HOMELESSNESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY: Part 2.

 

Chain of Misfortune

HOMELESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY

By Jack Random

[The Department of Housing and Urban Development estimates that there were about 554,000 homeless people in the United States.  Just over 50% were single males.  About 25% were single females.  About 23% were families with children.  Almost 40% were individuals under the age of eighteen.  From October 2009 to September 2010 an estimated 1.6 million experienced homelessness at some point in time.] 

GARY

He drank a bit too much.  It was in his genes.  His father drank too much.  Sometimes it seems that whole generation drank too much.  They drank themselves to sleep, got up in the morning and went to work.  They were functional alcoholics.  It was a way of navigating the journey of life.  In what was supposed to be the good old days the good old boys wanted nothing more than to escape the daily drudgery. 

Gary learned early that he couldn’t drink like his father did.  He drank on weekends, he drank to celebrate and he drank to commiserate.  The first time he drank Scotch it was a bonding experience.  The taste was so repulsive it almost came up before it went down and that made his father laugh.  It took years to develop a taste for it and years to leave the taste behind.  He had too many sessions at the porcelain throne, too many nights with dry heaves and too many mornings hung over. 

So here he was again. 

He went to the bar not long after she left.  Who knows?  Maybe he thought he’d see her there.  He didn’t.  He drank.  After a few at the bar he went to a liquor store and bought a bottle.  He drank to get drunk.  How long had been since he’d done that?  Two years?  Three?  The more he drank the less he remembered. 

Louise let him down.  It was her fault.  It was always someone’s fault.  Now he sounded more like Louise or his mother.  There was always someone to blame.  Someone called and wanted to know if he’d come up with bail money.  Not a chance.  So Louise managed to get arrested in one day.  He didn’t want to hear it.  He hung up and hung up again when she called from jail. 

He called in sick and went back to the bar the next day.  After a second scotch he met a woman – the kind of woman that hangs out at a bar during working hours.  He didn’t care.  He wanted a shoulder and she had two.  They bought another bottle and she went home with him.  Three days later he realized she had moved in.  He hadn’t bothered to call in to work.  When he did he lost his job. 

Fuck it, he thought.  It wasn’t much of a job anyway. 

Her name was Alice.  She had a lot of problems – even more than he did.  In a way it gave him comfort.  She needed him more than he needed her.  It took a while for him to understand that she needed him as a means to get what she really needed – America’s latest addictive rage:  Fentanyl.  It was a long and heart-breaking story.  He was sure of it even though she didn’t have time to tell it and he didn’t have the inclination to hear it.  Everybody has a story.  Every story ends in tragedy.  Fuck it.  It doesn’t matter. 

They lived as they lived in squalor and chaos until the bills started coming and he realized he was out of money.  He had lost track of time.  How many days had gone by?  How many weeks?  In a moment of clarity he saw what he had become and the misery piled on like a mountain of stone. 

When she offered, he accepted.  One pill couldn’t hurt.  Could it?  No.  It helped.  It helped a lot.  The pain floated away like smoke in the wind.  All his worries became distant shadows.  He had no worries.  Another pill and he had no pain.  Another and all the jagged pieces fit together like God’s divine plan. 

Want became need and every particle of his being changed.  At long last he found his religion, his sainthood and his martyrdom.  He became the one true child of God.  A sensation of elation, lifting his spirit off the earth and rising to the stars, overwhelmed him.  Euphoria, wonder, glory and devotion:  They were all at his command. 

Someone shook him and called to him from another world.  He did not wish to leave his place of comfort and elation but the caller persisted.  It was a woman and she was vaguely familiar.  She cried and sniffed and wiped away tears. 

“Wake up, baby!”

It was Alice and something was happening.  He had neglected the simple necessities of this life for so long that it shocked him when he returned.  Alice was his angel of truth, his deliverance and protector.  She opened the doors to this experience and she demanded to be heard.  She owned him. 

“Baby, wake up!” 

“What is it?” he mumbled through the fog and mists of a million dreams and landscapes of fantastic origin.  Why had she taken him from his utopia? 

“Thank God,” she gasped.  She held his head and stroked his hair, painting his face with kisses of genuine affection.  “I thought I lost you!” 

She had a needle in her hand.  It was Narcan – the antidote to an overdose.  He didn’t know she had a dose.  The stuff was expensive – too expensive when you needed every cent to pay for Fentanyl.  Maybe she cared about him after all.  Maybe she was the only one who cared. 

“Where’d you get the Narcan?” he mumbled. 

“At the clinic.  They know me down there.” 

“How long was I out?” 

“I don’t know.  I wasn’t here.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Out.  Who cares?  I came home and there you were.  I saved your life.” 

It was true.  He knew it was true but paranoia came with territory.  Could he trust her?  No.  He couldn’t trust anyone.  He almost died and still the only thing he could think about was securing his supply. 

If he were being honest he would have to admit he’d been in this place before.  The drug was different and he was older now but he had been in a very similar place.  If he were honest he would admit he had an addictive personality.  Addicts saw it in him in a flash.  Alice saw it.  He’d been addicted to cocaine, methamphetamine, crack and heroin.  He wrestled with all the old demons and emerged from an ocean of deep dark hell.  If he were being honest this was just one more relapse in the series that was his adult life.  But he was not being honest.  He was lying to himself and everyone else.  He lied to Louise but he always thought she knew.  He’d been clean for a couple years before he met her.  A few beers after dinner.  Straight and narrow.  But there was a reason he lost all contact with his family.  There was a reason all his friends were recent. 

“Baby, we’re almost out,” said Alice. 

She didn’t have to say what they were almost out of though they were almost out of everything – food, drink, cleaning products, toilet paper, toothpaste, deodorant and anything else you can think of.  The last time he looked there were a few beers in the refrigerator and nothing else. 

“Almost?” 

“Yeah, babe.” 

“How much more do we have?” 

She pulled out a baggie revealing five lonely pills.  The way they were going it wasn’t enough to last the night.  He knew Alice was probably holding out on him but not by a lot.  She probably had four or five more.  He’d deal with it when the time came. 

“Do we have any money?” 

He knew the answer but asked anyway.  Together they might have enough to get a meal at MacDonald’s but not enough for what they needed. 

“We could sell some things,” she suggested. 

“Like what?”

“The TV, stereo, silverware, whatever…” 

“I got to go back to work,” he said glumly.  “Shit, we won’t make much selling all this crap.” 

She knew he was right.  She knew a guy who fenced stolen goods from junkies and other lowlifes.  He wouldn’t give much for the everyday bullshit.  It was just an opening to get the dialogue going. 

“We could sell your truck.” 

He hesitated.  She could feel him tense up.  Selling his truck was a major turn.  It was only three years old and in good shape.  He could get five to seven grand beyond what he still owed.  But he needed that truck to get to work.  If he sold it he was admitting that he had no intention of getting another job and playing it straight.  If he sold the truck there was no turning back. 

