Ben Soul

by Richard George

while the guests had been in the reception and buffet lines.

  When everyone had passed through the reception line, the four couples breathed a sigh of relief, and made their own way, following La Señora, past the buffet and out the door to where their filled plates waited for them. By then, some guests had gone round for a second helping.

  When everyone had eaten as much as he or she could, Reverend Oakey called for the crowd’s silence. Then she invited the couples to a side table that held four small wedding cakes. Each couple joined hands on a cake cutter, and, at Carrie’s signal, cut through the cake. By joint agreement, they forewent the gross tradition of shoving cake in each other’s mouth. By now the band had arrived, and set up its stand on the terrace where the wedding ceremonies had taken place. Everyone lined up in four lines to get a piece of cake.

  When the crowd had seated itself again, Carrie Oakey called for quiet. Willy, Harry (who had returned from his pet care duties), Swami Fendabenda, and Malcolm Drye circulated through the tables giving each person a plastic glass filled with sparkling water. “It’s customary to toast newly joined couples,” she said. “Take up your glasses and salute these eight brave people, who set forth on the grand journey of lives together with another person. No other human relationship requires so much courage, or promises so much reward. Brave friends, we salute you!” Carrie drained her glass. The crowd did the same. One or two anonymous guests choked on the water; for them it was a most unaccustomed beverage.

  A band began tuning up on the terrace where the ceremony had taken place. The band was formed by a group of West County teenagers who had skills to play a wide variety of music. They called themselves Hermit and the Crabs. They began with a rock and roll version of Vivaldi’s Spring Sonata, and then segued into a medley of show tunes from the forties and fifties. The guests drifted in and stood, waiting for the couples to come in to start the dancing.

  Notta and DiConti began it. Hermit and the Crabs played the “Beautiful Blue Danube Waltz” for them. Haakon and Emma joined the young pair on the dance floor. Elke and Rosa followed, and then Dickon whirled Ben into motion. As the waltz ended, DiConti and Haakon exchanged partners. Dickon invited Carrie Oakey to dance, and Ben selected Mae Ling for a partner. Elke took Malcolm Drye and Rosa selected Swami Fendabenda. Hermit and the Crabs struck up a lively polka, and soon the entire guest list was whirling around the terrace.

  The dancing went on until the first tendrils of summer fog twined their way into the cove between Obaheah and Obadiah. The party broke up then. Willy and Harry, with help from Mae Ling and the Wong brothers, gathered up the orts of the feast and put them away for leftovers. They folded the chairs and took down the tables. The four couples went each to their respective dwellings, and over their further activities we draw a discreet veil. Only the unicorn with the unique horn dared intrude, and that only long enough to ensure issue of Notta and DiConti’s consummation from their nuptials.

  The Thirteenth Juror

  Chester Dross had spent his life as an invisible member of society. Both his appearance and his personality were prone to blend into the background of wherever he was. His face, stature, body type, and voice were all “average,” so average that those who noticed him immediately slid on to the next more interesting topic. Yet even society’s non-entities shall have their minutes in the sun. So it was that Chester Dross became the thirteenth juror, an alternate in the Vanna Dee trial.

  After the first day’s business, when he had been appointed to the jury, Chester went to the Las Tumbas Last Resting Place Cemetery to tell his beloved Unda, his late wife, of his extraordinary elevation into the public eye. “Let me read you the online paper, dearest,” he said to the small gray granite slab that marked Unda’s grave. “The neighbor’s boy, Billy something, prints it on his computer.” He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “I didn’t know, until he told me, that the newspaper’s on a computer these days.”

  “August 6, 2003—The trial of former Coastal Commissioner Vanna Dee, on charges of hiring a vagrant drug dealer to harm well-known coastal citizen Señora Salvación Mandor in a dispute over grazing for llamas and nesting ground for marbled murrelets, got underway today when presiding Judge Dinah Sauer began impaneling a jury. Jury selection had been expected to take several days, but neither Barry Cooda, the prosecutor, nor Dayton Mann, the defense attorney, issued any peremptory challenges, and very few challenges for cause. Opening arguments are to begin tomorrow.”

