Mama Black Widow by Iceberg Slim

fathered his first child, Frank Jr. The livery stable burned down, and Papa took his small family to Wilkerson’s plantation.
    In the spring of 1936 (the same year we went to the Promised Land), Mrs. Wilkerson borrowed half a dozen teenage boys from the fields for the annual scrubbing and wall washing in the big house. Frank Jr. was among them. Mr. and Mrs. Wilkerson had gone to Meridian, and her eldest son was in charge of the workers.
    I was helping Mama peel potatoes for supper when Frank Jr. gotback from the big house. Papa and the twins hadn’t come in from the fields. Frank Jr. acted strangely from the moment he set foot in the shack. His eyes were flashing excitement as he tossed a small paper sack of raw sugar in front of me. I thought he had lost his mind, because as far back as I could remember, he’d always slunk off somewhere alone and devoured his goodies from the big house.
    He flung himself to the floor in front of Mama’s chair and with his head on her lap stared at her with a radiant look on his dirty face.
    Mama said, “Yu sho looks funny. Ah hope yu ain’t ben nippin’ th’ Wilkerson’s applejack. Yu ain’t no baby; git yo’ haid offen mah lap an git kindlin’ fer th’ cook stove.”
    He got to his feet and ran to the door. He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked down the path that Papa and the twins used coming from the fields.
    He rushed back to Mama and shot a suspicious look at me and said, “Mama, sen thet lil’ niggah outdoes. Ah got uh secret tu tell yu thet Ah don’ want him blabbin’ tu Papa or nobody.”
    Mama looked sternly at him and said, “Sweet Pea don’ blab nuthin’. An’ tell him not tu. Now, stop ackin’ lak uh star natal fool an’ say whut yu goin’ ta say.”
    He stooped and pulled up a trouser leg. He had a red bandana handkerchief tied around his leg. He walled his eyes at the open door as he plucked a roll of bills from beneath the bandana.
    In a speedy flow he said, “Now, Mama, Ah ain’t stole nuthin’. Ah wuz sweatin’ an’ slavin’ up there en th’ big house. Ah wuz thinkin’ ’bout mah one an’ only dear Mama achin’ fer thet train goin’ North when dis forgot money fell at mah feet jes’ as Ah moved thet ole grandfather clock frum th’ wall.
    â€œNah, ma’m, Ah ain’t stole nuthin’. See how dusty these greenbacks is. It’s sho ’nuff forgot money. Ah found it fer ye, Mama. Count it.”
    He held out the bills toward Mama’s lap as if to drop them there. Mama’s mouth flew open, and she spun her lap away like the moneywas a water moccasin. She gasped and held her hands up as if to ward him off. She got to her feet sputtering and pointing to the big house.
    She cuffed him against the side of his head and words came out, “Yu crazy rascul, git them white folks’ money back there en thet same spot quick as yu rusty laigs kin go.”
    Frank’s bare feet drummed the floor as he fled the shack. Mama stood in the doorway biting her lip and staring at Frank Jr. sprinting toward the big house. She turned her head and looked down the path leading to the fields.
    She screamed, “Boy, come back heah.”
    In a moment Junior ran back out of breath with a puzzled look on his face.
    Mama squeezed his sweaty brow with the edge of her hand and said softly, “Now think hard, an’ tell Mama, duz eny uv them lil’ niggahs thet wurked up at th’ big house know yu found thet forgot money?”
    Junior pressed the bills in Mama’s hand and said loudly, “Nah, ma’m. Nah ma’m! Wuzn’t nobody pee-pin’.”
    Mama’s hand was trembling violently as she counted the tens and twenties. Junior went outside and stood revolving his head from the path to Mama.
    Junior hissed like a snake and stuck his head inside the shack and stage whispered,