James

by Percival Everett

“There is no God, child. There’s religion but there’s no God of theirs. Their religion tells that we will get our reward in the end. However, it apparently doesn’t say anything about their punishment. But when we’re around them, we believe in God. Oh, Lawdy Lawd, we’s be believin’. Religion is just a controlling tool they employ and adhere to when convenient.”

“White people love to buy stuff,”

was as much scared as angry, but where does a slave put anger?

“Way I sees it is dis. If’n ya gots to hab a rule to tells ya wha’s good, if’n ya gots to hab good ’splained to ya, den ya cain’t be good. If’n ya need sum kinda God to tells ya right from wrong, den you won’t never know.”

“Good ain’t got nuttin’ to do wif da law. Law says I’m a slave.”

“You’re in Illinois,” the old man said. “So, I’m in a free state?” The men laughed. “Boy, you’re in America,” a muscular man said.

With my pencil, I wrote myself into being. I wrote myself to here

To tell the truth, I hadn’t seen much killing myself, except that I lived with it daily, the threat, the promise of it.

“He’s right. If he didn’t own slaves I’d like to think that old Wiley was a decent fellow.” “If,” I said.

I was the horse that I was, just an animal, just property, nothing but a thing, but apparently I was a horse, a thing, that could sing.

He said something that confused me. Confused me because I wasn’t quite sure what it meant. Confused me because I had never heard anything like it before. He said, “I’m sorry.”

I had been about to help take down the tent, but this white man’s apology screwed me to the ground.

We stood back to back and tore into the ground like we hated it.

I wanted to tell her I was sorry, but that really didn’t make any sense. We both knew where we were and we knew that we didn’t know anything else. We knew that she, I, all of us, were forever naked in the world.

I hated the world that wouldn’t let me apply justice without the certain retaliation of injustice.