Out of the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Americans will take only so much pushing before they begin shoving back. It takes a lot of shoving, but even mild-mannered people have a point one had best not step past. After three decades of wasteful spending, high taxes, a terrible no-win war, political upheaval, race riots, several near-depressions, and, finally, a world war unequaled in history, many of those Americans left alive . . . got mad.

  Now when Logan’s agents moved into a community to shove the people out, they were met, in many instances, with violence.

  Resistance groups were formed, hastily thrown together without much thought given as to the participants’ qualifications as warriors. They were crushed, brutally, by the regular military, government agents, and Logan’s own private army. Many military men quit, deserted, rather than act as Logan’s bully boys.

  The newly reorganized Joint Chiefs of Staff met, discussed the matter, and the head of the JCs asked for a meeting with President Logan. Admiral Stevens pointed a finger at his commander in chief, and fired off a salvo.

  “Now you listen to me, Mr. President. You are not going to use American military men as our equivalent to the Irish Black-and-Tans of years ago.”

  “The what?” Logan asked. He had never been a student of history. The subject bored him.

  Admiral Stevens sighed, kept his temper in check, and thought: you dumb son of a bitch. He said, “Bully boys.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll agree, Mr. President, we have to keep this nation whole, but not by Americans knocking other Americans’ heads. We will keep order, as set forth by the Constitution, but as far as I’m concerned, martial law is hereby lifted and the Constitution is restored.”

  “I will say when that happens, Admiral. Not you.”

  “Mr. President, your plan is a good one—as far as it goes—if, and that is one hell of a big if, the American people want to go along with it. Obviously, a lot of them do not. So let them alone. We’re all Americans; we’ve all shared the same horrible experience and somehow managed to survive. My people—the military—don’t have the men or the time or the inclination to run around this wrecked country forcing people out of their homes. And they won’t be a part of it. I’ve got ships with no one to captain or crew them; electronic equipment with no men to man it; bases that are virtually empty—same with all branches. And there is just a whole hell of a lot of bases that have been blown up, equipment and planes destroyed. And that is since the hostilities ceased.”

  “Those damned Rebels!”

  The admiral shrugged. “Maybe—maybe not. Maybe they figure if you can form an army of mercenaries, they can, too.”

  “I happen to be the President of these United States, Admiral. I would like to have a group of fighting men who are loyal to me, something I sense you are not.”

  The admiral stiffened at the slight toward his allegiance. “Sir, I am loyal to this country—not toward any one man, but this nation as a whole. The military put your ass in that chair, we can damned well take it out.”

  Logan smiled. “No ... I don’t believe you’ve got the manpower to do that, Stevens.”

  “Is that the way the game is played, Logan?”

  Logan giggled. “My ball, my bat—my rules.”

  The admiral nodded stiffly. “I get your point ... sir.”

  “Dandy. You may be excused now.”

  After the admiral had walked out of the room, his back ramrod stiff, slamming the door on his way out, Logan picked up the phone.

  “Yes, sir,” an aide said.

  “Get me that mercenary, Parr, down in Georgia.”

  Ben pulled into his driveway at five o’clock in the afternoon. Nothing had changed except the lawn had flowers where none had been before. There was a station wagon parked beside the house.

  Since the outskirts of Shreveport, Ben had seen hundreds of blacks. No one had bothered him; they had all been friendly, waving to him and chatting with him when he stopped.

  But the vague and somewhat amusing—to him—thought was: he knew how Dr. Livingstone must have felt.

  Well, Ben thought, getting out of the truck. There is a lot of land to be had. I’m not going to spill any blood for an acre in Louisiana.

  He left his M-10 on the seat and walked up the stone walkway to the front door. He felt kind of silly knocking on his own front door. But as he raised his hand to tap on the door, the door swung open.

  “Come on in, Ben Raines,” Salina said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Hello, Salina.” Ben returned the smile. He revised his original appraisal of her: she was not just a good-looking woman. She was beautiful.

  “I was about to invite you in, Ben, but that would be rather silly of me, wouldn’t it? This is your house.” Her eyes found Juno. “What a beautiful dog! What’s his name?”

