Free Black Boy by Richard Wright

like,” Uncle Hoskins said.
    I did not believe him. I ate until my stomach hurt, but even then I did not want to get up from the table.
    “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” my mother said.
    “Let him eat all he wants to and get used to food,” Uncle Hoskins said.
    When supper was over I saw that there were many biscuits piled high upon the bread platter, an astonishing and unbelievable sight to me. Though the biscuits were right before my eyes, and though there was more flour in the kitchen, I was apprehensive lest there be no bread for breakfast in the morning. I was afraid that somehow the biscuits might disappear during the night, while I was sleeping. I did not want to wake up in the morning, as I had so often in the past, feeling hungry and knowing that there was no food in the house. So, surreptitiously, I took some of the biscuits from the platter and slipped them into my pocket, not to eat, but to keep as a bulwark against any possible attack of hunger. Even after I had got used to seeing the table loaded with food at each meal, I still stole bread and put it into my pockets. In washing my clothes my mother found the gummy wads and scolded me to break me of the habit; I stopped hiding the bread in my pocketsand hid it about the house, in corners, behind dressers. I did not break the habit of stealing and hoarding bread until my faith that food would be forthcoming at each meal had been somewhat established.
    Uncle Hoskins had a horse and buggy and sometimes he used to take me with him to Helena, where he traded. One day when I was riding with him he said:
    “Richard, would you like to see this horse drink water out of the middle of the river?”
    “Yes,” I said, laughing. “But this horse can’t do that.”
    “Yes, he can,” Uncle Hoskins said. “Just wait and see.”
    He lashed the horse and headed the buggy straight for the Mississippi River.
    “Where’re you going?” I asked, alarm mounting in me.
    “We’re going to the middle of the river so the horse can drink,” he said.
    He drove over the levee and down the long slope of cobblestones to the river’s edge and the horse plunged wildly in. I looked at the mile stretch of water that lay ahead and leaped up in terror.
    “Naw!” I screamed.
    “This horse has to drink,” Uncle Hoskins said grimly.
    “The river’s deep!” I shouted.
    “The horse can’t drink here,” Uncle Hoskins said, lashing the back of the struggling animal.
    The buggy went farther. The horse slowed a little and tossed his head above the current. I grabbed the sides of the buggy, ready to jump, even though I could not swim.
    “Sit down or you’ll fall out!” Uncle Hoskins shouted.
    “Let me out!” I screamed.
    The water now came up to the hubs of the wheels of the buggy. I tried to leap into the river and he caught hold of my leg. We were now surrounded by water.
    “Let me out!” I continued to scream.
    The buggy rolled on and the water rose higher. The horse wagged his head, arched his neck, flung his tail about, walled his eyes, and snorted. I gripped the sides of the buggy with all thestrength I had, ready to wrench free and leap if the buggy slipped deeper into the river. Uncle Hoskins and I tussled.
    “Whoa!” he yelled at last to the horse.
    The horse stopped and neighed. The swirling yellow water was so close that I could have touched the surface of the river. Uncle Hoskins looked at me and laughed.
    “Did you really think that I was going to drive this buggy into the middle of the river?” he asked.
    I was too scared to answer; my muscles were so taut that they ached.
    “It’s all right,” he said soothingly.
    He turned the buggy around and started back toward the levee. I was still clutching the sides of the buggy so tightly that I could not turn them loose.
    “We’re safe now,” he said.
    The buggy rolled onto dry land and, as my fear ebbed, I felt that I was dropping from a great height. It seemed that I could smell a sharp, fresh