The Fire Ghost
Katherine D. Bennett
Big Jib knew why the Fire Ghost caused fires. Big Jib helped him. In fact, by himself the Fire Ghost couldn’t make but just a tiny fire and hope it would grow terrible. Big Jib was proud of the fact that he made the Fire Ghost strong by joining with him. The fires made things right. Maybe one day, the white man would burn to cinders.
The Fire Ghost told Big Jib that he had been a peaceful man in his life. He had lived with his tribe on the banks of a river that wound its way through a deep, shaded forest. His father was an important man and a great hunter. The Fire Ghost lived with his fine wife who had given him a son every summer for the three years he had been bound to her. Then the white man came and brought his awful sicknesses. Two of his perfect sons died. His father died. The tribe buried the dead in the sacred ground on the bluff overlooking the river. The Fire Ghost felt his grief burn in him, and he vowed to end the sickness. He took a good strong war ax and went to kill the white men. It did no good, his strong war ax. The white man had mighty magical fire sticks, and he was dead before he could strike a blow to even one.
His wife and mother had come to the white man and begged them to give his body to them, so they could bury him in the sacred place on the bluff above the river. The white men were scornful and sent them away with cruel slaps and course behaviors. The Fire Ghost had told Big Jib that his body lay unburied for several long days before his faithful wife and old mother managed to steal it away from the offal heap in the middle of the night and bury it properly. That is why his spirit could not rest.
Big Jib had his body buried in the sacred ground, too. He had been a slave in his life, and had been owned by two different men, a breeded giant, made for hard work... endless hours of hot, hard work. He loved his first master and he worked with a will because he also loved the feeling of his great strength moving things. Many white men would come to see his master just to watch his giant slave. Big Jib never felt the lash, and his master fed him well because he was proud of Big Jib’s enormous strength. Often his master would bet on Big Jib’s prowess, and he would reward him with special treatment when he won the bet. Big Jib was given a pretty wife and sugar and coffee whenever he wanted.
One day, his master got drunk and bet a man from another state that his slave was as strong as the mule the traveler owned. Soon there was a test devised, and Big Jib was wagered, body and soul to pull against the mule. He pulled against the mule with the desperation of a man with everything to lose, but he lost anyway. His new master did not want Big Jib’s pretty wife, nor did he want the bright-eyed son. He wanted Big Jib’s strength to clear ground and plow deep furrows in new land. He drove him with a lash and curses. He hobbled him so that he could not run away.
Year after endless year, the new master worked the strong man until he was a worn, beaten down man. Big Jib never again knew the taste of sugar or coffee. Only occasionally did he know the comfort of a woman in his arms, but only when he was studded out to produce another generation of breeded stock.
One day, Big Jib began to cough. His master sent him to haul wood in the icy cold. The wind sliced through his thin clothes, and his hobbled legs ached and stumbled. He coughed and chilled. Big Jib was sent after many loads of wood, load after load. Finally, feverish and weakening Big Jib laid down his wood. He looked up the long hill to the warm house and he imagined the warmth and the sweet, hot coffee, and the woman that disdained him. He remembered his own pretty wife, and his bright-eyed child. He felt warm with new rage.
The crime was discovered by the minister making a social call. He came in after his knocking went unanswered. The house was warm, and there was the remains of an huge meal on the table. The master and his disdainful wife were sitting in front of the fire with their necks curiously twisted. Big Jib was asleep and warm in the soft bed upstairs. He did not try to run away on his poor hobbled feet, but he took two more to death before the men could hang him. They dumped his body in a shallow grave in a place rumored to be an injun burial ground. “Another heathen for curst ground!” they muttered to each other as they turned to go.
The Fire Ghost was waiting for him.
“What happened to me?” Big Jib spoke in his new spirit voice.
“White man happened to you!” replied the Fire Ghost.
“Where am I?”
“You are in the righteous place. Some of the spirits buried here have found peace. Some sleep. Some have crossed. Not you. Not me. Our lives were stolen, and we still have work to do. Join me. I need you!”
“Why?”
“I am trying to keep this holy ground free from the white man. I am trying to drive them away,but I haven’t had much success. You see, I did not struggle enough in my life, and my spirit isn’t as strong as my anger. I cannot move much in the world. I can make fire, but it exhausts me. My fires are just tiny sparks.
