In certain regions, mating traditionally interweaves. Below: the main characters.

Papa - Mama
Lawrence - Me, Abby
Jesse - Francine
Clay - Cassie
Titus - Nelba
Book

Of course I’d seen black penises when we’d pass the negra boys swimming in the river, whooping and swinging from the rope. They’d avert looking our way as if we were the naked ones, but they tend to look away in any case.

“They’re from the jungle,” explained Mama. I supposed their origin to account for something, but noted that white boys their age swim just as naked.

I’d see the negras at auction, shackled for inspection, but clothed to suggest better breeding. Prospective bidders would open their shirts to check for deformities, as it wouldn’t be unknown to shroud a poorly-set arm under a serviceable topcoat. Lash-marks spoke of willful disobedience, always a bad investment.

Mama considered herself aloof from the mechanics of the auction, leaving it to Papa to complete the transactions. She’d hover near, though, peering at physiques. Women maybe know more about reading testicles, I suppose.

My friend Francine and I had little interest in the bidding, other than if one of our fathers might be shopping for a girl who might become a companion. Cassie was my age when Grandpa bought her to be Mama’s girl and she’d stayed with Mama ever since.

What we loved was the hustle and bustle, our friends there, hawkers selling ices. While our parents did their business, we could wander, act grownup.

Francine and I were by the sale line, laughing about how long Rev. Dalton kept going whenever he rose to offer “a few words.”

“You know, Abby. Let’s act like we’re looking for a field-boy.” my friend decided.

I must have looked doubtful.

“No one will know we’re not,” she added.

It might indeed be fun. “I’ll make a list of their ages and particulars,” as I liked to make lists.

The two of us approached a boy near the end of the line, his freed legs marking him as one who knew his station. As we sauntered by, he lifted not an eyelid.

“How old are you, boy?”

“Fo’teen, Ma’am,” continuing to stare downward. I’d have thought him older than me, but not so.

I wrote, “Boy, 14.”

“Know your letters?” It’s good when they do, Papa said, because they can do more jobs, though others might say that it gets them uppity.

“Yes’m.”

“My name’s A B B Y. What’s my name?”

“Yo’ name is Abby, Ma’am.”

I wrote, “Letters.”

“Where’d you learn?” curiosity getting the better of me.

“On my own self, Ma’am. Not when Ah be workin’.”

“Let’s see you,” Francine interrupted, glancing around to make sure no one we might know was watching. Buyers had every right to inspect their potential purchase.

I realized her intent only when she parted his britches, and there before us was his penis, fat and very black, the boy motionless.

Francine lifted the item with two fingers as if it were unclean, but at the same time, something of value. “You made lil’ pickaninnies?”

“No, Ma’am,” still staring downward. “Ah ain’ never.”

“Here, Abby. You think he can?”

Poking it with my finger was enough for me, but as I didn’t want to act little, “Looks so to me.”

Francine retook possession. “Watch this,” rubbing it. “Pulling the taffy,” she giggled as it got bigger. “How he’s going to make us more negra babies. Mama tests all our boys but Papa doesn’t know. Watch this, his seeds.”

“We have to go,” I decided before she could. If anyone saw, the boy would be whipped and we’d be disallowed to come to the market.

“Maybe we’ll buy you,” teased Francine, letting go with a push and a pull.

It wouldn’t be fair, him getting whipped and us getting denied our day out. Would you blame a cow when you milked her? Would you blame a buyer for checking?

We later saw our mamas in the midst of their friends bunched about an older buck, such that others couldn’t see what they were doing. The negra winced, but otherwise stood as he ought. When one of them passed around her shawl, the women laughed, my mama louder than most.

Imagine my surprise when we boarded the buggy, and there on a rope was the one we’d ourselves inspected. Nothing in his demeanor suggested he remembered me, but I knew he did.

“Papa, we needn’t rope that one. He’ll stay.”

Papa looked at me. “You and your mother know more about negras than I do?”

“No, sir.”

But he waved for Clay, our negra who almost wasn’t a negra, to untie our purchase.

The boy gave me the first glance he’d allowed and trotted behind us all the way home. I was right.

“Got a name, boy?” as they need one.

“Titus, Ma’am,” allowing me his second glance.

“You may call me Missy Abby.”

As it started to rain, I dashed into the big-house where with a little luck, there might be some cakes. The boy I left standing until someone would tell him what to do. From the door I heard Mama and Cassie in the kitchen.

