[Measure of Devotion 03.0] Measure of Peace

by Caethes Faron

  That man was still curled around Kale tight enough that any escape attempt would wake him. Instead of fleeing to the spare bedroom, Kale ran his fingers through Jason’s thick brown hair. A feather soft moan escaped Jason’s mouth as he stirred before settling into the touch. It would be the epitome of ungratefulness for Kale to share his nightmares. Jason had freed him and given him a life that was more ideal than anything Kale could ever deserve. How could he even hint that it wasn’t enough? It would be cruel to unburden himself onto his partner who would try so very hard to understand but would fall short through no fault of his own. Jason couldn’t understand. No free man could.

  Moonlight drifted in through a crack in the drapes and illuminated a black and white photograph on Jason’s bedside table. It had been taken by a photographer friend the day they’d bought the house. Kale smiled at the memory, though it paled in comparison to the smiles caught on film that day. Their arms were draped around each other and their faces alight with the possibilities of their new life. Jason snuggled in closer to Kale. His hot breath on Kale’s chest was so familiar that, on the occasions when Kale had been able to escape to the guest bedroom, his sleep was restless without it.

  Kale closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He would need to be up in a few hours, and people were counting on him. He couldn’t let them down, despite how easily he had let down his own family. As drowsiness overtook him, his thoughts drifted with anticipation to the activities of the day. A brief moment of honesty before he drifted off, because it wasn’t his guilt or wretchedness that really bothered him. What he hated most was how damn happy he was. He had no right to it, but he felt it just the same.

  Chapter Three

  Jason elbowed his way through the crowd, careful not to jostle the two champagne flutes he carried. When he reached Kale, he stood back while a reporter from the Calea Gazette snapped a photograph of Kale with one of his pieces. The reporter tried to coax a smile out of Kale, but all he got was an expression that most resembled a grimace. When it was apparent Kale wasn’t going to get any more comfortable in front of the camera, the reporter shook his hand and thanked him for his time.

  “You might want to try not looking like you’re in quite so much pain.” Jason handed Kale the champagne.

  “I just don’t understand what they want a picture of me for or why they want an interview. I drew some pictures and painted some others. It’s not like I have a plan to solve childhood hunger.”

  “No, you don’t, but you may inspire someone who does. This is amazing, Kale. I’ve never seen a crowd like this for an art show. I overheard them turning people away at the door. You’ve really hit a nerve.”

  “They’ve all come to see the ex-slave who can draw. I’m an oddity to them.”

  “You’re an inspiration.”

  Before Kale could reply, another reporter approached with some questions. Jason stayed close, but also took the opportunity to look at some of the pieces. Kale had always been shy about letting Jason see his work. Jason was convinced that the only reason Kale even let his work be displayed publicly was because he felt an obligation to bring in an income. That obligation was solely in his head, but Jason didn’t mind it being there if it pushed Kale to live up to his potential.

  The show was entitled “Forgotten Faces,” and it was a collection of candid portraits of the poor and homeless throughout Calea. As the capital of Naiara, it had a considerable amount of poverty juxtaposed against the wealth that ran the country. Jason admired a painting of a beggar woman on the steps of the opera house. Theatre goers dressed in their finery scurried by. The opera house was adorned with gold leafing on the columns flanking the entrance. Yet somehow, Kale had made the drab colors of the woman the focal point. Kale was exceptional at using contrasting images to make a point. A glance at one of Kale’s pictures revealed more to Jason than an hour of conversation with his lover.

  “They leave you speechless, don’t they?” Jason turned to see Lisa standing next to him.

  “Yeah, they do.” Jason looked at the picture for a moment longer. “Thanks for coming. I know Kale appreciates the support.”

  Lisa shook her head. “I didn’t come for him, Jason. Don’t get me wrong, I support him and would show up anywhere for him, but I came because there was no way I was going to miss this. These pictures were the inspiration for the lecture I’m giving tomorrow. I needed to see them again to remind me why I’m doing it and to calm my nerves.”

