Ben Soul

by Richard George

around them in yellow pirouettes on the mountain. As they neared the Chapel, the ocean sang a sibilant song on the sand and rock. The spring had come.

  Urns and Ashes

  When Emma and Notta got back to Emma’s cottage, and had each greeted her own cat, Emma got a bottle of bourbon from the cupboard and two small glasses. She poured a delicate finger of whiskey in each glass, and she and Notta sat down to read the contents of the velvet pouch. Prime Pussy and Ermentrude, of course, disdained the whole proceeding and each other to curl up at opposite ends of the couch.

  “Shall I read to you or you to me, or each for ourselves?” Emma asked.

  “You read a page, and pass it to me. I think you should have the right of seniority.” Notta said. With trembling fingers Emma loosened the knot on the satin ribbon that kept the pouch closed. It was not too tight, for which Emma was grateful. Old satin ribbon could be mighty stubborn stuff to untangle. She drew out a small packet of papers, held together by two strings, one near the top, the other near the bottom. She gently pulled the strings over the ends and laid them on the side table next to her. She picked up the first page. The paper was yellowed, and felt brittle in her hands. It was good rag paper, though, and still tough. Commander Mandor had written on it in a careful Copperplate hand. She read.

  My Journal, June 16, 1920

  My beloved Fancy has this day made me most glad, for she is with child, and by me. She and the Doctor estimate a December birth.

  My Journal, June 21, 1920:

  I went to Las Tumbas yesterday. The business with the hardware people went well. I completed my other errands (my dear Fancy wanted spools of ribbon and embroidery thread for the garments she is making for the babe who is coming), and determined the hour still sufficiently early to allow me to pay my respects to poor Endeavor’s ashes. I at once hastened my steps toward the Columbarium of Everlasting Repose, which is built, appropriately enough, next to the ancient aboriginal tombs that give Las Tumbas its name.

  The young woman attending the reception area was just closing as I arrived. When I explained I was from out of town, she took pity on me, and escorted me in to see Endeavor’s niche. It is simple and elegant, clad in pink granite, with his Endeavor More carved in a graceful script above his marble urn. The urn itself I thought a little vulgar, with an excess of cherubs crawling around on the handles, and rather more leaves and vines twining about than good taste requires. I suspect Endeavor chose the niche before his passing, and that vulgar mother of his chose the urn afterward.

  The young lady, whose name, I have discovered, is Miss Tara Bull, is a lovely young thing. Her hair is long and flowing, and carefully frames a face otherwise perhaps too round. Her eyes are blue as cornflowers in her native Kansas, and her smile is quick and lively. Her form is firm and nicely proportioned. Her manner is modest, yet she does not cringe or simper as so many young ladies do these days. She quite charmed me.

  Emma handed the first sheet to Notta, and took up the next and continued reading.

  My Journal, July 6, 1920

  I have been to Las Tumbas again. This hardware matter continues to vex me. Shingle Brothers cannot seem to find sufficient crystal doorknobs in the octagon pattern I have chosen. Each time they give me excuses, they urge me to take instead a supply of white ceramic ovals such as one might find in the lesser halls of a public institution.

  After my business, I went again to the Columbarium. I told myself it was to calm my thoughts with reflections on immortality, and the relative value of doorknobs in the schemes of the Almighty. When I got there, only to discover Miss Bull was not there, I had to admit my inner purpose had been to see her. A scrawny youth, with a straggling mustache, in an army uniform, advised me Miss Bull would return at one o’clock, should I wish to return.

  With all due respect to Endeavor, his ashes are a great deal less company than he was, so I repaired to a nearby tavern for a sandwich and a bit of spirits. I drank rather more than is my custom, for the sandwich was very dry. When I returned to the columbarium, I impulsively asked Miss Bull if I might call on her there the following week. A man has needs that needs must be met, and Fancy’s condition prevents my joining with her for conjugal release. Miss Bull agreed, and smiled winsomely at me.

  I have only just returned, and that to a household in uproar. My dearest Fancy is out of sorts at the constrictions of her confinement. Her doctor has forbidden her to go out walking on the beach. I have given her over into the care of her nurses, and have fled here into my study. I promised to bring her some trifle or other when I go next to Las Tumbas.