“Forget it,” said Alice.  She had to stay ahead of him.  It had to seem like it was his idea.  She’d been through this before and she’d learned a few things.  She wanted to get all she could out of this.  It was not that she didn’t like him or that she thought he deserved it.  It was just business.  She was not getting any younger.  There’s a limit as to how long a girl can get away with this shit. 

“Have you got any other ideas?” he said.  He knew she did.  He knew the kind of woman she was.  If he didn’t know in the beginning, he knew by now.  She was all about the fix. 

“I know a guy,” she said.  “He could use your truck.” 

He climbed out of the sofa and found his way to the window.  It was already sundown.  He had completely lost any sense of time. 

“Call him.  See what he’s got.” 

The truth would not have surprised him.  She had already called him.  Alice was a woman who thought ahead.  So she went through the motions and came back with a gig.  That’s what they called it – like they were some kind of traveling band. 

“Yeah,” said Alice.  She handed him a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it.  “He says you should show up here at three A.M.  He’ll give you a thousand bucks to drive a shipment across town.  Two thousand if you drive it to Vegas.” 

“Two thousand?”

“Yeah.” 

“And that’s all I have to do?” 

“That’s it.” 

“You trust this guy?”

“I do.” 

He let it settle.  Of course there were some details missing.  It was too good.  But when it came down to it, what choice did he have? 

“What’s the merch?” he wondered. 

“Golf clubs.  Yeah.  It turns out people pay a thousand dollars for one golf club.  There’s a warehouse that just got a shipment.  JD knows where it is.  His guys crash the warehouse, load up the stuff and you drive off.  Pretty simple.” 

Unable to fully grasp how low and how fast he had fallen, he let it settle.  He was not only considering a job as a driver for a stolen goods operation, he knew he would accept it.  He had no choice.  That’s the thing about addiction.  Need trumps want every time.  You want to do the right the thing but you need that pill.  You have no choice.  Alice knew that better than he did. 

He showed up at the appointed time and place, high and ready for action.  JD met him in the parking lot of a closed department store and told him to wait in the corner outside the light of the street.  Gary could tell straightaway JD and his crew of two men were cranksters by the way their eyes darted back and forth. 

“Give me your phone,” said JD.  He plugged in his number.  “You call me if something happens.  Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

“If no one shows in thirty minutes, take off,” JD said. 

“Right,” replied Gary with a glance at his phone. 

He waited exactly twenty-four minutes before they pulled up and loaded his truck with four long cardboard boxes.  It looked like there was room for maybe fifty clubs – a haul worth fifty grand.  They covered the load with a plastic tarp and tied it down good while JD took care of business.  He handed Gary five crisp one hundred dollar bills and a slip of paper with an address in Vegas. 

“What’s this?” said Gary. 

“Gas money,” said JD.  “You want me to come with?” 

“No, I’m good.” 

“Alright.  You deliver the goods, pick up the cash and call me when you get back.  We’ll settle up then.” 

“Right.” 

He gave him a look meant to chill him to the bone.  It worked. 

“Don’t even think about fucking me over.  I know where you live,” he smiled, revealing the dental condition of a man long lost on meth. 

“Don’t worry.” 

He pulled out and headed for the freeway.  Three blocks later he thought he noticed someone following him.  Two blocks down he turned right and was greeted by the twirling red lights of two black-and-whites blocking his way.  He slowed to a stop as two cars pulled in behind him.  He was busted dead to rights. 

After two weeks in jail Alice sold his truck to make bail.  He was off the drugs but he had no money, no ride and no way to pay the rent.  He struck a deal with the D.A. to turn on JD and his buddies in exchange for time served.  So now he had to worry about JD’s revenge as soon as he managed to get out of jail.

In a matter of weeks everything turned to shit.  His landlord served the eviction notice.  Alice was determined to stay but Gary didn’t have the energy to fight back.  He had no more illusions about her caring for him any more than he cared for her.  Their relationship was all about the drugs.  He packed some belongings and walked down to the bridge where the homeless people had formed a makeshift camp. 

Copyright Jack Random 2019

HOMELESSNESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY

Chain of Misfortune

HOMELESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY

By Jack Random

[There are a thousand reasons for homelessness and a thousand ways to get there.  Every one of them has staked a place in the American landscape.  It’s something we deal with every single day.  We see it on the streets, in front of the grocery store, at the movies and in the parks.  We see it everywhere we go.  It is the dark side of the American story.  In a land of plenty at a time of prosperity the problem of homelessness escapes no community. 

What most towns and cities do and have done for a very long time is pay increasing amounts of money to shove the problem aside.  They used to provide one-way tickets to the next town.  Now they are compelled to allow tent cities under bridges and in parks.  But the homeless population only grows. 

There is an obvious solution to the problem:  Give the homeless homes and provide for essential needs.  Let them work if they can and will.  Whatever the cost it is less than the cost of doing nothing and more effective than what we are doing now.] 

LOUISE

Louise was in love.  Louise was always in love.  You might say Louise was in love with love.  The skeptic would say it was not a genuine love.  It was an infatuation.  The cynic would say she was in love with falling in love.  She fell out of love with the same immediacy as she fell in love. 

She was sixteen the first time she married.  It lasted eight months and ended with an abortion.  She moved back home with her mama who saw herself in her only child.  Her mama had lived with a series of men – each one a little worse than the last – and ended up alone in a trailer park for old people. 

Like mother, like daughter, the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.  There it rots and crumbles into the earth and the cycle begins again.  Her mother was homeless before she died in a state sponsored home for the indigent and helpless.  Louise swore it would never happen to her. 

Then she fell in love.  Like her mother, she fell in love with the wrong man.  How soon did she know it?  It was hard to tell.  Denial was always such a strong force in her personality.  She considered it a strength and it served her well until it no longer served her at all. 

She awoke and knew something had changed.  The space in the bed next to her was empty.  That did not surprise her.  She stayed up late and her boyfriend did not.  He had to go to work early in the morning.  She went out with friends – or so she said.  She had a personal relationship with the truth.  The truth was what she wanted it to be.  No.  Not exactly.  The truth was what she needed it to be. 

The truth she wanted:  She fell in love with a kind and gentle man – a man who would treat her the way she deserved to be treated.  He was in love with her and they were moving in together. 

The truth she needed:  She went out with her girlfriends and had a good time.  What’s wrong with that?  A woman deserves to have a good time. 

The truth she knew but couldn’t accept:  She fell in love with a man who was not in love with her.  He had no intention of splitting up with his wife. 

