James

by Percival Everett

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.

“Let me try this,” I said. “You have a notion, like Raynal, of natural liberties, and we all have them by virtue of our being human. But when those liberties are put under societal and cultural pressure, they become civil liberties, and those are contingent on hierarchy and situation. Am I close?”

“I’m glad you didn’t die,” Huck said. “Ima right pleased ’bout dat my own sef.” I stared into the fire. “Dyin’ can ruin a good time.”

I looked at one woman who might have been intrigued by me or taken with me, the entertainer. I saw the surface of her, merely the outer shell, and realized that she was mere surface all the way to her core.