  Emma passed the second entry to Notta, who was still puzzling her way through the antique script. Emma took up another sheet and began to read.

  My Journal, July 14, 1920

  Bastille Day, and I am returned from Las Tumbas. As it happened, I was quite late returning. Dearest Fancy was most disquieted for my being out so late in the motor car. She profoundly distrusts the machine, and even more, my piloting of it on the River Road. My present of three romantic novels went ignored for a full half hour while Fancy lectured me on the vagaries and dangers of motoring after sunset. How far sharper her tongue had been had she known the true cause of my delay!

  Were I of the Roman faith, I should be on my knees saying “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Since I am of no faith, I can only admit I have erred grievously. After a sumptuous late luncheon with Miss Bull, including a full two bottles of the best local wines, we returned to the columbarium. It was then I discovered Miss Bull was temporarily lodging in the facility as a substitute night caretaker, the scrawny young veteran to whom that duty ordinarily fell having been called away to the East for a family crisis. I took advantage of her inebriation and the propinquity of her quarters to ravish her. She seemed to enjoy the illicit act as much as I did. Only after we had consummated our liaison did I become aware we had coupled in the presence of several urns on a shelf above the bed. When I mentioned these jars, she assured me the ashes in them no longer involved themselves in mortal concerns. I fear I shall see her again, with a like result in my behavior. If only motherhood had not put my beloved Fancy Danza off limits!

  Emma handed these sheets to Notta, and took up the next, which was written in a different hand, one less-schooled, and more modern. It was short and showed stress where it had been crumpled, and smoothed again, perhaps more than once.

  The Columbarium of Everlasting Repose

  Las Tumbas

  September 7, 1920

  My Dearest,

  I am certain, now, that I carry your child. I have confirmed this with a doctor in Los Albaricoques. I shall need assistance, for I must move from Las Tumbas to some place I can pass as a widow who has just lost her husband, for the sake of my honor, and to avoid the stain of dishonor on our child. I shall need money, and perhaps other assistance.

  Your Tarara-Boom-Deay,

  Tara Bull

  Emma passed this letter to Notta, who was frowning over the sheets Commander Mandor had written of his tryst among the urns. She took up the last of the sheets and continued reading.

  My Journal, September 7, 1920

  The piper’s come to be paid! A servant brought the post to Fancy Danza while I was busy in the Village settling a dispute between two workers. I’m in for it now, for Fancy opened a short letter from Tara, Miss Bull, who not only disclosed our affair, but also advised me she is expectant with my child. Fancy is furious, even though she herself had many men before I married her. It is that this affair comes after our marriage, at a time of great physical discomfort for her, that she considers my worst betrayal.

  My Journal, September 12, 1920

  Fancy has insisted my honor requires me discreetly to settle Tara and her babe to come in a modest lodging in Corona Espinosa. Tara has determined to take on the surname “Freed” and live there as a quiet widow. I am to continue to care for the mother and child, visiting the child as its uncle on a re
gular basis. On no account am I ever to stay the night, or have carnal relations with Tara. Tara agrees to these terms; indeed, she and Fancy have formed a liaison against me. I am forbidden Fancy’s bed as well.

  My Journal, December 17, 1920

  Today I am a father. Fancy has borne me a daughter, Salvación. Fancy is weak, but will recover her former vigor, according to her doctors. I fear her affection for me will not recover.

  My Journal, April 27, 1921

  A letter from Tara today. She has brought forth a girl-child, whom she has named Neva, for the snows of the high mountains, saying, “may she be pure as those snows are pure, unlike her errant mother.” So now I am father to two girls.

  My Journal, June 16, 1922

  My children are my darlings. Their mothers treat me coldly, keeping me distant from their beds and even more distant from their hearts. My sins weigh heavily on me. When I am with my daughters I forget their icy mothers, and my heart soars.

  Emma waited, sipping at her whiskey, while Notta finished the last entries in the Journal. Notta looked up at her mother. “I feel I’m the odd one out,” she said, “since I plan to be married before I get pregnant.”

  “Don’t judge, daughter,” Emma said. “From what my mother told me of this Tara, she was sternly puritanical. I believe it; Mother raised me very strictly.”

  “Mother, you were stricter than my friends’ mothers.”

  “And you’ve turned out quite well for it,” Emma snapped. Notta grinned.

