Ben Soul

by Richard George

more precious than rubies, yea, than much fine gold,” Harry said. Ben looked up at Harry. “My own translation from Proverbs,” he said. Ben nodded. Len’s friend, Bobbo Link, claimed almost anything could be attributed to Proverbs or Leviticus, because nobody read them if they could help it.

  “Did you have a good interview with La Señora?” Harry asked.

  “It was successful, I hope,” Ben said.

  “La Señora is a good woman, looks out for others. She’s careful to keep the souls balanced in the village, for everybody’s sake. If she rents to you, remember that.”

  “Yes. I will.” Then Ben paid his bill and went to his room. He watched some television before he drifted off to sleep. Harry woke him in the morning knocking on the door. Ben had fallen asleep with his clothes on, so he didn’t need to get dressed. He answered the door.

  “I’ve got a message for you,” Harry said. He handed Ben an envelope addressed in a firm script. “I think it’s from La Señora herself.”

  “Thank you, Harry,” Ben said and took the envelope. Harry stood waiting for him to open it.

  “Dear Mr. Soul:

  Please understand we ordinarily accept tenants only when certain people we know well refer them to us. We do this because we established our community for those who need healing. We are, therefore, careful of our balance of personalities. You are the first in a long while to approach us to rent a cottage without a prior reference.

  We have consulted your references, and they are favorable. We will grant you, therefore, a three-month lease on the cottage. Should you, at the end of those three months, wish to stay on with us, I will make a final decision with input from the other villagers. Should you wish to leave at any time before that three months is completed, you will be liable for the entire three months’ rent, plus any damages and cleaning costs associated with your residence in the cottage. If these terms are acceptable, please advise Mr. Pitts to contact me. We will account your three-month lease to begin at the first of next month.

  Sincerely,

  Sra. Salvación Mandor”

  Ben wondered why, if La Señora only rented to referred residents, she, or someone, had posted a sign on the cottage. “Señora Mandor has offered me a three month lease,” Ben said to Harry. “She told me to ask you to give her my answer. Please tell her I accept.”

  Harry smiled and held out his hand. “Welcome, Mr. Soul. La Señora is very particular, but she’s an excellent and kindly woman. I hope you’ll like it here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pitts. I’ll check out in a few minutes, if you don’t mind. I’ve got several things to arrange at home before I can occupy the cottage.”

  “Right. Moving’s a complicated business. Good luck with it. I’ve got your charges on your credit form. You don’t owe any extra, so just drop the key in the slot when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Okay.”

  Ben gathered his few things together and put them in the car. He dropped the room keys in the slot on the door, and walked back up on the bluff for a last look at the cottage. Smoke came from the one cottage nearest San Danson Station. Ben considered knocking, but didn’t. He looked up at the hill on his way back to the car. A white and tan llama came over a swell, a smaller black one following it. Ben went down to his car and drove home to the house so empty of Len. He spent the next two weeks getting a gardener, finding a house sitter (one of Len’s distant cousins temporarily in need of shelter), and selecting the minimal set of books, CDs, and household utensils to take to the cottage.

  Butter’s Tale

  The rough rubbing removed the warm slickness from the pup’s coat. She sensed warmer and cooler. Others wriggled next to her. Greater warmth lay in front of her. She opened her mouth and began to nurse. The rough rubbing continued. She knew security. She slept. She woke. She ate. She slept. In time, she learned to move around. Light, dark, and sounds began to supplement her sense of smell. The greater world around her began to beckon. She learned to eat solid food, and to wander on her four legs. Mother was still her center, but every few hours she explored further into the garage that was their home.

  Wisdom she needed to survive came to her. She learned to trust the large, strange smelling, beings who brought food to her mother. She learned to drink water from the bowl they kept filled. She did not prepare to leave her family. She did not know she needed to.