  “Wait, how did you get to see them? I wasn’t even allowed to see a lot of these ahead of time.”

  Lisa’s mouth quirked to the side. “Josie showed me. She knew I was interested in the subject matter and thought I should see them all.” Her lips straightened into a firm line. “These images stay with you. I see them at the strangest times. It’s like they’ve become a part of my consciousness. I can’t imagine what it must be like to live with that sort of genius.”

  Jason’s heart swelled with pride, and he glanced at Kale, who still looked supremely uncomfortable with the attention focused on him. “It’s amazing. What’s even more remarkable is that he really doesn’t know how great he is. I’m still waiting for him to figure it out.” Times like this made Jason marvel at his good fortune. There were days when he thought for sure Kale would realize just how extraordinary he was and decide that he didn’t need Jason anymore.

  “Wipe that look off your face. I’ve never seen a man more in love than Kale. Besides, you’re the key to all this. You’d have a revolt on your hands if you two ever left each other.”

  “No, I have very little to do with this.” Jason went back to admiring the picture.

  “That’s not what Kale says. According to him, he couldn’t draw when you were apart. He says you gave him the security to be vulnerable enough to put himself on the canvas.”

  Jason’s head jerked around to Lisa. “Really? When did he say all that?”

  “Oh, just here and there.”

  “Hmm.” Jason let the moment pass. He didn’t know Kale talked about him to other people. “I knew he was becoming more popular, but I really didn’t expect this. I don’t know how Carmichael filled this place so quickly. It’s not because of Kale’s past, is it?” Jason wasn’t ashamed of Kale’s history as a slave, but he knew Kale was eager to make his way on his own merits, not as the subject of morbid curiosity. Jason hated to think that the interest in Kale’s art came from anything but the art itself.

  “Are you kidding? I doubt most people here even know his history, and they certainly wouldn’t be this interested based on the novelty. The gallery didn’t need to do much more than announce the show. People are here from all over Naiara. Everyone’s worried it will sell out.”

  “It’s a four-week show.”

  Lisa laughed. “Not the show, silly, the art. I know Kale’s dense enough to think that there isn’t a demand for his original pieces, but I didn’t expect you to be so obtuse. The only reason he’s not selling more is because he’s not producing more. When word got out that there was going to be a show full of his originals, people clamored to be the first to get their picks.”

  Jason had no idea. He knew Kale was making a name for himself throughout the country—it was an advantage to living in the capital and having a broad network of influential friends—but this frenzy was more than Jason had imagined. The normally hushed gallery was so loud Jason couldn’t hear the string quartet in the corner.

  Lisa rested her hand on Jason’s arm. “I’ve got to go say hello to some people. You and Kale are going to come out with us afterward, right? We all want to celebrate with him somewhere a little more intimate.”

  “Of course. Thanks, Lisa. I’ll see you later.”

  Lisa nodded and made her way to the other side of the room. Jason was eager to be near Kale, who still seemed to be in the midst of an interview. Jason suspected he hated every minute of it. Jason didn’t want to encroach on or curtail the interview, but he wanted Kale to know that he was there should he need him. He positione
d himself within Kale’s line of sight, but far enough off to the side that Kale wouldn’t feel like he was hovering.

  As soon as Jason made eye contact with him, Kale sighed and started to smile. He looked back at the reporter, nodded, shook the man’s hand, and advanced toward Jason.

  “Save me, please.”

  Jason chuckled. “Is fame not all it’s cracked up to be?”

  “I don’t know why I even need to be here. The art looks the same whether I’m in the room or not.”

  “People like to walk amongst genius, myself included. You don’t have to ask me twice to hang on your arm. Why don’t you give me a tour? I haven’t gotten to see them all yet. You can pretend we’re back home, and it’s just us.”

  “I think I can manage that.” Kale took Jason’s arm and led him around the exhibit.

