James

by Percival Everett

Safe movement through the world depended on mastery of language, fluency.

“Why did God set it up like this?” Rachel asked. “With them as masters and us as slaves?” “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 folk believe all sorts a stuff I don’t know about. Dey is the stupidstitiousest people in da world.” “You mean ‘superstitious.’ ” “Dat what I say.”

How strange a world, how strange an existence, that one’s equal must argue for one’s equality, that one’s equal must hold a station that allows airing of that argument, that one cannot make that argument for oneself, that premises of said argument must be vetted by those equals who do not agree.

A man who refused to own slaves but was not opposed to others owning slaves was still a slaver, to my thinking.

“Listen, you’ve got to relax,” I said. “To all of them you’re white. Hell, to me you’re white.” “There’s no need to be insulting.”

“What did you do?” Norman asked. “What did I do? I’m a slave, Norman. I inhaled when I should have exhaled. What did I do?”

“Belief has nothing to do with truth. Believe what you like.

I had never seen a white man filled with such fear. The remarkable truth, however, was that it was not the pistol, but my language, the fact that I didn’t conform to his expectations, that I could read, that had so disturbed and frightened him.