  Chester put the snapdragons he had brought from home into the metal vase at the tombstone’s base and settled himself on the warm grass. “This court business is strange,” he went on. “Somebody says something, like this Judge Sauer, loud enough for all the room to hear. Then people start whispering to each other, or running back and forth with papers and things. The whispering and paper running go on for half an hour. Then somebody says something out loud again. By then most of us have forgotten what was said the last time somebody spoke.”

  Chester gazed across the cemetery. It was a warm day, and even the trees drooped in the sun. Chester adjusted the brim of his hat to better shade his eyes, and went on. “The attorneys and the judge asked people questions before they either put them on the jury, or sent them home. Some of the people had good reasons for not serving; a lot of them had phony-sounding excuses. The judge seemed to believe most of them, no matter how far out their reasons were for not serving. The attorneys got rid of some of the ones the judges liked, for various reasons, I guess. Each of them dismissed several people without explaining why.”

  Chester listened to the breeze rattle the eucalyptus leaves. “Sea breeze, Unda,” he said. “Be cooler tonight. I hope the courthouse will be cooler tomorrow. It got kind of stuffy in there this afternoon.” He leaned back on his hands. “I was surprised when they called my name. They’d already picked twelve people. It seems they need an extra, just in case somebody gets sick, or dies, or something else goes wrong. Judge Sauer asked me my name and address, and then asked me if I thought I could give a fair and impartial judgment based on the evidence. I said yes, I could. She put me on the jury as an alternate, and it was all over for today. We start up again, tomorrow, at nine sharp.”

  Chester pushed himself to his feet. “Unda, sleep well. It’s a warm summer night, and I know you’re safe here, with all these stone angels around you. I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow when I come.” He put his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then transferred the kiss to Unda’s gravestone. “Sleep well, old girl,” he said, and left the cemetery.

  The following evening Chester came, as was his daily habit, to Unda’s grave. He had brought a whiskbroom today to brush away the accumulation of dust and dried bits of vegetation the summer breezes had scattered across his wife’s grave marker.

  “There we are,” he said as he finished his sweeping and put the whiskbroom in his pocket. “All neat and tidy for now.” He sat down and took a folded sheet from his pocket. “Let me read today’s news for you,” he said. Unda waited. Chester read.

  “August 7, 2003—Prosecutor Barry Cooda today outlined the case against former Commissioner Vanna Dee. The prosecution alleges that Ms. Dee hired one, Noah Count, of no fixed abode, to damage the property of Ms. Salvación Mandor, of San Danson Station, for five thousand dollars. The threatened property was llamas. Ms. Mandor keeps a herd on her coastal property. Further, the prosecution alleges, Ms. Dee hired Mr. Count to enter the home of Ms. Mandor with the intent to cause her grave bodily injury.”

  “Defense attorney Dayton Mann rebutted the prosecution’s accusations, saying that the supposed transaction to hire Mr. Count was, instead, a payment for a painting of llamas. Attorney Mann further stated that any improper or illegal behavior on the part of Mr. Count was solely his own responsibility. Attorney Mann further characterized the prosecution’s charges against Ms. Dee as ‘pure persecution of a public servant.’ The jurors were attentive through
out the proceedings. At the end of the session, Judge Sauer recessed the proceedings until next Monday morning.”

  “Lots more excitement today,” Chester said. “Not so much whispering in the background. The article sums up what the attorneys said pretty well. Of course, they had to put a lot more words into it.”

  “These attorneys are pretty good speech makers. The prosecutor, Barry Cooda, is probably about thirty to thirty-five. He’s got dark brown hair, slicked back, but not greasy looking. He looks like a boy you’d want your daughter to date, if you had one. His voice fills up the room, and he talks to the jury just like he was sitting in their living rooms. That other one, that Dayton Mann, he’s a different kettle of fish. Wavy gray hair, looks like he goes to a beauty parlor to have it fixed up. Dresses flashy, too. Didn’t wear a dark blue suit like Mr. Cooda, that’s not good enough for this City slicker. He had on a beige coat (camel’s hair, I think they call it) and butternut colored trousers. His shirt today was yellow, and he wore a bright blue tie.” Chester leaned back and looked at the variegated blue sky.

  “When this Dayton Mann opens his mouth, oil