  “Juno.”

  She squatted down and held out her hands. Juno shoved past Ben and came to her, almost knocking her down with his eagerness to be petted. Ben stepped past them and into the house. Not much had changed; the house was a great deal neater and cleaner than when he’d left it. He said as much.

  “You’re a bachelor—a man.” She smiled. “Most bachelors aren’t much on housekeeping.” A mischievous light crept into her eyes. “‘Sides,” she mush-mouthed, “us coons have been trained for centuries to take care of the master’s house while he’s away seein’ to matters of great import.”

  “Knock it off, Salina,” he said; then saw the twinkle in her eyes and realized she’d been ribbing him. He gave back as much as he got. “You’re only half-coon. So the house should be only half-clean.”

  “O.K.” She laughed. “Call this match a draw. You hungry, Ben? Dinner’s going to be at seven. Guests coming over. We knew you were coming.”

  “How?”

  “Tom-tom’s!”

  Ben grimaced at her laughter. “I’ll be hungry by seven, I assure you.”

  The twinkle in her eyes became a flashing firestorm. “Well, got corn bread, fatback, and greens.”

  “Salina, you’re impossible!”

  She laughed. “You think I’m kidding?”

  She wasn’t.

  Ben sat in the den with Cecil and Lila, Pal and Valerie. “I’m beginning to get the feeling I’m a lone moonbeam on a dark night,” he said.

  They did not take offense, as Ben knew they would not, but shared his laughter. It certainly was a dark night and the house was lit only by lamps and candles.

  “Another month,” Cecil said, “and we’ll have full power restored. So the engineers tell me.”

  Pal laughed and leaned forward, looking at Ben. “The truth, Ben—what was the first thought that popped into your mind at Cecil’s statement?”

  “Nigger-riggin’,” Ben said honestly.

  “You’re an honest man, Ben Raines,” Lila said. “O.K.—how do we combat that type of thinking. Not that you meant it; I don’t believe you did. But that . . . type of thinking is so ingrained in so many white minds, how do we overcome it?”

  “By education and by trying harder. That’s my opinion.”

  “Education ... ?” Salina let the question remain open-ended.

  “On both sides, of course.”

  “Let’s be sociable this evening, people,” Valerie said. “Let the poor man alone about race. We’re just six people, all full after a good meal, so let’s relax some, huh?”

  “I don’t mind, Valerie,” Ben said. “Really, I don’t. Had people in the country gotten together like this years ago—more than really did—so much could have been accomplished.”

  Ben was silent for a moment, then asked, “Kasim?”

  “He’s around,” Cecil replied. “When he learned you were coming in he cursed and decided to skip Salina’s invitation—which she felt forced to offer, I must add in her defense. Any other time he would have broken his neck getting over here. He has feelings for Salina that, unfortunately for Kasim, she does not share.”

  “And never will,” Salina added. “He’s a pig!”

>   “He is an uneducated man, Salina,” Lila said softly.

  “He’s a prick!” Salina said flatly.

  Cecil shook his head and said, “Are you planning on staying, Ben?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m heading over to north Mississippi first, then pulling out to the northwest.” He met Cecil’s steady gaze. “Cecil, as long as you have Kasims in your society, it won’t work.”

  The man shrugged. “I feel you are correct; he has too much hate in him. But what would you have me do, Ben? Kill him? Drive him out?”

  “I know what I would do, Cecil, but I don’t walk in your shoes. He’s your problem. If he ever becomes mine, he won’t be a problem long.” Then he laid it out for the group, told them all he knew about the new government, what he had seen and heard. And it did not surprise Ben to learn they knew more about it than he.

  “Yes,” Pal said. “We monitor the broadcasts. But perhaps Logan will leave us alone long enough . . . well, until we are strong enough to resist his forces. All we want to do is live and let live.”

  Ike’s words, Ben thought.

  “You’re welcome to spend the night with us, Ben,” Lila said.

  Ben smiled. “This is my house.”