“Cassie, we got us a new boy.”

“Ah seed him come in wid you, Ah did.”

“You got some space in your bed, girl?”

“Ah sho’ ‘nuf do,” and the two laughed like sisters.

Cassie would take on Mama when Mama was on a bad track. Once the three of us were in the Mercantile. “Ah don’ cah what you says, honey. Dat dress be too tight on yo’ backside.” After Mama’s feathers settled, she told Cassie that she’d saved her wasting her money and gave her a ten-cent piece. Mama got along with her girl almost like she was white.

PAPA AND MAMA

This would be the logical place to start, as they’d mated to make me, but I don’t know the details.

CLAY AND CASSIE

Cassie had never been allowed to wed, Mama said, because it would cause her heartache, but the fact is, negras don’t need to be wed to do what wedded people do. I’d once shadowed Cassie into the pines. Negras know their way through a thicket better than those who own it. Clay was waiting and although I was distant, I watched them lie together, Clay on top, then the other way. Through the rustle of the pines, I could hear the swish of their black bodies.

When I told Francine of my spying, she said that I’d every right to present myself and make them do it for my benefit. I’d never do that to Cassie, though.

Being our house-girl, Cassie had her own room below the stairs, space for a bed and a chair. Allowing her our new boys must have been Mama’s way of compensating. How she managed to fit one onto her bed with her, I could hardly imagine, except, course, I could.

Sometimes I’d sneak down the stairs and listen to what sounded far more fun than Mama and Papa. At the end, Cassie would hum.

“I declare, girl.” I once heard Mama chuckle to her, “You get it more times in a night than I get in a month,”

Cassie chuckled, too, but volunteered no opinion.

TITUS AND CASSIE

Titus proved to be a fine negra. He could do his share in the field, but more importantly for the operation, he could solve situations. He was the one to devise the bale lift that white men from other places came to copy. He was smart to let them think that it was Papa’s design. He was the one to devise a scheme where hard-workers were rewarded and Papa ended up with more money. It worked much better than beating the slower ones.He was smart enough to first lead Mama through the logic and then let her sell it to Papa.

I didn’t like it when Cassie took him in, but nobody asked my opinion. I didn’t want to listen, but I did.

When Cassie wasn’t entertaining him, Titus was reading by candlelight, and I’d sometimes leave one of my old primers by Cassie’s door. In a day or two, find it there again and leave the next. It wasn’t that long before I was leaving my volume of Shakespeare, Not that he’d understand it — he’d never even seen a stage — but he’d be able to sound out the words.

Sometimes after hearing him having a particularly good time with Cassie, I’d punish him by not leaving a book, but I realized that l was being petty. Negras deserve to have their fun, even if it’s sometimes more fun than the fun white folks have.

Cassie, of course, knew I was listening “Missy,” sticking her head out of her door and catching me. “You’s gonna catch yo’ death of cold, you a-sitting dere on de stahs.”

She must have read my mortification. patting her lap next morning. “Set yo’sef here, chi; Dat boy be ready fo’ some pretty thing mo’ his own age, one dese days,”

CASSIE AND ME, though not a mating

I liked how she touched my breast — nobody watching — first on the outside of my dress, and then within. I was nervous when she lifted my petticoat and reached into my bloomers, but she was gentle.

Francine had told me about it, but I hadn’t believed half of what she’d said. After Cassie was finished, however, I did.

FOR THE ENTERTAINMENT OF FRANCINE

Francine pulled me aside in church. “You made your new boy do it yet?”

What could I do but lie? “Sure did.”

“Where?”

“In the woods,” fast thinking.

Later, when we were at the Butlers for a Sunday social and the adults were playing dominoes, Francine again pulled me aside. “Want to watch them intercourse? The negras, I mean.”

Francine remembered Titus and suggested we go up on the knoll, taking him to cut any vines and my girl to carry our drawing supplies and make them do it. “If she says no, we make him keep it in her so she gets a baby. We’ll give them something if they do it good.”

I said that Cassie would find out and tell Mama and I’d get in trouble.

“So suppose we make him do it to old Cassie. She’d not want to get in trouble herself.”

I didn’t tell her that he’d started visiting Cassie under the stairs soon after we got him. Seemed to be part of the arrangement. Fortunately her mama called and we had to remove ourselves to the parlor.

