“I don’t think nothing about it.” And then bold and scared by his words she said, her voice low to a mumble, “I reckon I’d work. Work like I do now, maybe here, maybe some other place. I don’t know. But for myself. So my work all my own. But I don’t know a thing about it. You and me both, Alex, we don’t know what’s coming, what it mean.”

His face blackened over, and she knew he’d wanted to hear something else from her, some fear of clinging to what she knew. And thought how young he was and clear and bright with danger. Thinking of those glistening pitchfork tines he’d spoken of.

He still held his chin but his legs were spread long out beside the table, crossed at the ankles. His stump lying flat against his side. He said, “You’re a stupid bitch. Ain’t anything going to change. Not one goddamn thing. It might get all rearranged but it ain’t going to change. You’ll still be a nigger girl and the rest of the world’ll still be white. Nothing going to change.”

She nodded as if agreeing, all the while sure he was wrong in some way she couldn’t explain to him. So all she said was, “We’ll see, I guess. Comes to that.”

He nodded back and she saw he was not agreeing either. He looked at her, a long pause until her feet became sore with wanting to move under his look. Then he grinned at her and said, “So tell me: When old Spence was home last two Novembers ago did he screw you? I’m just curious. He talked about it. Said you was ripe and ready for it. But he never said he had. So did he?”