“You, though, your spirit is strong, and your anger is strong, too. Join with me! Lend me your strength! Help me burn the white man’s houses and fields! We will drive them out!”
Big Jib looked at the Fire Ghost and frowned. “This land means nothing to me but hard work. I don’t care where my old crippled body is buried! I want to leave and find my family. Make your own fires!”
Big Jib turned and walked away, but he only went as far as the river, and he found himself back in the burial ground. The Fire Ghost looked at him with wry amusement. Big Jib glowered at the Fire Ghost and tried to walk away across the fields, but soon he was back at his own grave. He looked darkly at the Fire Ghost and strode away. Always he found himself back at the burial ground looking in the face of the Fire Ghost. Finally, after many days, he tired of his futile attempts at escape. Wearily he sank down on his grave and wept in frustration.
“Why can’t I leave! I want to see my wife and my son! It has been many years, and I am lonely for them!”
“I had a wife and son, too. The white man drove them away from this land, and I am alone, too.” The Fire Ghost knelt beside Big Jib. “I think the only way I can cross to Heaven is if I drive away the white man and return this land to its purity. Help me cleanse the land, and you will surely be free, too! Join me with your great strength!”
Big Jib wiped away his pale tears and nodded. “If it is the only way, then I will help you!”
That is how they bound themselves together. The Fire Ghost showed him how he could make tiny sparks, but the effort left him weak and suffering for many, many days. Usually, the spark died out as soon as it touched the tinder. It was very difficult to learn how to join with the Fire Ghost, but Big Jib and the Fire Ghost worked with a will. They joined together and made a farmer’s wife burn dinner first. Then they caught a field of grass on fire during a drought. The day they actually burned down an old empty smoke house, they whooped and danced a new dance.
Making a fire always left them drained and weak, and it would take months and months to build themselves up again. Once, there was a war that helped them burn many things, and they thought that the white man would purge himself. Their hopes were in vain. As soon as the war ended, the white man returned with a vengeance, and now it was even worse than before because the new white men did not know that the ground they built on was sacred burial ground.
It was terrible. The Fire Ghost and Big Jib were beside themselves with fury when a farmer from a far away land claimed the sacred ground was the best site he had ever seen for a house and barn. The farmer was the virtue of industry. He had strong sons that were as driven as he was to build and plant. He even had daughters that worked in the fields without shrinking from the hard, long hours. More quickly than Big Jib and the Fire Ghost could imagine, the land they had been bound to for so many long years had changed. They had little opportunity for creating fires as the farmer and his family were as careful as they were hard-working. They managed to burn a haystack, a small pile of brush, a hayfield. Once, they managed to create a grease fire in the kitchen while the wife was rendering lard, but her efficient sons soon put the blaze out. When the house passed to the oldest son, he modernized it at every turn, and there was little fire used in it. When the house passed to his son, he modernized it so that there was no fire in it at all. Big Jib and the Fire Ghost were despondent.
After time, the house became the place for the hired help to live in. After more years, it became a rental house for hard working families, and finally, it became a house for those that were desperate for a place to live. The wood dried and the paint peeled. Though the barns were still used to store hay, the wood in the barns dried and shrank too. The Fire Ghost and Big Jib began to hope. Finally, their opportunity came to cause a great fire.
The great-great-great grandson of the first farmer was not a patient man. He owned vast tracts of land and a fine house in the next county. He had many fields to harvest, and his harvest was bound to be extraordinary this year. The alfalfa was not as dry as it truly needed to be when the it was baled and stored in the barn on the burial ground. Slowly, it began to heat. The Fire Ghost sent Big Jib to the house to see if he could find frayed wires in the walls and to see if the tenets were careless with tobacco or other things. Big Jib walked jauntily to the old weathered house. Finally, the land would be purged, and he would cross over!
Big Jib passed into the house confidently. He rarely watched the alive folk anymore, and he did not notice the occupants of the house right away. Instead he looked at the dryness of the wood and the the old cracked casings around the wires in the walls. He was pleased to find that the house was derelict. He turned his attention to the tenants, intending to find out if they had careless habits. He did not have to wait long, though he was impatient for them to return. He felt in the fabric of his being that soon he would be free from his bondage.
Just as the sun began to set, a young woman opened the door and came in. She carried a tired little boy on her hip who whined unhappily when she sat him down.
“Hush, baby,” she crooned at him. “I gotta get the groceries outta the car. Here’s your truck! Mommy’ll be right back!”