  Jason tried to discuss each piece objectively, as if they were at someone else’s show. Kale responded well. He was still uneasy talking about his own work, but at least it was in a context he could manage. Over time, Jason noticed people following them, straining to hear Kale’s commentary. Jason gradually raised his voice, and Kale subconsciously mirrored his volume. When they reached the end, the group following them broke into applause, startling Kale into finally looking around.

  “Were they there the entire time?”

  “Yes, you dolt. They love you.” Jason couldn’t resist the bewildered look on Kale’s face and kissed him. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for being mine.”

  This was Jason’s life. Here in this gallery—in the man in front of him—was everything important to him. Nothing else mattered; not whatever was happening in Arine, and certainly not the letter buried in his desk.

  Chapter Four

  “We must demand abolishment. It’s time we force Arine out of barbarism and into modern times.” Harry slammed his fist on the glass top of the wrought iron table, rattling the empty wine bottles in the middle.

  “It’s not practical.” Jason’s voice was steady. Kale’s lover was one of the more sober people around the table. The six of them sat outside the Lady Lion, a cafe they frequented often for its late hours. The opening had ended three hours before, and Kale’s friends had brought him here for a private celebration. Thankfully, the conversation had turned from Kale to politics.

  “No, no. If we’re going to have this discussion, we’re going to have it properly. Margaret!” Daniel bellowed for the waitress. “Bring us all some coffee, nice and strong. And clear these bottles and glasses away.”

  Margaret reached for Kale’s whiskey. “No, thank you. I’ll keep mine.” As always, Kale didn’t get drunk. While his friends were trying to sober up for a debate, Kale wanted the soothing comfort of his drink. He would likely need it.

  “This is the time to act. With our trade treaty up for renewal this year, we finally have some leverage with Arine. I say we don’t let the government ratify the treaty as long as slavery is legal in Arine.” Jessica was the daughter of a Member of Parliament. Not only did Kale’s friends have the desire for change, they were actually in a position to affect it. Sometimes, Kale felt out of place among such principled people. He was active in politics and wanted change, but he was a simple man who liked to draw and spend lazy afternoons with his lover.

  “You two could really help the movement. You’d be the perfect spokespeople for it.” Lisa took a sip of her newly arrived coffee.

  “Hmph, because I’m so good at public speaking?” Kale had barely been able to handle the interviews at the gallery. He couldn’t inspire people with words. Jason could, though. If he wanted to.

  “Words aren’t how you communicate best. Your exhibit tonight did more for bringing awareness to the problems of the poor in Calea than a dozen lectures ever could. If you could do a similar show with pictures from your memories as a slave, it would go a long way.” Kale envied the fire in Lisa’s eye.

  “Kale draws what he wants, Lisa. His memories aren’t your personal political playground.” Jason’s voice held a dangerous edge. Kale placed a hand on his arm. At Kale’s touch, Jason met his eyes. Kale could see exactly which memories Jason was thinking of: the ones still imprinted on the flesh of Kale’s back.

  “Perhaps you don’t want the law to change. You make quite a profit off of slaves in your steel mills.” Daniel’s eyes were cool, all trace of the warm wine gone.

  “Watch yourself.” Kale didn’t mind a debate, but accusations were another matter.

  “It doesn’t matter to my business either way. I do enough domestic business that, if a trade treaty didn’t pass because of a requirement to ban slavery, we wouldn’t go under. And if slavery was abolished, we’d be able to absorb the costs of hiring free workers just fine.”

  “Then why don’t you do it? Why use slaves? It’s wrong.” The pleading in Jessica’s voice removed any sting of accusation. Hope shone in her face as she leaned forward.

  “You don’t think I’ve struggled with that? But Kale and I have talked it over. The truth of the matter is, if I didn’t hire those slaves, they’d be working in much worse conditions.”

  “Hire?” Jessica sat back in her chair.

  “Yes. I hire a labor firm that provides the slaves.”

