Ben Soul

by Richard George

but it still gave off the smell of lavender his mother had used to keep it “fresh” decades earlier. Nostalgia stirred him for a moment, but the cold room hastened him into bed. He switched off the lamp, and lay a little while in the dark, wondering why his brother had summoned him. He drifted into sleep, and, if he dreamed, he remembered none of it.

  Wind rattling the windows woke him. He sneezed; overnight the lavender and omnipresent dust had clogged his nose. He sneezed a second time, and got out of bed to fumble a handkerchief from his pockets. An eerie white light lit the room. It took several blinks of his eyes before Ben recognized the light as clouded sunlight reflecting off snow. Shivering, he drew on his cold clothes. The old furnace had never quite heated this room. That was one reason it was a guest room; winter guests had been few in Ben’s childhood.

  Dressed, Ben tried to tell himself he was warmer. He checked the clock—not quite nine. A few minutes to go. He went to the window and stared out at the unbroken expanse of white. No line marked the joining of earth and sky. The snow was still falling heavily. Ben shook his head as his breath frosted the window. This obliterating white made him long for the gray fog and steel waters of San Danson, with the wet heather on the hill. He thought of Butter and Dickon, and the warm space between them. He sighed, and extracted his toothbrush, toothpaste, and shaving gear from his luggage. It was almost nine. Time for morning cleanup and breakfast.

  Ben heard voices as he approached the kitchen. He coughed outside the kitchen door, closed, as always in winter, to keep the warmth in the kitchen itself. Then he opened the door and went in.

  Enna was at the stove. Age had thickened her waist and grayed her hair. Ben was not certain he would have recognized her if he had passed her on the street. Worry or years of hardship and the harsh climate of Berthoud had engraved lines in her face and caused her mouth to droop.

  Laws sat at the kitchen table. “Good morning, Uncle Ben,” he said.

  “Good morning, Laws, Enna,” Ben said.

  “So,” Enna said, “you’re here.” Her tone did not welcome him. Her glance raked him from head to toe and back to head.

  “Yes, Enna,” Ben said.

  “Now, Mama,” Laws began. She turned her stare on her son. He withered into silence. Enna turned to the stove, her back to the two men.

  “Coffee’s in the pot on the counter. Cup’s in the cupboard above it,” she said, gesturing with a spatula. “Butter and jam on the table. Toast in the toaster, bacon and eggs in the pan will be ready in a minute.”

  “Lot of snow,” Ben said. Enna ignored him. Ben poured himself a cup of coffee. Enna had never been one to keep tea on hand, and he hesitated to ask for any now. The coffee had the color of tea, and less flavor than the water might have had to begin with. Typical farm coffee, Ben thought to himself.

  “Yes, lots of snow,” Laws said. He glanced again at his mother’s unyielding back. “Low over Amarillo’s throwing the white stuff up against the mountains.” He took a bite out of his toast. “Gonna be a cold one, today.” Enna scooped eggs and bacon onto two plates, turned, and set one in front of each man. The blue-rimmed white plates stood out against the bright cherries printed on the oilcloth covering the table.

  “Eat,” she said, and turned to her own coffee cup. She stared out the window at the falling snow. Ben and Laws ate swiftly, lest the food go cold and unappetizingly greasy.

  When he had wiped up the last of the egg yolk with his second piece of toast and last bit of bacon, Ben looked around the room. There were no traces left of the old kitchen his mother had kept. This room with modern appliances and white walls trimmed with touches of red was all Enna’s room. That was as it should be, he supposed. His mother had preferred softer colors, colors that neither shouted defiance at the snow in the winter nor blazed with reflected light in the hot summertime.

  Enna finished her coffee, and put her cup in the sink. “Set your plates to soak,” she commanded them. “I’ll do up the dishes later.” The two men nodded. Enna went out of the kitchen and they heard her clicking footsteps on the stairs as she went up to her room.

  “Sorry, Uncle Ben,” Laws said. “Mama’s not in a good mood, today.” He sipped at his coffee. “It’s been rough on her, Dad being sick and all. She acts mad most of the time.”

  “She probably is mad about your Dad’s illness. It’s not fair.”

