Ben Soul

by Richard George

they needed to flow. Butter stayed with him, pouring comfort through her skin and tongue to this person who was her center.

  The sun was slanting in low under the trees, brightening the redwoods with warm afternoon light when Ben and Butter got up and started back toward home and supper. A light wind sprang up as they crossed the road and approached the beach. It had fog on its breath, and hinted at winter to come.

  Strange Awakening

  Ben opened his eyes. He was lying on gravel next to a concrete curb. Shakily he pushed himself into a sitting position and stared ahead of him. A distorted face stared back at him from stainless steel. He wondered whose advertising logo he was looking at. The face was oval, with blood trickling down one cheek. The eyes slowly blinked at Ben before he realized he was looking at a reflection of his own face. A horn blasted in his ear. Ben turned to his left to see a car bearing down on him. He scooted himself up on the curb between two stainless steel objects, banging his head on the black hoses hanging on their sides. The car pulled up to a stop beside the curb. DiConti Sharif got out.

  “Mr. Soul,” he said anxiously. “Why were you crawling on the gravel?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben said. “I just woke up, and there I was.”

  “You’re hurt,” DiConti said. “Give me your hand. I’ll help you get up and get into the Café.”

  “Where am I?”

  “At the gas station in San Danson.” Ben looked wonderingly around. The stainless steel that distorted his reflection was a gas pump. He was still confused, but at least some things were falling in place. “Take my hand,” DiConti said again. Ben took the hand, feeling the young strength in the deputy’s warm brown hand flow into his own weathered white one. Using his other hand to brace himself against one of the gas pumps, he levered himself up until he could lean against the other pump.

  “Thanks,” he said. He put a careful hand to his head, and then took it away. He stared at the blood on his hand.

  “How did I get hurt?” he asked DiConti.

  “I don’t know sir. You were already down when I drove up.” Ben swayed. DiConti put an arm around him to steady him. Quite irrelevantly, Ben’s libido danced a mental jig. His vision blurred, suddenly, and then cleared.

  “Do you know why you are at the Station?” DiConti asked.

  “I think I was on the way to get my mail,” Ben said. “Then I was going to the store, to get something for me and Butter to eat.”

  “You have endured a nasty blow to your head. How did you come by that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “I think so. Slowly.”

  “Put your arm around my shoulder,” DiConti said, “and I’ll support you at your waist.” Ben’s libido leaped again. “We’ll head for the Café. One step at a time. Okay?”

  “Yes,” Ben said, his breath short in his throat. Ben didn’t know whether he was closer to shock, or to arousal. The sharp scent of DiConti’s cologne tingled in his nostrils. Remembering it afterward, Ben thought of that walk as one of the longest he had ever taken. DiConti assured him it was less than two or three minutes, since they weren’t far from the Café door. Harry Pitts greeted them at the door, and helped DiConti get Ben to a seat in a booth. Then Harry went for tea while DiConti examined Ben.

  Rosa rushed out from the kitchen with a basin of warm water and paper towels. “Here,” she said to DiConti, “this will help clean him up.” DiConti took a paper towel, dipped it in the warm water, and gently dabbed away the blood on Ben’s temple.

  “Maybe you scraped your head on the gravel when you fell,” he said. “It doesn’t look like a direct blow.” Patiently DiConti continued washing away the blood and grit in the wound.

  “I was just on my way to the post office,” Ben said, “and the store.”

  “Yes, I understand.” DiConti finished washing the wound. Rosa handed him a tube of antiseptic ointment, which he carefully applied. “Sit here a while,” he said. “I’ll go see what I can find at the pumps.” Harry brought Ben tea. Rosa hovered over him a moment, decided he would survive, and returned to her kitchen.

  “I’ll get your mail, if you want,” Harry said.

  “Thanks,” Ben said. He leaned back in the booth and closed his eyes. He had not yet recovered his sense of being in the world. He may have dozed, or even drifted into a transcendental state to escape the stinging pain on his temple. He woke with a start when he heard the Café door bang behind Harry, who was coming back with his mail. Ben looked at his face in the shimmering surface of his cup of tea. He looked at once hollow and gaunt, and moon-faced with too fat cheeks. His reflection fascinated him. He almost forgot to thank Harry for getting his mail. Ben forced himself back to his current reality.

