Ben Soul

by Richard George

to the oblivious egret. “I’ve lost Len and Minnie, Dill Doe so long ago. Hy Ewall, too. I’m alone.” He hugged himself tighter; the wind chilled him. He shivered. “I’m alone,” he said, “talking to an egret, who probably regrets nothing.” He shook his head ruefully.

  “Worse than a superstitious old Roman, looking for answers from a bird,” he said. He turned toward the car. A musical noise rose over the wind. Ben looked up. A flock of geese flew in an arrow pointed northwest, toward San Danson Village. “Another omen?” he asked them. They did not answer him. Behind him the egret rose from the water and, with a great whirring of its wings, flew off in the general direction the geese had taken. “Enough, already,” Ben said. “I get the message.”

  He got in his car. When he closed the door he could not hear the wind sing. He emptied his sorrow into the soft silence. Again his tears flowed, washing the grit of grief from his eyes. He stared out at the marsh, watching the colors fade from the grasses and sedges as clouds covered the sun. “Be like the egret,” he told himself, “regret nothing and go on.” He wiped his eyes and his face on his sleeve, started the ignition, and drove on toward San Danson Village.

  The Pachyderm in the Parlor

  Butter sighed, thumped her tail twice on the rug. She had been dreaming she was running on the beach, chasing gulls. She was in mid-leap when Ben’s footsteps on Dickon’s walk woke her. She scrambled to her feet and ran, barking, to the front door. Dickon came in from the kitchen where he had just put the kettle on to boil. His green eyes sparkled and he smiled to see Butter’s excitement.

  “Someone coming, girl?” he asked. Butter glanced at him, put her nose to the bottom of the door, sniffed, and whined. Dickon could hear someone on the porch. He guessed it to be Ben, and went to the door. He opened the door just as Ben raised his fist to knock. Ben almost knocked Dickon on the forehead, but Butter prevented any such happening by racing around the porch in ecstasy, barking and wagging her tail. Ben and Dickon both laughed.

  “Come in,” Dickon said over Butter’s voice. “I’ve just put the kettle on.”

  “Okay,” Ben said. “Come, Butter,” he commanded. She came to him and jumped up on him, trying to reach his face to lick his cheek. “Down, girl,” he said, scratching her behind her ears and gently pushing on her head at the same time. She dropped to all four feet and followed him through the door Dickon held for them.

  “Give me your coat, Ben. I’ll hang it for you.”

  “Thanks,” Ben said, removing his brown jacket and handing it to Dickon.

  “Sit on the couch,” Dickon said, “then Butter can sit beside you.”

  “You let her up there?”

  “Yes. Dogs get priority treatment here.” Dickon went toward the kitchen, where the kettle was whistling.

  Ben sat down. Butter immediately jumped up on the couch beside him, and laid her head on his thigh. She stared up at him with that devotion only a dog or a forgiving god can offer a person.

  Ben stroked her back. “I missed you, too,” he said to her. “It’s been a rough time for old Boss Ben.” He leaned over sideways, so he could scratch her rump just above her tail, a form of love she most appreciated. She scooted a little closer, laying first one front paw, and then the other, on Ben’s thigh. She closed her eyes in contentment. Had she been a cat she’d have purred.

  Dickon came from the kitchen with a cup of tea for each of them. “Here,” he said, setting Ben’s tea on the table beside him. “You look like you could use this,” he said. “Have you had anything to eat this evening?”

  “No,” Ben said. Fatigue dragged his cheeks down, making jowls of them. Dickon thought Ben looked older, more drained, than he had ever seen him.

  “I can stir something up here,” Dickon said, mentally inventorying the contents of his cupboard and refrigerator. “I’ve got eggs, and some sausage. Some canned corn, too, I think.”

  “Don’t bother,” Ben said. “Have you had supper?”

  “No. I was just thinking about an egg sandwich when you came.”

  “We could go to the Café of the Four Rosas,” Ben said. “My treat.”

  “You don’t have to buy me dinner,” Dickon said.

  “My way of saying thanks for taking care of Butter,” Ben said. He drank some of his tea.

  “Well, I suppose so,” Dickon said. “I haven’t been anywhere since the court hearing about the murrelets.” He took a large swallow of his tea. He frowned. “Do we need to talk first?”

  “Talk?”

  “About the elephant in the room between us.”

  “Perhaps,” Ben said. “Maybe we should eat, first, though. It’s going to take a while, I think, to discuss this elephant.”

