Out of the Ashes

Ben began putting faces and names together. The woman who had asked about his family was Salina. Salina Franklin. There were Jake and Nora, a Clint and Jane Helms, and Anwar Ali Kasim.

Ben took an immediate dislike to Kasim, and felt equally bad vibes coming from him. Kasim confirmed his feelings when he spoke.

“How come you didn't stay with your brother and his buddies and help kill all the niggers in the city?” Kasim asked, his eyes alive with hate.

Salina rolled her eyes and shook her head in disgust. Lila sighed and looked at her husband. Cecil said, “Kasim, you're a jerk!”

“And he's white!” Kasim spat his hate at Ben.

“Does that automatically make me bad?” Ben asked.

“As far as I'm concerned, yes,” Kasim said. “And I don't trust you.”

“Maybe,” Salina said, her words quiet, “he's just a man who sat down to have a quiet dinner. He hasn't bothered a soul—brother.” She smiled at her humor.

Kasim didn't share her humor. “I see,” he said, the words softly spoken but tinged with hate. “Well, now ... Zebra got herself a yearning for some white cock?”

She slapped him hard, hitting him in the mouth with the back of her hand, bloodying his lips.

Kasim drew back his hand to hit her and found himself looking down the barrel of a .44 magnum. Cecil jacked back the hammer and calmly said, “I would hate to ruin this fine dinner, Kasim, since raw brains have never been a favorite of mine. But if you hit her, I'll blow your fucking head off!”

Kasim looked at the man in disbelief. He nodded his head when he saw the look in Cecil's eyes. “You'd kill me ... for him?” He jerked his head toward Ben.

“You're twisting words out of context, Kasim,” Cecil said, the muzzle of the .44 never wavering. “But you're good at that.”

Kasim put both hands on the table, one on each side of his plate. “You know what those white bastards did to my sister.”

“I know. But Ben Raines didn't do it.”

“He's still white!”

Ben rose from the table. “I'd better leave, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Cecil surprised him. “I think it would be best. And I'm sorry for having to say that. I was looking forward to some intelligent conversation later on.”

“Perhaps we'll meet again,” Ben suggested.

“You put your white ass in New Africa, motherfucker,” Kasim said, “and it'll be buried there.”

“I will make every effort to avoid New Africa,” Ben promised. “Wherever that might be.”

“Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana,” Kasim said. “A black nation. All black.”

Ben smiled. “My home's in Louisiana, Kasim, or whatever your goddamned name is. And I'll give you a bit of advice. I'm going back to my room and go to sleep. I'll pull out just after dawn tomorrow. There will be no trouble in this motel—that I start, that is. But if I ever see you again ... I'll kill you!”

“Words.” Kasim sneered at him. “Big words. How about trying it now? Just you and me?”

“Drag your ass out of the chair, hotshot.” Ben smiled.

“Cool it, Kasim,” Cecil warned him. “You're outclassed with Ben. Let it lie.”

Kasim met Ben's eyes for a long moment, then dropped his gaze. Ben walked away, toward the door. He paused, turned around. “It was a delicious meal, Mrs. Jeffreys. I thank you.”

She smiled and nodded.

Ben's eyes touched Salina's. She smiled at him.

He walked out into the rainy night, leaving, he hoped, the hate behind him.

He was loading his gear into the truck at dawn, tying down the tarp when he heard footsteps. He turned, right hand on the butt of the .45 belted at his waist.

Salina.

“We all feel very badly about last night, Mr. Raines. All except Willie Washington, that is.”

“Who?”

She smiled in the misty dawn. A beautiful woman. “Kasim. We grew up together ... same block in Chicago. He'll always be Willie to me.”

In the dim light he could see her skin was fawn-colored. “Does he really hate whites as much as it seems? All whites?”

“Does the KKK hate blacks?”

“They say they don't.”

“Right. And pigs fly.” They shared a quiet laugh in the damp dawn. “Kasim's sister was ... used pretty badly, when he was young. Raped, buggered. He was beaten and forced to watch. The men were never caught. You know the story; it happens on both sides of the color line. He's about half nuts, Ben.”

“I gathered that.”

“There are a lot of differences between the races, Ben. Cultural differences, emotional differences. The bridge is wide.”

“I do not agree with what my brother and his friends are doing, Salina. I want you to know that.”

“I knew that last night, Ben. I think ... we need more men like you and Cecil; less of Jeb Fargo and your brother.”

“Who in the hell is Jeb Fargo?”

“His name is really George, but he likes to be called Jeb. He came up to Chicago about five years ago—from Georgia, I think. Head of the Nazi Party.”

“Yeah ... I met him. I didn't like him. I agree with you, Salina. I hope his ... mentality doesn't take root.”

“It will,” she predicted flatly. “What are your plans, Ben?”