Big Jib followed her as she went quickly outside to her old, rusty heap of a car. The door whined miserably when she pried it open to retrieve several bags of groceries. She used her foot to slam the door closed, and then she hurried inside. Still Big Jib followed her, though he didn’t know why. Her small son was crying for her, his arms reaching, his face stretched in misery. She dropped the groceries on the floor and scooped him into her arms, holding him close, crooning a lullaby to him. His sobbing subsided, and he relaxed in her arms, his small body sagging against her. She left her groceries on the floor and went to an old beat up rocking chair, one of the only pieces of furniture in the room. She sat down and began to rock the boy and stroke his fine hair. He drifted off to sleep, but she did not lay him in his crib right away. Instead, she rocked him until the room was dark. Big Jib looked at her closely and noticed that she was barely older than a girl, though her face was tired and there were lines of sorrow already etched around her eyes. He looked around the room and saw her in a picture of her with a young man. She was dressed like a bride, smiling and happy, and he was wearing a soldier’s uniform. She was alone, now. Big Jib knew it. He had seen the sorrow lines on the face of his own mother, and on the faces of countless others. He had those same sorrow lines around his eyes.
The girl-woman carefully stood up and carried her child into the bedroom and lay him on the bed. Tenderly she took off his battered shoes and put them carefully on the chest of drawers. Then she went and retrieved her groceries and took them into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door, and in its soft light, Big Jib could see that she was crying silent tears. He felt his own ancient sorrow wash over him. For just a moment, it seemed he was looking at his own beloved young wife. He turned and walked out of the house. With resolve, he walked away from the burial ground, determined to leave his haunting behind him. As usual, he found himself back at his grave. The Fire Ghost was waiting for him with a puzzled look on his face.
“Brother! Why are you trying to leave? Tonight is the right time for the final fire. Tonight the land will be cleansed! The alfalfa is almost ready to burn! The wind is right...the house will go up like tinder! We will be free!”
“No...I don’t think so. We can’t burn the house. There is a mother in the house...a baby. She has been left alone...like my wife. Like yours. I can’t cause her hurt, even if I am condemned to wander this place forever. I can’t make this fire.”
Big Jib turned away. For the first time in many, many years, his heart ached for his wife and son. He wondered what they had become and if they were in Heaven waiting for him. The Fire Ghost watched him with dismay.
“What has happened to you?” he asked Big Jib. “What is wrong with you? Our hour of redemption is at hand! We will be free, and you turn away?” His eyes narrowed in anger. “What does it matter if a white woman loses her home. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t belong on this sacred land!”
Big Jib did not turn around, instead he looked up at the Heavens like he was searching for something. “Maybe it isn’t the land that needs to be purified,” he said musingly. “Maybe it is my own heart that is not pure enough for Heaven....”
“How can you say that!” spat the Fire Ghost. “The white man has done great evil to us! They stole our land, they enslaved our bodies! Look at how they dig and burn! Evil! They need to be purged from the earth! We are doing our part! It is time! It is time now!”
“No!” Big Jib said firmly, resolve blossoming in him like a new type of fire. “This fire will be a wrong thing. The woman and her baby have no part in our suffering. It is time to end this!”
“Coward! I will not sacrifice my opportunity for a pitiful woman and her brat! The alfalfa is hot enough! I will make a spark and burn it all without you!” the Fire Ghost screamed at Big Jib in frustration. He turned from his former comrade and ran into the barn, disappearing into the huge, round bales of hay.
Big Jib realized what the Fire Ghost was doing and ran after him. He came upon him in the center of the barn, deep within the hay. The Fire Ghost was concentrating on one tiny spot in the hay. Big Jib knew what was going to happen.
“No!” he shouted, but it did no good. The Fire Ghost had made a spark. The hot alfalfa started to smolder. “No!” Big Jib ran over to the Fire Ghost and pushed him away from the smoldering alfalfa. The Fire Ghost reached out and grabbed Big Jib and wrapped his arms and legs around him.
“I will have your strength,” he gritted through their struggle. “I will have the fire I need from you!”
Big Jib struggled to free himself from the Fire Ghost, but the Fire Ghost was beyond himself, lost in his obsession. Big Jib felt his strength being leached from him. The smoldering hay burst into flame. Desperately, he struggled to free himself, yet the fire quickly spread through the hot alfalfa. Despite his efforts, the barn was soon engulfed in a hot, angry fire.