The truth she didn’t know:  Her boyfriend knew.  A woman he knew saw her and her new man at the bar.  She saw them dance.  She saw them embrace and kiss.  She saw them climb into the back of his car.  They didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

Hung over and listless, she ambled into the living room, made coffee and saw the note on the kitchen table.  It was short and to the point:  I know.  I want you out by the time I get home.  She broke into tears without fully understanding why.  The truth was surrounding her, cornering her and pushing her out the door.  She looked around the familiar apartment and realized she was looking for options she didn’t have.  She’d been in this position too many times before and burned every bridge on her way out. 

She called her mother in tears and left a message:  Please mom!  I don’t know what to do.  I don’t have any money and Gary is kicking me out!  I know it’s a lot to ask.  I know.  But I need some help and I don’t know where to turn… 

A man called back and told her never to call again.  Her mother had told him all about her.  She wanted nothing more to do with her.  She had her own problems and was in no position to help. 

Louise could hear her mother crying and it broke her heart.  She had broken her mother’s heart more times than she wanted to remember.  But she did remember.  She remembered being stranded a thousand miles from home – no ride, no car and no money.  She remembered being evicted from her slumlord apartment with nowhere to go and no one to ask for help.  She remembered the time a collection agency repossessed her car at work.  She remembered every single time with an ugly, bitter taste.  She remembered telling her mom it wasn’t her fault and she believed it.  It was never her fault. 

It wasn’t her fault now.  She couldn’t help it.  She was born to make the same mistakes over and over.  The problem was she fell in love with the wrong man every single time.  She hooked up with the right man or at least the reliable man but fell in love with the wrong man. 

What could she do?  Maybe she could talk her way out of it.  She’d done it dozens of times before.  But she was older now and not as good looking as she once was.  Men were always more willing to believe the younger woman, the more attractive woman, the woman who knew how to satisfy her man. 

Was she up to it?  It took a lot out of her.  She would need all the energy she had to do whatever she had to do.  She had maybe five hours before her boyfriend came home.  She knew how that would go.  She was guilty.  He warned her many times that he would not stand for cheating.  There would be no discussion.  She had to get out.  She packed her travel bag and sat down to make a list of anyone who might help her.  She had about fifty dollars in her purse.  She could probably scrape up twenty more around the house.  If she had to, she could pay for a night or two at a cheap motel.  Months ago Gary cut her off of the credit card.  She couldn’t blame him.  She drank too much.  She spent money she didn’t have.  It was always that way. 

The first time she did this she had maybe twenty names.  It was easy for her to make friends.  It was not so easy to keep them.  She asked too much of people.  No, she demanded too much.  She didn’t even know she was doing it until it was done.  Now she could think of only three people who might answer the phone.  Would they help her?  Would they let her sleep on the couch for a few days?  Would they loan her a few bucks?  Not likely.  The saddest part was in knowing that if she were the one on the other end of the line, she wouldn’t help.  She wouldn’t answer the phone.  She couldn’t even pretend that it was any other way. 

She decided to eat something.  Maybe she’d have a beer.  She had a lot to think about.  If she wanted to survive the next 24 hours she had to put her mind right.  She fixed a sandwich, drank a beer and smoked a roach in the ashtray.  She dialed the first number and hung up before she triggered the message recorder.  It could wait.  She couldn’t handle another rejection today. 

She found a bottle of Jim Beam and had a shot while she rolled a joint.  What harm could it do?  She had hours before she had to clear out.  She might as well use them.  If Gary wanted her out, the least she could do was clear out his whiskey. 

When she woke up the sun was down and someone was behind her, pushing her out the door.  She was shivering from the cold.  She turned to see Gary tossing her a jacket, her purse and her suitcase.  The look in his eyes told her not to push it.  She was out on the street.  She blew it.  She wasted the entire day getting wasted on pot and whiskey and now she was homeless. 

Homeless.  She always knew it was a possibility.  The way she lived her life it was all but inevitable.  Still, she never thought it would happen to her – not in this lifetime. 

She took a look at his eyes as he stood in the doorway.  Cold.  Cold as steel.  She hadn’t known they had arrived at this point.  The affection she once relied on to get through these traumatic moments had vanished like morning mist in the midday sun.  She wanted to cuss him out but she could see it was pointless.  She wanted to start an argument that might lead to his arousal but it wasn’t in the cards. 

“Fuck you, Gary!” she said in almost a whisper.  She accepted her fate as she turned and flipped him off over her shoulder. 

“What next?” she wondered.  She started walking across town to where the cheap motels were located.  Her bones ached and her feet reminded her of how hopeless her situation had become.  She couldn’t remember the last time she walked three miles with a suitcase in her hand.  Now she understood why people bought suitcases with wheels while she stuck with the old school model.  Her arms ached as she shifted from one side to the other and kept on walking. 

“Hey, babe,” the man said through the window of his BMW.  “You need a ride?” 

She tried to gage his intent and came up wanting.  Her mind could no longer function in a logical way.  Tired.  She threw her suitcase in the back seat and climbed in while he looked her over.  She should have known right then.  Maybe she did.  Maybe she no longer cared. 

“Where you headed?” he inquired. 

“Seventh Street,” she replied. 

He smiled and she recoiled.  She knew exactly what that meant in the mind of this man.  He was picking up women and she was headed where women hung out. 

“What a coincidence,” he said. 

She rode in silence, not hearing whatever he had to say, wondering how she could get out of this without spilling blood.  His or hers, it didn’t matter.  Blood would be spilled and some of it would leave a mark. 

“Let me out,” she said in a quiet, measured tone.  She was not alarmed – not yet.  She was only acknowledging her mistake.  She took note of the signs she missed: the tattered upholstery and the man’s yellowed skin and eyes.  The car rattled like an old washing machine.  He wore his shirt partly rolled up and she could see tracks from where he shot up his poison. 

“No worries, babe,” he said as he pulled the car over and parked in an abandoned industrial section of town. 

She decided not to worry about her suitcase in the back seat and grabbed the latch to open her door.  It wouldn’t budge.  The asshole rigged it.  He’d done this before.  The questions that remained:  What did he want and could she take him?  She was a hell of lot tougher than she looked. 

“How much money you got?” he said. 

“Fuck you!” 

In a strange way she felt relief.  He wanted money so he wasn’t after sex and he probably wasn’t a rapist.  Then again she couldn’t rule anything out. 

“Look, babe, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said as he lifted his jacket, revealing a hunting knife in its leather sleeve.  “I just want your money.” 

She handed him her purse.  He pulled out her cash and smiled as he put it in his shirt pocket.  She felt the heat of rage rise up in her like lava in a volcano. 

She threw herself at him and grabbed his hands just as he pulled the knife out.  He looked stunned by her strength and fear entered his eyes.  She kept her left hand on his, holding the knife in place, and jabbed her right fist into his throat.  He caught it with his left hand and found the strength to raise the knife toward her.  She grabbed it with both hands and forced it into his chest. 

