hard winter locks us in, and not much time to get it done. I’ve noticed that since the bombings, back in ‘88, the winters all over the country are getting more severe each year, and the summers more savage.”
“My friends at the university, scientists, said the bombings changed many of the weather patterns. I remember them saying that countries that had never experienced snow and ice before were now having hard winters.”
“That’s true, so I hear. I suspect future generations will have a great deal more to contend with, weather- wise.”
She picked up a sour note in his tone. She had heard it before. “You really don’t hold much promise for the future, do you, Ben?”
Ben waited until a particularly hard drumming of rain on the cab of the truck abated before replying. “Not unless what is left of the population does a drastic turnaround, Gale. Oh, we’ll make it all right. The Rebels, I mean. I suspect this recent coup attempt
will be the first and the last among our ranks. We’ll just be much more selective from now on as to whom we allow to join us. And we’ll set up shops and small factories and businesses and schools, give our people some degree of formal education. And I suspect there are other older people around the world doing much the same-right this moment. But older is the key word, Gale. As we-you and I, and others within our age spectrum-grow older and die, the burning desire for knowledge, book knowledge, will fade and die with us. Not all at once, certainly, but more like a gradual diminishing.
“Now, that does not mean civilization is going to abruptly roll over and die. What it does mean is that most will return to the land, a nation of small farmers and craftsmen.” He smiled. “Excuse me, crafts-persons.”
“Very funny, Raines. Ha-ha. Please continue. Try to keep me awake.”
“I’ll do my best, dear. It has been a rather boring day, thus far, right?”
“Raines …”
“OK. OK. I can foretell it with as much accuracy as Nostradamus-unless this nation picks itself up and turns it around, and does it quickly. After we’re gone, the younger ones will keep the old cars and trucks running until they fall apart. But in a hundred years, Gale, few will possess the knowledge to build a car or truck. Airplanes will be something for people to sit and look at, wondering what in the hell they can do with them. I don’t want to lecture, Gale, for you know what I’m driving toward.”
“Education,” she said quietly.
“That’s right. And Gale, we now have in this country, one entire generation-those who were, say, eight to ten when the bombs fell-who can’t read or write. It scares me, Gale. It really frightens me.
“Look at the area we’ve traveled through these past months, Gale. Look at what is occurring in this nation. Only very small pockets of men and women-for the most part, older men and women-are attempting to set up schools and organization and have some semblance of law and order and rules of conduct. The thugs and punks and assorted criminals that seem to crawl out of the gutters in times like these are at their glory. And it’s going to get much worse as time marches on. Tony Silver, for example, is nothing more than a modern-day warlord. Sister Voleta/betty Blackman is, well, nuts, I think.”
Gale went on the defensive. “But the young can’t be blamed for their attitudes, Ben. They’ve had no examples to look up to.”
Ben surprised her by agreeing. “That’s right, Gale.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Drop the other shoe, Raines.”
Ben grinned. “One cannot blame the young for their lack of judgment because they never knew, really, any type of civilized society. And those now in their late twenties and early thirties, like you, Gale,” he said blandly, “knew only a very permissive, liberal type of government as teenagers, before the bombings. Blaming them is just as pointless. Blame the mothers and the fathers and lawmakers and judges and record producers and TV programmers, beginning in the mid-sixties and continuing right up to
the bombings for the lack of understanding of discipline and work ethics and moral codes and rules of order-if one just has to point a finger of blame. I did enough of that back in the late seventies and all through the eighties, as a writer. A lot of us did. Those of us with any foresight at all. The majority chose not to listen. Fine. Now I can sit back and take a grim satisfaction in the outcome of it all.”
Gale did not vocally counter-punch with Ben on that, for in her time with the man, she had learned Ben was almost totally unyielding in his philosophy as to what had contributed to the breakdown of the United States of America. As a teenager in St. Louis, after the war of ‘88, Gale was one of those who had taken part in human rights marches against Ben Raines and the nation he and his Rebels had carved out west: the Tri-States.*
Ben’s philosophy was that there had been too much government intervention into the operation of privately owned businesses, too much interference in the personal lives of citizens from big government, too many lawyers and too many judges and too many lawsuits. Ben felt that when there was a United States of America, it was probably the most sue-happy nation on the face of the earth.
“Don’t forget a common sense return to government,” Ben broke into her thoughts. “Something Americans refused to demand from their lawmakers and assorted great nannies in Washington.”
“Raines, I wish you would stop getting into my head like that. All right. What are you going to bitch *Out of the Ashes
about now? You going to jump all over the ACLU again?”
“Nope,” Ben said, surprising her again. “I am certain that group did a lot of good work defending the poor and indigent and the elderly. And a lot more. But most of their good work never reached the ears of the majority. All we heard about was their screaming about those poor misunderstood folks being put to death for brutally murdering an entire family, or for raping, torturing and killing some five-year-old girl. We heard they defended those slobbering punks, trying to get them off with every cheap legal trick they could think of. I think the ACLU must have had a lousy PR department.”
Gale bristled, as Ben knew she would. That was why he’d said it.
“You consider human life very cheaply, don’t you, Ben?”
“Cheap human life, yes. But I’ve put my ass on the line far more times than I can remember for decent, law- abiding folks, Gale.”
“Stop twisting my words, Ben Raines. You know what I mean. Maybe that group of lawyers you’re so down on simply placed a great deal more value on human life than you?”
“But on whose human life is what always baffled me, Gale,” Ben countered. “The victim’s or the criminal’s?”
She opened her mouth to retort and caught Ben’s smile. She knew he was deliberately goading her, for he loved to make her angry.
“Way to go, Raines. You did it again. How come you like to get me all upset, huh?” She stuck out her chin defiantly.
“Back in the “good ol” days,” dear, one of my greatest delights was in putting the so-called needle to liberals.”
“You would. Well, you’re not going to get another rise out of me. I just won’t play your game anymore.” She turned her face and gazed out the window at the stormy afternoon.
“OK,” Ben said lightly. “Isn’t this a pleasant day for a drive in the country?”
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “All right, Buster-I know you’re up to something. So give.”
Ben’s face was a picture of innocence. “Darling, I’m not up to anything. I’m just adhering to your recent request.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you are. When pigs fly, baby.”
“Well, since you insist, I was thinking about an old buddy of mine who lived in New York City. We were in the service together.” He stopped speaking and looked straight ahead, concentrating on the rain-swept old highway, twisting the wheel to avoid the debris that littered the highway.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well, what?”
“Your buddy. What the hell else?”
“Oh. Well … what is it you want to know about him?”
“Raines, you are the most exasperating man I have ever known.” She shook a small fist under his chin. “How’d you like to have a fat lip?”