In the distance, he could hear the sirens of the new-fangled firetrucks as they sped toward the farm. The fire had taken on its own life, and was reaching toward the sky, roaring and spinning like a wild dance. The Fire Ghost and Big Jib were a part of the flame, stretching and undulating in the feral heat.
“Fire Ghost! This is not the way! Remember who your are! Remember your wife! Forget your anger and think of her! Think! Tell me...What is your true name?”
“I do not matter anymore!” roared the Fire Ghost. “This place needs to be purged!”
“No! It is our own souls that need to be purged! We are responsible for our own souls!” Big Jib was desperate. He wanted the Fire Ghost to release him. He wanted to be free. “Oh! God in Heaven! Forgive us! Forgive me!”
He felt drops of water pouring on him, and he turned his eyes toward the ground where the firefighters and neighbors were gathering to fight the fire. He sagged into the water, dragging the Fire Ghost toward the water. He felt it wash over him and cool the flame. He felt it wash over him and cleanse him. He felt the Fire Ghost’s grasp loosen. The earth and the fire seemed to be disappearing. He felt himself moving through time and space. He saw his wife........
The firefighters marveled at the ease with which the fire was contained. It was almost like it lost its heart, one said. The others agreed, but they didn’t know why. They were all happy and proud that the fire had not spread to the house young Keri Nickles lived in with her boy. It would have been too much for her, they were all sure, what with her losing her man and all. She was a good girl, and a hard worker.
It had taken most of the night to contain the fire, and it would burn for several days, like hay fires do. Keri had been afraid to stay in the house while the fire blazed, and she had sat with her baby in her old car. Finally, just as the sun was beginning to brighten the horizon, young Bob Jackson, informed her that it was safe to go back inside. Tiredly, she climbed out of the car, and Bob helped her carry her heavily sleeping son back into the house. He laid the sleeping boy down on the bed, blushing when he realized he was in Keri’s bedroom. He was moved when he saw the meager furniture. He remembered her from high school. She had been a quiet girl, and always devoted to Buddy. Now he was gone. Bob Jackson thought to himself, that perhaps he would volunteer to monitor the smoldering fire....
The Fire Ghost watched in outraged frustration. Big Jib was gone, vanished. He felt like he had been utterly betrayed. Now the fire was vanishing. The curst house still stood, and the woman was in it with her brat and the man. He shook with his rage and hatred. He strode toward the house with the power of his purpose giving him strength. He would cause something to burn in the white man’s house. It would burn! He wouldn’t be denied!
He came into the house just as the young man was leaving. He felt contempt for the expression on the young man’s face. He had seen that look on a young man’s face before. He had worn that look once when he had first looked into his wife’s eyes and saw her soul looking back. White women had no souls, and what the young man was feeling for her was a pale imitation of anything the Fire Ghost had felt, he was certain of it.
Impatiently he began to search the house for something that could be set on fire. He came upon the woman. She was washing her face in a basin of water. The sun’s first pearly light was glistening through the window, reflecting off the woman’s soft hair. The young woman was tired, and she slipped out of her clothes and into a loose sleeping gown. The Fire Ghost watched her, though he tried not to....His wife had dressed in those same simple movements. He remembered how he took pleasure in watching her move, doing the simple things. The woman lay down beside her sleeping child and curled herself around him protectively. Even so, she seemed so alone. His wife has slept like that the night after she had buried his body. Tired and alone. He watched her sleep.
“Everything is different!” he thought sadly. “My brother is gone! The land has changed! The only thing that is the same is that there is another young woman alone with her child. Her man is gone just like I was gone from my woman. Just Like Big Jib was gone from his woman. It is the only thing that stays the same.”
He looked out the window at the young man still finding tasks to do about the fire. He was reluctant to go, the Fire Ghost could tell. He was reluctant to go because he had looked into the woman’s eyes and had seen her soul. The Fire Ghost smiled to himself, remembering. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps this was the thing that would truly never change, this way that souls joined. The young man kept glancing over at the house. The Fire Ghost remembered his original name, Straight River, and he remembered his people. Suddenly, he felt very tired and alone. He sat down on the chest of drawers and watched the mother and her child sleep. He did not know when he began to cry, but he found that once he started, he could not stop. He wept until he was cleansed, and then he faded from his sacred place.