James

by Percival Everett

“I’m putting the lantern out now,” the old man said. “Okay, Easter.” He put out the light and walked away into the back of the livery. Huck stirred beside me. “Is Easter gone?” he asked. “Yeah, he be gone.” Huck sat up. “You don’t trust me, do you, Jim?” “ ’Course I trusts ya, Huck. Why you say dat?” “I was listening to you and Easter talkin’. You weren’t talkin’ like you talk to me.” I said nothing. “Why is that, Jim? I thought we was friends. I thought you trusted me.” “I does trust you, Huck. Cain’t you see dat? I trusts you wif my life.” “I’m going back to sleep,” the boy said. “Just one thing?” “Yeah, Huck?” “I understand why you talk the way you do.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “I mean it makes sense.” I studied his face. He was talking with his eyes closed, as much fighting sleep as losing to it. There was a lot of this in that face. “You be a smart boy, Huck.” “Goodnight, Jim.” “Goodnight, Huck.”