  His mail was primarily advertisements for cell phones, credit card applications, and mortgage lenders. He shuffled the clutter to the side. One envelope from his attorney, John Diss, looked important. He opened it.

  Mr. Benjamin Dover Soul

  San Danson village

  September 17, 2003

  Dear Mr. Soul:

  This is to inform you I have obtained a restraining order against one, Vanna Dee, requiring her to remain one thousand feet from you at all times. I also wish to inform you Ms. Dee has obtained a similar order against you and your dog, Butter, requiring you to stay at least one thousand feet from her at all times. Please be careful to maintain this distance, as you will be subject to fine and/or incarceration should you contravene the terms of the order.

  Yours sincerely,

  John Diss

  Attorney at Law

  Ben smiled grimly. He could imagine the field day two attorneys would have determining which of them had broken the law if he and Vanna got too close to each other. DiConti returned to the Café. He had a palm-sized stone in his hand. He sat down across from Ben.

  “You are the victim of an unfortunate accident,” he said, “as I piece the evidence together.” He carefully laid the stone on the table. It looked like blood and dirt covered its rough surface. “You can see here,” DiConti went on, “that blood and skin particles adhere to this stone. They are probably yours.” DiConti turned the stone over, carefully holding it with his fingertips, so that he did not destroy the evidence he had just shown Ben.

  The other side of the stone was smooth, and a black smudge scarred one edge. “I think this is tire residue,” DiConti said, pointing to the black with his free hand. “I think what happened is this. A passing car struck this stone a glancing blow. That flipped it at you at just the wrong moment. Fortunately, it grazed you, instead of striking you directly. It stunned you, and you dropped down beside the gas pumps.”

  Ben shook his head, very gently. “It’s not safe to walk, some days, I guess.”

  “Freak things happen,” DiConti said. “Do you feel okay?”

  “Yes, except for my sore temple,” Ben said. “I think I should do my grocery shopping, and then go home and rest.”

  Rosa came out of the kitchen. “I’ve got some beef stew left from last night. There’s enough for you and Butter to share tonight. On the house.” She put a Styrofoam clamshell in front of him. “Do your shopping tomorrow,” she said. “Rest this afternoon. Harry, walk Ben home, will you?”

  “Yes,” Harry said. “Come along, Ben. We’ll do it slow and easy.” Harry picked up Ben’s mail and the clamshell. He helped Ben slide out of the booth and rise. He took Ben’s elbow in his free hand to steady him.

  “I’m okay,” Ben said, pulling his elbow from Harry’s grasp.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Let’s go, Harry. Thanks, DiConti, for helping me, and explaining what happened.”

  “My job, Mr. Soul. Take care; get medical attention if you have dizzy spells, or any other bad symptoms.”

  “Will do.” Harry and Ben set out for Ben’s cottage. True to form, Harry said nothing until he was taking his leave
of Ben at the cottage door.

  “Want Dr. Field to come by, later?” he asked Ben.

  “Not necessary, Harry. Thanks.”

  “Sleep in Jesus’ arms, then.” Harry’s religious phrase startled Ben. He knew Harry was a pious man, but Harry seldom spoke his religion to Ben.

  “Inshallah,” Ben said. Harry nodded, and turned back to the Station. Ben went in, gave Butter a share of the stew, and put his portion in the refrigerator. Then he sat in his and Butter’s favorite chair. She jumped into his lap, whined softly, and they both settled down for a nap.

  A Knock on the Door

  Twilight pooled under the chairs and in the corners of the cottage. Butter adjusted herself on Ben’s lap. Neither woke. The twilight began a slow advance from the corner shadows toward the room’s center. Someone knocked. Butter launched herself, barking, from Ben’s lap. Ben, startled from his grogginess, got up to answer the door. He tried to quiet excited Butter as he opened it. He could just make out Dickon’s face in the fading daylight.

  “Oh, hi,” he said. “Come on in.” He opened the screen.

  “I just heard,” Dickon said as he entered, “that you’ve had a nasty crack on the head.”

  “A passing car flipped a stone at me; at least that’s what DiConti thought.” Ben indicated a chair for Dickon. “Just grazed my temple and knocked me out for a moment.”

  “Let’s see,” Dickon said as he switched on the Kokopelli shaped lamp by Ben’s chair. He tenderly touched the sore temple. “You’ll have a nasty