  Another of the big beings came. This one smelled different from the two who fed them. This person had the effrontery to pick her up and hold her close. The experience frightened her, and her bladder turned loose. The person dropped her. Only the quick action of one of her own persons saved her from a bad fall. The persons made loud noises at each other, and the newcomer left. She felt the floor under her and scampered to her mother, who began licking her to soothe her.

  A day or two later another stranger came. This stranger smelled like garlic and roses. The smell excited her. She waddled up to this person to sniff more closely. The person rubbed her head gently and crouched down. She waited for it to pick her up. It didn’t. She stayed by the person’s feet, enjoying the touch. One of her own persons made noises. The newcomer responded. Someone wrapped her in a towel and handed her to the newcomer. The newcomer seemed sure of itself. She nestled, wrapped in the towel, against the newcomer.

  One of her own persons put her into a box by herself, and closed the lid. The sudden darkness startled her. She whimpered. Distantly she heard her mother whine. Then the box began moving. She braced herself against its swaying. She whimpered again. Her mother did not answer, this time. The box kept swaying and bouncing. Then there was a series of banging noises, and the box stopped swaying and bouncing. The newcomer person made soothing noises, and her heartbeat slowed.

  A roaring and a final bang followed a great grinding sound. The floor began to move. The movement went on and on. A rhythmic whining noise accompanied the movement, and seemed to become a part of it. Eventually it lulled her to sleep. Only the sudden stopping of the noise woke her. She barked, twice, and heard no response. The person who had taken her away had left the car.

  She returned after a little while, frightened and screaming. The dog could smell the fear on her. Another person, loud and angry, and a little afraid, kept barking. The person who had taken her away let out a loud scream, mingled fear and pain in her voice. The stale beery smell of the other person suddenly replaced her scent. Something slammed on the car, shaking it. She could hear the nice person weeping. The sound puzzled her. The grinding noise came, followed by the roaring, muted this time, and the floor began to move again. This time the speed seemed much greater. Butter whimpered steadily. She did not know the term, but she had been carjacked. The nice young woman who had been taking her home to a new life sat, injured, on the parking lot asphalt. She had stopped at a store to buy dog food and a water bowl.

  The speed slowed after a time, but now the box she was in began sliding around the car as it raced around sharp curves and turns. She yelped when a particularly sharp turn slammed her against the side of the box as it fetched up against the car’s door. The bad-smelling person made loud noises. The car slowed a little, but now she felt the box lift into the air. Her feet skidded out from under her as she swayed in the air. The person made loud, angry-sounding noises again. He shook the box. Her bladder failed her again. The box, reeking with the smell of her own urine, became her trap. She yelped and howled as loud as she could. The box fell on the seat as the person dropped it. The car slowed, jerked to the left, and came to a stop. The person opened the car door, jerked the top of the box up, and dumped her on the gravel. She ran for the shelter of the nearest building. The person slammed the door and sped away, spitting gravel from his tires as he left.

  We have little more to say of him. The police caught him and put him in jail pending arraignment. He complained to his cellmate, a very large and very sentimental man, about the dog, and
how the authorities had caught him (as he saw it) because he’d had to stop and dump the dog on the way. The cellmate’s only childhood friend had been a dog. He liked dogs better than he liked people. He put a homemade knife in the villain’s back. The courts prosecuted the big man, but the deed was marked as righteousness on his account in the Eternal Treasury of Merit.

  The dog, shivering and terrified, crept under the building into a low crawl space. She could hear cars going by on the highway. Cars terrified her. She connected them with the bad-smelling person and the trauma of separation from all that she had known. The rear of the building was quieter. It emitted interesting smells. Food smells. People food smells. Although she had never eaten people food, she knew a good smell when she encountered one. She went to the door where the smells were the strongest. She whined. She scratched at the door. A person came, who smelled of onions and gravies and garlic. It was Rosa Krushan, chef at the Café of the Four Rosas.

  Rosa had little use for dogs or cats. She was not inclined to let any kind of pet or person own her. Something about this stray touched her kindly side.

  “Starving and thirsty, are you, pup?” The dog wagged her tail. Rosa’s crusty heart softened just enough.