Peter stopped, and holding the bridle in bis hand, asked without turning, "Yes, Nero?" It was an exchange of friends, a cool exchange of words between people who have had a quarrel but nonetheless are still friends.

Nero called, "They say hair can grow on your hand."

The remark momentarily caught Peter off-guard. But, turning to frown at Nero, he saw that his big brown friend was smiling.

Holding one hand in front of his bare stomach, Nero cupped his fingers and lowered his hand to his crotch, moving it back and forth in slow, long gestures as if he were masturbating.

Immediately understanding what Nero was simulating, Peter's face broke into a grin. Then, suddenly throwing the bridle to the floor with a clatter, Peter shouted, "Goddamnit, Nero! Why are you such a good son-of-a-bitch? Why do I really like you?" Peter stood rubbing his neck, looking at the floor, and shaking his head hi disbelief.

The attempt to break through Peter's shell had worked. Nero moved toward Peter now and grinned widely, his white teeth sparkling against his tobacco-brown face.

Reaching out, Nero happily patted Peter on the shoulder and said, "They do say that, Master Peter. Hair does grow on a man's hand if he jerks off too much. And if you ain't been pestering none, and you ain't got the pox, then you must have been . . ." He slowly moved his hand again in front of his tight, gaping breeches.

"Do you want to know something?" Peter asked, staring at Nero with a twinkle in his eyes. "Do you really want to know something, Nero?"

"Tell me."

211.

"I just haven't been feeling in a mood for anything?'

Nero became more serious. "I understands that, Master Peter. You don't have to tell me about those feelings. I went three years without pestering once."

"Three years?"

Nero nodded. "Three whole years. Maybe even more."

"But why?"

Nero's eyes sobered, looking at Peter. "I had me a big disappointment. A big disappointment over something I'd been hoping for."

"It must have been awful big."

"It was. I was a fool-hearted kid, I guess, but when I was about your age, I made myself a secret wish for the future. I wished that..." Nero smiled a lost smile, remembering. "I wished that by the year 1800,1 wished that by the new century there would be no more slavery for us black people, Master Peter. Oh, it wasn't a wish for revolts. No rising against the whiteys. It was just a wish"-Nero shrugged, as if he now thought the idea was foolish-"that people could be equal, have the same chances."

"And do you know^hat / wished for on the eve of that year?" There was a1 sharpness to Peter's question.

Nero shook his head.

Peter said to Nero, "You told me you'd wished for peace for all people, for black people and white people to get on together by the year 1800?"

"That's right."

"Do you know what I wished for, Nero?"

Again Nero shook Ms head.

"To buy a groom. To be like the other white boys my age. To own my very own 'nigger groom.' To get you!"

A large puff of breath exploded from Nero's mouth; then he said, "You'd think we'd learn our lesson about telling each other stories, don't you? You'd think the last time would have taught us not to do much talking together."

Peter was still involved with his story. "Do you see what a bastard I am, Nero!"

212.

Nero was sorry now that he had tried to talk to Peter. Trying to calm him, he said, "You ain't no bastard, Master Peter."

"No, I don't mean that way. I'm not going back again to that talk we had about my mother and my father and all that crap! I mean, Nero, see how selfish I am. Really am."

"What's selfish about it? That's how you were raised!"

"Nero? How can you be so understanding all the time?"

Nero dipped his head. "Years do that to a man, Master Peter. If he's got a heart ticking inside him, years give it that teaching."

"I guess I don't have a heart, then."

"Master Peter?"

Peter did not answer; he was staring blankly at the floor. He looked despondent. He, too, wished that this subject had not been revived.

But Nero had started, so he wanted to finish. "You got you a heart, Master Peter, you got such a big heart that sometimes I think you're a black man yourself. Yes, Master Peter, when I see the size of your heart, I'd even say you're a 'white nigger'!"

The phrase jolted Peter. He asked snidely, "Don't you mean when you see the size of my prick? Isn't that how a man is compared to a 'nigger'? By how big his prick is?"

Nero's own temper boiled now. "Master Peter, your goddamned prick don't mean nothing to me. If I thought so, I'd say so. I've seen you for a long time now, and we do our sharing of talking about wenching and pestering and laughing, but I ain't got no eyes for your prick. I wants you to understand that right now."

Seeing that Nero had misunderstood him, Peter tried to clarify himself, to calm Nero's temper. "I don't mean it that way, Nero. I wasn't saying you wanted something not right."

"There's nothing that's 'not right,' boy." Nero had dropped the "Master Peter," and bis face was tight with anger. He was talking to Peter man-to-man now, one human being to another. He had forgotten about Peter's 213.

past, the color of his skin. Nero was talking about the present as well as the future.

He continued, "There's nothing that's 'not right.' There's just things that's right for me and right for you and right for whoever they be. And I think your trouble is, you don't know what's right for you. That's your trouble, I think. That's why you're being in this stinking mood now. You're trying to find out what you need. You. Peter. You, that person called Peter Abdee." Nero was glad that he had finally said the name.

This was the first time that anyone-black or white- had ever called Peter by that name. And even though he had been saying the name over and over in his mind, even aloud when he was alone-Peter Abdee, Peter Abdee, Peter Abdee-he had never heard another voice utter it, addressing him as Peter Abdee.

Nero said now, "You're tired of lying with black wenches now, ain't you? You're thinking maybe you cause more trouble? Maybe knock up one of them?" He was very angry now.

Peter stared at him.

