Skip to content 
“And you consented to this?” He looked confused, as if the concept of consent was foreign to him. The choirboy added, “I had to, miss.” “But do you really want this?” The question sent shivers down his spine.
His eyes met mine, dark brown, surprised and kind, and his face was helpless. “I… know what I want, Mistress.” I’m a slave. I have no habits. The truth is harsh and just.
My father closed the door and said, “Perhaps it would be better if we talked alone. I’ll be in my study.” Then he left and closed the door, leaving me alone with the enormous seven-legged slave who would become my husband. We didn’t speak for hours.
Finally I asked him, pointing to the chair in front of me: “Do you want to sit down?”
Josiah glanced at the delicate piece of furniture. He lifted the embroidered cushions, then looked down at his enormous frame. “I don’t think this chair will hold me, ma’am.”
“And then the sofa.” He sat down carefully on the edge. Even sitting down, he was considerably taller than me.
His hands were resting on his knees, and each finger was a small, hardened, visible nodule.
“Are you afraid of me, ma’am?” “Should I be?” “No, ma’am.” I won’t hurt you, I swear. “I’ll call you a monster.” I shivered. “Yes, ma’am.” Because of my size and because I look terrifying.
I’ve never hurt anyone, but it’s obvious. “But you can, if you want.” “I can,” he looked at me again, “but I won’t.” Not for you. Not for someone who doesn’t deserve it.
Something in her eyes—sadness, resignation, a softness that didn’t match her appearance—convinced me. “Josiah, I want to be honest with you.” I don’t want him any more than you probably do. My father is desperate. I’m unmarriageable.
But if we’re going to do this, I need to know: Are you dangerous? “No, ma’am.” “Are you cruel?” “No, ma’am.” “Will you hurt me?”
“Absolutely not, ma’am.” I swear on everything I hold dear. His seriousness was undeniable; I believed what he was saying. Then I have another question.
“Can you read?” The question made him shiver. Fear crossed his face; reading was forbidden to slaves in Virginia. But after a long moment, he said calmly, “Yes, ma’am.” I said to myself, “I know it’s forbidden, but… I couldn’t help it.”
Books are gateways to places I will go.
“What are you reading?” “Anything I can find.” Old newspapers and sometimes books I borrow. I read slowly, but I don’t study well, but I read. “Have you read Shakespeare?”
His eyes widened. “Yes, ma’am. There’s an old copy in the library that no one touches.
I read it at night, when everyone else is asleep.” “What are his works?” “Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, The Tempest.” Her voice brightened involuntarily.
“The Tempest is my favorite.” Prospero rules the island with magic, Ariel loves freedom, Caliba is treated like a monster, but perhaps he’s more human than anyone else. He stopped short. “Excuse me, ma’am.
I talk a lot.” “No.” I smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in that strange conversation. “Go on. Tell me about Calib.”
And then something extraordinary happened. Josiah, the giant slave known as the Beast, began discussing Shakespeare with an intelligence that would have impressed college professors.
He stated: “Calibas is called a beast, but Shakespeare shows us that he was a slave, that his island was stolen from him, and that he was deprived of the presence of his mother.”
ON