PART
ONE
CHAPTER 1

T HOSE LITTLE BASTARDS

were hiding out there in the tall grass. The moon was not quite full, but bright, and it was
behind them, so I could see them as plain as day, though it
was deep night. Lightning bugs flashed against the black
canvas. I waited at Miss Watson’s kitchen door, rocked a
loose step board with my foot, knew she was going to tell me
to fix it tomorrow. I was waiting there for her to give me a
pan of corn bread that she had made with my Sadie’s recipe.
Waiting is a big part of a slave’s life, waiting and waiting to
wait some more. Waiting for demands. Waiting for food.
Waiting for the ends of days. Waiting for the just and
deserved Christian reward at the end of it all.
Those white boys, Huck and Tom, watched me. They were
always playing some kind of pretending game where I was
either a villain or prey, but certainly their toy. They hopped
about out there with the chiggers, mosquitoes and other
biting bugs, but never made any progress toward me. It
always pays to give white folks what they want, so I stepped
into the yard and called out into the night,
“Who dat dere in da dark lak dat?”
They rustled clumsily about, giggled. Those boys couldn’t
sneak up on a blind and deaf man while a band was playing. I
would rather have been wasting time counting lightning bugs
than bothering with them.
“I guess I jest gwyne set dese old bones down on dis heah
porch and watch out for dat noise ’gin. Maybe dere be sum
ol’ demon or witch out dere. I’m gwyne stay right heah
where it be safe.” I sat on the top step and leaned back
against the post. I was tired, so I closed my eyes.
The boys whispered excitedly to each other, and I could
hear them, clear as a church bell.
“Is he ’sleep already?” Huck asked.
“I reckon so. I heard niggers can fall asleep jest like that,”
Tom said and snapped his fingers.
“Shhhh,” Huck said.
“I say we ties him up,” Tom said. “Tie him up to dat porch
post what he’s leaning ’ginst.”
“No,” said Huck. “What if’n he wakes up and makes a
ruckus? Then I gets found out for being outside and not in
bed like I’m supposed to be.”
“Okay. But you know what? I need me some candles. I’m
gonna slip into Miss Watson’s kitchen and get me some.”
“What if’n you wake Jim?”
“I ain’t gonna wake nobody. Thunder can’t even wake a
sleepin’ nigger. Don’t you know nuffin? Thunder, nor
lightning, nor roarin’ lions. I hear tell of one that slept right
through an earthquake.”
“What you suppose an earthquake feels like?” Huck
asked.
“Like when you pa wakes you up in the middle of the
night.”
The boys sneaked awkwardly, crawled knees over fists,
and none too quietly across the complaining boards of the
porch and inside through the Dutch door of Miss Watson’s
kitchen. I heard them in there rifling about, opening cabinet
doors and drawers. I kept my eyes closed and ignored a
mosquito that landed on my arm.
“Here we go,” Tom said. “I gone jest take three.”
“You cain’t jest take an old lady’s candles,” Huck said.
“That’s stealin’. What if’n they blamed Jim for that?”
“Here, I’ll leave her this here nickel. That’s more’n
enough. They won’t ’spect no slave. Where a slave gonna git
a nickel? Now, let’s git outta here befo’ she shows up.”
The boys stepped out onto the porch. I don’t imagine that
they were hardly aware of all the noise they made.
“You shoulda left a note, too,” Huck said.
“No need for all that,” Tom said. “Nickel’s plenty.” I could
feel the boys’ eyes turn to me. I remained still.
“What you doin’?” Huck asked.
“I’m gonna play a little joke on ol’ Jim.”
“You gonna wake him up is what you gonna do.”
“Hush up.”
Tom stepped behind me and grabbed my hat brim at my
ears.
“Tom,” Huck complained.
“Shhhh.” Tom lifted my hat off my head. “I’s jest gonna
hang this ol’ hat on this ol’ nail.”
“What’s that s’posed to do?” Huck asked.
“When he wakes up he’s gonna think a witch done it. I jest
wish we could be round to see it.”
“Okay, it be on the nail, now let’s git,” Huck said.
Someone stirred inside the house and the boys took off
running, turned the corner in a full gallop and kicked up dust.
I could hear their footfalls fade.