"Because is your heart, you think of the trouble pestering black wenches caused in the past. Like your pa did. You remember your pa. You never knew him, but you think about him."

Peter still did not respond.

"Well, maybe your pa did sow a lot of half-breeds. But it happens all the time. And maybe it's going to happen so much that you'll see that the god you call 'Lord' has really planned it that way all along. Black people to marry up with white people. But that still don't make it right for you now, does it?"

"What is right for me, Nero?" It was a plea, a sudden cry to Nero for help.

"Being yourself. Being happy and doing your work. I've been seeing you doing that all right these days. But you've been working because you're hiding in it. But that ain't right for you! And maybe what's really right for you-besides enjoying your work when you do it- is to find you the right woman!"

"Woman?"

214.

"Are you wanting to go back with those wenches up there in the loft?" Nero nodded above them at the thick, ragged fringe of straw.

Peter shook his head.

"You maybe want to try the other thing, then? Pestering with the boys? Oh, some of them black boys are as pretty as the wenches. Maybe you'd even want them to do some pestering on you. They say there's a place where they all meet over at the meadow and all pair off. Maybe you want to go there!"

Peter's blue eyes dulled with hatred.

"How does a woman sound to you, then? One of your own kind? What about getting yourself a wife? You know inside your heart that you can have your own family. Maybe that's what that nigger heart of yours is really wanting. Mine wanted the same thing once, but I couldn't get it. Not on St. Kitts, that goddamned Trouble Island. But you can have it if you wants."

"I suppose that's what I need."

"Need! Hell! Lots of folks need things. They don't gets it always. But folks who want things do gets it. Is that what you want?"

Peter's voice was soft. "Nero?"

"Yes?" he asked, adding now "Master Peter."

"You might hate me for saying this, but. . ."

Nero waited.

"Nero, I'm sorry you didn't get your wish a long time ago. I'm sorry things are like they are between blacks and whites. But, Nero ..."

"Yes, Master Peter?"

Looking Nero straight in his vibrant black eyes, Peter confessed, "I'm glad that I got my wish. Because if I didn't get my wish, Nero, if I didn't get my groom, I'd never got you, Nero, and"-he shrugged helplessly- "who'd be my friend then?"

There was a finality to Nero's quick nod. And strength in his brown hand as he now rested it on Peter's shoulder and said, "If I ever do get my wish, Master Peter, it's going to be through white men like you. Now, look there at your mare. Shame. She's damned near going to stamp hell out of this floor. Better take her for that run."

215.

Peter kept his eyes on Nero. He asked, "Aren't you coming with me? I haven't seen you exercising nothing but your mouth."

Nero quickly accepted Peter's invitation.

This made them real friends again.

Chad Tucker waited until Peter and Nero rode by on their horses before he came out of the toolshed. He was carrying a shoveL Looking into the direction of Niggertown, he saw the dust from Peter's and Nero's horse vanish now into the noontime sky.

He motioned to the toolshed, and Gaudia emerged with a bundle in her arms.

She asked suspiciously, "Why them two getting so chummy lately?"

"Birds of a feather," Chad Tucker grumbled. "One's just as uppity as the other."

Looking at the direction they had ridden, Claudia asked, "Why they going to Niggertown?"

"Snooping," Tucker said, glancing around him to see that he and his wife were alone. "That white kid is probably thinking Selby's going to heir him this place. He's sizing it up."

Claudia muttered, "He's no kid no more. He's a full-grown man. But the way he keeps that hair of his all clean and shiny, you'd think he was a woman."

"His face is girly, too. Never did trust a man who's got him girly blue eyes like that. Might be big and tall, but I bet he's weaker than a preacher with gout."

"Did he see you?" Claudia asked.

Chad Tucker shook his head. Then, walking toward the trees, he beckoned Claudia to follow him.

Claudia carried the flour sack of money wrapped inside her worsted quilt. They had finally decided to bury it near their cabin.

Walking briskly behind her husband, Claudia whispered, "Don't you think maybe we should wait till night comes to do this?"

Stepping carefully so that his boots would not break any dry branches on the ground, Chad Tucker said,"We'd have Monk snooping around then."

216.

"You don't think Monk would steal from us, do you?"

Chad Tucker laughed. "A nigger? Steal? Hell, Monk would snatch a fart if he could get his hands on it."

Quickly they continued back in the direction of their cabin to the place where they had decided to bury their riches.

Shortly Claudia called ahead of her to Chad, "You think Monk knew we had the money in the house with us?"

Chad kept walking. "I don't know how much that nigger sees."

"Well, I got me another plan, then," she said. "A plan to keep him from knowing we buried it. In case he saw it in the house."

"Tell me later."

She said, "To keep him from knowing we moved the money."

"Tell me later!"

Chad Tucker liked the money as much as his wife did. But he was slowly becoming annoyed with her single-mindedness over it. She could talk about nothing lately but the money.

Albert Selby kept his money in two banks, one in Troy and the other in Carterville.

Lately, Judge Antrobus had been pressing Selby to make a will. Even Selby's two bankers told him that he must start making some plans.

Albert Selby had a plan, though.

He had been brewing a plot, and it finally began to take shape on a particularly happy morning. Today was made fresh and vibrant by Melissa coming downstairs to breakfast in a bright-blue dress the color of a robin's egg. She wore a lemon-yellow sash around her waist, and her sandy hair was tied back by a striped ribbon. It was her first day to be out of the dreary black clothes of mourning for her mother.