I was already reaching into my pocket for my wallet, taking it for granted he wanted cash to buy gas, oil, or whatever he thought the cars needed—I usually do not waste time asking him; he simply tells me how much he wants. “Yes, Tucker, what is it?” I had the wallet out, pried open to the billfold, and was ready to start counting with my thumb.

“I want seven acres of your land.” He was almost rude, but that is his way. He had taken only a few steps into the room, enough to close the door behind him, and stood, looking out of those shining disks, his eyes and the expression in them hidden from me. “Seven acres up on the plantation.”

I looked up surprised. “What on earth for?” I replaced the wallet in my pocket and leaned back in the chair, intent on the two small suns embedded in his face, trying to pierce through them to his eyes.

Tucker did not move; he seemed a small black statue, seven-eighths life-size. “I want to farm some.” I know, knew then, this was simply an answer, but somehow it did not seem to matter. It did not seem right to baldly call him to task for lying, but I did want to know what he was up to.

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.”