  “I’m not complaining,” she said. She swallowed the whiskey remaining in her glass. “We’ve survived, all of us. Maybe someday, when I’m old and married and stuck in the house, I’ll get on the internet and see what I can find out about this Amy and Fuller Bull.”

  “If you do, it will probably just be more ancestral dirt,” Emma said. “Although, it is nice to know something of one’s family history.” Emma frowned. “Perhaps, it’s better. What a scoundrel!”

  “Yeah, he’s a cad, for sure. Yet, he loved his daughters.”

  “And it’s greatly to his credit, I suppose,” Emma said. “Still, I don’t think I’ll forgive him very readily.

  “No reason we should either forgive him or hate him. He’s dead and gone, what, forty or fifty years? Forget him. Shall we have some more whiskey, Mother?”

  “I think it’s reasonable to have a bit more.” Emma smiled at Notta. “While we sip, we can talk about wedding plans.” Emma gently gathered the old papers together and put them in the velvet pouch. She tied a soft knot in the satin ribbon, and put it away in the drawer she reserved for special keepsakes.

  Letter from Iowa

  La Señora received a letter from Iowa. Dr. Field sent it. When she had read it, La Señora shared it with the Village.

  Dr. Chester Field

  1067 Parsley Place

  Parlor House, IA

  December 2, 200X

  Señora Salvación Mandor

  Greetings from the snowy cornfields of Iowa. We’ve got a foot of snow on the level, and some drifts up to two and a half feet. So far, it has been a mild winter.

  As you can see, I have an established address. It’s an old Victorian home, and would be worth a fortune if I could move it to the City. Here it’s a modest house, with four bedrooms upstairs and a kitchen, parlor, sitting room, and office downstairs. You can tell Dickon that it has indoor plumbing.

  I have a small practice in psychiatry, dealing mostly with depression. Winter farm life is rife with sadness and unspoken anger. Farm wives, mostly, have to struggle with it. The men are too busy fighting the elements and feeding the livestock to have time for fighting depression.

  I have a spouse. After all these years, I have finally found my man. His name is Winston Baygeaux. I call him Winnie, for short. He was at Iowa State when I was, but we didn’t take the same courses, and never got acquainted. In those days students in psychology didn’t meet students in religion. Winnie’s a retired Methodist clergyman. He has been married and widowed.

  Winnie is taller than I am, by about a foot. His hair is dark brown, with light touches of gray at the temples. He smiles easily, and makes jokes readily. We met at a gay bar in Des Moines; I think it is the only gay bar in Iowa. We had a drink together, and then each of us went home. A pleasant encounter, quickly forgotten, until we met the next week at the butcher’s counter in the local supermarket. It didn’t take long for us to get to know each other Biblically.

  May the winter solstice find you, and all the Villagers, two-legged and four-legged, in good health and spirits.

  Your friend,

  Dr. Chester Field

  The Villagers were pleased to hear their former neighbor was doing so well. Several wrote to invite him and Winston to visit. In the dread and frozen snows of Iowa, the letters warmed the cockles of Dr. Field’s heart.

  High Noon Nuptials

  Guests started arriving a good half-hour before the ceremony. The parking area at the motel and café in San Danson Station filled as the guests came. The funicular, operated today by Harry Pitts, kept very busy transporting guests up the hill. Once they arrived, La Señora, seated in a great chair, brought out for the occasion, directed them to the terrace, where Malcolm Drye and Mae Ling ushered them to their seats. The llamas gathered at the side of their pens to observe the humans. The unicorn stood, front feet on a bale of hay, to better see the event. Her eyesight was not what it once was.

  Willy and La Señora had decided to stage the ceremonies on the mansion’s terrace. The Reverend Carrie Oakey stood at the center of the terrace’s wall, the cove glittering in the sun behind her. She beamed as the four couples processed out of the house into the warm June sun. Reverend Oakey wore her white pulpit gown and stole for the celebration. DiConti and Notta came first. DiConti wore his deputy’s dress uniform, his khaki jacket glittering with various brass ornaments and gold threaded epaulets. DiConti’s face wore intense concentration like a coat of armor. Notta had selected a traditional white satin and lace gown with a seed-pearl tiara and a filmy veil. Her face was serene as a nun’s certain of heavenly bliss. Ermentrude processed with them on a glittering rhinestone leash, her tail ramrod straight, except the very tip, which curved delicately above her back.