  “It’s more than that,” Laws said, staring into the swirl of coffee in the half-filled cup he rotated. “She’s been unhappy for some time, now, even before Dad got sick.” He looked up at Ben. “I don’t know just when it started, or why.” He finished his coffee. “More?” he asked Ben. Ben declined; the unaccustomed beverage had set his stomach on edge. Ben heard water running in the upstairs bathroom.

  “Excuse me,” Laws said. “I’ve got a couple of things to do upstairs before we go to the hospital.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” Laws put his plate in the sink and ran water to soak it. Lawson seemed very much at home in the wheelchair. He smiled and waved as he wheeled out of the kitchen toward the back stairs. Ben heard the electrical whine again, and surmised there was an elevator to get Laws to the second floor. Ben took his own plate and cup to the sink. He emptied the coffee in his cup on one side of the sink, and set the plate and cup to soak with Laws’s dinnerware.

  He was about to leave the kitchen when he heard Enna’s shoes on the stairs. He waited for her to come in. She said nothing as she walked through the door.

  “I was just wondering whether to unplug the coffee pot,” he said.

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said, not looking at him. “Best get your coat and a hat if you brought one. We’ll be leaving for the hospital soon.”

  “Is Hardin in a real bad way?”

  “You’ll see for yourself when we get there.” Ben thought he saw tears in Enna’s eyes. He nodded to himself. Must be bad.

  “Go on,” Enna said. “In this weather, in case you’ve forgotten, it takes a while to get anywhere.” He left the kitchen to get his coat.

  Hardin Bares His Soul

  Ben held the door while Laws swung himself into the car seat. Then Ben folded the wheelchair and put it in the trunk. He took a back seat. Enna got in behind the wheel. The car was warm; in true snow-country fashion, Enna had started it a quarter hour before they got in to go. The wipers scraped at the thick snowfall, barely keeping the windshield clear. Enna carefully backed the car out of the driveway by the house and turned to go face forward down the drive to the highway. The rear wheels only slipped a little when she first started out. Ben was grateful he was not driving. It had been too many years since he had maneuvered a car over snow and ice.

  The snowplows had cleared the highway, and, because most of the snow was gone, the residual snow was packed and, in places, frozen. Enna kept the car moving in a straight line. She said nothing, concentrating on the road. Laws, too, was quiet, as if he didn’t want to distract his mother. The weather intimidated Ben; decades of west coast sun and rain had wiped away any affinity he might have had with snow. He looked through the thickening fall of flakes at the fences and fields they passed, and failed to find any beauty in them. Only the cruel cold and utter desolation presented itself to him.

  The hospital was on the eastern end of town, not far from the farm. In Ben’s youth, the site had been a combination of alfalfa and cornfields. Now a great gray concrete building rose out of the snow. Yellow light brightened the windows lining the walls. Enna parked as near the building as she could. It was still a long trek through the snow for Ben, whose low shoes allowed the snow to soak his socks. His feet were numb by the time they reached the cleared walkway before the entrance.

  “Hardin doesn’t look much like himself,” Enna said. “Don’t show how shocked you’ll be.” Ben nodded. As if I’d never seen a sick person before, he thought. I wonder what has Enna so irritated.

  “He’s on the third floor,
” Enna said. “We’ll have to take the elevator.” She held the door for Laws and Ben. Inside the hospital the lights created a realm of brightness. An admissions desk and an elevator bank dominated the cheerful lobby, garlanded with Christmas greens.

  “Morning, Ms. Soul,” the woman behind the admissions desk said.

  “Good morning, Ruth,” Enna replied. “This is Hardin’s brother, just got in from the west coast,” she said.

  “Welcome,” Ruth said. “I’m Ruth Loess. I hope you find Hardin doing well.”

  “Too late for that,” Enna said.

  Ruth nodded, gravely. Enna led Ben and Laws to the elevators. She pushed the Up button with a hard stab. Then she stood back and stared up at the panel above the elevators that showed which one was on which floor. Ben noted the hospital had four floors and a basement. The left elevator slowly dropped from three to two. The right elevator dropped from four to three to two to the basement without stopping at one. Then the left elevator rose from two to three. The right elevator seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the basement. Ben could hear the clatter of mop buckets and other gear janitors were off-loading from the elevator in the basement. Just as he was wondering if they’d ever move, both elevators suddenly came to the first floor and opened their doors. Enna took the right