Fire in the Ashes

“Justice Morgan,” Ben said. “I used to enjoy watching good news-reporting. My favorite programs on TV were well-produced and reported documentaries. That does not include innuendoes, supposition, biased, left- leaning commentators, and nonobjective reporting. I don’t like doubletalk, dancing around a question, sneering, rudeness, or any of a dozen other repulsive traits that can be hung on any number of reporters, print and broadcast. Are we clear on that subject, sir?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Now what is this about martial law?”

“The military put you in office, sir. They can remove you just as easily.”

“No, sir,” Ben replied with a smile. “They sure as hell cannot.”

“Would you be so kind as to explain that?”

“Gladly. The Joint Chiefs of Staff will be going on nationwide TV within a week. They will publicly divorce themselves from any participation in the running of the government of the United States of America. The Supreme Court—all of you—will be present as witnesses. The next night I will be on TV, explaining as many of my policies as I have worked up by that time.

“I will be in office for four years, sir. And only four years. During that time, my people will be reclaiming the area known as Tri-States. You do remember that area, don’t you, sir?”

“How could I forget it, Mr. President?” the Chief Justice’s reply was thick with sarcasm.

“Just so we know where the other stands, sir,” Ben said with a smile. “After four years, I shall step down— sooner, if at all possible, and I will return to the Tri-States. There I shall live out the remainder of my years.”

The Chief Justice’s look was both wary and full of admiration. “All well and good, sir. But I wonder how many citizens of the United States will die during your four-year reign?”

“Just as many as choose not to respect the basic rights guaranteed any law-abiding citizen of this nation. That’s how many, sir.”

“Should be an interesting four years, Mr. President. And a totally unconstitutional period.”

“Depending entirely upon your interpretation of the constitution, sir. But then, I’ve always felt any literate, law-abiding, tax-paying citizen had as much right to bend the constitution as you people on the high bench.”

That stung the Justice. “I resent the charge that we of the court ever ‘bent the constitution’!”

“I guess the sadness in that is you really don’t believe you ever did.”

Ben walked away, to hold his first press conference as president of the United States.

Taking into consideration how he felt about the press, and how the press felt about him, it was a lively one.

Only the first of many.

* * *

The people of America, on a whole, could not have cared if Big Bird occupied the Oval Office, as long as he did something to pull the ailing nation back together. Or, perhaps, that should have been: Most of the people of America. For no matter how hard one person, or a group of people try to attain what they not only felt, but knew, from years of observing the world around them, from years of laborious study of the history of civilization, or from just having the good sense to know one does not attempt to pet a rabid dog (one shoots it), there will be those who will proclaim, as loudly as possible, that they are not getting their due; that they are being discriminated against (and race has nothing to do with it); that they are being denied due process; that they are not being paid what they think they are worth. Et cetera. Ad nauseam. Puke.

One week after Ben was sworn in as president, the groups began surfacing.

And as is so often the case, they were not made up of those who fought and bled and were tortured by Lowry’s agents; nor those who made up the underground train supporting Ben’s Rebels. These people are usually made up of those men and women who “just know” they are going to be a success someday; it’s a little vague just how that is going to happen, since these people never seem to do much of anything toward achieving that goal— except bitch about how the world owes them something.

But they are loud—Lord have mercy, are they loud!

* * *

“Have you seen the headlines?” Cecil asked.

“Yes! Where in the hell is Ike?” Ben asked, more than a note of exasperation in his tone.

“Gone off to find Captain Gray. And then they will attempt to find Jerre. They…”

“Goddamnit, Cecil! I need as many of the old bunch around me as possible at this time. Where in the hell does Ike get off…”

“Whoa!” Cecil yelled. “Jesus Christ, Ben—calm yourself. You know Ike wouldn’t be happy sitting around Richmond, no matter what position you placed him in. Ben, all Ike has ever been is a farmer or a warrior—that’s all he’ll ever be happy at. Now, I ask again: have you seen the headlines in today’s paper?”

“Which ones?” Ben asked sarcastically. “The ones that accuse me of being a racist because I told the president of the NAACP to get the hell out of this office because I was tired of listening to him bitch? Or maybe the one where the AFL-CIO has accused me of being anti-labor because I ordered that pack of assholes down in Florida to either get back to work or get off the job and I’ll put someone in there who would work? Or maybe it’s the goddamn teachers this go-around? Eh? Oh, and let us not forget that blazing headline in the Richmond Post about me being a baby-killer because I made the statement that whatever a woman wishes to do with her body is her business and nobody else’s. Huh? Which one is it this time around?”

Cecil sat calmly and sipped his coffee, letting Ben get it all out of his system. He knew Ben had not wanted the job; and felt pangs of guilt because he had been one of those who pressured him into taking it. But he had to smile at that, recalling just a few hours after Ben had been sworn in.

* * *

“Well, Cec,” Ben had said, walking up to him at the reception. Cecil had thought the smile on Ben’s face sort of resembled a tiger’s smile. “What plans do you have for your immediate future?”

“Going to go back to Tri-States and get the schools and colleges open again,” Cecil said, not quite comfortable with that odd smile grinning at him.

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Ben’s smile had broadened.

“I beg your pardon, Ben?”

“You folks been complaining for years you don’t have enough people in elected positions of power; that you don’t have enough blacks in high government positions. Well, guess what, old buddy, old pal?”

“I don’t like the way you’re smiling at me, Ben.”

“Don’t want to play guessing games, Cec?”

“No! Why are you smiling like that? You’re grinning like Lady Macbeth after a hard night with the knife.”

Ben leaned close and whispered in Cecil’s ear.

Cecil recoiled like he’d been touched with a cattle prod. “Not this nigger, you ain’t!”

“Cec! Shame on you. I’ve never heard such language from a Ph.D. in all my days. The Reverend James Watson would be ashamed of you.”

“Fuck the Reverend James Watson, and fuck his brother, too. You’re not putting me in that hotseat. I know what you plan to do with it.”

“That’s right,” Ben said soothingly, but still with that smile. “We discussed it, didn’t we?”

“Ben—I’m warning you.”

But Ben had already turned around and was calling for silence in the reception hall.

“All right, people! Could I have just a moment of your time? Thank you. Now you all know what I plan to do with the vice presidency—the president and the VP will share equal power over an equal number of departments. One will not interfere with the other. And you know I have been giving considerable thought to the man or woman who would fill that slot. I have made my decision. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the new vice president of the United States: Doctor Cecil Jefferys.”

While the applause was still thundering in the hall, Cecil leaned to Ben and whispered, “You honky motherfucker.”

But he was smiling, and his smile was full of love and admiration for the man who stood by him.

* * *

“No, Ben,” Cecil said. “Those aren’t the headlines I was referring to.”