  She cut her eyes to Salina. “Then perhaps you’d better come with us, Salina.”

  “I like it here,” Salina said. Ben could feel her eyes on him in the dim light.

  Cecil shook his head, a frown on his lips. “You’re making a mistake, girl; it’ll only cause hard feelings. You must know that.”

  “My decision.”

  “You’re half-black, half-white,” Lila said, a tinge of anger in her voice. “Are you making your choice? Is that it?”

  “You’re the only one talking about color and choices. If Ben is color-blind, so am I.”

  Pal and Valerie sat quietly, saying nothing, staying out of the verbal confrontation, now exclusively between the two women.

  “You know Kasim will fly into a rage when he hears you’ve . . . spent the night with Ben. And Ben,”—she cut her eyes to him—“there is nothing wrong with sex between two consenting adults. But there is much more than sex involved here. Try to see it from our point of view.”

  Ben shrugged.

  “Let him fly into a rage,” Salina said. “The stupid bastard’s half-crazy anyway.”

  “Salina ...” Lila leaned forward, taking her hands. “Think about it. Think....”

  Salina jerked her hands away. “I have thought about it!” she snapped. “All my damned life I’ve thought about it. Where do I belong? Believe me, I’ve been the one living with that question, not you. For twenty-five years I’ve lived with it. If I make a statement that is contradictory to the quote/unquote ‘black’ way of thinking, I get my white father tossed in my face. If I’m around a group of whites and make any statement defending something a black person has done, I get my nigger mamma tossed at me. And don’t you think for one second I haven’t thought about ‘passing.’ I have not only thought about it, I’ve done it, many times. Hey—I like the white world. It’s free and a whole lot easier to move around in. So, by God”—she slammed a small fist on a coffee table—“don’t any of you presume to tell me what I can or cannot do. I will do what I want to do, when I choose to do it. And with whomever I choose to do it.” She jumped to her feet and ran from the room, crying.

  Ben wisely kept his mouth shut about Salina’s decision and poured another cup of coffee from the service on the coffee table. He said blandly, “More coffee, anyone?”

  “Thank you, no,” Cecil said, a slight smile working at the corners of his mouth. “Do you always stir up hornets’ nests wherever you go?”

  “That’s not fair,” Valerie said. “Ben hasn’t done a thing except to come home. His home.” Lila, her composure restored, laughed at her husband’s pained expression and patted his leg. Valerie said, “There will be trouble over this, Ben. Kasim will indeed go berserk.”

  “Willie, you mean?” Ben said, the words popping from his mouth before he could bite them off. Valerie looked blank; she, of course, would know nothing of Kasim’s Christian name.

  “That annoys whites, doesn’t it?” Cecil asked, stuffing his pipe. “The Muslim bit, I mean.”

  “Annoys?” Ben shook his head. “No . . . I don’t believe annoys is the right choice of words. I think a lot of whites are amused by it. And perhaps frightened, if they would admit it.”

  “Umm. Frightened, yes. So are a number of blacks. But amused? Why?” Cecil asked.

  “Because they don’t believe the blacks are taking their religion seriously. They think that they’re doing it solely to be different. Wearing turbans and robes.”

  Cecil smiled. “Would you find it terribly difficult to believe that I, too, am amused by it—in some blacks?”

  “No, not at all. You’re an educated man, and a fair-thinking man.”

  Juno rose from the floor, stretched, and went into the room after Salina.

  Cecil said, “When both man and beast accept a woman, I guess that pretty well settles it.” He lit his pipe. “Be careful, Ben Raines, many of the pressures in an interracial relationship come from within rather than from without.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  Cecil looked at him, his face a tanned study in the dim light. “So you believe education is the key to a black person’s acceptance by the whites, eh?”

  “Education on both sides, yes. And conformity on both sides, as well. Root cause.”

  “Yes, I read that in you. Have to get into the home before matters begin mellowing out, eh? Interesting. Rather Orwellian, though.”

  Dr. Chase’s words.

