Out of the Ashes

A smile crossed her mouth. “Oh ... I wouldn't say that, Ben. I'd have to say you did a pretty good job of getting into the black experience last night.”

Ben groaned. “Very funny, Salina. Yeah. Cute.”

She laughed at his expression. “I think, Ben Raines, inside you, buried deeply, there is just a little bit of bigot.”

“I'll certainly agree with that.”

“Oh?”

“Sure. I'm prejudiced against anyone, of any color, who wants acceptance, but refuses to conform—even just a little bit—to gain it. Agreed, everyone has a right to dress the way he or she chooses, but if that style is blatantly against the norm, a shop owner has the right to say, ‘No way am I going to hire you—you'd scare my customers to death.’ Sorry, Salina, but that's the way I feel about it. And before you jump down my throat, remember that Cecil—and Pal, too, I'm thinking—have always been accepted in my quote/unquote ‘world.’ Care to dwell on why that is?”

“Oh, Ben! I could tear that hypothesis to shreds. You don't know Cecil like I know him. I can't speak for Pal—not really—but Cecil is a snob, and damned if I don't think you are, too. In music, in taste of clothes, theater, literature; the whole bag.”

“Well, then, three cheers for snobbery, if that's what it takes. Yes, I am somewhat of a snob, Salina. And I damned sure offer no apology for it.”

“Go on, Ben,” she urged. “Let's get it all said. Clear the air; plug up all the openings.”

Ben glanced at her and grinned.

She grimaced. “Very funny, Ben. Yeah. Cute.”

“There isn't that much to clear, babe. Education on both sides. Conformity—there again, on both sides...”

“Words, Ben—words. I've heard them all before. How do you plan to implement them into action?”

“I won't have to. Because the people we shall gather around us will accept them willingly. That's the simplistic beauty of the society I advocate.”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Ben. You will take the cream of all races and the rest can go to hell?”

“That's not ... entirely the way I envision it.”

“But close enough?”

“Ummm ... O.K. Yeah.”

“Seems like a man named Hitler had a plan something along those lines.”

“Oh, come on, Salina! Goddamn. Don't compare me to that nitwit.”

“Honey...” She put a hand on his arm. “Don't get angry. I'm not comparing you to Hitler. What I'm saying is there are flaws in your logic. What you envision is grand—what I know of it. But what of the people of limited intelligence? Those of small imaginations? You've made no allowance for them.”

“But I have, Salina: education.”

“Forced education, Ben?” she asked softly.

“If I have to.”

“Maybe it's time,” was her reply. She picked up a map and looked first at it, then at the town they were passing through. “Ben, where are we?”

Ben looked around him and cussed. They had been talking and arguing so heatedly he had taken the wrong turn. They had to backtrack ten miles to get on the right road.

On the way through Mississippi, Ben told her of Ike and Megan. She simply refused to believe a man born and reared in Mississippi would marry a black woman.

“I'm telling you,” Ben protested. “I married them—down in Florida.”

"You married them? God, what a ceremony that must have been.”

“I thought it was rather nice,” Ben said. “Except for the beer running out of my ears.”

“Someday,” she said, her tone one of utter disbelief, “you will have to tell me about it.” She patted his arm. “I'll let you know where and when.” She glanced at his ears and muttered something under her breath.

“Well, I'll just be damned!” Ike said, grabbing Salina in a bear hug and kissing her on the mouth. “White boy from Louisiana done got hisself a half-breed coon. Will wonders never cease?”

Ben had told Salina all about Ike's career as a SEAL. She struggled against his bear hug, then gave up. “Turn me loose, you ... redneck aquatic freak!”

“Oh, I like her.” Ike grinned, turning her loose. Megan took her in tow and told her to pay her husband no mind. The salt water had corroded what little brain he had.

Ben and Salina spent two days with Ike and Megan, talking over plans to move west. Ike assured Ben he would do his part; his people had been busy securing trucks, gathering up everything to rebuild. They were ready to roll.

“Logan's people been back?” Ben asked.

“Be back next month, so my people say.”

“We'll be settling in by then.”

“You and Salina taking the point?”

“Leaving in the morning.”

“Radio back when you're ready for us.”

On the way west, Ben and Salina spent their first night at a lake on the border between Louisiana and Texas. Salina had never fished in her life, and Ben had a good time teaching her the rudiments. She caught a white perch, was finned trying to get it off the hook, and cussed—very unladylike.

She held out her hand to Ben. “Make it all better,” she said.

Ben poured iodine on the small cut. After she had finished her dance of pain, she shoved him in the lake and walked back up to the cabin, leaving him floundering and hollering.