The setting Sun's penetration through the window cast shadows throughout the heavily furnished room; they were welcomed by a weakened man who from his sick bed, in a state of invalidity caused by a wound, faced the evening Sun without pause and was quite sweaty and uncomfortable. Already relieving himself of the quilt by casting it away with his uninjured leg, he continued to sweat under the hot North Carolina sun. The tobacco in the vast nearby fields surely would have felt different on the matter and would cheer uproariously if the great orb moved to its zenith twice in one day. The man thought on this briefly but soon brushed it off as nonsense since, after all, the Sun did not move—only the planets.
The man attempted to sleep with the Sun still upon his lids but his eyes cooked underneath them as if they were in a Franklin stove. He turned his body as much as he could manage with his injury but it only awakened aching bed sores and exposed his drenched night clothes to a seemingly chilly air. With the Sun setting behind a row of tall conifers on the far side of the nearby road, the man unbuttoned his night shirt and cast it to the wooden floor. He likewise removed his pants but with considerably more caution as he slipped them past his bandaged calf and large feet until he lied completely naked.
Several minutes passed yet he remained sweaty upon his bed; he contemplated a number of solutions as he habitually reached for a cigarette he rolled earlier from a nearby bronze case. He normally preferred cigars but he knew his weariness could get a hold of him and his father's house may burn to the ground; and if the house did not burn before the fire was put out, at least he would be punished justly through providence by being the only one to die. As he reached for matches atop his bedside table, delicate creaks from the nearby staircase sounded of a woman stepping quite delicately. Over a month of physical atrophy whetted his ears to such simple noises. The whining Cicadas, seemingly from indeterminate perches before, now screamed their mating call and location to him. The noises coming up the Stairs belonged to Cherry; she was his father's faithful house servant.
Without knocking, a fairly light skinned Negress awkwardly opened the man's sick room door as she held from underneath a silver plated serving tray. On it were slices of bread, a thin slice of meat drenched in an even thinner gravy, and an abundance of greens which he hated. The man made no gesture to cover his naked body and from Cherry's continuance without a start, he figured she did not mind either. After all, this was the woman who emptied his metal chamber pot thrice a day.
"Evenin' Mastuh Jimmy" she began with eye contact and a polite nod. She wore a plain house Negress dress of white which only gave contrast to skin which, though dark, clearly had a mix of white one or two generations previous. Unlike most of her kind, she found herself servant in a home and thus possessed a healthy girth which at her age, James guessed her to be roughly thirty, showed she did not remain idle but was still susceptible to time like all Jesus' children. Placing the tray upon the bedside table, she sneaked a glance at her master's son's body.
Master James Robert Fitzpatrick was nearing his forties but his lifetime laboring with his father and starvation wrought in the Old Dominion from the Yankees removed what little fat his muscle had to cling on. Lying down he looked as if his skin were stretched from pregnancy but without the scars; once proud muscles were sagging like thick molasses. Cherry just as quickly eyed his penis which laid flaccid on his left leg. It was not as large as many of the Negro men she knew to have but it was her experience that a littler one grew lengthier almost as if it had more to prove.
"Is yo pot ready to be emptied suh?" she casually asked.
"Yes I reckon it's about time fer it. But why don't ya hold on a minute—until after I eat."
Somewhat embarrassed, Cherry raised her free hand to her mouth.
"I's sorry Mastuh. I dunno what I's sayin' sometimes."
"It's all right darlin'" he added affectionately. Cherry was always his favorite Negress so he avoided the diminutive words for Niggers and instead chose ones of appreciation. She helped him sit up to receive his food.
Cherry handed the tray to James as she glanced, quickly once again, at the cigarette still pressed between his fingers. Despite the heat the tray was cold as it was set upon his lap. He handed the cigarette in his hand to her and gestured her to remove another already rolled one from the bronze case.
"Take care of the lamp too. It's gettin' awful dark." Cherry mumbled her response as she struck a match and lighted both cigarettes placed between her thick lips. Before shaking the flame out, she did as her master requested and soon a dim light shined around them. She handed one cigarette to her master but soon left his bedside to check upon the room's condition. She was trained well to keep herself occupied even when solely her company was requested.
