. I don’t think you’re a brute. I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you’re a person stuck in an impossible situation, just like me.”
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Thank you, miss.”
“Call me Elellanar. When we’re alone, call me Elellanar.”
“I shouldn’t, miss. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Nothing in this situation is fair. If we’re going to be husband and wife, or whatever this arrangement is, you should use my last name.”
He nodded slowly. “Elellanar.” My name and his deep, gentle voice rang out like music.
“Then you should know something too. I don’t think you’re unfit for marriage. I think the men who rejected you were fools. A man who can’t see beyond the wheelchair, to see the person inside, doesn’t deserve you.”
It was the kindest thing anyone had said to me in four years.