Bleeding, he opened his door and stumbled out onto the street.  The blood covered his shirt.  He lost all interest in the woman and her money.  He didn’t know how bad it was but he knew he needed help.  He took a few steps toward the part of town where people were before he fell flat, gasping for air. 

Louise held the knife in her hand, watching him as he stumbled and fell.  The fear of being assaulted was now replaced by the fear of being accused.  She knew what it looked like.  Her prints were on the knife.  His blood was on her clothes.  What were they doing in this part of town?  It looked like she was a whore turning a cheap trick.  It looked like she rolled the man for some cash and things got out of hand. 

She wanted to call the cops but she needed time to think.  If she didn’t handle this right she’d end up in jail on a murder rap. 

Is he dead?  She thought she saw movement.  She had to know.  If he was alive, bleeding in the street, she had to call.  She had to save his life if she could.  Otherwise she really was a murderer. 

She got out of the car and moved to his body.  She stood there for a moment, hovering above him like an angel over the scene of an accident.  She saw him breathe.  Even in the dim light of a distant street lamp, she saw him breathe.  She dropped the knife and pulled out her phone. 

Before she could dial 911 she felt the glare of a cop’s spotlight on her face.  She froze and realized she had just created the perfect frame of a guilty person.  

“Drop it!” the cop yelled.  He must have thought her phone was a weapon.  She complied and held her hands up, palms open. 

“Face down on the ground and put your hands behind your back!” 

They went through the ritual of arrest and detention as if it was a bad movie.  It unfolded in waves of slow motion and ended with her in a closed room with mirrors on one wall where a police detective questioned her.  They clearly thought she was guilty, wanted her to be guilty and pressed her for a confession. 

“Is he alive?” she wanted to know.  They wouldn’t tell her. 

“I want a lawyer,” she said and that put an end to it.  She was placed in a holding cell until a public defender could be located and brought to the station.  She waited and wondered and calculated her next move.  Before long she was stuck in the mire of self-pity and blame.  The whole world conspired against her.  Everyone had it out for her.  There was no one she could trust.  She didn’t deserve any of this. 

She heard a commotion outside her cell but she couldn’t make out the words.  She would later learn from her lawyer that a cop came forward to say that he knew the man who had been stabbed.  He was a hustler and a crook that had picked up women before, taken them to the same location and stolen their money.  The man hadn’t died and was likely to recover.  When he did, the cop said, he couldn’t be trusted to tell the truth. 

The cop had an argument with the arresting officer who wanted to pin an assault and battery charge on her.  When they ran a background check and she came out relatively clean, he dropped the argument.  They let her go. 

“What about my money?” she asked.  “He took my money!” 

“I don’t know anything about that,” the cop said.  “But I can I give you a ride.”

She fell silent and the weight of the world lowered upon her.  She had nowhere to go.  Absolutely nowhere.  She didn’t even have her suitcase.  The cop told her she could get it back tomorrow. 

She walked out of the station and sat on the steps.  So this was what it felt like.  The sense of desperation was just taking hold.  She hated everyone and everything.  Maybe she needed to feel that way just to stay alive. 

A cop offered to take her to a homeless shelter and that’s what she did.  That’s who she was now: a homeless person.  After a few days she got tired of the shelter’s rules and joined the growing community of homeless people under the local bridge. 

GLOBAL COLLAPSE OF DEMOCRACY

-->JAZZMAN CHRONICLES: THE TRUMP YEARS

THE GLOBAL COLLAPSE OF DEMOCRACY

By Jack Random

In Common Sense, one of the most influential writings in history, Tom Paine makes his case against monarchy and hereditary succession by essentially stating that the proof was in the pudding: 

“One of the strongest natural proofs of the folly of hereditary right in Kings, is that nature disapproves it, otherwise she would not so frequently turn it into ridicule, by giving mankind an ASS FOR A LION.”  [Sic]

The King of England and leader of the British Empire at that time was George the Third – aka Mad King George – a man who reigned by divine right for nearly six decades.  In losing the crown jewel of the empire to independence, Britannia’s curse became America’s blessing and the first experiment in modern democracy was given birth on the world stage. 

Now, nearly two and a half centuries later, Paine’s argument against the monarchy has turned on its head, taking aim at the nation of its birth.  A system designed to weed out the unfit and unqualified has failed in stunning fashion.  We have elected a succession of corrupt, morally challenged, inept and/or power hungry leaders, culminating with an individual who embodies every disqualifying characteristic in triplicate. 

The assault on democracy in the United States of America is unprecedented and has taken numerous tracks.  Disenfranchisement targeting minorities is a particularly American phenomenon.  Applied to Florida, it accounts for the election of George W. Bush.  Applied to Ohio it may account for his reelection.  With the Supreme Court’s gutting of the Voting Rights Act (Shelby County v. Holder 2013), we have seen a spirited revival of the Jim Crow days.  Targeted disenfranchisement has become a standard practice of the Republican Party.  The strategy is key to holding on to the South and other states with large and growing minority populations.  Designer redistricting – otherwise know as Gerrymandering – is another technique applied to congressional districts to insure that Republicans have disproportionate representation in the lower house of congress. 

If your goal was to erode trust in democracy you could not have devised a more effective measure than that delivered by our Supreme Court in Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission 2010.  In the wake of that malicious decision a corporation gained all the rights of citizenship and money gained the status of constitutionally protected speech.  The highest court in the land was warned over and over that its decision would empower those with the most money to purchase the institutions of government.  While the Court was not impressed with the argument that is exactly what happened. 

The cost of running for public office has skyrocketed but the dollar amounts do not tell even half the tale.  Given the extreme amounts required to mount a successful political campaign, both parties in a two-party duopoly have abandoned the working class.  The Democrats used to be the party of labor.  No more.  It has been decades since they have staked claim to that designation.  The Democrats pay lip service to the cause of labor but when it comes to protecting the right to organize they consistently fall short.  They would lose their corporate backing and the support of Wall Street in particular if they acted on their pro-worker rhetoric.  Moreover, representing labor is not necessary when the Republican Party is openly antagonistic to the working class.  The party of the wealthy opposes a raise in the minimum wage and promotes Right to Work laws that cripple a union’s ability to organize in the workplace. 

Because neither party genuinely represents the interests of the workers the gap between the wealthy and the rest of us continues to grow.  Subsequent discontent with the institutions of government and media continues to increase. 