  “Oh, isn’t that great? So not only do you get cheap labor, these firms get to pocket the money that should go to the laborers.” Daniel’s sneer was beginning to wear on Kale’s nerves.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Jason’s right. The way he runs his mill is heaven compared to what else those slaves would be doing.”

  Harry leaned his elbows on the table, finally joining the conversation after finishing his coffee. “But it’s not right.”

  “No, it’s not. Every man deserves to be free. I won’t argue with you on that point, but we’re not discussing a perfect world.” It was nice to hear Jason speak pragmatically. He’d once been as idealistic as their friends. Kale wondered if his jaded cynicism was affecting Jason. “Arinians see owning slaves as their birthright as conquerors. They won’t give it up easily. Their society isn’t ready to. Even if they did ban slavery, what would happen to all the slaves? They wouldn’t be able to get work. The stigma would be too strong. They’re not trained for the workforce. Their lives would be better only in that they would die free.”

  “Better to die free than live a slave!” Daniel pontificated.

  Kale grunted. None of these children had a fucking clue what they were talking about. Daniel shot a look his way, but Lisa spoke before he could.

  “What do you think, Kale? You must have a strong perspective on this. It’s really your opinion we should be asking for.”

  Kale pursed his lips, considering whether he should answer or brush off the question. Lisa was a gentle girl with a good heart. She didn’t want to hear his truth—she only thought she did.

  “Yes, Kale. Tell us what you think. What was it like living as a slave to your lover?” Sharp looks from Harry and Lisa met Daniel’s obnoxious tone.

  Kale toyed with his glass and then met Daniel’s eyes. “What do I think? I think you don’t know what it’s like to live a life where you spend eighteen hours a day on your feet, where you’d give anything just for a moment to sit, but you don’t dare take a chance because you know the pain of getting caught far outweighs the pain of working. Sitting here drinking coffee and wine, you can’t possibly understand what it means to thirst, to want a drop of water so badly the thought crosses your mind to drink your own piss, except you realize you haven’t pissed all day because there’s no moisture left in your body. It’s for the best anyway, because you don’t get bathroom breaks. You don’t know what it’s like to forget what anything tastes like except for stale, moldy bread, to finally taste butter on your lips and think that you must have been transported to the heavens because nothing could possibly taste so good. You’ve never collapsed at the end of the day and been thankful for the bed bugs biting your skin because at least that means you’ve got a straw mattress under you instead of
the hard floor. None of you has a damn idea what you’re talking about.” Kale tried to distance himself from these conversations as much as he could, but with every word, he knew his mother and brother suffered through the same, maybe worse, maybe a little better.

  Kale didn’t bother voicing the real horrors. There was no way to make his friends understand what it meant to realize as a boy that a slave was not a man, that by virtue of his birth, he was less than, different, substandard. The truth was, not all slaves had it physically bad. Kale certainly hadn’t while he’d belonged to Jason. The other slaves Kale had known in Perdana could even be said to have lived a life of moderate comfort. Compared to the lower classes of Arine, upper-class slaves had a better physical existence. The true torture took place in the realm of the mind. Physical pain faded and healed, but not the mental. There was no way to convey it accurately to people who had never lived through it, who had never once doubted that they were people. Simpler for all involved to restrict it to the bodily harm of being a slave.

  Jason met Kale’s eyes. He was the one man who could comprehend the depths of the mental agony. “Kale’s right.” Jason turned to the group. “You don’t understand, and until you at least try to, you won’t get anywhere. You need to approach this from the right angle.” Jason didn’t seem to be upset by Kale’s diatribe.

  “And let this opportunity pass us by?” Jessica shook her head, clearly not willing to take a passive role.

  “No, certainly not. I’m saying the exact opposite: don’t waste it. There’s a real chance here for change, but it needs to be change that people who haven’t been afforded the same privileges as you can accept. It’s a privilege to not have to live in a slave society. Don’t take it for granted. Reforms are more peaceful and long-lasting than violent revolutions.”