  “... Don’t know how you’d manage that,” Cecil remarked. “I’m going to tell you something, Ben. Tell you something because we are here, now. I think you’ve stood on the sidelines and watched all the action between the races for too long, electing to remain neutral.” He held up his hand as Ben opened his mouth to protest. “No—let me finish, Ben. Please. Let me assure you that black people know all the white arguments. All of them; know them by heart—hell, we’ve heard them all our lives.

  “Ready? Good. In an election, blacks will vote color rather than intellectually, even though the black man may be less qualified than the white. Yes, that’s true. At least in nearly every election I’ve ever seen. But, my God, Ben, how else could the black people get representation. I mean . . . after all, we’re supposed to remain in our place. Wherever in the hell that is.

  “All niggers steal. Well, that’s bullshit and we both know it. At least the connotation the whites attach to it is crap: that all blacks steal. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life. But because I am black I am tarred with the same brush as those blacks who do steal. It makes about as much sense as saying all Italians belong to the mafia.

  “Niggers have no morals; all they want to do is drink and fuck. Did you patronize many redneck bars, Ben? Have you been in many conversations—and I use that word laughingly, taking into consideration the intellect of the average redneck—with ’necks? Need I say more?

  “Nigger is lazy; won’t work. Some black people are lazy; so are some whites. It’s about even.

  “Niggers are smart-alecks. Meaning: don’t talk uppity to a white person. You ain’t as good as me. Don’t argue with a white man. Kowtow. Yes, sir—no, sir.

  “Niggers are emotional. Yes, many of us are. There is a cultural as well as pigmentation difference between blacks and whites. But it amuses me, Ben, to hear some whites say that. Especially if one has ever witnessed the carrying-on in a white Pentecostal church, or other churches of that particular ilk.

  “You know what I’m saying, Ben! I don’t have to continue in this vein. The point is: how will you combat those myths and prejudices in your society? And yes, we know of your plans. We have fine electronic equipment located around the area. Our people have done some excellent nigger-riggin’.” That was said with a smile and Ben had to laugh.

  “Ben? I didn’t ask for the job of
leader down here. One day I looked up and it was being handed to me. No one asked if I wanted it. They just handed it to me. I don’t need and don’t want any New Africa. I have been accepted in ‘your world’ all my life. My father was a psychiatrist, my mother a college professor. I hold a Ph.D.—and not from one of your all-black southern colleges. I worked hard to gain my degrees. My father saw to that—no favors. I graduated with a 3.9 from one hell of a fine university. I have been married for ten years and I have never slept with another woman.” He smiled. “But the temptation has sometimes been almost overpowering.”

  Lila stirred by his side. Smiling, she said, “Keep talkin’, sucker.”

  “Logan?” Cecil spat the word. “He’s a nigger-hater. Always has been. Those of us with any education saw past his rhetoric. And he—with the help of his mercenaries—is going to try to crush us down here. And probably will. But we have to try, Ben. Have to try—no!—we’ve got to show whitey we can have a Christian, decent, productive society without his help.

  “Kasim? Piss on Kasim! His bread isn’t baked. He was a street punk and that’s all he’ll ever be.

  “You’re going to look up one day, Ben—very soon, I believe—and the job of leader will be handed to you. Like me, you won’t want it, but you’ll take it because you believe in your dreams of a fair world, fair society. I read you like a good novel, Ben. You opened yourself up to viewing when you said you weren’t staying; you were heading west. You’re going for the states Logan is leaving alone for a time. And you’re going to form your own little nation. Just like we’re attempting to do here. Good luck to you—you’re going to need it. I—we—may join you out there.”

  “You’d be welcome, Cecil. There are too few like you and Lila and Pal and Valerie.”

  “And Salina,” Lila added, her eyes twinkling.

  Ben smiled.

  “And you’re right, Ben,” Cecil said. “It’s in the home. Root cause.”

  Ben’s words.

  “One of my earliest recollections is of Mozart and Brahms,” Cecil reminisced. “But you think the average southern white would believe that? Not a chance. He’ll put down black music—which I detest—while slugging the jukebox and punching out the howling and honking of country music.