While money in electoral politics can go a long way toward explaining the American political system the same cannot be said for European nations.  Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Denmark, the Czech Republic, Spain and Germany have no limits on contributions or spending yet their campaigns do not attract the same extreme amounts of money as ours do.  France, Canada, Greece, Ireland and Japan, have strict limits on both spending and contributions.  The United Kingdom has limits on spending while others limit contributions.  [1]

With such a variety in campaign financing laws and regulations, it would be difficult to find a direct relationship between such laws and the kind of corruption that would destroy public confidence in government institutions.  Therefore, other factors must be operating to create such widespread international discontent.  [2]

It is the betrayal of the working people that crosses international boundaries and invades the body politic of virtually every democratic republic.  It is the gap between the rich and the rest that creates an opportunity for toxic propagandists to attack the institutions of democracy with pseudo populists like Marine Le Pen of France, Rodrigo Duterte of the Philippines and our own Donald Trump. 

Instead of standing up to our example, other developed nations in Europe and Latin America have stumbled.  While Emmanuel Macron and Angela Merkel put up a show of dignified defiance, the peoples of France and Germany are so disillusioned that they find themselves on the same wobbly ground as the American electorate did in 2016.  Brazil – the largest and most influential republic in the southern hemisphere – has elected an autocrat and sworn enemy of democracy while other notable republics in Europe, Asia, Africa and South America are stumbling on the edge of the same self-destructive madness. 

How did this happen and why?  Can we make corrections before the ship of state crashes into the rocks, taking the alliance of western democracies with it? 

Representative democracy has always contained the seed of its own demise.  The people have the authority to remove themselves from the seat of power.  In the form of the vote, the people can elect a president and legislative representatives sworn to democracy’s demise in the ultimate display of political suicide. 

While it would seem absurd, the people of Brazil have chosen that path.  They have elected Jair Bolsonaro, a far right nationalist who embraces with all his heart the authoritarian form of government.  Just as President Donald Trump has praised authoritarian leaders in China, Russia and the Philippines, Bolsonaro has praised the military dictatorships of Brazil’s dark past.  He has expressed admiration for Augusto Pinochet, the notorious military strongman of Chile who tortured and “disappeared” his political enemies. 

In 1992 Bolsonaro stated:  “I am in favor of a dictatorship….  We will never resolve serious national problems with this irresponsible democracy.”  In 1999 he said:  “I’m in favor of torture.”  More recently he has expressed contempt for the rights of gays and racial minorities in a manner that would shame Trump’s declaration in Charlottesville.  [3]

Like Trump, Bolsonaro has exploited an inherent fear of those who do not look or act or talk like him.  He has capitalized on distrust of institutions, corruption and an ever-widening gap between the wealthy and the poor. 

Like Trump, the election of Bolsonaro was made possible by a convergence of unlikely circumstances – most prominently the incarceration of the leading socialist candidate combined with a devastating economic crisis and an explosion in violent crime. 

In France the people have taken to the streets in protest of President Emmanuel Macron ostensibly over a raise in the transportation tax.  The protests persisted despite Macron’s backpedaling on the issue because it ran much deeper than one tax policy.  Macron seemed out of touch with the people.  The root cause of their discontent is a distrust of the institutions of government and a growing disparity between the wealthy elite – of which Macron is one – and the working class.  France’s far right is poised to take advantage of this discontent despite the fact that there is not a chance on earth the National Rally party of Marine Le Pen would do anything to address working class woes. 

In Germany Chancelor Angela Merkel’s popularity has taken a hit over the issue of immigration.  Germany has the taken the lead in accepting Syrian refugees and trying to integrate them as a cheap labor force.  Much to Merkel’s dismay it is a situation that pleases neither the refugees nor the German working class.  Germany’s resurgent Neo-Nazis are more than ready to take advantage of widespread discontent.  Merkel is the central leader of Europe’s hyper conservative neoliberal economic policies that have punished the working class for the disastrous excesses of the financial elite.  More than any other single leader, Merkel is the enforcer of the austerity regime that has stripped away the social safety nets of those nations whose economies imploded when the Ponzi scheme of international finance was exposed.  

The disease of which Donald Trump is only a symptom has spread rapidly throughout the democratic world.  What used to be confined to developing countries where corruption is a way of life has now invaded the most established representative democracies in the world. 

Why?  It would be easy to blame it all on the Russians and their brigade of hackers and paid propagandists.  It would be easy to blame the Chinese for unfair trade practices, stealing the core of our economic wealth.  It would be easy to blame foreign immigrants for overwhelming our culture and taxing our systems of social support.  All of these things have had some role in weakening public trust in our essential democratic and financial institutions but none of them are responsible at the core. 

It is always easier to blame the infamous other for our woes but it is rarely true.  If we wish to rectify the situation, we must first recognize the enemies of democracy at home.  We have created and systematically fortified a system that embraces the rich, diminishes the working class and discards the interests of the poor outright.  

One factor impacting elections in both America and internationally is the rise of social media and the simultaneous decline of traditional news sources.  There was a time when Trump’s accusations of “fake news” would have generated near universal laughter.  There was a time when newscaster Walter Cronkite had more credibility than any politician of his time. 

When citizens distrust the mainstream news media and give as much credence to web sources as the New York Times, the fourth estate collapses and the propagandists are elevated to the status of policy makers.  Mainstream news sources are not free of blame in this phenomenon.  The paper of record lost much of its credibility during the coverage of the Iraq War when it was used as a fence for the Bush administration’s pro-war propaganda machine.  For those who forget the infamous Times reporter Judy Miller, the administration fed Ms. Miller stories regarding weapons of mass destruction.  She quoted reliable sources and released the reports for public consumption.  The administration then cited the Times as proof of their claims. 

The Times was not alone in cheerleading for the war and the media eventually suffered for its betrayal of the public trust.  That was before news agencies started firing their reporters and people started turning to other sources for their news.  It was not before international corporations started buying media with an eye to exploiting their investment for their own financial gain. 

Some argue with validity that the decline of print and television as news sources was and is inevitable but it cannot be denied that the decline was accelerated by lapses in responsible journalism.  These lapses are by no means strictly American.  The corporate buyout of news sources is a global phenomenon though it is often difficult to uncover. [4] Media titan and rightwing propagandist Rupert Murdoch owns an estimated one third of the British market. [5] The German media received relatively high marks for independence and objectivity but relatively low marks for social inclusiveness and market plurality. [6]

The ultimate question becomes:  Would the propagandists – foreign and domestic – be able to influence our elections if the mainstream media and news sources were fully functional? 

There is no single factor responsible for global democratic failure and there is no simple remedy.  We have allowed our institutions – from the media to all branches of government – to be corrupted by the real holders of power in our world: the economic institutions.  There is no greater cause of systemic failure than this:  We have allowed the bankers and market manipulators complete freedom to operate as they wish.  They in turn have convinced the governments of the world that wealth can be created where none actually exists.  When the system collapses, as it inevitably will, the common people pay the price while the wealthy accumulate assets from the rubble left behind. 