Now someone was in the kitchen, at the door. “Jim?” It
was Miss Watson.
“Yessum?”
“Was you ’sleep?”
“No, ma’am. I is a might tired, but I ain’t been ’sleep.”
“Was you in my kitchen?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Was anybody in my kitchen?”
“Not that I seen, ma’am.” That was quite actually true, as
my eyes had been closed the whole time. “I ain’t seen nobody
in yo kitchen.”
“Well, here’s that corn bread. You kin tell Sadie that I like
her recipe. I made a couple of changes. You know, to refine
it.”
“Yessum, I sho tell her.”
“You seen Huck about?” she asked.
“I seen him earlier.”
“How long ago?”
“A spell,” I said.
“Jim, I’m gonna ask you a question now. Have you been in
Judge Thatcher’s library room?”
“In his what?”
“His library.”
“You mean dat room wif all dem books?”
“Yes.”
“No, missums. I seen dem books, but I ain’t been in da
room. Why fo you be askin’ me dat?”
“Oh, he found some book off the shelves.”
I laughed. “What I gone do wif a book?”
She laughed, too.
—
THE CORN BREAD
was wrapped in a thin towel and I had to
keep shifting hands because it was hot. I considered having a
taste because I was hungry, but I wanted Sadie and
Elizabeth to have the first bites. When I stepped through the
door, Lizzie ran to me, sniffing the air like a hound.
“What’s that I smell?” she asked.
“I imagine that would be this corn bread,” I said. “Miss
Watson used your mama’s special recipe and it certainly does
smell good. She did inform me that she made a couple of
alterations.”
Sadie came to me and gave me a kiss on the mouth. She
stroked my face. She was soft and her lips were soft, but her
hands were as rough as mine from work in the fields, though
still gentle.
“I’ll be sure to take this towel back to her tomorrow.
White folks always remember things like that. I swear, I
believe they set aside time every day to count towels and
spoons and cups and such.”
“That’s the honest truth. Remember that time I forgot to
put that rake back in the shed?”
Sadie had the corn bread on the block—a stump, really—
that served as our table. She sliced into it. She handed
portions to Lizzie and me. I took a bite and so did Lizzie. We
looked at each other.
“But it smells so good,” the child said.
Sadie shaved off a sliver and put it in her mouth. “I swear
that woman has a talent for not cooking.”
“Do I have to eat it?” Lizzie asked.
“No, you don’t,” Sadie said.
“But what are you going to say when she asks you about
it?” I asked.
Lizzie cleared her throat. “Miss Watson, dat sum
conebread lak I neva before et.”
“Try ‘dat be,’ ” I said. “That would be the correct
incorrect grammar.”
“Dat be sum of conebread lak neva I et,” she said.
“Very good,” I said.
Albert appeared at the door of our shack. “James, you
coming out?”
“I’ll be there directly. Sadie, do you mind?”
“Go on,” she said.
I WALKED OUTSIDE
—
and over to the big fire, where the men
were sitting. I was greeted and then I sat. We talked some
about what happened to a runaway over at another farm.
“Yeah, they beat him real good,” Doris said. Doris was a
man, but that didn’t seem to matter to the slavers when they
named him.
“All of them are going to hell,” Old Luke said.
“What happened to you today?” Doris asked me.
“Nothing.”
“Something must have happened,” Albert said.
They were waiting for me to tell them a story. I was
apparently good at that, telling stories. “Nothing, except I
got carried off to New Orleans today. Aside from that,
nothing happened.”
“You what?” Albert said.
“Yes. You see, I thought I was drifting off into a nice nap
about noon and the next thing I knew I was standing on a
bustling street with mule-drawn carriages and whatnot all
around me.”
“You’re crazy,” someone said.
I caught sight of Albert giving me the warning sign that
white folks were close. Then I heard the clumsy action in the
bushes and I knew it was those boys.
“Lak I say, I furst found my hat up on a nail. ‘I ain’t put dat
dere,’ I say to mysef. ‘How dat hat git dere?’ And I knew
’twas witches what done it. I ain’t seen ’em, but it was dem.
And one dem witches, the one what took my hat, she sent me
all da way down to N’Orlins. Can you believe dat?”