Out of the Ashes

“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.

“My father used to sit in his study, listening to fine music while going over his day's cases, a brandy at hand. My mother was having a sherry—not Ripple,"—he laughed—"going over her papers from the college. My home life was conducive to a moderate, intelligent way of life. My father told me, if I wanted it, to participate in sports, but to keep the game in perspective and always remember it is but a game. Nothing more. No, Ben, I didn't grow up as the average black kid. That's why I know what you say is true. Home. The root cause.

“I went to the opera, Ben. Really! How many violent-minded people attend operas? How many ignorant people attend plays and classical concerts? How many bigots—of all races—read Sartre, Shakespeare, Tennyson, Dante?” He shook his head.

“No, you find your bigots and violent-minded ignoramuses seeking other forms of base entertainment. And I'm not just speaking of music.

“Do you know why I joined the Green Berets, Ben?”

Ben shook his head.

“So I could get to know violence firsthand. We didn't have street gangs where I grew up. To try to understand violence.” He laughed aloud, heartily, slapping his knee. “Well, I found out about it, all right; I got shot in the butt in Laos.”

“Enough,” Lila said. “Let's don't you two refight the war. I've heard all your stories. Tomorrow is a workday. Let's go home.”

They all stood up, Cecil saying, “Both our peoples have a way to go, Ben.”

“Think we'll make it?”

“I don't know. But I'll wager that with your ideas and my ideas we could give it a hell of a try. Think about that, Ben Raines.”