She was deemed unfit for marriage – so her father gave her in marriage to the strongest slave.

I am a slave. My desires matter little. The frankness was brutal and fair. My father cleared his throat. Perhaps you should… Let’s talk in private, Miss. On the sofa, then. He sat carefully on the edge. Even seated, he was much taller than me. His hands rested on his knees, each finger like a small club, covered in scars and calluses.

“Are you afraid of me, miss?” “Should I be afraid?” “No, miss.” I would never hurt you. I swear. “People call you a brute.” He shuddered. “Yes, miss.” Because of my size. Because of my frightening appearance. But I’m not brutal. I’ve never hurt anyone. It wasn’t intentional.

But you could, if you wanted to. I could. He looked me in the eyes again. But I wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not to just anyone who didn’t deserve it. Something in his gaze—sadness, resignation, a gentleness that contrasted with his appearance—made me make this decision. Josiah, I want to be honest with you. I don’t want this, and I doubt you do either. My father is desperate.

I’m unsuitable for marriage. He thinks you’re the only solution. But if we have to do this, I need to know. Are you dangerous? No, miss. Are you cruel? No, miss. Will you hurt me? I would never be wrong. I promise it on everything I hold most dear. His seriousness was undeniable. He believed what he said. So, I have another question.

“Can you read?” The question surprised him. Fear crossed his face. In Virginia, slaves were forbidden to read. But after a long moment, he answered softly, “Yes, miss. I taught myself. I know it’s forbidden, but I couldn’t help myself.”

Books are portals to places I’ll never go. What do you read? Anything I can find. Old newspapers, sometimes borrowed books. I read slowly. I didn’t learn properly, but I read. Have you read Shakespeare? Her eyes widened. Yes, miss. There’s an old copy in the library that no one touches. I used to read it at night, when everyone was asleep. Which plays? Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest. His voice stirred enthusiasm despite himself. The Tempest is my favorite. Prospero controls the island by magic. Ariel longs for freedom.

Caliban was treated like a monster, but perhaps he was more human than anyone else. He stopped abruptly. “Excuse me, miss. I’m talking too much.” “No, I was smiling. A genuine smile, the first of this strange conversation. Go on. Tell me about Caliban.” And something extraordinary happened.

Josiah, the enormous slave nicknamed 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 a slave, his island stolen, and his mother’s magic rejected. Yes, my daughter.

We talked for two hours about Shakespeare, books, philosophy, and ideas. Josias was self-taught; his knowledge was fragmentary, but his mind was sharp and his thirst for knowledge evident. “I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you’re a person facing an impossible situation, just like me.” His eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Thank you, miss. You can call me Elanar.”