It is relatively easy to destroy a democracy; it is hard to build it back.  It is impossible if we do not understand the root cause of systemic failure.  The primary function of economy is not to accumulate wealth just as the primary function of government is not to enable the accumulation of wealth.  The primary function of government is to provide for the needs of the people and the function of economy is to serve that cause. 

In the end, the failure of democracy is like the early stages of global warming.  We are beginning to witness the damage.  We have time to recognize the danger signs and take determined action.  If we ignore the problem and pretend it will self-correct – as we have with climate change – then we will observe a series of disasters, each one more alarming than the last. 

We have to rebuild our institutions from the ground up.  We have to elect individuals who actually believe in democracy.  If we believe in democracy then disenfranchisement and gerrymandering become crimes worthy of incarceration.  If we believe in democracy then we will find a way to curtail the influence of corporate money and false propaganda carried on social media.  If we believe in democracy then we will establish and protect the rights of organized labor.  If we believe in democracy then we will regulate the nefarious behavior of Wall Street and the investment class.  If we believe in democracy then we will use the people’s money to provide universal healthcare.  If we believe in democracy then we will strengthen objective media while discrediting those news sources that distort the truth in service to corporate or foreign interests.  If we believe in democracy the antiquated Electoral College will at last cease to exist. 

Can we do all this?  It seems doubtful.  We are all too busy with our technological toys.  We are too tired from the wars already fought.  We are all exhausted by the daily display of tragedy and disaster.  How much more must we do? 

Still, we have accomplished a great deal against daunting odds before.  We have built unimaginable monuments to the gods.  We have walked on the moon.  We have fought back and defeated dictators and tyrants.  We have struck down kings and emperors.  We are humans and there is no limit to what we can do when we believe in a cause. 

In the latter part of the eighteenth century a man without formal education persuaded the common, working people of thirteen American colonies that democracy was a cause worth fighting for.  The achievement of that cause stands as a testament to the human will.  Now we must rally to the cause again. 

1.  “How Our Campaign Finance System Compares to Other Countries.”  The American Prospect, April 4, 2014. 

2.  “International Campaign Finance:  How do countries compare?” by Nick Thompson.  CNN World, March 5, 2012. 

3.  “Who is Jair Bolsonaro?”  The Guardian, September 6, 2018. 

4.  “Who owns the media in France?”  Reporters Without Borders, December 8, 2107. 

5.  “The Elephant in the Room:  New Report on UK Media Ownership.”  Media Reform Coalition, April 24, 2014. 

6. “Monitoring Risks for Media Pluralism in the EU and Beyond.  Report: Germany.”  Centre for Media Pluralism and Media Freedom.  December 2016. 

THE FIRE BRIGADE

 

THE FIRE BRIGADE

By Jack Random

Jonas waited for the call.  As nervous as the day his father took him to a Texas brothel to become a man, he fought to hold back his anxiety.  He considered himself a patriot and a warrior.  After two tours in America’s war in the Middle East, he grew tired of taking orders from a commander who was not committed to victory.  He walked his own path – a path that led to sorrow and desperation.  He married and divorced before the vows could go cold.  He wandered from job to job and town to town with the aimlessness of a gambler on a losing streak. 

He found redemption and purpose in a group of like-minded individuals in the Northern California town of Redding.  The town had burned to the ground some years back.  They rebuilt with a mind to survive the next fire.  Jonas got a job as an auto mechanic and spent most of his free time shooting guns at the local range and riding his old Harley in the hills. 

The Brigade spotted him from his online presence.  He hated the government.  He hated Republicans almost as much as he hated Democrats.  He loved guns and fast cars and hot women.  He liked drugs, beer and whiskey.  He never went to church but he still considered himself a God fearing man.  He liked NASCAR and football and Harley Davidson.  He was one of them. 

#

They were individuals dedicated to their mission.  They received no salary or wages for their labor – though they did receive a stipend to cover expenses from the national organization.  They worked on weekends and holidays and their numbers were growing.  They now had an active membership of over fifty trained firemen and a hundred more unskilled volunteers.  Some women were among them but they made it a point to call themselves firemen.  They didn’t believe in political correctness and went out of their way to defy the liberal standards of polite society.  They used language that would make a bartender blush.  Their jurisdiction ran from the Canadian to the Mexican border. 

For the last decade wildfires ravaged much of the west coast forestlands.  Every fire erupted like a volcano and spread through the dry brush like the chain reaction of a split atom.  The Fire Brigade did not believe in global warming.  They did not believe that human activity had any real impact on the planet’s climate.  The climate was in God’s hands and the ravages of fire were the will of God.  Those who perished or lost their homes, their belongings and loved ones deserved to be punished. 

The Brigade protected their own people.  Everyone else could go to hell – and surely would.  They had chapters in four states but most of them were in California – the most liberal and godless state in America.   They were on constant alert and stood ready to answer the call of any and all emergencies.  

Their leader was a man named Willy Johnson – a rail of a man with a full unkempt beard.  He came from North Carolina with a message for anyone willing to listen:  The world would soon confront what he called The Great Reckoning.  It was time past time to choose sides and get right with the Lord.  His Lord was the Old Testament Lord, the vengeful fire and brimstone Lord, the God of wrath and destruction.  His God was merciful as well but only if you were blessed with His divine sanctity. 

##

Willy first called Jonas when conditions for a major fire arose along the Rogue River in Southern Oregon.  The drought that plagued California for decades had moved north.  Land that was once known for its rich plant life and thick green brush fed by a constant supply of rain and river water was suddenly parched and dry as an instruction manual.  The rivers ran low and sucked up all the water the clouds could release.  The land along the Rogue became a tinderbox waiting for a spark.  The Pacific wind that flowed through the canyon that the river carved would carry a flame a hundred miles before the local firefighters could react.  The fire would spread through protected forestlands including the liberal tourist Mecca known as Ashland. 

###

Jonas was having second thoughts.  He had fought fires with the Brigade in Paradise and Pine Mountain.  Though they faced opposition from officials, none could deny their effectiveness.  They were willing to go where others would not go.  They took chances and, yes, they lost lives but they saved exponentially more than they lost.  The local papers described them as heroes but they refused to take credit.  On the rare occasions when Willy spoke to the media he stuck to the script. 

“We’re only doing what anyone would do.  We see people in trouble and we try to help.  We fight fires.  That’s what we do.” 

Willy instructed Jonas to scout the area.  He spent a week on site from Bandon to Ashland.  He got to know some of the people along the way.  They were good people.  A lot of them had their heads on crooked but you can’t blame them, can you?  People are as people are taught.  People believe what they’re told to believe.  The people in the Brigade were exceptions.  Some people – the chosen few – rise above their upbringing to become leaders and trailblazers like the pioneers that settled the American continent.  Others – like the savage tribes that were here before the Christian landing – had to make way.  It is the nature of progress that it always comes at a price. 