  Haakon wore a dark blue suit, newly tailored for him, with a very pale pink tuxedo shirt and black wingtip shoes. Haakon looked worried. His lips moved silently, as though he were reciting a part. Emma had selected a simple rose sheathe with a filmy rose and periwinkle print overdress. Her pumps were tinted rose to match her sheathe. She walked with matronly dignity, a slight smile twinkling occasionally on her lips. Prime Pussy strode ahead of Haakon and Emma at the end of another rhinestone leash. Her tail lashed from side to side.

  Rosa and Elke had had both chosen to be the bride. Elke wore a floor-length gown of robin’s egg blue that matched her eyes and set off her blonde hair with a flourish. She looked every inch the incarnation of a Valkyrie. Rosa wore a deep rose-colored gown, also floor-length, and a gold necklace with a large oval onyx pendant. Rosa was round and plump, like a peach ready for the plucking. Each woman wore matching pumps. Willy Waugh, for once in trousers and shirt, though still barefoot, walked between them. He carried the rings, tied to a small white satin pillow with blue and rose ribbons.

  Dickon and Ben dressed in matching denim tuxedos, especially made for them, with blue chambray shirts and black shoes. Dickon’s movements were nervous, and his hands seemed to tremble at times. Ben walked stolidly, with neither hesitation nor hurry. Butter walked between them, a small pouch containing the men’s rings strapped to her back. Her tail wagged gently; she was with her beloved people.

  Notta and DiConti stood on the left, Ermentrude sat between them. Emma and Haakon, with Prime Pussy between them, stood to the right of DiConti and Notta. Then going to the right, Rosa and Elke took their place. Ben and Dickon positioned themselves on the far right of a semi-circl
e, Butter between them. When they had arranged themselves, Reverend Oakey began. She signaled the assembled guests to be seated. Then she spoke.

  “Dearly beloved,” she began, “we have gathered here in your presence and in the presence of the Divine One, to celebrate the joining of these four couples in their commitment to each other. Under our current laws, two of these couples will be wedded and two will not, yet all four couples are alike in the solemnity and joy of their joining. We invite you to pray with us, if your beliefs allow, addressing your prayers to whichever form of the Divine One you have discovered to be God.”

  Reverend Oakey let the congregation quiet itself before she began the prayer. “Divine One, whom we severally know by many names, we invite you to make holy these who join together in your presence. Bear them up in their weak times, and dance with them in their strong times. Give them guidance when they need it, and hear their expressions of thanksgiving when they make them. Amen.”

  She stood before DiConti and Notta. She quickly stooped to take a pouch from Ermentrude’s collar. When she stood she said, “DiConti, what do you say to Notta?” DiConti and Notta turned to face each other.

  “Notta,” he said in a choked voice. He cleared his throat and began again, clear and firm. “Notta, you complete me. Now, when I work in dark places, I have the light of you to carry with me. When I am weary, I have you to come home to. You bless me. For these and other reasons, I, DiConti, take you, Notta, to be my lawful spouse, and I promise to love you and cherish you, in good times and bad, day by day, as Love gives me strength. I give you this ring to show the world my commitment,” he added, as he put a simple gold band on her finger. Ermentrude rubbed against his left leg, leaving her cat hair signature of approval on his uniform.

  Carrie Oakey turned to Notta. “Notta, what do you say to DiConti?”

  Notta’s voice was low pitched, but clear as she said, “DiConti, you came into an empty place I didn’t know I had, and you filled it. I will never fear that emptiness again. For this, and other reasons, I, Notta, take you, DiConti, to be my lawful spouse, and I promise to love you and cherish you, in good times and bad, day by day, as Love gives me strength. I give you this ring to show the world my commitment,” Notta said, and put a white gold band on DiConti’s finger. She had had the jeweler engrave two entwined hearts on the top of it. Ermentrude purred.

  The Reverend moved on to Haakon and Emma. She stooped to remove a pouch from Prime Pussy’s collar. Prime Pussy growled at her. Carrie stood up quickly. “Haakon,” she said, “What do you say to Emma?”

  Haakon’s declaration was low and indistinct. Only those very near heard him clearly. “My life