for the food.”
“Hold on, now. It’s almost dark. You can’t be settin off through that swamp in the dark.”
“Swamp? I aim to stay on the road.”
“Well, the road runs right through the swamp. There’s quicksand and alligators out there, water moccasins and no tellin what all.”
Minnie knew what he was up to. She knew about it. She had seen most everything in the migrant camps. She had even seen her oldest sister doing it in the bushes with a boy. She knew he wanted to put his thing in her. She wasn’t going to let him.
“I ain’t gone hurt you, girl,” he said. “Set back down there. Talk to a old man. Talk to Alexander Mossback Frill. I ain’t doin nothin out here but just settin around waitin on Jesus.”
She sat back down but she said nothing. He peered at her. “You think I want to fuck you, don’t you?” he asked. “Dried up little pussy cat like you.”
“You better leave me alone,” she said.
“I ain’t studyin you, girl,” he said. It had hit her all at once what danger she was in. He was a big man, even if he was old. And she didn’t have any idea how far down that road was another house or a town. She guessed that she could outrun him. But it wouldn’t do much good to just run, not knowing where you were running to. “And here I was gonna offer you my own bed for the night. I was gonna sleep over yonder in that chair by the fire.”
“You can’t get in the bed with me,” she said, and he grinned. “I’ll kill you if you do,” she said. The grin faded from his face.
“You a mean little ol scrawny thing, ain’t you?” he said. “How you aim to kill me?”
“I don’t know, but I will.” She had no doubt of it. Somehow, she would. He just sat looking at her, shaking his head like he was seeing something he could hardly believe.
“Huh,” he said. “All right, then, go on out there and get et by a alligator, then.”
“I’ll sleep in the chair by the fire,” she said.
“Naw, you’ll sleep in the bed or in the swamp. Take your pick.”
“You ain’t somebody that can tell me what to do,” she said. They stared at each other. Suddenly she spit on the floor. His face was a mixture of puzzlement and anger, mystification and indignation. He looked at her, wide-eyed.
“Who the hell you think you are, Missy Cross-eyed?” he said, almost a whisper.
“I ain’t cross-eyed,” she said.
“Worse,” he said. “Cross-eyes can pop back right. You marked for life.” He sat back in the chair with a sigh of satisfaction at his own pronouncement. He put the wilted cigarette between his lips and lit it with another of the wooden matches. He inhaled deeply, held his breath. Then the smoke came out in a whoosh. “You know what this here is? This here is what the colored folks call reefer. Makes you feel good. Here,” he held out the cigarette to her.
“No, thank you,” she said.
“I reckon you’d prefer a drink of corn likker, huh? A cocktail?” He held the cigarette with his pinky finger cocked outward, a parody of someone with manners.
“No,” she said. She stood up again. “I better be goin.”
“You ain’t goin nowhere,” he said. He had a sly, crooked grin on his face. His missing teeth were like holes in a picket fence that needed painting. His gray eyes, milky and oyster-like, were fixed on her. “I got that door locked, and them windows, too,” he said, “and I got the only keys.” He patted the side of his loosely fitted overalls. She looked around. She could see the shiny new padlocks on the two windows and the door, glistening in the flickering light of the lamp. He must have done that when she was gobbling down the food. She was trapped. A gnaw of panic ate at her stomach.
“I . . . I got to pee,” she said.
“Over yonder. They’s a thunder mug by the bed.”
“Ain’t you got a privy?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice from shaking.
“Fergit it,” he said. “You ain’t goin outside.”
She could see the white chamber pot sitting on the floor across the room. She imagined that there was some of his leavings in there. Maybe what she’d been smelling was not just the turnip greens cooking. She felt her stomach shiver. Bile rose in her throat and burned the back of her mouth. She thought she was going to vomit. She stood very still, willing the nausea to go away. Finally, it did. At least for a while, she thought.
“I ain’t squattin on that chamber pot with you lookin,” she said.
“Why not? Don’t you want me to look at your little coozie?”
She ignored his question. He was still sitting at the table. She took a step or two toward the chamber pot. He was now sitting with his back toward her, looking at her over his shoulder. He was grinning. Her bladder was about to burst. She knew if she didn’t pee soon she’d wet herself. “Turn your back,” she said, “and don’t peek.”
“Awwww, I want to see your little—”
“Turn your back!” she yelled, her voice like an unexpected rifle shot. He jumped like somebody’d poked him with a stick. “I swear, if you don’t turn around and close your eyes, I’m gonna piss all over this house. Wet it down real good.”
“You do that and I’ll whup you good with a belt,” he said.
“That won’t get the piss up off the floor, will it? Nor the smell.”
He paused, as though he were thinking the situation over. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Minnie. Now turn around.”
“All right. But you better not try to run. You can’t get out of this cabin noway.” He turned himself toward the table. She walked lightly and carefully toward the chamber pot, her eyes darting here and there like a hungry hawk’s. She spied a stained and rusty wooden-handled butcher knife on a small work table. It had crumbs of cornbread clinging to it. She quickly picked it up and held it close to her body. She pulled her underpants down and sat on the chamber pot. It was clammy against her buttocks. She knew she had to hurry, because she knew he would turn around, to try to get a look at her. She slipped the knife under the quilt on the bed. He turned so quickly she thought he might have seen her, but he didn’t react if he did. He just stood up and walked two or three steps toward her. “Look at that, would you, little Miss Cross-eyes settin on the thunder mug.” She could hear her pee draining into the pot.
“Don’t come any closer,” she growled.
“Damn,” he said, “you could teach old Nora Lee a thing or two.” He took another step. The overalls fit him like a clown suit. “Do you bite like her, honey?” he asked.
“I’m warnin you,” she said.
“Come on,” he said, “let me see it. I’ll let you see mine.”
“I