####

Magdalena ran the Italian restaurant at the beginning of the main drag in Ashland.  She inherited the job from her mother.  Though the restaurant changed hands a number of times its management remained in the same hands for over two decades.  She knew all the locals and treated everyone who entered the doors with respect.  Some of the tourists were demanding and difficult but they all soon yielded to her grounded charms. 

Jonas discovered Gepetto’s on his first visit to Ashland and made it a point to eat there every time he returned.  He would sit at the small bar and chat with Magdalena when she wasn’t busy serving customers.  The food was excellent and he enjoyed watching her interact with the locals.  They were like a family and it aroused a vague sense of jealousy in him.  He didn’t know what to make of it.  His upbringing was difficult on the good days.  His father was a mean drunk and his mother was not a whole lot better.  They had time enough to take care of their own needs and not much left for the needs of their children. 

Magdalena must have thought Jonas had a crush on her but the truth was:  He would have been happy with her friendship.  He sometimes fantasized that she was his sister.  They would enjoy Thanksgiving or Christmas at a long table of siblings and relatives.  They would joke and laugh and sip glasses of wine while basking in the ambiance of familial love.  His own family was less than accepting of his ways.  His parents split up when he was in diapers and his siblings – there were four of them – he no longer knew.  They wanted nothing to do with him and he felt pretty much the same. 

#####

Maybe the important lesson Jonas learned from the Brigade was that skilled firemen knew how to steer the flames.  That was why they lit fires to cut off a wildfire’s path.  The Brigade drove a fire like cowboys drive a herd of cattle.  Every fire had a distinct personality.  Some were easily led while others were stubborn.  You had to push and pull and slap them around like a mule with his mind made up. 

Jonas became one of them when he demonstrated the ability to steer a stubborn wildfire.  He took a lead role in the Pine Mountain fire and earned his marks.  He was fearless.  He crawled inside a raging fire and ripped out its heart. 

That was why Willy chose him for an even more prominent role on the Rogue River project.  Together they studied satellite photos and live footage revealing how the river carved the land and the land guided the forest.  Their mission was twofold:  Guide the fire away from the good working folk of Medford to the godless liberal elites of Ashland.  It would not be easy but with the help of the Brigade they were certain they would succeed. 

######

Jonas received the call while dining at Gepetto’s.  A logging operation sparked a fire down the river at Crooked Bend.  His crew of seven men – six men and one woman – would be ready inside thirty minutes at a safe house in Medford. 

When Jonas threw a twenty and an extra five on the bar, Magdalena asked if everything was okay.  He shrugged and said it was but his expression conveyed the opposite message.  He told her more than he should have.  He said their was a fire and warned her that if it got close she should consider getting out. 

She smiled and said thanks.  In the decades of her family’s residence in Ashland, a wildfire had never threatened them. 

He knew in that instant that she would not heed his or anyone else’s warning.  She would remain with her friends and family.  She would rather die than live without them.  He wanted to explain but time escaped.  His crew was waiting. 

#######

They were tried and true believers.  Four of them grew up in Redding.  They went to church at Easter and Christmas.  They voted Republican but only in presidential elections.  They hated Democrats and loved baiting longhair hippie types in the local bar.  They recruited Jonas and believed in him and in his ability to lead.  One was a biker from Reno, Nevada, one was from a Sacramento white supremacy group and the woman was Willy’s girlfriend.  She was willing and able but relatively new in the field. 

When Jonas arrived at the safe house their preparations were all but finished.  They showed him on a map where the fire sparked south of Grants Pass and where it was headed.  He broke them into teams of two and assigned them precise positions where they could guide the fire.  Willy’s girlfriend, Alice, would go with him. 

They climbed into their four-wheel drive vehicles and headed directly to their assigned places along the Rogue River Canyon.  They would stay in contact by phone, make camp and begin the hard work of establishing control of the fire.  Jonas and Alice took their position outside Jacksonville at the turning point where the fire could be directed north above Medford or south along Ashland Creek to the heart of Ashland. 

########

By midday they were making steady progress.  The main branch of the fire grew stronger and headed straight to Jacksonville.  He ordered his team to converge on the turning point.  He directed Alice to meet them in town and wait for his word.  Alice seemed reluctant to leave him and Jonas wondered if her purpose was to keep an eye on him.  Did Willy doubt him?  Was this his final test as a leader in the Brigade?  He had to admit he did not know which way he would turn.  He wanted to secure his role in the group.  It was his family.  He was honored when Willy chose him to lead this operation.  But he also wanted to protect Magdalena and the people he came to know and regard with warm affection.  They were the family he wished he had. 

“Willy told me to stick with you and that’s what I’m going to do,” said Alice. 

“Willy put me in charge of this operation,” Jonas replied. 

“That’s right.” 

“Then follow my orders, damn it!  That fire’s heading home and it’s bearing down fast!  It aint going to wait for us to work things out.” 

“Willy told me…”

“I’m telling you:  The best place to organize the Brigade is in the center of town.  Now someone’s got to stay here and watch it coming.  The rest of us need to be ready to take positions and you need to be there to explain the situation!” 

They were stationed at a viewpoint overlooking the canyon.  The fire could move in any number of directions.  It was fast, hot and unpredictable.  If they had people in town they could react to any contingency.  If they were all at the viewpoint, their reaction would be delayed and the local firefighters could establish control.  It made sense and Alice knew it. 

“Okay,” she finally conceded.  “You keep me posted,” she added as she climbed into her jeep and headed for town. 

Jonas took a deep breath and braced himself for what had to be done. 

#########

Magdalena watched the reports on the local television station.  The fire was burning hot and moving down the Rogue River Canyon.  The fire chief was certain they could stop it before it hit any major towns or cities.  They’d handled fires like this before and they wanted people to remain calm. 

She wouldn’t have thought too much about it except for the words of warning by a man she hardly knew.  There was something in the way he said it and the look in his eyes.  Of course the fire wouldn’t reach Ashland but still it worried her.  Most of the people who worked in their town lived in Medford or Talent and she worried for them. 

She had little choice.  Even if she wanted to get out she would have to leave behind the people she loved – including her own children.  No one in Ashland was panicking so she wouldn’t either.  The stranger was just trying to show his concern.  Like so many other tourists and people passing through, he liked her – maybe he fell just a little in love – and he wanted to impress her.  She smiled at the thought and got on with the business of serving the next customer. 

#

From his perch on the overlook, Jonas saw the fire carving its way toward him.  He saw the position of the Forest Service and its official fire fighting force on the north side of the river.  He saw them slowly branching out and preparing to take positions on both side of the river.  Their movements were slow as molasses and as predictable as Pavlov’s dogs.  They intended to stop the fire’s southern route before fighting it on the north.  His job was to distract them by creating a flare-up to the north and leading them to believe that there was little danger in the fire branching to the south.  The primary branch of the fire was north, meaning it had to jump the river to take the southern route. 

