Those 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.