Ben Soul

by Richard George

shrink her. She commanded the room.

  “Your aura is scarred with old wounds, Mr. Soul, and shows recent damage, as well.” She folded her hands under her chin, and gazed at him. “You have recently lost someone you loved very much.” Ben realized she was not questioning him, she was commenting on him. He didn’t know what to say to her. He was not conversant with auras; he wasn’t sure he believed in them. She regarded him for a long moment. He felt her probe rooting through his core. Elke’s penetrating gaze was a cursory glance compared to La Señora’s stare. He knew at once that he could hide nothing from this woman.

  “I understand you own the cottage for rent on the bluff above the beach,” he said, hoping to distract her with business. “I’m interested in renting it.”

  “I own all the cottages on the bluff,” she said. “We call it the village.” Elke came in with a tea trolley. “We’ll discuss business after our tea.”

  “Your tea, Señora,” Elke said.

  “Thank you, Elke. Do you wish to join us, or do you have other matters to tend to?”

  “I have other matters, Señora.”

  “Very well, then, Elke. I’ll be mother and pour. Go do what you need to do.”

  “Yes, Señora.” Elke left.

  “Do you take cream or sugar, Mr. Soul?”

  “Neither thank you.”

  She took up a delicate porcelain teapot decorated with tiny roses and poured his tea. “It’s English Breakfast, despite the hour,” she said. “I prefer a hearty black tea, myself. If you’d rather, I can have Elke bring you something else.”

  “I like a strong black tea, Señora,” Ben said.

  “Have a bit of cake.” She passed him the plate. He took a small slice, and a napkin. The cake was rich, almost like a fruitcake. She poured her own tea, took cake, and settled herself into her leather chair.

  “The cottages on the bluff, this house, and the beach along the cove are my patrimony,” she said. “My great-great-grandfather bought this land, and most of the two mountains beyond this one, after the gold rush. He was an ensign on the Obadiah, when it shipwrecked here. He fell in love with the place. The station and the village are named after him, in a way.”

  “In a way?”

  “He was Coast Guard Ensign Danson Mann. He used the title proudly all his life, even after he settled here. When the railroad came up the coast in the late 1800s, my great-grandfather asked the railroad to include a flag stop named for his father. The railroad clerk had poor hearing. He heard ‘San Danson,’ a typically California saint, not ‘Ensign Danson.’ The stop became San Danson Station. When my grandfather built the cottages as a resort in the early 1900s, he named the village after the station. All through the 1920s, visitors came from the City to summer here. The family had to sell most of the land to the Coastal Commission in the 1960s, but the Commission allowed us to keep the village, since it had been here so long.” She sipped at her tea, and nibbled at her cake.

  “It is a beautiful place,” Ben said.

  “One of many along the coast,” she said. “I have made it a refuge for the distressed. More tea?”

  “Thank you, no. I’m just fine.”

  “Tell me about yourself. What scarred your aura?” Ben felt again that he could hide nothing from this woman if she wanted to know it.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know how to read or understand auras.”

  “It was not long ago, I think. You had a spiritual crisis, perhaps a divorce?” She leaned toward him to catch his answer.

  “No,” Ben said; “I’ve never been married.”

  “Have you have lost someone, perhaps recently?”

  “Yes. I’ve lost Len, Leonard DeLys, my long time companion. We’d been together twenty-seven years.”

  “I knew of a Leonard DeLys, many years ago. Did a great deal of civic work during the Great Temblor. Did you meet him in the City?”

  “Yes, just after the Great Temblor. We got together about a year later. Right from the first we fit together.”

  “That happens once in a while for some people. One is fortunate when it does.” He glanced at her. She was looking out the window. Ben wondered if she saw a face from her past in the afternoon light. La Señora said nothing of what she saw. She turned to him again. “Why do you want to rent my cottage?”

  “I need a place to reflect, and to heal. The home Len and I shared echoes with the silences where he used to make sounds. I need to be in a different place for a while, a place that does not have his imprint, so I can figure out how to go on from here.”

  The Señora nodded. “I see.” She studied him a moment more. “Let me think about this overnight,” she said. “My village is a refuge for those in spiritual and emotional need. I need to consider what your aura tells me, and how you might meld with the others who are already resident. Are you staying in the area?”