The first thing Jonas learned about fire is that it hates water.  Water in the air, in the ground, in the trees or in the brush on the forest floor thwarts fire and pushes it on a different path.  The second thing Jonas learned is that fire loves fire.  Just as a fire will avoid water at all costs, it will go to great lengths to find and join fire to fire.  It will cross highways, streams and rivers to find its own kind.  If a flame sparked on the south side of the river, the main fire would jump the river to find it. 

All options were on the table.  His team in Jacksonville awaited his instructions.  They were all capable firemen and they could move three times faster than the forest service or the local firefighters.  The official teams had to observe protocol: they gathered information, analyzed the data and consulted with each other before their people could react.  His team operated on his word and his word alone. 

##

Unknown to Jonas, Willy Johnson was monitoring the situation from Medford.  He had a team of loyal soldiers and a handful of drones to track the fire and the position of the firefighters.  He knew where the forest service and the local firefighters were camped.  He knew when and where they moved.  He knew where the fire was moving and how fast it was going.  He also knew where his people were. 

Alice called him from Jacksonville to update him on the situation.  She didn’t trust Jonas and she didn’t hide it. 

“The son of a bitch has the hots for some broad in Ashland,” she said. 

“That don’t mean he’s not with us,” he replied.  “Let’s wait and see.” 

Willy liked Jonas.  He admired his bravery and skill.  He was always two steps ahead of his colleagues in the Brigade.  He knew this was a critical point in his training.  They all faced the turning point.  He remembered well his own turning point.  Back in North Carolina he was called upon to delay his team of volunteers and let a fire consume a church of predominantly black worshipers.  He knew some of them.  He broke bread with some of them.  He had a drink or two with some of them. 

He chose the Brigade but it wasn’t easy.  Until the last moment he didn’t know whether or not he could go through with it.  That decision changed his life.  It tortured him for months but he survived it.  It made him stronger.  It solidified his commitment to the cause.  He would give Jonas a chance.  He would wait and observe until there was no stepping back.  It was the least he could do for the man he hoped would succeed him as the leader of the western branch of The Brigade. 

###

Jonas saw an opportunity and he grabbed it.  He called the Forest Service anonymously and informed them there was a renegade operation of firefighters intent on sabotage.  He then called Alice with instructions and coordinates.  He would send two teams to the north side of the river and two to the south.  It would seem reasonable to them and Alice would bury her suspicions.  But the coordinates he provided would take them into the enemy camps.  They would be captured and questioned.  If they were allowed to operate at all, they would be under official supervision.  They would be unable to carry out their mission. 

He told Alice to meet him at the overlook.  Together they would watch the operation unfold.  They would observe the Forest Service sending their firefighters to the north to counter the flare-up.  They would watch as their people lit fires on the south side of the river, attracting the flames of the primary fire.  Before nightfall the raging fire would be speeding south toward Ashland. 

That was the Brigade’s plan.  But Jonas had another plan.  He would watch long enough to be certain that Brigade’s plan was foiled.  Then he would head out.  By the time Alice arrived at the lookout he would be long gone. 

####

Magdalena was stunned to hear on the news that the Rogue River fire had taken an unexpected turn.  Still raging out of control, it turned south at Jacksonville and was now headed straight to Ashland.  A warning was issued to all residents:  Evacuation was advised.  Mandatory evacuation was under consideration. 

She thought of the stranger who had foreseen this development and wondered what he knew that others did not.  Just then he walked in the door but his eyes did not find hers as they normally would have.  He stared with unmistakable fear at the tall, thin bearded man who was sitting at the counter. 

Willy turned and smiled. 

#####

Jonas learned what took place on the drive to Ashland.  The radio reported that the Rogue River fire had taken an unexpected turn to the south.  He didn’t have the time or resources to go back and change what was happening.  The fire would hold its course.  He figured that Willy’s doubts went deeper than sending Alice along to monitor his actions.  Willy oversaw the operation from somewhere nearby. 

The Brigade would be after him now.  They were capable of killing and he was their target.  But all he could think about was Magdalena.  It seemed strange.  He had never slept with her.  He had never kissed her.  Hell, he had never even gone out with her.  Still, at this critical moment, the turning point of a journey that could mean life or death, she dominated his thoughts and his affection grew.  Was she a witch?  Did she hold unnatural sway over his heart?  It didn’t matter.  The only thing that mattered was that she was safe.  He would do whatever he had to do. 

Midway down the mountain and through the forest he realized that the Brigade posed a threat not only to him but to Magdalena as well.  If Willy had observed his behavior over the last week, they knew about Magdalena.  If they knew about Magdalena, they wouldn’t think twice about taking her hostage. 

He called the Ashland police and told them he was one of the saboteurs who steered the fire south.  He asked them to confirm his story with the Forest Service.  He said he’d be waiting outside Gepetto’s to turn himself in. 

######

“Hello, Judas,” said Willy.  “Surprised to see me?” 

“The name’s Jonas,” he replied.  “Nothing surprises me.” 

“Maybe you’d like to say hi to your woman before we take leave.” 

He motioned to Magdalena who stood frozen like a bronze statue in Lithia Park.  She had no idea what was going down but she realized she was in the center of it. 

“Her name is Magdalena and she’s not my woman.  She’s got nothing to do with this.” 

“Of course not,” said Willy.  “But here you are, risking your life for a woman you hardly know.  Was it worth it?” 

It was a question he had asked himself many times.  He had turned it over and over on sleepless nights and it always led to the same conclusion: worth it or not, he had no choice.  A man can no more control his heart than the moon can control the sun. 

“Let’s take this outside,” said Jonas. 

Willy hesitated and looked back and forth between Jonas and Magdalena, calculating whether it was worth it to take her captive if only to exact his revenge on the young man who rejected his paternal affection. 

“It’s your lucky day,” he said to Magdalena as he rose and followed Jonas out the door. 

#######

Four officers of the Ashland Police force were waiting to take them both into custody.  Willy was stunned.  His chosen one had outfoxed him in the end.  He gave him a hard look and winked. 

“I always knew you was a step ahead of the rest of us.” 

########

Over the course of the next seven days, the authorities rounded up the remaining members of the Fire Brigade that sabotaged the Rogue River fire fighting campaign.  Over the next seven weeks they closed down all chapters of the organization across the states of California, Oregon, Washington and Colorado. 

The Forest Service and the local firefighters managed to contain the fire before it reached the town of Ashland.  Jonas went to jail with special consideration for his action and cooperation in saving the residents of Ashland and turning evidence on the Brigade.  He would serve six months before being released. 

Despite a powerful yearning, he never saw Magdalena again. 

[With regard to Arthur C. Clarke and his classic story Fahrenheit 451.]

Copyright 2018 Ray Miller