“So, are you going to answer the question?”

It was the wrong thing to say, it was not right to push a man who was trying to be good. “Leave it alone.”

Neither man noticed the sudden and brief surge of cold that found its way through the canvas. The heat of the boiler drove the cold away quickly until the temperature in the cab regained its fragile equilibrium.

“I think I deserve an answer,” Silas pursued.

“Why?” Karl knuckled his left eye when he felt an echo of pain. It was the past knocking at his mind, saying hello to an old enemy.

“I’m here working, sharing the load with you,” Silas argued and looked at Karl, seeing pain etched across the man’s face.

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“You just do as I damn well tell you, Blackie.” Would the memories never go away? He thought bitterly. He was half in the past and present, divided by his own deeds and words.

“Stop calling me that.” Silas rose half out of his seat at the insult.

“You think it’s your skin I don’t like?” Karl looked at Silas as his hand dropped from his eye, a slight trace of blood on his cheek. “You’re a fool, that’s what I don’t like.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” It had to be about his color. Silas was used to no other type of argument. “You treat me like a second-class person, like I’m an idiot.”

“Because you are a fool,” Karl pointed a gloved hand at Silas. “Because of the color of your skin, you think they owe you the world.”

“We were slaves.” Silas pointed back with equal fervor. “They did not hand me the world like you. I cannot even vote for president.”

“What do you know of slavery?” Wearily, Karl turned his attention back to the boiler. “You were never a slave. You just use the word to define yourself.”

“Bullshit.” Jumping from his seat, Silas took Karl’s arm in a rough grip, hardened by years of heavy toil. He pulled the engineer to face him with barely controlled hatred.

“See, you are like everyone else,” Karl smirked. “The truth is something you can not tolerate if you can not believe it.”

“Explain,” Silas did not release his grip.