  “I’m staying tonight at the Inn,” he said.

  “I’ll send my decision there in the morning,” she said. “And now, Mr. Soul, if you’ll excuse me, I must rest.” She rang a little bell on the table beside her. Elke must have been near. She came very quickly.

  “Elke,” the Señora said, “please obtain Mr. Soul’s references, and then take him down on the funicular. I have promised him my decision in the morning.”

  Ben got out of his chair and went to her, holding out his hand. “Thank you, Señora,” he said, “for considering me.” She took his hand. Her grip was firm. Her touch transferred power to his hand.

  “Until tomorrow,” she said as she released his hand.

  “Come with me,” Elke said, “to the funicular.” She turned and led Ben out of the room. Near the main entry, she opened a door on the left of the hall and ushered him into her office. “Here are paper and a pen, Mr. Soul. Please give me three references, one financial, one personal near your home, and one personal, if you have it, from someone in this county.”

  He leaned over the desk and gave her the information she asked. Ben had no trouble with a personal reference from his home in the East Bay, but had to think a while before he remembered the Rev. Robert Oliver Link, a long time friend of Len’s, who lived in this county. Ben knew him a little.

  Elke took up the paper and read the list of names. “I see you know our friend, Rev. Bobbo,” she said.

  “We are acquaintances,” Ben said. “He knew my late companion, Leonard DeLys, quite well.”

  “Oh. You’re that Ben Soul. I knew Len; we used to correspond at Christmas. We’ll talk with Rev. Bobbo. Please, now, we should take the funicular down. I do not like to leave La Señora for long.”

  “Certainly.” They went out the door to the funicular. Ben sat on the uphill side again.

  Elke said to him on the way down, “If you are staying at the Inn tonight, I suggest you have dinner at the Four Rosas. The special for tonight is roast beef, one of Rosa’s best presentations. Be sure to get there before seven-thirty. Rosa closes at eight.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try it.” The trip downhill seemed to take less time. Perhaps it had something to do with the weight distribution. When they reached bottom, Elke led him through the garage, and then bade him goodbye. He went to his room at the Inn, and lay on his bed. He meant to muse, but fell asleep instead.

  At the manor, Elke consulted her archived correspondence. She extracted an old letter from Len DeLys and took it to La Señora.

  Len DeLys

  817 Lost Sombrero Lane

  The City

  Ms. Elke Hall

  112 Lost Lane

  The City

  Dear Elke,

  Yes, the rumors are true. I have a spouse, Ben. He’s got a great body, and he’s a great guy. I met him during the great temblor. I’d noticed him the day before, across the street from me at the Carnival Parade. His hair is brown, and his eyes are gray. When I look into them, I can see myself in their mirrors. Wish us happiness, Elke, as we w
ish for you and Rosa.

  May your coming year be a good one. Ben and I are looking forward to a bright future. Blessings on you and yours.

  Len DeLys

  Acceptance

  It was near seven when Ben woke. He hastily made himself presentable and walked quickly to the Café. It was about seven-twenty when he entered. Two of the tables had diners finishing up dessert. A third awaited clearing. Harry Pitts led Ben to a clean table.

  “Our meal tonight is roast beef,” he said. “We’ve got potatoes and vegetables with it, soup or salad to start it, tea or coffee to go with it, and dessert to end it. It’s eight ninety-five. If you want something else, I’ll bring you a menu, but everything on it will cost more.” He smiled at Ben.

  “Elke, that is, Ms. Hall, recommended the roast beef,” Ben said. “That’s what I’d like. With tea, please, and the salad, oil and vinegar dressing.”

  “Good choice. Be a few minutes.” He went to the kitchen and put the order in. The people at the other two tables got up about the same time and went to the cash register. Harry came out and took their money, rang up the receipts in the cash register, warned them about fog on the road, and went back to the kitchen. He came out again with the salad. It was small, but cold, crisp, and fresh. Ben enjoyed it thoroughly. The meal, dark rich beef in a darker and richer gravy, crisply sautéed zucchini and carrots, and melting mashed potatoes made up the entrée. A rich fudge cake topped the meal off.

  “Enjoy the meal, Mr. Soul?” Harry asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “very much.”

  “A good cook is