Out of the Ashes

“She doesn't say much about it, but I gather he was kind of a militant. Didn't have much education, but was trying to do the right thing—her words—in his own way. I don't know who started the shooting the day he was killed—she kind of thinks he did—but anyway, he got dead and she just wandered for a day or so until those ‘necks caught up with her and were taking turns raping her. That's about all I know about her.”

“You?” Ben looked at her. About twenty-five, in the prime of mature beauty. High full breasts, long sleek legs, long thick hair.

“I worked in a bank down in St. Pete.”

“No boyfriends?”

“Just on a social basis, nothing heavy. You know what I mean?”

Ben nodded. “Yes.”

“Tatter was a schoolteacher.” She laughed. “Really! June-Bug was a college girl. Space-Baby worked for the government down at the cape. And Angel-Face was a housewife. Woke up one morning and her husband was lying dead, next to her. She said it was awful. Kind of freaked her out for a time.” She looked up at him from the pallet on the darkening sun porch. “You're really going to travel around the country, seeing what happened and talking to people?”

“Yes, I am.”

“But, really, Ben, we did hear you are the commander of that Rebel army. Really!”

“You heard wrong. I am the commander of no army. I'm a writer. That's it.”

“Ummm,” she said. “Well, how long do you figure this project will take you?”

“Several years, probably.” If I don't get sidetracked. Damn you, Bull!

She sighed. “That'd be fun, I guess. Kind of adventuresome. Like the pioneers, in a way.” She shook her head. “But I'm not very adventuresome. I'm a chicken.”

“Well, I'm going to winter around here, I think. For a couple of months, anyway. Maybe three. I think I'll take a run down the coast tomorrow and find a place to stay.”

“Want some company?” she asked softly. Her voice was like an invitation to dine—on her.

“Sure. I think we're compatible.”

She grinned up at him. “I imagine we are. You like to fuck, don't you?”

Ben and Honey-Poo were more than compatible; she told him on that first night at Ike's place that she liked to be around a man, didn't like to sleep alone, liked to do for a man. But ...

“Don't trust me too much, Ben. I mean, I'll be true-blue as a puppy for a time, then I'll get itchy feet and hungry eyes. I won't mean to hurt you, but I will leave when I feel like it. So don't fall for me, O.K.?”

“I'll do my best,” Ben said, running his hand over her belly, then down to the tangle of pubic hair. She moved under his strokings, sighing as his finger found and entered her wetness. “What's your real name, Honey-Poo?”

She hissed her pleasure and arched her hips upward, meeting his thrusting finger. Her hand found his stiffness and slowly began working him. “Prudence.”

“I'll stick with Honey-Poo.”

“Stick it in me first, Ben.”

Christmas

It was raw for this stretch of Florida, the temperature hovering around the forty-degree mark and the winds cool enough to bring out sweaters and jackets and to warrant a big roaring fire in Ike's den.

It was a wedding day.

Ike sat with Ben in the den; Bell-Ringer was in the bedroom with the girls, getting ready. For once (the only time since Ben had arrived), Ike was in a semiserious mood.

“Go ahead and ask it, Ben,” he prompted. “I know it's on your mind. So get it over with.”

Ben drained his coffee cup. Since he was to act as the “minister,” he felt it only proper he should be sober. For a fact, no one else was.

“You're sure about this, Ike? Sure you're doing the right thing?”

“Flat-out certain.”

“What are the odds of you two making it, Ike?”

“We've already made it, Ben. Lots of times.” Ike grinned at him.

“Get serious, Ike!”

“O.K.” He sobered. “I figure we got maybe a ninety to ninety-five percent chance of coming out with the roses. And I think that's a hell of a lot better odds than most marriages. Even when times were normal, quote/unquote.”

Ben had to agree with that. He glanced at his watch. A half-hour until post time. “Where are you from, Ike?”

Ike flashed that boyish grin. “North Mississippi.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I'm serious, Ben. So yeah, I kinda think I know what I'm doing.” He popped the tab on another beer. “My daddy was a member of the Klan, so I grew up hatin’ niggers. Well, I still don't like niggers, Ben Raines, any more than I like white trash, or sorry Mexicans, or bad Norwegians. Come to think of it, Ben, there is, was, just a whole hell of a lot of folks from Texas I never did cotton to, but that don't mean there wasn't a whole lot of real good folks in that state. You see what I'm sayin'? I figured you did. Bell-Ringer isn't a nigger. She's a real nice person that has a pretty good tan, that's all.”

“But she's still a black.”

“Shore. So what?”

“I had to be sure you understood that, Ike. I have to know her real name, Ike.”

“Megan Ann Green. And my name is Ignatius Victor McGowen. And if you call me Ignatius during the ceremony, I'm gonna bust you right in the mouth.”

Ben laughed out loud. “I'll stay with Ike.”