I decided to ridicule him; perhaps he would come out with it. “You farm? You’ve never farmed in your life. You don’t know anything about it.”

He nodded his head just once, acknowledging the truth of my statement. “I’m planning to try.” He had not moved; he hardly seemed alive he was so still and erect.

My ridicule had not worked so I decided to be a bit more paternalistic. “Sit down, Tucker.”

He did not hesitate; walked—marched really—toward the desk, sat in the chair beside it, his back still straight.

“Where did you get the money?” I leaned on my elbows, knit my hands, and rested my chin.

“I saved it. My grandpap left me some.” He was annoyed by the question, did not want to be fathered. “Will you sell me the land?”

“I don’t know.” Perhaps I could have answered just then—Yes or No—but suddenly I had the feeling I was in a play; I had certain lines to speak, and he too, and we had to say them so the play would proceed in a predestined order. “That’s the land Dewitt Willson staked out. No one has ever owned an inch of it. And I’m not sure you’re the right person to be the first.”

He nodded and started to get up; this too was a kind of act. “All right, sir.”

It was my “aim” now to stop him. I did. “Wait a minute, Tucker. Perhaps I’m being too hasty. What do you plan to do?” Again I leaned back in the chair, still watching him. I could see his eyes now, but they were as emotionless as the disks of light had been.

“Plan? I don’t understand, sir.”

“Plan. What exactly are you planning to do with the land? Why do you want our land? Why can’t you buy someone else’s land?”

“I just wants to do some farming, is all.”

“What kind of farming?”

“Just farming. Corn, cotton, just farming.”

“But why come to me?” I leaned forward and balled my fists. And this is strange. I found I was taken up very much in this mock drama, found myself caring a great deal. “You must know we’ve never sold that land to anyone. Why should we start now?” He just stared at me. “And why must it be on the plantation? We have land to the south of town. It’s better land anyway.”

His lips hardly moved. “I don’t want that land. Now will you sell me some land on the plantation?” The tone of his voice was almost irritated, almost angry.

Perhaps I’m a southerner after all because his almost surly attitude got to me and I snapped at him. “You shouldn’t speak that way, Tucker. It can get you into serious trouble.”

And he came right back at me, made me feel ashamed of myself. “We ain’t white and black now, Mister Willson. We ain’t here for that.”