The Monstrosity, Part Nine

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: R

LINK TO PART ONE

~

A short while later Drew and I were lounging on the floor of the library, close to the fireplace. I was sitting cross-legged with a copy of Tristram Shandy in hand and Drew was stretched out on his stomach. I had to smile to myself—I had never seen him looking so relaxed and comfortable.

"I wish either my father or my mother," I read, "or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly considered how much depended upon what they were doing—”

Drew groaned.

I stopped and raised my eyebrow at him. Then I remembered that he couldn't see me raising my eyebrow. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"You didn't tell me that you chose Tristram Shandy,” he said in an accusing tone.

"Didn’t you say that, as my host, it was your duty to put up with my selection?"

He made a face at that. "I did—but I put greater faith in your taste than it deserved.”

I laughed. “You detest Tristram Shandy, I take it.”

“One has to be in the mood for that sort of humor,” he explained. “I don’t think I can stomach it tonight. But never mind that—you are my guest. Go ahead and read it.”

“I don’t need you to martyr yourself,” I retorted. “What do you want to hear?”

But he shook his head. “That God-awful book will do.”

I rolled my eyes and went back to the page. "That not only the production of a rational being was concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body; perhaps the genius and the very cast of his mind; and, for aught they knew to the contrary--"

"Stop!" Drew commanded. "I'm sorry, Adam. I refuse to be a martyr. Pick something else."

I couldn't help grinning—I had guessed that Drew would end up making the choice. He's not the most accommodating soul I've ever known. "What do you have in mind?"

He furrowed his brow as he considered that. “Do you like Shakespeare’s sonnets?”

“Of course,” I answered with genuine enthusiasm. “Let me see if I can find them,” I continued, standing up to search the shelves.

“All of Shakespeare’s works are on the south wall, third and forth shelves,” Drew said.

“Ah, yes,” I said, walking over. “Found it.”

“Good. I’ve lots of them memorized, but not all. And ever since Brian figured out that Shakespeare wrote most of them to a pretty young man, he’s been embarrassed to read them to me.”

I laughed. “Little Joe learned Sonnet 18—Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?—in Miss Jones’s class. He puts it in his own words and uses it on whatever girl he’s sparking at the moment. He was flabbergasted when I told them that Shakespeare wrote it to a young man—not to a woman.”

“Did he stop using it?”

“Oh no,” I said as I sat down by the fire again. “That fact didn’t daunt Joe at all. Very little does when it comes to sparking the young ladies. Besides, Joe’s the type who will usually live and let live. And I explained that we don’t know if Shakespeare consummated that affair—or even if the sonnets are autobiographical.”

Drew cupped his chin in his hands and fell quiet for a moment. “Would you think less of Shakespeare if they were autobiographical? Or if the affair was consummated?” he asked at last. "Would you—would you judge a man harshly for sodomy?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. What would possess him to ask such a thing? I felt myself tense up as I considered his motivation.

I suppose it was possible that he was himself a sodomite. He’d been seen in the company of at least one prostitute—a pretty slip of a girl—but that meant little.

But I had a hard time imagining Drew in a heated affair with anyone, male or female. He seemed too cold for that; he simply wasn’t tactile or affectionate. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the girl was his brother’s idea.

But if the question had nothing to do with his own proclivities, why would he ask it?

“Adam?” Drew prompted, reminding me that I would have to say something.

"No," I said cautiously. "I wouldn’t judge a man harshly for that. It's his own business."

Drew smiled suddenly. "Don't worry," he said. "I don't think you're a sodomite—but I was wondering if Kane was."

I remember thinking that it was just as well that Drew was blind—he couldn’t see me going pale. I turned my head away from him and stared into the fire. I felt myself clenching the book in my hand.

"Why would you ask that?" I demanded. But my voice came out as a harsh whisper.

His voice was calm and reasonable as he answered. "When you were talking in your sleep, you said you wanted to take a knife to Kane. You even said that you wanted to castrate him. For you to be that enraged—and that, ah, personal--well, I suspected that he tortured you in more ways than you named."

I kept staring into the fire. I told myself that I would never forgive Drew for prying like this. I told myself that I should get up and leave. That I should pack my things and walk out of the Monstrosity.

But I didn’t. God knows I wanted to, but something kept me in that room.

"You told me that you couldn't understand my muttering," I said softly.

He shrugged. "I lied."

I managed another smile at that, but it was a while before I could bring myself to speak. "Kane wasn't a sodomite," I said at last, forcing the words out. "Not by inclination, at any event. He did torture me that way—but not because he felt any lust for me. It was merely another way to gain power over me—another way to break me. Nothing more."

I heard Drew inhale sharply at that. "I never thought of it that way," he said.

I started at that, but I had the feeling that he was speaking as much to himself as to me. So I kept quiet.

"Perhaps that was Tom Haley's motivation as well," he mused. “Or at least part of it.”

I turned my head back toward him. "Who's Tom Haley?"

Drew answer was devastatingly matter-of-fact. "Jack and I fell into his hands shortly after we ran away from the orphanage. He raped both of us."

I think my mouth dropped open at that. But at length some of the humiliation I felt evaporated. Not all of it—but some. Yet it seemed incredible that Drew, of all people, would understand what I went through.

I managed a small, bitter laugh at myself. I would have to stop underestimating him.

LINK TO PART TEN