He put some of his boys in the town anyway to keep a lookout for them devils. A forward watch or some such. We heard the fighting early in the war, but it never did come to our doorsteps and these brick walls kept us safe.
You know “The Ancor” General Thompson?
I’ve known that boy since he was walking at my knees. His family is quite well known in these mountains, used to control and run all the moonshine in these mountains for hundreds of miles. Bet you didn’t know that, did ya? Well, they’re a good family, always took care of the locals best they could. But I told him I didn’t want to leave this here house, not with all these little ones. He said, “Yes, Momma Keets,” just like a good boy should.
He also had his boys drop by meat regularly. Good boy that Jackson.
The door opens, and an older black gentleman walks out, holding a cane. Though bent forward, he still stands almost six feet tall. His pure-white hair is a mess and sticking straight up. Standing next to him is a strapping young white man the same height as Mr. Keets. His spark plug like frame of corded muscle easily reflects the Marine uniform he wears. His eyes, a light shade of blue, stare directly at me.
Mr. Keets: Who’s this young man sitting and talking to my wife? You rascal; I’ll take a switch to you.
Momma Keets: You shut your mouth, old man. Lord, would you look at you, what a handsome boy. You come here and hug your momma.
The young man doesn’t move.
Mr. Keets: (Laughs while pointing at me.) He’s gonna get you, son, you better run.
Momma Keets: (Stands.) I said, shut your mouth! Ben, we were just talking about you. Look at me son, and he’s a reporter, now come on, I didn’t teach you rudeness like that. Now give me some sugar, and you can go back to those demons.
Ben turns from me and hugs Momma Keets.
Ben: The Red Devils momma, my squadron. You know that.
Momma Keets: I don’t know any such thing. I don’t know why anyone would want to be named after the devil. Nothing good can come from it, I’ll tell you that. Now, It’s been good having you back, son. You got everything loaded for Star Trek?
Ben: (Laughs.) Space, momma, and yes ma’am.
Momma Keets: Tell me who loves you?
Ben: You do, momma.
Momma Keets: that’s right, son. I love you to death, and so does the Good Lord, don’t you forget that.
Ben: I won’t.
Momma Keets: Go on and say goodbye to your brothers and sisters, then this old coot will take you to town. You keep in touch now. Now go. And Pappa, you head on home directly. I’ve got things for you to do.
Mr. Keets and Ben walk down the steps to the front yard. Momma Keets sits down.
Now, he’s grown into a fine young man. Just finished high school, and now he’s going to a school up there in space. I’ll miss him, but he’ll be okay now.
What do you think about the TSC and children leaving so young?
Well, I just don’t know. At first, I thought it was a terrible idea, taking children from their families. A child should be with their family, not growing up in some home or such, but I understand their thinking. I just don’t know.
Those kids get to visit every year until they finish high school and go into space. Ben there is the first one to join the TSC. I had him for six years, and I gave the boy as much love as I could. When the choice came up, we sat him down and told him the straight of it. We tried to be honest, and I told him he didn’t need to go. He could stay here with us. But he decided to go in the end, and I must say he’s grown into a fine young man. They have programs to help the children deal with hurt and such. I usually wouldn’t buy into all that, but I’ve been there and sat in on some of the talks. Well, I think it’s helped him.
I’ve had seven other of my children join now and I miss every one of them, but they all come back to visit and they all send down help when they can. Good kids, every one of them.
Now, come here and give me a hug, child. I got dinner to cook.
I talked with a few of the children at the Octagon House and decided it was time to leave. On the way to the car, A beat-up ford truck pulled into the drive next to me.
I see you done finished sweet-talking Momma Keets. Well, give me a hand, young fella.
I walked over to give the big man a hand.
You done eat? Come on now, boy. Momma Keets will track you down if you don’t sit down with us and have some collards. You don’t know about those do you? You hunters, always eating those ready-made packs. (He laughs.) No need to get tense boy; I know what you do and who you are. Momma Keets ain’t the only one to know old Jackson Thompson. Always was a serious boy, but I twitched his butt a time or two.
Didn’t one of his officers tell you about this place? He’s a big boy, my eldest, but he do seem small next to Jackson. Those two grew up hunting in these mountains and have been close ever since.
Now, come on and get some good southern food. You Yankees don’t know how to cook, and those stories can wait until tomorrow.
Aftermath
Rosa Velez
A former speechwriter to President Maria Rosita
Tampico, Mexico
We sit inside a beautiful, stucco-style courtyard, inside Rosa Velez’s home in Tampico. The former speechwriter is an older lady who carries herself with quiet dignity. She sits sipping tea, her grey eyes watching me, a slight smile at the side of her mouth as if privy to something I don’t know.
“It all comes down to history, tradition, and, most importantly, culture,” President Rosita would always say. Without those things, you would never get people from different parts of the world, with different perspectives and different worldviews, to see things the same way.
For years, the politicians and enlightened thinkers have been screaming that everyone is the same – we’re all just people – when nothing could be further from the truth. People from around the world see everything differently, very differently.
In Brazil, being late is normal, whereas in England, it is highly unprofessional. In Latin America, dancing closely with a partner is entirely acceptable but do that in Japan and someone would have a heart attack. In America, anyone living with their parent in their 30s would be considered unsuccessful and mocked, but it is perfectly fine in China and considered a duty for the oldest son. In parts of Africa, eating cats is deemed to be good luck, an act that would land you in jail in the West. No young man, culture makes us who we are, and uniting the world would be no easy thing.
The question then became how to do it? How do you get American soldiers to work alongside Russian soldiers and expect them to look at each other as anything but rivals? As brothers and sisters? How do you get top generals or admirals from different countries to trust each other after years of formulating ways to defeat each other. How do you get people to put humanity first, instead of the countries where they were raised or where their parents and grandparents live?
The first thing President Rosita acknowledged was that you could n’t, not with this generation. The patriotism, distrust, and anger ran too deep. The anger and distrust would never be washed away, even in the face of utter destruction and enslavement. That’s when she came up with the age requirement. It was widely unpopular, especially in the West, where the individual’s freedom is so strong. There was gnashing of teeth, threats, and calls for President Rosita’s removal from the committee. Throughout all of that, she never lashed out, never gave up, never changed from what she knew needed to happen.