James

by Percival Everett

Waiting for the just and deserved Christian reward at the end of it all.

I had already come to understand the tidiness of lies, the lesson learned from the stories told by white people seeking to justify my circumstance.

that I recognized it as a tool of my enemy. I chose the word enemy, and still do, as oppressor necessarily supposes a victim.

“You’re mortgaged, Jim. Like a farm, like a house. Really, the bank owns you. Miss Watson gets a bond, a piece of paper that say what you’re worth, and you just keep living in this condition. Living. You’re a part of the bank’s assets and so people all over the world are making money off your scarred black hide. Make sense? Nobody wants you free.” “Somebody does. There’s a war.” She nodded. “Maybe you won’t be a slave, but you won’t be free.” “Who are you?”