  “It is a large subject,” Dickon said. He put his half-empty teacup down. Ben did the same. He rubbed Butter behind her ears, and lifted her head and front paws from his thigh.

  “We’ve got to go, girl,” he said to Butter. “Maybe, if Rosa Krushan is feeling kindly, I can bring you a little something from her kitchen.” Butter whined. It was too soon for Ben to go again. He relented, a little. “We can drop her off at my place,” he said to Dickon. Dickon nodded.

  “I’ll get our coats,” he said. He went into the coat closet and got the coats. He handed Ben the brown jacket, and put on his own denim jacket.

  “Come, Butter,” Ben said. She stood eagerly at the door. When Ben opened it, she raced down Dickon’s walk. All the way home she ran back and forth across the path, sometimes running up to Ben, and sometimes running up to Dickon, barking occasionally for the sheer joy of life. Ben was back; life was good. At Ben’s cottage, she followed him through the door. He turned on a light for her, and bade her stay. She groveled before him, begging to go with him. “Stay!” he commanded her again, and shut the door on her. She moaned grievously at the closed door. She kept moaning till Ben and Dickon were out of earshot.

  “Truce?” Dickon said.

  “Truce?” Ben inquired.

  “Let’s not talk about the elephant until after supper.”

  “Agreed.”

  Harry Pitts greeted them with a smile, and a simple hello. Typical of his laconic style. “Coupla specials tonight, lads,” he said. He handed them menus and led them to a table at the back.

  Dickon and Ben took seats at the table and accepted the menus. “I’d like a cup of tea,” Ben said.

  “Me, too,” Dickon added.

  “Coming up,” Harry said.

  The Café was quiet. A tourist couple, a man and a woman, both gray of hair, he dressed in bright pink and she in electric blue, were the only other customers. They were oblivious of the world. Dickon nudged Ben’s knee and nodded in the couple’s direction.

  “Young love, you suppose?” he said in a low voice.

  “The love is young, the lovers aren’t,” Ben responded in kind. “Bless them. At least it beats dying in a rocking chair on the porch of the old folks’ home.”

  “Probably.” Dickon turned back to his menu. “This pork special looks good.”

  Ben looked at the menu. “Hmm. Pork tenderloin marinated in orange liqueur and soy sauce, delicately spiced with ginger, and served over a bed of bean sprouts, with a side of onion-buttered carrots and garlic-dressed green beans.” He nodded. “Sounds delicious. So does the beef.”

  Dickon picked up his menu again. “Beef medallions rubbed in Santa Fé chili powder and garlic powder, deep fried in corn meal and beer batter, and served over rice with cumin-infused gravy.” Tell you what, you order one, I’ll order the other, and we’ll split the two meals. That way we get to try both of them.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  They signaled Harry they were ready, and he took their order. When he served them their meals, he brought two small plates on the side. “Easier to share without mixing the flavors,” he told them. “Rosa said.”

  A group of six young people, obviously teens on a date, ca
me in. Harry went to seat them. Their noisy chatter filled the dining room.

  “Youth,” Ben remarked to Dickon.

  “Yeah. Ain’t it wonderful? While it lasts.”

  They divided their meals, using the plates Rosa had sent them. They concentrated on eating and listening to the teens discuss the monster movie they’d just seen. The older tourist couple got up, paid their bill, and left, glaring all the while at the rowdy youths who had interrupted their tryst. Dickon and Ben went on eavesdropping. It gave them an excuse not to talk before they were ready.

  When Ben went to pay their bill, Harry gave him a Styrofoam clamshell.

  “For Butter,” Harry said. “It’d go to waste, otherwise.”

  “Butter thanks you, Harry,” Ben said. Harry nodded, and rang up the bill. He made change for Ben. Dickon waited by the door, shrugging into his denim jacket. Ben put his wallet away and put his brown jacket on.

  “I need to stop by the car,” he said to Dickon. “I left an item in there that Minnie gave me.”

  “Okay,” Dickon said. He held the door for Ben, and followed him out. “Goodnight, Harry,” Dickon called over his shoulder. Harry waved, and turned toward the teenagers at their table.

  After Dinner Stint

  The night chill rode on the fog’s breath. It wasn’t a thick fog, just enough to blur the lights at the gas station and make a pink glow around the inn’s “Vacancy” sign. Neither Dickon nor Ben spoke as they walked to the garage. Neither knew quite how to start the conversation. Ben went into