The Friendship by Mildred D. Taylor Page B

tried to comfort him. “Don’tcha worry now, Man,” he said, patting his shoulder. “Don’tcha worry! We knows you ain’t dirty!”
    “That ain’t what they said!” shrieked Little Man, his voice revealing the hurt he felt. Little Man took great pride in being clean.

    Stacey turned to them. “Man, forget about what they said. You can’t pay them no mind.”
    “But, St-Stacey! They said they could plant seeds on me!” he cried indignantly.
    I looked back at him. “Ah, shoot, boy! You know they can’t do no such-a thing!”
    Skeptically Little Man looked to Stacey for affirmation.
    Stacey nodded. “They can do plenty all right, but they can’t do nothin’ like that.”
    “But—but, Stacey, th-they s-said they was g-gonna c-cut off my hands. They done s-said they gonna do that c-cause they…they dirty!”
    Stacey said nothing for a moment, then pulled from the post and went over to him. “They was jus’ teasin’ you, Man,” he said softly, “that’s all. They was jus’ teasin’. Their way of funnin’.”
    “Wasn’t nothin’ ’bout it funny to me,” I remarked, feeling Little Man’s hurt.
    Stacey’s eyes met mine and I knew he was feeling the same. He brought Little Man back to the steps and the twoof them sat down. Little Man, seemingly comforted with Stacey beside him, was silent now. But after a few moments he did a strange thing. He reached down and placed his hand flat to the dirt. He looked at his hand, looked at the dirt, then drew back again. Without a word, he folded his hands tightly together and held them very still in his lap.
    I looked at the ground, then at him. “Now what was all that about?”
    Little Man looked at me, his eyes deeply troubled. And once again, Stacey said, “Forget it, Man, forget it.”
    Little Man said nothing, but I could tell he wasn’t forgetting anything. I stared down at the dirt. I wasn’t forgetting either.
    “’Ey, y’all.”
    We turned. Jeremy Simms was standing at the corner of the porch.
    “Boy, I thought you was gone!” I said.
    Stacey nudged me to be quiet, but didn’t say anything to Jeremy himself. Jeremy bit at his lip, his face reddening. Rubbing one bare foot against the other, he pushed hishands deep into his overall pockets. “C-come up here to wait on my pa and R.W. and Melvin,” he explained. “Got a load to pick up. Been waiting a good while now.”
    Stacey nodded. There wasn’t anything to say to that. Jeremy seemed to understand there was nothing to say. A fly buzzed near his face. He brushed it away, looked out at the crossroads, then sat down at the end of the porch and leaned against a post facing us. He pulled one leg up toward his chest and left the other leg dangling over the side of the porch. He glanced at us, looked out at the crossroads, then back at us again. “Y’all…y’all been doin’ a lotta fishin’ here lately?”
    Stacey glanced over. “Fish when we can.”
    “Over on the Rosa Lee?”
    Stacey nodded his answer.
    “I fish over there sometimes….”
    “Most folks do….” said Stacey.
    Jeremy was silent a moment as if thinking on what he should say next. “Y’all…y’all spect to be goin’ fishin’ again anyways soon?”

    Stacey shook his head. “Cotton time’s here. Got too much work to do now for much fishin’.”
    “Yeah, me too I reckon….”
    Jeremy looked away once more and was quiet once more. I watched him, trying to figure him out. The boy was a mighty puzzlement to me, the way he was always talking friendly to us. I didn’t understand it. He was white.
    Stacey saw me staring and shook his head, letting me know I shouldn’t be doing it. So I stopped. After that we all just sat there in the muggy midday heat listening to the sounds of bees and flies and cawing blackbirds and kept our silence. Then we heard voices rising inside the store and turned to look. Mr. Tom Bee, the string of fish and the fishing pole still in his hand, was standing before the counter listening to