And in any case, Cassie knew more about Francine than Francine knew about her. “Missy Francine done odah a boy to do a thing to hissef, but’ he done tu’n de table an’ she be on her back fo’ eveh boy eveh since. Day say she do it jus’ fine.”

PAPA AND CASSIE

There were the days when Mama was away and Papa would call Cassie to his room.

“Part a bein’ house girl, Honey chil’,” she explained. “Ah tell you ‘bout it when you’s oldeh.”

Actually, she didn’t have to tell me anything. Everybody, even Mama, knew that Papa could mate any girl he wished, the man she slept with sitting on the porch, his woman under Papa on their own bed.

Maybe she’d whimper at first, but then she’d get used to it, maybe even working Papa’s favor to their advantage.

CLAY AND MAMA

My mama’s matings with Clay were of course not of that manner. Every negra knew when she’d invite him into her room, but in this case, there would be several in the yard prepared to delay Papa, should he return sooner than expected. “Massah, we got us a dif’culty wid de boar. You bes’ come see.”

Cassie of course tried to keep it from me, but I knew that something was going on, Clay coming down the stairs, not knowing I was there.

It wasn’t right what they were doing, of course, but it was less right that they’d kill Clay for doing what Mama wanted of him. He’d have never started it, himself.

Everybody knows that negras are very able at intercourse, so that’s probably what Mama was looking for.

LAWRENCE AND ME

At marrying age, I wedded Lawrence Todd Overton, of the Overtons who owned the Mercantile, a most-promising match as our fathers were in accord that land needed capital and capital needed land.

Lawrence’s bridal gift was my own girl, Nelba, younger than me and already a dressmaker, prettier than some white folks, even. Many negras have white blood, but mostly from ugly whites. I could imagine this one to be from an Ethiopian princess and maybe a French explorer.

Lawrence was enough inebriated by the end of the reception to tear my dress, which frightened me, but Cassie had advised me to do my duty.

At first, he was pleased with my hesitancy, but whisky drives men to anger. When I didn’t recline as he wanted — How was I to know? — he pried me apart and pushed himself in as would an animal. There was blood and my tears made him only the baser.

I’d lain immobile, hoping he’d leave, but within an hour — I’ve no idea how long — he was smirking. “You like it?”

“I’m not very good at it,” I admitted.

“Well, damn it, maybe this way, then!” bending me over the mattress, and entering me in a way I didn’t know could be done. Again there was blood.

“I’ll make you like it that way best.”

Cassie must have quizzed the wash-girl, as she never asked, but rocked me to ease my humiliation.

To her, I’d always be “Missy.” Clay could call me that, too, because he’d known me from before. To the others, I was now “Ma’am.”

TITUS AND NELBA

A place like ours thinks ahead not by weeks or even harvests, but by generations. We’d someday need a new overseer and all agreed that Titus should be Clay’s successor.

Titus, of course, wanted the challenge. He’d get his own shack and more importantly, security as long as the enterprise succeeded.

As Cassie had new boys and Titus and Nelba would produce handsome young ones.

Nelba and I had our boys the same month, my Jesse a week before her Book, a name maybe chosen to encourage. They do that sort of naming unless we assign them a proper one.

In baby clothes, Jesse looked just like me. Book took more after his mama, just less dark.

LAWRENCE AND NELBA

Lawrence had led me to believe he’d be surveying the bottomlands, but it was Titus I saw riding off with flagsticks.

Mama I could see on the big-house porch, so I’d leave Jesse with her while I checked progress on the washhouse, the piped tub, Titus’s idea.

But when Cassie saw my direction, she intervened. “You not be wantin’ to go dat way. Dey be doin’ jus’ fine.”

“Doesn’t hurt to check.”

“Mehbe don’ you go, you heah?”

But a mistress may do as she likes.

It wasn’t washhouse progress that concerned her, I realized when I passed Titus’s shack, expecting to maybe see Nelba and Book on the steps. From the noises within, Nelba was home, but not caring for her baby. The other sounds were Lawrence’s wheezes.

Damn this place to hell!

I’d take Jesse to Memphis and take a position. Papa would give me money. Or would he, as Lawrence had done nothing he hadn’t?

“It don’t’ mattah none,” Cassie held me to her bosom upon my return. “She’s jus’ a girl am’ he de massah.”

