Free The Empty by Thom Reese

Good, perhaps Tresset had escaped.
    After several moments, Oskar reached down and selected a pale blue book, dusted it off with a few swipes of his palm. “Language, Otto. I believe it best that we begin with language.”
    These sessions became a routine. Each day Oskar arrived with his armload of books, settled on his creaky little stool, opened a book, and began his lesson. At the onset, Dolnaraq responded to very little the man had to say. He simply leaned against the wall of his cage, picked at fleas, and listened as the man droned on. For all appearances, it was a wasted effort on the part of the man. But Dolnaraq was listening; he was allowing the words to penetrate his sharp and curious mind. Eventually, his resolve softened and he began repeating words given to him by Oskar and even conjugating sentences aloud. The spoken word held little difficulty for Dolnaraq. He already spoke the native tongue of the reyaqc, a fair smattering of Russian, and now German. But the written word was a peculiar and mysterious thing. The first time that Oskar passed a book through the bars and asked Dolnaraq to read, the reyaqc stared dumbly at the thing, then to Oskar’s horror, ripped the pages free, allowing them to litter the floor beside him.
    “No, no, no!” cried the man. “A book is a sacred thing. It is by this means that one generation may pass knowledge to another, that men who will never meet in this world can communicate deep and wondrous thoughts. A book is to be respected above all else.”
    Dolnaraq released the book, allowing it to tumble noisily to the floor, but said nothing.
    Eventually, though, Dolnaraq did gain a grasp of written language, and in fact, learned he had quite an aptitude in this area. Soon Oskar moved on to other languages, first English, then French, then Italian. Oskar taught from great works of literature from various languages. Dolnaraq read Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov in the original Russian. He devoured a German translation of Homer’s Iliad . He pored over Dickens and Shakespeare in English. Oskar began teaching him world history and discussing with him the politics of the time. Dolnaraq was a quick and able student, absorbing everything, questioning the reasoning of the authors he read, and debating the logic. Through all of this, Oskar would smile, nodding eagerly as the wordplay between them grew to the type that two university academics might enjoy over tea in some austere campus library.
    One day, as Dolnaraq sat mulling over Dante, he peered quizzically at his tutor. “You’re a carnie,” he said.
    Oskar nodded.
    “You obviously have an amazing mind. You speak multiple languages; you dabble in philosophy, politics, the social sciences. You have a rich love for and grasp of literature. How then is it that you tend to the beasts in a run down carnival managed by an inept tyrant?”
    Oskar frowned, leaning forward on his bony elbows. “It is as you say. In truth, I am an academic, having spent the better part of my adult life on staff at the University of Heidelberg.”
    “What brought you to this place?”
    “My younger sister, Frieda. She is married to the buffoon.”
    “Wilhelm? Your sibling is his mate?” Dolnaraq had seen the woman only in passing, a slight creature with thinning hair and sunken eyes. At some point she might have been attractive, but now only seemed listless and dull.
    Oskar nodded. “My father passed when I was still a student. Consumption took him. Frieda married Wilhelm when she was sixteen. He is an abusive man and I have often been forced to intercede in their affairs. When my mother died four years ago, Wilhelm took my sister’s portion of the inheritance to purchase this carnival. Due to the transitory nature of carnival life, I feared for Frieda. If I were to have remained at the university, she would have been traveling the countryside with no advocate. Wilhelm is rash, vengeful, jealous of her beauty, and prone to assault her should