Her eyes widened. “Yes, miss. There’s an old copy in the library that no one touches. I read it last night, when everyone was asleep.”
“What works are at stake?”
“Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest.” His voice turned enthusiastic despite himself. “The Tempest is my favorite. Prospero controlling the island with magic. Ariel yearning for freedom. Caliban treated as a monster, but perhaps more human than anyone.” He stops abruptly. “Excuse me, miss. I’m talking too much.”
“No,” I said, smiling. It was the first time I’d truly smiled in that strange conversation. “Keep talking. Tell me about Caliban.”
And something extraordinary happened. Josiah, the enormous slave known as Bruta, began to speak of Shakespeare with an intelligence that would have impressed university professors.
Caliban is branded a monster, but Shakespeare shows us that he was enslaved, his island stolen, and his mother’s magic ignored. Prospero calls him a savage, but Prospero has come to the island and taken 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 human nonetheless.” His voice trailed off. “Come… come, slaves.”
“I’m 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 and his thirst for knowledge evident. And as we talked, my fear faded.
This man was not a brute. He was intelligent, kind, thoughtful, trapped in a body that society saw and considered only as that of a monster.
“Josiah,” I finally said, “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 trapped in an impossible situation, just like me.”
Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, miss.”
“Call me Elellanar. When we’re alone, call me Elellanar.”
“You 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 is all about, you should use my last name.”
He nodded slowly. “Elellanar.” My name and his deep, soft voice resonated 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, who can’t see the person inside, doesn’t deserve you.”
It was the kindest thing anyone had said to me in four years.
“Will you do it?” I asked. “Will you accept my father’s plan?”