“But Titus?”

“Don’ go fret ‘bout him none. Jus’ pretend yous never knowed. We all pretends.”

Lawrence. I didn’t even bother to confront. When he wanted me, I took him silently. It didn’t even hurt any more.

It wasn’t until I’d overheard Lawrence with Nelba did I understand little Book’s light complexion.

Damn this place to hell!

TITUS AND ME

Titus took to little Book more than Lawrence took to ours. They both had full days of work, but Titus didn’t drink on his porch afterwards. No, Titus liked bringing little Book to enjoy the eveningtide, perhaps an African trait from then they had to protect them from snakes.

If I were out strolling, Nelba along to help with little Jesse, we’d stop when we’d encounter Titus and Book. It’s such a delight to see each other’s babies, whatever their color. After a time, though, I didn’t bring Nelba along, as I could carry my little one just fine, myself, and she had her sewing to attend to.

It was Cassie who said to pay Titus no mind if Jesse was hungry and we were in a quiet spot. “Titus done seen ‘nuf babies at de tit befo’, just mo’ darker,”

He of course always looked away, same as when, years back, I’d touched his penis, except now he was talking his share about babies, the two of us laughing at what we found humorous. Much can be discussed about babies.

I suppose Cassie noticed how I arranged my strolls to intersect Titus and Book. “He be lookin’ back at you, jus’ ain’ neveh goin’ to say nothin’ ‘bout what you doin’.”

Titus and I were sitting on the knoll by the river, holding our babies. The water lay flat in the late sun, but the current ran swiftly.

Cassie was within earshot as she’d taken to training behind my walks. “Yon nevah knows if you be needin’ me to watch the small ones.”

“Titus?” He’d quit pretending not to watch, but I couldn’t nurse away what was in my mind. “You remember when we bought you?”

“Don’ ‘membah nothin’ ‘bout den, Ma’am.”

Of course he did.

“I’m sorry,” what needed to be said. “About what my friend and I did, I mean.”

“You’s gotta check, Ma’am.”

“We weren’t buying.”

“Din’t come to no harm. Ah knowed you’s good when you lended me yo’ books.” He thought a moment more. “An’ fo’ dat, Ah thanks you.”

“You’re welcome,” realizing that mistresses don’t owe that closure.

“Shake Speare, Ah takes mo’ time,” the name as two words suggesting he’d probably never heard it pronounced. “Cassie, she like me tellin’ da Merch’nt of Venice in mo’ easy words.”

“Before or after you intercoursed?” I don’t know why I was so rude, but the idea of him being with her, never setting well with me.

He looked downward.

“I’m sorry,” realizing what I’d said, my second apology. We’d put them there, after all.

“She be a good auntie,” Titus retorted as if I’d challenged Cassie.

“Smarter than us,” I agreed.

“Ah knowed that, Ma’am, but din’t figure you might.”

“Maybe I got married, but I’m not a ma’am, not out here to you, I mean,” glad for the change of subject. “I’m still a missy.”

“Yes’m ... Missy.”

I bared both bosoms at the same time, something I’d never done before, and nursed little Jesse while he watched. I liked that.

“I’ll figure I can do little Book, too,” and we exchanged sons and I nursed a black baby with white milk.

“Yo twos be glad Ah’m you auntie,” beamed Cassie when she joined us, me yet feeding the hungry duo.

“We’s gonna read you Shake Spear,” grinned Titus.

“Mercy me! Ah don’ live in no jungle,” before turning to me. “Now you tuck yo’sef togetha, girl, less some nosy negra come a-walkin’.”

When Titus took his baby back, his black hand brushed the paleness of my breast.

Cassie smiled. looking at the sun, “O mehbe Ah watch de babies an’ you twos attend to talkin’ Shake Speare mo’ in de shade. Titus, you give him back to her fo’ a minute an’ help me up.”

In doing so, his reach this time came to rest on my nipple, still wet and quickly erect.

I wasn’t sure what she meant about Shakespeare, but I really did have to return. Of course we didn’t actually mate, Titus and I, but maybe in my mind, we somewhat did.

After I found out about Nelba, though, Cassie and I still strolled my Jesse, but we’d take a different path. It was inevitable, though, that we’d cross paths with Titus and Book and I could tell by his greeting that he’d not guessed I knew where Book came from. He was glad to see my baby, to show me his.